A Lifetime of Days

{poem} january

2012-01-25T09:27:00.000-06:00

the day wakens with a shudder
a chill articulating down its spine

this is the way it should be
in january
bitter
tightly hung
soundless

yet lately
january has been fickle
waffling between hot and cold
light and dark
real and unreal

i see its trail most clearly
on the lake

ebbing and flowing
like waves on the shore
the waxy water freezes
and then
thaws upon itself
in a sort of maniacal waltz
performed on command

not unlike myself
some
days
a vertiginous dervish
hell bent on accomplishing
some
thing

any
thing

and then there is the frost
that so delicately encases its prey
with whisps of crystallized fancy
and jewel like joy

sometimes I wish I was laced with frost
so that
when I woke
I
too
could stand in the field
arms outstretched
pulling in fast all that is alive and quickening
and
when I turned just so
I could make the sun explode
into a million rapturous beads
hanging from my neck
and
wrists
and
ankles

untitled

2012-01-18T10:59:00.002-06:00

so I've set the mood, this arbitrary construct that, in my mind, creates the space for writing...a third cup of coffee, my "ambient" station on Pandora, some chocolate...all gathered in this space with the hope of capturing the uttering of my soul
because that is what it is like for me
a groaning
a writhing
a pain

and then

release
an opening
a rush of light
glory
joy
quiet

i know this to be true:
i have something in me that has to get out
constantly

when i'm in the shower, it swirls
while I'm buttering toast, it builds
when I glance out the window and see the sparkle dancing off the weedy grass, it is born anew
when my boys blink or sigh or scream, blocks of ideas are lining themselves up in a row, trailing off into the nothingness

how do i catch it?
how do i do it justice?
how do i walk alongside it, hold its hand, listen?
how?

and then
the question that nags and pulls and hurts
comes

why should i?

who am i to think i have something to say that anyone wants to hear?
how very pompous of me to think that i have something different to say
different than the gazillion others that blog and tweet and...

but
wait

haven't i found it to be true
that
when unleashed and untethered and unbridled
this keyboard becomes like the Holy Spirit
channeling my moans and groans
into words that tell stories and reveal grace and truth and light?

because how could i not do it?

how can i not embrace the joy
the pain
the cracks
the dirt
the clouds
the noise
the music
the
everything?

its as if i'm having a conversation with the void, hoping and praying that its echo will reveal answers and wisdom untold

so
i guess i will keep writing

whether or not you are listening.

“Writing is a process in which we discover what lives inus. The deepest satisfaction of writingis precisely that it opens up new spaces within us of which we were not awarebefore we started to write. To write isto embark on a journey whose final destination we do not know. Thus, writing requires a real act oftrust. We have to say to ourselves: ‘I do not yet know what I carry in my heart,but I trust that it will emerge as I write.’ Writing is like giving away the few loaves and fishes one has, trustingthat they will multiply in the giving. Once we dare to “give away” on paper the few thoughts that come to us,we start discovering how much is hidden underneath these thoughts and graduallycome in touch with our own riches.”

Henry Nouwen

The Christmas Card I never sent...

2011-12-31T09:23:00.000-06:00

Take Joy!

I salute you! There is nothing I can give you which you have not;

but there is much, that, while I cannot give, you can take.

No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today.

Take Heaven.

No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present instant.

Take Peace.

The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet, within our reach,

is joy.

Take Joy.

Fra Giovanni

-----------------------------------

A belated Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year.

It's the end of the year as we know it...{Part two}

2011-12-31T09:20:00.000-06:00

...Part Two of a rambling I began here

Relationships...

This focus, in my opinion, falls deeply and intimately under homeschooling but I have chosen to tease it out and reflect on it separately. I don't think that the relationship between my two boys--its health or its continual development--would have taken as much precedence in their, or our, daily lives if they attended public school. From my observations of friends and neighbors whose children are not homeschooled, once the children are spending the majority of their day away at school, there seems to be a significant shift of focus onto each individual child's relationships with other kids. This phenomenon is really just a natural outcome of the "socialization" that occurs when you separate children by grade/age level and keep them together for the majority of the day. And although this is the reality that most of us experienced and that still informs the way we view childhood, it by no means is the only or best experience.

My two boys spend an extraordinary amount of time together. They even share a room and a bed so the togetherness is at a ridiculous level. Ridiculous and wonderful. I believe wholeheartedly that my boys are learning the fine art of socialization through every interaction they have with each other.

According to The Encyclopedia Britannica, "socialization essentially represents the whole process of learning throughout the life course and is a central influence on the behaviour, beliefs, and actions of adults as well as of children."

As my boys navigate each and every conversation, quarrel, explanation, narration, aggravation...they are learning how to be real people in a world of real situations. We wake up each morning with the crazy idea that simply by living our lives together we are learning important lessons about life, love, loss and longing. This is our "life course" and, according to Britannica, it is the central influence on making us who we are in society. By choosing to be together more often than apart, we are intentionally being the central influence on each other. I think that is a good thing.

Because all this togetherness is not always butterflies and rainbows and unicorns dancing. Oh no... far from it. There are moments when anger fills the room and threatens to become king and commander. Words fly off handles at break-neck speed and not everyone ducks in time to avoid the blow. People disappoint and forget and hurt. At the most basic level, people are people.

And I don't believe that happens in the same way outside of the home. Yes, there are mean girls and bullies and Queen bees in schools. From personal experience, we know, all too well, the power of cliques and how quickly ugly words speed through a school. But I don't believe those happenings are examples of people being people. At least not real people. Those are instances of people finding themselves threatened and afraid and in an attempt to not be done in by the crisis, put on a persona that will protect them and their perceived status. They are not being real, in either their response or their continued putting on. And this is the cycle that is perpetuated, year after year, ad nauseum.

As a family, we have decided to step out of that crazy house and, instead, face each other as we are. It's risky, for sure, because someone might not like who we are at any given moment. But it's real. And I believe that this focus on being real is the most important work we are doing. If my boys feel free to be who they really are, think of the potential. When they are struck with an idea or a desire, they don't have to check to see if it is acceptable or popular. They can simply run with it. They will have the freedom to try on different hats in an environment that won't chastise them for their individuality. They can become who they were created to be. I believe this is one of the greatest gifts that we can give to each other.

Extract from The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams (1881-1944)

‘What is REAL?’ asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. ‘Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?’ ‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When someone loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’ ‘Does it hurt? Asked the Rabbit. ‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’ ‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’ It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.’ ‘I suppose you are real?’ said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse only smiled. ‘Someone made me Real,’ he said. ‘That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.’

Finding the gifts...

This has been the other theme of my year. I've been inspired by Ann Voskamp, through her website and her book, and I have found that it has had a profound impact on my life.

Life is a crazy, wonderful, difficult ride and without a lightning rod to help me take it all in, well...I don't do a very good job. I'm a mess, actually.
But I have found that when I intentionally look for God's fingerprints on everything, the discipline truly grounds me and protects me from destruction. For on my own, I am vulnerable and weak and pretty much destined to mess up. Royally. But when I stop, even in front of the boiled-over oatmeal, and breathe in perspective and humility, the situation does not have power over me. And that shifting of power, off the things of this world and onto the Giver of all things, radically transforms...both the moment and my heart.

And boy do I need transforming.

The discipline is simple enough, yet so foreign to the patterns of this world. The instinct, the habit is to whine...complain...tread water in pools of pity. The habit is to look for the why when really we should be looking for the because.

Because He loved us first.
Because in Him, and through Him, love dwells among us.
Because, only when I embrace my weakness can His strength be fully manifested.

He is the Great because.

And when we start looking and begin to actually count the gifts, the glimpses of His love, the evidence of His constant presence...well...
it is then that we can begin to really live.

I don't know about you but I want to be fully alive.

Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life.
It turns what we have into enough, and more.
It turns denial into acceptance,
chaos to order, confusion to clarity.
It can turn a meal into a feast,
a house into a home, a stranger into a friend.
Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today,
and creates a vision for tomorrow.

-Melody Beattie

So, as we wind up 2011, I look with wild anticipation at all that is in store for 2012. I know that it won't be all good, I'm not that naive. But I believe that entering into the freshness of a new year feels pretty good. It has been written that His mercies are new every morning. The gift of a new year is one example of God's mercy and grace and love. Let's accept the gift and get on with the living it out.

Happy New Year!

It's the end of the year as we know it... {Part One}

2011-12-30T12:00:00.001-06:00

Well, December found me very much preoccupied with everything but writing on my own blog. I read a gazillion other blogs, mainly for Christmas inspiration, whether that be in the form of decorating or gifting or baking. And I spent entirely too much time on Pinterest (how can you not get sucked down that rabbit hole?) But what I didn't do much of was write. This little piece of cyberspace, the one that I decorate with photos and word pictures and quotes that I like and links to people far more amazing then me... well, it remained in the shadows. The truth of the matter goes something like this... sitting down and gathering my thoughts and then pouring them through my fingers in a way that is somewhat coherent, well, it takes time and energy and focus. And as much as I LOVE doing it, the fact that I learn so very much about myself when I read back over what I've written...well, it is work. Good work. Mindful work. Life-giving work.

But work, nonetheless.

And this Christmas season I simply chose to expend that energy in places other than here. I guess in the blogosphere that makes me a simple wannabe blogger.

Darn it.

And now I find myself at the end of the year and Christmas is over (well, not liturgically, but in the commercial, way-of-the-world sort of way) and I feel spaces opening up all over the place. Literally and figuratively.

As I've begun to disassemble some of the Christmas cheer that has bedecked our halls this season I have been refreshed by the new spaces created. (I must pause here for one moment to say that I have never been more pleased with the way our little house was decorated this year...just the right mixture of homemade whimsy, quaint vintage pieces and the miscellaneous other things that John and I have managed to gather over the years..I loved being in my house this Christmas, especially when the lights were low and everything shimmered in the Christmas lights...) The last few days have found me riding a wave of momentum and I have found myself inspired to prepare for a fresh new year.

But because "every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end" I wanted to take the time to reflect on this year that will soon be ending so as to go into 2012 with a feeling of closure and contentment.

Being outside...

It's something that has always been important to me and one of the things that I have made happen just as much for me as for my boys. And this past year provided some very good outdoor opportunities:

*Eagle watching on the Missouri River
*The ThunderBlizzardApocolypse in February that my boys will be talking about for the rest of their lives
*Several hikes in the woods and fields around our house, the Spring ones being among the best because of the hope and joy they bring after a winter full of weather phenomena (see aforementioned weather event)
*Taking turns guiding paddles boats and kayaks around our neighborhood lake...many an afternoon was whiled away in this manner. I highly recommend this activity.
*Finding new trails and Conservation Areas in the state to explore and discover color in forms that are never old or tiresome.

But despite the many pictures to indicate otherwise, we didn't spend as much time outside this year as we have in the past. I'm not sure why. It is always good for us. Always. I want my boys to be connected to the natural world through experience, especially when so much of the world is connected by way of electronic and artificial means. This is one of those items that I will be tweaking in the coming year (that will be a different blog post).

The Learning Rooms...

This has been an interesting year, homeschooling-wise. Even though we have always homeschooled, it still amazes me how much I continue to think/analyze/critique/tweak/completely reconfigure/start over/try on new styles/abandon said new styles to return to what we were doing to begin with/question/question again/oh, and, once more, question...EVERYTHING. It can be exhausting...if I let it. But as I close out this year and look to dance into the next, I'm beginning to feel a little more comfortable in my skin. I am continuing to learn that what sounds and looks good for another family may or may not sound or look good in our family. I have been spending more time quietly and unobtrusively observing my kids, watching for the things that make them shine and, conversely, what dulls and diminishes them. I'm tired of trying to fit my round shaped kids into other people's square shaped spaces. We've spent more time "off" than "on" so far this year and I'm okay with that. My kids have still managed to grow and learn and expand in unique and awesome ways. One decision we made this year was to stop participating in the larger homeschool group's Co-Op and, instead, gather with a few close friends for our own "Mini Co-Op" twice a month. It has proven to be a good move for us. Friendships have been strengthened (between the kids and the moms!) and we've been able to do some things that we wouldn't have done on our own (frog dissection!). I have some new ideas about how we might spend our time together in the coming year and I'm excited to try on some new outfits, again.

More posts to come...

Love-colored glasses

2011-12-07T09:41:00.001-06:00

My heart is different this year.

It all started when we watched The Story of Stuff and suddenly the way that I thought about everything was turned on its head. How the little decisions we make every day, every minute, are connected to things larger than ourselves and although that can become incredibly overwhelming, maybe even sometimes paralyzing, it can also be a huge wake-up call to how we live our every day lives.

And then along comes Christmas.

Watching the madness of Black Friday commercials while at my parents' house over the Thanksgiving holiday (cardio training for the mad dash to get items first? really, Target?)...
bringing in the paper that weighed 5 lbs because of all the store circulars stuffed in between the headlines reporting the continued depth of our economic crisis and the desperateness of average folks...

it just became too much.

What are we doing? Why do we choose to engage in this madness, year after year? The more that I pondered those questions, the more that it became poignantly clear:

Peer pressure is alive and rabid, even among grown adults.

And I don't want to feel that way anymore.

I didn't like it back in 1986, when I knew something to be true in my heart and yet I chose a different way so that I wouldn't stick out any more awkwardly than I already did. Acquiescing was certainly easier, but there was also a cost.

There's always a cost.

What do I really want and what am I willing to sacrifice in order to get it? Because if everything has a cost, what can I really afford?

I can't afford what the world wants me to give, that's for sure. There is only so much that can be purchased within an already lean budget. And what the world offers is often fleeting and faddish anyway. Like a one night stand that seems good at the moment but leaves you vulnerable and doesn't call the next day.

