He is lanky and longer than he was this time yesterday, and I don't know how it's possible that he sprouted up over night more than the plants on my back porch.
I wonder if it was the 80 degrees and sunshine
if it was the near gallon of strawberries he ate
or the all-night rest he fell into when he sunk into my armpit.
All this rich soil, and he's eating it up and showing it his too-short sleeves.
I lament sometimes about my boys morphing from small people to taller people, and I guess I expected it from my oldest son.
But not the baby.
The baby who is four going on five, I thought, somehow would stay small for longer ... or forever?
And then he's here springing through the living room and yanking on too-small 4T clothes and announcing his brother's size 6 fits so much better.
And there he is sucking down raspberries and a hot dog covered with ketchup at lunch and declaring he's still hungry
reminding me he is still growing, growing, growing.
I get lost in a memory at the sight of his ketchup-covered cheeks and for a moment I'm lamenting how quickly the chub fell from his sweet face ...
but I recover in a few moments of deep breathes
and I emerge from the wistful
thankful
instead.
Five-Minute Friday is helping me get back into the groove of writing. I'm linking up over at Lisa-Jo Baker's.
Showing posts with label cultivating gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cultivating gratitude. Show all posts
Friday, May 9, 2014
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Bigger Picture Moments: On turning 30
I thought it would be harder
this birthday
to say goodbye to my twenties
and enter 30.
But I'm ready.
Ready to bid farewell to a decade that began
like a wild ride on an enormous ocean wave
and one that's ending with toes dipped into high tide
settled onto the stable ground of Faith
rather than the tumultuousness sea of self.
These past ten years have been all about realizing that
I am not the ends to all means.
That the Earth spins for more than just me.
That self is in competition with Spirit.
That there's more to me than just me.
I count.
One by one I number the years,
and I see the blessings unfold
from messes, sea glass polished shiny by waves.
I see grace swell up and carry me onto shore and
love salve the wind and sun burnt onto my weathered skin.
This birthday
there's no dread
or twinges of sadness
just gratitude for the days I've known
and praise for the ones still spread out ahead.
this birthday
to say goodbye to my twenties
and enter 30.
But I'm ready.
Ready to bid farewell to a decade that began
like a wild ride on an enormous ocean wave
and one that's ending with toes dipped into high tide
settled onto the stable ground of Faith
rather than the tumultuousness sea of self.
These past ten years have been all about realizing that
I am not the ends to all means.
That the Earth spins for more than just me.
That self is in competition with Spirit.
That there's more to me than just me.
I count.
One by one I number the years,
and I see the blessings unfold
from messes, sea glass polished shiny by waves.
I see grace swell up and carry me onto shore and
love salve the wind and sun burnt onto my weathered skin.
This birthday
there's no dread
or twinges of sadness
just gratitude for the days I've known
and praise for the ones still spread out ahead.
 |
| Link at Melissa's! |
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Bigger Picture Captures: Giving Thanks
I am the song that's playing on repeat, over and over again ending the last note only to begin again on the first.
I can't help but play and play again this song of gratitude, though.
It's been such a rough year.
But through the low notes, we've heard the overarching harmony of peace that comes from holding tight to the truths that God is good
and that He never forsakes those who seek Him.
Our Bigger Picture Capture prompt over at BPB was to snap a shot of Giving Thanks, and I immediately thought of a piece I created yesterday to accompany The Thanksgiving List challenge one of my church's bloggers and our senior pastor issued our church family:
"Before you make your Christmas list make your Thanksgiving list."
And so I write them down, one by one, giving thanks, making my Thanksgiving list, playing my same song, a broken record of praise.
Join us for #BPCaptures! Each Wednesday we upload our pictures to instagram and follow the hashtag to find each other's captures.
I can't help but play and play again this song of gratitude, though.
It's been such a rough year.
But through the low notes, we've heard the overarching harmony of peace that comes from holding tight to the truths that God is good
and that He never forsakes those who seek Him.
Our Bigger Picture Capture prompt over at BPB was to snap a shot of Giving Thanks, and I immediately thought of a piece I created yesterday to accompany The Thanksgiving List challenge one of my church's bloggers and our senior pastor issued our church family:
"Before you make your Christmas list make your Thanksgiving list."
And so I write them down, one by one, giving thanks, making my Thanksgiving list, playing my same song, a broken record of praise.
Join us for #BPCaptures! Each Wednesday we upload our pictures to instagram and follow the hashtag to find each other's captures.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Thinking, that's All: Healed
I remember now what it's like to feel mostly normal but the novelty of such a feeling has yet to wear thin.
Because more than remembering what it's like to feel normal, I remember vividly what it's like to feel so very sick.
The kind of sick that doesn't necessarily loudly broadcast itself in exact diagnosis with exact prescription or reveal itself on the face, though those closest to me have breathed sighs of relief at the return of a healthy glow spread across the bridge of my face and cheeks and at the return of curves to my body.
