"One more kiss," she whispers with a mischievous smile, in what has recently become part of our bedtime routine. "One more hug."
And I smile back, give the requested kiss and hug, and one final kiss for good measure, and then I tiptoe downstairs, leaving her snuggled in Papa's lap for story and prayers before sleep.
I am not a natural mother. No one, when I was growing up, ever looked at me and said: "Oh, Louise is going to be such a good mother." I know women to whom this comes easily, this daily sacrifice. Or, if not easy (because is dying to oneself ever easy?), it at least feels natural, feels right. They know they are doing what they are supposed to.
Me, I've been telling God for three years that I don't think I was really made to be a mother. Longer than that: I've been telling him for six years that I wasn't really made to be a wife. I am, by nature: quiet, indolent, selfish, private. I like to be alone. I was the baby of the family, the only younger sibling amidst three eldest children, and so I was indulged, my foibles tolerated. None of these are particularly helpful traits in being a wife or a mother.
Ah, but it isn't about our nature, is it? After all, God is in the business of molding us to his likeness, to giving us his nature. And maybe, just maybe, these traits that I see as so inimical to being a good wife and mother, if I submit myself to God's shaping, will turn out to be just the right ones after all. Quiet and indolent? If I am willing to refine those, they can help make the home peaceful and calm, a haven of rest. Selfish? Ah well, aren't all humans selfish by nature? To try to use that one as an excuse, as "just part of my personality," starts sounding a lot like justification after a bit. Private and liking to be alone? The flip side of those is that I am a good listener, a close observer - both of which are very useful in a wife and mother. The indulgence from my family? Well, at least I do not expect perfection out of my children, having had grace shown me so often in my life!
The truth is, God doesn't make mistakes. I am right where he wants me to be. Were I, as I often like to imagine after a long, hard day, alone in Europe somewhere, scratching out a solitary living as a writer, well, maybe I wouldn't have all these people around, needing me, but my life would be so much drier, so much less enriched by love. Honestly, no matter how many times I am convinced that I am the worst possible wife for Carl, I can't imagine going through life without him by my side. He laughs at my bad jokes. What more can one ask from a spouse?
And my girls - no matter how much I feel I am failing them as a mother, it is not a reason to throw my hands up in the air, say "Ah well, I don't have a mothering nature," and give up. Press on for the prize, the Apostle Paul tells us. Run the race with endurance. Being changed into God's image is never a painless process. If he weren't doing it through husband and children, he would be doing it some other way, and that would hurt as well.
But it's a good hurt - the kind of hurt Eustace describes in "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" when the Lion pulls away his dragon skin to make him human again. And rather than giving up when I fail, I am starting, slowly, to try to take those failures and turn them around, learn from them, use them to make me a better mother, a better wife.
It's a long, slow process. I will probably never stop feeling bad for the three people who are the victims of my journey to godliness. Then again, as they are growing, I am part of their journey too. Their failures affect me as much as mine affect them. And if I am willing to accept that (as I am) because I love them, I need to recognize that they can do the same for me.
One more kiss, one more hug. One step at a time. We'll get there, this journey toward grace and godliness. Together.
With one more kiss for good measure.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Mellow Monday
We went on our third (and most likely final, as I am starting to feel uneasy pangs of dismay at the thought of dealing with more apples) apple-picking trip this weekend, this time with my parents.
The girls adore their grandparents, and I always feel a pang when they have to go home. It just does not seem right that we live so far away from all our family. And if we move out to Chicago before Mom and Dad, we'll be even further away. Sigh.
At least we have our own family, which is something Carl and I are both working on appreciating more. It's too easy to get caught up in the gloom and exhaustion of everyday living, and forget about the amazing blessings that are also a integral part of this day-to-day life as parents of two wonderful children, and husband and wife to each other.
On the left - that's what I'm going to look like in another twenty-five years. Except I won't be that thin unless I start improving my lifestyle now. On the right - well, you can't quite see the personality through the camera, but that's what I already think like. The day someone told me they recognized me by my laugh, I knew I had truly arrived: I was officially my father.
Always a gift to have family here, and today we are just resting and recovering. And snuggling with blankets and stuffed animals. And enjoying just being together on this grey, rainy day.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Finally, The Quilt
I have been wanting to write this post for ages.
Beloved friends of ours are in the process of adopting a child from Ethiopia. When I first heard that they were moving forward with this dream they have had their entire married life, I knew at once that I wanted to make a quilt for this child. I love making baby quilts for friends, and what better way to welcome a new baby to this family, and this country, this strange new life, than with a quilt handmade from "Aunt" Louise?
My friend sent me the fabric she had used in decorating the baby's room (also the room where their other daughter sleeps), so all I had to do was figure out a pattern and pick up whatever extra fabric I needed to complement it.
I agonized forever over the decision, but finally landed on a slight adaptation of this pattern from the Purl Bee. I loved the modern feel of it, the fact that it was really a fairly simple pattern but looked so complex, and the fact that it being a simple pattern meant I would have the time to actually hand quilt it.
I loved making this quilt. There's something about quilting for other people, about making that tangible expression of love ... I always think, and wonder, if the recipient will hold on to the quilt forever, if it will become a lap quilt after it is done covering the crib, if it will go to college with him/her, it if will pass into married life, maybe even go on to rest on the back of a chair or couch in his/her house, an indelible mark of personality? A well-made quilt can last for generations, become part of family lore. Or maybe it will be used only for the crib, to be folded away after that and saved for the next babies.
