For my faithful ONE.

Someone asked me recently if I was going to start blogging again.  Maybe they said, "writing"....which is more of how I like to look at it anyway.  I didn't really have an answer, because to be honest, I haven't thought about this blog and/or writing on it in a LONG time.  Obviously!  But it made me stop and think about why I haven't.

Life, I guess.  The same life that keeps me from any other 'hobby' that seems superfluous.  I don't mean that in some negative, poor me, kind of way.  Life is good.  Life is GREAT, actually.  But it sometimes takes the starch out of a girl.  Like instead of making time to sit down and write a clever recount of my holidays, I just sit down.

And in all honesty, I don't remember the last time I did that very successfully either.  Not because I'm some super-busy mom, but I have some serious relaxation issues.  Usually I ready myself at about 8:30 pm to indulge in sitting time.  In slippered feet and jammy-pants, I get my book, iPad, or newspaper, grab a warm blanket and my jug of water, and make my way to the coveted chair in the living room.  (It's at this time of night that my Prince Charming is praying and reading to our 5 kids in the basement--go ahead, be jealous.)  

On a good night, I sit for about 10 minutes before I realize I have a dishwasher to unload, or someone is hollering for a pair of gym shorts still in the washer, and needed for school tomorrow.  You know, the same thing that happens in every house on the block.  Nothing new here.  My point is, I guess I use my time a tad differently now, than when I blogged regularly.  

But I miss it.  And apparently one.other.person does too.  

I am not resolving to write daily, because that would just equal = failure.  But I do want to write again.  It was something I enjoyed a great deal and can/should find time to do more.

Happy New Year!

grateful for a boy

There are a lot of special little boys in the world.  I happen to have one that I believe is a contender for the top ten most amazing little boys. 

Andrew Chad was born eight years ago today.  His was the pregnancy that I lamented the most over, felt the greatest level of anxiety about, and was most unprepared for spiritually and mentally. 

You see, in my simple human mind, I had my hands full.  With three other little ones at home all under five, a job change for my husband, and a moving from our home community to a new place, I was physically and mentally wiped out.

Although I never doubted God's ability to handle it all, I certainly doubted my own.

He sent me Andrew.  The boy that makes a mama's heart swell so large that it feels full to over-flowing.  From his dimpled cheeks to his tenderest of hearts, he is an amazing gift.  My hands were full, but my heart had so much room to spare!

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't look at his face and think of how blessed I am that I get to call him my son.  He is gentle with his love of his little sister, she calls him "Prince Charming", and means it with all of her heart.  He seeks to please everyone he meets.  From the time he was an infant, he would look over my shoulder during Mass and smile and coo at an older gentlemen a few pews behind us.  As he moved from a crawling baby into a teetering toddler, he quickly made his way back to Ron and lifted his pudgy arms up for Ron to pick him up.  Ron has been hooked ever since.  He calls Andrew, "his boy."  And I am not sure if one could tell who loves whom more!

Ron is just one example.  I could list at least five more.  People who are romanced by this freckle-nosed, fair-skinned, blue-eyed, dimpled-cheeked Prince Charming.

I am thankful that God sees beyond my fears and inadequacies and gives me the blessings I would never have been brave enough to ask for myself.

I am grateful to be Andrew's mom.  And although I am sentimental about his growing up, I am so excited to see all that God has in store for this young man!  He is sure to do mighty things.

Happy birthday to my sweet Big D.

Then sings my soul....

I sat in Mass on Saturday evening with my family and although I know that the homily was very spirit-filled and loaded with lessons, I was having a difficult time concentrating.  Shaking my head, as if to disrupt the cob-webs, I squinted my eyes and looked deeper into the face of the priest and prepared to focus.  Next to me I felt a little nudge in the ribs.  "Mom, I know that he's saying some really important stuff, but I just can't follow a word he is saying!"

Either I have the attention span of a nine year old, or it was a challenging message to process.  The former is quite possibly true!

