As always, sunshine. It’s chilly outside right now, but the sun is shining through the window here at Starbucks and feels like a really lovely, gentle heater on my back.
Speaking of Starbucks, my favorite drink. A redeye – coffee with a shot of espresso – with steamed cream.
Lately, being called Marmee by Annie Mae. We are listening to Little Women, and my book loving, nostalgic self is thrilled with this nickname.
Taco the Cat. He is fluffy and spoiled. His name was Snuggles, and Terry decided it wasn’t masculine enough. So for some reason I decided he should be called Taco. Currently he weighs 9 lb. And so the girls think it’s hilarious to call him our 9 lb. soft taco. (I’m not sure this is more masculine?!)
South County Roanoke Library . And its “Cozy Room” as the girls call it. A fireplace and large windows; soft chairs. Yes, please.
Clean water. Made aware recently of the fact that we take this for granted, when so many people across the world don’t have easy access to good, clean water. And all I have to do is turn on my faucet…
Winter.
Kefir smoothies. I didn’t know I would like these, but after having made one with kefir, frozen fruit, and honey/maple syrup; I am impressed! I’ve heard about kefir being a superfood and supergoodforyou, so I got some kefir grains from my sister in law and I’m trying it out.
Realizing that I can relax and not try so hard in various areas of my life. This is something I’m just waking up to – and learning to experience God’s grace in the face of my all – too – easy legalism.
-campfire last night, drinking lattes and avoiding the smoke, reading Thimble Summer aloud. (The author, Elizabeth Enright is a genius in the art of metaphors .)
-learning about swans in science. And the connection to Trumpet of the Swan, Annika’s recent read.
-kale in my garden, ready to turn into zuppa toscana soup.
-Also, potatoes dug from our garden a few weeks ago, huge ones.
-dogs sleeping amid crunchy brown leaves in the front yard.
-October gray-blue sky
-reading Pilgrim’s Progress aloud; Self is a ravenous enemy who tries to steal our focus from Christ.
-Books. Stacks of them. From the library, from my own collection. Currently finished with 37 so far since January…
Somehow I’m fond of descriptions of beautiful things; and the slow recounting of a process I usually take for granted.
For instance: I washed my hands a few minutes ago, and when I turned on the water, it was already warm. The cascading flow rushed over my waiting hands, and the handsoap I pumped left behind the barest drizzle that strung into the sink. It caught the light, and I stopped long enough to enjoy that moment. The flow of perfectly temperatured water, the sensation of delicious warmth on my hands as they sudsed clean, and the resulting sensation and fulness of noticing it all.
Last night I was rushing to sweep up the kitchen so that I could be finished cleaning up for the evening. Just one more thing, you know? I saw a glimpse of the sunset out the window, and briefly considered dropping it all and heading outside. Just then, Eva ran in and said ” MOMMY! COME SEE THE SUNSET! IT’S BEAUTIFUL!” I knew, then. It was time to be finished, right then. It was time to slow down. I grabbed my knitting, and went outside to enjoy twilight with my girls. They exclaimed over the sunset, while I settled into the worn adirondack chair that sits on our front porch. The darkest of purples mingled with corals and pinks while my children raced around and argued about who was counting and whose turn it was to hide and where the hide and go seek boundaries were. Then, Annika was singing at the top of her lungs for the sheer joy of it, and my hands thrilled with yarn slipping through. Knit, purl, knit, purl. Happy shrieks. The quiet fade of day right before my eyes, and the realization that this moment would have been lost in favor of a clean floor if I wouldn’t have slowed down enough to stop.
Early mornings are a slowness category of their own. If I’m willing to notice, there is a beauty in the same, rhythmic motions of my morning rituals. I turn the water to boil. The red coils of the stove gleam bright in the dark of my kitchen. I pour a slow stream of steaming water over the ground beans, watching the foam of fresh coffee roil up to the top of my french press. I inhale the fragrance, and then pour cream into my favorite cream mug. I’m always entranced by the mixture of pale cream swirled into the dark chocolate brown of coffee.