I think it's high time I choose to live in a different kind of moment.

And the amazing thing is this:
the choice to go a different way, to invest in family and friends, to infuse my moments with love rather than trinkets costs only
my
time.

I guess, in reality though, my time is really my everything.

Which is convenient because what I really want to give is
everything.

But how exactly do I do that? In a culture that also wants my everything, how to I make a different way?

I've decided to try by making this one change, inspired by Advent Conspiracy, because sometimes, one thing can really be every thing:

"If love is to be the driving force of our gift giving, then money cannot be. Our dominating culture of consumerism can, and must, be rejected. When we refuse to equate money with love, we become free."

I am going to make love the driving force of my gift giving this year. When I think of those with whom I want to share Christmas, I want to look at them through love-colored glasses. And maybe sharing some of myself might be nice, too? Because what is a gift if it isn't sprinkled with something of the giver?

"In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die

Where you invest your love, you invest your life..."

Mumford and Sons

http://www.adventconspiracy.org/

{ A Month of Thanks } A prayer for thanks-giving

2011-11-22T13:53:00.001-06:00

Lord,

Despite the fact that I can feelthe dance begin,

the one that sweeps up family andfeasting, bustling hands and beauteous light and twirls them round and round myheart,

I sense You pulling me deeper.

Yes, it is good to gather, togreet each other with holy kisses and to give thanks. Generations after generations have taught usthat ritual. We know it by heart.

But Lord, I long to live out my thanks giving. I don’t want it to be reserved forpre-appointed dates on the calendar.

I need to practice this act ofthanks giving so that it becomes a sacrament.

Because on many days, the thanksare slow in coming.

And some days, they don’t come atall.

How can this be?

Perhaps it is because mywandering heart finds your shadow and declares you absent, choosing to embraceemptiness and despair. Looking closer Imight see that the darkness that puddles around me is actually cast by thebreadth of your wing. And that you arealways passing by.

I must burn the Truth on mylips--that your mercies are new every morning-- so that when my heart fails andmy vision blurs, my mouth will declare forth your praise.

Lord, may my thanks giving alwaysbe a response rather than a ritual and may I learn to see that your love iseverywhere.

Amen.

{ A Month of Thanks } Margin

2011-11-21T09:31:00.001-06:00

"A broad margin of leisure is as beautiful in a man's life as in a book."

- Henry David Thoreau

I don't think that we set out to create chaos. Not on purpose, at least.

But if we don't check ourselves from time to time, it is very likely that we will find our own speedometers trying to keep pace with that of a culture whose gait, too often, is sprinting.

The tension to keep moving is palpable and pulsing. It is expected and exalted. Sometimes, it is even alluring and attractive.

But that does not mean that it should be fed.

You feed things that you want to grow.

And so I must constantly decide, what do I want to grow in my life?

I'll tell you, first, what I don't want to grow:

...fear, anger, the need to compare, idleness, bitterness, feelings of superiority, judgment, shallowness, a growing list of accomplishments with nothing but exhaustion and weariness to show for it, ugly words, confusion, clutter, distrust, empty dreams, never following through on things...

But the only way to keep these things from taking root and becoming established is for me to create some breathing space. Some lee-way. Room to move.

And the way to do that is to envelop our times of planned activity with a cocoon of calm.

Just as the white space that surrounds the text on a book's page helps to more clearly frame that which we are reading, so must we give room for our lives to speak.

What a tragedy it would be if, years down the line, I stopped to look back over the story of my life, only to find the text bleeding all over, eclipsing the light from the pages, masking the narrative.

And so, again, I must ask: how then shall we live?

First, we must breathe. Deeply. Breathe in the moments. Actually draw them in. because, just as with wine, are lives "develop flavor and blossom" when allowed to breathe.

Then, we must allow what is happening, right here and right now, to engage, bemuse and fascinate us. This is it. These moments are what make a life. Embrace them. Accept them. Keep them.

And then, we must consciously choose to stop. Whether it is in order to more fully live in the moment...like when the first snowflakes of the season begin to fall as you are walking to the mailbox and you pause, throw your head up to heaven and stick your tongue out in praise...

or whether it is to build a buffer from one activity to the next, make the choice to stop.

Pull the weeds of busyness and harried living from the sacred space of your life and

just

be.

The mark of a successful man is one that has spent an entire day on the bank of a river without feeling guilty about it. ~Author Unknown

{ A Month of Thanks } Our little house

2011-11-20T09:38:00.001-06:00

Peace - that was the other name for home.

~Kathleen Norris

I am so thankful for this little house of ours.

When we made the heart wrenching decision to leave our Atlanta home and the dear people with whom we had shared life for eight years in community, not to mention the dozens of other beloved folks that were instrumental in shaping us as individuals and as a family, it was done with some trepidation. What would life on the outside of our Atlanta bubble look like? What would we look like? Where would we land?

It turned out that we landed much further away from the family that we had migrated towards. But that was where the job was and there are times when you have to take the hand your dealt and pray that you make the best of it.

It all happened so quickly. The job offer, the scurrying to find housing, trying to figure out where one should settle when they know absolutely nothing about the city to which they are moving, calculating what we could actually afford compared to what the bank said we could afford....

And then, on one of those days when there is already too much to do than can be accomplished, John happened to look on Craig's List. And there it was.

Our house.

I can remember the day he called me on his cell phone. I was in St. Louis and he was stealthily creeping around the land and house, trying to get a better sense of what buying this antique might mean and trying to describe it to me, all the while, hoping that no one spotted him and called the authorities.

But, kind of like I did on that first date, I knew somewhere deep down, that this was going to be our house.

And so it was.

And yes, owning a 175 year old house often provides us with constant entertainment, as well as aggravation, but it is such a blessing to be the caretakers of this piece of dirt and this piling of stones. To own a bit of history and to be adding to its story. Again, I will say it...

It is a blessing.

We have no idea how long we will be here in this particular house. Life happens and new opportunities present themselves and you just never no what is coming down the pike.

But it is my sincere prayer that as long as we are here, living out our days and nights, we continue to make this house a home.

That we would infuse this space with grace and forgiveness and joy and light.

And above all, that we would make this a house of love, made real.

Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule. ~Frederick W. Robertson

{ A Month of Thanks } Poetry

2011-11-18T16:40:00.001-06:00

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth

There is no happiness like mine.

I have been eating poetry.

~Mark Strand, "Eating Poetry," Reasons for Moving, 1968

I am so thankful for this new ritual of ours.

The heating of the kettle, the clinking spoons in the mugs, the sweet crumbs on our lips and the delightful belly laugh as we read another nonsense poem...it is all so wonderful. I doubted its power, this "tea-time and poetry," especially with two boys, but I am overjoyed to be so very wrong. Sure, the warm drinks and sweet confections did their magical wooing but the word plays and rhymes kept them at the table. And now there are favorite poems and there are recitations of verses, delivered at just the right moment and it

is. all. so. wonderful.

I will let the poems do the rest of the talking.

Soliloquy of a Tortoise

on Revisiting

the Lettuce Beds

After an Interval of One Hour

While Supposed

to Be

Sleeping

in a Clump

of Blue Hollyhocks

One cannot have enough

of this delicious stuff!

-E.V. Rieu

----------------------------------------------

Chocolate

love

you so

want

marry

you

and

live

forever

in the

flavor

of your

brown

-Arnold Adoff

--------------------------------------------------

Mindful

Every day

I see or I hear

something

that more or less

kills me

with delight

that leaves me

like a needle

in the haystack

of light.

It is what I was born for--

to look, to listen,

to lose myself

inside this soft world--

to instruct myself

over and over

in joy,

and acclamation.

Nor am I talking

about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,

the very extravagant--

but of the ordinary,

the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.

Oh, good scholar,

I say to myself,

how can you help

but grow wise

with such teachings

as these--

the untrimmable light

of the world,

the ocean's shine,

the prayers that are made

out of grass?

-Mary Oliver

{ A Month of Thanks) My dog

2011-11-16T15:16:00.001-06:00

With eye upraised his master's look to scan,

The joy, the solace, and the aid of man:

The rich man's guardian and the poor man's friend,

The only creature faithful to the end.

George Crabbe

I wanted you for a very long time.

You see, it's very hard for me to to successfully carry out this thing called life without a four-legged, hairy animal at my side.
It seems that dogs help define me as a person so, the years that I was without a dog (college, single, early marriage)...well, the memories of those times will always have a dog-shaped hole in them.

But here you are, in all your Australian Shepherd hairyness and herdingness, your Labrador chewiness, and your Beaglesque diggy/sniffiness. And who could have imagined that the sum would be greater than the parts? I sure didn't. Just a little over two years ago, if you had asked me what I was thinking about you...well, you would have found that the praise and adoration didn't come all that quickly.

I almost lost my mind over you.

But, who you were, deep beneath the trouble you caused and the havoc you wreaked, well, that is what saved you.

Because, at the end of the day, you don't seem to remember that I screamed at you that morning or that we forgot to feed you until noon or that we shoo you off of the bed just as you've dozed off. You just choose to leap for joy at our return, lick the tears from our faces and bark at all of those horrible vicious squirrels that are trying to take over our yard.

All of that and

when we are walking freely, taking in the air and the sunshine and all that is glorious about this world, well

you

always

wait

for

me.

I am joy in a wooly coat, come to dance into your life, to make you laugh!

Julie Church

{ A Month of Thanks } Reading aloud

2011-11-14T20:18:00.001-06:00

"So please, oh PLEASE, we beg, we pray,

Go throw your TV set away,

And in its place you can install,

A lovely bookshelf on the wall."

— Roald Dahl, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

He's sitting in the big blue chair, the one that has held all of us at one time or another, and sometimes, two or three of of us together. The lamps glow softly, holding the darkness at bay, and the blankets are pulled close around wiggling toes. Eyes look slowly about the room, focusing and blurring as they listen to the word pictures being painted by his deep and easy voice. We are all at attention, despite our relaxed poses.

We travel the world, traipse through time, try on different personas, imagine new beginnings and weep at sad endings. We laugh, we muse, we sigh, we gasp.

And the most beautiful part of it all...we do it together.

This daily ritual has become sacred. Despite their growing minds and bodies and no matter that some of them can read all by themselves, this hallowed time is kept.

"You may have tangible wealth untold.

Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.

Richer than I you can never be –

I had a mother who read to me."

— Strickland Gillilan

{ A Month of Thanks } a slight pause

2011-11-11T15:02:00.001-06:00

Please be patient with me as I take a break this weekend to go live out my thanksgiving...

I will be spending time with my parents, my husband and my boys
embracing the great joy
that is my life.

{ A Month of Thanks } Creation

2011-11-10T22:19:00.001-06:00

My whole body is covered with eyes:
Behold it!
Be without fear!
I see all around.

-Eskimo poem

Some days, it overwhelms me, all of this beauty. I will walk in the woods or bend down to touch flowers or stand on toes tipped to feed birds and, suddenly, it will fall in on me.

The beauty.

Crashing and swirling and whistling through my fingertips. And a whirlwind spins in my core, lifting my soul and my eyes upward, singing with music of the spheres.

He is here. Always, He is here.

His mark is everywhere.

Everywhere, evidence of the shaping, the molding, the creating.

His tenderness. His strength. His fury. His glory.

All of it melting and blending, one into another, boldly, then quietly. Brazen, then hushed.

And in everything, a rhythm.

For creation is the very heartbeat of God, pulsating with ripples and shimmers and gold dust.

"When we contemplate the whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted with continents and islands, flying through space with other stars all singing and shining together as one, the whole universe appears as an infinite storm of beauty."

-John Muir

{ A Month of Thanks } Homeschooling

2011-11-09T22:56:00.001-06:00

“I am beginning to suspect all elaborate and special systems of education. They seem to me to be built upon the supposition that every child is a kind of idiot who must taught to think. Whereas if the child is left to himself, he will think more and better, if less slowly. Let him come and go freely, let him touch real things and combine his impressions for himself, instead of sitting indoors at a little round table while a sweet-voiced teacher suggest that he build a stone wall with his wooden blocks, or make a rainbow out of strips of colored paper, or plant straw trees in flower pots. Such teaching fills the mind with artificial associations that must be got rid of before the child can develop independent ideas out of actual experiences.”

~Anne Sullivan

I'm thankful for...

sun dappled afternoons spent exploring the woods with a boy and a dog...

being surprised by new skills acquired and fears conquered...

lifelong friendships forged because of and despite all of the being together...

discovering snow covered islands in the middle of big muddy rivers and, maybe, just maybe, spotting an eagle, too...

listening to the real trumpet of a swan after having cherished the idea between the pages of a book...

building and tearing down...

time enough to sit and realize that the jagged edges of a cut tree stump look just like a city skyline...

"Education is not preparation for life; education is life itself."

-John Dewey

{ A Month of Thanks } Grace

2011-11-08T13:15:00.000-06:00

I am thankful for grace.

Even though I still don't fully understand its mystery, it is there.
Its very nature is to doggedly
pursue me,
chase me,
find me,
and
bombard me.

I cannot escape, even if I wanted to.

And sometimes I do want to.

Because, sometimes
the stain is so permanent,
the brokenness so profound
that
to be found would prove fatal
so
I would rather run and run until the stitch in my side becomes more real than the pain I face
and
so I simply stumble
and
fall further away from everything.

Crazy that such a choice seems easier
but
in the darkness one does not have clear vision.

And then comes grace.

Quietly,
sweetly,
simply
it comes.

And what defies all reason is that this gift of grace that comes
requires nothing of me.

Nothing.

It comes because it can't help itself.