Thinking that in some way I was really missing out on my weekly 'church' experience, due to a lack of ability to grab a chunk of meat in the homily and apply it to my life, I sat through the next several minutes of Mass feeling a tad disconnected.  Even through the amazing experience of receiving Jesus; body, blood, soul and divinity, I didn't have my 'moment'.

Then after the final blessing, and my mental preparation for Mass to be over, the piano began to dance.  Through the gifted fingers and talent of a musician in our church I heard the notes of an old and lovely hymn.  I closed my eyes as I heard the congregation begin the familiar words, "Oh Lord, my God when I in awesome wonder....."

Immediately tears sprang to my eyes as I let the beauty of the words wash through me.  At times I tried to croak out my own joyful noise to join the voices of my fellow parishioners.  But throughout most of the song, I could do little more than whisper my own prayer through the words of the song.

My favorite verse is what I will leave you with....and if it doesn't speak of gratitude, nothing else will.

"And when I think of God, His Son not sparing;
Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in;
That on the Cross, my burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died to take away my sin."

gratitude

It doesn't surprise me in the least that I missed my 'gratitude' day yesterday.  I was spending a good part of my day focused on absolutely everything out of my control and all that was disturbing me.

I made the wise choice to take my pooch to the beautiful state park nearby and exercise my demons....so to speak.  I knew that I was in a bad place in my head.  I knew that I didn't want to stay there.  Exercising  my body always strengthens my soul as well.

As I walked, I prayed.  I surrendered to God all that is His to begin with.  Little life disturbances were just manifestations of deeper things that I needed to surrender.  So I gave it all to Him in prayer.

I left the park feeling more peaceful in body, mind, and spirit.

Today, I am ready to be grateful.  For big and small things.

-I am grateful for my warm house on this chilly, snowy, morning.

-I am grateful for my morning companion, who is distracting me from the fact that I saw a mouse in my house.

-I am grateful that I don't have more irrational and debilitating fears.

-I am grateful that I have a friend who is a trained professional in talking people through their 'issues'.

-I am grateful that my brother and nieces will be reunited with their Army activated mom (my sister-in-law) for a much needed time together.  Although it's just a visit, I know that it is just what they need.

new every morning

Yesterday I was in a bit of a mood.

Not the kind where people usually like to be near me.

Even though my physical body had reason to need rest and quiet, my spiritual-self should have been strong enough to kick in and take over for my serious attitude.  I sat alone in my lazy-boy for a good portion of the day mainly because I was discouraged and overwhelmed with all that needed doing, and the sheer lack of energy that I felt in that moment.

My family kept a safe distance, as it is a very unusual sight to see mom wrapped in a blanket and sitting----for more than five consecutive minutes.  After confirming that I was indeed alive, followed by an, "Are you pregnant?" inquiry from my daughter, they wandered off to be near more joyful company.

I wanted to stop them.  I wanted to just get out of my funk.

Today I awoke feeling hopeful.  I was still seriously overwhelmed by all that needed doing in my home.  But I decided that thinking about it wasn't going to change anything.  I had to take action.  Even if my physical-self didn't feel like it.

I rolled up my sleeves (so to speak) and jumped in.  Now, many hours later, my shoulder hurt, my body aches and I am in serious need of a shower.  But my mood is something entirely different.

Instead of the discouragement, I feel gratitude.

I am grateful that I have a family that loves me through my moods.
I am grateful that I have a few close friends that know what words of encouragement I need.
I am grateful that although I may suffer an occasional day of discomfort, I am a healthy individual.
I am grateful for a day at home to accomplish the many tasks which need attention.
I am grateful that a $35 can of paint can transform a room, and my mood.
I am grateful that hope springs new every morning.

(Here's a peek at the 'peacock-y' blue that I painted my kitchen!)

In gratitude

I am joining some women who are offering posts of gratitude and thanksgiving on Monday's.  I'd link them....but I haven't blogged in so long, that I don't know if I remember how to do that!

As a mother, thank-yous have a way of coming at the strangest moments...if they come.  But with five kids my odds are greater that each day I may just hear those beautiful words: "Thank you, mom."