Three short months ago, in addition to digestive distress, candida overgrowth and imbalanced hormones, I was on the fast track to kidney failure and the brink of developing an autoimmune disease, different systems in my body having their communications efforts jumbled and skewed, making it impossible to walk a straight line or break down proteins or convert B vitamins.
See, in my laborious attempts to heal my gut and restore the delicate gut-flora balance, I accidentally threw other delicate parts of my body out of whack; I'd failed to understand that my body is more complex than what I understood -- that it's fine tuned and created to function in the fullness of deep nutrition. That its biochemistry is detailed and specific and that years of treating my body like a simple machine had led to malfunction.
That years of making health be determined by scale number and eating with only calories and taste in mind rather than nutrition and micronutrients couldn't be fixed by a restrictive diet aimed at only bringing one of the obvious imbalances -- the candida in my digestive system -- back into a stasis.
You see, one can't just starve out an invasive opportunist like candida without, too, starving herself, her own body. That's what I didn't know when I began cleansing with The Body Ecology diet. But that's another story for another day.
Today's story is about healing. And how I can claim the miracle of being healed because honestly that's all it can be determined as.
I'd been to quite a few doctors, quite a few specialists and only one had a real grasp on the magnitude of the situation and even then there was more going on than what was easily recognized without getting into the genetics and biochemistry of my specific body.
And that's where grace comes in.
I met Ann at G's preschool; we quickly came to realize we both faced many of the same healthy eating challenges and so it wasn't a surprise when we learned we both saw the same chiropractor. Brief after-school conversations led to snippets of hearing each other's health struggles, but it wasn't until an early summer pool party that we actually had a chance to talk beyond chasing kids out the door.
By then, I knew I'd hit a plateau in healing. My body had detoxed to an extreme, my weight kept plummeting and my period was beginning to be more or a stranger than a monthly guest: it was like I could see the promised land but just couldn't cross over. I was just stuck.
In my crying out to God, I prayed, I pleaded for a miracle -- for Him to send me someone who could see the whole picture, the entirety of His creation or for miraculous healing.
He gave me both.
Ann's friend, who was in bad shape health wise took Ann with her to see a doctor -- a biochemist and trauma surgeon by training who bases her practice on caring for patients who have exhausted every other medical route and treats through integrative nutritional medicine, everything grounded in biochemistry and genetics. Ann then made an appointment for herself and encouraged me to do the same.
It took months to get in, and honestly, I didn't know what to think when I met Kerry -- I mean, she'd basically told me more about my body than any doctor ever had. And the scary thing was she was so spot on about what I was feeling and what my body was and wasn't doing that when she told me my next steps were kidney failure and developing the same auto-immune disease my mother has, I knew she as part of the answer to my prayer for healing.
I'm about to round out 90 days of treatment with Kerry, and the progress my body has made in healing from a deep cellular and biochemical standpoint is quite beautifully amazing.
****
Every week, I have the privilege of sitting down with my senior pastor to hear what's on his mind so I can transfer his thoughts onto our church's blog or our church's facebook page.
It's one of the highlights of my social media job at Immanuel.
Last week, he shared with me his excitement for our annual Thanksgiving service, where our church family members are welcomed and encouraged to take the microphone during the service and voice what they are thankful to God for.
Before we conclude our meeting he asked me if I remembered the story where Jesus healed ten lepers in Luke 17:11-19.
I nod.
"Only one came back to thank Jesus," he'd said. "Only one. Ten were healed, but only one thanked Him ... I once heard that gratitude is only as sincere as the effort we make to express it. The Bible teaches that it's not enough to be grateful in our hearts, that we should be going out of our way to express it."
I scramble to write what he's said, soaking it into my heart.
"It may have been that all ten lepers had gratitude, but Jesus talks about the one who was sincere in his effort to express it -- the one who went out of his way to express it."
The one who came back to say thank you.
****
She's checking me out, reading my body to make sure everything is firing well despite some persistent tenderness just beneath my breastbone.
After she's done, she announces that I have some inflammation in that joint beneath it that's causing the intense soreness.
But that's not the big story -- the big story is that so many of the parts of my body that were struggling to be anywhere close to balance have become either awesomely balanced are at the verge of being in a beautiful homeostasis.
Only small components of my immune system and digestive tract need to come into order along with a reduction in inflammation.
We are worlds away, she says, from where we started.
I sigh audible praise to God and express thanks to Kerry for taking the time to help figure out this amazingly complex body He gave me.
But in my heart, I know my quiet gratitude is not enough.
****
It's early Sunday morning, and we trek into church to both work and celebrate God during the Thanksgiving service.
I'm not planning to go near a microphone during the service.
But we sing loudly, passionately about the 10,000 reasons for our hearts to praise Him, and I'm pretty much jumping out of my chair moments later because a verse has been following me and I can feel it pressing up from my heart and into words and out my lips.
For His word. For His mercy. For His grace. For His healing. For feeling so very close to normal again. For remembering what sickness feels like and the promise of hope that always accompanied it.