After I finished the quilt, I had to wait to mail it off until I had finished a little doll quilt made of some leftover blocks, a gift for the older sister. Then, naturally, I didn't want the brothers to be left out, so I picked up a couple items for them. Finally, finally, the box was ready to mail, and then it only had to sit on our table for a week or so until Carl could get to the post office.
I got the phone call two days ago saying that the family had received the box, and at long last, I can post pictures of The Quilt!
Beloved friends of ours are in the process of adopting a child from Ethiopia. When I first heard that they were moving forward with this dream they have had their entire married life, I knew at once that I wanted to make a quilt for this child. I love making baby quilts for friends, and what better way to welcome a new baby to this family, and this country, this strange new life, than with a quilt handmade from "Aunt" Louise?
My friend sent me the fabric she had used in decorating the baby's room (also the room where their other daughter sleeps), so all I had to do was figure out a pattern and pick up whatever extra fabric I needed to complement it.
I agonized forever over the decision, but finally landed on a slight adaptation of this pattern from the Purl Bee. I loved the modern feel of it, the fact that it was really a fairly simple pattern but looked so complex, and the fact that it being a simple pattern meant I would have the time to actually hand quilt it.
I loved making this quilt. There's something about quilting for other people, about making that tangible expression of love ... I always think, and wonder, if the recipient will hold on to the quilt forever, if it will become a lap quilt after it is done covering the crib, if it will go to college with him/her, it if will pass into married life, maybe even go on to rest on the back of a chair or couch in his/her house, an indelible mark of personality? A well-made quilt can last for generations, become part of family lore. Or maybe it will be used only for the crib, to be folded away after that and saved for the next babies.
After I finished the quilt, I had to wait to mail it off until I had finished a little doll quilt made of some leftover blocks, a gift for the older sister. Then, naturally, I didn't want the brothers to be left out, so I picked up a couple items for them. Finally, finally, the box was ready to mail, and then it only had to sit on our table for a week or so until Carl could get to the post office.
I got the phone call two days ago saying that the family had received the box, and at long last, I can post pictures of The Quilt!
I was alone when I took these pictures, so draping it over a chair was my best option
Close-ups
Trying to show what the stitching looks like on the back. I am not the world's best hand-quilter, but I must say that I was better by the end of the quilt than I was when I began!
And yes, that's Joy's head in the background. She was happily playing on the porch, completely oblivious to the camera and me. :-)
The doll quilt. Not bad for scraps left behind! I cheated with this one, backed it with fleece instead of doing batting and a backing, and stitched it together on the machine. I was in a hurry to get it done!
My favorite out of all the quilts I've ever made is still the quilt I made for Gracie when she was born, but I can say with complete confidence that this is the most beautiful quilt I've ever made. And I am so in love with this zig-zag pattern, that I have a whole host of quilts now parading through my mind, all variations on it, just waiting to be made. In fact, I've kind of fallen in love with the more modern quilt look in general - I'm not sure if I could go back to traditional patterns now! I do have one quilt - this one for the back of our couch - that I started before this one, that is a traditional pattern, but after I finish it, it's going to be all clean, simple lines and unexpected designs!
The very best thing about this quilt will be when I get to see my friends' new daughter wrapped up in it! Soon, I hope, Lord willing!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
My Tale of Woe
Yesterday as I was preparing supper, I saw evidence that our little furry friends were not, in fact, eradicated, and that the stray-ish cat that wanders around here is not a good mouser. So, after the girls went to bed, Carl re-set the traps downstairs, and I spent the next hour and a half scrubbing out my kitchen, including all open shelves and counters, as well as my laundry room, bathroom, and the hall closet I had just barely cleaned a couple of weeks ago.
I finally finished with that, and decided to give the dining room floor a quick sweep so the mice wouldn't ignore the newly-cleaned kitchen and go for the plethora of crumbs Gracie scatters at Every Single meal. While sweeping, I noticed a large number of ants enjoying her bounty.
O help.
Keep in mind that usually, after the girls go to bed, I crash. I either sit at my desk and write, or I cuddle up on the couch and read. Last night I was planning on reading, a reward for finishing up the closets. Instead, I found myself on my hands and knees scrubbing my dining room with vinegar and water to remove any food trails the ants might have laid, at 9:00 at night.
So not fun.
I did manage to get in a bit of relaxing once it was all done, and then went up to bed, where I tossed and turned for nearly an hour, trying to find the best position for my aching body. Then - thump, thump, thump, I heard little feet going downstairs. I sprinted out of the bedroom, silently cursing the baby monitor which is so exclusive in what it picks up (not someone getting out of bed and opening her door, for example), made it to the hall, and ...
Stepped right in a puddle.
Joy had not moved quite quickly enough when she woke up needing to go to the bathroom. By the time I got downstairs (hopping on one foot, since the other was dripping), she was standing by the toilet waiting for me, her underwear and pants absolutely saturated. I did manage to be grateful that A) she'd at least made it out of her bed and bedroom before having the accident, meaning I only had to change her underwear and pajamas and clean the hall/stairs; and B) that I'd been too tired to dump my mop water when I finished in the dining room earlier, meaning I didn't need to make up a fresh batch at 11:00 at night.
Joy put back in bed, the floors freshly cleaned, I crawled back into bed, where I repressed the very strong urge to pummel my obliviously-sleeping husband with a pillow (How dare he sleep when I'm doing all this? The nerve!), absolutely could not get to sleep between my aching body and the conviction that the minute I dozed off Joy was going to come out of her room again and this time I wouldn't hear anything, and finally gave up and dragged my pillow and an extra blanket downstairs, and spent the rest of the night on the couch.