My soon to be 13 year-old son has been working on a big group project for science class.  So of course, he offered up our home to be the general head-quarters for such a project.  Which thrills me, because it means that he gets that our home will always be a welcoming place to his friends.  He gets it so well that he didn't feel the need to even ask, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

A couple nights a week for the past two weeks he has brought home 4-6 boys with him after football practice.  Usually right about the time we would normally eat dinner.  In our home, this can be a bit of a 'witching' hour for me.  Remember, I have five kids of my own and he just doubled the total number.

What is amazing to me is that instead of the activity making me crazy and grumpy, I felt complete peace-  even as they ran in and out of my house digging through drawers looking for tooth-picks, duct-tape, and spray paint.  For any knowing me, these actions would usually illicit panic in me.  I am not a crafty gal, and I don't always see the creative process as a thing of beauty!

This peace surprised me.  But I recognized it as the Holy Spirit.  Because, well, I know myself well enough after thirty-------some years, to know that it is not by might, nor by power.

In the final get-together of the project the boys needed some computer help, and at one point the computer shut down before they had saved---meaning that all their work was lost.  My son (who gets his temperament from his mother) hollered out to me, as I prepared dinner in the kitchen.  Thankfully, I was able to help them get back on track.

My almost teenage son, who finds hugging to be a tad intrusive (also like his mother), reached his arm around my waist, in front of his 4 friends, and said, "Thank you so much mom.  You are the best."

Not by might, nor by power, but by HIS spirit.  I am thankful for the guiding hand of the Holy Spirit.  I am thankful that God showed me His love for me through my son, and He showed my son His love for him through me.

signs of aging

I played the ever dangerous but always amusing game of "Guess-Who's-Older" with my kids on the drive to school.

How and why the topic came up is irrelevant.  The results are the point.

They won.

Which is to say, I was the loser.

If you haven't played this game, the rules are simple.  I name a person they all know, and ask if they think mom is older or younger or the same age as that person.  They respond with honesty.  Brutal honesty.

"You are YOUNGER than her?  No way!"

Fun game, eh?

Like I said, I lost.  Big time.

So now I am taking recommendations of skin moisturizers and anti-aging creams.

Anyone?

buying bulk for the many butts

I have yet to fully embrace the concept of purchasing in 'bulk' to the extent that companies like Clam's Sub or others similar to it, offer.  Not for one grand and very particular reason.  It's more of a compilation of many smaller, somewhat silly, reasons.  One of them being, that although I am the matriarch of a family that could consume 'bulk' quantities...I do not live in a home built to store such quantities.  Of course, I do purchase that way at times, and am happy to have that luxury. 

Mother Nature, who must be feeling a tad out of sorts (due to global warming, I am certain), has been less than warm and gentle as of late.  In fact, the term Cold Witch, comes to mind.  Due to one of her tirades, we were stuck within our home...somewhat stranded, if not completely, for four straight days.  And because I had not made proper arrangements prior, I was not as well stocked as one would want to be when being stranded in a home with five hungry children, whose 'personal plumbing' functions regularly.  Apparently, I was supposed to have listened the weathermen who made their predictions of the inclement weather in fact being a 'storm', because their accuracy in the past should have gained them my utmost faith.  (Tongue in cheek.)

Well, let me tell you- I have learned my lesson.  This family will be purchasing toilet paper in bulk quantity, with a stock pile in the storage room, from here on out.

I have been a tad bit slothful when it comes to sharing my reflective moments throughout Lent.  Since giving up...... giving up....... hmmm, what did we give up again?  Oh yes, television!  Good grief, I almost forgot.  As usual, the first week is the real challenge.  In the weeks following it becomes an enormous blessing.  The television show that I was convinced I couldn't miss has completely vanished from my memory.  Maybe not vanished, but the season finale that I was so sad to miss now seems so insignificant now.

So what HAVE I been doing?  Well, first I read a really depressing book.  In case that is your thing, it was called "Life as We Knew It."  It is part of a trilogy, and yes I will read the other two.  It was just depressing enough to be fantastic.