And when I come home, I can't help but pour my words of gratitude into black on white, a permanent testament to the His healing hand.
I can't help but come back to Him, go out of my way, to take the gratitude in my heart and let is spill out of my lips in a song of praise.
My song of thanksgiving, indeed.
Linking with Ann and living a covenant of gratitude.
Because more than remembering what it's like to feel normal, I remember vividly what it's like to feel so very sick.
The kind of sick that doesn't necessarily loudly broadcast itself in exact diagnosis with exact prescription or reveal itself on the face, though those closest to me have breathed sighs of relief at the return of a healthy glow spread across the bridge of my face and cheeks and at the return of curves to my body.
Three short months ago, in addition to digestive distress, candida overgrowth and imbalanced hormones, I was on the fast track to kidney failure and the brink of developing an autoimmune disease, different systems in my body having their communications efforts jumbled and skewed, making it impossible to walk a straight line or break down proteins or convert B vitamins.
See, in my laborious attempts to heal my gut and restore the delicate gut-flora balance, I accidentally threw other delicate parts of my body out of whack; I'd failed to understand that my body is more complex than what I understood -- that it's fine tuned and created to function in the fullness of deep nutrition. That its biochemistry is detailed and specific and that years of treating my body like a simple machine had led to malfunction.
That years of making health be determined by scale number and eating with only calories and taste in mind rather than nutrition and micronutrients couldn't be fixed by a restrictive diet aimed at only bringing one of the obvious imbalances -- the candida in my digestive system -- back into a stasis.
You see, one can't just starve out an invasive opportunist like candida without, too, starving herself, her own body. That's what I didn't know when I began cleansing with The Body Ecology diet. But that's another story for another day.
Today's story is about healing. And how I can claim the miracle of being healed because honestly that's all it can be determined as.
I'd been to quite a few doctors, quite a few specialists and only one had a real grasp on the magnitude of the situation and even then there was more going on than what was easily recognized without getting into the genetics and biochemistry of my specific body.
And that's where grace comes in.
I met Ann at G's preschool; we quickly came to realize we both faced many of the same healthy eating challenges and so it wasn't a surprise when we learned we both saw the same chiropractor. Brief after-school conversations led to snippets of hearing each other's health struggles, but it wasn't until an early summer pool party that we actually had a chance to talk beyond chasing kids out the door.
By then, I knew I'd hit a plateau in healing. My body had detoxed to an extreme, my weight kept plummeting and my period was beginning to be more or a stranger than a monthly guest: it was like I could see the promised land but just couldn't cross over. I was just stuck.
In my crying out to God, I prayed, I pleaded for a miracle -- for Him to send me someone who could see the whole picture, the entirety of His creation or for miraculous healing.
He gave me both.
Ann's friend, who was in bad shape health wise took Ann with her to see a doctor -- a biochemist and trauma surgeon by training who bases her practice on caring for patients who have exhausted every other medical route and treats through integrative nutritional medicine, everything grounded in biochemistry and genetics. Ann then made an appointment for herself and encouraged me to do the same.
It took months to get in, and honestly, I didn't know what to think when I met Kerry -- I mean, she'd basically told me more about my body than any doctor ever had. And the scary thing was she was so spot on about what I was feeling and what my body was and wasn't doing that when she told me my next steps were kidney failure and developing the same auto-immune disease my mother has, I knew she as part of the answer to my prayer for healing.
I'm about to round out 90 days of treatment with Kerry, and the progress my body has made in healing from a deep cellular and biochemical standpoint is quite beautifully amazing.
****
Every week, I have the privilege of sitting down with my senior pastor to hear what's on his mind so I can transfer his thoughts onto our church's blog or our church's facebook page.
It's one of the highlights of my social media job at Immanuel.
Last week, he shared with me his excitement for our annual Thanksgiving service, where our church family members are welcomed and encouraged to take the microphone during the service and voice what they are thankful to God for.
Before we conclude our meeting he asked me if I remembered the story where Jesus healed ten lepers in Luke 17:11-19.
I nod.
"Only one came back to thank Jesus," he'd said. "Only one. Ten were healed, but only one thanked Him ... I once heard that gratitude is only as sincere as the effort we make to express it. The Bible teaches that it's not enough to be grateful in our hearts, that we should be going out of our way to express it."
I scramble to write what he's said, soaking it into my heart.
"It may have been that all ten lepers had gratitude, but Jesus talks about the one who was sincere in his effort to express it -- the one who went out of his way to express it."
The one who came back to say thank you.
****
She's checking me out, reading my body to make sure everything is firing well despite some persistent tenderness just beneath my breastbone.
After she's done, she announces that I have some inflammation in that joint beneath it that's causing the intense soreness.
But that's not the big story -- the big story is that so many of the parts of my body that were struggling to be anywhere close to balance have become either awesomely balanced are at the verge of being in a beautiful homeostasis.
Only small components of my immune system and digestive tract need to come into order along with a reduction in inflammation.