I am exhausted and sore today, and don't plan on doing anything more strenuous than curling up on the couch with my girls and some tea.
On the bright side, at least the majority of my house is sparkling clean.
And we caught another mouse in the traps last night.
I don't think I'll be reading any Redwall books in the near future - I'd be too inclined to cheer for the foxes and cats.
I finally finished with that, and decided to give the dining room floor a quick sweep so the mice wouldn't ignore the newly-cleaned kitchen and go for the plethora of crumbs Gracie scatters at Every Single meal. While sweeping, I noticed a large number of ants enjoying her bounty.
O help.
Keep in mind that usually, after the girls go to bed, I crash. I either sit at my desk and write, or I cuddle up on the couch and read. Last night I was planning on reading, a reward for finishing up the closets. Instead, I found myself on my hands and knees scrubbing my dining room with vinegar and water to remove any food trails the ants might have laid, at 9:00 at night.
So not fun.
I did manage to get in a bit of relaxing once it was all done, and then went up to bed, where I tossed and turned for nearly an hour, trying to find the best position for my aching body. Then - thump, thump, thump, I heard little feet going downstairs. I sprinted out of the bedroom, silently cursing the baby monitor which is so exclusive in what it picks up (not someone getting out of bed and opening her door, for example), made it to the hall, and ...
Stepped right in a puddle.
Joy had not moved quite quickly enough when she woke up needing to go to the bathroom. By the time I got downstairs (hopping on one foot, since the other was dripping), she was standing by the toilet waiting for me, her underwear and pants absolutely saturated. I did manage to be grateful that A) she'd at least made it out of her bed and bedroom before having the accident, meaning I only had to change her underwear and pajamas and clean the hall/stairs; and B) that I'd been too tired to dump my mop water when I finished in the dining room earlier, meaning I didn't need to make up a fresh batch at 11:00 at night.
Joy put back in bed, the floors freshly cleaned, I crawled back into bed, where I repressed the very strong urge to pummel my obliviously-sleeping husband with a pillow (How dare he sleep when I'm doing all this? The nerve!), absolutely could not get to sleep between my aching body and the conviction that the minute I dozed off Joy was going to come out of her room again and this time I wouldn't hear anything, and finally gave up and dragged my pillow and an extra blanket downstairs, and spent the rest of the night on the couch.
I am exhausted and sore today, and don't plan on doing anything more strenuous than curling up on the couch with my girls and some tea.
On the bright side, at least the majority of my house is sparkling clean.
And we caught another mouse in the traps last night.
I don't think I'll be reading any Redwall books in the near future - I'd be too inclined to cheer for the foxes and cats.
Love live Queen Tsarmina!
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Just a Little Spot
I have finally finished my closet-cleaning extravaganza - or as finished as I can be until my dad brings down the plethora of Rubbermaid totes I need to completely finish the organizing. Right now a large amount of children's clothes are still in big garbage bags, and I would really, really like to get them in totes, labeled, and downstairs in the cellar.
But I've done as much as I can for now, and an unexpected side benefit is that with all the space that has just opened up in Joy's closet, half of it now serves as an extra play area for the girls. I laid some blankets down on the floor, added some pillows, and put the basket of stuffed animals in there. They love it. (The girls, not the animals.)
I remember being a little kid, and even though I had a beautiful room all to myself, I still wanted a special little hidden area of my own. I used to play in my closet, until I got too big and Mom started to get worried when I would close the door ("Those slats aren't really big enough to let in enough air for you to breathe!"); then I moved down into the laundry room, happily reading or dreaming next to the washing machine.
There's just something special about a little nook secluded away from everyone. I'm so glad I can give that to my girls.
(Pictures eventually, when I have a camera and the energy. Closet-cleaning is exhausting.)
(Another big benefit to finishing this cleaning? I can now give myself the reward I promised myself ages ago, back when I began: I get to read God of the Hive! In the evening when the girls are asleep. After I've washed my hands thoroughly with soap and water. And no snacking. One does not take chances with an autographed copy of a book that belongs to a friend!)
But I've done as much as I can for now, and an unexpected side benefit is that with all the space that has just opened up in Joy's closet, half of it now serves as an extra play area for the girls. I laid some blankets down on the floor, added some pillows, and put the basket of stuffed animals in there. They love it. (The girls, not the animals.)
I remember being a little kid, and even though I had a beautiful room all to myself, I still wanted a special little hidden area of my own. I used to play in my closet, until I got too big and Mom started to get worried when I would close the door ("Those slats aren't really big enough to let in enough air for you to breathe!"); then I moved down into the laundry room, happily reading or dreaming next to the washing machine.
There's just something special about a little nook secluded away from everyone. I'm so glad I can give that to my girls.
(Pictures eventually, when I have a camera and the energy. Closet-cleaning is exhausting.)
(Another big benefit to finishing this cleaning? I can now give myself the reward I promised myself ages ago, back when I began: I get to read God of the Hive! In the evening when the girls are asleep. After I've washed my hands thoroughly with soap and water. And no snacking. One does not take chances with an autographed copy of a book that belongs to a friend!)
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Paranoia, Slightly
Just a quick note to say that I've turned the word verification option back on for comments. I had hoped to be able to do away with it entirely, since Blogger has a spam filter now, but I've been getting odd random comments, anonymous, here and there ever since I turned off the wv, and it's unnerving me slightly.
Besides, without the wv, how can I get beautifulmonday's clever definitions for all the words?
Besides, without the wv, how can I get beautifulmonday's clever definitions for all the words?
Monday, September 20, 2010
Apples!