But in addition to that I picked up a book that I had read in early motherhood.  Yes, I know---in the grand scheme of things I am STILL in early motherhood.  So, more accurately, I read it in earlier motherhood.  Like the diapers and nursing stage.  I dusted it off and decided to re-read it.  What a fantastic little nugget it is.

"The Heart of Motherhood" is so jam packed with encouragement and prayerful reflection for moms that I could re-read it weekly and learn something new.  The pages are discolored and well worn because I rely  heavily on the prayers within throughout my daily life as a mom.

It is high on the recommend list.

So that's it.  I haven't been doing anything but read.  Ha.  These have actually been some of the busiest weeks of my life, and I can't even see where television would have fit into the schedule anyway! 
God's richest blessings on your final days of Lent!  May your journey be challenging, beautiful and blessed!

feeling my age...be that 'old age'

"In youth the days are short and the years are long; in old age the years are short and the days are long."  -Nikita Ivanovich Panin

I'll give that a moment to settle in your brain.  Go ahead, read it a few more times if you wish.





Upon first reading, my initial thought was, "Wow.... I had NO idea I was in 'old age' already!"

Seriously, I'm not yet 40 and the second half of that statement applies to me.  So, I'm not sure what that means.  And I'm not sure that I want to address it.

If you understand the quote at all, you definitely fall after the semicolon.  Because, well, youth do not understand things like that. 

I found this quote to be eerily true.  And a bit, wipe-my-eyes, saddish.

I think about my young children, who each and every.single.day let us know strongly that they are not ready for the day to be over.  Bedtime comes much too soon and they have so much more they wish to do.  Their day just isn't long enough.  All the while my husband and I are making eye contact above their heads thinking, "Seriously, bedtime can't come soon enough---I'm exhausted!"

Then I fast-forward.....to what I am assuming is considered my 'old age', and I am digging out Easter baskets and decorations to be prepared for the upcoming celebration---all the while having moments of deja`vu, feeling as though I JUST.PUT.THEM.AWAY.

Contrastingly, when I mention to my kids that we will do something this upcoming summer, I may as well say to them that we will be landing on the moon in our pod-mobile in the year 2045, because anything past two sleeps is just to stinkin' long to wait.

The only age category that seems to be totally immune and free from this paradox are those living away as college students.  Think about it.  Every day is perfect (tongue in cheek).  Now, I'm not saying we all want to return to the days of college.  I, for one, wouldn't trade places with the Pope---not that I could, being a woman and all.  I am exactly where I want to be.  But college does lend itself to endless days, endless years, a beautiful vastness of only meeting the needs of ourselves.  At least for MOST.  I don't remember thinking the days or years seemed to long or short.  Just right.  And honestly, I wasn't thinking about the day at all.  I was thinking more about the night life, or the cute boy next to me in Freshman Comp.

Anyway, be you young or old, I wanted to share this quote.  In hopes that we all try to live in the moment we are in because no matter what it may feel like...time moves on steadily for all of us, even those of us in our 'old age'.

speaking my language

During a fast from television, I hear things that are not typical conversation starters spoken in my home.

"Mom, can I read to my sister?"

"Mom, will you play ping-pong with me?"

"I organized the bathroom drawers for you, Mom."

"Mom, where are the coloring books?"

"Mom, do you need help folding the laundry?"

"Please let me finish this chapter before bed!"

"Hey, lets play hide-n-seek!"

And my most favorite:

"Anyone wanna play monopoly?"

bored enough for a board game?

Anyone remember those things that came in boxes, sometimes with dice, and colorful little pawns, sometimes a flicky-spinner thingy, or a popper-not to be mistaken for a pooper-in the middle?  I think it started with B.....oh yeah, board games!

My childhood memories are filled with evenings and snowy afternoons around the table playing Yahtzee, Sorry, Bible Trivia, Monopoly, RISK, Chess, Checkers, and my personal favorite, The Farming Game, or maybe it was a lively card game like Crazy 8's, Uno, or Slap-Jack.  I seem to have a vivid memory of the 'idea' of playing these games, but I don't seem to have a clear memory of how the actual 'playing' went.  I mean, it seems that we had fun.  We must have, right?

