Grateful Acres

Not long ago someone asked me -rather out of the blue- to write up a short bio on myself, focusing primarily on my education and skills. Being out of the {paid} work-force indefinitely, I was rather surprised by it but decided to comply and see what came of it. First I typed my name and the word "Bio", a little at a loss as to where to start... I decided to start at my roots and mentioned the family I came from, and the values instilled in my early years. I typed a bit about my schooling years, grades, subjects, and what my heart was doing during those years. I typed about college and the things I pursued during those years. Then I read back through what I had written. The paragraph about my early years and family spoke of the 30+ years of my parents marriage, of being taught to serve God and to pray. The paragraph about my school years was woven with the conscious choices to define who I am to God, instead of the world. The college section clearly stated that I never int

Henry in his happy place (on the tractor) Ruby in her happy place (in Daddy's arms, holding her own apple) Jonathan in his happy place (halfway up a cedar tree that I grew up playing in) Ya know how as Mommas we often feel like 97% of the stuff we say to our kids goes in one ear and out the other? So often they are moving so fast that I don't realize how much they retain as they wiggle and race and jump and motorcycle-noise circles around me. One of my boys retained and regurgitated something recently that really hit me. As he recited my words to his brother, I heard it differently and more deeply than I had meant it the first time. We were in the car going somewhere or another (seems like half the profound things any of us say happen to be said in the car...). All the kiddos were buckled into the back seat, and as we winded around the beautiful, scenic corners toward Daddy's shop, J leans toward H and says, "Brother, when we fight the devil wins.&quo

I think it's about time for a family-update. Most of my writing is about all the things going on inside MY head... but all the while my children are growing and changing, and our family dynamic is growing and changing. I document the change going on in my heart because I don't want to forget the thoughts and processes that get me to each place, and family is the same. I don't want to look back someday and wonder how we got where we are... I want to have LOTS of memories, LOTS of pictures, and well, LOTS of blog posts :) Jonathan. He is settling in to life right now. He has the occasional rowdy streak or stubborn flair, but for the most part he is happy to run, to play, to wiggle and pretend and make helicopter/motorcycle/race car/monster truck noises. He loves to beat box (yes, my 5 yr old beat-boxes...), and is learning the lyrics to songs he hears a lot. He has moved to the grade-school Sunday school class at church, leaving Henry in charge of the preschool class ;)  A

Josh took the boys to his shop with him so I could go to Roo's appointment just-me-and-her. I'm so grateful that he did, because waves of familiar fears came washing over my heart the whole way there, requiring my whole being to battle for the surrender to allow Christ to reign. A week or so ago Roo was diagnosed with a hernia, and I felt a tiny pang of fear. I had noticed it during a diaper change, and called out to our Creator. At her one-year appointment we showed it to her doctor, and he referred us to a Urologist. With each diaper change I felt fear rising, squeezing my lungs and throat a little more each time. I've tasted the bitter anguish of letting go of the child I held in my arms. I've prayed for healing, laying hands and begging from my knees for mercy. I've invested my whole heart in faith that the Healer could re-arrange genetics, undo a diagnosis, and breathe life where there isn't any.  I've tasted the unexplainable peace and strength t

Last night all my kids were down and quiet by 8pm! I had cleaned the house Friday afternoon, and we were all gone the whole day on Saturday, so the house had stayed clean. There was only a small pile of laundry, we were caught up on our TV show, I didn't have any events to plan, he didn't have any worship sets to put together, no one was coming over, and neither of us were going anywhere. My husband and I wandered around our house a bit... not sure what to do with ourselves! Then I remembered something: I used to scrapbook! A little bit in shock, I pulled out some dusty stacks of photos and paper, stamps and ribbons, and spread them over the kitchen table. ((Do I remember how to do this??)) I glued some things down on an album I started a year or so ago, and then began to thumb though some old photos. Boy... the time has gone fast. As I flipped through the photos in my box, in backward chronological order, I watched as my kids' cheeks got chubbier... their legs got shor

