Joy in the Journey

Five Minute Friday: Trust

2012-02-10T06:41:00.003-05:00

It's Friday again. Woo hoo! Today I join The Gypsy Mama to write for five minutes on her weekly prompt. No editing or rewriting allowed. Click on the link to her site if you want to try it, too. The prompt this week is "Trust".

GO
How can we trust? Why do I trust? How do I know that God is good? In January we thought we were going to lose Roger. A great man and a pillar of the church. He's been sick for so long, some didn't want to hold him here. But then he started getting better. He showed signs of progress. I stopped thinking that he might die. I looked forward to seeing him on Sunday mornings again, though I knew it would be a while before he was out of the hospital.

Yesterday, Roger passed away.

But I thought he was getting better. I thought You were doing a miracle! And what about his family? Why this pain? He was not an old man. I want to run sometimes. Stop believing. But that steady reassurance is there. I know God is real. And I know He loves us. It's been proven to me so many times I can't stop believing. Even when I don't like what I see. Even when I don't understand. I know without a doubt there is a reason and I'll "get it" one day. Just not today.
STOP

Sheesh! I didn't know all that was going to spill out! Talk about real (I know, that was last week). Tough stuff. And I'm certainly not done working through it. Pray with me--peace and comfort for Roger's family. And a very real sense of God's love for them.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; He rescues those who are crushed in spirit." Psalm 34:18

On becoming the Tooth Fairy

2012-02-08T06:09:00.021-05:00

My baby girl just lost her first tooth. That may not seem like a big deal to those of you without children, but I remember when that tooth first broke through her gums. If I close my eyes I can conjure up the drooling, the crabbiness, low grade fever. All of it. And then, there it was and “Oh! That’s why she’s been so crabby.” And, “Wow! This is kind of early. She’s only five months old.” And then, “She has a tooth now. Am I going to feel that when she nurses? Ouch!” (If you must know, Camilla only bit me once. Adrian, on the other hand . . . )

So she was five months old and cutting her first tooth. I blinked and she was five years old. A few weeks ago, she said, “Mom! When I push on my tooth it swings back!” I knew exactly what that meant even before I went to investigate. And yes, I could feel the tears starting to my eyes. I was not expecting this. None of her friends had lost teeth yet. It hadn’t become “the thing” for her crowd. So it caught me by surprise.

Todd offered to pull it out for her.

“No!” she answered. (That’s my girl!)

I told her eventually it would fall out. She didn’t have to pull it unless she wanted to.

Last week we noticed a humungous adult tooth growing behind the baby one in her tiny mouth.

A few days later, she asked me to pull out the loose tooth.

I said, “I will if you want me to, but it will hurt a little bit.”

“Never mind,” she said.

Saturday she was making her bed and wiggling her tooth and it just came out.

We did a little happy dance because it’s exciting!

I mean, really. You only lose your first tooth once!

So, while I was sad when she realized it was loose, I had enough time to adjust that I could cheer when it came out.

“How do you want to celebrate?” I asked her.

I must have forgotten to whom I was speaking. This is the girl who is currently planning her seventh birthday party. Her sixth has already been planned for months and that’s not until October. So of course, we had to have a party. I talked her down to a little party with just Mommy, Camilla, and Adrian. (Daddy was gone for the day.) We made chocolate chip cookies. We got out the leftover party plates and napkins. We I blew up balloons and hung them up. I cut her off somewhere around seven balloons. My mouth was tired. (Mean Mommy!)

I once heard about a family which celebrated each new stage with delight. Rather than bemoaning how quickly their children were growing up and leaving home, they approached each milestone with excitement as their children became more independent.

This is hard for me to do. But I want to try.

My brother talks about his twelve-year-old (almost thirteen—gulp!) daughter with joy. He and his wife look forward to the teenage years as they see her slowly becoming a woman before their eyes. They know they will have their share of difficulties, but they’re excited to see who she will become.

I want to approach my children’s coming of age that way, too. It is exciting right now. I’m enjoying getting to know Camilla as she matures. We still have lots of struggles with her. She’s not an easy kid. But she has a wonderful imagination, a strong spirit, a sense of who she is. Those are all good things.

Sometimes I have a glimpse of the future. Just a flash, really, of what I envision her becoming. Stretching out. Skinny and tall.

Flashing by me on the ski slopes. “Hurry up, Mom!”

Curled up with a good book.

Teaching her brother something new.

And it feels good to look forward to the future, instead of yearning for the past when she was a baby and I could hold and rock just her. When she was my weekday world. Remember those days?

I can’t help yearning a little bit now and then.

Oh no! It's Monday and I'm supposed to do an update.

2012-02-06T07:47:00.000-05:00

Yes, that's about how I feel. I just checked Facebook. Fail. Overall I've been doing better with that--checking Facebook less, usually just once a day. Saturday was a long day with the kids, though. Todd was gone all day and I allowed myself to be distracted by the computer at least five times. Ugh.

But I've been running a lot! Three miles Tuesday. 4 miles with Ariana on Friday and then 5 miles yesterday morning with Ariana again. We've been receiving emails with training plans which seem insane to me. It recommends beginners run 20 miles per week already. Experts are doing more than 40! I'm not sure what they're working up to, but it doesn't seem like a half-marathon. I hope to add in another run on Thursdays and start increasing our weekend mileage. I just don't want to burn out, so I'm easing into it. Todd's achilles was bothering him this weekend. (I told him he didn't need to run 8 miles last Sunday.) He's been running hard and he hadn't really been running at all before. So he didn't run this weekend. Also, I backed off on the gym this week because I've had a cold and felt really tired. Going to bed earlier needs to be a priority right now. I'm just not getting there.

And that's your exciting update on our training progress. I know you were waiting for it. My snuggly boy is next to me now in his jammies. He just asked me what this was. I've been trying to keep the kids more involved in everything, explaining to Camilla about the blog. I didn't think Adrian would understand yet, but apparently I was wrong. When I told him, he said, "Oh" as though it made perfect sense.

This is from a week or so ago, but it's close to how things look this morning, too.

Five Minute Friday: Real

2012-02-03T06:52:00.000-05:00

It's Friday again. Woo hoo! Today I join The Gypsy Mama to write for five minutes on her weekly prompt. No editing or rewriting allowed. Click on the link to her site if you want to try it, too. The prompt this week is "Real".

GO

Real life is something you don't often see much of in the world of the internet. Bloggers can pretty much create the life they want you to see. The good ones try to keep it real. But today I'm grateful that I have a real life, too. The times I have been most real are when I open up and become vulnerable. When I let others into this real life of mine which is not neat and tidy and not always clean and good. No. It's messy and dirty and ugly at times. There have been three people groups that learned the real me. No pretty facade.

My friends in Colorado. They were the first to really see who I was. I was 21 and I didn't know it was okay to not be perfect. But I learned in those four months to let go of all my masks.

My Bible Study group that started shortly after we were married and pretty much ended after we had kids (although our friendships didn't). They got to hold my hand while Todd and I walked through some rocky times and found the strength to stand again. (Lucky them!)

And now, friends at church, who were just on the sidelines for years, have come into my life fully. They are the ones I call crying when I don't know how I'm going to make it through the day. They are the ones who see the ugly me. The real me. Not the smile I put on for the rest of the world. John Eldredge said, regarding community, "it's hard, it's messy, it is never ever exactly what you want." And that is so true.

But it is one thing: it is real.

STOP

That was SO much longer than five minutes, but once I said there were three people groups, I couldn't stop without hitting each of them! Well, there it is. No facade of rewriting or deciding this post isn't good enough to make the cut. You get the real me today too. Now, don't you feel special?

My Newest Crazy Idea

2012-01-30T10:58:00.000-05:00

I signed up to run a half-marathon. Every Sunday morning I run about three easy miles with my friend, Ariana. And somehow I thought that qualified me to start training for a 13.1-mile race that’s only three months away. What was I thinking?

I suppose I was thinking it would be fun. I haven’t challenged myself in this way since 2004. This will be a totally different type of challenge, though. The greater challenge in 2012 will be training for the half-marathon and staying balanced in the process.

Crossing the finish line in 2004.

Ariana signed up in October, so this has been on my radar for a while. When she first asked me if I was interested, I thought, “No way. This is not the time of life for that.” Then I slowly sanded away at the edges of that statement until there was nothing left of it. This is definitely not the season for me to run a full marathon. Even before we had kids, I remember thinking the many hours of training were just not worth the anticlimax of crossing the finish line after 26.2 miles. But the Half? The Half was fun! That’s what I remember. And that’s what I want to focus on this time around. When it stops being fun, that’s when I pull back, snuggle my kids, go out for dinner, take a breather.

I am already insanely busy. It feels like my day is packed from the time my alarm goes off at 5:15 am until I finally fall exhausted into bed at night. So I couldn’t wrap my head around where I was going to fit in this training. But after talking it over with various runners—one who ran this race having only trained Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays—I decided I could do it. I met with our Young Adults Pastor last week and she helped me come up with a plan for maintaining my focus. Talking with her helped me figure out how to keep myself from going crazy (and taking my family along with me).

I recognize my compulsion to check Facebook every time I pass the computer. It’s ridiculous, really, but I know I’m not alone in this. Many others, especially stay-at-home-moms, struggle with this. I’ve written about it before. It’s lead me to take breaks from Facebook and kept me from investing in an iPhone so far. At this point, I feel I need to impose limits on myself because I really don’t know how many minutes I am wasting each time I choose to open Facebook. So . . . I am limiting myself to 15-30 minutes on Facebook and this only once a day. I can check all my notifications (if any), reply to messages, browse a little bit if I want to. But once I ~~close it~~ log off, that’s it for that day. No checking it mindlessly—and hence checking out of real life. This strategy really should be in place anyway, so that I can be more present with my kids throughout the day. Training for the Half has just forced me to recognize that I need to be very intentional with my time over the next three months. And beyond. I’m actually very excited about this—a byproduct of adding a tangible goal to my life.

Don't we look amazingly fresh?

There are other ways my schedule may change. I may not be able to read as much. I may have to skip a few play dates. I’m willing to sacrifice those things for a short time—not permanently. I’m not willing to sacrifice writing and blogging, though. I’m going to keep building my blog and working on other writing projects.

So I’ve decided to post about training here on my blog. What better way to keep it from interfering with my writing? My readers can keep me accountable and enjoy this journey with me. I don’t want the training to be grueling or something I just have to “get through”. I’m not in this to win the race—I’d have to change my genetics to do that! I want to have “Joy in the Journey”—in every part of my life. That doesn’t mean it will be easy or I won’t have days when I want to give up. It just means I will redirect my focus to the joy.

So Mondays here on Joy in the Journey will be about running—a report on the past week and how I’m doing with including the kids in Mom’s little venture. Oh, and Dad’s, because Todd couldn’t just watch me train for and run the Half! I’m looking forward to this—apprehensive but certain of the physical, spiritual, and relational rewards.

This is after the full marathon. Please compare to the photo taken after the Half!

Looking back at the past three weeks . . .

2012-01-23T21:26:00.000-05:00

It’s over. I drank coffee. I ate a muffin and drank more coffee. To be precise, I drank a peppermint mocha at my new favorite coffee house. I celebrated, sort of. I am glad it’s over. My body did not like the Daniel Fast very much. My family did not like the meals of rice and beans and occasional tofu. But I can’t say it wasn’t worth it. I’m not at all sure it was worth it physically. But spiritually, I’d have to say it was. Not in the way I thought it would be, though.

I was explaining to a friend how I felt in the midst of the fast—sick, stripped of my usual comforts. Raw. Uncertain. Disillusioned. And she remarked that when you fast, it feels like God is stripping you. After the fast is over, He fills you up. You get your breakthroughs. Things start to come together.

Yes. That’s it. At least the first part.

God has been stripping me.

Stripping me of my idols. I lean too heavily on things that aren’t stable. They’re mutable. One week I am on. You know—I can write an amazing post. I’m not being egotistical, it’s just the truth, friends. Then for months the well is dry. My muse is silent. I feel like a sorry excuse for a writer. My worth as a person, my identity, starts sinking. At some point I have to fish it out of the gutter. But my self-worth ought not be based on how well I write. The gift of writing is from God. He fills the well. I am complete in Him—and writing flows out of my wholeness. Not the other way around.

Relationships ebb and flow. Todd and I are in a great place right now. It’s not always like that. There are times when we fight over who has to wash the French press—or worse. I feel on top of the world when the fireworks are exploding all around us. But if they’re not, am I any less a woman? Is my love somehow not worthy?

I don’t always feel as close to my friends as I want to. Sometimes I click with another woman—we just seem to get each other. And other times, these last three weeks for instance, I wonder why I’m so lonely. Where do I belong? The stripping continues and God reminds me that I belong to Him. Friends come and go. Some last a lifetime, but often the friendship waxes and wanes. He remains the same.

So He’s been stripping me, yes. Showing me how little control I actually have and how unstable the things I rely on. But He is ever gentle and knows how much I can bear.

I’m empty now—as empty as I can be at this point. I’m open. Ready to be filled with good things.

Psalm 81:10

For it was I, the LORD your God,

who rescued you from the land of Egypt.

Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it with good things.

Five Minute Friday: Vivid

2012-01-20T14:54:00.002-05:00

TGIF! Today I join The Gypsy Mama again to write for five minutes on her weekly prompt. No editing or rewriting allowed. Click on the link to her site if you want to try it, too. The prompt this week is "Vivid".

GO

This morning as I looked at the word "vivid" I drew a blank. I know what it means, of course, but it sparked nothing in my creative mind. So I went about the day. And life seemed more vivid somehow. Fear can do that to a person. Today has been different than yesterday. My best friend, my kindred spirit, my "Diana" is in grave danger and this morning I knew about it. Yesterday morning, I didn't. Perhaps I'm being melodramatic. Perhaps not. A dangerous pregnancy . . . well, it's all rather overwhelming. So that's why I called on my sisters to pray with me this morning. And as we sat in a sacred circle, we met with God. We beseeched Him on behalf of this mother and child--someone they've never even met. And as I prayed, I remembered the vivid dream He'd given me when my firstborn was growing in my womb. I used that word. Vivid. It was vivid and I knew my baby would be all right. So I pray the same for my friend--something tangible to hold onto. Something vivid to see her through.

STOP

You can all see what's on my mind today. Pray for this mama and baby, folks. Three C-sections don't make for an easy fourth pregnancy. She's been a faithful friend for almost 34 years now and I'm planning to have her in my life for the next 50 or 60. I'd appreciate your prayers for her, too. And a huge shout out to Tammy and Susan for lifting her up with me this morning. The family of God is awesome.

In which I go into depth about my experience with the Daniel Fast thus far and explain what I was talking about in Friday’s post.

2012-01-18T15:03:00.001-05:00

The past two weeks and three days have been tough. I knew it would be difficult. Still I thought, I can do anything for three weeks. Anything. It’s only three weeks. And then it’s over.

But I didn’t expect it to be like this. I’m not sure what I expected. Fireworks? Some kind of spiritual transcendence, I suppose. The first week, I went through sugar withdrawal. I expected the caffeine withdrawal to be worse than it was, but I didn’t notice much of a headache. However, the second and third day I was exhausted from lack of sugar. My brain did not come with me to the grocery store, which made it a little difficult to find everything I needed. But that passed in time. My brain caught up to me again and every time I craved a cookie or a cup of coffee, I reminded myself that this was only for a season. Honestly, though, I wasn’t spending more time in prayer at first. So I would think, “I just need to press in closer to the Lord” and feel guilty at the same time because I knew I wasn’t doing it. I finally started to. I got up early and sat before the Lord. Pursuing His presence simply for the sake of His presence.

And back down to earth now (where we always land at some point) . . . I kept wondering when I was going to start feeling super healthy. Everyone told me how great the Daniel Fast made their bodies feel, after the first few days. Not me. I don’t want to pat myself on the back or anything, because I know the other people doing this fast normally eat a pretty healthy diet, but I feel healthy most of the time. I don’t eat a lot of junk. We eat mostly whole foods at our house. I know I spend a lot of words on this blog writing about coffee and chocolate, but they don’t make up the majority of my diet—and I guess my philosophy is “everything in moderation”. Perhaps I’m so healthy already that the Daniel Fast couldn’t make me feel any healthier!

Yes, that is actually what I was thinking heading into week two. I was thoroughly disappointed in my experience. No fireworks. No transcendence. But that was not the low point. I came down with a horrible cold and I really started feeling sorry for myself. (I explained in my last post that I am a baby when I’m sick.) Here I was feeling ~~awful~~ like my head was going to explode, drinking Yogi Cold Season Tea with nothing added, and I was supposed to be feeling extremely healthy! I was very put out. Nothing was coming together for me. I couldn’t seem to make any headway on my goals and plans for the New Year.

Last Wednesday night, even though my body wanted to stay home and go to bed, my spirit needed to be fed. Our church had not had Wednesday night activities (as we call them) for an inexcusably long time. I needed Blueprints! As I write these words I am realizing how literally true that sentence is. “Blueprints” is the name of the Young Adult Bible Study that meets on Wednesday nights at our church. And I cannot avoid explaining here that the term “Young Adult” is used very loosely in this case. Blueprints is a place for those just out of college to come and sit and listen and learn and participate and not leave until they’re maybe 40-ish . . . or so. Yeah, we’d definitely kick you out at 50, but not before. Really, you ought to have blueprints by the time you’re 50. The house should be pretty much built by then anyway.