We have always played age appropriate games with our kids, which has meant for most of our adult lives we have been playing, Candyland, Hungry Hippo, or Chutes & Ladders.  And I am here to tell you that hanging onto your sanity after playing 14 straight games of any of the above is a feat not to be taken lightly.  These games require little thinking and no strategy.  Although, I'm pretty sure my husband still always found a way to beat the kids.

As our kids have begun to move into the age of more 'thoughtful' games, we have introduced a variety to them--games that have an element of competition AND fun.  I had the wonderful idea of teaching them Monopoly a few months back.  Dumbest thing I ever did.  We broke out the old Monopoly game, dusted off the box, sorted through the money and Community Chest and Chance cards and sat down for a fun evening around the board.

Holy Moses, that is the longest stinkin' game ever.  What were we thinking?  I swear I could have baked three cakes, planned a month's menu, cleaned two bathrooms, and done 6 loads of laundry in the time it took to set the dumb game up!  Okay, I COULD have done that, but I wouldn't have.  More likely I would have wasted an evening on Pinterest or Facebook.

The maiden voyage of Monopoly went moderately.  No one died.  Some cried, or maybe that was just me.

But attempts 2-10 have proven to be less 'fun' than the first.  There is nothing like a complex (okay, complex for kids ranging from 3-12) game to drain a person of all patience and suck the fun out of the very concept of family 'fun' night.  The funny thing is, we all gather around again to try it 'one more time' seemingly forgetting how badly it ended the last time. 

I'm pretty sure in ten attempts we've only completed the stinkin' game once, and that was with some highly questionable tactics being applied by the banker.  Lets just say that many were living solely on governmental assistance.

I guess that is the point.  Trudge on despite adversity.  Times aren't always easy and we aren't all basking in the wealth of the 'Boardwalk' folks.  Some of us are Baltic Avenue people, doing our best to survive.  Of course some of us, ie ME, spend most of the game in jail because our luck is minimal. 

I suppose if I were to ask my parents they would remember a few dramatic outbursts while playing with us as kids too.  And maybe even a board or two knocked over.  Being a family means we stomp off to our rooms, sulk and pout, then move on and do it all over again.  That my friends, is the game of Life.

sunday tv---woo-hoo, NOT

When I first learned that Sunday's were not included in the 40 days of Lent, I have to admit that this is the thought that crossed my mind:  "Ha!  Catholics.  They call this a fast?" 

I came from an evangelical upbringing, where fasting was as common as speaking in tongues.  I remember, as a kid, noticing that my own parents were not eating on a particular day and when asked they would respond with an explanation of "fasting and praying" for one particular intention or another.

When I converted and experienced my first Lent as a Catholic, I was a tad mystified by this idea of 'fasting' being used so....shall I say, loosely.  Of course, my own understanding of the Church's official teaching, was severely sparse. But on the complete food-fast days of Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, when it was explained to me that two small meals and only one 'normal' sized meal constituted a fast, I thought..."Seriously?  People in most parts of the world call that a week's worth of food!"  In the years following, when I was pregnant during 5 Lenten seasons, I was very appreciative of the fact that food was included in the 'fast' days, allowing a broader participation by the Church family.

My knowledge and understanding has improved, (at least in my beautiful Catholic faith), to say the least, over the years.  I have sought out answers to my semi-rebellious questions and self-righteous inclinations.  I have come to better understand the overall intent and purpose of fasting, and the Lenten journey, and as with every part of a spiritual or religious action, it all centers on the faith with which we apply.  The action itself is useless without our faith.

So, back to the intention of my post.  Sunday's are a FREE day!  No, not a day to fall into the pits of bad habits once again.  But it is certainly not a day to be sorrowing or mourning.  Sunday's are a mini-Easter each and every week.  Not focusing on our own sacrifices but on the ultimate one, one that didn't end in the grave.