We've gone apple picking twice now this fall - and we have at least one more trip on our horizon (maybe more if we can convince some of our friends to join us for a jaunt to the orchard in October). I don't foresee any of us getting bored with it any time soon.
We love apples, but it's not just that.
(Well, maybe it is for my little girls who ask me for apples or applesauce almost every single day.)
These orchards are beautiful: rows upon rows of trees, with the mountains rising in the background. There is plenty of room for little girls to run and hide under branches, to feel like big-shots by helping Papa pick the apples, to explore and stretch and be free.
And occasionally there are small dogs who utterly fascinate my Grace, causing her to chase after them as fast as she can, and cry bitterly when mean Mamma and Papa pick her up and bring her back to the family.
Poor thing.
Joy has been asking about picking apples ever since last year, which is fairly impressive considering that she wasn't even two then. Now she's almost three, and asks every day if we're going back to pick more apples.
Soon, we tell her. Next weekend.
These are the moments we cherish.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Weekend Update
I meant to post something yesterday ... but I finished the final four chapters in Hosea instead, followed by some mad baking and cleaning in preparation for my mother-in-law and sister-in-law's arrival yesterday evening. And I didn't even realize until it was almost time for bed that I had an empty post page still sitting open, waiting for me to write. Oops.
We are off for Week #2 of our Three-Week Apple Picking Extravaganza in just a little bit, as soon as Carl's done in the shower and I get the girls dressed. Last week was Macs, this week is Macs AND Cortlands, next week is Empires (and hopefully they'll still have some Cortlands, because those are my favorite for applesauce). We have a plan!
I am also hoping, at some point in these three trips to the farm, to get a good picture of the girls together for our Christmas card. So fun!
I also hope to spend some time this weekend scouring the MS for unnecessary use of adverbs, particularly in my dialogue, ie. "she said dramatically," "he said dryly," "she whispered slyly," etc. It's lazy, and I think I'm prone to it, and I've read in two different places this week that it's a sign of an amateur. Time to go over the MS again with an eagle eye!
So that's my weekend. What are you doing these next couple of days?
We are off for Week #2 of our Three-Week Apple Picking Extravaganza in just a little bit, as soon as Carl's done in the shower and I get the girls dressed. Last week was Macs, this week is Macs AND Cortlands, next week is Empires (and hopefully they'll still have some Cortlands, because those are my favorite for applesauce). We have a plan!
I am also hoping, at some point in these three trips to the farm, to get a good picture of the girls together for our Christmas card. So fun!
I also hope to spend some time this weekend scouring the MS for unnecessary use of adverbs, particularly in my dialogue, ie. "she said dramatically," "he said dryly," "she whispered slyly," etc. It's lazy, and I think I'm prone to it, and I've read in two different places this week that it's a sign of an amateur. Time to go over the MS again with an eagle eye!
So that's my weekend. What are you doing these next couple of days?
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Fellowship of the Church
We went to church this past Sunday.
Except for once in April (to my grandmother's church) and once in June (to my dad's), we haven't been to church since March. March.
We're not anti-church - far from it. We have both been craving the fellowship, the teaching, the worship, the chance to serve others in the Body. We just haven't had a spare moment to actually begin the search for a new, healthy church in earnest. We've had scattered Sundays here or there throughout the summer, but never enough in a row to feel like we were actually giving a church a chance.
Then the other night, after my meltdown, Carl did some looking online, deciding that even though our next two Sundays were filled, we were at least going to visit one church. We already had a few on our list of possibilities, but he ended up checking out the Gospel Coalition to see if they had connections to any churches in our area.
They did - a small fellowship, nondenominational, that meets in a fire hall twenty-five minutes from here. And so that was where we went this week.
And oh, it was good. Both Carl and I were overwhelmed at various points throughout the service with how amazingly right it felt to be worshipping with other believers again. I couldn't stay for the entire sermon - Gracie got squirmy so I took her to the nursery, and I really don't like leaving the girls alone in nursery on their first Sunday in a new place - but Carl said it was excellent. We were greeted many times both before and after the service - I think almost every member of the congregation came up to say hello, with a genuine welcome shining in their face. By the time Gracie and I made it out of nursery after the service, Carl was already talking with the pastor and some of the other men about his seminary goals.
A very nice young couple invited us out to lunch afterward - even with our squirming children. Somehow, growing up, inviting new people to lunch after church just came to be one of the signs for me of a welcoming church. I don't know why, exactly, except maybe that our church usually did that sort of thing? Although thinking about it, our church folk usually all gathered at each other's homes for lunch, and newcomers were generally included almost matter-of-fact, so maybe it was less about making people welcome and more about just the way we did things in the North Country.
Anyway. We have been in some lovely churches, with wonderful people, and yet never until this Sunday has anyone invited us, impromptu, to lunch afterward. So for me, to have this couple do so, felt like I had finally come home to a church I recognized.
We had a lovely lunch at Friendly's (even with our squirming children!), discussing our histories, theology, how we've seen God work in our lives ... all marvelously edifying, very little idle chit-chat that seems to be the expected norm these days. Carl gets so frustrated when all conversations after any service revolve around "the big game," just as I am usually left feeling empty when the women only want to chat about the kids, the husband, the home, or if they have jobs outside the home, their work. Why can't we talk about what we've just heard in the sermon? Why can't we discuss what God is doing in our lives? Why is empty social chit-chat the only acceptable post-church conversation?
Well, Lucas and Mary (not their real names, but non-de-plumes I picked out of the air for them - don't know if they'd like their identities broadcast over the internet) were not bound by those conventions, any more than Carl and I are. And oh, it was just as refreshing, in its own way, as the service itself was.