Wrapped in a raiment of dripping love it
rescues me
and
ransoms me
and
restores me.

It "finds the beauty in everything"
and
I am forever
changed.

{ A Month of Thanks } My parents

2011-11-07T09:08:00.000-06:00

How can I really thank the people who's love embrace was so powerful and magical that it spilled over into new life, my life?

How can I even begin to match up my experience of being loved by them with a language that makes sense?

I have never not known love or acceptance or delight or wonder within the kingdom of their love.

Every time that I slap my knee when retelling a story or laugh at my own joke, they are with me.

Whenever the birds nibble on my backyard offerings or sing on the wind, he is there.

When the lyrics to a song fly off of my lips and twirl around my children, she is there.

When the sunrise breaks open the sky and the light shatters the pink veil, the tear in my eye and the catch in my throat, all of it, I realize, is a learned response, having watched his very heart do the same.

And when I sit at my kitchen table, with my head in my hands and the sobs rolling over in waves, she is there, listening and understanding and just being.

Because
for me to be
is for them to be.

And perhaps the greatest way to offer my thanksgiving for the gift of them is to fully live into the person they have helped create. Live... fully accepting all that I am, embracing all of my triumphs and failings and attempting to flesh out what they began...

Their fingerprints are all over me, tell tale evidence of the generosity of their souls. May I never wash clean of the proof of them.

{ A Month of Thanks } My husband

2011-11-06T21:29:00.001-06:00

"Chains do not hold a marriage together. It is threads, hundreds of tiny threads which hold people together through the years."

-Simone Signoret

I am thankful for my husband.

I'm thankful that I embraced a youthful outlook on love, threw all caution to the wind, and gave my heart to a younger man.

I was entering my last semester of college and beginning to make plans for what I would do with the rest of my life when I decided to "get together" with you one February evening. We were to go get Chinese on a Friday but my car broke down on the way home from student teaching and I had to get it towed to the garage and I was exhausted and a bit overwhelmed and...

So we decided to order in and eat on the floor of my dorm room and you introduced me to General Tsu's Chicken and we laughed at our fortunes that spoke of good things to come in the future.

And we talked.

For hours.

And hours.

And hours.

And the next thing I knew, it was too late to still be called night but yet not quite morning and I guess we needed to get some sleep so we stood up to say good-bye.

This wasn't officially a date but it had been a very big something and to just part with kind words seemed inadequate.

So we hugged. A long, lingering hug that pulled me deep into wonder and possibilities and questions, so many questions, and I found myself so very reluctant to let go because I just didn't want that night. to. end.

But here's the thing. It hasn't really ever ended.

Because, despite what others might think or what might make the most sense on any given day or what the weather might be, loving you is still like dwelling inside of that embrace.

And even though there are still so many questions and possibilities and cars still break down and I am so exhausted... I still want to choose a youthful outlook on love, throw all caution to the wind and give my heart to a younger man.

Love. So much love.

"Life is either a grand adventure or nothing..."

-Helen Keller

{ A Month of Thanks } Dirty Laundry

2011-11-04T17:34:00.000-05:00

"We should all do what, in the long run, gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or sorting the laundry."

-E. B. White

I'm thankful for dirty laundry.

I'm making myself say this because I don't really feel that way at the moment.

Today was laundry day. Not because it was my scheduled day or anything. I don't work that way when it comes to laundry. No, it was more like laundry today or naked tomorrow. Something like that.

And I haven't enjoyed the task, for some reason. I used to like this chore. That was back in the day when I had a six month old who took lots of naps and I also had a lot more free time during the day. Even though I was washing my own cloth diapers and I had a baby that drooled his way through five or six onesies a day, it was still a task that I found charmingly domestic and I went about the task with a slight lift in my step and a smile on my face.

Not so much these days.

I am somehow able to find joy in the other household tasks (just read yesterday's post) but that darn laundry, well ...

I think because it just screams of things already done and left behind, messes made, fun that was had but has now moved on...

And it just sits there in those baskets, staring back at me with a laconic look that questions, "Well...?"

But you can't ignore laundry any more than you can ignore the dog and I can't stand it's attitude and so I start sorting. I've gotten less precise in my sorting lately. It's less "whites and darks" and more like, "not red and towels." I'm washing in cold anyway so it should be okay, right?

And then, as with many common tasks, once begun, a calmness begins to descend.

And I love the smell of my laundry detergent and the bubbles that start rising and I start throwing in the shirts and the socks and I find a rhythm. Once a load is going, I turn to whatever else is at hand because that is definitely ONE thing that's nice about doing laundry..once begun, you can do something else at the same time and you start to feel like you are actually getting things done and that, in itself is very, very nice.

As the soap infuses and the clothes swirl and I move through more of my day I begin to realize how much my soul is like dirty laundry.

I traipse through this life and collect moments and memories and worries and wickedness, all because I am human and I don't always think before I speak or act or move. And so I become this tangled altered mess of wonderful and not so wonderful encounters and what I really need is have someone move in and sort all of it into its rightful place.

And then wash it all clean.

I know that not everything is a mess but all of it has been rubbing up against each other in my heart and mind and, after awhile, it sometimes can't help taking on a similar smell. I need to let the water run over and through all the nooks and crannies of my dark places. And even the light places. Because all of it is soiled from living in a world that doesn't always know it should wash its hands.

So THAT is why I am thankful for dirty laundry. Not because it makes me feel more domestic or organized or special.

No.

I'm thankful because I don't want to be naked tomorrow and only have a pile of dirty laundry to show for it.

{ A Month of Thanks } Small, Daily Rituals

2011-11-03T23:02:00.000-05:00

"Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies."

-Mother Teresa

Who would have thought that it would be the small, daily rituals that would make my life so rich? I still don't even recognize it myself, many days. But, in my quieter moments, when I stop and really think about it, I can see the joy leaking out of the most benign places.

...placing my grandma's cross-stitched linen napkin on the table and topping it off with a blazing zinnia from the flower bed just outside the door, effortlessly exalting our kitchen table to greatness

...meandering through the house, watering the plants that I have managed, somehow, to keep alive for longer than a season

...dusting a week's, no, a month's worth of dust off a bedside table, so that I can sink deep into my bed covers with the blessed heaviness that comes from contentment, rather than from extended regret

...tucking the boys in on the couch each morning as they begin their extended wake up routine while I drink that first cup of coffee and scratch my back

I could go on and on...

...curling up on the couch for read-alouds

...leftovers for lunch

...walking the dog

All of it, every single, minute act alights one upon another creating a whisper rush of love. It seeps into the cracks and crevices of every heart in this house, shoring them up for leaner times. And it makes its mark on me, too. Loving on these creatures is an expansive action, swelling my heart to new shapes and sizes.

I must remember this when I am tempted to forgo the minor details of any old regular day. God is surely in these small things and I want Him to find me there too.

{A Month of Thanks} The Dinner Table

2011-11-02T23:06:00.000-05:00

It seems simple enough, this eating together. But it's not as easy to pull off when folks in the same family are being pulled hither and yon, one to a meeting here, another to a practice there, and aren't all of these things important? But this is not about discussing the merits of a particular person's choices regarding their time versus the hard fought decisions of another. No, this is more about the choice I want to make, above and beyond the ones about appointments and time management and such.

The choice I want to make to be together.

Ironically, we spend a lot of time together around here already. Actually, most hours of most days are played out here...reading, playing, writing, make-believing, dreaming...
That, too, is a choice and a wonderful one at that.

But there's something about the dinner hour that causes us to shift, ever so slightly, from one realm to another. I think it's that melting of sunshine into pools of lamplight that ushers in a sacredness, a knowing. It's also that quickening in the belly that causes us to seek out connection.

I grew up with a mother that cooked every.single.night.
And among the many things that I could count on as a child, dinner at the kitchen table was among the most sure and true. So deeply carved into my daily rhythm was this practice that my first memory of consciously choosing to skip out on it one evening, in order to go to Subway with a friend, still elicits a slight shutter and feeling of complete wrongness, much like it did when I sat there, years ago, eating my sandwich with a guilty pit in my stomach and a disdain for my new found adolescent independence.

Granted, although I was engaged in life, I wasn't an over-scheduled kid, even in high school. I know that my relaxed attitude made it much easier to be present at dinner on a regular basis. But honestly, I think that the anchor of dinner time in my house informed my decision making when given the option to be somewhere else at 6:30 on any given evening. I genuinely wanted to be there. And I'm pretty sure that one of the biggest reasons that I wanted to be there was because I knew that other people really wanted me to be there too.

And so now I find myself on the other side of that equation. I'm now the one responsible for cooking the meal and making this dinner thing happen. It's taken me nearly 14 years to perfect the timing required to simultaneously put several things on the table that are still fairly warm and edible. And I still struggle to strike a balance between the "You get what you get and don't pitch a fit" and "He has to eat!" camps.

But it's okay. It's that rhythm that I want, that I want my kids to feel, reverberating deep within their cores.

That feeling that whispers

"this is where I want to be..."

So, how then do we live?

Well, we start by crafting a meal and then inviting those we hold most dear to join us at the table. Today. And again, tomorrow. And the next day. Until all of the evenings tumble into each other and it becomes as natural as rain and we can't imagine not doing it.

And all the while, as we sit across from each other, looking into eyes and laughing at jokes and listening to the highs and lows...all this long while, we are doing something even more important.

We are living thanks. Thanks living. And it is good.

{A Month of Thanks}

2011-11-01T17:46:00.003-05:00

This first day of the month is warm...strangely warm, and it is confusing my circadian pulse. The day after Halloween, this First of November, it's supposed to be crisp and gray and smell of woodsmoke. Instead, the wind blows fiercely from the South, swirling dry leaves in circles and pushing the boundaries of this Indian Summer to the very edge of reason.

Am I really wishing that it was colder? Really?

Before I am finished soaking up these auburn sunbeams the winds will shift and I will be scrambling for my wool leggings and fingerless gloves in an effort to outwit this drafty house. And won't it be then, that I remember this odd First of November and look back on it with longing?

But aren't we all like that? Most of us spend a great deal of our time kind-of living in the moment while simultaneously scanning the horizons of our days, our lives, for other things of interest, or excitement, or promise or beauty. We take what we are dealt but we're secretly betting our money on something better.

And that is where we get it so very wrong.

Because when we fail to embrace the present, in all of it's glory or craziness or disappointment or pain, we reject the gift.

The moment,

each and every moment,

is a gift.

How is this so? How can this be true?

I'm only beginning to understand how this can be true.

I struggle each and every day, no--each moment, to fully accept the gift because I'm not fully present. Although my feet feel fully planted amongst the lilies and the birds, my mind has already sent out sentries to the boundary waters, scouting out possible outcomes or exit strategies or peace treaties. If I don't consciously pull my focus back to the current footstep, I will forever be formulating ways that this might turn out. For better or for worse, it doesn't matter. The one thing that remains constant is my ridiculous sense of control. If I can just stay one step ahead of all that is coming down the pike, perhaps I can keep it from getting worse or any scarier or more awkward or, in my more twisted moments, keep it from being too good to be true.

But this is not how it has to be.

So I am declaring this November A Month of Thanks. I'm going to make it my daily practice to look around me, in the moment, in as many moments that I remember to, and find the gifts. Because they are everywhere, these gifts.

They are literally everywhere.

"If you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted in pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days."

~Annie Dillard

I've been feeling down today, very unproductive, and uninspired. When this happens I just have to engage in one, simple action that can shake me from my stuckness. I must move in a small direction in order to reset my focus and turn my mind away from my that which holds me down.

I chose to clean my bathroom.

I walked to the sink, stared at the accumulation of unrinsed toothpaste and stray hairs and, rather than succumb to criticism and judgment, I chose to wipe them away. I scrubbed that sink clean, until it shined and reflected back the light from the row of lamps hanging above it.

And how could I not make the connection, of how I walk around daily, dripping of dirt and, always, it is wiped away. I am made clean, again and again, and never am I condemned or resented or ignored.

Every day.

And how long has it been since I cleaned the sink anyway? Why wouldn't it be dirty after washing hands made dark from a life well-lived and brushing teeth clean of the good food that settled there?

And there I find it.

The gift.

Of live lived richly and abundantly.

And, in an instant, my heart is turned.

The pennies are everywhere and, suddenly, I am rich.

From the learning rooms...

2011-10-26T16:28:00.001-05:00

“If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy,

excitement and mystery of the world we live in.”

~ Rachel Carson

This homeschooling thing that we do continues to be a work in progress, despite the fact that we have never not done it. As I've alluded to in previous posts however (see here and here), I still struggle with how to define how we do things. I'm not sure why I have this need to put a label on our style.

I guess it helps to have a nice, compact answer to give when questioned by the cashier at Hobby Lobby as to why my kids are accompanying me in the middle of the day.

The honest answer would really be that I hadn't given it a moment's thought that it was 1:00 and why wouldn't I have my kids with me? They are pretty much always with me because we are busy living life whether it be at home learning about line graphs or waiting in line somewhere and talking about what patience actually looks like or studying a mural at the Capitol building because that is one of our favorite places in this town or walking our dog around the lake or...

But people don't want to hear that.

That doesn't fit in with their understanding of school aged children or how learning actually takes place and really, wouldn't I rather kiss my kids goodbye each morning, sigh a big sigh and enjoy that second cup of coffee

by.

my.

self?

And the honest answer to that question, even on my absolute worse days, is truly...

no.

Really.

Because, as another year unfolds and I watch my children grow into these new and interesting people who are absolutely fasincating, I'm desperately afraid that I will miss something. I'm already painfully aware of the way time seems to gain speed the older I get. I don't want to hand over the amazing privilege of being the purveyor of precious time to someone else. I think I will stay steadfastly stubborn on this one.