This morning we lit a candle as we began our schoolday. We sat at the table, ready to begin our day, bowls filled with baked oatmeal and new merices to enjoy. Taking the time to simply light a candle makes an ordinary moment into a grateful and holy thing. And tears came to my eyes as my girls reminded me that we needed to start our morning with hands raised, singing the Doxology, like I’d introduced this schoolyear and then promptly forgotten this morning. Slow down, sing. Revel in flickering candle light, and even more in the evidence that the Spirit is alive and well and influencing my daughters despite my failures and quick forgetting of what’s most important.
There’s no guarantee of tomorrow. And some days bring with it the weight of the entire world that wants to rest on our shoulders. I find myself constantly needing to offload the burden onto Jesus. But when the darkness threatens to consume, it seems like a kindness to slow down and appreciate little beauties.
Handwashing. Candles. Sunset with growing up, yet still little girls.
It’s crazy how a tiny amount of time can change a room and my perspective.
Just two minutes of a quick straighten, when I leave a room. Or whenever I get a chance. Don’t think I’m a pro at this, because I’m not. But I’ve experimented with 2, 5, and 10 minute timers over the years and I’m always surprised at the difference it makes.
Generally, when I look at my kitchen and see the dishes and random bits of things everywhere, my heart sinks. Ugh. This will take forrrever. But then I come back to setting a quick timer with the idea that progress is the point. The idea is that my work in the kitchen is likely not going to get finished – we are there too often for there to be any kind of finishing happening. But 2 – 5 minutes of time wiping down one counter, putting away the top shelf of the dishwasher, putting away the dried dishes to the side of the sink – it’s far better than nothing.
There’s always a million things to be doing. School, managing chores or children, cooking something, cleaning something, the dust over there, the pile of stuff on the counter. The laundry, oh the laundry. There is always. always. laundry. In the washer, drying on the racks, in a basket to be folded, languishing a long while in the basket, waiting for some merciful soul to iron. How to know what to do? And.. it’s easy to give up before ever starting. But I’ve timed myself. Did you know that emptying the dishwasher takes approximately 4 minutes? Yup. That’s right. It’s a lot harder to avoid a 4 minute task than one you think will take 15. Making a bed takes around 1 -2 minutes. Spending 5 minutes straightening my bedroom and making my bed in the mornings actually keeps it looking pretty good. 10 minutes spent folding laundry every day maybe won’t get it done, but it keeps the laundry monster at bay. I’m finding that ‘finished’ isn’t the goal. Progress is.
It’s really kind of magical, how a simple timer changes the game. Today, I had a window of 30 minutes and my laundry room had been driving me nuts. So, I set a timer for 30 minutes. Knowing there’s a timer going keeps me on task and helps me not be distracted. Once again, I didn’t get finished. The closet needs help. And the ironing still languishes. However, I got the counter all cleaned off, a stack of things ready for a child to put away, counters wiped, scrubbed the laundry sink, and swept the floor. Magical, I tell you! And I’ve been cringing every time I walk through my laundry room for the last several weeks. I’m going to be reminding myself that 30 minutes – or 10 or 15 if that’s all I’ve got time for – is plenty to make a huge difference.
Dana K. White, in her book “Decluttering at the Speed of Life”, says that you should always declutter/straighten the areas you see the most, and keep doing those areas. It’s tempting to start with closets and dressers, but the impact of spending a few minutes making progress on the most obvious areas of our homes is exponentially motivating. If I go back in my laundry room and set a timer for a few minutes every few days, my laundry room will gradually become easier and easier to keep clean. This room is the first thing I see every time I walk in my house, and once again – even if I don’t get all the laundry folded, or everything straightened – it will be better than if I let it pile up. Better is good.
I use my coffee brewing as my timer in the mornings. I empty the dishwasher until it’s done. And “later me” is always thrilled to have the dishwasher even partly done. At night, I try to spend time before supper cleaning up my kitchen. Getting the dishwasher loaded and going, wiping down counters and getting things clutter free in my kitchen makes my morning self very, very happy.