We have family coming the next couple of weeks, but then we are planning on going back. It's hard to tell for certain after just one week, but as of right now, we have a very strong suspicion that God has led us to the church where he means for us to stay, at least until Chicago calls.
We are so very, very thankful.
Except for once in April (to my grandmother's church) and once in June (to my dad's), we haven't been to church since March. March.
We're not anti-church - far from it. We have both been craving the fellowship, the teaching, the worship, the chance to serve others in the Body. We just haven't had a spare moment to actually begin the search for a new, healthy church in earnest. We've had scattered Sundays here or there throughout the summer, but never enough in a row to feel like we were actually giving a church a chance.
Then the other night, after my meltdown, Carl did some looking online, deciding that even though our next two Sundays were filled, we were at least going to visit one church. We already had a few on our list of possibilities, but he ended up checking out the Gospel Coalition to see if they had connections to any churches in our area.
They did - a small fellowship, nondenominational, that meets in a fire hall twenty-five minutes from here. And so that was where we went this week.
And oh, it was good. Both Carl and I were overwhelmed at various points throughout the service with how amazingly right it felt to be worshipping with other believers again. I couldn't stay for the entire sermon - Gracie got squirmy so I took her to the nursery, and I really don't like leaving the girls alone in nursery on their first Sunday in a new place - but Carl said it was excellent. We were greeted many times both before and after the service - I think almost every member of the congregation came up to say hello, with a genuine welcome shining in their face. By the time Gracie and I made it out of nursery after the service, Carl was already talking with the pastor and some of the other men about his seminary goals.
A very nice young couple invited us out to lunch afterward - even with our squirming children. Somehow, growing up, inviting new people to lunch after church just came to be one of the signs for me of a welcoming church. I don't know why, exactly, except maybe that our church usually did that sort of thing? Although thinking about it, our church folk usually all gathered at each other's homes for lunch, and newcomers were generally included almost matter-of-fact, so maybe it was less about making people welcome and more about just the way we did things in the North Country.
Anyway. We have been in some lovely churches, with wonderful people, and yet never until this Sunday has anyone invited us, impromptu, to lunch afterward. So for me, to have this couple do so, felt like I had finally come home to a church I recognized.
We had a lovely lunch at Friendly's (even with our squirming children!), discussing our histories, theology, how we've seen God work in our lives ... all marvelously edifying, very little idle chit-chat that seems to be the expected norm these days. Carl gets so frustrated when all conversations after any service revolve around "the big game," just as I am usually left feeling empty when the women only want to chat about the kids, the husband, the home, or if they have jobs outside the home, their work. Why can't we talk about what we've just heard in the sermon? Why can't we discuss what God is doing in our lives? Why is empty social chit-chat the only acceptable post-church conversation?
Well, Lucas and Mary (not their real names, but non-de-plumes I picked out of the air for them - don't know if they'd like their identities broadcast over the internet) were not bound by those conventions, any more than Carl and I are. And oh, it was just as refreshing, in its own way, as the service itself was.
We have family coming the next couple of weeks, but then we are planning on going back. It's hard to tell for certain after just one week, but as of right now, we have a very strong suspicion that God has led us to the church where he means for us to stay, at least until Chicago calls.
We are so very, very thankful.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Thank You
You are beautiful people.
I checked my blog comments obsessively on Friday and Saturday, and cried a bit with each one. Thank you for your generosity, your humility, your greatness of spirit. And though I would dearly love to show my gratitude with the planned giveaway, I will honor your selflessness by acknowledging your requests to be left out of any giveaway, and refrain.
(But, Adrienne and Connie? I can promise that Gwen's sequel will be showing up on ff.net soon - I started working on it over the weekend. And Sunrise, I have been turning over ideas for a Prydain story. Consider it my way of showing my gratitude.)
(Oh, and Sewgirl, you receive the grand prize of a weekend with your granddaughters, son, and favorite daughter-in-law, complete with apple picking, chicken tortilla soup and apple cheddar scones!)
(Yes, Sewgirl is my mother-in-law, everyone. And yes, I am her only daughter-in-law.)
Now that the parenthesis are out of the way - the local chapter of the Alzheimer's Association raised over 38,000 with the walk, and my family brought in almost 2,900 of that. Thank you! One of my younger cousins won the prize again for the young person who raised the most individually. I swear, he and his brothers should go into politics, they are so persuasive.
So thank you. Again. It is a beautiful thing to see the body of Christ working together across the miles like this. My heart is with you all.
I checked my blog comments obsessively on Friday and Saturday, and cried a bit with each one. Thank you for your generosity, your humility, your greatness of spirit. And though I would dearly love to show my gratitude with the planned giveaway, I will honor your selflessness by acknowledging your requests to be left out of any giveaway, and refrain.
(But, Adrienne and Connie? I can promise that Gwen's sequel will be showing up on ff.net soon - I started working on it over the weekend. And Sunrise, I have been turning over ideas for a Prydain story. Consider it my way of showing my gratitude.)
(Oh, and Sewgirl, you receive the grand prize of a weekend with your granddaughters, son, and favorite daughter-in-law, complete with apple picking, chicken tortilla soup and apple cheddar scones!)
(Yes, Sewgirl is my mother-in-law, everyone. And yes, I am her only daughter-in-law.)
Now that the parenthesis are out of the way - the local chapter of the Alzheimer's Association raised over 38,000 with the walk, and my family brought in almost 2,900 of that. Thank you! One of my younger cousins won the prize again for the young person who raised the most individually. I swear, he and his brothers should go into politics, they are so persuasive.