And so, in the interest of wasting any more moments of my "wild and precious life" I am going to stop trying to define our approach and, instead, try to refine my approach. If it is true that my children need my companionship in order to keep their inborn sense of wonder alive, well then...I think I will focus on relationship.

I will prioritize peace and patience over lesson plans and pages read.

I will introduce skills and tools to be learned in a context that focuses on their helpfulness in the bigger world and in achieving personal goals as opposed to within an arbitrary scope and sequence outline that says kids of a certain age should be learning said skills and tools.

I will stop spending so much time on the chair that is situated in front of the computer and more time on the cushion next to them, having conversations about anything and everything because all of it is important, for one reason or another.

I will listen to the millionth joke from Boys' Life magazine because I realize that there are a lot of "th"s and "sh"s in them and that is something they need to practice.

I will sit next to them at the table while they do their math problems (one of the few "formal" things we do most days) because I understand that sometimes it just feels better to have someone close and when you feel better, you can think more clearly.

I will keep coming up with new desserts to eat while we drink our tea and hot chocolate and I will laugh out loud at the silly nonsense of Edward Lear.

And most of all, I will just breathe.

Because really, in the end, all we really need is

each

other.

Counting the Gifts {Multitudes on Mondays}

2011-10-24T23:13:00.001-05:00

How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days. ~John Burroughs

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering.

There is a crack in everything,
That's how the light gets in.

~Leonard Cohen

We went hiking with some dear friends today...a true Indian Summer day. We all walked with a kind of knowing...that this day was a precious gift of warmth and color and stillness. They say the wind is coming tomorrow and it will blow in change so today was an opportunity to just hang there in the balance.

And in that magical place, where the light and colors danced and bobbed and sang, the gifts were obvious:

-the joy of friends with whom you can walk and talk and revel in all that is around you, all at the same time

-the lingering warmth of a full October sun that gently whispers, "remember me come January..."

-crunchy leaves and laughing voices

-an amazing creation that sings "Glory" at every turn. Days like today leave me reeling in the richness of God's creativity and the unleashing of what can only be described as JOY on the day He set the world spinning

-sweet and gentle walkingsticks that scurry across arms and necks and faces and then, just as quickly, disappear among the cedars

-the way sunlight on the river can dance and play "like diamonds"

-the kind of weariness that comes from moving and playing and looking...really looking...and causes you to sink deep under the covers

Imperfect Prose { the swelling }

2011-10-13T15:47:00.000-05:00

So, why is it that I am always taken by surprise each Autumn?
How can the amnesia be both faithful and fickle?

As the days shorten and the nights lengthen and the temperatures frolic up and down
like the whirling leaves they chase
something in me tightens.

I look around and I feel my heart filling
drinking deep every ounce of gold dappled magic,
soaking up patches of calico and wine and rust.

I am awed to be party to such splendor and
humbly
I receive it as a gift.
Everytime.

But then the memory of it
this cyclical dance of color and light and glory
begins to swell
and I remember

That the beauty and the depth and the becoming
have been there all along

Could it be with me also?
That if I attune my soul to the steady rhythm
and lay myself
bare
before the light
that something in me will
shift?

And that which parades in front of me
be it confidence
or
pride
or
ego
or
self satisfaction
or
swagger
will slowly
and faithfully
slip
from green to gold?

The Lustrous Ripple

2011-09-05T22:58:00.000-05:00

I don't have many words today. So much of what transpired today was felt so deeply and experienced so acutely that I find it difficult to attach sentiment to them in a manner that would do it any justice. Today was one of those days in which one just simply lives, hoping that its beauty and aspect are hidden deep.

Yes, it was that beautiful.

So, I will let the counting do the work, for it is the work that really matters anyway...

...light that filters through black walnut trees, dappling all beneath with gold dust
...the beauty of the heart-shaped leaves that first emerged from a sweet potato, long discarded and forgotten in the back of the dark potato bin and that now grow profusely, given rich soil and joyful adoration
...the swelling orb that is one of our Moon and Stars watermelons and the way that its celestial print splatters across its wide expanse
...and not too far from our Milky-Way-plucked melon lies our surprise squash--the one we didn't plant, at least not on purpose. It sprang from the compost and has thrived, better than if we had planned it to be there. And there are a lot of them...so fun
...the season's first asters, splitting apart from the green husks that they've been hiding in all summer.
...the reason for today's incredible beauty...strong winds from the North, ushering in change and some magic, I do believe...
...the zinnias and cosmos and salvia that line my front porch, faithfully blooming all the livelong summer and carrying our hearts over the long, thin line that leads to Autumn.
...and did you see it? Perched atop the shepherd's hook, to the right? The hummingbird, resting for but a moment. Glorious.
...the love of words, being restored yet again, by the pages of Jane Eyre. "fount of fruition" and "borrowed beams from the lustrous ripple"...I can't take it in fast enough.
...the bed that awaits me, with blankets (yes, I said blankets!) turned down and the window lifted high, ushering in the cool of the evening, replete with chirps and night singing.

Imperfect Prose...a prayer for when there are no words

2011-09-01T23:10:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, Lord,

there are no words adequate enough

nothing to capture the depth of my longing or the desperateness of my need

no human means to bridge the chasm between my reality and Your heart

In those moments, Lord

there are only groans, not unlike labor pains

sound pictures drawn by the Holy Spirit

spinning miracles of connection

Truly,

that is where I want to dwell

all of my days

in the hammock of hope that stretches between

all that I have

and

all that I wait for

Words will come

as will answers

but there is no need to wait for you

for You have already come

Praise be to God.

When it's time to end

2011-08-29T09:32:00.002-05:00

It seems like a mere blink ago that we were receiving these little ones into our hearts and home. Oh, the anticipation...the excitement...the wonder and adoration when they finally arrived...

Acquiring chicks felt like we were finally, really living the "country life." Silly to think, now, with the rise of urban chicken husbandry but, in our minds, chickens would fill out the picture of simpler living for us.

Three years later, I don't know that I would say it was simple, but it has certainly filled out our lives.

We were complete newbies at this but we threw ourselves into the effort. How difficult could it really be?

We managed to keep those little chicks alive, build them a coop (with almost 100% re-purposed wood), introduce them to our yard (and many neighbors' yards, as well), and to love on them daily.

In return, they provided us with beauty...

entertainment...

meat...

and, always, eggs...

Remember that I said we were newbies to this? Well, the deep swoop of our learning curve has leveled out now and we have closed the first chapter of our "Chicken Experience." Due to some ignorance, a misguided trust of dogs, the failure to ever electrify our ELECTRIC fence and several forgetful nights where we failed to close up the chicken coop, well... we managed to whittle down our flock of 34 laying hens to one single, fluffy white, faithful, egg laying hen. We have decided to give her to a neighbor with more chickens so that she doesn't have to be alone. I won't pontificate on how I feel about how we got to this point. I'll just say that I wish we had landed here by way of a different path. But I will say this.

It has been a joy.

I highly recommend keeping chickens. Always.

Yes, it's inconvenient when you go out of town and have to secure chicken-sitters.

Yes, if left completely unattended, they will get in your flower beds and garden.

Yes, they can be stupid and dim witted at times (but who among us has not been described as such at some point?)

But they are also
easily contented,
make wonderful cooing sounds,
produce a miracle of nature EVERY DAY, no questions asked,
love "treats" like broccoli stems and bread crusts,
annihilate a tick population unlike anything I've ever seen,
and, if you're lucky enough to scoop one up and cuddle with it, they are like a little heater, purring under the grasp of your encircling arms, trusting you completely.

It will be strange not to see them out there in the yard.

But I tell you what, come Spring, we'll be pouring over the Hatchery catalog, sizing up the colors and attributes of every chick imaginable... because

"Hope" is the thing with feathers—

That perches in the soul—

And sings the tune without the words—

And never stops—at all—

Emily Dickinson

and so I count

--the zillions of hummingbirds, each vying for one of the feeders on our front porch as they tank up for their thousand mile journey
--the quiet of the morning when I stumble out the door to walk the dog and am bestowed with the gift of golden-laced clouds playing hide and seek with the sun
--pulling weeds..hard, back breaking work that is so very satisfying to my need for neat and tidy edges
--warm apple fritters that make boys giggle with glee
--the anticipation of friends gathering tomorrow for new adventures
--the strength and trust of a dear friend, facing major surgery with grace and peace
--the joy of another friend as she plans her small wedding ceremony and the fact that I am included among the small circle of friends and family blessed to be invited
--the promise of long needed answers to closely kept questions, despite how it might affect the future
--the abundance of food from the garden that simply must be shared
--the opportunity to serve from a place of strength and knowing that such a reality is only because of the ever flowing amount of grace of God...

{this moment}

2011-08-26T07:09:00.000-05:00

{this moment}
A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.
-inspired by SouleMama

Imperfect prose

2011-08-25T22:54:00.000-05:00

prayer for a friend

Two hands crack open the morning with beauty

Splitting the darkness into a thousand shards of light

And there, in that place

of broken shimmering

you stand

bare and exposed

You've come, just like everyday prior

with the desire to receive the goodness, the abundance, the gifts

but there is a hesitancy

then the moment when you become aware of your nakedness

your vulnerability

and you pause

conflicted

Staying and going and standing and falling

Questions born in a rabbit hole

pulling you in closer as you spiral

round

and

round

It's not as clear as those mornings when you woke

groggy with newborn dust and warm joy bundles rode the waves of your chest

when hours melted into days and weeks and all was full, yet light

There is a heaviness now that hinders

that makes moving rote rather than rhythmic

You can't help but think of that time you hiked for miles

pounds and pounds upon your back

all the provisions one person could possibly need, tucked safely away

And you took that offer for a ride

jumping into the bed of that pickup, feeling the wind piercing your cheeks

watching the world whiz by in a blur of color and sound

Not until you stopped in the next town did you realize that you had never bothered to take off your pack

As if the ride wasn't enough

When does it all equal out?

the good and the bad

the light and the darkness

the yes and the no?

When?

And what ever shall you do in the inbetween time

When you've got feet on either sides of the great divide

straddling all that you want and all that you have?

Where will you land?

And then you feel two hands cracking you open with beauty

splitting darkness into a thousand shards of light

and there

in that place of broken shimmering

you

stand.

The Simple Woman's Daybook

2011-08-23T17:30:00.002-05:00

Outside my window... there is that late August haze that hangs heavy and low. And despite the heat and the hypnotizing singing of the cicadas, there is still something that hints of Fall...

I am thinking... of a million things at once...of fixing dinner and tonight's meeting, of whether I can get by another day without doing laundry, of new chapter books that will capitivate and inspire, what the future holds...

I am thankful for... slow days and boys who need (and want!) hugs and a new "school year" and of all the possibilities that lie within...

From the learning rooms... is a little brother who is forging ahead with his reading lessons so that he can read along with (or maybe one day, ahead of) his older brother...

From the kitchen... are the attempts to pickle, preserve, pack up, and put away the excess from our garden that, despite its embarrassingly late start, is now kicking it into high gear...

I am wearing... shorts and a white shirt (why do I even try?), Tevas and my favorite blue beaded necklace (present from my boys)...

I am going... to planning meetings and friends' houses and...

I am reading... re-reading, that is... Jane Eyre and loving every minute of it. Now I remember why I loved it so, years ago.

I am hoping... that the answers to my prayers for wisdom and discernment in several situations will settle on me gently, like a slow, healing rain...

I am hearing... the droning white noise of window a/c units--ones that haven't stopped whirring in weeks upon weeks. I try, earnestly, to live in the moment but, ever so often, I indulge my weakness for crisp mornings and the smell of woodsmoke and I imagine the Autumn that is forthcoming...

Around the house... are piles of books, Nerf darts, grass clippings, lists...

One of my favorite things... is that first sip of coffee each morning. Sometimes, I will just hold the mug right below my nostrils, taking in the aroma, reveling in that sweet, anticipatory moment of suspended revery right before I sip...

A few plans for the rest of the week... the gentle easing into some more formal learning routines (not exactly sure what that means around here but...) in order to push through some places in which we have been lingering too long...baking something just because I want to...planning meals for a friend...

A picture for a thought I am sharing...

a visual for what I want to create around here...

The Simple Woman's Daybook

The Real Value of Food

2011-08-22T10:45:00.001-05:00

It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato. ~Lewis Grizzard

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about food lately. Not in a gluttonous way, mind you. Rather, as a kind of spiritual practice, really. The famine in the horn of Africa has been haunting my quiet places ever since I first saw these pictures and I can't shake the feeling I get, deep in my non-starving gut. The never ending questions have frothed up from somewhere beyond deep within me and I've struggled to know how to move forward. The most paralyzing question is the one that I always end up landing on and getting stuck in: "How can I continue to go on living my life of abundance here when I know that so many are suffering there?"

I mean that with all seriousness. How can/shall/do I go on?

How do I, as a follower of Jesus, reconcile my entitled existence with the suffering of others?

What am I supposed to do?

As much as I know nothing, I do believe this... the Spirit of the Living God, the One who breathed me into existence, is breathing something else into my deepest places. His whisper tells me that what I can do

nay,
what I must do
is this:

share what I have.

Although there are many voices within that want to say, "go there! be among them"

I know I am here, for now, and this is what I must do. share.

We grow some of our own food. We also had big dreams of being more self-sufficient when we first bought this place. Those ideals have been greatly humbled by the sheer magnitude of that task, even though that is the very thing we expect those who are starving half-way around the world to do. Be self-sufficient.