Television on Sunday's stinks.  Especially when you only get 4 stations.  I'm just saying.  And not wanting to sorrow or mourn, we just shut it back off again.

spiritual growth & home improvement

Who needs television?  I am privy to some of the best theatrical and dramatic performances around, and the actors are all related to me.  I don't need reality TV.  I live it.  We are an episode of The Nanny, The Voice, and 18 Kids and Counting, all rolled into one.

So with extra time on our hands, like the half an-hour when we used to watch the news, we decided that a little demolition was in order.  Actually, neither my husband nor myself are ones to take on extra work when it involves the home improvement/decorating type.  We seem to find more than enough to fill our schedules between parenting, working, volunteering and sleeping, and quite frankly I feel that if time is freed up somewhere, it should most definitely be spent in the area of sleeping.  Home improvement is something we consider frivolous.  And personally I feel that way about cooking and cleaning too.  OK, maybe we just know our limitations.

However, when our middle daughter came out of the shower a few weeks ago holding one of the tiles from the tub surround in her hand, our days of being passive homeowners were over.  My suggestion of ignoring it went unheeded, and my husband's suggestion of slapping it back up there with a little adhesive of sorts (not duct tape) seemed most reasonable until two or three others fell beside it.

Dang. 

Thankfully we know people.  And those people know people.  So we were not left to tackle this job alone.  But we did spend a very romantic Friday night standing in the tub/shower together, butt to butt, prying 50 year old tile off the walls.  Sigh. 

We have scored a visit from my brother and nieces out of the deal though.  And Lent is the perfect time for out of state visitors.  Entertainment without television!

Got me thinking:  I wonder what else may need some fixin' around here.

day three of no tv

So one of the many problems with Facebook is that a simple 'like' is sometimes very difficult to interpret.  Many must have read yesterday's post.  Many 'liked' it on Facebook.  Without written explanation it is somewhat vexing for me to know what exactly you 'liked' about it.  Of course, for those without mild tendencies towards OCD, one would simply take the 'like' and move on. 

So what exactly did you like?

-Maybe it was a connection felt in that we still observe Lent and apparently take it somewhat seriously.
-Maybe it was a strong feeling about the evils of television and a supportive 'like' of our initiative.
-Maybe it was a 'like' in sympathy for me, thankful that it is my household and not yours.
-Maybe the throngs of fans that I once had during the glory days of blogging have returned.
-Maybe it was an accidental key stroke, meant to 'like' the picture of the cuddly kittens sharing a Valentine below my post.

I guess I will never know.  The voices in my head with keep pestering me about it for days to come though, you can be sure.

So what is planned for my household today?  Sans television that is?  Lord only knows.  And hopefully He is very proud of us. 

Rearrange the furniture?  Yes, I believe we'll start there.

day two without television

So for about 10 years now we have made it part of our Lenten tradition to pull the plug on television.  One would think that with the modern technology being what it is, DVR's etc., we could simply keep recording our favorite shows and watch them on Sunday's.

"What kind of a fast would that be?"  (Said in the deep voice of the man of the house.)  Not sure if it's the fast that motivates him or simply his pocketbook, but we dump cable every year at the start of lent and live (barely) without it until the end of summer--  Hooking up just in time for football kick-off.  Nice plan, eh?  Especially if you're the person who spends the least number of hours in the house....with five kids.  Five kids who do not have iPods, Xboxes, or any other state of the art gaming devices.  Yeah, I'll be honest--this wasn't my idea. 

Having said all that, it works somehow.  Like any change in routine it hurts the most a day or two in.  Well maybe more like two weeks in.  But like any change, if it doesn't kill us, it makes us stronger.  And honestly it isn't so bad.  In fact, on the days when the kids aren't totally annoying the heck out of me, it's rather nice to be disconnected from the boob tube.

So on day two of no television, I have already seen the benefits this fast produces. 