So thank you. Again. It is a beautiful thing to see the body of Christ working together across the miles like this. My heart is with you all.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Memory Walk 2010
This Sunday is the annual Memory Walk in support of Alzheimer's. My family's been participating for a number of years now, ever since my grandmother was diagnosed with this horrible, loathsome disease.
I'm not going to be able to make it up this year, but if you want to donate, you can visit my family's team page here and leave a donation. My grandfather's been really ill this year, so we're falling behind in support raising!
If you do donate, please just leave a brief comment here letting me know. I will be doing some sort of giveaway for this ... stay tuned on Monday to find out what it will be!
My grandmother was a fun, vibrant, loving woman who always had a twinkle in her eye and a joke on her lips. She made animal pancakes and homemade bread for my sister and me every time we spent the night. She had an enormous garden, loved to watch birds, and used her bird-watching binoculars to spy on her neighbors (they did the same - they used to catch each other through the binoculars, and then they would laugh and laugh). Every time she and Grandpa would come into the hardware store to say hi to me and Dad, she would tease every single one of our co-workers, knowing each of them personally and having a little joke just for them.
She is still alive, but all that made her Grandma is gone, and if we can do anything to help prevent any other family from having to watch a beloved degenerate so frighteningly, then that is a Good Thing.
If you can't donate, could you at least say a prayer for those who are suffering from this disease, and their families?
Thank you so much.
I'm not going to be able to make it up this year, but if you want to donate, you can visit my family's team page here and leave a donation. My grandfather's been really ill this year, so we're falling behind in support raising!
If you do donate, please just leave a brief comment here letting me know. I will be doing some sort of giveaway for this ... stay tuned on Monday to find out what it will be!
My grandmother was a fun, vibrant, loving woman who always had a twinkle in her eye and a joke on her lips. She made animal pancakes and homemade bread for my sister and me every time we spent the night. She had an enormous garden, loved to watch birds, and used her bird-watching binoculars to spy on her neighbors (they did the same - they used to catch each other through the binoculars, and then they would laugh and laugh). Every time she and Grandpa would come into the hardware store to say hi to me and Dad, she would tease every single one of our co-workers, knowing each of them personally and having a little joke just for them.
She is still alive, but all that made her Grandma is gone, and if we can do anything to help prevent any other family from having to watch a beloved degenerate so frighteningly, then that is a Good Thing.
If you can't donate, could you at least say a prayer for those who are suffering from this disease, and their families?
Thank you so much.
Lois Elnina (my grandmother): Senior Picture
My grandparents, 1951
Grandma and Grandpa's wedding day. (Grandma's wedding dress has been passed to me, and someday I am going to have it professionally cleaned and then make it into a quilt along with fabric left over from my wedding dress, and then give it to whichever of my girls gets married first.)
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Words of Hope and Comfort
"This is like the days of Noah to me:
As I swore that the waters of Noah
should no more go over the earth,
so I have sworn that I will not be angry with you,
and will not rebuke you.
For the mountains may depart
and the hills be removed,
but my steadfast love shall not depart from you,
and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,"
says the LORD, who has compassion on you.
"O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted,
behold, I will set your stones in antimony,
and lay your foundations with sapphires.
I will make your pinnacles of agate,
your gates of carbuncles,
and all your wall of precious stones.
All your children shall be taught by the LORD,
and great shall be the peace of your children."
Isaiah 54:9-13
As I swore that the waters of Noah
should no more go over the earth,
so I have sworn that I will not be angry with you,
and will not rebuke you.
For the mountains may depart
and the hills be removed,
but my steadfast love shall not depart from you,
and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,"
says the LORD, who has compassion on you.
"O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted,
behold, I will set your stones in antimony,
and lay your foundations with sapphires.
I will make your pinnacles of agate,
your gates of carbuncles,
and all your wall of precious stones.
All your children shall be taught by the LORD,
and great shall be the peace of your children."
Isaiah 54:9-13
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
Light Ahead
Last night, I made an ass (in the original meaning of that word - a real donkey) of myself. And after I was done feeling stupid when I'd finished, I realized that I actually felt better than I had in months.
To expand: at supper last night, I blurted out to Carl that I thought I was struggling with fighting off depression again. Rather naturally, he was taken aback, and kind of fumbled his response, and the subject was dropped. I felt rebuffed, and slunk away after we were done eating and the girls were put in bed to sulk about it.
(For the record, we don't usually discuss such topics at the dinner table, but lately, that's the only time we actually have to talk about anything - the curse of overtime and young children combined.)
Carl, not being a complete fool, figured out I was still upset, and despite resolving not five minutes earlier to just keep my mouth shut, I ended up spilling everything I had been feeling for so long - even the stupid stuff, the stuff that even my own logic could shred apart. Carl tried to talk through a lot of it with me, but most of it wasn't even anything to talk about - just me feeling lonely, neglected, like nobody at all, including my husband, cared about me as a person, cared enough to notice that I was utterly overwhelmed and discouraged.
Anyway, the conversation (or monologue) petered out eventually, and I retreated into my sewing room the eat the popcorn I had prepared for myself before Carl and I started talking and be alone to lick my wounds.
Except I realized I didn't really have any wounds to lick.
In fact, I felt like a complete idiot.
All those problems that had seemed so real, so burdensome, so insurmountable when I was hugging them to my chest, suddenly appeared as less than nothing, and incredibly selfish. Yes, of course life is hard right now. Hello, I'm a grown-up. Life gets tough. Deal with it. It's not a reason to turn into a quivering mass of hopelessness.
