december 2nd, 2013

sitting here, my bare feet grounded by the cool wood floor, spicy elderberry syrup simmering on the stove, snow falling purposefully outside, a basket of diapers waiting to be folded, and all three of my children napping -- i feel certain at this moment, though i sometimes feel differently, i have the best job in the world.

we spooned spiced pumpkin puree and crunchy granola over creamy yogurt into our mouths at breakfast. they with their twin cups of peppermint tea, me with my cup of coffee, coffee ground by my kindergartener at school.

the neighbor girl tumbled through our door and played, was welcomed by warmth. we layered our fleece and woolens and frolicked around the willow tree, laughing. they flung leaves on their heads like confetti. we came in cheeks rosy, hands cold, ready to prepare lunch.

he set in front of the tap on his stool rinsing carrots, potatoes, lentil. she with two aprons, one for the front of her, one for the back, made little chops in the carrots and potatoes. they didn't want to stop helping once the soup was on, so he "washed" dishes in soapy water. she scooped granola into a jar, wiped the table, and swept.

with our homey bowls of lentil soup and our glasses of water, we shared the meal. with cardigan sleeves soaking from dishwashing, he clambered into my lap for aesop's fables before naptime where he wanted each blanket placed on him in specific order.

she and i sat side by side on the couch to enjoy on the banks of plum creek, then she lay down beneath two throw blankets and rests there now.

this, with all the fighting and yelling, and poopy underwear, and disobedience mixed in, this is richness.

on trees and rootedness and loss

they took our ash tree down today.

for days we have watched as saws and a massive machine called an hydro ax have effortlessly erased decades old cottonwoods, the majestic guardians of our neighborhood. they are our companions. and without them it feels barren, exposed, as if we came from nowhere.

i expected to feel this loss somewhere deep inside my soul. as someone who spent much of my young life in flux, moving, saying goodbye, i have rather an affinity for the rootedness of trees. i suppose that is what i longed for most of all: to belong. i remember even in college there being a tree outside my window, and oh, how i loved that tree. it had what i did not -- permanent roots.

soon after we bought this house our neighbors informed us that a busy road would be going in next to us, destroying the little white house to our north and exchanging trees for concrete. i knew then i would cry. no matter that i'd not known these trees long or that they hadn't formed themselves as a backdrop to many memories. i knew it would be painful to me; roots gone.

then earlier this year my mother passed away. young, only 53. my roots uprooted, forever changed. my home (because aren't mothers our very first homes?) destroyed.

as the saws roared on wednesday, i felt as if i had been thrown into a real live metaphor for my life. my neighbors and i felt the shock as our streets were redefined, we questioned who we were now, who we would be. we absorbed the thud as our trees crashed to the ground. the visceral ripping as they tore apart, the finality of something so majestic laying when it was created to stand.

it was too much, there were tears, a heaviness.

and then i looked out and they were coming for my ash tree. it had no pink ribbon tied around it to signal it was to be destroyed, but three men in neon vests were determined. i rushed over, sick in my stomach. they said it had been hit by a limb of my neighbor's cottonwood this morning and had sustained damage. it had to go. they were cheery, matter of fact. what could i say. the city is responsible for trees on the boulevard, not me. but still it's mine, it feels mine. and before i could barely swallow his words, i watched it fall across my driveway. and within an hour be transformed into wood chips.

i'm numb. it's too much loss. and though i know it's just a tree, these trees are more than trees.

on one of the coldest days in minnesota's january, i sit at my desk looking out at a wide, clear blue sky. i've hurriedly showered, dressed, and applied my Chanel red lipstick so i could clear the busyness that tends to engulf (and squelch) my creativity, my sanity, my me. i have the creamy white blank pages of my journal for company. coffee is waiting in the french press until it is perfectly dark. children's voices are laughing, arguing, talking. i'm here to write.

the inner thoughts and fears come spilling out. acknowledging to myself in blue ink what i am doing and why. and like He always does, God meets me here. it's not why i do it. i don't try to make Him show up, but He does every time. He weaves a little of His Word through my words to speak to me in my own handwriting.

psalm 54:4 - surely God is my help; the LORD is the one who sustains me.

do you ever find yourself swirling in a self-made storm? i do. if i'm honest, i am incredibly susceptible to feeling the heavy weight of "supposed to" and finding myself blue with disheartenment because i simply cannot measure up. this past week has found me right in the thick of some dark clouds as regards parenting. i was completely taken aback when i ran into a situation that was over my head, way over my head, like an ocean over my head. i doubted myself. i tried to stay consistent and calm, but inside i was thinking i have no idea what i'm doing. desperate, i prayed on the bathroom floor. my daughter and i emerged tear-stained, but i felt my confidence as a mother had taken a hard knock.

simultaneously i started to read pamela druckerman's bringing up bebe. i've been on the wait list at the library for a while now, and i was eager to read it. though i inhaled it, i had mixed feelings. this week i also payed a visit to a friend's montessori classroom. i have been very inspired by the montessori and waldorf methods as i find the right balance for educating my children and contemplate homeschooling, and i wanted to pick her brain a little on how to teach letter sounds (something i am very passionate about). i loved the classroom. i found myself so inspired, and at the same time: daunted. really overwhelmed. how could i possibly recreate that environment here? as much as it was an encouragement it was another knock.