We are worlds away, she says, from where we started.
I sigh audible praise to God and express thanks to Kerry for taking the time to help figure out this amazingly complex body He gave me.
But in my heart, I know my quiet gratitude is not enough.
****
It's early Sunday morning, and we trek into church to both work and celebrate God during the Thanksgiving service.
I'm not planning to go near a microphone during the service.
But we sing loudly, passionately about the 10,000 reasons for our hearts to praise Him, and I'm pretty much jumping out of my chair moments later because a verse has been following me and I can feel it pressing up from my heart and into words and out my lips.
"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:4-7I give thanks.
For His word. For His mercy. For His grace. For His healing. For feeling so very close to normal again. For remembering what sickness feels like and the promise of hope that always accompanied it.
And when I come home, I can't help but pour my words of gratitude into black on white, a permanent testament to the His healing hand.
I can't help but come back to Him, go out of my way, to take the gratitude in my heart and let is spill out of my lips in a song of praise.
My song of thanksgiving, indeed.
Linking with Ann and living a covenant of gratitude.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Thinking, That's All: Giving
We've been talking lately about generosity in our house and what that really looks like, conversations inspired by a series at church, Living a Generous Life.
And at first, I think we thought we were way more generous than we actually are.
I mean, we give consistently, and we give joyfully
but of our money mostly.
So while we've discovered our palms are largely open with giving our money, we've also come to realize we aren't very generous with our other resources -- the ones that we feel, perhaps, are much more precious.
Namely, for me especially, time.Maybe because time is what seems most fleeting, most like it's constantly slipping through my fingers
As I was working on a visual for church about generosity and giving, I kept going back to that image of the open palms.
A wise mentor once shared that trying to hold onto those fleeting precious treasures is a lot like trying to grab water and bring enough to our lips to quench deep thirst;
it's impossible to do.
But that's not the only thing that clenched fists make impossible.
When we hold too tightly to anything,we also aren't open to receiving renewing fulfillment either -- whatever is poured out can't be caught by tightly bound fists.
And plus. We haven't been given much to keep it all to ourselves.
We've been given much so we can spread the wealth around
with palms open wide and hearts full of thanksgiving.
And at first, I think we thought we were way more generous than we actually are.
I mean, we give consistently, and we give joyfully
but of our money mostly.
So while we've discovered our palms are largely open with giving our money, we've also come to realize we aren't very generous with our other resources -- the ones that we feel, perhaps, are much more precious.
Namely, for me especially, time.Maybe because time is what seems most fleeting, most like it's constantly slipping through my fingers
As I was working on a visual for church about generosity and giving, I kept going back to that image of the open palms.
A wise mentor once shared that trying to hold onto those fleeting precious treasures is a lot like trying to grab water and bring enough to our lips to quench deep thirst;
it's impossible to do.
But that's not the only thing that clenched fists make impossible.
When we hold too tightly to anything,we also aren't open to receiving renewing fulfillment either -- whatever is poured out can't be caught by tightly bound fists.
And plus. We haven't been given much to keep it all to ourselves.
We've been given much so we can spread the wealth around
with palms open wide and hearts full of thanksgiving.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Bigger Picture Moments: I Am Ready
After the leaves break free of the trees and race away leaving behind barren branches, I know it won't be long.
Winter around here is a full-invasion of forces -- the whipping winds, the blustery cold, the retreat of the sun ... each hand-delivering the winter blues that nestle seasonly into my mind.
Halloween afternoon, and I sigh as I layer my clothing; I pull hand warmers onto my hands, wrap the boys in scarves and hats and gloves and then squeeze them into costumes all while wondering why on Earth we live where we live, why we call home this six-months-out-of-the-year cold lay of land.
We decide to brave the elements and trick or treat the neighborhood behind ours; we take the small, tight, beaten path through the preserve to our destination rather than the trail or main road via car.
In glorious surprise, we come face to face with the parts of winter we don't often see as magnificent color spread out during our single-file march through trees and bushes skirting the edge of one of our prairie wetland marshes.
I'm reminded that beauty doesn't flee during the quick march of winter into our neck of the woods.
Rather, it's me.
I'm the one who retreats, waves the white flag of wool-socks, heavy scarves, down coats as I sink into the indoors while winter settles for its stay.
And.
I'm reminded that sometimes we just have to suit up
layer
by layer
by layer
to not just brave the elements
but enjoy them.
Starting NEXT week, we will be gathering our harvest of blessings and naming them one by one, sharing the gratitude in our hearts every Thursday through the end of November. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart.
Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.
Capture.
Harvest them!
Share.
This week link up your BPM moment at Alita's. And next week, come to the table ready to feast on gratitude at Brook's. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.
Encourage.
Try to visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.
Winter around here is a full-invasion of forces -- the whipping winds, the blustery cold, the retreat of the sun ... each hand-delivering the winter blues that nestle seasonly into my mind.