Image created by Greydon Cochrane

Moving right along. At Blueprints, nobody else seemed to feel defeated the way I did. In fact, they were all excited about the New Year! They were saying that “Acceleration” was the buzzword and things were just falling into place and everything was happening so much faster than they expected.

I was not feeling it, friends.

I know this is a little bit of a rehash of my last post, but I feel the need to expand. As I was sitting there wishing for this “acceleration” to happen in my life, I felt God speaking to me ever so gently, as He always does. Acceleration is there for the taking. You can reach out and grab it. You just have to claim it.

I’m not a big fan of “name it and claim it” religion. Sometimes things just don’t happen and we won’t know why this side of Glory. But the word acceleration has a lot to do with my own actions. I can sit around feeling sorry for myself (which is okay sometimes, I guess, especially if I have a bad cold) or I can get up off my butt and clean up the house. I can mindlessly browse Facebook or I can close that tab and write a blog post.

So Thursday morning I got up early again and I decided to claim it. Things are going to happen this year. To a certain extent it’s up to me. And the rest I’ll leave in God’s faithful hands.

What are you doing this year to accelerate the achievement of your goals?

Five Minute Friday: Awake

2012-01-13T15:01:00.000-05:00

It's Friday again. Glory be! I've had a horrid cold this week and it's finally getting better. Yes, I am a big whiner when I'm sick. I try not to whine, but I'm just ready for a weekend right now.

And you know what happens on Fridays, right? Well . . . some Fridays, anyway. I join The Gypsy Mama and write for five minutes on her weekly prompt. No editing or rewriting allowed. The prompt this week is "Awake". Here goes nothing.

Go.
I am awake now. I'm trying to be. Awakening my senses to the beauty of the world around me. Awakening my soul to the call I feel inside. Earlier this week I was defeated. Sick. Hopeless. 2012 had failed to impress me so far. (I just changed that sentence. That was cheating, so as penance I'm confessing.) I was overwhelmed and beaten down, longing for sugar, feeling drained. I was being a baby, I guess.

Wednesday night Bible Study, our amazing "Blueprints" awakened me. I decided to wake up, to claim the promises for my own. I would not let 2012 pass me by. I would drink it in. I will grab hold and not miss out on everything this year can be. It's up to me. God is not asleep. Only I was. Not anymore.
Stop.

And there you have it. If you want to join the fun, click on the logo below.

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

2012-01-09T21:51:00.000-05:00

We were driving home from the Farm Show the other night (yes, we are hicks) and after the kids had fallen asleep and we'd driven out of range of WJTL, Todd turned to the CD player for music. That thing rarely gets used anymore. U2 started playing. Despite being country bumpkins, we do listen to cool music from time to time.
So I said, "I still haven't found what I'm looking for."
And Todd said, "You haven't?"
I was identifying the song. But it's true. I haven't.

On the one hand, I feel I should just stuff my desires. I have so much to be grateful for, right? People would kill for my life. To have a husband like mine and two healthy kids--and to be able to stay home with them in a big house. What more could I want?

But I do want more. It's always just beyond my reach. I can't quite get my hands around it.

That's what makes me start a Daniel Fast and then a week into it I still wonder, "What am I doing wrong? There has to be more to it than this. I'm not spending enough time in prayer. When is it all going to come together?"

It's why I sit down at the end of 2011 and write out goals for the new year. Goals I could only accomplish if I were given 48-hour days, during which the children slept for 24 hours or so.

It shows itself in grand plans for a "Great Purge" when I will eradicate everything from our home that is neither useful nor beautiful to us. And finally--miraculously--we will be free of clutter.

The desire for more. It's what turns my heart towards this man who shares my life and pushes me to never stop wanting more, to keep growing deeper in love.

It's why I write. And write. And send out queries and manuscripts. And write some more.

It's why I look at my children and see that they're not babies anymore . . . and weep.

Why isn't all that I have enough? Is it that I'm greedy? Ungrateful? Or could it be that He has put eternity in my heart. The desire for more . . . beauty, truth, meaning, significance is all wrapped up in wanting more of Him. We may get glimpses of eternity in this life, but it's just a taste of what's to come. And so we're left wanting, longing for the real thing.

Open

2011-12-30T06:07:00.003-05:00

I haven't done this in a month, but here I am again on a Friday, unleashing myself on the world for five minutes flat. No over thinking. Which is just what I need this week. The prompt is "Open".

Go.

I'm open. That is a fact. As I look forward to the weekend, to next week, to next year. I sit here getting ready to drink coffee as I open my Bible and I know that on Monday, when I roll out of bed I will sit here on the couch with a glass of water--or maybe a mug of hot water? Part of me cringes at this. Ugh. No coffee? No chocolate pick-me-up later in the day? I'm starting a Daniel Fast. My idea. And then I opened my big mouth at church so now I can't bow out gracefully.

But even though it will be a hard three weeks in ways, I'm also immensely excited. And open. Open to what God is going to do in my heart. I'm scared. Mama doesn't act pretty without her little crutches to get her through the day, so I'm expecting a lot of my prayer to be for patience and for the right attitude. The point is to turn to Him for everything I need, instead of to the comfort of food. I'm open and eager and looking forward to a fresh new year.

Stop.

Okay, I'm not sure that was exactly five minutes. My birthday was three days ago and Todd bought me a MacBook Pro which I'm totally stoked about. I'm still getting used to it, though, and I can't see the time on my computer right now, only on the wall clock . . . so I may have cheated a little bit. Sorry. Enjoy the read anyway.

It was a warm December . . . except for that one weekend.

2011-12-22T06:54:00.000-05:00

I apologize for my absence lately. I was super sick for a week. Laid out on the couch, couldn't do anything but order a few gifts online kind of sick. Thank God I'm feeling better because we had our Live Nativity at church this past weekend. It was cold, but it was good. And now, not only do I have gifts to wrap, cookies to bake, stockings to fill, and a few last minute presents to take care of, but I also have eighteen people coming to my house for Christmas dinner! In my mind, I used to be much more organized. I finished my shopping by Thanksgiving so that I could truly enjoy Advent. But in reality I'm not sure it ever went that smoothly. I wanted it to. But was there ever a Christmas free of stress? I mean, since I was about ten years old?

The next best thing, I suppose, is taking a moment away from the stress to remember what it is we're doing this for. To recapture the wonder we felt as children. In those moments, I realize it has nothing to do with whether Camilla gets the Lalaloopsy doll she just started asking for last week. It has everything to do with the Gift we received over two thousand years ago. It sounds like old news. It's all been said before. God's Son, born of a virgin.

For me, in this rare moment of quiet by the Christmas tree, it is new again. It can be new in all of our hearts if we step back from the craziness that Christmas has become. If we focus on the Christ Child. Who He was. Who He is. And how He continues to make us new.

"Because of God's tender mercy,
the light from heaven is about to break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness
and in the shadow of death,
and to guide us to the path of peace."
Luke 1:78-79

Bedtime Hymns

2011-12-07T10:57:00.001-05:00

Lately, at bedtime, when I ask Adrian what he wants to sing, he always answers, “Father.” So I sing, “Good Night my Father.” And I think of this post from three years ago when Camilla was his age. When each of my kids were infants, while they nursed at bedtime, I sang to them, lullaby after lullaby. But I always finished up with “Good Night my Father.” I suppose it’s my favorite. It naturally became their favorite too, after hearing it every night of their lives for two full years.

At Christmastime, we change up our lullabies. I usually suggest singing a Christmas Carol at bedtime instead of the usual songs. For Camilla, though, “Jingle Bells” has become a favorite “usual lullaby” and she’ll ask for it year round, which cracked me up at first. Now I'm used to it. My favorite Advent lullaby is “Away in a Manger". After all, it is also known as “Cradle Song” and the verses are beautiful as a bedtime prayer.

Last week, I asked Adrian if we could sing “Away in a Manger” instead of “Father”.
“Yeah,” he said.
I proceeded to sing and rock my snuggly boy.
After I finished all three verses, he looked up at me and said, “Father.”
“You want to sing ‘Good Night my Father’, too?”
“Yeah.”
I laughed—and complied.
Apparently he just can’t go to sleep until we sing it.

Photo by April Roskos

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2011-12-01T05:55:00.000-05:00

Advent is upon us. It seemed to sneak up on me this year. Since Christmas falls on a Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent was as far from Christmas as it can be. The time of preparation lasts longer than usual this year. And that can only be a good thing!

I’ve been searching for ideas on keeping our Christmas Season simple and meaningful. It’s something we work on (and struggle with) every December. We want to make Christmas in our house focus on what it’s really about. I’ll steal a quote from Advent Conspiracy. “It starts with Jesus. It ends with Jesus.” Remembering His birth, life, and sacrifice is the purpose of our celebration. We want to spend less, give more, worship Him and of course, savor the moments with our loved ones.

There are a few ways we’ve tried to do this. Todd and I both have large families and a lot of nieces and nephews. Obviously, we buy them gifts. We “draw names” with my adult siblings so we each have a gift to open and we buy something small for Todd’s siblings. This all adds up, but we try to make it count by spending less on some of the gifts for adults and including with it a gift from the Samaritan’s Purse Gift Catalogue. This is a donation to the organization for something specific that gift recipient may find meaningful. A few years ago, a friend of mine shared some of the ways they try to give less-expensive, yet meaningful gifts. One example was giving her niece a weekend visit to their home, including a trip to the zoo (as members, they were allowed to bring guests). I think this is a great idea. Unfortunately, my nieces and nephews (aside from the local ones who come over all the time) are all so far away we’d have to fly them here, which would cost more than the gifts we buy them. So, that may not work for us, but perhaps I can come up with more creative gifts in the future. (I'm taking suggestions.)

We also have just a few choice gifts for each person under the tree on Christmas morning. I recently started following Live Renewed and read the recommendation to give three gifts representing the gifts of the magi. Gold is something the recipient really wants. Frankincense is something to encourage spiritual growth. Myrrh represents something for the body. I’m using that idea this year, but as Todd and I discussed this, we really don’t give our kids an enormous number of gifts on Christmas morning. Keeping it to three will be easy for us, but I like the three gifts of the magi idea because it connects it to the true meaning of Christmas in a more tangible way. Rather than giving our kids too many gifts on Christmas moring, we struggle more with trying to shelter them from the consumerism in our culture--especially when they go from one relative to the next collecting gifts, sometimes for several days at Christmastime! That’s where the Shoebox packing helps direct our attention to others, at least for Camilla. Don’t worry, I’m not a total Scrooge! I realize that a huge part of the wonder of Christmas for children lies in the gifts. I don’t preach at Camilla whenever she says she wants something or wonders what she’s getting for Christmas! I enjoy choosing things I know the kids will be excited to receive. We just try to bring it all back to Jesus as the reason we're celebrating.

The most important way we do that at Christmastime is through the Advent Wreath. Growing up, my family of origin always had an Advent Wreath and it’s my favorite Christmas tradition. I felt like our own family needed a bit of a revival in this area, so I found a new devotional this year. It’s a bit more liturgical than the one we’ve used in the past and I’m really enjoying it so far. We’ve added music at the beginning of our time of focus because I find it’s a good way to bring us together and the kids love it. Who am I kidding? Christmas music (Christian and secular) has to be my other favorite Christmas tradition.

So it’s a slow process. I’m not sure how successfully we combat the Holiday craziness, but we try. This is one of those areas I think will look different for each household, but I’m always open to ideas that I can incorporate into our celebration to make it meaningful without adding stress. After all, in addition to Christmas shopping this week, I am still potty training!

Grateful

2011-11-25T22:42:00.001-05:00

Time for my second attempt at Five Minute Friday. Five minutes of writing, no editing, just hit that publish button! And the prompt is "Grateful." Didn't I already cover this? Oh well, I'm sure I'll come up with something.

Yesterday at the Thanksgiving table. It has nothing to do with my post, but so what?

Begin . . .

I am grateful today. That I slept in my own bed last night. That I have never once gone to a store in the middle of the night after Thanksgiving. Some people like that kind of thing--more power to them. On the day after Thanksgiving, I prefer to clean to the tune of "White Christmas" sung by Johnny Mathis. And other Christmas songs, of course. I don't play "White Christmas" over and over. So I am grateful today that even though it took me all day long to do it, I can sit here in the family room breathing the air of a deep down kind of clean that my house hasn't known for months. It took me all day long to clean the downstairs, so I am grateful that God somehow afflicted me with an attention to detail that it's hard to kick, even though that often means that it takes me forever to finish cleaning the house. If I ever get around to it.

And I'm grateful that I've come to the place where I am okay with relaxing on the couch of a messy, not-so-clean room. I don't have to do that tonight, but I'm okay with it some days.

End.

Not just another post on Thankfulness

2011-11-23T17:55:00.000-05:00

Well, maybe it is. Everybody's posting on how grateful they are for this and that, but I just had to jump on the bandwagon. I am up to my elbows in pottytraining my two-year-old. That's rather early or a little late, depending on who you talk to. All I know is I was tired of fighting Adrian as I tried to change his diapers. And, I don't know if this is a cloth diaper thing, but it just gets disgusting after a while. I mean, he's two. He's not an infant anymore. So I figured I might as well give it a try. What did I have to lose? If it didn't click in a few days, I'd just put him back in diapers and try again when he's a little older. Well, what I had to lose was a clothed little boy at my parents' Thanksgiving table tomorrow. He's doing so well running around half-naked that I don't want to destroy what he's learned so far. I think I will put some underwear on the kid, though.

I said all that to explain that writing time is at a premium even more than usual this week. So I'm posting on thankfulness partly because I am super grateful and partly because I'm lazy and couldn't think of a better topic. What else could I possibly write about right now?

I guess there's baking. Camilla helped me assemble my spectacular sweet potato casserole with pecan topping (I eschew marshmallows) today. It's all set to pop into the oven. I also made an apple pie just for the heck of it. Exactly what we need to eat the day before Thanksgiving. Actually, I bought the apples a few weeks ago thinking that I couldn't live through an autumn without making (and eating) my apple pie and this is the first chance we've had to actually do it. So, along with the rooster Todd slaughtered the other night, that should make for a tasty evening.

Oh yes, the rooster. We thought we had four hens. And then two of them started crowing. That explains why those two weren't laying eggs. I am actually not entirely sure I will be able to eat much of ~~Emily~~ Emilio. I feel a tad bit nauseated just thinking about it, but I know that is just a product of the mass-market-food mentality I've always been part of. This is where food comes from, right? (Unless your a vegetarian, in which case I do apologize.) Chicken from the grocery store doesn't bother me but isn't it more natural to eat what you've grown on your own land? But that's an entirely different post.

Or I could write about pottytraining and how I didn't really want to let Adrian go bottomless, but people were telling me it was quicker. And it actually does seem to work, but now what do I do because he does have to wear pants this winter. But that's probably another post, too.

So what am I thankful for? Sweet treats. Good eats. The smells of Autumn, including applesauce simmering on the stove. The burning steam from the canner as I check on the six (yes, only six) jars of applesauce I made from a whole bushel.

A husband who comes home from work early, cleans and winterizes the chicken coop and then sends me upstairs to write. And somehow manages to see me and love me after all these years of same old me.

Precious voices that scream out songs in jarring medleys. And ask me over and over to read or play games or just to listen. Voices which are currently asking me to come downstairs so we can eat aforementioned dinner and get on to the good stuff--apple pie and Mary Poppins.

I am thankful for the tears that run down my face as I compose this. My heart is full.

Grow: My first attempt at participating in Five Minute Friday!

2011-11-18T06:16:00.001-05:00

It's unprecedented! A post two days in a row on Joy in the Journey? That never happens. Well, it's happening today. I mentioned a couple weeks ago that I was thinking about doing Five Minute Friday and here I am. I will write for five minutes, then I will post whatever I wrote. Aaaack! No editing? Really? We'll see . . .

The prompt is "Grow".

Photo taken by Michelle McGarvey one year ago.

GO!

I had no idea until the girl was a week old. I had heard it all my life. "They grow so fast!" But then I had a baby and now she's five. This tall, gangling creature. I try to cuddle her and she really isn't very cuddlable. Or, at least, not in the way she was as a newborn. Now the boy, he's more of a cuddler, but I can't believe he's two. I feel like he was born a few weeks ago. I didn't know how fast they would grow.

But even more surprising? I didn't know how they would grow me. I thought I had to have it all figured out before I became a mother. And I thought I did. I thought I was "ready". Then motherhood turned my life upside-down and the person I thought I was changed and I cried real tears about who I was and who I wanted to be and how to get there. And slowly . . . slowly I grow. Learning to lean on my Father and let His strength be made perfect in my weakness. I'm growing.

STOP!

Wow, that went fast. I guess I'm a slow writer, as well as a slow grower, but that's no surprise! So there you are. Five minutes of writing, for better or worse.

It's Shoebox Time!

2011-11-17T16:39:00.001-05:00

In true Alison form, I am waiting till the last minute to pack our shoeboxes for OCC. That's OCC, not OCD.
Operation Christmas Child, a ministry of Samaritan's Purse.