After a little bit, my perspective changed again, to what I am now thinking is the healthiest of them all. I was able to stand back a little bit, look at it all objectively, and say: Yes, life is hard, and while I need to be able to deal with it, I still have some good reason for feeling so overwhelmed and discouraged. Carl and I have maybe five minutes a day to talk about anything not child-related. My family is all far away, and they have their own things to deal with, not leaving them much attention to spare for my long-distance needs. I have - literally - only three friends in this area, and they are all superbly busy with their lives, too. We aren't going to a church right now, because we simply haven't had time to look for one since leaving our former church - in March. The girls are teething and growing and testing, and I am home alone with them five and a half days out of the week, with no vehicle to even go for a drive when we get stir-crazy nor a yard or anything within walking distance to get us out of the house.
Taken separately, these aren't huge things. Put them together, and they result in huge loneliness. It's not Carl's fault; it's not the girls' fault; it's not my family's fault; it's not even my fault. Nobody is to blame! It's just the way life is right now. It's a season, and God is bringing me through it for a purpose. But that doesn't mean that my feelings of discouragement are invalid, either. But by keeping them to myself because I thought they were foolish, I built them up into more than what they are. In spilling them out to Carl, I was able to gain that perspective I needed.
I left the sewing room. I went and sat with Carl at his computer desk, and we looked at church websites to decide which one we wanted to visit next Sunday, provided he doesn't have to work on Saturday. We were both exhausted by 9:30, but a good kind of tired, for a change. When I woke up this morning, I still felt as cranky as I have been for weeks, but I began praying as soon as my brain started to function, and I still am chanting in my mind, behind everything else that I am thinking and doing: "Lord, help me love them more than me today. Fix my eyes on you."
I hesitated to write this post, because I know that I write an awful lot of self-pitying drivel on here, and I didn't want this to be more of the same. In the end, though, I decided it was worth sharing, if for nothing else than what I learned - again - from it all.
No matter how unimportant or insignificant your emotions seem to you, don't let them build up. Talk. Make time to share with the person most important to you. Don't let it build until everything seems utterly hopeless. Even if you feel like an idiot afterward, for letting such petty things overwhelm you. God created us to share each other's burdens.
Sometimes, it's good to be an ass.
To expand: at supper last night, I blurted out to Carl that I thought I was struggling with fighting off depression again. Rather naturally, he was taken aback, and kind of fumbled his response, and the subject was dropped. I felt rebuffed, and slunk away after we were done eating and the girls were put in bed to sulk about it.
(For the record, we don't usually discuss such topics at the dinner table, but lately, that's the only time we actually have to talk about anything - the curse of overtime and young children combined.)
Carl, not being a complete fool, figured out I was still upset, and despite resolving not five minutes earlier to just keep my mouth shut, I ended up spilling everything I had been feeling for so long - even the stupid stuff, the stuff that even my own logic could shred apart. Carl tried to talk through a lot of it with me, but most of it wasn't even anything to talk about - just me feeling lonely, neglected, like nobody at all, including my husband, cared about me as a person, cared enough to notice that I was utterly overwhelmed and discouraged.
Anyway, the conversation (or monologue) petered out eventually, and I retreated into my sewing room the eat the popcorn I had prepared for myself before Carl and I started talking and be alone to lick my wounds.
Except I realized I didn't really have any wounds to lick.
In fact, I felt like a complete idiot.
All those problems that had seemed so real, so burdensome, so insurmountable when I was hugging them to my chest, suddenly appeared as less than nothing, and incredibly selfish. Yes, of course life is hard right now. Hello, I'm a grown-up. Life gets tough. Deal with it. It's not a reason to turn into a quivering mass of hopelessness.
After a little bit, my perspective changed again, to what I am now thinking is the healthiest of them all. I was able to stand back a little bit, look at it all objectively, and say: Yes, life is hard, and while I need to be able to deal with it, I still have some good reason for feeling so overwhelmed and discouraged. Carl and I have maybe five minutes a day to talk about anything not child-related. My family is all far away, and they have their own things to deal with, not leaving them much attention to spare for my long-distance needs. I have - literally - only three friends in this area, and they are all superbly busy with their lives, too. We aren't going to a church right now, because we simply haven't had time to look for one since leaving our former church - in March. The girls are teething and growing and testing, and I am home alone with them five and a half days out of the week, with no vehicle to even go for a drive when we get stir-crazy nor a yard or anything within walking distance to get us out of the house.
Taken separately, these aren't huge things. Put them together, and they result in huge loneliness. It's not Carl's fault; it's not the girls' fault; it's not my family's fault; it's not even my fault. Nobody is to blame! It's just the way life is right now. It's a season, and God is bringing me through it for a purpose. But that doesn't mean that my feelings of discouragement are invalid, either. But by keeping them to myself because I thought they were foolish, I built them up into more than what they are. In spilling them out to Carl, I was able to gain that perspective I needed.
I left the sewing room. I went and sat with Carl at his computer desk, and we looked at church websites to decide which one we wanted to visit next Sunday, provided he doesn't have to work on Saturday. We were both exhausted by 9:30, but a good kind of tired, for a change. When I woke up this morning, I still felt as cranky as I have been for weeks, but I began praying as soon as my brain started to function, and I still am chanting in my mind, behind everything else that I am thinking and doing: "Lord, help me love them more than me today. Fix my eyes on you."
I hesitated to write this post, because I know that I write an awful lot of self-pitying drivel on here, and I didn't want this to be more of the same. In the end, though, I decided it was worth sharing, if for nothing else than what I learned - again - from it all.