Halloween afternoon, and I sigh as I layer my clothing; I pull hand warmers onto my hands, wrap the boys in scarves and hats and gloves and then squeeze them into costumes all while wondering why on Earth we live where we live, why we call home this six-months-out-of-the-year cold lay of land.
We decide to brave the elements and trick or treat the neighborhood behind ours; we take the small, tight, beaten path through the preserve to our destination rather than the trail or main road via car.
In glorious surprise, we come face to face with the parts of winter we don't often see as magnificent color spread out during our single-file march through trees and bushes skirting the edge of one of our prairie wetland marshes.
I'm reminded that beauty doesn't flee during the quick march of winter into our neck of the woods.Rather, it's me.
I'm the one who retreats, waves the white flag of wool-socks, heavy scarves, down coats as I sink into the indoors while winter settles for its stay.
And.
I'm reminded that sometimes we just have to suit up
layer
by layer
by layer
to not just brave the elements
but enjoy them.
*****
Starting NEXT week, we will be gathering our harvest of blessings and naming them one by one, sharing the gratitude in our hearts every Thursday through the end of November. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart.
Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.
Capture.
Harvest them!
Share.
This week link up your BPM moment at Alita's. And next week, come to the table ready to feast on gratitude at Brook's. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.
Encourage.
Try to visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Everyday Life: The Whispers that Get You Through
He's a wildcard.
Sneaky, charming and cute, determined -- that's our spunky 3 year old.
I can barely take my eyes away from him before he's off and into something new, and every time we think he's grown just a little bit out of his wily ways, he brings us back into the moment, the reality in which we live.
And that reality is that he is predictably unpredictable, a wildcard in the truest sense.
Saturday afternoon, my boys were outside clearing out the garage with John, and I was running out the door, bordering on being late to an appointment.
Bordering on being rushed but not yet frazzled.
Bordering on making a quick, hurried exit.
But Saturday was my sabbath rest day, so I resisted the urge to jet out the door, jump into the car and take off, waving to my boys.
I climbed into the driver's seat as I was saying goodbye to John, put my keys in the ignition when a small whisper prompted me to ask, "Honey, where's E?"
We looked around, and he was nowhere in easy sight.
I almost shut the car door and left, hand on the key, ready to turn when another whisper said, "Find him first."
We began walking past the cars toward the edge of the driveway when my friend, who was leaving at the same time, said to us just as we reached the back of my Highlander and looked down, "There's a baby under your car."
And there he was -- our youngest, our baby -- hands under his grinning chin nestled under my car, body pressed against the driveway.
Heart pounding, I scooped him from beneath the car and scolded him for playing somewhere so dangerous before refocusing and audibly giving praise.
Audibly thanking God, dozens and dozens and dozens of times, for that small, soft Voice in my brain.
And for the ears to hear.
And for answering the heart cry I pleaded Friday, totally not knowing what I was actually praying for but somehow knew was needed.
And for allowing this lesson about how rushing never makes life better to sink into my thick, hard head.
And for the Whispers quietly spoken that graciously get us through.
Sneaky, charming and cute, determined -- that's our spunky 3 year old.
I can barely take my eyes away from him before he's off and into something new, and every time we think he's grown just a little bit out of his wily ways, he brings us back into the moment, the reality in which we live.
And that reality is that he is predictably unpredictable, a wildcard in the truest sense.
Saturday afternoon, my boys were outside clearing out the garage with John, and I was running out the door, bordering on being late to an appointment.
Bordering on being rushed but not yet frazzled.
Bordering on making a quick, hurried exit.
But Saturday was my sabbath rest day, so I resisted the urge to jet out the door, jump into the car and take off, waving to my boys.
I climbed into the driver's seat as I was saying goodbye to John, put my keys in the ignition when a small whisper prompted me to ask, "Honey, where's E?"
We looked around, and he was nowhere in easy sight.
I almost shut the car door and left, hand on the key, ready to turn when another whisper said, "Find him first."
We began walking past the cars toward the edge of the driveway when my friend, who was leaving at the same time, said to us just as we reached the back of my Highlander and looked down, "There's a baby under your car."
And there he was -- our youngest, our baby -- hands under his grinning chin nestled under my car, body pressed against the driveway.
Heart pounding, I scooped him from beneath the car and scolded him for playing somewhere so dangerous before refocusing and audibly giving praise.
Audibly thanking God, dozens and dozens and dozens of times, for that small, soft Voice in my brain.
And for the ears to hear.
And for answering the heart cry I pleaded Friday, totally not knowing what I was actually praying for but somehow knew was needed.
And for allowing this lesson about how rushing never makes life better to sink into my thick, hard head.
And for the Whispers quietly spoken that graciously get us through.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Thinking, That's All: The Flag
Every year it sneaks up on me.
I don't notice until I'm strolling around the neighborhood the night before Memorial Day, blissfully and ignorantly enjoying the long weekend, that our streets are lined with a plethora of red, white and blue, stars and stripes.
And?
We don't have a flag flying in front of our own house.