This is the third year that Camilla and I are filling shoeboxes with gifts for children in developing countries. We fill one box for a little girl close to Camilla's age and one box for a little boy close to Adrian's age. At the store when we bought the gifts, Adrian clung to the "woccer ball" with a vice grip, prompting me to pack the boxes while he was napping. I guess I can't expect a two-year-old to understand charity to this extent. When she was three and four, Camilla had a hard time letting go of the fun treasures she picked out. This year, though, it's exciting to see her start to understand that the children receiving these gifts need them much more than she does.

As we wrapped the boxes today, she said, "These kids might be sad now because they don't have anything, but they'll be happy when they get the shoeboxes."

What a perfect opportunity to discuss what makes us truly happy. Her assessment? Food and toys give you happiness. So we talked about how lots of people find joy even though they have nothing and that you can be happy in any situation as long as you trust in Jesus.

I'm not sure it registered. She's only five. But just as I've seen her go from selfishly holding onto the princess coloring book to joyfully placing it in the shoebox with the other gifts, I hope and pray she grows to understand the joy that comes from knowing Him and has nothing to do with material things.

And here's a video in case you wanted to learn more about packing a shoebox. It's the middle of drop-off week already, so you'll have to get crackin' if you want to do it this year!

Sweet Surrender

2011-11-09T18:29:00.004-05:00

Lately God’s been asking me to surrender.

Last week, in Sunday School, our young adults pastor (and yes, I still qualify as a young adult!) made a comment about surrender. When we give things to God, He often hands them back to us in better shape than we could have imagined.

Now, it’s not as though I didn’t know this. I mean, I’ve done it before. But it seems that I have to re-learn it every few years. All of a sudden I realize I’m holding onto stuff—hard. And I have to peel my fingers off of whatever it is. The knowledge that God likes to hand stuff back to us might be reassuring, but that can’t be my motivation. Because that wouldn’t really be surrender, would it? Surrender requires completely letting go.

It’s almost an abstract concept, this letting go. You can’t just say, “Okay, I give that to You, God.” Well, you can. But it usually doesn’t work. At least, for me it doesn’t. I keep trying to take it back. I have to meet with God and really lay it down again and again and then keep reminding myself throughout the day, “I surrendered that. I give it to You, God.”

So I’ve been giving things to God—stuff I was holding onto. My dreams for the future. My goals and desires. My reputation. My appearance.

This past weekend I was praying for deliverance from my current thorn in the flesh. Then the Sunday morning sermon was about surrender and I realized He wants me to surrender this thorn, too. He might take it away. He might not. Either way, it’s His and I’m okay with His choice. I trust Him.

And the thing is that I can’t control it anyway. The illusion of control is so seductive that I keep trying to hold onto things or take them back. But I don’t really have control. So it’s much better to give it all to Him of my own free will. He’ll take care of it better than I can.

So that was Sunday morning. Sunday evening Todd and I went to a Third Day concert.

I just have to note here that Camilla wept real tears over the fact that we were going without her. I mean, she wailed at the top of her lungs! I had to stop myself from laughing because I am not that great at teaching my kids about the groups we listen to. So this week we’ve been rocking out to their latest album and I’ve been telling her “This is Third Day. The guy singing is Mac Powell.” Next time she will have reason to be disappointed if we don’t take her with us!

The concert was awesome. Trevor Morgan, a great Christian indie artist, opened, followed by Tenth Avenue North, which is now one of my other favorite bands. They were amazing in concert. Lead singer Mike Donehey came into the crowd singing “You Are More”, touching people, shaking hands . . . I just loved his heart for people.

And then there was Third Day. God used Mac Powell and Third Day to bring home this theme of surrender in my life. It’s truly amazing to listen to a hugely talented band sing songs straight to Jesus. And to hear the lead singer talk candidly about something you’ve been dealing with already. But really, why should I be surprised? Who is Mac Powell other than an instrument of the God we both serve?

Mac talked about how everybody wants to give God the bad stuff (our failures and weaknesses), but nobody wants to give Him the good stuff. We’re afraid He’s going to mess it up somehow. Mac said he was afraid to give God his talents for a long time. He urged us to find that one thing we needed to give to God and make tonight the night we surrendered. So we’d always remember this night. Years later we’d say, “I can’t remember who the band was, but I know there was a concert and that was the night I gave it all to God.” And then Mac Powell sang “What Have You Got to Lose”.

That’s when I realized what I was still holding back. I gave Him the good stuff too. Now He can do whatever He wants with my writing talent. My hopes for an actual career writing books—yeah, He can have them. And to some that may sound like giving up or not trying, but that’s not what it is. I’m still going to work my butt off, and it helps to know the most powerful force in the universe is my agent. Because where I want to be, really, is in the center of His will. If that’s a place where my great-grandchildren read my stories and say, “This is pretty good. It should have been published,” that’s okay with me. And if my book is a New York Times bestseller and I have hundreds of thousands of followers, well, I don’t want to be there without Him. I’d majorly screw that up on my own. Make no mistake, I would much prefer the second scenario, and I’m smart enough to know that I’ll probably end up somewhere between the two, but at this moment, I believe I’ve truly surrendered and I’m okay with letting Him have control.

It’s a process though. I will have to learn this again. Maybe I’ll have something else to surrender. I’m sure I’ll have to surrender some of the same things all over again. But I have to tell you, God’s been walking me through this process with so much grace that I know He’ll provide what I need every step of the way.

Becoming Relevant

2011-11-02T12:52:00.001-04:00

Last Friday I “almost” started a new thing called Five Minute Friday. I’d seen a few of these on other blogs. The blogger writes for five minutes straight on a given topic and then stops. That’s it. Blog post finished. Seems like a good way to fit another post into the week as well as some extra writing practice. So maybe I’ll do it this Friday. Last Friday however, the topic was "Relevant". Mostly because half the female Christian bloggers in the world (or so it seemed) were ensconced in a utopia known as The Relevant Conference.
I, however, was sitting jealously at home.

I hadn’t previously thought much about it, but last month I discovered Relevant was here, in my state, just a three-hour drive from home. It was too late, though. The guest list was already full. There was no room at the Sheraton.

“Oh well,” I thought, “That’s okay anyway. I mean, I’m not a professional blogger or anything. I don’t devote the kind of time to this that ~~better~~ other women do. I’d probably feel out of place anyway.”

But then I made the mistake of looking at the agenda—and I wanted to go to so many of the workshops! I wanted to sit at the feet of Ann Voskamp and Tsh Oxenreider, even if I didn’t deserve to be there.

I’ve been on Twitter a lot lately, thanks to Hello Mornings . . . and some of the women from my group were attending Relevant. So last weekend, while authors of well-read and lucrative blogs were flocking to chocolate country, I was feeling a little irrelevant. Especially since the hashtag #Relevant11 was all over Twitter. But I know that feeling is not of God. I had to give myself a little pep talk. You see, God loves Ann Voskamp. God has a special calling for her. It may be dripping wisdom from her lips and fingertips and perhaps wafting it through her farmhouse . . .

But God loves Alison Treat, too. And that makes me relevant. I have a calling. There’s a special purpose for me that nobody else can fulfill. What is it? Well, it may not seem as important Ann’s or Tsh’s—I’m not nearly as influential. I don’t have a huge following. It may even sound like a cliche. But I’m the only one who gets to be Todd’s wife. And Camilla and Adrian only have one mom. No other woman has the privilege of tucking them into bed every night. Aside from that privilege, I am the single most influential woman in their young lives. I try so hard not to take that lightly.

As if that weren’t enough, God dropped an awesome plot for a historical novel into my head and heart years ago and I’ve been able to grow with it and become a better writer and maybe see it published before too many more years go by . . . Not to mention myriads of stories, articles, blog posts, poems, and other books in the works.

So I’m not as efficient as Tsh. Her list of things she doesn’t do makes me laugh! I am so far behind these giants according to some measuring sticks. Maybe even my own.

But not God’s. I’m not supposed to be those women. And neither are you. No one but you can do what God has called you to do. You are relevant.

So what’s your calling? Are you living it?

Has it really come to this? Thoughts on being a writer in the Internet age.

2011-10-26T16:11:00.000-04:00

I’ve been having a bit of writer’s block lately. Well, not exactly writer’s block. Just blogger’s block, I guess. I’ve written a poem, but it’s nothing I want to share yet. I’ve started and not finished a whole slew of posts.
I'm basically "finished" with my current Novel-in-Progress and it's been tough to move on, or branch out.
It’s a delicate balance for a writer today. I think it’s safe to say that most writers are relatively private people. That may have worked out just fine in Harper Lee’s day. She could be reclusive and still experience the success of her work. Today, though, I’m told I need to have an Internet presence. I can’t sit at home and write in my journal unless I publish it for the whole world to see and repeatedly tweet that post to millions of followers. (Just in case you wondered, I don’t have millions of followers—but you could see that by clicking my Twitter link.) I need a platform. I need to market myself. So I am caught in this in-between place because I’m really a novelist and a story-writer, sometimes poet, yet I’m living in an age when we’re expected to be online almost 24 hours a day. If you’ve read my blog much, you know that I am against that in theory. Still, I do it. I leave Facebook open most of the time now because I haven’t had a chance to change my email settings to make sure I don’t miss a message or a wall post. (And I’m oh so popular, you know?) I’m on Twitter much more than I used to be, but I honestly don’t find that to be as much of a time-sucker as Facebook. I just need to keep up with everything going on, don’t I?

But once in a while I get stumped when it comes to blog posts. Most of the time this happens when I’m going through a lot of personal growth and I don’t necessarily want to share it with anyone outside my inner circle.

October has been quite a month. It’s actually my favorite. I love autumn. The colors, the crisp, cool air. Our annual hike to the Pinnacle. Todd and I had our DTR (Define the Relationship) talk twelve years ago this past Monday. (That’s Treat-speak for “Dating Anniversary” I guess!) Both of my children came into the world during this month. So this month has been good—full of happy memories and new memory-making, as well as promising news regarding my career as a writer. (I will not say any more than that just yet. I am way too superstitious!)

At the top of the Pinnacle!

But October is also a difficult month in some ways. Close friends of my family lost their 25-year-old son on October 1st thirteen years ago. I don’t think this will ever be a happy month for them no matter how many years pass. My baby brother lost his leg ten years ago this Sunday. The pain we all dealt with then still comes back to me if I summon it. But I will never stop thanking God that he survived. This year one of Todd’s old friends passed away on Camilla’s birthday and, although she was not currently in our lives at all, the circumstances around her death touch me deeply. Not to mention we attend church with her extended family and seeing them in pain is just . . . tough. It’s taken me three weeks to process this into words I’m willing to share.

It’s been a month of highs and lows. I’ve felt unspeakably close to God and utterly alone. Sometimes on the same day. Sometimes I don’t know why. And here I am, a relatively private person, sharing all this in a blog post that anybody with Internet access can read and criticize if they want to. The publishing industry has driven me to this.

Birthday Boy

2011-10-21T12:12:00.002-04:00

The birthday was last week, but I've been working on other projects so . . .

here are pics of my favorite two-year-old at long last!

The photos should speak for themselves.

Photo by April Roskos

In the past twenty days . . .

2011-10-05T11:39:00.001-04:00

I haven't done much for flood victims. Helping out with the "flood buckets" my church is providing via the Red Cross has been the extent of my mission. The initial cleanup seems to be complete, but I'm sure more help will be needed in the future as people set up new homes and try to recover from this disaster. A friend directed me to Mission Central where I may be able to find some more ways to help in the coming weeks.

So, I've been canning tomatoes by myself for the very first time.

We've been playing in the mud.

And baking a cake for a very special five-year-old.

By the way, those last three photos were taken by my sister, April, an up-and-coming photographer!
I can't believe my baby girl is five. It seems impossible that five years have passed since we brought her home from the hospital. We had no idea what we were in for!

Remember how I wanted to go on a missions trip?

2011-09-15T17:41:00.000-04:00

Since January, or earlier maybe, I've been thinking this might be my year to dabble in missions. After talking with my brother, a seasoned missions-tripper, about how to be sure you're helping, not hurting, on a short-term missions trip, I concluded that disaster-relief was the way to go. And this summer left me with no shortage of ideas about where I might be needed. I'm not trying to make excuses, I've just allowed myself to become too busy to actually make the plans and take the trip. First I was thinking Joplin or thereabouts, then, just a few weeks ago it seemed that our beloved Outer Banks might be in need of some help after being hit by Hurricane Irene. After the outskirts of Irene rolled through our own Northeastern Pennsylvania, it hardly stopped raining here. Last Tuesday and Wednesday we joked about building an ark. We were not far off.

Hurricane Lee dumped enough rain on our area to cause record flooding. We live about two miles from the Susquehanna River. Fortunately, for us, that's two miles uphill from the River. One week ago today I began to realize that my mission field was my hometown.

These are the photos we took last Thursday.

One of the tributaries of the Susquehanna

The bridge across the Susquehanna. (Usually the water is far below the bridge.)

Yes, that is a house. So sad.

At this point, the local police asked us (and all the other rubberneckers) to leave the bridge. The roads in our county were being reserved for emergency vehicles. The mighty Susquehanna continued to rise. It was the worst flood in 39 years.

My friend Sarah took the following pictures from the air. Her husband piloted the aircraft.

That's our little town on the left, submerged.

And from the other direction, with the town on the right.

So, I'm discovering that it's a little different living right next to the disaster. If I went on a trip to help with disaster-relief, I would obviously leave my children at home and throw myself headlong into work while I was there, coming home to life as it used to be. As it is now, my kids decided to get sick this week. Camilla vomited in the Wal-Mart parking lot where I was planning to buy cleaning supplies to take to the Fire Hall. Donating said cleaning supplies, as well as some clothing and diapers, has been the extent of my help so far. I was close to tears yesterday, wishing I could do more, feeling helpless and worthless. But today as I dropped off the clothing and diapers at a local church, I ran into an old coworker who'd been flooded out. Maybe we can help him with some of his needs. It helps put a face on this thing for me, anyway. Let's just call it an appointment with JoJo (that's his name), made by God. I'm hoping to find some ways to be more hands-on in the coming weeks. Pray for me . . . and for all the flood victims in Pennsylvania.

Big Preschool Girl and Little Baker Man

2011-09-07T10:34:00.000-04:00

Today I sent my almost-five-year-old off to begin her second year of preschool. Realizing how quickly this past year has gone by, I'm reminded that my days as a pre-school mom are numbered. All too soon I will be a mother of school-age children. How did that happen? I honestly have loved the past five years (or four, maybe)--being home with my kids, reading and playing together, morning playdates, sharing coffee and sympathy with other moms while our kids entertain each other. I didn't realize how quickly it would fly by. So I will savor the next year, enjoying every moment before Kindergarten drags us into another kind of life.

Perhaps the rain is making me a little melancholy. I hope the fun doesn't end all at once! After all, Adrian isn't even two yet! And speaking of him, my little man decided to help me bake brownies last week.

Camilla wasn't too happy that he beat her to it!

This is the face he makes when we tell him to smile!

She really wanted to push him right off the stool, but he just kept on mixing the batter.

And, of course, he discovered the best thing about baking. Yummm!

A whole new world!

2011-08-25T07:31:00.001-04:00

Lately, riding in the car, going to the store, or even just hanging out around the house, Camilla and I have been accompanied by an eager new conversationalist. Camilla might be in the middle of telling me something she deems important. It doesn't matter. She will undoubtedly be interrupted by an insistent,
"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"
"Yes, Adrian?"
"Hee-hee!"
"Horsie?"
"Yeah!"
And his "yeah" is the most adorable, drawn-out, mouth-open, wide-eyed "yeah" I've ever heard. Really, I didn't know "yeah" could be so cute. The running commentary doesn't stop there, though. It continues, pretty much all day, no matter what we're doing.

"Mommy! Daw-Dee!"
"Daddy?"
"Nooooo."
"Doggie?"
"Yeah!"
His "noooo" is also priceless, with a rising inflection, as though he's thinking, "Come on, Mom! You got this. I obviously said Doggie, not Daddy!"

And so it goes on . . .
"Mommy! Ball!"
"Mommy! Fishie!"
"Mommy! Doo!"
"Your shoe fell off?"
"Yeah!"

And though my ears get tired at times, I have to smile because I want him to talk. I want them both to talk, and I love watching their minds take off. It really is a lot of fun. I am so blessed.

"Smile, Adrian!"

I love camping!

2011-08-19T13:14:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago I said this to a friend. Actually, several friends, in several different conversations. Since Camilla was born, we have only camped a handful of times and every one of those times it was for one night in somebody's backyard. Breakfast was cooked in a real kitchen and when we were tired of roughing it (after about 24 hours), we packed up and headed home to take showers.
But now we have officially camped with our children. For three nights (it was supposed to be four) in a real campground, where we made meals over a fire and showered in a common bathhouse. And, while I still love camping in theory, I have revised my former statement. Now it reads, "I love camping in dry weather!" Two days of rain and we packed it in early. We will try again soon, I'm sure. On a sunnier day.

Elusive Serenity

2011-08-03T08:00:00.002-04:00

Some of you may remember my whole love-affair with single-tasking earlier this year. That was a great idea, wasn’t it? Well, obviously, I’ve gotten a little side-tracked. Allow me to explain . . .

