mama told me there’d be days like this

It’s been one of those weeks.  I did it to myself.  Started potty training my adorable and impossibly stubborn son;  started a new, intense workout routine (ouch); fervently trying to carve out time to keep up with { watched pot } and my reading; and my witty, silly, flamboyant daughter’s personality has recently taken a turn for the terribly sassy.  Time for mama to dig in.  R-E-S-P-E-C-T.  Find out what it means to me, kiddos. 

Progress requires patience, and while I’ve asked for and received loads of it this week – more than I humanly ever have on reserve – I used it up frivolously and let it run out.  Last afternoon was breakpoint.  I screamed (at the kids.  shameful.).  I cried.  I shut down.  I’d had it. 

But mercies are new every morning, and after a sleep cut short by two wet beds (one of them twice), I awoke with resolve (tempered with a load of grace) to regain the upper hand around here.  Over breakfast, I found an audio Bible podcast for the kids (that oughta straighten them up.  ha. HA.), and while we listened, it was clear - yet again – that He was talking to me more than the minis:

“I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kindgom of heaven.  Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.  And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me.  But if anyone causes one of these little ones to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.” (Matthew 18:3-6)

And, just like that, I was looking across the breakfast table at the minis with fresh eyes.  “Welcome Me.”  Welcome Me on the potty, welcome Me in the nonsensical conversation, welcome Me in the daily routine of care.  Yes and Amen. 

What a responsibility I have to these two new, beloved souls.  And what a friend I have in Jesus.  All our sins and griefs to bear.

 

PS - ain’t he cute?  what a dadgum flirt.

epiphany

All this was a long time ago, I remember,

And I would do it again, but set down

This set down

This: were we led all that way for

Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,

We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,

But had though they were different; this Birth was

Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.

We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,

But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,

With an alien people clutching their gods.

I should be glad of another death. 

- T.S. Eliot, The Journey of the Magi

walk slowly, live wildly – and maybe win sumthin’

Hey, friends – if you haven’t been to Sara’s blog, Walk Slowly Live Wildly, now’s the time.  She is one amazing woman – she and her husband and two sweet girls are  currently living life on the road in their RV, traveling the good ole’ US of A.  She blogs about their travels and some of the photos she takes (did I mention she’s also a photographer?), shares ideas for green & simple living, yummy vegetarian/vegan food, and sports some kick-butt dreads to boot.  She’s been giving away some lovely handmade stuff lately – and this week it’s some custom, handmade metal jewelry.  Enter to win some for yourself here!

we’ll take a cup of kindness yet

Ah, the eve of a new year.  New decade!  The biggest ten years of my life so far – so much change, self-awareness, learning, change…the turn, turn, turning.  I hope I’ve come ’round right.  But the world keeps turning, and we all should, too.  Redefining, refining, repenting, renewing. 

I’ve mixed feelings about this year.  I easily remember the high points, and many of those surround family and friends.  If there were lower points (oh yes, there were), they were either superficial, filled with worry, or drawing me down to my knees.  It’s been a posture I’ve found myself in a lot this year.  Hard on the pride, good for the soul.  I’m continually reminded that the secret to a good life is a surrendered posture.  The more I can surrender my need for control, the more I can lay down my selfishness, the more I am finding joy.  Joy in the mundane, in the small things, in both solitude and in community.  

God’s been good to us this year – kind in his discipline, lavish in his grace.  December was especially wonderful for me – a thorn in my side removed, the awareness of His constant provision for us, a settling in to myself, my roles as wife, mother and creative woman.  I’m not very good at articulating my introspection, but it’s there.  

So here’s to 2009.  A year of endurance.  I hope I’ve run it fairly well.  And here’s to 2010, and whatever it brings, I have hope set firmly in what does not wither.  I can weather it.  My theme this year may just be the old Shaker adage:  Hands to work – Hearts to God.  There’s a hand, my trusty friend – give me a hand of thine.  Cheers.

“…if you see it in the Sun, it’s so.”

Have you ever read “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus”?  It was a letter written by 8-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon to the New York Sun back in 1897.  Some things to be reminded of as an adult in there.  Take a listen here.  Believe!  It may be good for you.

{ watched pot }

I’ve been jonesing to open my own Etsy shop for some time…in part because of Alicia’s encouragement, on a ride home from Iowa City once, to do something creative for myself. Boy, was she right. It feeds me to do something creative and crafty, to work with my hands, to be artsy in tandem with mothering, to get over procrastination, and to embrace the ‘happy accident’, as an art professor put it once. I’ve found two new loves – hand embroidery and collage. My penchant for collecting what my husband calls ‘junk’ has been funneled into repurposing objects, too – much to his delight.