The timer method works for many things. It works for reading. If you don’t feel like you have ‘time’ to read, try setting a timer for 10 minutes. I don’t love to exercise. But if I set a timer for 10 minutes, or 5, and walk until then, it’s better than nothing. Today I didn’t feel like I really had time to play a game of dominos with Annie, but I told myself – surely I have 20 minutes. The grin on her face and the camaraderie that ensued was so worth it. I think the idea is, in this age of distraction, to do what’s most important. Sometimes that is being faithful to get rid of the clutter and re-set the house so it feels clean and cozy and ready to relax in. Other times, it mean reading a book or grinning over a game of dominos at 4:00 on a random Monday afternoon.
It’s a random September Wednesday and the light is so gloriously September-ish at all times during the day. In the morning, it’s misty with pinks and palest of blues in relief against the green of the grass. Brown leaves drifted quietly to their home and crunched underfoot after lunch today and the sun was hot on our backs in a warmth that was reminiscent of the hottest of summer days. And in the evenings, the light changes from the humidity I claimed I’d never get used to, to the bright clearness of autumn.
I always notice how the light changes this time of year. Instead of damp, heavy air that seems to swallow up your breath, there’s a bright chill in the morning. This light invites me for a walk, or beckons me to sit outside with a cup of something warm and flannel wrapped around my shoulders.
There’s a lot of beauty to behold around me, so I write them down to cement the goodness in my mind.
/Seasons.
/Math done together this morning, and that my youngest was thrilled to add four numbers together more quickly than I did.
/For a better and more reasonable expectation of the days. We work best, my girls and I, when we have margin. Lots of margin. (And plenty of good books. And coffee. I digress.)
/Knitting colorful dishcloths and the always-joy of yarn slipping through my fingers.
/Our twice monthly trip to the library. It’s so fun to see the girls’ personality shine through in their book choices. Annika’s latest were: Satellites, Engineering, stories of slavery and escape, and dog stories. Eva is on a Boxcar Children kick, and has listened to 20 something books from the series.
/My own re-found delight in reading. The thrill I remember from childhood of getting lost in a book and not being able to put it down. It’s just been so very long I’ve done this. Since the beginning of the year I’ve written down the books I’ve read. I’m at 30 (!), and have several more going. It’s important, also, for me to show my children that I enjoy reading. I can preach the importance of reading to them, all the while looking at my phone. But I want them to remember me with my nose in a book – not in a device. Also fascinating is the study that has shown that 6 minutes of reading reduces anxiety more than taking a walk or drinking a cup of tea. If interested in reading for yourself, here you go. https://www.anxietycentre.com/research/reading-reduces-stress-by-68-percent/
/Watching the stars Saturday night on blankets out by the garden. The sky was a darkened dome above us, and we shivered just a little in the night air. (Yes, September, this is why we love you..) There were lots of questions about satellites, stars, and the shooting stars were out in abundance. Best of all, we were able to see the Starlink Satellites- and they were magnificent. Streaking through the sky, they were a star – train traveling above us. We were in awe at the feat of man; and yet: what a tiny accomplishment compared to the galaxies just beyond our view. And this God sees us, knows us, and has all in His hand.
/A date night picnic by the river. Bacon tomato wraps, grapes, and maple pecan shortbread. And, of course, iced coffee. Perfection – but especially because of the company.
There’s many more things I could list. But here’s a few, and writing them down is twice – thanks.
1.) End of school celebration at the coffeeshop where there were mochas, a latte for me, cinnamon coffeecake to split, and best of all, a Very Favorite Person named Aunt Carla. ❤️
2.) Frothy, thriving, greenness in the form of a fern. Also, houseplants in general.
3.) Ancient, yet fresh and new – words from Psalm 139.
4.) Snuggles. The current favorite kitty cat – lives up to his name daily.
5.) Their delight in creek – swimming on warm afternoons.