I still love the idea of single-tasking. Really, I do. I feel a little prick to my conscience whenever I (unnecessarily) multi-task. I am continuing to work towards a more simple life. I want less clutter, less “stuff”, fewer activities keeping us bound to the clock and packing our calendar. Rewind a couple of months to Easter morning. I found a lovely little volume in my Easter Basket—yes, I still get an Easter Basket, but that is another story entirely. Please, let’s stay on topic. This book was called Organized Simplicity and it was written by one of my favorite bloggers, Tsh Oxenreider of Simple Mom. Now, this post is in no way meant to be a negative reflection on Tsh’s book. I think her book is wonderful. It’s well worth having and every woman should own a copy. I found a lot of helpful information in her book. This post is simply a tale of my own demise—perhaps my own inadequacy if you think about it. You’ll see what I mean.

I dove into Organized Simplicity with high expectations—of myself. The book provides a plan for organizing your whole home and family—your entire life so that you can live more simply, more fully. I was going to DO this. We would come up with a family purpose statement. Then I would go through every room in my house and purge, purge, purge. I would have a yard sale and make a lot of money. I would use that money to finance a missions trip—maybe to Joplin, MO to help with disaster relief. This was my grand plan. I was determined to make it work.

Until life got in the way. You see, I have two little people depending on me for everything, every waking moment of every day. If you’ve read this blog much, you feel like I’m repeating myself. (I am.) I go to great lengths to steal a few hours twice a week for writing, but other than that, if I get up early enough I have an hour in the morning, maybe, to sit down with my journal and my Bible. Afternoon Naptime affords me a little peace and quiet to check my email, make a phone call, and straighten the house. But that doesn’t last long. (The naptime or the straightened house.) By the time the kids are settled in their beds at night, Todd and I might have time for a grown-up conversation, while we clean up the kitchen from dinner. Yes, I know that’s not single-tasking! Maybe it’s acceptable multi-tasking?

For a while, I was in this mode—I have to organize the house! I have to get everything simplified! We have to figure out the purpose of our family! Now, to be fair, during this time, we (mostly Todd) cleaned, organized, and purged the garage and I did the same to the laundry room—two areas of our home which desperately needed attention. But one day I realized I was way too overwhelmed. My driven-ness to simplify was the very thing keeping me from enjoying each moment. And hadn’t my original desire for simplicity sprung from the idea that it would help me enjoy the moment?

Simple living had become way too complicated!

For me, simple living has much more to do with a state of mind. I was missing holding my grumpy baby after naptime because I wanted our life to be simpler. A simple way of life in my mind is realizing it doesn’t really matter if the house is perfectly organized. What matters is that I hold my grumpy baby for as long as he needs me. Now, that’s not to say our house is in a shambles. Sometimes it is, but for the most part things run pretty smoothly around here. I’ve come to the realization that, on my own, I truly cannot keep the house as clean as I think it ought to be—unless I sever my friendships and cut off all outside activities. I don’t know about you, but I’m not called to that! I’ve also come to the realization that it’s okay that I have unworn clothing in my closet. Some day, when I feel like it and I have the time, I will purge. And someone in need will benefit on that day. It’s not today, but that doesn’t make today any less sweet. There’s a freedom in recognizing that it’s all right not to be perfect. Accepting grace in this means I can have joy each day, even if we have extra stuff in the house. And if I have some extra time one day soon, maybe I’ll organize some of my cupboards, because I want to. Not because I have to get rid of every superfluous item we own in order to live up to someone else’s standard of simplicity.

I feel like I need to add a disclaimer again. Tsh would never want somebody to live up to someone else’s standard—least of all her own. So this really has nothing to do with her book. It was brought on by my own perfectionistic personality. I can be all or nothing. I thought I had to follow Tsh’s entire plan in order to achieve simplicity. Now I’m doing what works for me and learning to be okay with good enough.

And the missions trip for disaster relief? I know you’ve been wondering what happened to that idea. I still want to do it. Perhaps we do need to pare down our schedule if it’s too hard to find time for things like that. It may be in the not-too-distant future, and it may be funded partly by frequent flyer miles, rather than a yard sale. I’ll keep you posted.

Last year, on my annual retreat with my writing group, we stayed at a lovely farm where I discovered a copy of the Serenity Prayer I had never seen before. I’d always heard the beginning, but this was the full version. I’ll end today with the words of Reinhold Niebuhr in the original version of this beautiful prayer and one I’ve come to love better than the simplified version I used to know. Sometimes simplifying things isn’t the answer, is it? Or perhaps, we find greater simplicity when we accept the complicated, lovely mess we are.
The Full Original Copy of the Serenity Prayer

by Reinhold Niebuhr (1892-1971)

God, give us grace to accept with serenity
the things that cannot be changed,
Courage to change the things
which should be changed,
and the Wisdom to distinguish
the one from the other.

Living one day at a time,
Enjoying one moment at a time,
Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,
Taking, as Jesus did,
This sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it,
Trusting that You will make all things right,
If I surrender to Your will,
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with You forever in the next.

Amen.

A little summer fun

2011-07-26T16:39:00.002-04:00

My dear friend and fellow writer, Demery Bader-Saye, tagged me in a bloggy game! Thank you, Dem! Now I get to answer some fun questions and tag a few of you.

What do you think of when you the hear the word tag?

Playing flashlight tag at a summer sleepover when I was a kid. I remember little else from that party, but flashlight tag made an impression. Also, didn’t Rachel from Friends date a guy named Tag at one point?

Do you think you're hot?

Yes . . . kind of. At the right angle. Depending on the day.

Upload a picture or wallpaper that you're using at the moment.

This is from our little getaway last weekend to the Hudson River Valley.

When was the last time you ate chicken?

Last Thursday, I think? I tweaked a Pampered Chef recipe—chicken and pasta with lots of garden veggies.

The song(s) you listened to recently.

Rehab, Amy Winehouse (so sad); Beautiful Day, U2

What were you thinking as you were doing this?

How totally uncool I might appear to be by answering all these questions candidly.

Do you have nicknames? What are they?

Alie—my best friend’s mom was the first to call me Alie when I was very young and others have picked it up over the years, especially my little sisters and my nieces and nephews (Aunt Alie is just shorter than Aunt Alison). My kids call me “Mommy”. Adrian usually calls me “Mama”. I really like it. But last night he called me “Mommy!” I guess he’s growing up.

Tag 8 blogger friends...

1. Sarah J.

2. April

3. Sarah B.

4. Amanda

5. Angelina

6. Melody

7. Peg

8. Kristina

Who's listed as No. 1?

The amazing Sarah. She and I used to meet for coffee every week and discuss our goals in life. Now we haven’t met for coffee in many months . . . but her blog Look With Your Hands displays how she is now accomplishing her goals with uncommon zest.

Say something about No. 5

Angelina is a talented writer and I’m just a tad bit jealous of her stunning photography skills. You can peruse both her writing and photos on her blog Savoring Every Second.

How did you get to know No. 3?

Sarah and I were both home schooled as children. We grew up performing in our support group’s plays and attending various other social functions. We’ve reconnected via Facebook and I find her blog, Adventures in Sarahland, both entertaining and helpful.

How about No. 4?

I met Amanda and Mike in Bradley classes. Our firstborn children were snug inside our bellies and we discovered we had the very same due date! How lovely to also find out that Amanda is a talented writer. Her blog, Mmmm Mama never fails to inspire me.

Leave a message for No. 6.

Mel, I cannot wait to work out with you tonight! You’d better show up cause this class will kick your butt . . . Oh, wait, I mean, it will energize you and not intimidate you at all!

Leave a lovey dovey message for No. 2.

My dear sweet April, you have a special place in my heart, baby sister. We’ve had some great times and made many fond memories. I will never stop loving you.

Do No. 7 and No. 8 have any similarities?

They both (at different times) came into my life, became close friends with me and then up and moved across the country! I miss them dearly. Oddly, they were in the same Moms group, just not at the same time.

Tag to you, bloggy friends!!

Falling Short

2011-07-25T20:17:00.000-04:00

I was a terrible mom today. Really. Short-tempered. Frustrated. Of course, Camilla was not a stellar daughter, but that’s not really her job. Adrian hung onto my leg and whined the entire morning while I tried to do laundry and change the sheets. Camilla ignored me or did the opposite of everything I asked her to do. And I let it all get to me. I yelled—more than once.
Not my best day.
Tonight as I was putting dinner on the table (If you must know, it was pasta primavera with homegrown zucchini, green beans, and snow peas—addicting!), that precious and precocious little girl piped up (after setting the table for me, I might add).

“Mommy, will you love me forever?” she asked.

“Yes, I’ll love you forever.”

“Forever every day?”

“Yes, sweetie. Every minute of every day.”

“You’ll never stop?”

“I’ll never stop loving you. Not for a second,” I said. “I’ll love you every second for the rest of my life.”

“Even though I’m bad?”

“Even when you disobey.”

“Even when I throw things and run around and act crazy?”

“Yes, even though you had a bad day, I still love you. I never stopped,” I said. “And even though I had a bad day, I still love you.”

She smiled. She seemed satisfied. I only hope it was enough. I feel like every day I’m asking God to pick up the pieces and fill in the cracks when my efforts just don’t measure up. It’s never enough, is it? I can’t be everything they need. The older they get, the less I can fill their needs and the more I have to pray that somehow they’ll be all right anyway.

This isn’t what I was planning to write about, but it’s the only thing I can focus on at the moment. The catharsis of putting it on the screen where I can see it soothes the grit that’s left in my soul from a rough Monday. Others can read this, with or without judgment, and may be encouraged or somehow touched . . . and that’s really what it’s all about. When I fail, those others of you who are less than perfect will know you’re not the only one. We can band together and hope and pray for the best.

Imagine I am writing this with my tongue firmly planted inside my cheek

2011-06-27T22:01:00.002-04:00

I’m a tough act to follow. Seriously. My last post was so poignant and breathtaking that ever since then each and every idea is blown out of the water when I look over that May 24th post. I might as well just give up now. I’ve written my best post. Better to quit while I’m ahead. Right?

Maybe, but I’m going to keep going anyway. Perhaps now and then I’ll write a brilliant post. So what if the rest of them are just everyday thoughts racing through my brain and spilling out onto the computer screen. Some of my writing friends don’t write blogs. I could handle that—I’ve been so into my WIP (work-in-progress) lately. I’m getting antsy about finishing it so I can get it out there for the world to see. It’s been a WIP for a long time. But I don’t spend every day writing. I’m a stay-at-home mom. (Actually, I’m a leave-home-and-run-around-town mom, but it takes up more space to write that.) On a good week I might log six hours or so—writing. I’m talking about writing again. Those six hours usually include any blogging I do. But, although it’s tempting to give it up and work exclusively on longer term projects, I like blogging. The quick idea-to-publishing time is a draw—and very different from my other writing. It’s like exercising muscles that aren’t used very often. Kind of like my weekly run to balance out the strength training I do at the gym.

Two weeks ago I started out on my Sunday morning run . . . and. just. stopped. I don’t know why. I didn’t feel like running. Some days I just stare at my blog . . . I’ve been doing that for a month now. So it has to end. Since I ran a solid four miles yesterday and felt great, I think I can write a blog post tonight.

In all honesty, though, I haven’t been staring at my blog that much. I’ve been . . .

. . . baking a birthday cake. (And I ate a heck-of-a-lot of it, too.)

I’ve been gardening.

Taking care of chickens.

Yes, I am aware that Adrian was holding a chicken and then promptly put his fingers into his mouth.

Tonight we were searching frantically for the chickens and praying some predator didn’t have them for lunch.

I have also been . . . not cleaning the house--well, not much anyway.

And eating a low-yeast diet for the past (almost) four weeks in the hopes that it would prove beneficial to my health. So far the benefits have not outweighed the costs in my mind. I am dying for an iced mocha. Or a brownie. Anything chocolate. Okay, I have no photo to go with that, but it’s racing through my brain and does not want to be ignored. Two weeks and two days to go . . .

A few weeks ago I wrote a fantastic poem about country living . . . and the draw of the city. I mean, the City, capital C. I have not been able to find the poem since. I wrote it one Monday night and thought, Maybe I’ll put that in a blog post with a bunch of photos from New York City. I decided to sleep on it and now the poem is gone. Gone! And it was spectacular. Perhaps it will come to me again, but for now I will have to use pictures, which are, as you know, worth a thousand words a piece. Forgive my long-windedness.

This is country living:

This is the pull of the City:

Yes, I know. I was totally unfair to country living. But country living gets a lot of screen time on this blog, so . . . deal with it. I heart New York.

On Beauty

2011-05-24T16:01:00.005-04:00

Sometimes I observe the girl and think about how un-self-conscious it is. This age. Four-and-a-half and a little sprite. She never thinks, “How did that sound when I said it? How do I look? Is my butt too big? Does my mouth look normal when I talk? Does my breath smell okay?” She just blurts out what she’s thinking, laughs with abandon, loses herself in play without a thought about how she looks. And I wish I could do something to keep her so confident and . . . comfortable in her own skin—so what if that term has become cliché?

When did I start thinking I was fat? Maybe around eleven or twelve, when some of my friends were skinnier than I was and all of a sudden I thought of myself as chubby. Another “chubby” friend put me in the same category with her and I accepted it. And constantly, every waking moment, wished and hoped and tried my darnedest to by skinnier. Because, after all, if you’re just skinny enough, you’re all right. You’ve arrived. And everybody will look at you and think, “She’s thin.” And that is all that matters.

But it doesn’t matter.
At all.

I feel like I’ve made huge progress in this area in the last few years. Even during the few months after each of my children were born, when I carried around the extra 20 or so post-pregnancy pounds, I was completely in awe of my body. God’s creation. A baby, a real person, had grown inside me and I’d given birth. It was amazing! For the first couple months. And then . . . around months four and five when I just felt fat and wished I could be like my annoying friends who lost tons of weight breastfeeding and ended up skinnier than they were before, or even the ones who didn’t take a year or more to lose the baby weight like I did. And even now . . . at nineteen months postpartum, I find myself wishing I were five pounds thinner, like I was before Adrian was conceived. Ask any of my girlfriends and they’ll tell you how (un)comfortable I am in my skin—some days. It’s a day by day battle.

A few months ago, I was looking at photos from the early years of my marriage, when I was ten or so pounds lighter, when going to the gym three times and running four times a week was feasible. I was toned. I looked amazing. But I had no idea. I thought I was fat. I thought I still wasn’t good enough. I thought my build was just too much bigger than certain other women’s—the perfect women. And if I only had longer legs or a bigger bust or tanner skin or smaller teeth or less-flabby thighs, then maybe I’d be okay. I’d be beautiful. Believe it or not, I am more comfortable in my own skin now, with more flab and the work of gravity to boot.

My first thought when I saw these photos was, “I have to get back to that weight. Whatever it takes. Then I will look great!”
My second thought was something like, “I didn’t know how good I looked and I look fine now, too.”
Really deep, I know.

While we were at the beach, I read Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott. I love Anne Lamott. I disagree with her vehemently on some issues, and for that reason, I get annoyed when I read certain sections of her books, but I quickly forget those issues when I am overcome by her wit and dead-centered, on-target, truth-telling on other issues. She and I have a lot of the same weaknesses. And in this book she wrote a wonderful chapter addressing beauty. Amazingly (because I thought I was the only person who ever looked at old photos) she talks about looking at old photos of herself, too. Her thoughts? “Why did it take me so long to discover what a dish I was? And not just because of externals. And how crazy would you have to be, knowing this, yet still not rejoicing in your current looks?”

She goes on to say “The only way to win is to stay off the court. No matter how much of our time is spent in pursuit of physical beauty, even to great success, the Mirror on the Wall will always say, ‘Snow White lives,’ and this is in fact a lie—Snow White is a fairy tale.”

So true, right? Even though I’ve enjoyed Snow White over the years, I currently prefer the Veggie Tales fairy tale Sweetpea Beauty for helping girls see that inner beauty is so much more important, and shows on the outside, too. Last time Camilla watched this movie, I noticed the song playing during the credits, “Beautiful for Me”. In it, Nichole Nordeman sings from God’s perspective, “Has anybody told you you’re beautiful?”

My only beef with this video is how beautiful Nichole looks. I think she should be a little heavier and maybe wear no makeup, but she mentions this irony in another clip.

It’s a struggle for me—I want to accept the beauty in myself, to see and appreciate the beauty in every person. It’s not a competition. We are all beautiful in so many different ways. Because He made us beautiful.

Some women seem to get it. They accept their unique beauty with confidence, even if they don’t fit our culture’s idea of perfection, whether they’re carrying an "extra" twenty pounds around or not, even if they’re breaking out—it doesn’t affect their view of themselves. They’re not arrogant, they just know the truth. Nobody is perfect. And God made us all beautiful.

I wish I could somehow preserve that little kid carelessness for Camilla. It would be wonderful if she could skip the endless pursuit on which I’ve wasted so much energy over the past 25 years. But she’s a human girl living in the U.S. of A and that means she’ll probably battle with self acceptance at some point. I can only pray it will be to a lesser degree than I have. And ask for the wisdom to build up her confidence.