But we lean on. We learn more each year and we do what we can. I know, though, that we could do more and I am living into that understanding. To grow your own food and to divine all the multitudes of ways to store and preserve that bounty is a process. And we are such novices.
But then we have met others who share this desire. Those who grow children and food and hope. Those who knead life and prayers into their daily bread. Those who love their animals and respect and honor the gift those animals share with the farm. Because isn't that what all of these are, really? Gifts.

So we enter into relationship with folks and animals and life and wonder. We try, as much as we can, to choose the gift, rather than the trinkets offered everywhere else and as a result, we enter into a sacred place.

"You mustn’t wish for another life. You mustn’t want to be somebody else. What you must do is this:
'Rejoice evermore.

Pray without ceasing.

In everything give thanks.'

I am not all the way capable of so much, but those are the right instructions."

--Wendell Berry

We are trying to learn the real value of our food, to better understand what all went into the very food we put in our mouths.

Understand, though...we are but novices. We are still, very much, Americans...the majority of whom rarely think about their food, much less sit down to enjoy it. We don't always make the virtuous choice, the humble choice, the sacred choice. We still sometimes eat to satiate some other hunger rather than to celebrate the gift. But we stumble on...reaching...hoping.

We strive for the relationship, the connection. Because that's when you can't help but share.

(bread by Renee's Breads and milk fresh from a cow named Chocolate at Full Plate Farm)

And so I continue to count the gifts:

--a weekend full of being together, listening, laughing

--so many colors in the garden right now and a surprise vegetable, courtesy of that beloved compost (maybe something a chicken ate and passed on as a gift?!)

--a string of ruby peppers hanging in our kitchen, drying, waiting to add needed warmth to winter stews

--sharing the gift with our chickens...oh how they love our offerings of rinds and peels and seeds

--how the chickens give us gifts in return...beautiful eggs in varying shades of brown

--swirls of cinnamon that make the kitchen smell like home

--milk with full on cream that is living and breathing and "tastes like grass", according to August

--the hard lessons learned through chores that bend and shape and make little boys stronger

--sitting around the fire circle on a Sunday night, listening to owls and figuring out where North is and talking about what will become of the Earth

--falling asleep with a book in hand

Imperfect Prose on Thursdays

2011-08-18T08:25:00.000-05:00

i wake to find the world wrapped in fog
cocooned

amazing how
like snow
it absorbs
all sound
holding everything
in its embrace

i marvel at how it reveals
mysteries and secrets
unknown
like the wizard boy hidden beneath his invisibility cloak
i walk
and
see

there are trails
vestiges of nocturnal meanderings
swirling in the grass like figure eights
and I can now see
the mystery
that my dog smells
every morning
in her frenetic way
she's not crazy
after all

but the greatest magic
falls
and
lands
on the spider webs
their beauty and exquisite choreography
now bejewelled with drops of
dew
heavy and swooning

all of this
it is always there

i
just
don't
see

amazing
to once be blind
but now
to
See

grace
falling
dripping
gilding
bedazzling

always

This Organic Life

2011-07-25T11:39:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about organic living and how, for me, it is so much more than just the foods that I choose to eat or the chemicals that I choose to avoid. It's inevitable, really, this organic life.

I couldn't get away from it when I witnessed the arrival of the cicadas earlier this summer. When they covered the grass beneath my feet, emerging from some deep hole within which they've remained hidden for year upon year and I fell asleep to and woke to the endless wooshing of their wings, rubbing together endlessly, as they sought out their mates.

But then, almost as quickly as they arrived, they left. In spirit, that is, because all around they left reminders of their presence. A mini foreshadowing of a rapturous exit from this world. One day they were here, the next, no more.

And then, there is the garden. We got started much later than is reasonable this year. Delayed by the seemingly endless Spring rains that made tilling and cultivating impossible to do well,
we waited.
And waited.

When others were already starting to harvest their first yellow squash or zucchini, we were just beginning.

But we were armed with something different this year.

Chicken manure.

Like a slow, magical brew, it has been cooking for over a year. Chicken waste is too strong to use straight from the coop. It must be tempered by time and patience. As it sits in its pile, quiet and unassuming, a mysterious thing is happening deep inside. What was once waste begins to cure. Temperature and moisture and air dance together in a mystical trinity, working together for good. What it becomes is like gold.

Into this pile of what, in another setting, would be considered trash, waste, crap, we boldly place our seeds. We do this because we believe that good will come of it. We do this because our experience has shown us that there is promise in the pile.

Even though every year that we work this soil, more rocks make their way to the surface, as do other remnants of life gone by, the fact that we have this pile of gold dust to mix in makes all the difference.
It doesn't matter that ugly things have been hidden here. It doesn't matter that others didn't care for it like we would have if given the opportunity. It doesn't matter that this dirt didn't produce anything for years. We are allowed access to a miracle.

A miracle that testifies to an impossibility: from death comes life.

"...where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace..." {2 Corinthians 4:16, The Message}

I couldn't help but smile when I traced my finger through the soil to make safe havens for my seeds and I came across cicada shells in the dirt.

...from death comes life.

So now, our seeds have transformed into plants. The tomatoes reach upwards, guided skyward by strings that assist them towards the sun.

Now there is fruit.

Thanks be to God.

"For if you go poking about the world, intent on keeping the candle of consciousness blazing, you must be ready to give thanks at all times. Discrimination is not allowed. The flame cannot gutter and fail when a cold wind whistles through the house.

Thanksgiving, thanksgiving. All must be thanksgiving.

It took thirty-eight thousand Levites to give thanks to God in David's day; every morning and every evening the shifts changed. Four thousand were needed just to carry the hacked carcasses of cattle, and another four thousand were needed to sing about it. The place reeked of blood, was soaked in blood. The priests stood around gnawing and chewing and giving thanks. They did not cross-stitch their gratitude on samplers to frame and hang on the wall. They wrote their thanks in blood on the doorposts every day.

Thanksgiving is not a task to be underaken lightly. It is not for dilettantes or aesthetes. One does not dabble in praise for one's own amusement, nor train the intellect and develop perceptual skills to add to his repertoire. We're not talking about the world as a free course in art appreciation. No. Thanksgiving is not a result of perception; thanksgiving is the access to perception."

--From And the Trees Clap Their Hands, by Virginia Stem Owens

And so I continue to count...

--breezes that cut the blazing heat

--the rumble of thunder that tells me that it is raining somewhere

--boys that turn 9 and still want me close

--friends that own cows (named Chocolate!) and share their abundance with us

--discovering like-minded souls and bearing mine to them

--the wonder of imagination and the capturing of such in amazing stories and books

--an impending anniversary that sweetens the week

--conversations around the dinner table that create laughter and good feelings

--the promise of new learning opportunities and wonderful people with whom to share such gifts

--today

Chaff and Grain, together

2011-07-07T10:39:00.000-05:00

It's early evening, midsummer, and I'm sitting in a big box bookstore because the town I live in is big enough for a mall but not big enough for an independent coffee shop that stays open past dinnertime. I wanted a coffeehouse vibe, with creaky floors, old salvaged furniture and jazz music playing in the background but this was the closest thing going. Anyway, who doesn't feel better surrounded by millions of books?

I'm here because I've been called here. Called to a meeting of hearts and minds that have gradually become entwined with my own. And now there is a new face to meet and embrace and love because, if the one who has called us together loves her dearly, it will inevitably follow that we will love her, too.

We've pulled two teeny tables together, needing them only for a place to keep our drinks accessible and for the occasional elbow to rest. Most of the time, however, we are pulled inward, like drawstrings, closer towards each other ...
the better to hear you, my dear.

And so we begin the delicate dance of receiving someone new into our fold. A fold of individuals "bound together by common beliefs", rather than by a fence that confines us. I look around the table, taking it all in, silently and stealthily tracing my fingers along the faces that shimmer with the evening sun.

One smiles broadly, long brown ringlets framing her face and her joy. Her hands are clasped together, not from nerves but, rather, from a need to complete the circle that she is ...open arms, open mind, open heart. To find oneself surrounded by that circle is a gift, received again and again. Who could have possibly known of the pain that she carries almost daily, pressing in upon her brilliant mind, determined to wreak havoc but finding, instead, a fortress of choices, also made daily, that are able to push away that which seeks to destroy and chooses, instead, to embrace the gifts?

Another breathes hope. She has taken up arms against an evil that is hell bent on destroying bodies and spirits. Her heart is both heavy and light, weary from the dance of responsibility but also mightier from the challenge of a foe that doesn't kill her, only makes her stronger. Mercy leads her every muscle, leaving grace in its wake. She sighs.

And the newest among us sits quietly, taking it all in. A self-avowed city-girl-turned-country-mama because of a die-hard love for a man that is her partner on the journey. But I can see the honesty of her desire, burning through her skin, and the smell of earth is palpable. She was not destined to breathe smog forever. Instead, she breathes us in, receiving us with grace and openness. There is so much to know about her and not enough time in the moment.

The store's loud speaker informs us of closing time...we don't have to go home but we can't stay there. So we move outside and for two more hours, we stand, oblivious to the hard pavement beneath our feet...only aware of that drawstring, pulling us closer.

These are the nights that help to make me who I am.

Alone, I'm easily overwhelmed, burdened by all that has to be done or completed or checked off...
But here...here I learn that I don't have to do it all.
Together,
that is how we are supposed do it.
Alone, it is too much to take on
but together we are more.
One's extravagance of mercy will carry me through the darkness to another's eye for goodness.
And another's heart for courage becomes my buoy, preventing me from sinking into the abyss.

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away.

~Dinah Craik

We finally disperse, walking to our cars with a fullness we didn't have before. We begin to realize the lateness of the hour but still, somehow, we move with a renewed sense of energy.

The orange moon hangs low, it too, with a fullness that belies its crescent shape. It hangs, ripe with the evening, not wanting to move from its place in the sky. I want to fling a rope around its slope and hang over the wide expanse of creation in order to take it all in.

A Lake of our Own

2011-05-06T09:43:00.003-05:00

"Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake."

-Wallace Stevens

I thought that it was about time I shared with you some of what we've been doing with our time lately. Walking around the lake is pretty much a daily event around here seeing as it is the perfect outlet for our dog's boundless energy and curiosity. Kind of a neat equation that looks a little like this:

She needs lots of exercise + so do we + might as well make it as pleasant an experience as possible = daily walk around the lake.

One of the added benefits to this daily constitution is that we've been privy to how this stretch of Earth changes with the seasons. It's remarkable how varied the landscape can be depending on what season it happens to be. We have experienced some of our most magical moments during quiet winter snow showers. Every day presents a new gift.

But now with Spring finally upon us, for good (?), we've been drawn to the lake anew. The first part of our walk takes us down and up and down and up and down and up on the part of the lake road that winds through a beautiful forest with a towering canopy and trickling streams. This is where we first came upon this:

I love how mushrooms just pop up, completely unexpectedly and without warning or declaration. That's why finding them is such a joy! Like nature's very own rendition of a Jack-in-the-box.

And then there is the lovely May Apple (which we also learned are also known as Mandrakes. You can only imagine how excited these Harry Potter fans were to discover this little fact and to relish in the fact that we are literally surrounded by these magical plants!!!). One of my favorite Spring experiences is to watch the unfolding of the May Apples. They pop up, much like the mushrooms do, in magnificient groupings of no less than 15-20. At first, they look like crumpled old men with wrinkled coats of green, emerging from a very long winter's sleep. But then, as their leaves reach for the dappled sunlight that reaches them through the trees, they look like miniature patio umbrellas. I've always referred to them as Fairy umbrellas, even before I knew their proper name, because that is exactly what they look like. When you stumble upon a grouping of them, you feel as if you have stepped into hallowed ground that belongs to the woodland sprites and that you should tread lightly and reverently. And then, as if they weren't perfect enough, round about the first of May, they bloom. Beautifully.

"And will any poet sing of a lusher, richer thing,

Than a ripe May apple, rolled like a pulpy lump of gold

Under thumb and finger tips; and poured molten through the lips?"

James Whitcomb Riley

And then, we come around the bend to find this view:

It is right along this bank, lined with cattails and duck weed, that we have found some wonderful treasures.
Like this frightening snapping turtle:

Or the evidence of a ringed bandit's midnight snack along the shore:

“I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore. . . .

I hear it in the deep heart's core.”

-William Butler Yeats

So we soon realized this Spring that were just going to have to spend more time out here. It was just too much of a treasure to take for granted. We decided that we wanted to know this lake like the back of our hand. To explore it and study it and learn all we could from its quiet yet immeasurable beauty.

We decided to take to the paddle boat (thank you to our wonderful neighbors for sharing it with us!!!). Call it "boat school" or "outdoor education", whatever... All I know is that it is enchanting and delightful. The lake is our teacher and we are her pupils.

Here is August consulting our Birds of Missouri book, trying to determine exactly what type of heron we had spotted. You can see the year's new cattails emerging behind him--great places for the giant bullfrogs to hide.

As we maneuvered around the banks of the lake we decided to investigate a site that we thought might house a Canadian Goose nest. We had observed the parents lurking around this particular area quite often and we believed there was a very good reason for that.
We were absolutely right and found this evidence:

We were very dismayed to see broken egg shells and even one lone, uncracked egg (where's Templeton when you need him?). You see, we hadn't seen the parents around here in the most recent days and so we assumed that something had raided their nest. We quietly contemplated the risks and dangers that come with trying to raise your young in the wild and we meekly mourned the loss to these goose parents. We then spotted them, the parents, sitting on an opposite bank, staring at us as we surrounded their, since abandoned, nest. They looked at us stoically and with a deep resignation. My heart broke for them.
We decided to move the paddle boat in their direction, wanting to pay them our respects and respectfully acknowledge their efforts.