And so, without further ado, I bring you {watched pot }…home cooked goods by Lindsay Young. Bon apetit!

october

Autumn puts me at ease. We are slowing down, yet anxious to be outdoors: catching the last tinges of warmth on the breeze, the azure sky, the crisp-white clouds. I am feeling more domestic.  Baking ensues, the crockpot is dusted off, mums cut and placed in a mason jar, pine cones on the mantle. I hum and putter around my ’studio’ – a well-lit corner of the basement where I try be more regular about courting creativity. Friday night lights, College Gameday and Husker football on Saturdays. Hot breakfasts. All manner of piping hot drinks. Opening the windows, then closing them again. Wearing layers and scarves and hats and jackets. Extra blankets on the bed, and longer nights.

I’m sure this crisp turn in the weather will be old and grey come February, but for now, we savor it.  I’ll break open Cold Snap as Yearning again soon and try to look forward to spending a lot more time in the great indoors.

simpler times, mealtime

No, Caron, I’m not drinking. Yet.

Mealtime with young children. Any of you mamas groaning yet? It can get tedious, boring, and some days, it feel like that’s I’ll I’ve done – feed people. “Sit up. Lean over your plate. Stop talking and eat. Don’t fling your food. Drink your milk. Can you eat a few more bites of veggies, please? How many napkins do you really need?” By the time the lunch dishes are cleared, I’m grumpy and counting the minutes ’til naptime. I don’t look forward to mealtime most days, and that’s a shame.

This week, the attention-deficient part of me decided to try and spice it up a bit. I had a revelation: RADIO. Not talk radio, that just gets me anxious, and I’m anxious enough. What about old-timey radio programs? I found a couple of podcasts (which I never can find the time to listen to or remember to download to my iPod in advance) that have really made mealtime pleasant and give me something to talk about with my kiddos while we plod through our peas. The minis are more focused, they actually finish most of their meals, and we’re all in better moods afterward, with plenty of fodder for the afternoon’s creative play.

Here are the two we’re enjoying right now: First, The News From Lake Wobegon podcast from A Prairie Home Companion. It’s Garrison Keillor’s (love!) weekly monologue – need I say more? The other I happened upon by accident while looking for something else, and I’ve been so pleased by every one I’ve heard. It’s The Story Home – a collection of classic fairy tales and well-loved stories (with a few originals by Alan Scofield) simply narrated without sound effects or music. I love these because the kids are enthralled, the narration is excellent and the stories are ones I would (or have) read my own kids. Reese begs to listen to this one. (Full-disclosure: listening to these with the kids is especially gratifying to me. As an elementary-school student, my favorite part of the school day was after lunch when my teachers would read a chapter of fiction aloud to the class.) Better than any PBS show, I guarantee you – and none of the “is Junior watching too much T.V.?” guilt.

I subscribe to both free via iTunes, and just loaded a few on the ol’ iPod for trips in the car. It’s like crack for my kids & me and provides a few calming moments of guilt-free entertainment – which, for any mama, can some days be the balm in Gilead.

What are your favorite podcasts?

the names

by Billy Collins

Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,
Then Baxter and Calabro,
Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
As droplets fell through the dark.
Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
Names slipping around a watery bend.
Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.
In the morning, I walked out barefoot
Among thousands of flowers
Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
And each had a name –
Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal
Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.
Names written in the air
And stitched into the cloth of the day.
A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.
Monogram on a torn shirt,
I see you spelled out on storefront windows
And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
I say the syllables as I turn a corner –
Kelly and Lee,
Medina, Nardella, and O’Connor.
When I peer into the woods,
I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
As in a puzzle concocted for children.
Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.
Names written in the pale sky.
Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.
Names silent in stone
Or cried out behind a door.
Names blown over the earth and out to sea.
In the evening — weakening light, the last swallows.
A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,
And the names are outlined on the rose clouds –
Vanacore and Wallace,
(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)
Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.
Names etched on the head of a pin.
One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A blue name needled into the skin.
Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
Alphabet of names in a green field.
Names in the small tracks of birds.
Names lifted from a hat
Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.
Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

prayer for today

Heard this song: thought it was a lovely prayer.  A prayer for me, today.

Speak, O Lord, as we come to You
To receive the food of Your Holy Word.
Take Your truth, plant it deep in us;
Shape and fashion us in Your likeness,
That the light of Christ might be seen today
In our acts of love and our deeds of faith.
Speak, O Lord, and fulfill in us
All Your purposes for Your glory.

Teach us, Lord, full obedience,
Holy reverence, true humility;
Test our thoughts and our attitudes
In the radiance of Your purity.
Cause our faith to rise; cause our eyes to see
Your majestic love and authority.
Words of pow’r that can never fail—
Let their truth prevail over unbelief.

Speak, O Lord, and renew our minds;
Help us grasp the heights of Your plans for us—
Truths unchanged from the dawn of time
That will echo down through eternity.
And by grace we’ll stand on Your promises,
And by faith we’ll walk as You walk with us.
Speak, O Lord, till Your church is built
And the earth is filled with Your glory.
(Words and Music by Keith Getty & Stuart Townend Copyright © 2005 Thankyou Music)