Rainy Day Ramblings

2011-05-19T18:26:00.002-04:00

Ah! The hour or so after naptime and before dinner--not exactly my favorite time of day unless I remember to savor it. The boy usually needs a good long snuggle after he wakes from his nap. If I'm in the middle of making dinner, this does not work out well. Today, although I was hoping to go for a walk (only partly because I wanted to work off the massive quantity of cookie dough I consumed while baking this afternoon) it is thundering and pouring rain. It's just as well, though. Camilla is heavily involved in sculpting with Play-Doh at the moment. I don't need to prepare dinner. The kids and I are having leftover casserole since Todd will be home late. So I might as well sit down to my neglected blog while snuggling Adrian. Is this acceptable multi-tasking? I hope so. He doesn't seem to mind.
Life has been crazy lately. Last week we went to the beach with a good portion of my family (all but two of my siblings--with a family the size of mine that is a good portion). We had a great week in the sun. We arrived home Saturday only to turn around on Sunday and head to an overnight excursion with Blueprints, the spectacular young adults group from our church. Yes, we are still considered young adults. As opposed to the 50 and older group, I guess. (I must add that I'm still well under 40, but there are people in Blueprints who are not.) Although we had a blast with our friends, I'm not sure this extra little trip helped with the slowing down and simplifying of my life. The rest of this week I've been up to my neck in laundry, planning a surprise party for our Young Adults Pastor, who was just ordained, getting ready for a cookout we're having tomorrow night . . . and I have still not finished unpacking. I am so tired. Such a rough life, I know.
In other news, our chickens were killed before we even brought them home! A friend was keeping them for us and a fox got the better of them. So we will have to wait a little longer before we have fresh eggs. All this rain has prevented us from planting anything in our garden so far. And I am planning to look into some kind of disaster relief missions trip to the tornado-ravaged southern region of our country.
Also, I am very disappointed in Arnold Schwarzenegger. I'm not sure why. I guess I just like to see long-standing celebrity marriages and when I find out it was a sham it bothers me. But that's all I'm going to say about Arnold. The subject doesn't even deserve a mention on my blog.

Now, some photos from the beach!

All eight of my parents' grandchildren!

Until Cal decided to ditch them.

Back home, Camilla pushed Adrian on the swing yesterday.

Love his expression!

Precious faces.

Now I really need to run. I think my son has been eating crumbs from the floor!

My Little Helpers

2011-05-02T20:37:00.000-04:00

We LOVE being outside. Playing outside makes us so happy! Especially on a sunny, beautiful day like last Tuesday. Ahh, the feel of sunshine . . . and mud.

Did I ever mention that boys are really dirty?

Camilla kept her outfit nice and clean, but thoroughly enjoyed using her new gardening tools and gloves!

Yes, that is mud on his bum.

And all over his socks and shoes.

"Forget this . . . I'm going to play in the sandbox!"

Back on the wagon . . . for the moment, anyway.

2011-04-25T22:47:00.000-04:00

Okay, I'm not going to apologize anymore. One of my sisters-in-law said I shouldn't, so I'm taking her advice. I'm just busy. I have two little kids and a ginormous house to keep relatively clean, as well as a huge yard and garden, a penchant for cooking . . . okay, you get the idea. If you've read my "About Me" section lately, you know I have many and varied interests. Honestly, if I can get through a week accomplishing just a few of the things I planned to do, I feel fulfilled. And so, I haven't had much of an internet presence lately. Which is actually fine with me, except for the blog factor. I would like to blog more because it helps keep me on track with writing. But I did say I wasn't going to apologize anymore. So on to what I've been up to . . . A LOT!

Hanging out with my little bro . . .

He tried to teach me to take better photos with my camera, but I don't think he succeeded.

Hunting for eggs . . .

"Palling around" with my new friend Lena Roy, granddaughter of Madeleine L'Engle. Lena made a three-hour car trip just to come to our local Barnes and Noble to sign her book Edges! It was wonderful to meet her in person.

Planting seeds with overzealous young 'uns. . .

I also succumbed just a little bit to our culture's tendency to search high and low for the perfect Easter attire. Odd, isn't it, that a day we spend celebrating our Saviour throwing off His graveclothes, we feel the need to array ourselves in some kind of splendour? But it is a glorious celebration. Every year, I wish I had spent more time preparing my heart, remembering the Passion, and anticipating the wonder to come. And every year, I still stand in awe of my Jesus, the price He paid, the agony He endured, and the overwhelming joy I feel on Resurrection morning!

I'm actually quite pleased with the imperfection of this family photo. We're not perfect people and I'm not even going to pretend we are. Hopelessly flawed, yet forever grateful for His grace.

Musings regarding my Grandmother

2011-04-07T08:19:00.000-04:00

I've been bickering with myself about what to write, so I just decided to dive in. If it seems a little scattered, well, it's all the more authentic I suppose.
My Grandma died last Wednesday. Not altogether a surprise, but still a shock. When someone you love is 95, you just know they're not realistically going to live another twenty years. But she's essentially been my only grandparent for 25 years and I've never experienced life without Grandma in it. I suppose I still won't. She will always be a part of me. But knowing she's gone, and seeing her in a coffin, is still a shock. I know she's going to rise, put on a new body, and we'll be together again one day. And that does help.
I am not equipped, or emotionally ready, to write a tribute to Grandma. That was done quite well by my brother Seth who wrote a poem about Rhubarb Pie. (Maybe he'll let me post it on here?) My brother Jonathan read it at the funeral dinner--and as he said to me, "Just when you congratulate yourself for getting through it without breaking down, you start blubbering." Well, he said something along those lines.
And my sister April has posted some beautiful photography in Grandma's honor on her blog.
So I am not that talented, or I am still too close to it. I don't know which.
I am sure I will write about it . . . how kind she was and how my mother says she never gossiped, she never said a bad word about anybody no matter what. How Jonathan and I used to go to "Summer Camp" at her farm and pick blackberries in our special spot, run around in the woods and fields. We'd stay with Grandma in her house in town and watch a LOT of TV--stuff we'd never be allowed to watch at home. She played bank and restaurant with us. She loved to garden, pick blueberries, can vegetables, cook and bake. She loved to work. And she loved to go for a ride in the country. She always put others ahead of herself. She didn't want us to go to any trouble for her . . . to bother anybody to bring her home for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Even though we wanted to. And I only remember her getting mad at us once or twice. She was happiest when she was doing something for somebody else. But she liked her soap operas, too.

Maybe I will write about it some day, though it may not be a good poem, like "Rhubarb Pie."
Instead, I will title it--

Good-bye
I kissed her tissue-paper soft cheek to say good-bye
And remembered days and years of doing the same,
Stopping for lunch between classes
Lunch meat sandwiches with a big hunk of iceberg lettuce.
“It always tastes better if someone else makes it.”
The smell in the kitchen mornings at the farm
As the heater popped and buzzed
And David Jeremiah talked on the ancient radio.
I said I loved her bedroom suit and
She gave it to me when I was thirteen.
My daughter sleeps in her bed now.
She loved us well.
I came to help her clean one day
But she didn’t feel like cleaning.
She wanted to go for a drive and
The two of us had an adventure I will never forget.

She held my newborn baby girl with joy.
And later, the boy sat on her lap at the nursing home,
Smiling up at her.
As he ran around the room that day, chasing balloons,
And she smilingly blew out the candles,
It was the last time I would see her.
The last time I’d kiss her good-bye.
Say, “I love you.”
On this earth.

She’s at rest.
The broken crippled body holds her no more.
One day she’ll rise and so will I,
To dwell in glory.

Breaking the Blog Blah's

2011-03-23T22:54:00.002-04:00

I've been sitting here on our leather sectional, drinking decaffeinated tea and waiting for my laptop to reboot. I was also staring at the tv screen with its floating song title and thinking that Chopin's Piano Sonata No. 3 is very long . . . and then I realized it was only the first movement. All of that sounds like I am so much more intellectual than I am. Or maybe it doesn't, because a true classical enthusiast would know how long the first movement of a sonata would be, but my limited experience takes me back to a sonatina I used to play and the first movement was much shorter than the first movement of Chopin's Piano Sonata No. 3. Natually, a sonatina would be shorter. Anyway, the sonata was beautiful and I wanted to listen to something nourishing, but not distracting. And yes, I think listening to music (especially classical music) while writing is acceptable multi-tasking.

So why on earth haven't I written a blog post in two and a half weeks? I have no idea! (That reminds me that Camilla's favorite response lately when I ask her a question is, "I have no idea!" I wonder where she gets that.) Back to why I haven't posted--I think I've been cleaning too much. I've also been reading up a storm, which has been great. I started reading a book a friend leant to me after she read my first post on single-tasking. The book is The Not So Big Life by Sarah Susanka. It's brilliant, but alas, I take forever to read non-fiction. So I'm slowly making my way through it and trying to absorb all the insights that resonate with me. I want to share one particular such insight:

"If we are trying to accomplish a project by frenetically racing around in a vain attempt to get everything done, the results will embody that frantic energy. But if we return to our original vision and hold that clearly in heart and mind as we engage each moment fully, the completed project will be an embodiment of this much more authentic expresssion of ourselves."

I wish I could write these words across the inside of my eyeballs, in a scrolling marquee. However, that might add to the chaos in my mind, defeating the purpose entirely. So I'm just going to try to remember it, to integrate it into my life in little ways.

I'm also going to blog more often than every two and a half weeks--not just about simplifying and slowing down, but also about writing, and my family, cooking and gardening. Did I mention we're getting chickens? I'm becoming quite the country bumpkin in spite of my long-standing desire to be a city girl. Argh! Groceries are too expensive and last summer I just loved fresh basil in my primavera. It was divine. So I will grow things, if God blesses our soil, and gather eggs too. I don't mind as long as it doesn't steal my (precious little) writing time.

Speaking of precious, I will leave you with some snapshots from the past two and a half weeks.

Adrian loving on his big sister.

The snowman we built two weeks ago.

(We could have built one today as well, but we didn't.)

Adrian's most recent favorite spot. If he was crying, it was because he wanted us to close the door!

Confessions

2011-03-06T22:19:00.006-05:00

I know, I know, it's been over a week. I was trying hard to blog at least every week, preferably twice a week, but in addition to having a busy seven days, working on my current work-in-progress and skiing twice to make up for the too-little skiing we did this winter, I came down with a wicked case of strep throat. At least I think so--I didn't hear the lab results yet, but the antibiotics and steroid have kicked in and mama is feeling good again. Maybe a little too good. Do you know, now that I got that last itch to ski out of my system I am so ready for spring? I am a winter-lover, but once it hits March, give me warm, sunny days! Today it rained. All. Day. Long. And the temperature is dropping. Yuck! I'm sick of sickness, too. I'm going to rip off something a friend said last night. "Something is always running out of somebody's face." That's how it is when you have little kids. In case you wondered.

I wanted to address single-tasking again. I have two confessions to make.

Number One: Sometimes I cheat--on purpose, without repenting.
Last night, I was sitting on the couch with my laptop, trying to get through my ridiculously overcrowded inbox, deleting or filing email after email after . . . yeah. But there was a movie on, too. Technically, Todd turned the TV on in the first place, but he was drooling on my shoulder (not really, I'm trying to be funny). He was asleep. I knew I wasn't giving my full attention to the movie. I kept looking up and watching bits and pieces of it. I was following the story, but it was also distracting me from the thing I was really trying to focus on--email. So, I thought, "Okaaayyyy . . . Fine! I'll turn off the movie." But I could not see the remote from where I was sitting. So I didn't get up. I didn't move. I just kept right on doing what I was doing and I liked it. I'm human, after all. And I think the two screens at once is really one of the worst things you can do to your brain. I heard the internet is a major contributor to attention deficit behavior. No citation, no link, just hearsay. I have to be very purposeful about my internet use. Or, I don't have to be, but I'm trying to be because I think it's much better for my frame of mind and peacefulness. For instance, after I wrote the first paragraph of this post, I wondered if I had any new email . . . so I checked it and then closed Microsoft Outlook so that wouldn't distract me anymore. (By the way, I'm trying to decide whether I should switch to gmail. Any thoughts? Speaking of Attention Deficit.) Then I closed Twitter as well. I can usually leave Twitter open and it doesn't suck me in . . . Facebook does. So since I have been back on Facebook as of March 1st, I have been opening it, taking care of whatever I need (or want) to do on Facebook, and then closing it. Otherwise, I will be distracted by it constantly, every time I walk by my computer. I'm proud of my restraint so far this month. But what does that have to do with confessions? I am getting off track.

Number Two: I have eased up a tiny bit on my restrictions.
No I haven't given up or given in, I just realized that I used to look forward to folding the laundry while watching television. It was a relaxing, peaceful thing to do during nap time or after the kids were in bed at night. And after giving it some thought, I decided giving that up was part of my mindfulness journey, but only for a time. That time is over because I think it's served it's purpose. I had to be very strict at first to show myself the fruits of this way of living. But now I'm so convinced of the helpfulness of single-tasking over multi-tasking that I'm never going back. Certainly, just sitting and watching TV is fine and I am NOT an advocate of having the television on all the time, no matter what you're doing. That's a good way to fry your brain all together. I guess I found I had to follow the spirit, not the letter, of the law for this to work for me. So, sometimes I do two things at once, but (unless I'm rebelliously cheating) I think about it first and try to determine whether or not it will interfere with my being present--with people or in what I'm doing. One of my reasons for this whole journey, I'm discovering, is that I want to be interruptible, not so task-focused that I feel I can't take time out or change my plans to include the people I love, especially if they need me for something.

But I still . . . STILL, sometimes more than others, find my mind racing around with a trillion things I want to do in my head and I have to just breathe, relax, own my life, instead of giving in to the craziness.

So, how's it going for you? Some of you said you were in this journey with me. Are you still attempting it? I'd love to hear your thoughts, even if you now hate me for suggesting it in the first place.

Thank a Mentor--Take Two

2011-02-26T16:00:00.001-05:00

A few weeks ago, I wrote about one of my mentors, Sue Hand. Speaking of that, I stopped in at "The Studio" recently and Sue had printed out my blog post and tacked it to the wall there. She also had a super-big hug for me and, as always, it was wonderful to see her.

I need to move on to my other mentors, though. It was easy to choose the next one to write about. Not surprisingly, she was an artist as well. Martha Fray Sampson came into my life when I was a child. But she didn't become a major influence until I was grown. When Todd and I were first married, I was nervous about a lot of things. One of them was the management of my time and how I would spend enough writing instead of getting caught up in "homemaking" or just wasting it. These worries were not without warrant. I wasn't working full time and I could bake the day away quite happily. Decorating and making photo memories are some of my other loves. Of course, the appeal of those passtimes pales in comparison to a cup of coffee and a novel. So, in order to avoid spending ALL of my time reading novels or baking, I asked Martha if she could meet with me regularly to help me stay accountable with my time. In addition to being an accomplished artist, Martha was also a poet. She was the founder and president of the Endless Mountains Council of the Arts and she and I both enjoyed participating in the poetry readings there. Martha and I spent many mornings together, encouraging one another in our pursuits over a pot of tea.

Martha was just amazing. Creative and loving. Quiet and thoughtful. Affirming and intelligent. After a while, a year, maybe two, she told me she wasn't going to be able to meet as often. She had to use more time for painting. By that time, though, I had overcome my fear of being in an empty house all day without a taskmaster to keep me honest. And so we moved on, staying in touch, but unfortunately falling a little bit out of touch towards the end of her life.

And nobody told me she was sick until she had passed away.

At first I was angry. I was sure she would have been hurt that I didn't visit or even send a card. And maybe she was. But now she knows how much I loved her and how I miss her.

Something interesting has been happening. So far, both of my posts about mentors have me feeling a bit tongue-tied. I am completely inadequate at putting into words exactly how much my mentors have done for me. I feel that if I start to say anything it ought to completely encompass their influence on my life. But it does no such thing. And so, I am going to end this post with a poem I wrote soon after learning of Martha's death. Sometime in 2001, Martha gave me her copy of The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. I didn't actually read it and "do" the course until 2008. That happened to be the year Martha died. While I know this poem is not spectacular, I wrote it for Martha. I think it somewhat captures her influence on me. If I put it out there, however flawed, perhaps she will read it and be blessed.

Martha’s Book

By Alison Roskos Treat

I didn’t know you lay dying.
As I read the book and pondered your notes,
I thought of calling or writing
But never did.
Today I thumb the pages and fill with questions.
Did it change your life?
All those years ago when you leant it to me,
How did you know I would need it?
It’s as though God gave me the book
With your handwriting in the margins.
I wish I could tell you how much it’s taught me,
How grateful I am to have it now that you’re gone.
How much you meant to me while you were here.
I’m sorry,
The last you heard from me was that Christmas card a year ago.
I didn’t know you were dying but
We’re all dying.
I won’t ever stop wishing I had called.
You showed me true Christianity outside of the box
Genuine creativity full of joy and love.
When I think of you I think of real beauty
And a bountiful life.

Ten Inches of Snow!

2011-02-22T22:45:00.002-05:00

I love snow! The horrendous 60-degree weather we had on Friday (ridiculous for February, I think) redeemed itself by melting away all the horrific ice in our yard and proceeding to shower us with ten glorious inches of powder Monday morning! My only complaint is that I had a cold, so I really didn't feel like staying outside in it for more than half an hour. Also, I would much prefer to be skiing in this, not just looking at it and wading through it and shoveling it. It is beautiful, though.

So are these kids, right? I think this is hilarious! Not only does Adrian appear to be just thrilled to be sitting out in the cold, but I completely forgot that Camilla still had face paint on her face from the Ice Festival celebration on Saturday. Yes, people, that means my children didn't have a bath--from Saturday morning till Monday night. Gasp! It also means that I took Camilla to church Sunday morning with a butterfly face.