Imagine our surprise when, as we got closer, they jumped up from their sunny spot to reveal a half dozen goslings hidden between the two of them!! They quickly moved into the water, knowing that the lake was their domain and their safety net. Our hearts swelled with relief and admiration.

And so it has been for us, these last few days and weeks. The first thing August asked me this morning was whether or not we could, again, go out on the water. And how can I say "no"? It calls to me as much as it does to them. The challenge is taking care of the other things we also need to do today. As usual, I'm torn.

Poem for a Thursday

2011-04-21T21:58:00.001-05:00

Leisure

William Henry Davies

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the bough

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

Not time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like stars at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stop and stare.

Take Joy

2011-04-19T08:38:00.000-05:00

--Today I humbly give you the talk I gave at church this morning as part of a Lenten devotional service.

This Lenten season has been different.

In the past, I have usually made it a habit to enter into this journey with some forethought, intention, and purpose. This year, however, has found me detached and distant.

When we lived in Atlanta, the church that my husband and I attended held a solemn yet meaningful Ash Wednesday service each year. It was a simple and stripped down occasion wherein those attending would spend a significant time in quiet contemplation and meditation. In those quiet moments we would search our hearts for all the things that stood between us and God—for all the things that sought to compete with our full attention on the Lord of the Universe who wanted so desperately to have us draw near. We would write them down on small slips of paper, fold them up, and place them in a bowl. The pastor would then set them aflame, offering them up as a collective burnt offering. Once the flames were extinguished, the ashes that remained were the very ones that were used to draw the Cross of Christ upon our foreheads. As we left the service, we literally bore our sins upon our foreheads, hoping and expecting to better understand the meaning of this symbol of repentance. The goal: to spend the next 40 odd days learning the gift that lies in changing our spiritual direction.

In the past, I have also dedicated much more of my time to effecting spiritual change within the darker sides of my soul, always with the prayerful belief that Jesus garnered more strength and power while in the desert with Satan. The result has almost always found me waking on Easter morning with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and with a newfound sense of awe.

But as I said earlier, this year has been different.

This year, around Ash Wednesday, my husband received the heartbreaking news that his sister’s cancer had spread and that the very tools that they were using to fight the wicked disease was actually beginning to kill her, as well. We now found ourselves waiting for the inevitable.

Thankfully, her suffering did not endure too long. She passed in the early quiet of a Sunday morning. As is always the case with death, but most especially with the death of someone who dies too soon, the living are left with cyclic thoughts of “Why?” and “What for?” and “What good can come from this?”

And, I suppose, in a way, this line of questioning leads us through our mourning. Seeking out the answers to the things, seemingly, unanswerable carves out for us a journey.

It is only now, at the distant end of this Lenten season, that I am able to see how that line of questioning has helped me carve out a journey toward Christ, as well.

As I walk through this Holy Week and hear the stories of Jesus predicting his death and betrayal… of him inviting his disciples to an intimate meal at which he humbled himself in an unbelievable act of service…of his desire to do the will of his Father but also of his honest desire to let that will pass him by…of him watching his closest friends turn their heads in detachment as he was taken away by Roman soldiers…of the flagrant miscarriage of justice and acts of cruelty that he beheld at every turn…and, finally of his sacrifice on the cross that proved to be the touchpoint of a spiritual revolution…as I progress through these happenings, I find myself asking the same questions one asks when someone dies too soon.

“Why?”

“What for?”

“What good can come from this?”

The answer is: For the joy.

The writer of Hebrews writes: “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who
for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”

My journey this Lenten season—the journey that has been so different, so unintentional--has led me, most surprisingly, to joy.

But how can this be? How can a season wrought with sorrow and heartbreak, a season of darkness and distance…how can that kind of a season break through into joy?

This is from a book titled Sparkling Gems From the Greek by Rick Renner:

"The Greek word for 'joy' is chara ( pronounced "KARA"), derived from the word charis, which is the Greek word for 'grace.' This is important to note, for it tells us categorically that chara is produced by charis of God. This means 'joy' is not a human-based happiness that comes and goes...Rather, true 'joy' is divine in origin...it is a Spirit-given expression that flourishes best in hard times."

Ahhh…grace. Of course. That Amazing Grace that the Lord has promised to me. That mysterious grace that the author Anne Lamott says " meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us."

That grace. The one that flourishes in hard times.

It is that grace that flowed down…mingled with Christ’s blood and sweat and tears…and birthed something that the world finds intangible: Joy.

Christ was able to endure the unendurable because of the promise of joy.

It is the same joy that burst forth when, after the Sabbath, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb. Upon entering they found an angel who said to them,

“Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said…

And so… “the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid… yet filled with joy…”

As we examine what transpired when Jesus died on the cross--the amazing bestowing of unmerited favor that immediately became ours for the taking –do we take the next step and allow it to birth within us that same joy? Can you come to the end of your Lenten journey and discover that you have been led, not into death but rather into joy?

We need to be people of thanksgiving for thanksgiving is the soil in which joy thrives.

As you approach Easter this week, take with you these words from Fra Giovanni:

“No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest today.

Take heaven.

No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present instant.

Take Peace.

The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet, within our reach, is joy.

Take Joy.”

The Art of Simplicity

2011-04-13T09:51:00.003-05:00

It has been quite some time now, hasn't it? It has been a season of swirling and bending, of mellowing and tempering. As blizzards raged and temperatures dropped, as sickness swelled and hearts broke, we have found ourselves doing our best to sail the choppy waters, armed with grace and peace. And as it is with all of life, there have been the sweet and simple moments, revealed in some of the darkest hours.

In a word, I am thankful.

But now...

If you have spent any time at all reading my ramblings around here you have found that I struggle quite a bit with exactly how we should do things...in our daily routines, how we approach learning... it goes on and on (as I'm sure you have noticed!).

Well, as anyone who has ever ridden one of those god forsaken carnival rides that doesn't try to hide its true intentions in its name--the ones known as The Twister or The Scrambler--you are very aware of the phenomenon of "excited joy" morphing into "painful day of reckoning." What seemed like a good idea at the beginning becomes, sooner rather than later, less and less attractive. You want to get off the ride. Now.

I feel as if I have spent an inordinate amount of time buying the same ticket for the same carnival ride, again and again. It's exhausting. And dizzying. Sickening, even.

And so unnecessary.

But in a quieter moment recently, a truth that I had once rallied behind with an almost cult-like fervor, began to resurface. Strange, since I wasn't consciously aware that it had become hidden. Like the water that clears after the jar has been shaken and the dirt begins to settle, this way of seeing emerged.

I need to keep it simple.

Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius - and a lot of courage - to move in the opposite direction. ~E.F. Schumacher

Well of course I do. But I don't. I think about it quite a bit. I even shape a whole blog around the idea. But I've become quite adept at not living it out. I've become distracted, disengaged, distant. And the consequence is quite evident...

death.

Of psyche. Of soul. Of spirit.

What I'm realizing is that I complicate matters, immensely.

Homeschooling my kids means I am home, a lot. You would think that it would give me a little more time than the average working mom to squeeze in a little toilet scrubbing or floor sweeping. It does not. Being open and available to my children, journeying with them through the world of words and numbers and ideas occupies a lot of time. Time that I am not going to interrupt just to shine a sink or two, even though I LOVE shiny sinks! I have found over the last few years, that when I allow myself to be distracted by that stuff, the whole learning environment tilts off its axis and goes spinning into a parallel universe. I have also found that the life forms found in that parallel universe are not fun or interesting. They are actually kind of scary.

But herein lies the rub. I can't ignore the toilets and the sinks and the dust and the mess. That kind of environment is, in its self, a parallel universe and it makes me want to kick and scream if I have to live in it

one

day.

I am finding that the only way to live in the tension is to radically simplify. Everything.

So I am beginning the journey of making this happen:

Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful. ~William Morris

This goes for the physical space we live in, as well as the intellectual houses we are building.
The less stuff I have gathered around me, the less I have to dust or straighten or organize.
The less I look around at what everyone else is doing in their schooling pursuits, the less comparing that goes on and the more time I have for getting to the business at hand--being with my kids, learning.

Hopefully I won't be lured into the midway, with all of its flashing lights and carnival music, only to find myself on that ride that always disappoints.

Will you join me?

What practices help you stay focused on the simple things?

Making it real

2011-01-31T15:06:00.000-06:00

You can't live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you. ~John Wooden

I believe that you will remember me mentioning August's deep and genuine concern for a homeless man that we often see in our town. In fact, there are a couple of these men around. Several of them own a dog or two, which is what originally drew our eye to these people in the first place (what does that say about our proclivities?) and piqued our interest in these men's lives. So many questions have been asked regarding these guys as well as deeper discussions about the bigger problems of homelessness, economic disparity, social justice, our own fears...

August's first foray into personal and audible prayer was prompted by his deep seated desire to "do something" for these folks. And as Jesus was so prone to point out regarding children, his natural inclination was to walk right into the presence of God, look up and ask Him for help.

He hasn't stopped asking.

Around Christmas time when I was in Target (whatever would I be doing there?) I noticed some packets of hand and foot warmers in the dollar bin. We had recently had a decent sized snow, along with sub-freezing temperatures and I immediately thought of how these would have been helpful when we were sledding. And then, like a laser beam, I thought of "our" homeless man. I thought of how sledding and playing in the snow were probably a lot further down on his to-do list but that keeping his hands and feet warm were right up there at the top, along with making it through the night. I cleaned out the bin.

I showed my purchase to August, whose eyes immediately lit up. Then, he leaped up to hug me. Here was something very tangible that we could "do".

No fewer than two days passed before we saw him walking. August saw him first and called out to me. "Mom, there he is! We need to give him those warmers!" But I didn't have them with us. I had followed the prompting to buy the darned things but I hadn't followed through with the most important part of the deal--getting them to our friend. I made a mental note to put them in the car so that we could give them out next time we saw him.

And I did. Put them in the car, that is.

But the next time that we saw him, we were inbetween destinations with things to do and people to see and places to go. Not this time, August. Next time.

typical.

But just this past week, on one of our weekly trips to the library, where we were able to score one of the parking spaces right next to the building, we saw him. He was right there, with his dog. We were right there, with the goods.

And the space between us suddenly seemed like a gorge, slicing deeply into the Earth, threatening my firm footing, daring me to go forward.

This was it.

This was when what we professed to be true, to be right, to be noble...needed to put on skin and walk.

This was when the lessons that I really wanted August to learn, to absorb, to burn into his soul might become

something real. Alive.

I flinched.

And then, as grace flowed from somewhere other than my heart, I moved. I tried not to think because thinking only complicated the matter and caused me to focus on myself rather than the task at hand. Sometimes you just have to move.

I grabbed the bag from the trunk and, with the boys, approached the man, slowly. Very slowly.

For there were words flying. Ugly words spewing from a deep well of bitterness and frustration, aimed at the only thing that he had control over--his dog. Words that, I'm sure, had been hurled at him, time and time again, by those who believed that they had control over him. "Piece of sh#t!" "Shut up, you damn fool!"

The dog recoiled, finding the only thing lower than himself...the ground. He looked up with eyes, like deep pools, reflecting the ire of his assailant while hiding a darker underside of untold horror. He acquiesed, as was his usual custom, I'm sure.

And then we were there. Amongst the sh#t and damnation, we stood.

The boys instantly went to the dog, who, in turn, was instantly drawn to them. The broken hearted became the ice breaker. An opening.

We struck up a conversation about the dog, what kind he was, etc. The usual banter that occurs when you are a dog person and you encounter someone with a dog. A bit of silence and then...

Me: "We see you walking around town..."

Him: "Yeah, I'm always walking..."

more silence...

Me: "Well, this is my son August and well, he often asks me about you. He's concerned about how you're doing and all. Worries that you are cold."

The man pauses, looks at me, takes in my person and my words...searching.

Me: "And well, we got these things for you and we wanted you to have them."

I handed him the bag. He took it, still looking at me, and then at August.

Him: "Thank you. Thank you very much."

We turned to leave and then I realized that I hadn't even asked him his name.

Me: "I'm so sorry, I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Holly. What is your name?"

His response:

"Lucky."

Unbelievable.

I haven't joined in the count for awhile.
It's time....

#11-20

to quote August's prayer just the other evening: "Thank you for the delicious food that I had for dinner. Thank you for this cozy bed for me to sleep in."
a husband who cares for our family in ways that are unique to him alone
daily bread while tomorrow's weather threatens
blankets on top of blankets
plants that bloom in the middle of winter
dog chewed slippers
lost friends found
the love of a couple who has just suffered an unimaginable loss
the generosity and hospitality of friends
strong coffee on a gray afternoon.

Light

2011-01-07T07:24:00.001-06:00

Live in rooms full of light. ~Cornelius Celsus

After I finished putting away the breakfast dishes this morning, this is where I found August. He had climbed up into the gloriously deep window sills that our stone house provides, surrounded himself with blankets and cushions, and settled in for the day.

You know, the day that we first saw this house, before we had even made an offer on it, one of the first conclusions that I came to was that someone should do this very thing. Moreover, we should be the people to do it.

I'm glad that August heeded the call.

With the morning sun pouring in--buckets full--he settled in.

What is it about the sun that calls to something so deep inside of us?

Is it the gentle way that it seeps into our skin...reaching even deeper still...warming places that we didn't even realize were cold?

Or is it the way that it, literally, changes the skin we're in...leaving tattoos of its face across our bodies?

All I know is that on these mornings when it is still dark when I rise, when I don't know whether to curse or bless my dog for getting me out of bed and moving soooo early...it is on these days, especially, that I look to the East with such expectancy and anticipation. Practically willing the sun into the sky is one of my first productive acts of the day.