People always tell me to treasure my kids while they are little. In the middle of my exhaustion, piles of pee-saturated laundry, and sticky everything, I think "I am!". I DO drink in their smell when a sweaty little person pauses long enough to let me scoop them up on my lap. I DO kiss their sleeping cheeks every night, and breathe in deep, savoring the moment. I DO rock them to sleep as often as they will let me. I feel sad when each haircut makes them look older, and when each milestone gets passed. Sometimes I long for the freedom and quiet that will partially return as my kids take on more and more independence. Often I grow weary in the daily, nitty-gritty, constant training required in these early, road paving years. Most days I feel like the weight of the previous day has just barely lifted when the new day begins. But I'm learning that training hearts is much heavier (and scarier) than night-time feedings, or colic. It's much harder to teach (and model? :/

All the chairs stood obediently in rows, except for a few pushed aside by a couple of hands-on, wiggly boys  that follow me everywhere I go ;) People came in a few at a time. Some surveyed the obedient chairs as they passed through the door way, scouting out a route to their desired location that didn't involve any of the usual empty, "Hi, how are you- I'm good how are you- good".  Other people ignored the chairs and scouted people instead. They mingled and laughed loudly, tugging their kids along.  Over the sound system the meeting was called to begin, and  the minglers joined the sitters in the unmoving rows of chairs. The music began, and little pockets of people began to engage. Hands were raised, people stood to their feet or hunkered down into a quiet place among the crowd. Corporately, yet individually, the people interacted worship-fully with their Creator.  The chairs used to be an invitation, with their open seats waiting to be occupied. The chairs used

Do you ever feel like sticky, fly-trap paper? Weird, I know. Let me explain: I log on to our online banking to transfer money and pay bills... a little bit of stress and anxiety presses against my heart. I finish and log off and move on to the next thing on my list. Screeches from the next room reveal that a few of my kids (whose names will remain... un-named?) are, in fact, fighting again. Frustrated, I turn down the heat on the burner, wipe my hands, and head toward them hoping I can deal with the issue before the pan burns. Someone woke up early from nap time, just as I was walking away from my to-do-during-naptime's and toward a few minutes of soul-rejuvenation. Weariness comes knocking, as I set aside the quiet time I craved to meet the needs of someone a little smaller, and with a few less tools for life. In just three encounters that were maybe three minutes each, this is what stuck: stress, anxiety, frustration, and weariness. Sometimes my sticky paper gets full

The night before her first birthday I had some trouble. I nursed her extra long, and then held her long after she had fallen asleep. Around eleven-thirty I finally mustered up the resolve to bring her up to her bed... but that's as far as I got. In the dark I held, and rocked, her sleeping body. I felt each little breath, squeezed her growing legs, brushed her wispy hair away from her eyes. I rocked her, though she was way past conscious, hanging on to the last minutes of her first year. I stood over her crib and squeezed her little footie-pajama'd body, and my eyes began to sting. I don't want this to end! It's gone too fast. Please, just a little more baby-time with her... Finally I laid her down and closed her door, marking the end of a beautiful, indescribable first year with my daughter. We gave her a baby doll for her first birthday. It brought back memories of my own baby doll. I remember exactly what mine looked like, and much detail of the dress I kept her

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to and end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23 Those words really speak for themselves, but I'll tell you how they were lived out for me today. Last night when my kids were asleep, one by one I laid my hand on their sweaty heads and asked God to wash the day off. It was one of those days that needed washing off... Separately, several dear friends and acquaintances that knew nothing of the stresses of my day initiated little acts of care yesterday and today. They represented the heart of the Father, speaking to me that He knew my heart was weary. Last night my husband's strong, gentle arms scratched my back- being the hands of Jesus, washing me like I had asked. This morning my children woke up fresh. I woke up fresh. His mercy was new this morning. Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

Some days begin and end with discipline. Sometimes I stare into a set or two of young, blue eyes and search for the heart's intent. Some days are one thing after another... and another... Some days are too short, some too long. Sometimes my heart aches at the choices little hearts make. Sometimes I feel unheard. Some days two hands, one mind, and one heart seem not enough. Some days.... I sat next to him on the bottom step, his eyes full, lips quivering, and his chest heaving sobs of emotion. He was distraught that he could not have what he wanted, when he wanted. I was distraught too, as I searched for my response. Back and forth, tug and pull, how do I guide this heart? Off he went to cool down, and down I went to cool off. I collapsed my head onto the stair above, heaving emotions of my own. HOW do I guide THIS heart?  My pandora marched along, unknowing. The songs raced by, my face still buried in a carpeted stair. I remained still, waiting on God, letting go of m