No matter how unimportant or insignificant your emotions seem to you, don't let them build up. Talk. Make time to share with the person most important to you. Don't let it build until everything seems utterly hopeless. Even if you feel like an idiot afterward, for letting such petty things overwhelm you. God created us to share each other's burdens.
Sometimes, it's good to be an ass.
Monday, September 06, 2010
New Blog
Carl has finally started his own blog! Go check it out:
Theological Pursuit
I would say something witty or profound here, but I have to go put supper in the oven, so I will simply say that I'm excited to see him start posting, and I hope you all are edified as well.
Theological Pursuit
I would say something witty or profound here, but I have to go put supper in the oven, so I will simply say that I'm excited to see him start posting, and I hope you all are edified as well.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Water to the Thirsty
Recently, I was looking up a few Bible verses for a friend. Nothing huge, nothing majorly theological, just a couple passages that were relevant to the situation. I didn't think much of it.
I was not prepared for how my heart leaped when I began reading those words - the Word - again. I didn't think it had been that long; after all, we read a chapter in the Bible every night after supper.
Except - Carl reads that aloud, while the girls and I listen. So it's not really me reading, my eyes scanning those words.
For a while, I had gotten into the habit of listening to a chapter or two of Scripture every morning while I fed Gracie her breakfast. When she started to be able to feed herself, that habit dropped; I just couldn't find a moment where the girls weren't chattering in my ears and/or I wasn't involved in something that required my full attention.
And with that habit slipping, so too did any ingestion of the Bible on any kind of a regular basis, except the aforementioned after-supper chapter. Like so many good habits, I felt the lack of it at first, but eventually it became normal.
Until I delved back in to it, seeking words to help a friend, and my thirsty heart rejoiced. Water! At last! I'd been spiritually dehydrated, and I didn't even realize it.
This morning, Joy asked for biscuits for breakfast. The heat is supposed to break tomorrow, so I decided I could risk using the oven for a brief period this morning. While I was mixing the dough, and the girls were playing together in the other room, I went to Acts, found the last chapter I had listened to before dropping the habit, and listened to both the next one and the one after that.
I am going to be starting an online Bible Study very soon with friends. I am also hoping, once I have finished this massive closet organization project that has swallowed my life right now, to start back up in my study through the book of Hosea.
Spiritual health doesn't just happen. It doesn't come from reading spiritually inclined Tweets, or blog posts with really good content. It doesn't come from thinking high thoughts. It comes from communion with the Lord, through prayer and study of the Word, through exhortation and encouragement from other believers.
I take a shower (almost) every day so that my body stays clean. I brush my teeth (and sometimes floss) every day so my mouth stays clean and healthy.
If I don't make it a habit to spend time in study, meditation (meditation on God, not on me and life in general), and prayer every day, my spirit does not stay clean and healthy. It lags. It gets tired. This tends to be a trend for me: I study, I slack, I falter, I forget.
Thankfully, the Father doesn't leave me there. His Holy Spirit is always there tugging at me, reminding me.
And so, with his most recent reminder, I once again ask his forgiveness for my weakness, and ask his help to "do better," as we tell Joy when she does the same naughtiness over and over.
Once again, I take up the reins of my runaway spiritual life, and bring it back under God's control.
Tomorrow, I will listen to the next few chapters in Acts.
I was not prepared for how my heart leaped when I began reading those words - the Word - again. I didn't think it had been that long; after all, we read a chapter in the Bible every night after supper.
Except - Carl reads that aloud, while the girls and I listen. So it's not really me reading, my eyes scanning those words.
For a while, I had gotten into the habit of listening to a chapter or two of Scripture every morning while I fed Gracie her breakfast. When she started to be able to feed herself, that habit dropped; I just couldn't find a moment where the girls weren't chattering in my ears and/or I wasn't involved in something that required my full attention.
And with that habit slipping, so too did any ingestion of the Bible on any kind of a regular basis, except the aforementioned after-supper chapter. Like so many good habits, I felt the lack of it at first, but eventually it became normal.
Until I delved back in to it, seeking words to help a friend, and my thirsty heart rejoiced. Water! At last! I'd been spiritually dehydrated, and I didn't even realize it.
This morning, Joy asked for biscuits for breakfast. The heat is supposed to break tomorrow, so I decided I could risk using the oven for a brief period this morning. While I was mixing the dough, and the girls were playing together in the other room, I went to Acts, found the last chapter I had listened to before dropping the habit, and listened to both the next one and the one after that.
I am going to be starting an online Bible Study very soon with friends. I am also hoping, once I have finished this massive closet organization project that has swallowed my life right now, to start back up in my study through the book of Hosea.
Spiritual health doesn't just happen. It doesn't come from reading spiritually inclined Tweets, or blog posts with really good content. It doesn't come from thinking high thoughts. It comes from communion with the Lord, through prayer and study of the Word, through exhortation and encouragement from other believers.
I take a shower (almost) every day so that my body stays clean. I brush my teeth (and sometimes floss) every day so my mouth stays clean and healthy.
If I don't make it a habit to spend time in study, meditation (meditation on God, not on me and life in general), and prayer every day, my spirit does not stay clean and healthy. It lags. It gets tired. This tends to be a trend for me: I study, I slack, I falter, I forget.
Thankfully, the Father doesn't leave me there. His Holy Spirit is always there tugging at me, reminding me.
And so, with his most recent reminder, I once again ask his forgiveness for my weakness, and ask his help to "do better," as we tell Joy when she does the same naughtiness over and over.
Once again, I take up the reins of my runaway spiritual life, and bring it back under God's control.
Tomorrow, I will listen to the next few chapters in Acts.
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