Of wild, early-spring green grass on the gully out my living room window.
Of birds singing, a chorus of beautiful chaos that wakes the day. Robins, hopping, hawks spotted on that distant oak tree, and cardinals galore.
These are the days of strawberries on sale. Which results in salads with spinach, pecans, chickens, balsamic glaze and rosemwary sprinkled on top.
Of listening to YourStoryHour.org every day at lunchtime after school. Stories and more stories peppering our day. “What Would Jesus Do”, various audiobooks, “The Long Winter” and all of us wondering if Laura and Mary will survive on brown bread and potatoes through the winter; and -will the train ever come? Will Ma keep her sanity (that would be me, mostly wondering that), and the sweet memory I have of sitting snuggled next to my own mom reading through the Little House books as a child.
These are the days when Eva is enthralled with The Boxcar Children. Completely wrapped up in the story, has decided if she ever has a dog, she’ll name it “Watch”, and details each mystery-laden plot with great enthusiasm. “MOMMY. YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO THIS PART…!!”
Of Annika stacking up the books she has read for the year on the bookcase, mostly comprised of biographies. Francis Scott Key, William Fargo…
These are the days that I dive in, again, to my own love for reading, and have several books going at once. Currently: “I Was Anastasia” (fictional story about one of the Romanov sisters), and “The Lazy Genius”.
Of my eldest driving on his own, taking himself to work, and finishing up the last year of his school. (How did time fly so quickly?)
Of early mornings in the quiet, and finding out that getting up early has a lot to do with my alarm clock not being beside my bed… and the absolute wonder of time alone before the day actually begins.
Of finding out that making my coffee the night before is, for sure, one of the nicest things I can do for myself.
These are the days when my girls learn to bake. Dutch baby pancakes, regular pancakes, cookies, brownies… gradually they are increasing their abilities and I am happy about it.
These are the days of kitties, again, still! – as the favorites around here. Fern, Fudgy, Ramona, Lemon Drop, Alice… they are loved and cared for with all the adoration possible. Songs are composed and sung randomly; odes of love to the current chosen feline of the day…
These are the days of seedlings beginning to grow; lavender, lettuce, peppers, and poppies. We shall see how they do. I’m not a pro at growing things, but it sure is fun to see a dry seed turn into a delicate green sprout.
These are also the days of wondering if we would ever see snow this winter, and sure enough-! It snowed yesterday. Just a dusting, but it was beautiful while it lasted.
And these are the days of monthly trips to North Carolina to see our son; and hoping and praying for God to work in mighty ways. Of learning and growing in new and stretching ways. Of remembering the faithfulness of God in the past, and allowing that truth to inform our perspective of the future.
These days of dishes, math and reading, learning to trust and what it means to surrender are ones that matter; ones I don’t want to forget.
I was battling the slow creep of the all-too-many things that feel impossible the other day. Again.
Our life story has shifted and played out in ways that are both wonderful and wearying this past year, and we are still reeling from the impact and the continuing unknowns. We are also keenly aware of the hand of God at work in ways we’d never seen so clearly before.
Truth is: this is the life we have been called to live. For those who don’t know; we sent our son to a 15 month program a few months ago, so that he can hopefully receive the help he needs to move forward in a positive way.
It was so hard.
It’s still hard.
But- it’s good, too. That’s the way things are. There is hard, and yet there is also good.
Which brings me back to the battle I face in my mind; the one that tells me all the things I ought to fear; all the ways I mess up; and all the possibilities of where things are likely going downhill.
However; I am convinced that there is a way to face the future, the unknowns, and the impossibilities with joy. As I became aware of the negative thought patterns that were cycling through my mind the other day, I made a conscious decision.
I would give thanks.
This thought isn’t new, it’s certainly not profound, and it’s a thought I have had at times before. But for some reason, it rang anew with power and strength the other day. Give thanks. Yes. I will say aloud and in my mind what things I am thankful for.
So I did.