My little clan has been classic, summer busy lately. After a much-too-busy week last week, we have made valiant efforts to be a little less so this week. I could tell my boys were a little out of sorts from all the fun, and I knew full well that I was too. {I'm discovering that I'm a bit more of an introvert than I thought!} We spent a day or two mostly at home, catching up on sleep and laundry, but something was still a bit off in my oldest. He wasn't his usual self, but I couldn't figure out what the missing piece was... I closely watched his attitudes and reactions, amongst the usual behavior corrections. Part way through the morning I pulled him in to my chest and squeezed him tight, " Little boy?"  Mommy I'm a big boy. "Big boy? Something seems a little off in you today..." I know, Mom, and I just don't know what :( "Well... if you figure out what it is, let me know and I'll help you fix it." kay. And off he goes t

I've been talking with my kids about how sin destroys relationship. God's list of "do-not"s aren't for us to have religious rules to follow, but to guide us into hurting others less. If we skim over the 10 Commandments, the heart behind each of them is to protect the hearts of others: do not steal, do not envy, do not murder... I've been teaching my kids that when they are selfish or mean with each other that it damages their "buddy-ness", and when they are disobedient or disrespectful to me, it damages our relationship too. I've been guiding them into going back and repairing relationships when they realize that they have damaged them. A week or so ago I had a particularly rough morning with one of them, and the yuck piled up. As we clashed, worked it out, clashed, worked it out, each time a little remnant of "yuck" was left behind. I began to get discouraged, feeling the strain that all that discipline was putting on our relations

When I was 18 I traveled half way across the world with my Uncle and his family to their home and mission field, Papua New Guinea. I was excited to experience such simple, beautiful, tribal life. I had arrangements to help teach a missionary family homeschool co-op, to help my cousins with their school work, to teach piano lessons, and to bring a handful of worship music to teach to the church. One of the nights that we gathered portions of the church together to learn the new songs is burned vividly into my memory. I was SO green and young (and probably sunburned), standing up front with my keyboard and small, shaky voice. My God was with me, and with a deep breath of courage I taught them: Here I am to worship Here I am to bow down Here I am to say that You're my God  It was so, so incredible to look out into their black, black open faces. The children sat in front, and their eyes were wide and receptive. As soon as they could pick up the tune, they sang out with their

Her body was broken, but far worse her heart had been aching for far too long. She had felt waves of weariness, despair, unworthiness. She tired of praying for relief, and she faded into the crowd- unimportant, unseen, her beauty and value passed over. The deeper she fell into isolation, the deeper the enemy's lies penetrated into her heart. A Healer passed through the crowd that had swallowed her up. He weaved through the throng of people, and she watched Him. She knew He carried hope and power. She knew He was gentle and magnificent. As unworthiness washed over her again, she held her tongue and quieted the urge to call out to Him. Her hope had not completely died. Desperation pressed her to reach out her hand as He passed. She was desperate to simply feel His passing. She yanked back her hand and hid among the crowd again. She was tingling and warm, and assumed it was embarrassment for her bold move. Then the Healer stopped. He turned and called out to find the one that

She skipped and spun with her arms in the air, complete with little elbow-dimples. Her dress frilled out around her in little white layers as she spun. Beautiful green eyes peered out from wispy brown hair and chubby, round cheeks. Grinning, she danced unashamed. Joy, simplicity, and beauty surrounded her. On Sunday morning (Mother's Day!) I thanked God for the children He is letting me raise on earth, and asked Him to give little Evelyn a Mother's Day kiss for me. During a dancing song at church God answered me, and gave me a Mother's Day gift I will never forget! I had my eyes closed, and for just an instant, God let me see my beautiful Evelyn! My movement began to slow, and then stopped. My whole body felt like it was holding it's breath, hoping to hang on to the glimpse just for one moment more... I was a little in shock- I hadn't expected this amazing, unforgettable gift! Evelyn is two today! Happy Birthday, beautiful girl! I KNOW your day was filled with