Again, I've forgotten to purchase the very symbol used for displaying our gratitude and gratefulness to the service men and women who have laid down their lives for the freedom we enjoy in this country.
It's got to be something like growing up as as the only kid on the block and not having a Christmas tree come December.
Except without the flag and its freedom, a family might not be able to celebrate Christmas or any of the other holidays we embrace during December at all.
So maybe it's a little more than not having a Christmas tree, and I've just never totally verbalized it in my own head before.
But the little things we do in our everyday life and take for granted are wrapped up in the freedom my family so much enjoys. Like just today, and I doubt we even thought about it, we dipped our toes into some of that goodness found wrapped in the freedom our flag proclaims.
We worshiped vividly, sang our hearts out and partook in communion at church ...
and I checked in publicly on Facebook {because we're allowed Internet access to all sites}
and it wasn't against the law that we were in a place of worship
and I read Time magazine articles criticizing our government
that the United States Postal Service delivered to my mailbox
and E and I went on a walk where we spent most of the time saying aloud "Thank you, God, for ..."
and my neighbors just smiled instead of reporting us to the police.
None of that came without a price; lots, so many men and women have paid it with their lives, with the best of their years spent in service to the citizens who hold tight to this freedom even when they don't realize it.
And I don't even have a flag in front of my house, flying in gratitude because I have the right to have forgotten.
I know the spouses, the children, the mothers, the fathers, the friends of these fallen soldiers haven't had the choice of having forgotten.
I assure you, as I go about my day and the days to come, enjoying my various freedoms however big or seemingly small, I will remember.
And the flag?
It will become a permanent resident standing victoriously, billowing from the steps of our front porch.
Lest we never have the audacity to forget again.
I don't notice until I'm strolling around the neighborhood the night before Memorial Day, blissfully and ignorantly enjoying the long weekend, that our streets are lined with a plethora of red, white and blue, stars and stripes.
And?
We don't have a flag flying in front of our own house.
Again, I've forgotten to purchase the very symbol used for displaying our gratitude and gratefulness to the service men and women who have laid down their lives for the freedom we enjoy in this country.
It's got to be something like growing up as as the only kid on the block and not having a Christmas tree come December.
Except without the flag and its freedom, a family might not be able to celebrate Christmas or any of the other holidays we embrace during December at all.
So maybe it's a little more than not having a Christmas tree, and I've just never totally verbalized it in my own head before.
But the little things we do in our everyday life and take for granted are wrapped up in the freedom my family so much enjoys. Like just today, and I doubt we even thought about it, we dipped our toes into some of that goodness found wrapped in the freedom our flag proclaims.
We worshiped vividly, sang our hearts out and partook in communion at church ...
and I checked in publicly on Facebook {because we're allowed Internet access to all sites}
and it wasn't against the law that we were in a place of worship
and I read Time magazine articles criticizing our government
that the United States Postal Service delivered to my mailbox
and E and I went on a walk where we spent most of the time saying aloud "Thank you, God, for ..."
and my neighbors just smiled instead of reporting us to the police.
None of that came without a price; lots, so many men and women have paid it with their lives, with the best of their years spent in service to the citizens who hold tight to this freedom even when they don't realize it.
And I don't even have a flag in front of my house, flying in gratitude because I have the right to have forgotten.
I know the spouses, the children, the mothers, the fathers, the friends of these fallen soldiers haven't had the choice of having forgotten.
I assure you, as I go about my day and the days to come, enjoying my various freedoms however big or seemingly small, I will remember.
And the flag?
It will become a permanent resident standing victoriously, billowing from the steps of our front porch.
Lest we never have the audacity to forget again.
 |
| G., 21 months, Memorial Day Parade, 2009 |
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Thinking, That's All: At 29
When I was younger I most looked forward to the company who would come celebrate my birthday.
During the fires, hot air rockets up to the tops of the tree canopy, drying the cones allowing them to open and release their seeds.
And truly the people who come around us in these times of joy and celebration are gifts.
Fittingly, as God always gives, a gift of wisdom and experience and thought came at just the right time wrapped in thoughtful, careful words and packaged in a friend who shared his experience with sequoia trees.
He explained how sequoias -- great towering trees that are hundreds of years old and a few hundred feet tall -- best grow their rings, their height, their strength only after forest fires clear out other trees and brush that choke out the small sequoia seedlings.
 |
| Photo credit: Red321 |
Without the fires, the seedlings don't stand much of a chance of adding more rings to their trunks, of becoming these strong, tall, majestic, mature trees.
At 29, I'm learning to be thankful for the first ... and for the intricacies that make up the rings that mark another year of life and everything that made up this ring of 28.
The joy.
The hurt.
The grief.
The trials.
The patience.
The giggles.
The beauty.
The hands of friendship extended.
The steadfast love of a husband.
Because through these intricacies, God has mercifully drawn me closer to Him, has shown me that his burden is light and His yoke is easy and has held me in His arms.
I grow.