I need that Sun

come

up.

And it always does.

This morning, after tinging the edges of night's cheeks with pink, it jumped up, full of fire and energy. It flooded into our living room, through those very windows that August settled into, and filled the room with its power.

Slowly, the chill wore off.

The cushions of the sofa absorbed its radiance.

The patterns of the carpet played in their own shadows.

And then

you could see it.

Dust. Dirt. Dinge.

Everywhere.

It hit and stung like a slap on the face that came out of nowhere, catching me completely off guard and utterly defenseless. And suddenly I felt so very vulnerable, exposed, revealed. The reality of my home--the one that I had so successfully hidden in the dark nooks and crannies--was immediately brought into the fullness of light.

You see, I am not the greatest housekeeper. Some days I'm better at it than others. Some days I get my act together and I manage to clear surfaces, tidy up floors, maybe even scrub a toilet or two. On days that my parents are coming, or a playdate or... well, those days I am almost always competent at it. I lean into the task headlong and early, and I twirl throught the house like a whirling dervish. Like a woman bewitched, I transform my house into something it normally is not.

I dress to impress.

But those kinds of days are the exception and I'm not proud of how I arrive at the outcome anyway. It's all very pretentious really.

But on the regular, ordinary, quotidian day...

there is dust.

That's what that persnickety sunlight will do. It reveals too much.

"He shines a spotlight into caves of darkness,

hauls deepest darkness into the noonday sun."

Job 12:22 (The Message)

I think about this. I look about me, at all that is revealed about me,
who I am, really,
and I am tempted to despair.

But then I read it again. He chooses to fetch his brightest spotlight, the one that could blind the eyes if he wanted it to, and he begins the hunt.
To reach into my deepest, darkest places and

haul
it
out.

It's no accident. It's not a trick or conniving behavior or tomfoolery.

It's what he does. His nature.

He brings darkness into light.

"I will lead the blind on roads

they have never known;

I will guide them on paths

they have never traveled.

Their road is dark and rough,

but I will give light

to keep them from stumbling.

This is my solemn promise."

Isaiah 42:16 (CEV)

He has promised to.

But I would really rather he keep the dust hidden, for it doesn't reflect well on me. I like that he reveals the way for me but, as far as I am concerned, that pesky dust can just remain behind me, in my shadow. Light and shadow, as it should be.

But I can't have it both ways.

With my darkness comes light. In fact, the deeper my darkness, the brighter the Light.

I have a choice to make. Keep the dust hidden and risk bumping into something else that is hidden right beside it. Something that I didn't even know was there, even. Or I had forgotten. Chose to forget, actually.

I can tear open the shutters and throw open the sash. I can let him into my caves of darkness. Let him haul out all of the bags and boxes of darkness, into that noonday sun.

Today, and everyday, I must choose light.

"...sun is shining, the weather is sweet

make you want to move your dancing feet

to the rescue, here i am

want you to know just if you can

where i stand, no, no, no, no, where i stand

sun is shining, sun is shining..."

Bob Marley

And now you are six

2010-12-23T21:47:00.001-06:00

To My Sweet August,

Although you were very much wished for and planned for and longed for by your Daddy and me, I can still remember the slight catch in my throat, the ever so slight tug on my deepest heart string when I imagined you actually joining our family. You see, your older brother Aidan had already burst forth into our lives and hearts and we loved him with a fierceness and devotion that seeemed unable to be duplicated. But here you were, and coming very soon, and you would require and expect the same. How could I possibly have room enough in my heart for two? As the day of your birth drew ever closer, my fear began to take root.

But your dear Grandma Jackie assured me, unswervingly, that with the birth of each child, a mother's heart simply expands. Seismically, my heart would swell and undulate, creating new forms and shapes to fit you in. She promised.

And then you came.

We really, really believed that you were going to be a girl. The whole time that you were in my deepest places, you were different than Aidan. You moved differently and you made me feel completely different than I had when I was carrying your older brother. Obviously, you must be a girl.

You are most definitely not a girl.

You are our August.

And here you are, turning six! And, although it seems, at times, that this day has arrived here by express delivery, you have managed to fill these past six years with a richness and depth that didn't exist in my life before you.

You are an incredible boy.

And so, in honor of your big day, I thought that I would construct a list of the ten things that I love about you most (ten because it is a nice, even number and one that people have come to expect with best of anything lists--I could have put more, believe me!).

TEN THINGS I LOVE ABOUT AUGUST:

1) You love and appreciate good food. I don't mean fine food. I mean good food. Meat and potatoes, biscuits and gravy, brisket and ribs, fried eggs and bacon. Thank God you have a mommy and a daddy who can attempt to balance out your epicurean tendencies with fruits and vegetables and fiber. Otherwise, you would be headed down a path of hedonistic debauchery. But you earn big time points for the fact that you genuinely enjoy sharing a meal with others, taking time to revel in the tastes and textures.

2) You love to dance. I wish that I could insert a short video of your latest moves so that others could truly witness the zeal and utter concentration you offer to your art. Whether Lady Gaga, Dead or Alive or Erasure belts though the speakers, it matters not. As long as it has a beat, you can dance to it. You seem to be telling a story as you move, one that you offer up to your private viewers (you refuse to showcase your talent beyond the protected walls of our house) with the perfect mix of seriousness and jovialness.

3) You love dogs. Not just your dog. All dogs. You see something in animals that others must not because you are drawn to something deep within them, every time you meet one. Perhaps, in the inevitable slowing of your heart that comes when you truly engage with an animal and love on them with full abandon, you tune into a pulse that not everyone does. You hear them. Really hear them. And they know it.

4) You love to cuddle. This is a big deal because when I used to imagine having children I would always secretly pray to God for cuddly kids. I knew that I would be cuddly with you but I wanted desperately for you to be cuddly back. Not all kids are, you know. For some kids, that is not their love language, at all. But it's one of mine and it's one of yours and through our daily cuddle sessions, we are able to speak into each others hearts.

5) You are Adventurous. Daring. Bold. Most often, Fearless. All things that I am most definitely NOT. When I watch you hop on your snowboard or skateboard or a zip line or a climbing wall I marvel at the confidence you have in your abilities. Of course you can do it. Because you believe that you can. This is something I wish that I had mastered years ago: that, quite often, our competence is not solely reliant on our natural abilities but also on our belief that we can actually have such giftedness. You pave a path for me that gives me confidence.

6) You are incredibly thoughtful. You are the King of random acts of kindness. I never taught this to you (although I really wish that I could take credit for this virtue)--you have just always been this way. You look around you and you see. You know when someone needs help and you help them. You think of ways that you can do nice things and you do them: picking up shoes and putting them away, quickly getting dressed and making your bed so that we can get on to the next activity, rushing to find all available stuffed animals and blankets when you brother falls off of his bike, stroking my hair when I am crying, stopping and struggling in your heart when you think about the homeless man that we see walking through our town and asking, "what does he do when it is so cold, Mom? How does he survive?"
The list could go on and on. You are amazing in your ability to treat others as you would want to be treated, although you never expect it in return. That's just the way that you are.

7) You have chubby cheeks. I know that you are probably rolling your eyes at this point, but you must understand-- chubby cheeks are God's way of ensuring that we will care for our babies. You see, all chubby cheeks emit a silent, albeit incredibly strong, imperative to parents which is received and decoded by the parent's brain as this message: "EAT ME!!!!" For the rest of your life, your daddy and I will struggle with the overwhelming urge to bite your cheeks off. If we follow through on this urge, all bets are off and that's the end of the story. But if we resist the urge, just for today, then we can come back again tomorrow and consider the act anew. You see, it's God's insurance policy on babies and children.

8) You are a wonderful listener. Although not as book obsessed as your older brother, you still love a good story, whether imagined or real. And you are always listening. I've learned this as I've read books to your brother. You always like to be engaged with something (drawing, Legos, building forts) in the same room where the reading is happening and it is easy to assume that you are in your own world. But you are listening. And very intently, I might add. Nothing gets by you. Advertisements on the radio--you hear them. What John Stewart is saying about Congress while your daddy watches a replay of The Daily Show--you hear him. What isn't necessarily said, but implied, whether in books, movies or conversations--you hear it.

9) You rejoice with others in their accomplishments, victories, or achievements. When your brother won his Pinewood Derby race this year, you would have thought that you had won. When you watch Cash Cab with your Grandpa and he gets an answer correct, it's as if you were both in the taxi. When I finally hunt down and catch our stinkerpants dog after she has run into the woods on one of our adventures, you pat me on the back and say, "Good job, Mom."

10) And what I love about you most is that you are, simply, the neatest kid to be around. You're funny, smart, good looking. You love life and you work every day to get the most out of it. You have taught me more than I have taught you, I'm sure, but you take it all in stride, as a matter of course. You are devoted, passionate, and fun loving. You are very much what I would like to be.

So, on this, the sixth anniversary of your birth day, I marvel at how very much my heart has expanded and stretched. In my attempt to make room in my heart for another little boy I have discovered something more.

You were there all along.

Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood, we find a delightful creature of a boy.

-- Author Unknown

December--in a nutshell

2010-12-22T09:39:00.000-06:00

"How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?"

--Dr. Suess

"Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home."

~Edith Sitwell

Multitudes on Monday

2010-11-22T09:13:00.000-06:00

I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.

~G.K. Chesterton

Today, I'm joining Ann for the first time in giving thanks for the multitude of love and joy and grace that surrounds me in this life.
I suppose it makes sense that I would feel drawn to this exercise on this, the week of Thanksgiving. But really, I've known of its power for awhile.

Thanksgiving is the soil in which joy thrives.

-Anonymous

It has been in some of my more darker moments that, in turning my head and heart just so, I've caught a glimpse of an everyday grace. And it has made all the difference.

It has also been settling in on my heart, more and more often, how very much that I want to model this practice for my boys. To take their hearts in my hand and lead them along the path of thanksgiving. Really, what greater truth could I teach to them?

If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, "thank you," that would suffice.

~Meister Eckhart

The boys and I walk around the lake by our house almost everyday (mainly for our dog's boundless energy seeking ways but also for the daily dose of fresh air and perspective that it gives to us). Usually on these walks, the boys engage each other in conversations on various topics--the future exploits of their Lego creations, the type of dog that they might want when they are older, how to be the best secret agent...
But the other day, after a span of unusual silence, August looks up at me and says, "I am SO thankful that we have clean water to drink, everyday." That was it.

That was all there needed to be.

Yes. Clean water is a gift that we usually accept without a thought, with a sense of entitlement, even. We rarely think of the alternative.

And yet, he did. He understood. In that very moment, the truth of that gift came rushing into his heart and mind and he couldn't help but speak it out loud.

We often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude.

~Cynthia Ozick

I am going to begin my 1000 gift list today.

#1 The pink and gold tinged clouds that make getting up at dawn a tad bit easier.

#2 The ability to plan, hope and dream about a bountiful meal that is guarranteed to come.

#3 Plants on my windowsill that decide to keep growing despite my neglect.

#4 The smell of woodsmoke carried on the shoulders of crisp breezes

#5 A happy childhood

#6 Children that fight to cuddle with me, even when I have morning breath

#7 The gentle glow of candles on a dark kitchen table

#8 Hearing, "Mom, look at this..."

#9 Dreams that make you think of a person who needs your friendship

#10 The silhoutte of bare trees against a sunset that hints at cold weather to come.

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.

~Thornton Wilder

First Hard Frost

2010-11-18T08:27:00.003-06:00

"I see, when I bend close, how each leaflet of a

climbing rose is

bordered with frost,

the autumn counterpart of the dewdrops of

summer dawns.

The feathery leaves of yarrow are thick with

silver rime

and dry thistle heads rise like goblets plated with

silver catching the sun."

- Edwin Way Teale

Wordless Wednesday

2010-11-10T23:31:00.000-06:00

Sushi Sunday

2010-11-08T08:21:00.003-06:00

He who distinguishes the true savor of his food can never be a glutton; he who does not cannot be otherwise. ~Henry David Thoreau

Picture of Nori with the light shining through it.

"Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises."
--Pedro Calderon de la Barca, Spanish Poet and Playwright, 1600-1681

Dog Happiness

2010-11-08T07:56:00.001-06:00

"No matter how little money and how few possessions you own,
having a dog makes you rich."

-- Louis Sabin

Carnivorous chickens, amazing butterflies and Harry Potter

2010-11-07T23:42:00.001-06:00

Carnivorous Chickens

There are a few things that I need to share with you.

First off, you need to know that anyone that tries to sell you eggs that are described as both "Free Range" and "Fed an all vegetarian diet" is selling you a big carton of malarkey. Chickens, by their very nature, cannot be of both the aforementioned persuasions. Chickens, when left to their own devices, will, most willingly, hunt down and eat meat. My sweet Golden Laced Wyandotte hen, pictured above, is running very determinedly away from her fellow lady friends in order to eat her just bagged toad, alone. She will most likely, peck its fool brains out, toss it around in the air a bit, and then leave the remaining carcass for anyone else who might be interested.

Now, if all this time you've naively brought home your Fresh Farm Eggs and imagined that the sweet hens that shared them with you had, only just that morning, been grazing contentedly in their open field, feeding on seeds and nuts and berries while simultaneously eschewing anything that crawled across its path, well you have been mistaken.

Chickens are ANIMALS I tell you! Animals!

Amazing Butterflies

"God uses broken things. It takes broken soil to produce a crop, broken clouds to give rain, broken grain to give bread, broken bread to give strength. It is the broken alabaster box that gives forth perfume."