today, as i tried to clear out the storm in my head, i found truth weaving its way onto my journal pages. it gave me life anew. confidence. hope. perhaps it will do the same for you so i'll share:

i found when i was reading bringing up bebe, i was really faced with an anti-God framework for childrearing, not that many of the ideas were not good. they were. i like the 'non' with authority, or the limited snacks, or the parent time in the evening, or the 'bonjour' required to greet adults with, or the not narrating every move of your child at the park. but what i was faced with was that parenting could be easier for parents. not smoother and less fraught with arguments (who doesn't want that?). but that children could function more 'on the side' of your life. this is NOT to say that children should be dictators of your life or that the world revolves around their every wish or demand. but i was struck that what i really believe about children is neither american, french, or british. (sure, i have adopted, unknowingly a more french take on some of my childrearing, and also a decidedly american guilt infused attitude to other parts of it) but when i come down to it, i believe God entrusted these children to me and ethan to raise in the Lord, to nurture them, and reveal love to them in a tangible way. in addition i believe it is my joy, my great privilege to awaken them to expression and creativity. to wonder at the world around them, to unlock the desire to learn, to cultivate a tenderness for humanity, to really love, to think, to fall in love with Jesus. yes, it's a tall order. but firstly, it's me that God saw fit to give them to. and secondly, i realize that i am completely reliant on Him to help me. He has the wisdom, after all He formed my children together even as they were in my womb (psalm 139.13), and He knows them (jeremiah 1.5). He knows what they need, and He can give me the wisdom to parent them. it seems too simple, too childlike to state my trust like that, but i believe it. and i know it flies in the face of organized education, psychological parenting trends, and the race to early success for babies, BUT my God is the creator of the universe if there is any place my trust is safe, it's with Him. 

as i was writing in my journal i remembered that verse about children being a blessing from the God (psalm 127.3) i went to read it and was so moved by the beginning of the psalm. it exactly expressed my reliance on God and my inability to muster up perfection on my own.

unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.  psalm 127.1

it's supposed to be near 100 degrees today with a heat index of a number i can't bring myself to type.  the air conditioner is running, and we find ourselves busy with laundry. i figure if i'm lolling about my living room watching my daughter create epic dinner parties around our coffee table i don't have much of an excuse not to wash the mountain of dirty clothes and linens this family of four dirties in what seems like split seconds. yes. and i've been using my excuses for the last week.

as much as i don't want to admit it, there is something enjoyable about the washing of clothes. i think it's the tangible satisfaction of a job well done, something hard to come by in a mama's life. so much of what we do (or anyone really) is not quantifiable. bravely, we just keep on going without words of encouragement or affirmation hoping we have done enough, that we are enough. it's a terrible fear that many of us try not to think about. it's too heavy a burden to bear, and it's not our burden to bear. we can only be faithful with what we've been given to do (not perfect at it: see the mountain of laundry above). just do it. one foot in front of the next asking for the grace and strength for this day. give us this day our daily bread. trusting that God is a safe place for all the people, tasks, dreams, and worries we are juggling. he is.

and one more thing, how about we take the time to acknowledge the faithfuls in our lives. that one who goes to work every morning and loyally gives his best, then comes home and takes the trash out, and listens, and sprays out the poopy diapers. or the one who speaks the truth when you've wallowed in the grime of lies and carries you in her prayers, or the one who brings you fresh-baked loaves of bread and summer brimming jam, or the one who picks you a bunch of dandelions from the yard and twirls with joy at every song, the one who makes dinner for you, who endeavors to pay the bills on time every month, the one who plans the dates, the one who mows the lawn, the one who keeps putting one foot in front of the other even when her children test her patience. i'm sure you will find, like me, there are all kinds of faithful scattered through your life.

now, if you'll excuse me, i have some laundry to fold.

tears pooled behind my sunglasses on the drive to church yesterday. only an hour earlier, i was at my ugliest, angry and frustrated over something small. can you say wardrobe drama? i asked my husband's forgiveness. he offered it, warm with feeling and a hand lying on my leg for company. i unraveled a little more of myself into the sharing place that is our marriage. i lamented having such a tender heart. my failure from the morning would cost me heavily now in guilt and fear that he, that God, wouldn't see me with the same love i had as before. i confessed with a shaking voice that though i knew God loved me, i didn't really know. i lacked the healthy audacity to stand confident in it even as i yelled and threw shoes. i didn't dare. i got out of the car asking my husband if mascara was running down my face. as we sat down to the sermon, our pastor read the scripture. ephesians 3:16-20

"according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his power in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith -- that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power within us." esv, emphasis mine

it was as if it was for me. i had never thought to ask God for strength to fathom his love for me, as our pastor strongly urged us to. he passionately stated that God loved us more than we knew.  it was as if God had heard me in the car and answered my question with a message that had been recorded the night before. 

again, i query why i don't bring a box of tissues with me to church. i always need them. 

one little thought:

why is married, mutually satisfying, God honoring, partner respecting lovemaking taboo? jokes are fine. dirty ones even (in some circles it seems a race who can catch innuendo first and spin it into some smart pun). and that's to say nothing of our culture's obsession with sex. non-married sex.  all over the radio waves in some catchy beat,  or on the magazine stand, or if not actually played out, hinted at in every single episode of tv's newest hits. and then there's the movies. and of course the destructive, enslaving sex trade business. most of us are consuming at least a few of those mediums. perhaps we analyze the messages we are absorbing; perhaps we do not. but my question is this: why is the voice on sex given to one night stands and rehashed cosmo tips to spice up the bedroom? or madmen-esque affair after glorified affair? why is it that if i so much as hint that my husband and i made love the other night it sends people reeling? nevermind the fact that it was good, really good. or that it's not a rare thing around here. now, everyone is blushing and wriggling in their seat, uncomfortable. but answer me this: the last time you watched a movie where the couple fell in love and one thing led to another and they found themselves taking off their clothes as the camera artfully captured their pleasure, did you shake your head, twitch nervously, or express your disagreement with their fictional actions?



i know this is a heavy thought to return from a long period of silence with, but i've been thinking about it a lot lately. and there is more to come. but also lighthearted topics, and joy, and thankfulness.