-I took a nap with my youngest and oldest.  Okay, so we three are medicated because of a lovely diagnosis of strep...but still, a nap?  How amazing is that?
-The play-dough made a reappearance.  But to be honest, only the kids would consider this a benefit.  Like glitter, sequins, glue, and pretty much anything kids enjoy, play-dough really gives me anxiety.
-A box of old walkie-talkies were suited up with batteries (emptying my end-of-the-world stash) and all five kids ran wildly throughout my house, which by the way, I have now decided is much too small, playing a thrilling game of hide-n-seek.  For which they insisted the lights must be out.  I just sat in the dark thinking about how much I love my husband.
-Duck call practice.  If you don't know what this is, be thankful.  It is ear-shattering bliss.  Yes, the oldest son has a nice little collection of duck calls, which apparently must be practiced so that you don't accidentally call down a pigeon instead of a duck while out hunting.  Because, well, we all know how embarrassing that would be.  I would send him outside to do it, but I'm afraid the neighbors might shoot him...accidentally mistaking him for a duck, of course.

I could go on.  And tomorrow I will.  Lucky you---apparently I blog when we don't have television.

Happy Lent!  Wait...that might not be the proper acclamation. 
Holy Lent!  No, that sounds like a blasphemous exclamation after winning the lottery.

Happy trails.

Sometimes it takes a smack to the head

So often I find myself all caught up in the day-to-day that it isn't until someone or something smacks me upside the head with a full-blown reality check that I realize that changes are brewing and I need to re-assess, re-examine, and re-affirm what is truly important, valuable, and worthy of my time and energy. 

Whether it is a prayer request sent through the local prayer chain of an unexpected illness, a news story about a tragedy that seems a bit too close to home, or maybe it is something nearer to my inner circle than that...something that truly disrupts the flow of my daily interactions--forcing me to stop and acknowledge the fact that change is indeed a very real part of life.

My first reaction is always the same.  PANIC.  Why do things have to change?  I am so good with routine and so... NOT-good with change.  At least change that I cannot control.  And maybe that's the point.  God knows that I tend to think I'm in control a bit more than I actually am.  He knows when that slap to head reality check is most needed.

It isn't until I have vented (sometimes over and over again) to the safe and loving ears of my husband, cried a few tears of frustration or hurt, challenged God to show me the reasons, that I finally surrender to the truth that life is all about change.  Despite how uncomfortable it sometimes makes me. 

About that time, God has this amazing way of bringing to my mind all of the images of 'change' that He brought to my life that have been the most earth-shattering, life-altering, amazing blessings.  Things that I could not have imagined or hoped for with my own limited understanding.

I guess I can choose to find comfort in the certainty that changes are a part of life.  And while I maybe can not control the changes, and while I usually don't always like the changes, I know that God is bigger than my doubt, discomfort or fear.

Warning Label

It's a cold January evening.  My house is relatively quiet, relative to the normal clamour of seven bodies moving in seven different directions.  Instead, the men of my tribe are doing what men do:  foraging and hunting.  And after a full day of 'girl only' time, my two oldest girls have settled themselves before the television to relax with a movie, and the 'baby'---can you still call them that when you are pretty sure that they are smarter than you?--- is slung haphazardly across my lap having given in to the sweet lullaby of sleep.

It seems like only yesterday when I started this blog.  Me and my humble little beginnings with tales of infants and toddlers and the life of a under-qualified mother.  Now I am staring into the face of the year when I become the mother of a teenager. 

In the blinking of an eye.

It seems as though that warning label should be stamped across our newborns sweet cheeks upon arrival into this world.

Everyone told me that when I was a new mother.  I think they said it in an attempt to encourage...or forewarn me, in those moments when only my hair had a wilder look than my eyes.  When sleep deprivation was as common as ear infections.  Surrounded by my youngins sitting in church, some lovely older woman would gently touch my shoulder and say, "It seems like only yesterday when I was in your place.  They will be grown and gone before you know it."  I remember smiling and assuming senility had already set in.

In the blinking of an eye.

No, mine aren't 'grown and gone'.  But they are growing.  And going.  In five directions each and every day.  I don't understand it.  It is a mystical mystery.  How is it that I feel as though I haven't aged in mind or spirit even a day...(my body is another story), since they were born, yet they seem to grow and change from one tucking into bed to the next?