Here she is, holding up the tape measure. She's grimacing because it's heavy and she dropped it a couple times before we finally got this shot. I think her thoughts run something like, "Really, Mom? Can I go play now?"

And just so you know, Adrian is perfectly happy sitting back there in that sled.

The Honeymoon is Over

2011-02-17T22:36:00.000-05:00

I love single-tasking in theory. I think mindfulness is a great idea, but I've been really struggling to follow through today. Not that I ever do it perfectly. Well, maybe I did that day we made cookies (see the photo a few posts ago--or don't, because I look spectacular in that photo).

It was a Saturday. I started off the day meeting a friend at 6:30 for a run, so that probably put me in a good frame of mind. Then, I made a list. I knew I had a lot to do that day, and I often make lists that are just way too long so I end up frustrated because there is no possible way to accomplish all of the stuff on my list and still be a sane person, let alone an attentive mother. The difference that day was that I put stars by the most important items on my to-do list. And I also made a decision. I would accomplish whatever I could before we had dinner (leftovers) and then that was it. I would be done. We would have a relaxing Saturday evening together, whether the list was finished or not. I proceeded down the list, concentrating on one thing at a time. I didn't complete the whole list, but I did complete the starred items. And I let the rest be.

Ten years ago, I had the privilege of attending a writing workshop with Madeleine L'Engle in New York City. We met every Tuesday night in an Episcopal Convent on the Upper West Side (the biggest reason for my love of that part of Manhattan). It. Was. Amazing. I'm sure I could devote more than one post to the memory of those Tuesday evenings in my favorite city in the world with my all time favorite author. But the thing that draws my mind back to that little room with our diverse group gathered around a long, wooden table is a prayer that Madeleine quoted.

"Lord it is night. The night is for stillness. Let us be still in the presence of God. It is night after a long day. What has been done has been done; what has not been done has not been done. Let it be. The night is dark. Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives rest in you. The night is quiet. Let the quietness of your peace enfold us, all dear to us, and all who have no peace. The night heralds the dawn. Let us look expectantly to a new day, new joys, new possibilities. In your name we pray. Amen"

The section in bold is what stuck with me. "What has been done has been done; what has not been done has not been done. Let it be."

Wow, that was a long tangent. But it seems so important, I don't want to revise it. All this to say that I managed to do it well that Saturday. Some days I don't. And today, while I had a great morning and spent some time writing, energized by the act of creating (or recreating), I also found myself clicking back and forth on the computer. Checking Twitter as I used to check Facebook, adding up my calories and looking at my email. Even as I talked on the phone with Demery Bader-Saye about queries and agents, I was clicking on different tabs. It was all necessary, part of the conversation, making notes on my drafts according to her suggestions, bookmarking a website she told me about, emailing her my new draft so she could look at it as we talked. Still . . . I felt the digital world enveloping me and sometimes I just want to get out of it.

And at the same time, do you know what most annoys me about my own single-tasking journey? I am waaaayyyyy behind on my television. Okay, it took a lot for me to admit that on my blog--I mean, that I'm annoyed over that. I didn't know it was so important to me. I never wanted it to be important to me! But I used to watch Chuck while I folded laundry, you know? And now I just fold laundry and then . . . there's no time for Chuck. The other night I missed Chuck so much I stayed up late to watch him and realized, only after watching Monday's episode, that we never watched last Monday's episode. I don't even know if new episodes of Desperate Housewives have returned. I'm lucky if I catch one of my favorite comedies in the Thursday night line-up. I know it doesn't matter. I know it's better that I started reading a novel and that I'm reading Anne of Green Gables to Camilla again. I think the television will fall to the wayside, as it should, but once in a while you just want to sit down and veg!

So . . . is this journey really worth it? I think it will be. I think somewhere between selfishly missing my television shows and "let it be" I will eventually find balance. I may start meditating and end up transcending the nonsense. I'll walk around in peaceful bliss wondering why all the rats are racing each other to an imaginary finish line. Hey, I can dream, right? Tonight, I'm going to read that prayer and mean it, looking expectantly to the dawn with new joys, new possibilities. And I will be still in the presence of God. How about you?

Speaking of Single-Tasking . . .

2011-02-12T21:27:00.002-05:00

Last night we watched an episode of Frontline called "Digital Nation" It gave me more incentive to disconnect periodically and make sure I engage my brain in some longer-term activities. I feel an even greater responsibility to model this for my children. It's a long video (speaking of long-term engagement of the brain) but even if you only watch part of it, I think it's poignant.

This is what single-tasking looks like.

2011-02-08T16:04:00.001-05:00

I've been working at "single-tasking" for two weeks. I am far from mastering it. I have my good days, like yesterday when I was telling my friend Tina how much single-tasking has helped me and how I feel more peaceful and focused and I think I'm actually accomplishing more this way (even though that's not the goal). Then there was today. In spite of my peaceful, focused attitude, we cannot get out the door to preschool on time and I just cannot be peaceful about that! I yelled at Camilla for taking her sweet time getting her socks and shoes on but was she the one I should be angry with? Well, I really didn't need to be angry with anyone. But I was probably really angry with myself. After all, with an extra hour to get ready (thanks to a mere inch of snow), you would think we'd be able to get into the car on time, but no. We were rushing to the car exactly an hour later than usual. We always end up arriving close to starting time and I don't think anyone really cares except me, but practically every time I go into panic mode starting with the mad rush to the car and ending only as we pull up to school. I have to figure out how to go about this more calmly, otherwise I don't think we're going to survive the next 17 years.

That being said, I believe single-tasking has allowed me to enjoy and savor moments like these:

Running around like crazy inside on a snowy/rainy day.

Adrian helping make cookies for the first time.

Silly after-bath hair-do by Daddy.

So while I still catch myself thinking about everything else I need to do, I am learning to be more mindful. When I straighten up, I try to just straighten up. When I fold the laundry I just fold the laundry. And it's forcing me to slow down. I try to stay focused when I use the internet as well. I'm taking a break from Facebook this month and if I sit down to do something on the computer, I try to focus on it and finish it instead of constantly checking my email and twitter all day long. So far it's working better than multi-tasking and I think I will be able to achieve perfection by the year 2020. (That was a joke.)
How about you? If you're on this journey with me, how is single-tasking working for you?

Thank a Mentor--Take One

2011-02-01T23:42:00.000-05:00

Don't worry--I'll be addressing this whole single-tasking journey again soon! But I've had some unrelated thoughts. I am realizing how much other blog posts inspire me to write my own. This one, by my new cyber-friend Lena Roy (also the grandaughter of my favorite author, Madeleine L'Engle) challenged me to think about the individuals who've impacted my life over the years. I have a host of mentors and I want to thank every single one. It may take me a few months to get to all of them. And of course, I'm sure I'll leave one out, but that's a risk I'll take.
I would be remiss if I didn't begin with my beloved art teacher, Sue Hand. I was just a wee thing when I started taking lessons at Sue Hand's Imagery--affectionately called the "Studio" by teachers and students alike. Younger kids, from Kindergarten through 4th or 5th grade, were taught by Sue's assistants. I still remember the terror that struck my heart when, somewhere around 4th grade, Sue Hand herself said I was ready to move up into her class. Her class was full of big kids, all the way up to seniors in high school! And what's more, they were good at art. Some of them really good. Take Leigh Pawling for instance. She ~~was~~ is a real artist! You get the idea. It was intimidating for a nine-year-old, especially one as awkward and timid as I was. But I quickly learned that Sue Hand was not to be feared. The Studio was a place of solace. The aromas of watercolors, acrylics, graphite and paper soothed my soul in a way that nothing else could. I was never going to be a professional fine artist--writing has always been my first love. But I liked to draw and paint and Sue was my ally in every facet of life. I joined a group of girls who met at her house for Bible Study (we called it "Group") every Wednesday night and together we laughed and cried our way through High School problems with the help of the Old and New Testaments. Sue championed our causes and believed in us every step of the way. And she still does. I remember her telling me I was a real writer already, even in high school. How much that meant coming from a successful artist! Whenever I'm in town, I try to stop at the Studio for one of her hugs and a chat. I'll never forget her words when I was pregnant with Camilla and trying to decide what path to take for the birth. I was leaning towards the Bradley Method and a natural experience, but nervous about the whole thing of course.
Sue said, "I'll be proud of you no matter what you do."
I want to have that attitude, towards my kids and anyone I have the priviledge to be proud of.
Sue, you are an inspiration to so many. Thank you for believing in me before I believed in myself!

Joy in the Journey

2011-01-26T16:08:00.001-05:00

So I'm working on this single-tasking thing--and I remembered after I posted yesterday that this was the whole point of my blog. Joy in the Journey. Not "Joy in a Clean House" or "Joy in Finishing the Laundry" or even "Joy in the Rat Race". No. That's not it. I want to enjoy the journey, every part of it, because the laundry is never done and the house could always be cleaner. But I only have this one moment to give my child a hug or talk to a friend who needs me. That's all I'm guaranteed. Right now. So I'd better enjoy it instead of trying to get on to the next thing.

I never posted my inspiration when I changed the name of my blog. Michael Card's song, which I have always loved. Enjoy!

The Art of "Single-Tasking"

2011-01-25T21:24:00.011-05:00

Last night I read this post and it stuck with me. I've been thinking about it all day . . . and it led to a conversation which prompted me to make a decision. A really big decision for me.
I always talk about wanting to simplify. I run around like a crazy woman, trying to accomplish one thing after another, telling myself that once I get this task finished (the laundry) I can focus on that much more important thing (reading to my kids). I never focus on what I'm doing and if I sit down I'm still thinking about what I need to do later and how I can accomplish it most efficiently. I don't want to be a task-oriented person.
So today someone was talking to me about stress and the toll it takes on your health. I know this--and yet I don't think I realized a key factor that keeps me stressed. I thought it was actually helping alleviate my stress because I could accomplish two things at once, but in the course of this conversation I had a brilliant revelation. Multi-tasking is stressful.
"So," I said. "Is it bad to watch t.v. while I fold the laundry?"
In a word, yes.
"And what if I talk on the phone while I do the dishes?"
Well, why not focus on the dishes, the way the water and soap come together. How it feels through my rubber gloves and what it looks like as it washes the grime away. And then later, sit down with a cup of coffee and call a friend to talk.
This is a new concept. I always multi-task. Really. I never just fold the laundry. Ever. I think by mistake I've been making my life more complicated.
But-but-but if I do this, by the time I get to evening, I will just have so much left to do!
"And the way you've been doing things," my friend countered. "Everything is done by evening? There's nothing left to do?"
Well . . . no. So, it's not working for me this way. I might as well try something new. When I was a homeschooled highschooler we learned a concept, only I've never really learned it. It just stuck in my head. I don't even know who said it.
"Wherever you are, be all there."
I always wanted that. I wanted to pay attention to the person talking to me, instead of getting distracted and thinking about something I had to do. (That doesn't happen all the time by the way, just once in a while, so don't get paranoid.) I wanted to be involved in the thing I was doing, not flying off in a million directions at once. But the way I've been going, I'm working myself up into a more frenetic pace day after day. When will it be fast enough?
It's way too fast now. So I'm going to do this. Right now, I'm writing a blog post. The kitchen is dirty and dishes need to be washed. Todd will be home from the gym any second. But I'm writing and that's what I'm focused on. In a minute, I will do the dishes. Now, does that mean I can't listen to Todd tell me about his day while I'm doing the dishes? I don't think so. But, it might be a good idea to sit down together for a few minutes before we fall exhausted into bed.
"To the degree that you do this," I was told today. "You will add years to your life."
Focusing on one thing at a time is going to be hard. I am actually bored if I don't have two things going on at once. But that should not be! I think folding the laundry ought to be an enjoyable job in and of itself. And perhaps it will be again, after I learn to slow down a little bit. It will be interesting to find out.
Anyone want to join me in learning the art of single-tasking?

Happy Publication to Demery!

2011-01-18T15:45:00.000-05:00

I am pleased to announce that my dear friend Demery Bader-Saye has just been published in the Rose and Thorn Journal. You can read her lovely short story here.

Demery ~~was~~ is one of the members of my writing group. For six years, Demery, Pauline, Linda and I met every other week to read our work and give each other "constructive criticism". In the summer of 2009, Demery moved away and left the three of us sadly floundering without her. Not really--we are sad without her, but not floundering. Just plugging away and working towards our dreams. Dem continues to be a huge source of support and encouragement even from a distance. Last summer we reunited our little group for a short writing retreat. And we hope to continue this tradition for many years.

Congratulations Dem! We're so proud of you!

The great outdoors

2011-01-14T11:38:00.001-05:00

We've had a huge range in temperatures already this year. On New Years Day it was around 50 degrees, warm enough to go outside wearing just a fleece jacket.

This morning around eight o'clock, it was a mere 11 above zero and I wondered if I should take the kids out in that kind of cold. But it warmed up quickly and we had a good time in the snow.

Christmas is over now

2011-01-08T23:12:00.000-05:00

I just finished updating the Christmas card list. That is officially the final act in my post-Christmas tear-down. But it's not truly the final act. I still have to wash all the Holiday place mats and napkins we used this week when my brother and his family came for a belated Christmas visit. I am always surprised at how quickly the house can be transformed from a Christmas wonderworld (as it was this morning) into normal again (as it is now--mostly). And it looks a little bare--aside from the new toys strewn about that have yet to find a home.
I have so many things on my mind that I'd like to accomplish this year. I started out with grand ideas for decluttering and organizing--and I made great headway in the laundry room so far. Todd said I doubled it's size just by organizing it. I wish that would work on the rest of the house! I have recently had an urge to push the wall of our kitchen/family room into the backyard about 20 feet because I feel cramped and cluttered. Six years and two children change your idea of the perfect floor plan and how much space you need. However, being unable to justify an expansion of this sort, I will resist my urge (unless, of course, we receive a huge unexpected windfall). We truly don't need one inch more of space. We have more than most of the world and I live in our space quite happily most of the time.
I think it's that new year itch for change. I want to cook new dishes. (I tried a Chicken Piccata recipe tonight, but wasn't enamoured with the results.) I've been trying to get the kids (and myself) outside for a little while every day. I want to run more--could I maybe run a half marathon? I want to read more. I really need to write more. This ~~could be~~ is the year for a publishing breakthrough! I want to spend less time on Facebook and more time gazing at my children's faces.

But the biggest change I want to make this year is inside my own head and heart. Accepting God's grace more fully, living in the joy of His love, being okay with the lack of perfection in my own home and self. None of us have "arrived" and nothing is ever going to be perfect this side of Heaven. There will always be laundry to fold, mail to sort, dust on the furniture. I want to be more at peace with that--and with my own shortcomings and those of my loved ones as well. If I can accomplish that, the rest is just details.

Ringing in 2011

2010-12-31T21:17:00.001-05:00

Now I am officially sick of peppermint. No, really, the evening following my last post, Adrian decided to keep us up most of the night, insisting on sleeping in our bed. He was miserably ill with a bad cold. The next morning I woke from what little sleep I had with a fiery sore throat and was sick over the Christmas weekend--and through my birthday, which was Monday. I honestly have not been able to stomach the thought of peppermint. A little ironic, isn't it?

I was tempted to have a pity party on Monday. Not only was I sick for my birthday, but we were planning to go to New York City for the day and it was hit by a major snowstorm, making the trip pointless even if I'd felt like going. So I resigned myself to staying home and was cheered by the thought of playing in the snow with the kids. But did we get any snow? Just a dusting--with some wicked wind. Really, though, after 34 birthdays, they don't seem so hard to come by anymore and I managed to enjoy the day. Todd was home and kept the kids occupied long enough for me to read, and thoroughly enjoy, an entire novel (EDGES, by Lena Roy). That evening we headed out to my favorite Thai restaurant, where I was subjected to a strange punishment inflicted on birthday persons. At this particular restaurant, the staff crank up a birthday song, turn down the lights, and light the disco ball.

As you can see from the photo, they also bring the birthday girl a light saber. Adrian's look says it all. "Does Mom even know what to do with this thing?" Oh, and they brought fried ice cream--flaming!

So that was my birthday. Yesterday we finally made our trek to the City. It was everything it's cracked up to be. I'm trying to add photos from New York, but Blogger won't let me at the moment. Next post.

We had a quiet evening tonight. Lobster dinner, put the kids to bed, and later we'll watch the ball drop if I can stay awake that long. We were planning to celebrate with friends but their little boy is sick and I didn't want to risk exposing Adrian. He's had three mysterious illnesses already this month, and I'm not in a hurry for the next one. Here's to a happy and healthy 2011 for all of us!

My recent love-affair with peppermint

2010-12-21T11:59:00.006-05:00

I have been absolutely obsessed with peppermint this Christmas season. Obsessed, I tell you!