I used to talk with older-wiser-more-seasoned Moms, and wonder at how they could forget some of the details of the early stages of parenting. Most remembered in vivid colors their birth stories, the night wakings, babies first words, their kids' comfort items, a few foods their toddler refused to eat, and one or two horror stories of crazy things their kids did. I wanted to know HOW they taught their children to be obedient, HOW LONG it took to train them to do certain things. I wanted to hear about their break-down moments, what they did on desperate days, I wanted to soak up their recounting of how God taught them along the way how to do such a marvelous job of raising wild little beasts into godly men and women. I would think, "HOW could they forget?? How is it possible to NOT remember the pain of childbirth, the stinging scratch of tiny fingernails on hot, sweaty summer skin while rocking and bouncing a frustrated, crying infant, HOW do they forget the feelings of "

I've forgotten much of the terminology, but some of my best childhood memories took place on sailboats. My dad and one of my brothers built a small one a few handfuls of years ago, and we took several family vacations sailing a big, rented one around the San Juan Islands. I love being blasted by the wind, I love leaning out the side of a boat to keep the wind from flattening it to the water, I love the sound the water makes against the sides, I love the bobbing of a boat that is not "under weigh"... I love it. If you've sailed before, you'd know that it's not the most... direct form of travel. Sometimes you're out in the middle of a lake, and the wind totally disappears. Sometimes the current of a river is going the wrong direction in relationship to the wind, and you can't get where you'd like to. Sometimes you have great wind going TO your destination, and end up rowing (or drifting) the whole way back. It is a beautiful form of travel (and rec

  An infant cry rips my consciousness out of a dead sleep. Tiny cheeks snuggle into my neck, rubbing boogers and slobber lovingly into my hair. Her sweaty, tired body relaxes again into rest, and mine lays still to savor the quiet. I ponder... to take her back to her own crib, or sacrifice depth of sleep to keep her still and near... This little person that can't yet say my name KNOWS me, even in her sleep. When her eyes open they are deep, beautiful, vibrant. Every part of her petite body smiles along with her eyes and lips. She is tiny and captivating. Warm and wiggly on my lap, blonde hair breathes against my chest for a moment. His frame is so solid, his hands are wide and his eyes big and round and blue. His jammies stretch to fit his sweaty, growing body, and without fail smell like little-boy pee. His voice is too loud, and his heart is so, so big. He has dirt under his fingernails, wipes jam from his lips to my sleeve. In between busy, volumous times I catch him stil

I have in no way arrived in this, but God has been working on something in my heart: "Perfect mom" and "Good mom" are not the same thing. I've been noticing that deep in my heart, when my mistakes and shortcomings slap me in the face, I immediately feel failure. The enemy has been lying to me, telling me: *Since I'm not perfect, I must be a failure. *If it's hard, it must be bad. *When training my kids is redundant, it's because I'm doing it wrong. ...but here's the truth: *"Consistent" means OVER AND OVER. *Shortcuts SEEM easier, but leaning in to the "hard" is well worth it. *And no parent is perfect, but God fills in the gaps... and when we pour our whole hearts into our children and husband and still have gaps, and the Father fills in for us, HE IS GLORIFIED! What a mighty God we serve.

Today my biggest boy came to me emotionally damaged by his brother knocking down a lego castle he had built. After his tears subsided he expressed to me that his brother had hurt his feelings, and we talked about how our actions affect other people, and about why rules are in place to keep us from hurting eachother's hearts. He told me that his heart was hurting, and I expressed to him that mine was too. My guys had a "guy night" (which they LOVE!) last night so that I could go to a meeting- not the fun kind, the kind where you dig around in your heart and let God and trusted fellow believers uncover things that are buried in the dirt. While meetings like this are sometimes necessary for growth, the digging and uncovering isn't necessarily comfortable ;) I didn't give my boy much detail, but I talked with him about how him and brother are working hard to learn how to be buddies, and explained to him that adults have to work to be "buddies" too, and tha