Hot water. Shampoo. Conditioner to make my hair soft. Light. Open windows. Green grass. The last yellow leaf of autumn whispering on the tree branch. Seasonal delights. Applebutter. Supper on the table. A table. A chair to sit on. Coffee. Hot coffee. Cream in my coffee. A coffee mug to drink my coffee in.
Clothes. Socks. Enough money to buy clothes. Children. A husband who prayed with me this morning. A husband who loves me. Who provides for us. A couch to sit on. Feet to walk on. Shoes to put on my feet.
You see, the reality of thanks-giving is this: by simply noticing with gratitude the most mundane of things; you begin to think of what life would be like without.
without hot water. without soap. without light. without windows. without color. without seasons. without apples.
without supper. without a chair. without a table. without coffee, cream, or a mug. without warm clothing. without money. without a husband. without prayer. without children. without a couch. without provision. without feet. without shoes.
As I wrote this, I had tears in my eyes. The power of thanks is untapped, and far stronger than we know. My mind shifts in beautiful ways each time I choose gratitude as a way to take captive the thoughts that trend my heart to fear.
I said thanks aloud for flour, for baking powder, for pumpkin as we stirred up coffee cakes yesterday evening. I said thanks aloud as we began school yesterday. For my girls, for being a mama, for pencils and reading and stories and paper. For smiles and daddies and kittens and another cup of tea. Annika looked at me and said “You’ve been doing that a lot lately, Mommy!”; and then- “Mommy, look at that LIGHT SHINING ON THE TREES in the backyard. It’s GOLDEN!!”
And I am thankful, too, for a little girl, who sees and speaks beauty back to me.
It comes to me, as I gaze out my living room window in the breaking dawn of early morning; the hushed beauty that opens before my eyes.
It is a brilliant painting. One I wake to and glance at regularly. The green of grass, the gully that changes to bean field, the oak that spreads wide. The layers of blue mountains and low hanging mist these summer mornings.
And many days I don’t see it.
There are flocks of geese that fly in misshapen v’s across the expanse of sky that hovers over our garden. There are blueberries; overripe and hanging ready in the late August heat. We picked some last night, the girls and I, and I froze them, small but delightful remnants of a summer nearly past. The kittens (currently two batches) are held, named, and loved with abandon; and the favorites are chosen. The uglier ones are slightly ignored, and occasionally felt sorry for. There is a genuine smile on the face of my 16-year-old-for-4-more-weeks, and that is beauty that my heart cannot hardly bear. It is fringed with the emotions that the past months of chaos and challenge have brought along.
There’s an abundance of zucchini and yellow squash tucked in my fridge, and a whole pile of waxy, yellow hot banana peppers that were sliced and placed in jars of vinegar this week. Nearly-gone peaches and a pack of icy black raspberries from last year turned into a peach-raspberry crumble that bubbled as I pulled it out of the oven. Terry drily commented as I mixed up the crumble part -“With all that butter and good stuff how can you go wrong?” And it didn’t. It was hot, vibrant, fuschia goodness in a large mug that we ate before devotions. Peaches that weren’t wasted, just enough to fill my 9×13, and raspberries that were languishing in my freezer. All these, and the ability to pull butter out of my fridge, and have enough flour and sugar to make something amazing. Bright zinnias come in bunches to grace my counter, and every year I am humbled by their glory.
My home is lit with candlelight in the morning as the sun rises. It flickers with slow cadence as soft piano music swirls around and fills the environment with calm coziness. My Bible is open, I have books in abundance, and pen and paper to write. Coffee; warming my hand; its creamy caramel color contrasting against my new-to-me white mug that fits perfectly in my hand.
The smile and jokes of my family in passing; the embrace of my husband every morning before he goes to work; and faithfully each evening when he arrives at home. The grins over favorite suppers, and the piles of straw hats consumed. The rich voice of my husband as he reads another portion of the Word; Bread of Life to consume before we fill our bellies with what is spread on the table.