It started a few years ago when I heard that a good, low-calorie option at the coffee shop is a peppermint latte. Maybe the syrup isn't as sugary as other flavors, and it's certainly lower in calories than a mocha. I will drink a peppermint latte any time of year, so I was disappointed when Eurocafe, one of my favorite locally owned cafes, stopped carrying peppermint syrup after the holidays last year. This year, I was looking forward to my favorite taste of Christmas as December approached. Before Thanksgiving, they started making the Peppermint Mocha Trio at our Borders. It's not low in calories at all. Okay, I felt like I had to make that clear, but from here on out I am not talking about calories because this is a post about peppermint bringing pure pleasure to the senses--not about navigating the Holidays without gaining weight. (That might be a good post, but probably not on my blog because the only Christmas I didn't gain weight I owed my success to food poisoning.) That first taste of the peppermint mocha at Borders had me craving more peppermint. But on my next visit to Eurocafe, they didn't have peppermint (yet, I thought). So I kept buying my poison at Borders and even--gulp--Starbucks. I used to shun Starbucks like the plague, but alas I have succumbed. Before you judge me, look at the area where you live. Do you have locally owned coffee shops within walking or short driving distance? Then don't judge me. If I lived closer to Zummos (the ultimate local coffee shop with amazing freshly roasted coffee and even a clover!), I would not set foot in another cafe (except for a drive-through maybe--oh, wait, that wouldn't be my foot anyway).

So, the next time I drove through Eurocafe I asked for peppermint again. They still did not have it!
"Are you going to be getting it this season?" I tremulously asked the boy at the window.
He turned to somebody in charge. When he appeared again, he shook his head.
"What?" My heart sank. "Not at all?"

Do you know what this means? I've been going to Starbucks more often. I feel like a hypocrite because I used to blast them to everybody. I even indulged in their peppermint brownie. It was pretty good--but I couldn't help thinking that I could do better. My brownies are to die for if I do say so myself. And how hard could it be to make that icing? So I looked up a copycat recipe on the web and tweaked it (a lot). The results were . . . I just can't find the words. I'll be making them again--soon. And dressing them up a little more if I have time.

But I still wasn't thrilled with my buying options for peppermint espresso concoctions. (Totally did not intend to rhyme that.) I posted my disappointment with Eurocafe as a status on Facebook and got a few suggestions. One, Mansour's Market, served me an amazing latte. I'm definitely returning there, but it's not a very convenient location for me. Last week I happened to take the kids to Tioga Bistro for lunch after we all got haircuts and I was pleased to see a Peppermint Patty Mocha on their menu. I asked for one to go.
I have found it. The perfect peppermint mocha. I will be moving in next door to Tioga Bistro.

I guess I could just buy an espresso maker and some peppermint syrup, but what fun would that be? Actually, it could be a lot of fun. And it could save me money. I just don't know what would keep me from drinking peppermint latte after peppermint latte all day long.

Addendum: After avoiding my favorite locally-owned coffee shop, Eurocafe, for most of the month of December, I discovered early in January that they actually did have peppermint this Holiday season! I don't know who said they weren't getting it, but last week they still had peppermint syrup and they will make a delicious peppermint white mocha drink on request. Yum!

Writing takes time . . . and other brilliant revelations!

2010-12-14T11:31:00.004-05:00

I'm going to ramble today. Just a warning. In September I went with my friend Amanda to a writers symposium where we heard several journalists, an agent, and an editor speak to a room full of writers about writing and publishing. It was invigorating, exciting, challenging. It lit a fire under me. There was a common thread in all their speeches, though. Each one of them said, in one way or another, that we need to find the time to write.
That may sound obvious, but I'm not finding it easy in this season of my life. I have a couple hours on Tuesday mornings--and a while ago I was convinced I could squeeze in more time during Adrian's naps and Camilla's "Turtle Times". (Side note: Turtle Time is when we all go in our own shells--so Camilla has some time alone in her room most afternoons.) However, with a one-year-old chasing the vacuum cleaner whenever I use it, it seems naps are the only time to clean up the crumbs. And if I try to fit all the other housework into wake times, my children are neglected. Believe me, my house is not spotless. I can't imagine the chaos if I didn't grab an hour in the afternoon in a mad scramble to straighten up and make important phone calls. So it's Tuesday mornings. That's it. Especially right now, because I don't really have time on weekends . . .
That reminds me, I took Camilla to see Tangled this past weekend. It was good--but a lot scarier than I expected. She actually screamed a couple times. I had to talk her through it, explaining that it's just a movie and they would be okay. Afterwards she said she liked it. I asked her if it was too scary and she said, "Yes. But I like scary things." I don't think that was her opinion when she was screaming and clinging to me in the theater. The big screen was a factor, I'm sure. Everything is larger than life. The beautiful scenes become more attractive but the frightening scenes more terrifying.
So . . . writing takes time. Just getting a weekly post on my blog is tough. Let alone working on my book--or other writing. I'm just going to keep plugging away, set some new goals, use some time on weekends or evenings when Todd can manage the troops for me. And remember that before I know it they will both be in school and . . . sniff . . . I'm going to enjoy every minute of this wild and crazy time--the chaos, the sticky kitchen floor, the boy chasing the vacuum cleaner, the girl singing made-up songs at the top of her lungs, and even the lack of time to myself.

Happy Publication Day to Lena Roy!

2010-12-07T12:23:00.003-05:00

Just wanted to pass on a hearty congratulations to Lena Roy. Her debut novel, Edges, releases today! I cannot wait to read it and I hope this post generates some interest for her!

Second Sunday (Weekend?) of Advent

2010-12-07T10:46:00.007-05:00

Todd and I managed to escape our beloved children to celebrate our anniversary with one quick night at our favorite Bed and Breakfast, Bischwind. It's beautiful, to say the least, and we had a great time going out to dinner, snuggling up to a fire in our suite and savoring a four-course breakfast including a choice of fillet Mignon (Todd's) or salmon (mine). Seriously! After a meal like that we really needed a walk around the frigid lake before we went home.

I teased Todd that I was going to tell people this was a picture of us in front of our new home, but I can't lie. It was so good to have some time away, but I was happy to see my babies again, too.

That night, Camilla wanted to help out with the music when we lit the second candle on the Advent wreath.

She puts on a good show, pretending to prefer Mommy to Daddy. But I can see whom she truly emulates! And no wonder.

Ten years down . . .

2010-12-02T13:48:00.005-05:00

It seems like so long ago, yet at the same time it's hard to believe that ten years ago right now, I was standing at the altar, pledging my life to my beloved. I don't have time to write much today; at least not the time I would need to do justice to our ten years of marriage--the joys and sorrows, the rocky places, and how God's grace has seen us through. For the beginning of the story, see this post. I'll include some of my favorite pictures of our wedding day.

Song of Solomon 8:6-7

Set me as a seal upon your heart,

As a seal upon your arm;

For love is as strong as death,

Jealousy as cruel as the grave;

Its flames are flames of fire,

A most vehement flame.

Many waters cannot quench love,

Nor can the floods drown it.

"Marriage is relentless" and other thoughts

2010-11-30T10:55:00.006-05:00

I know, we look young, right? We were babies!

When we were new to this whole marriage thing . . . wait a minute, I have a feeling that some of my readers may think we are still new to it. Okay, so when we were really new to this whole marriage thing, we started a Bible Study with some other couples at church. Those couples became some of our closest friends. They are very dear to my heart because of the communion we shared. We had many laughable moments together, and one of them was a quote that has never been lived down. The topic was marriage and we were going around the room taking turns sharing about what our marriages meant to us. Most of us had endured only a few bumps so far in our relationships so were saying warm, fuzzy things. But one man burst out, "Marriage is . . . relentless!" We had to scrape his wife's jaw off the floor. I think she can laugh about it now--at least I hope so.

Whenever I ponder marriage, I think of this moment and I'm convinced our friend had a point. While I don't think of marriage, or at least my marriage, as strict or severe in any way, I believe every good marriage comes to a point where both members decide not to relent in their pursuit of each other. I recognize the unyielding nature of our vows and while some may look at this as too restricting, for me there is freedom in it. If Todd and I were not committed to relentless pursuit of each other for a lifetime, we would never have the deep love we share now. And my, how it has changed in the past ten (or eleven) years.

We threw ourselves into this thing in a somewhat headlong fashion. We'd known each other forever, really--well, it was going on fifteen years when we got together. But we only "dated" for eight months before Todd popped the question. And our engagement was not even six months long. It was quite a rocky relationship at the start, before I "knew" he was "the one". My readers from the homeschooling movement (or anyone who watches 19 Kids & Counting) will understand the whole "courtship template". Yes, I think template is a good word to describe it, because a relationship has to fit into a predesigned plan. This man came to my father and I was supposed to fall in love with him and marry him. And if I didn't, well, wouldn't that make my parents look bad? They'd been singing the praises of the courtship idea for years now, explaining to friends and family that this is what they expected of their children. This was the only God-ordained way to find a mate after all! Of course, I didn't believe that, but I did feel an obligation to obey my parents. And I liked Todd a lot. He was my close friend and I most definitely had feelings for him. But was he the one? I felt tremendous pressure from all sides to make this work. After all, he'd really put himself out there for me. He had to be pretty certain before he even started our relationship. But I wasn't certain--at all. And, believe me, I was not going to marry somebody I wasn't sure of. The whole courtship ideal could go to hell--I wasn't going to ruin my life for it.

So it was really rough there for a while, in spring of 2000, when Todd realized I wasn't sure. We were already in the middle of this relationship and he was in love with me but he had to give me up. He had to let go and give it all to God. We took a step back and then I wasn't so suffocated and I could see clearly. Then it happened. Over the next two months, I just knew I couldn't live without him.

And then the real fun began!

A Grateful Heart

2010-11-25T17:23:00.003-05:00

Sorry for the pictureless posts. I'm using my Sister-in-Law's computer and had a few moments, so I thought I'd grab my window of time to post on this Thanksgiving Day. I have so much to be grateful for. As Todd's and my tenth wedding anniversary approaches, I find myself reflecting on the past ten years. On Thanksgiving Day 2000 I don't think I had any idea what was in store for us. My marriage is more of a blessing than I ever imagined. I hope to revisit this subject in more depth in the coming week. I have the two most beautiful children ever, and whenever I get discouraged or overwhelmed with the unending task of mothering, God has a way of reminding me how precious and unique each of them is. I recently started running again, sporadically, and this morning as I chugged up the hill to our house at the end of my four miles, I was so grateful for a healthy body, legs that do what I ask them to. But more than any of that, this Thanksgiving I am thankful for the peace that enables me to enjoy all of these blessings. In this moment God's grace and love is very real to me. And for that, I lift up my heart in thanksgiving.

A rambling post on all things cyber.

2010-11-23T10:25:00.004-05:00

I hate Facebook. Don't get me wrong. I am on Facebook. All. The. Time. That's why I hate it. It's an addiction. I have to kick it every now and then. Last summer I went a whole week without it. And the world did not end.

The whole of the Internet is this way for me. It is invaluable in some ways. Information at my fingertips. It saves time spent out in the crowds at Christmastime, sitting in traffic. It saves money on gas. When I want to know anything about anything, I google it. If I wonder where I've seen that actor before, all I have to do is visit the Internet Movie Database. And the evil Facebook itself has connected me with old (and newer) friends and proved an interesting forum for a myriad of "conversations", however stilted they may be for taking place on a "wall".

But on the other hand, information at my fingertips can be detrimental. My trusty laptop is only a few steps away whenever I'm at home--and sometimes when I'm not. I can be very attached to finding things out instantly.

As a side note, my resistance to getting an iPhone is almost entirely based on the addiction factor. Would a flask be a good gift for an alcoholic?
"Here, now you can take Vodka with you wherever you go!"

When I find myself frantically checking and rechecking Facebook, or my email, or whatever . . . I try really hard to stop myself, close the laptop, and look at my children. I've told myself before that I'm going to stay off the Internet until Adrian is down for his afternoon nap and Camilla is settled for her "turtle time" (that's when we all go in our shells--Mommy, too!). But I always find a reason I need it before then. Like counting calories. If I'm currently counting calories, I use Calorie King a zillion times a day. But, I don't really have to. Think of all the time I'm spending burning my retinas with the computer screen when I could give my full attention to the other people in my world. Maybe it's time to take a break again . . . maybe.

Well . . . enough self-flagellation for now. As hard as I resisted for years, I finally joined Twitter. I kept hearing the praises of Twitter--I almost felt like I was committing professional suicide by not having a Twitter account. But I didn't want another addiction. Finally, after reading this article on Rachelle Gardner's blog, I thought maybe I should join to see what all the fuss was about. I told myself I didn't have to get really involved with it. I don't have to "tweet" any more than I want to. To tell you the truth, I still haven't figured out what all the fuss is about. I haven't found it useful, or even interesting really. I think someone might need to show me the ropes. For instance, how do I set up my blog to tweet whenever I post? Of course, this post might not be a good one to start with.

The Food of October, Part II

2010-10-30T21:35:00.005-04:00

Camilla wanted to make a pumpkin pie--and not from a can. A real pumpkin pie. I hate to admit this, but it was my first time. I was a pumpkin virgin. But it was amazingly easy and delicious.

Glad I just cleaned my oven!

You can use the seeds, too!

I think we started another fall tradition!

The Food of October, Part I

2010-10-30T21:26:00.005-04:00

I don't know exactly what is required to be considered a "foodie" but I love food. Buying it, preparing it, and eating it. I don't consider myself an expert at all, but I do love good food and I have fun with it, so maybe I'm a foodie. Here are some of my creations this month. I don't usually delve into decorating, but for my kids . . . yeah.

Okay, they're cows, but whatever!
And it's a puppy dog cake for Adrian's birthday. I think that should be obvious!

Puppies and kittens completed the cupcake assortment.

Camilla's Cinderella birthday cake.

I copied everything from the internet, tweaking the ideas a little bit.

Fall Traditions

2010-10-30T21:00:00.001-04:00

October has always been a busy month for us. This year, Camilla turned four!

The other day I told her she'll always be my baby girl and she said, "But Mom, I have to grow up sometime." If statements like these weren't interspersed with pretending to be a two-year-old and to sleep in a crib, I might just sit down and cry.

Adrian turned one a mere ten days later. I knew two birthdays so close together would be challenging in tangible ways, but I never thought about the emotional toll I would face having my babies turn one year older within the same two week period.

I know it's totally cliche, but it seems impossible that a year has gone by already. When I pick up Camilla and think about how this skinny, long-legged kid was a snuggly baby such a short time ago, I purpose to never put Adrian down when he wants me to hold him. Which is quite often--not all the time, but definitely when I'm making dinner.

So I was trying to fit all of our fall traditions into one post, but the plethora of pictures and the inconvenience of Blogger has forced me to reconsider. One more before I close . . .

We hit the pumpkin patch with Camilla's preschool the following week.

Truths from a 4-year-old

2010-10-19T14:48:00.001-04:00

It happened first last week.

Camilla was talking to me, rambling on as she sometimes does, and I was nodding and half-listening.
"Mm-hmmm . . ." I commented.
"Mom, don't say Mm-hmm!" she said. "Say, 'yes!'"
She'd caught me. But I wanted to be sure. "Why, Sweetie?"
"I don't like it when you say mm-hmm."
"Do you feel like I'm not really listening to you?"
"Yes."
Mm-hmm. Bad Mommy!

Today in the car, she was talking about the pretty fall colors, on the trees, on the leaves on the ground in the woods . . . I did it again.
"Mom, don't say mm-hmmm! Say 'yes'. Actually, say, 'Oh' and then say 'Really'?"
I said, "Oh . . . really?"
"Yes."

She's no dummy, this child of mine. And shame on me for not really listening! For taking her voice for granted and counting it as commonplace, when it's one of the sweetest sounds in my life. Even when she's screaming at the top of her lungs, "I want to wear a different shirt!" Then maybe, I pretend I'm not listening. But when she's telling me about the fall foliage or the picture she's drawing, let me hang on every word.

Where Did Summer Go?

2010-10-05T16:59:00.003-04:00

I know it's October 5th, but just a few weeks ago I was on the beach in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. It was 80 degrees and sunny. I love autumn. Really, I do. But today it's raining and dreary and I'm missing those summer days. So . . . a few pictures to brighten my gloom.

Cool--a blog award!!!

2010-09-16T14:14:00.007-04:00

I am thrilled to accept this award given to me by my wonderful writer-and-now-blogger friend Demery. She blogs every day, so if you go to her blog, you won't find her post about this award unless you go back aways. I'll make it easy for you and give you a direct link here. But do check out her more recent posts, too. It's a great place for writing inspiration and a good read!

Now, about this award--

Rules of The Versatile Blogger award:
1. Thank and link back to the person who gave you the award.

2. Share seven things about yourself.

3. Pass on the award to fifteen deserving bloggers.

4. Contact the bloggers you chose for the award.

Seven things you might not know about me:

1. I love good-quality, freshly-roasted, freshly-ground, freshly-brewed coffee.

2. I'm not easily pigeon-holed in any facet of my life. (e.g. I'm too liberal to be a conservative and too conservative to be a liberal.)

3. My favorite place in the world is Scansano, Italy--although I really love the Upper West Side of Manhattan, too.

4. For a full fourteen years, I shunned the sun and wore sunblock because I thought it would age my skin. This year, I realized that my skin has aged anyway and I learned that the chemicals in sunblock may do more damage than the sun's rays AND I realized the importance of Vitamin D. Now I am burnt to a crisp and loving the sun!

5. I have always liked winter and snow--and it really doesn't have a whole lot to do with the fact that I love to ski. I would like it anyway.

6. I am learning to appreciate summer much more than I used to and I'm very sad that this one is ending, well . . . over, I guess.