Not how I expected, but, nonetheless, there is another ring of growth marking another year.
And I am thankful for them and the ones this year will surely bring, too.
The joy.
The hurt.
The grief.
The trials.
The patience.
The giggles.
The beauty.
The hands of friendship extended.
The steadfast love of a husband.
Because through these intricacies, God has mercifully drawn me closer to Him, has shown me that his burden is light and His yoke is easy and has held me in His arms.
I grow.
Not how I expected, but, nonetheless, there is another ring of growth marking another year.
And I am thankful for them and the ones this year will surely bring, too.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Bigger Picture Moments: Feet firmly planted
I'm not ready to let November go just yet.
For me, that's like saying I'm not ready for snow to melt and summer to come; that's how much I love Christmas -- the season, the spirit, the celebration, the savior.
But mostly I'm not ready for the constant whirl of movement, for the focus that's normally thrust on the buying and shopping and the wrapping and the busyness that comes with the Christmas season in our culture.
So today my feet are firmly planted in slowness of counting blessings, the earnest gratitude of November. We've spent the past month as a family talking about having an attitude of thanksgiving rather than just celebrating thanksgiving as a day.
G lists what he's thankful for like water billowing over the edge of a fall; his gratitude seems always flowing for even the smallest blessings.
A boot knife {plastic! Don't worry.}
Our dog {even though he's now twice attempted to chew the eyes off of G's baby chameleon animal}
His mommy and daddy
and snuggles
And, yes, my brother {he says after a direct question}
"But, mommy, you know what I'm most thankful for?"
"What?"
"God," he says matter of factly.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because He gives me stuff."
And, ohmygosh, yes.
That exactly, little man.
We are most thankful for God, the giver of good gifts, the giver of the best Gift -- the one of a baby King born on Christmas Day.
I hold their little hands, both boys snuggling against my body as we wipe sleep from our morning eyes amid the soft glow of the tree.
We sink into the couch and my heart a little deeper into gratitude
and I decide right there
that we're taking thanksgiving with us as we move slowly, diligently, thoughtfully into December -- side stepping the fast roads of buying and wrapping and baking and goinggoinggoing -- to instead travel by starlight through the fields to meet face to face with the best Gift we've even been given.
We'll see the face of Baby Jesus by the time we arrive, the path of thanksgiving and gratitude having given themselves the truest of guides.
Each Thursday, we come together to share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimmer of the bigger picture through a simple moment. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart.
Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.
Capture.
Harvest them!
Share.
Link up your moment HERE this week. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.
Encourage.
Visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.
For me, that's like saying I'm not ready for snow to melt and summer to come; that's how much I love Christmas -- the season, the spirit, the celebration, the savior.
But mostly I'm not ready for the constant whirl of movement, for the focus that's normally thrust on the buying and shopping and the wrapping and the busyness that comes with the Christmas season in our culture.
So today my feet are firmly planted in slowness of counting blessings, the earnest gratitude of November. We've spent the past month as a family talking about having an attitude of thanksgiving rather than just celebrating thanksgiving as a day.
G lists what he's thankful for like water billowing over the edge of a fall; his gratitude seems always flowing for even the smallest blessings.
A boot knife {plastic! Don't worry.}
Our dog {even though he's now twice attempted to chew the eyes off of G's baby chameleon animal}
His mommy and daddy
and snuggles
And, yes, my brother {he says after a direct question}
"But, mommy, you know what I'm most thankful for?"
"What?"
"God," he says matter of factly.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because He gives me stuff."
And, ohmygosh, yes.
That exactly, little man.
We are most thankful for God, the giver of good gifts, the giver of the best Gift -- the one of a baby King born on Christmas Day.
I hold their little hands, both boys snuggling against my body as we wipe sleep from our morning eyes amid the soft glow of the tree.
We sink into the couch and my heart a little deeper into gratitude
and I decide right there
that we're taking thanksgiving with us as we move slowly, diligently, thoughtfully into December -- side stepping the fast roads of buying and wrapping and baking and goinggoinggoing -- to instead travel by starlight through the fields to meet face to face with the best Gift we've even been given.
We'll see the face of Baby Jesus by the time we arrive, the path of thanksgiving and gratitude having given themselves the truest of guides.
Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.
Capture.
Harvest them!
Share.
Link up your moment HERE this week. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.
Encourage.
Visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.
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Thursday, November 10, 2011
Bigger Picture Moment: Eyes to See
I am runningrunningrunning around the house fetching underwear that's been strewn across each stair step, unfortunate victims of a toddler who went on an anti-folded-laundry tirade -- this, of course, in between quick trips of picking up little messes scattered by small and big hands alike.
On my way down the stairs, as the pre-bedtime bath splashes and carry on upstairs with John as the lifeguard referee, I catch a glimpse of gold spilling in through the window in a brilliant stream of light.
I abandon the forsaken laundry, scurry down the remaining stairs, grab my camera, fumble for gloves, fling open the door and inhale the beauty like it's the first breathe of air I've breathed in weeks that isn't tinged with the smog of clutter and mess, exposed skin prickling from the touch cold November air, the touch of beauty from the divine.