I do not believe that we need an Instruction Manual when we take our kids home, but a little warning label might be nice. 

In the blink of an eye.

full hands or full heart?

So many topics to cover.  So little time to do so.  That's the story of life is it not?  Do we document what we are living, or do we just live it?  Maybe that is what pulled me away from blogging for so long.

As I stood at the 'clap in' at our kids' elementary school this morning holding my coffee cup, a video camera and my phone, I realized that my hands were full.  Too full.  It was a 'clap in' after all.  How was I to clap and live the moment with all that I was holding onto?  Did I want it preserved in digital eternity or in my heart, remembering that moment because I was fully part of it? 

My life has been defined by that lately.  Full hands can sometimes lead to a less than 'full' heart.  Who needs to be in this moment...me or my facebook friends?  Of course I love to share some of those special moments with many who are an important part of our life, yet separated by distance....but too often I find that the desire to 'upload' is stronger than the desire to be present.

This morning I came home to an empty house.  Okay...with seven people and two pets an empty house is totally inaccurate.  I came home to a house that felt empty.  Because lets face it, the souls in a home are what fill it up, not the stuff.

Life has pulled us into new and exciting avenues.  Oldest child beginning a new chapter in middle school (sigh), youngest child starting pre-school (bigger sigh)...and all the awesomeness in between.  Usually I won't be here at home alone, as life is taking me places as well---...but for today, this first day of school, I return to walk through their rooms picking up the remains of a hectic morning, and for the first time there isn't someone resembling me, but much smaller, following me around.  The dog and cat both look a bit forlorn as well. 

I don't know how/if blogging fits into my life right now.  I have missed it.  Not because of the need to 'publish' my thoughts, but more so because of what writing them out does for me.  And I have had some stories lately that seem as though they were made for blogging!  And yes, I do plan to share a few of them. 

May your hearts be full today.  Not your hands. 

She is beauty.

It is said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and our own experiences have proven this to be true.  Beauty is not related to the designer label on the inside of a dress, the brand of cosmetic that shadows an eye, or the numbers related to a bra size.

No, beauty is deeper than all of that. Beauty is an outward sign of an inward reality. A love, or passion for life and all of those in it, that radiates so intensely that it cannot help but be seen in a physical way. The glow gracing a cheek of a mother carrying a child in her womb, the glistening eye of a groom gazing upon his bride, the creased brow of a face framed in laughter, this is beauty.


I have beheld such beauty. I have seen firsthand and up-close a beauty so bright and intense that it shines brighter than any worries, doubt or fear. Its light and warmth radiate to all that encounter it leaving behind healing and growth.


Growing up with such beauty in my mother has left in me a deep imprint of love. I see with her eyes the good. I see with her eyes the joy. I see with her eyes the hope. I see with her eyes the beauty in all that surrounds me, as well.


I did not know then, but I do now. I did not see that her beauty in its truest form was shaping my own perception of that which is lovely. Of course, I doubted my own physical appearance, noticed my own shortcomings. But because of her beauty, I learned very early on that my beauty was formed out of my inner person and that nothing I put on my outward body could change what was within. Ugliness could not be hidden by brand labels and lipstick. The beauty from within, likewise, could not help but be seen. Its very nature was to reach out and touch others.


Age cannot diminish true beauty. As I look upon her features now at 60, I see beauty that I have never seen before. Beauty that is new, fresh and brighter than the face of any Cover Girl model.


Now watching her as a grandmother I see her beauty being poured out towards my own children. In the embrace of a child who has fallen and skinned a knee, in the laugh lines around her mouth as she shares a chuckle over a silly joke, in the softened skin of an aging hand holding closely the hand of a toddler while slowly walking together, in the worried lines around her eyes when she hears of sadness in a young girls heart. She shares her beauty and she shares her love. They do not know it to be anything different than it is, they may not know it for a very long time. But who they are, who they will become, the beauty they will share, is already being formed because of her.


She is beauty. And I marvel at the effect that her beauty has on those who are so blessed to be in her life.
 
Happy 60th birthday to the most beautiful woman I know.