7. I make a mean cheesecake.

And now, for the new recipients of the award! (I know they've been holding their breath!)

1. Sarah @ Adventures in Sarahland

2. Amanda @ Mmmm Mama

3. Hillary @ Quivering Daughters

4. Peg @ The Farwig Family

5. Cindy @ Writer Imaginings

6. Lena @ Lena's Lit Life

7. Paige @ Josi D

8. Dolly @ Traveling with Baby

9. Kristina @ Graves Family

10. Jen @ A Little Bit of This, A Little Bit of That

Okay, so perhaps my blog reading is a little limited. I can only think of ten blogs worthy of the Versatile Blogger Award! These are lovely blogs. I hope you'll visit them!

My Story (or one of them, anyway)

2010-08-31T15:38:00.006-04:00

On a weekend in mid-August, I was blessed to be part of a reuniting of hearts in Colorado Springs. Twelve years ago, forty college students from all over the United States (with one from South Africa) became the 7th class of the little-known Focus on the Family Institute (now called Focus Leadership Institute). Now, a lot of people have heard of Focus on the Family—and if not, they have most likely heard of its founder, Dr. James Dobson. Depending on your experience and even your political leanings, those names may evoke a warm fuzzy feeling or fill you with anger and put you on the defensive. I am not here to sort out your feelings about the organization itself, but I will put in that I think the anger and defensiveness are perhaps the result of misinformation. Focus on the Family exists to strengthen families, advocate for children and fight for marriages. Most would agree those are worthy goals. Regardless of the reaction it prompts in you, it will always hold a place in my heart as the setting for what was the semester of a lifetime—a truly life-changing experience for which I will be forever grateful.

In the course of our reconnecting over that weekend, my classmate and dear friend, Sarah, asked me if I’d ever told my story to anyone at Focus. During the Reunion, we were given the opportunity to share for a promo video that will be available on YouTube, but I missed my chance because my mind was more occupied with getting my children fed and meeting with my old friends. I’m not sure if I’ve ever given an official account to Focus. Even if I were to give one, it’s so hard to know what I would say. Parts of my story are very personal. I’d never hesitate to tell a friend face-to-face, but as for making a public proclamation, or writing it in a blog post, well—I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. But something needs to be said. I need to somehow convey the way that God entered my life and touched my heart through the people at FFI. It needs to be spilled out—a monument to the God who loves me. And also as a testament to the Institute and the way God has used it in so many lives. The current financial climate has not been kind to Focus on the Family. A number of factors have forced the Focus Leadership Institute to separate financially from the larger organization of Focus on the Family. If they don’t have enough students over the next two semesters, the Institute will have to close its doors. That absolutely breaks my heart. So let me tell my story. And then let me urge you to encourage every college student you know to apply to and attend the Focus Leadership Institute. I have no doubt that God can and will use it in ways beyond your wildest imagination.

In May of 1997, my family of origin took a cross-country road trip. We visited Texas, the Grand Canyon, and Colorado Springs, where we toured the ministry headquarters of Focus on the Family. We’d finished our tour and I was making a purchase in the bookstore, when the clerk asked me if I was a college student. She told me about a semester program for college students—FFI. Right then something clicked and I knew I had to go. I planned to apply for the Spring 1998 semester. I am a procrastinator by nature, so I put things off a bit. I needed certain letters of recommendation and the deadline of November 1st was drawing closer. I remember going for a walk the week of the deadline and telling God, “Okay, I’m going to do it. I’m going to do everything I can to get that application in on time and if You want me to go, You’ll have to take care of the rest.” Miraculously, everything was ready the night before the deadline. I had finished my essays and collected my letters of recommendation. I would fax them from school on Friday. But that Friday morning we had a huge snowstorm. My college was closed. All classes were cancelled. All offices were closed. I could not fax the application! I think that was the only time in my entire four years that the whole school closed down due to weather. I called FFI in anguish—and they agreed to take my application the following Monday.

So, obviously, I was accepted. And this little church girl from Pennsylvania, who’d been home schooled her entire life and was still living at home and commuting to college, went thousands of miles away to a place where she knew no one. But, you see, describing myself as being home schooled and commuting to college is a poor way to represent my heart. I was meant for bigger things. And I knew it. A whole new world was about to open up before me.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what happened and when. At the beginning of the semester, my classmates would have described me as shy. My roommate (Love you, Susan!) would say she felt like she was walking on eggshells. I was afraid to let down my guard. And if something didn’t go the way I expected, I just clammed up. I didn’t want to discuss it and risk someone thinking I was less than perfect. Now, I don‘t think I realized I was this way. It was just normal to me. I’m not laying blame on anyone, but for whatever reason, my experiences had taught me that my self-worth was based on my performance. I thought I had to be perfect—and I was never quite smart, pretty, skinny, funny, or cool enough to be all right.

And then everything changed.

A lot of it had to do with a man named John Eldredge and the class he taught us on Christian Worldview. Required reading for the class was his book, The Sacred Romance (written with Brent Curtis). In our first class, John explained the questions we, as humans, ask. The most important one: “Who am I REALLY?” And this little church girl, in all her 21 years of indoctrination, had never really understood the true answer to that question.

I am God’s beloved.

I never knew that before. I never knew, really knew, deep down.
He. Loves. Me.
For me. Not for what I do for Him.
And I don’t think anyone can understand that until He shows them.

One of the teachers at FFI was the purest example of God’s love I’d ever met. Sheryl DeWitt was living, walking, breathing, love-in-action. She held my hand as I began a journey that would take—is taking—years to complete. She gently helped me peel back the first layers of false assumptions and pain that had paralyzed me. The arrows that had stunned my true heart were carefully dislodged. She saw me for who I really was. She was the first person who looked at all the pain and ugliness in my life, who took it all in and said, without hesitation, “I love you even more knowing all this about you.” I didn’t have to be perfect.

For the first time in my life, I was free. I could be the woman God made me to be. I didn’t have to live in fear of condemnation. The other students that semester saw me as I truly was—I had a vulnerability with them that I’d never been able to have before. I didn’t have to perform. There was no obligation or expectation. I just was myself and I lived out of desire, accepting the longings of my soul as God-given. My classmates described me at the end of the semester as free, open—there was a tangible difference.

I’ve been striving to live this way, and to allow others to live this way, ever since. A lot of you may think, “Alison, who are you trying to fool? I’ve read your blog. You still feel the pressure, the obligation and expectation. You still try to be perfect.”

Well, it’s a journey. It’s a daily struggle. Some moments I recognize God’s favor better than others. Sometimes I show His love and sometimes I don’t. God is using a lot of tools in my life to help me accept His never-stopping, never-giving-up, always and forever love. (I have to cite the Jesus Storybook Bible for that phrase!) His love for me isn’t based on how well I love others. But because He loves me, those times when I realize it, that love fills me up to overflowing and spills over onto those around me. So, I’m still learning. But one thing is for sure, if I had just gone on the way I was in January of 1998, I wouldn’t even be on this journey. I would be somewhere far off the path, trying to be perfect and trying to make everybody around me perfect, too. I wouldn’t have any of those glimpses of God’s love and I’d be a lot harder to live with than I already am. Now I know my Jesus well enough to say that He would never have let me go on that way. He would still be knocking on my door. But I’m so thankful I answered when I did.

At best I’ve only given you a tiny little glimpse of those four pivotal months of my college career. If you can imagine the place where you felt most accepted for who you are, most loved for being yourself, and then multiply that feeling ten thousand times, you might come close to understanding what happened to me at FFI.

Now, don’t you want God to move that way in every young person’s life? I know I do! Share this link with everyone you can. Spread the word. God is still moving.

Summertime

2010-08-04T12:21:00.004-04:00

I love summer. Swimming. Playing at the park. Iced Lattes. Sunburn. Ice Cream Sandwiches. And of course, evening camp fires in the back yard, complete with S'mores.

No, Adrian's not eating a S'more. So what if he was?

Thoughts on The Shack

2010-07-31T16:24:00.005-04:00

I don't call this a book review, or anything official, but I did say in this post that I would try to follow up after I finished reading The Shack. Well, I finished it a long time ago--and what's worse is, I didn't buy it. I borrowed it from the library. This is unfortunate because I am a writing reader. I make notes in the margins, underline passages I like, and often make my own quote index in the back of a book. All this while telling Camilla not to write in books. Ahem. Before I returned it to the library, I did write down some of my favorite quotes from the book. And I remember my impressions. I had a love-hate relationship with the book at first--not only because of the subject matter, mostly because some of it was rambling and wordy. But more often than not, while I was immersed in the pages, the words rang true in my soul. When I set it down, I almost felt like I had been reading the Bible. (Calm down now, I said "almost".) Wm. Paul Young's portrayal of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit was that real, that true to the character of God. As I read The Shack, I often found myself thinking, "Yes. This is the God I know. This is my Jesus!"

The Father is Papa, a woman, and a black woman at that, the Son is Jesus, an ordinary-looking man, and the Holy Spirit is Sarayu, a wispy, ethereal woman-like spirit. I'm not going to get too deep into the storyline or explain why God is portrayed as a woman--if you have a problem with that, you'll have to read the book for yourself. While it's not the most well-written book in the world, it is amazing. My favorite professor in college used to talk about two facets of literature--form and content. Many times, I read what modern critics deem "good writing" and I think, Well, sure the form is beautiful, but the content doesn't even deserve the paper it's taking up! With The Shack this was not the case. Maybe the form could use a little polishing, but the content! Oh, the content!

I'll give you just a little taste of this feast of God's presence.

People are fond of talking about having our priorities right and, especially Christians, about putting God first. Sometimes it's insinuated that putting God first is equivalent to getting up early to read your Bible and pray. Now, there is nothing wrong with that quiet time, and I would benefit from having my quiet times more regularly, but the following take on that perspective just seemed so fresh to me.

From page 206, Sarayu speaking:
"The trouble with living by priorities is that it sees everything as a hierarchy, a pyramid . . . If you put God at the top, what does that really mean and how much is enough? How much time do you give me before you can go on about the rest of your day, the part that interests you so much more?"
Later on the same page, Papa said, "I want all of you and every part of your day."

There's much more I could share. . . but I'm not going to fill my blog with quotes. Read the book. Plow through the wordy parts and search for the gems that resonate with your soul. I'm so glad I did.

Inspiration

2010-07-29T14:16:00.004-04:00

Okay, I've come to the decision that I need to grab brief pockets of time when I have them and write like mad for the duration. A week or so ago, I watched the movie Motherhood. I loved it. I can't even remember who recommended it or where I heard about it, but it arrived in my mailbox (the real one, not email) via Netflix and so we watched it. I know it received poor reviews. Obviously the critics didn't like it as much as I did, but it was so raw and honest. Motherhood is tough. I love being a mom. Both of those statements are absolutely true and one does not negate the other. Something else that endeared the movie to me is the fact that Uma Thurman's character is living my dream life. So weird to say because she's frustrated and stressed out and can't find time for creativity. But--she's a writer living in Manhattan. Her husband loves her. They have a real marriage with the miscommunication and angst, but also love and sacrifice. Their kids could be ours in a few years--well, not exactly, but you know . . . I kind of got infatuated with the movie, the way I am with New York City. Uma Thurman's character blogged every day, though. She just grabbed little opportunities throughout the day and wrote whatever was on her mind--sometimes without a much-needed filter, but anyway. It inspired me to write more often, even if only for eight minutes.

My friend Demery has turned over a new page (yes, I know it's a cliche, but I only have eight minutes!) in her writing life. I'm so proud of her. I love her new blog. Readers and writers alike will enjoy it. I plan to follow the prompts as often as I can. And now my eight minutes are up. I have to go clean this filthy house before the kids get up from their naps/quiet times. Ciao!

Please pray for Baby Keefer!

2010-07-19T06:31:00.004-04:00

An old friend of mine went to the hospital last week with preeclampsia. She was only 26 weeks pregnant. On Saturday night the baby had to be delivered. He weighs only 1 lb. 1 oz. My heart just breaks at the thought of beginning motherhood this way. Every time I hear about premature babies, I realize I should never take for granted the fact that my children were born at 39 and 40 weeks. Please lift up Leah Rooney Keefer, her husband Josh, and their baby. I don't know his name yet, but he certainly needs our prayers.

For the love of strawberries!

2010-07-11T22:39:00.006-04:00

I finally uploaded these pictures from a few weeks ago and I just had to share them. We picked strawberries with one of my wonderful sisters-in-law and her four awesome kiddos, so Camilla and Adrian got some great cousin time as well as a whole lot of strawberries with the deal.

Adrian got tired of being confined to the Beco Butterfly II, so I let him sit down among the strawberry plants while I picked fruit and his cousins fished straw out of his mouth.

Uh-oh. They caught me!

I heard Mommy debating with Aunt Linda about whether or not I was old enough for strawberries, so on the way back to the car, I decided to take matters into my own hands!

This post has little to do with the pictures.

2010-06-03T18:06:00.001-04:00

In my last post I made the observation that "I don't know how anybody handles more than two children" but said that was a post for another day. I've been mulling over it ever since and now it is another day, so I'll just dive right in.I can get myself very worked up--into a pitch black pit of inferiority. (I have to give a shout out to Dr. Dobson's Preparing for Adolescence because I'm sure that's where I got the term "pit of inferiority".) Before I had children, I was a closet Bree VanDeKamp/Hodge wannabe. I attempted to keep the house spotlessly neat and clean basically all the time--in fits and starts. There were times when I would let things go a bit, but most of the time I was a perfectionist when it came to the house. I worried over statements I heard, such as, "A clean house is a sign of a dull woman." I agreed in the times when the house was messy, but most of the time I hoped the ubiquitous "they" were wrong. I realize that my perspective may be skewed. Things are often perfect, or at least better, when you look back on them. So maybe the house wasn't as clean then as I like to think. And absolutely, without a doubt, every time you ask me, I will take the current chaos over my idealized notion of the pristine environment we used to have. But that's not what this post is about.

Really, it's about comparisons. I only have two children. I assume that other mothers, with three or four or five small children, successfully keep their homes neat and clean, prepare healthy meals, make their own baby food (granola, yogurt, bread, whatever), cloth diaper, garden, spend quality time with each child, work full time, blog, write, paint, have coffee with friends, minister at church, work out five times a week, date their spouses, read and pursue higher education--all with the greatest of ease. Okay, I know that's not realistic. I'm sure they don't do all of that gracefully. But, if I look at myself compared to other mothers, I honestly start to feel that there is something seriously wrong with me. I must be disabled in some way. If it weren't for Todd coming home and pitching in every night, we would live in absolute squalor. I shudder to think of myself married to a more demanding man. Thank God he doesn't mind eating leftovers and giving baths, running the vacuum and washing dishes. He'll even scrub the bathrooms on a Saturday. Last week I hit rock bottom. I had spent the better part of the day waiting in a doctor's office to see a doctor for five minutes and end up deciding that we didn't need to see the doctor in the first place. When I got home, I ferociously attacked the kitchen, scrubbing it from ceiling to floor. (It hadn't been seriously cleaned since before Easter. Easy now, that took guts to tell you!) When Todd got home, we packed the kids off to Grammy and Grampy's and hit the gym for an hour or so. By the time we got the kids to bed and various laundry folded, it was 10 pm. Todd was catching a flight early in the morning for a work-related trip, so he hit the sack as soon as he could. And when I got to the bedroom, I collapsed on the floor in utter frustration. Our bedroom was a disaster. I sank into the deep pit of inferiority.

Since Todd was already gone when I got up the next morning, it took me some time to climb out of the pit. My friend, Suzie, talked me off the ledge that afternoon. (Thank you!) Am I mixing my metaphors with the pits and the ledges? Sorry! The problem is, I can hear this a hundred times and it just takes forever to truly sink in. The state of the house is not the most important thing in the world. And it's mostly pretty selfish on my part. Todd doesn't demand a clean house. The kids don't care. It's just my own idea of what a home should look like. If the house is clean, it doesn't mean everybody is healthy and happy. I may like it that way, and certainly some level of cleanliness is necessary, but in the long run it's going to happen, just not all at the same time. I try to remind myself that one day the house will be clean and I will wish Adrian still fit in my lap.
Yet . . . I still had a nagging feeling that there must be something wrong with me. Other people seem to manage just fine. While I was walking with the kids that afternoon, it suddenly became very clear to me. And I believe it was a God trying to get through, saying something to this effect, "Stop comparing yourself to other mothers, Alison. I created you to be you. You have two children right now, not three or four, and I will equip you to be the mom they need. You don't have to keep your house clean, you don't have to cook a gourmet meal tonight, all you have to do is love on your kids." Did you ever have one of those moments where something suddenly seems so obvious? No offense at all to her because I actually love her, but I am not MckMama. Who cares? Actually, even if you do care and you think I should be able to give more than I do, I don't care. If Adrian eats more Earth's Best Baby Food jars than Camilla did, it's because I would rather be sane and cuddle him. I'll make his baby food from scratch as much as I can because I like to, but I'm not going to drive myself crazy over it. And I'm not going to take on anything else I don't need to. I'll do what I can while being a good mama. Maybe you can do more. Maybe you can't. It doesn't make you or me a better person. We're all broken anyway. Why do I so easily forget, trying to live up to a manmade standard of perfection? Maybe I'll have to read my own blog from time to time to remind myself. Everybody should, because it's awesome.