These things; oh how beautiful they are. But my heart lately has too often been a continuous whirl of easily-seen negativity. I fret and worry over things I cannot control. Frustrations and fears rise and bubble in a toxic mix. Grief rises and it is real, and beautiful in its own way. I carry these things, and suddenly I know the truth:
I must choose to trust the God who unfailingly gives me beauty to see and experience. There is so much more to the artwork that unfolds before me than simple beauty.
The peach raspberry crisp? That flock of geese? The sparkle in my sweet girl’s eyes? The bounding kittens held with tenderness? The hand that reaches for mine as we drive through our wildly beautiful mountains?
All these gifts of beauty that grace my life are a reminder of a promise given long ago. My Father says He will bring unmatched loveliness from the fire-ash that has swept through our lives. There will be a smoothing caress of joy-oil over cracked and parched skin; reviving us again.
Could I gaze out my window in the morning, could I laugh at kitten antics, could I stop and marvel a bit at August blueberries, knowing this powerful truth? Could it change my perspective from fear to trust- if I saw every beautiful thing as the wafting scent of God’s faithful promise to me?
The blonde hair of my littlest bounces; she likes to do it herself some days. She chatters incessantly. “Mommy what are those things that climb on trees?! Oh, it’s sloths! We learned about slothfulness last night and saw a picture at Bible Study. You know what is in-chursting?! They stay where they were born forever!”
A maiden hair fern in my window boasts tiny new fronds.
Multiple jars of green beans fill my counter. I preach truth to myself.. I can thank my Father for this abundance rather than focus on the counter being cluttered and that’s another thing to do and what about the stuff in my fridge and when will I get to all of it?
It is time for school to begin. There is math and reading to do, books to read, and breakfast to eat. The sun is shining brilliantly, reflecting off the window of the suburban, making green grass shine bright. A bat and random totes litter the front porch. Evidence of life and children and play. The giggle of a girl. A verse texted me by someone I love. An humble pan of greeny-purple heirloom tomatoes fresh-picked last night.
This beauty– it wraps around me with fresh reminders of grace, goodness, and hope.
I was almost asleep last night when a lovely thought surfaced in my mind: ”God loves to love you far more than will ever enjoy receiving His love.”
I fell asleep with this truth wrapping my heart in comfort, and woke again with the thought fresh on my mind.
I have asked God recently to show me more of Himself, more of His character, and I believe this was a small part of His answer. I’ve been reading slowly through Galatians recently, and this thought holds hands with the truth I have found there.
God justifies me, because of His love.
He calls me daughter, not slave, because of His love.
He defines me as an heir because of His love.
Christ lives in me, because of His love.
I am redeemed and blessed because of His love.
“Wherefore thou art no more a servant, but a son; and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ.” Galatians 3:7
The magnitude of this cannot escape us. We are heirs. We: human, broken, fallen, and sick with the degrading cancer of sin; have been justified and declared sons and daughters of GOD.
I have to ask myself this question- do I identify more as a slave of the Most High; or as His beloved daughter?
How do I come before Him? Do I see him as capricious? Busy? Commanding? Or do I truly recognize Him as the Father who calls me His own? Do I see Him as distracted; or with a tender gaze directed at me, working all things well?
When I look at where I find my identity; all too often it’s in what others think of me; how my children respond to me, or how productive I have been. This is bondage. We were never meant to see ourselves as the gauge for righteousness, or for others to show us our worth.
What I’m finding out as I delve into the riches of Paul’s letter to the Galatians, is that seeing God as my Father was His intention all along. It’s time to step away from the bondage of a slave-identity.
He’s so kind to remind us: ”Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.” Galatians 5:1
We can stand up, stand firm, stand tall. We don’t have to be ashamed; and we don’t have to rely on our own rightness or goodness anymore. The righteousness of the Holy God is ours, and we are free! Don’t get wrapped up in an identity that wasn’t ever the intent. We aren’t slaves; but sons.
And oh, how He loves us. More than we will ever know, and more than we will ever love to be loved.
knitted in grace 