--Vance Havner

As I shared in a recent post, I've been struggling a bit lately. Valley living, I called it. The place where everything is hard. Where everything seems, very simply, broken.

And then, when stumbling out into the blinding sunshine to gaze upon the zinnias outside my front door, the ones that were planted as an afterthought and with nothing more than a haphazard scattering of seeds, I find this marvel pictured above.

A broken butterfly.

One whose wings had an actual hole in them.

And it didn't even seem to notice. It was flying. And flitting. And sucking nectar. And flapping its wings in that quiet and subtle way that all butterflies do. It was doing its thing, despite the hole.

Or could it have been because of the hole?

Did it matter, really, which was the reason?

Does it matter that I, too, am broken?

Of course it matters. But it is what I choose to do with that brokeness that defines me. Sometimes, all I can manage is what is most basic...eating, sleeping, bathing, caring for my children. Other times, I can push through and open the shades to let in more light, even if it is a little later in the day than I would have wanted. And the warmth penetrates something deep within, stiring up the dying ember that He wouldn't snuff out. And there is hope.

"Grass grows at last above all graves."

--Julia Dorr

Harry Potter

I don't think I will be able to adequately describe to you how our family is forever changed from reading the Harry Potter series. I know we're a little slow on the draw, having witnessed fellow friends be swept up in the Harry phenomenon a decade ago, but the timing just wasn't right. But I suppose all of the planets lined up just right three months ago and we found a set of books on sale for cheap. We gobbled them up and determined that now was the time. Was it ever.

Our "schooling" has been all over the map this fall. We've endured growing pains with regards to structure and flexibility, independence and neediness, desire and apathy. We've studied history and math in spurts and science as the spirit moved us. We've been tossed back and forth between plans made and undone, sickness and health, dreams cast and reality reeling us back in... Nothing has gone as planned for a long time.

And then we began reading Harry Potter. And everything (some days, literally everything) was put on hold. We read the books aloud, together, all of us, whenever possible. John couldn't wait for the rest of us and quickly read through the whole series in a week. Aidan, similarly restless, succumbed, kept at least 5 chapters, if not a whole book ahead of us and, for the first time, while reading in bed, had to be told that we (John and I) were going to sleep and we would see him in the morning. August, restrained only by the fact that he simply couldn't read the book on his own, depended on me to keep up the momentum and begged, at every turn, to please read another chapter.

It was magical. Truly magical. Our nights, after dinner, were defined by how many chapters we could squeeze in before grown up eyes became too tired and blurry, or little ones' eyes could no longer stay open. And the discussion. Ah, the discussion. There were the continual interuptions by August, full of questions and commentary, that, honestly, often tried our patience but, just as often, presented an insightful observation that caused us all to stop and ponder anew. There were plot predictions and interpretations of characters' actions and musings on why things had to be the way they were. There was action and fear and joy and utter despair--one night, as we read after dinner while still sitting at the table, unable to even wait until we had cleared the dishes, an unexpected plot turn found me racked with sobs and tears that I carried with me to my bed.

And then, almost as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. We had managed to read through the whole series, aloud, together, in less than three months and now, it was over. John had asked me, the whole time while we were reading aloud, why I didn't read ahead. "I just don't understand how, after the kids go to bed, you can keep yourself from reading more?" he would ask.

The answer was simple. I didn't want it to end.

I suppose, upon finishing, there was some relief. Like that which comes when you endure a long race or a big project. A sort of "We did it!" kind of thing.

But there was also a tremendous sense of loss that came with reading that last page. We had been completely immersed in this world that had come to define us, in a way. Questions surrounding the power of truth, love, sacrifice, friendship, bravery and righteousness had informed our conversations with each other as well as the quiet of our own heads. Conclusions about the consequences of actions, or lack thereof, had been made, again and again. These books had been an incredible bonding agent, for weeks on end. And now, we had to move on. Stumble back into the light of a new day, find our bearings and trudge on.

The level of discourse and understanding that my two boys (one of whom is not yet 6) demonstrated as we read these books truly stunned me and easily accomplished what years of "Language Arts" curriculums aim to achieve. The attention to detail, ability of recall and overall comprehension of the text was truly impressive. And the beauty of it all was--they couldn't help themselves. It just happened. It had to.

For that, I thank you, J.K. Rowling, from the bottom of my heart.

Just Add Light and Stir: Real People

2010-10-26T21:31:00.000-05:00

I found the way that Sandra Dodd penned this concept to be simply beautiful and I just had to share it with you.

Just Add Light and Stir: Real People: "For all the considerations of stages of development and maturity, it helps to remember that the small version of you was still altogether yo..."

Valley living

2010-10-15T16:42:00.001-05:00

Are you there?

Really?

Because, obviously, I haven't been around here in awhile and if you have stopped by, looking for a post or photo once in awhile,

well,

you're a better person than I am.

I'm not sure why I have completely abandoned this space as of late. It's not that I haven't thought of a million things to share or work through, as this place has so wonderfully invited me to do in the past. And it's not that I haven't had the time.

I seem to have just chosen to avoid this place for a bit.

Perhaps some of what I have been working through has been just a little too raw to put

out there, exposed, as I worked through it myself. It is true that I have found this blog to be a wonderful vehicle for self discovery and I have shared things that were personal and vulnerable before, but something about the last couple of months has kept me from being so...so...

Honest.

There has been a lot of thinking and wringing of hands and worrying and frustration and hopelessness and self incrimination,

among other things.

Most all of these emotions have been related to, or in conjunction with, our learning at home adventure.

Don't worry, I don't believe that on any given day I felt all of those emotions at the same time but I definitely became all too familiar with many of them.

I know that sounds like I've been an absolute wreck for the last two months and, some days, I was. But really, I believe I was just in a deep valley.

Deep

but

necessary.

I have learned a lot about myself in the last few months.

I thought that I had learned a lot of this already but, evidently, my psyche is a slow and stubborn learner.

Perhaps I only really learn something after repeated exposure and testing.

I hate that I am like that

But

am.

And just when I thought that maybe I had found the deepest part of the valley,

the place that is almost impossible to dig oneself out of because the walls keep falling in on themselves despite one's greatest efforts,

it was in this place that I read this:

"After every time of exaltation we are brought down with a sudden rush into things as they are where it is neither beautiful nor poetic nor thrilling. The height of the mountain top is measured by the drab drudgery of the valley; but it is in the valley that we have to live for the glory of God [emphasis mine]. We see His glory on the mount, but we never live for His glory there. It is in the sphere of humiliation that we find our true worth to God, that is where our faithfulness is revealed...The last time you were on the mount with God, you saw that all power in heaven and in earth belonged to Jesus--will you be sceptical now in the valley of humiliation?"

Oswald Chambers

My Utmost For His Highest

It was that underlined portion, that imperative, that pulled me up from the depths.

Not that mountain tops aren't incredible and wonderful and life giving. Indeed, they are.

But real life is really lived in the valley.

And it is in that place that God's glory really lives.

So in my deepest place I found inspiration.

I know you might be thinking that I am overspiritualizing a struggle that is really just about finding one's groove in learning at home but I humbly submit that it is not.

For our family, this decision to learn at home affects and informs everything about who we say we are and what we say that we believe.

This is a lifestyle.

A lifestyle that values:

the individual as part of an important whole,

grace in the midst of struggle,

humility,

determination,

a love of learning,

the pursuit of all things lovely,

and

the relentless love of God as he speaks into our lives.

And so, in a very dark place, the light came piercing through.

My valley road has been illuminated slowly, although steadily.

It has been said that thanksgiving is the soil in which joy thrives.

I think that I will begin there.

Trial and Error

2010-08-04T14:54:00.000-05:00

"There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always the something you were after."

J.R.R. Tolkien

So, what else is there to do when it is 3 million degrees outside, in the shade? Play in the bathtub, of course! The boys spent a good deal of the afternoon giving their Lego boats a try. Aidan's boat, above, utilizes some pontoons (wine corks) for better flotation. He came up with the clever idea of making special compartments for them below the boat after ruminating over the failure of his last endeavor, which used rubber bands to attach the pontoons. We worked on the construction together and, believe you me, my brain was most definitely challenged by the idea. There was a lot of assembling and disassembling before the final product was produced. Something is still not right as, once floating, it likes to roll over on one side. We're still scratching our heads on that one but now Aidan has something else to think on for awhile.

Twenty years from now, when they are engineers for some big think tank, I hope they will remember this day in the tub.

The Simple Woman's Daybook

2010-08-03T16:12:00.000-05:00

FOR TODAY

Outside my window... the still, dead air of a very hot August day.

I am thinking... that it doesn't help anyone or anything to long for different circumstances.

I am thankful for... blessed, heavenly air-conditioning.

From the learning rooms... today was devoted to the reading of tales...Harry Potter, Hank the Cowdog, the daily comics...

From the kitchen... our first canteloupes of the season (yeah!). They are large and beautiful and juicy and delicious.

I am wearing... shorts and a tank top, my summer uniform, evidently.

I am creating... photographs that have depth and beauty.

I am going... to my hometown this weekend for my 20th high school reunion. Thankfully, I am more excited than apprehensive. I guess I have matured a bit since those days.

I am reading... The Art of Mending, by Elizabeth Berg, as well as numerous resources for nature journaling.

I am hoping... for a "settling" into gently organized routines that allow for flexibility yet provide some security.

I am hearing... the rattling of a rawhide bone being flung across my kitchen floor. It is the perfect distraction for a dog that demands much.

Around the house... there are strewn Legos, books, balsa wood airplanes, newspapers, and vine ripened tomatoes.

One of my favorite things... is peanut butter with crackers or apples for a morning snack.

A few plans for the rest of the week: to bake lemon tea cakes and banana bread, make some homemade salsa and carefully organize "stuff" for two separate family trips.

Here is picture for thought I am sharing...

The chickens are trying to find shade anywhere they can. With a heat index of 110, who can blame them?

From The Simple Woman's Daybook

Anisoptera

2010-07-31T20:50:00.001-05:00

"Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragonfly

Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky."

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Silent Noon

It's so disappointing when you are disappointed

2010-07-30T23:44:00.000-05:00

"Never judge a book by its movie."

J.W. Egan

The boys and I recently finished reading Roald Dahl's James and the Giant Peach, which we thoroughly enjoyed. I can remember Mrs. McGinley reading it to us in fourth grade after we had come back in from lunch recess. Amazingly, we would all sit quietly while she read to us for a good 30 minutes. Most of us would draw pictures while we listened, while a few were content to just put their heads on their folded arms and listen.

I realized quickly that I did not remember a lot of the story, which was strange to discover since I distinctly remember drawing a picture of a rather large peach rolling across the landscape...

Anyway, it didn't take long for August to become completely enthralled with the fantastical story and characters, nor did he tarry in discovering similarities between it and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The short chapters were notorious for leaving us hanging and so it wasn't uncommon to find ourselves stilled wrapped up in the story an hour later (wonderful on a lazy afternoon, not so wonderful when you realize it is suddenly 10:00 p.m.).

As we sprinted through the book we found ourselves pausing, every now and then, just to muse on what images were coming to mind. It was fun to listen to each other and build upon one another's fantasies. And every once in awhile, one of us would say, "I wonder how they would make this into a movie...?" Inevitably, each of us would slowly grin as we wandered back into our own reveries, imagining how what we "saw" might come to life. Somehow, in some deep, intangible way, I knew that it wasn't possible to pull off the craziness of this book. It was as if the story, as it played out in my brain, was only truly capable of existing within that realm--in my head.

We discovered, much to our disappointment, that we were completely right. The movie version (1996) that we watched this evening was partly live action, partly animated. The boy who played James was good enough, I suppose, but all of the other characters simply failed to live up to their bookish counterparts. Aunt Sponge wasn't nearly as obese as we had imagined and Aunt Spiker, although sufficiently frightening, was not tall and skinny enough. Needless to say, there were many changes to the plot which meant that important details were left out, confusing scenes that were not part of the original story were added, and the overall mood just didn't fit. At one point I actually said, out loud, "Why are they doing this to the story? I don't understand."

After the movie was over and I was tucking the boys in bed, Aidan shared that he "did not care for that movie one bit!" When I pressed him for details he paused, shook his head and said, "It was just so different from the book and it was not at all what I imagined." He was right and I suddenly regretted that we had watched the movie at all. I felt like I had stolen his interpretation of a wonderfully crazy tale and replaced it with a very cheap knock off. I wanted to take back the cinematic experience and go back to the place where the real story lived.

Oh well, lesson learned. I believe that I will think long and hard about watching a movie version of a beloved book from now on. It's so hard though. Books are these incredible living organisms that breathe into you, become part of you, change the way that you look at the world around you and it is only natural to want to make that experience tangible and real. Short of acting it out myself, I watch a movie (and its production company with its much bigger budget and its computer graphic capabilities...) to, hopefully, make some of that happen. I suppose that the best place for that to really blossom is where it belongs anyway, in my head.

"Having your book turned into a movie is like seeing your oxen turned into bouillon cubes."

John LeCarre

FINALLY some pictures!

2010-07-28T14:55:00.000-05:00

I can now share pictures with you again!!!! It's a long story about why there haven't pictures on my blog for the last six months and most of it doesn't reflect well on me. Simply put, we have purchased a new computer with something like 4 million times the memory as the previous ~~sloth~~ machine. Now I will be able to illustrate more of my blog entries as I have been wont to do for eons...

As a way to celebrate, I thought that I would share some shots of the natural happenings around our place. I LOVE my camera and I am so impressed with its incredible ability to make me look like I know what I am doing behind the lens. Granted, Mother Nature provides the perfect material. I'm just lucky enough to stumble upon it.

"My profession is to always find God in nature."

Henry David Thoreau