Grateful Acres

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