I stand, staring, enjoying in abandon of who might be watching
without care to my mismatched, juxtaposed outfit
in thankfulness for the cold in my lungs, the vibrant purple bleeding into red and firestorms of orange
in gratitude that the Painter gifts snapshots of loveliness, gifts us eyes to see.
During the month of November, we are gathering our harvest of blessings and naming them one by one, sharing the gratitude in our hearts. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart.
Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.
Capture.
Harvest them!
Share.
Link up your moment at Sarah's this week. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.
Encourage.
Try to visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Bigger Picture Moment: Right Where I Belong {Gratitude}
The afternoon before we're to make the trek home to Illinois from Harrisburg, fat snow flakes are falling from a ceiling of haloed thickness, from puffy grey-white clouds.
And I am wondering if we'll make it home as planned.
I pray -- Oh, God, I know this is where I'm meant to be in this time and space.
And I am thankful.
I am eye-deep in gratitude to be pressed shoulder to shoulder with kindred spirits, the women I love who are journeying this motherhood road alongside me, His very presence swelling in our hearts.
But, still, tomorrow, please take me to the arms, take me to the flesh in which I share oneness; take me to the man with whom you've interwoven my heart strings.
And in the meantime, let there peace that I am right where I belong.
****
Headlights flicker, dance through the fog while sprinkles of rain tap against the windshield.
I wake to two small bodies pressed on each side of my own. I am the newly restored ingredient of the mommy sandwich. We lounge in bed, two boys snuggled against my skin.
There are dishes to wash, laundry piles to fold, sheets to change, breakfasts to make, lists to tackle, but for the moment, again, a different time and space, I know, I'm exactly where I should be.
So with palms turned up and wells overflowing, I give thanks for knowing that in these moments, I'm certain I'm right where I belong.
Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.
Capture.
Harvest them!
Share.
Link up your moment at Lenae's this week. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.
Encourage.
Try to visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.
Disclosure: Our trip to Relevant was generously sponsored by Chevy’s Driving the Midwest who has given us a tank of gas and a Traverse to get there. Our ride was also fueled by Kawa Japanese and Asian Cuisine, Dr. Reena Jacobs of The Healing Groves, Curves of Lake County, Bigger Picture Blogs and Little Lake County, each of whom have provided one tank of gas for the trip. All opinions expressed are our own.
And I am wondering if we'll make it home as planned.
Forecasters sling signs of warning across the television screen and lights flicker through out the hotel hallways as I walk in the company of flesh embodying the hearts I've come to consider soul sisters.
I pray -- Oh, God, I know this is where I'm meant to be in this time and space.
And I am thankful.
I am eye-deep in gratitude to be pressed shoulder to shoulder with kindred spirits, the women I love who are journeying this motherhood road alongside me, His very presence swelling in our hearts.
But, still, tomorrow, please take me to the arms, take me to the flesh in which I share oneness; take me to the man with whom you've interwoven my heart strings.
And in the meantime, let there peace that I am right where I belong.
****
Headlights flicker, dance through the fog while sprinkles of rain tap against the windshield.
I could drive this stretch of road with my eye closed, I think, not because I know the curves as well as the ones on my own body nor because I follow them, the tires of my car pressed against this very pavement almost daily
but rather because I can feel the force of my husband's body, only less than a mile away, pulling my heart toward home.
Yes, my body is the magnetic ball being woven through the maze of streets by the force of soul attraction anchored in a well of love within the four walls I call home.
The car nearly parks itself, and I jump-fly out of the driver's seat, headlights fading across the garage door, the backs of my legs and I fall into strong arms that are open and waiting for me, pulling me in before my feet can carry me out of the hallway.
And, again, in a different time and space, I am right where He wants me; I am right where I belong.
****
I wake to two small bodies pressed on each side of my own. I am the newly restored ingredient of the mommy sandwich. We lounge in bed, two boys snuggled against my skin.
There are dishes to wash, laundry piles to fold, sheets to change, breakfasts to make, lists to tackle, but for the moment, again, a different time and space, I know, I'm exactly where I should be.
So with palms turned up and wells overflowing, I give thanks for knowing that in these moments, I'm certain I'm right where I belong.
During the month of November, we are gathering our harvest of blessings and naming them one by one, sharing the gratitude in our hearts. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart.
Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.
Capture.
Harvest them!
Share.
Link up your moment at Lenae's this week. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.
Encourage.
Try to visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.
Disclosure: Our trip to Relevant was generously sponsored by Chevy’s Driving the Midwest who has given us a tank of gas and a Traverse to get there. Our ride was also fueled by Kawa Japanese and Asian Cuisine, Dr. Reena Jacobs of The Healing Groves, Curves of Lake County, Bigger Picture Blogs and Little Lake County, each of whom have provided one tank of gas for the trip. All opinions expressed are our own.
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