Advent: When Something's Gotta Give

When he quietly sneaks down the stairs at quarter 'til nine in the still of evening and crawls into my lap while I'm working away the dark hours and says right before he drifts off to sleep in my arms, "Mommy, I miss you," I know that something's gotta give.

When I ask my oldest son how his day is going, and he asks me if I'm done working for the day so I can really listen, my stomach jumps into my throat and sits there choking me up, and I pray that something's gonna give.

When the conversation turns from what we can do to make the load lighter {jobs and businesses and work} to who put the final straw on the camel's aching back, I find myself staring at the man with whom I yoked wondering what the difference is anyway, since we're both under the same weight and what's ultimately gonna give isn't going to be what we want to give if we just wait for something to break.

A few weeks back, a wise woman told me that sheep were never meant to bear loads.

They weren't made for it.

And neither were we.

I understand this now like I wouldn't have before.

And so we cry out --

we wait for the Shepherd to hear our cries

because something's gotta give.

****

Busy days turn into heavy weeks, and we pass into the season of Advent as easily as the days sneak into nights and back into days again. I am the spinning hand on the clock, and I go until one day when I come home from church and retire to my bedroom because I'm suddenly not feeling well, the third in my family to be out for the count in less than 24 hours.

I sleep the morning into afternoon and wake only to pull my weary body from bed and join the family on the couch for a few brief hours.

I have plans. There are things to do, action items screaming for my attention during the three days I'm down and out myself and the span during which my boys are all suffering, too. There are staff meetings and business meetings and preparations to make before our host child arrives in just mere days and business to manage and posts to tend to and people to feed and bodies to bathe and clothes to launder and food to prepare.

But it all halts on a Sunday, the second Sunday of Advent, where we talk in church that morning about the surprising way Love came down to meet us here on Earth in a nowhere town, inside a nowhere stable, through a bunch of nobody people after 400 years of everyone thinking, you know, something's gotta give.

My husband picks up the food ropes and the rest of what isn't urgent all sits dormant while the urgent keeps on spinning with the rest of the world … without me.

The boys and I exist in spaces between the bed and the couch for two whole days.

On the third day, I find myself trapped beneath a four year old's body nearly every hour of day, and I start giving some serious thought to what it means to break and what it means to give.

At first it doesn't seem like catching the flu is anything akin to catching a break but when you're at the point where you feel like you can't bend with the pressure anymore, it suddenly and surprisingly. It's the break you knew you needed but never expected.

The give isn't what we wanted or planned, but when I look and I really see, I see that the give wasn't the ability to bend a little more without snapping, the give was a gift unexpected of slowing down enough to remember that the sun rises and sets each day without our help, without my help.

And isn't that the break I've been begging for and the give I've been praying to see?

He gives me a break, He slows me steady into the season of Advent, the season of preparing my heart for what's been given

again, in the most surprising of ways.

Everyday Life: What I Found in the Hours Between

At seven, I learned to pop my hip to the side, making a perfect seat on which my only baby sister would contently sit as I carried her around wherever I could.

She was joy wrapped in skin, cheeks chubby with wide smiles, ringlets of hair framing her face.

I lost years with her as we grew and I became too cool for a younger sister who tagged along and would never stop singing.

I remember telling her if she could just be quiet, she could stay, but inevitably, almost every time, she would catch herself in song.

You can't silence a song bird, you know, and who in her right mind would ever want to, I ask myself now.

When I lost my cool, she found hers. A college student herself and me freshly married, we didn't quite see eye to eye until life came hailing down on top of our heads and we lost the man we called dad.

She drove us to the hospital one day before he died.

And she sang almost the whole way there.

I'll never forget the way I felt when I heard song slip from her lips on a drive into the darkest day ... like heaven spilled a little bit of peace out of its gates and I got to bask in it for a few minutes.

God is the God of second chances even when it seems like death is winning. The day our father died, I cried in my sister's arms.

The older melting into the younger, like she used to melt into my arms as a baby, while realizing the gift of grace God meant a sister to be.

As if that gift weren't enough, she moved into the spare bedroom of our house just a few months later, and I silently thanked God for making more time to live beneath the same roof after the time I had naively squandered.

We laughed a lot. We threw dance parties with the boys on cold, rainy days. We shared coffee in the early mornings.

It wasn't long until someone else discovered the gift I had found in her, and swept her off her feet and into marriage and then motherhood.

Photo by Julie Valkanet Photography

But blessings were like a fountain, the newly weds and then family of three living just down the street from my own little family.

In laws like brothers, cousins like siblings, aunts and uncles like another set of parents ... and sisters like, well, sisters. But in the way God meant it instead of the way I once saw it.

I waved goodbye this morning, after they packed the final boxes at their home right down the street, kissed the soft cheeks of my niece, more joy wrapped in skin, just like her mother.

Instead of a few measly miles in between our houses, there will now be hours upon blasted hours.

As I hugged her, I cried and she wrapped me up in her arms. 

I remember the years I wish I could reclaim, the ones I took my sister for granted; I think of the ones that have been redeemed.

I think of the miles that are going to be the space between us

the hours that will separate us

and I know, like I couldn't have once known but understand now years and life later,

all of that space can't hold

the song she keeps singing

and those hours 

can't steal the gift of a grace that is sisterhood

and that what I've found

in the hours

in the space

in between

her own heart

and mine

are strings tied together

that go to the whole distance

mile by long mile

and hour by long hour. 

Just Write: Hands

I've become very well acquainted with the couch these past two months.

It seems like longer. Between first-trimester ailments and three rounds of illness, my energy levels have been nonexistent; and so has any work that doesn't involve simply typing on the computer or keeping the children alive and sometimes fed. 

It's in these brackets of time and space, where I begin to fathom the incredible love from the people in my life and their hearts for serving. 

It's the little-big things that stop me in my tracks, have me giving thanks. 

My sister offers to cook dinner for us the day we arrive home from Florida because she knows we've been awake since 5 a.m. and our fridge is pretty much void of most food. 

Friends who've been staying at our house while they were looking for a new home during the time we were away vacuum the floors and line the beds with clean sheets topping the pillows with mints, fresh for our arrival home. 

John's dad picks us up from the airport early in the morning complete with after-flight snacks.

My grandma does our laundry and cooks dinner almost every single night we're with her and my grandpa at their condo. 

Friends whisper prayers, send cards and emails and flowers for my birthday or just to encourage my heart. Or blend juice lemon and ginger and bring it to our meetings so I can find relief from morning sickness. 

John does double duty with kids and work -- with a smile {and house and food prep}.

It just doesn't stop -- the pouring out of love and the generosity of time and the service of hands. 

And my hands in this season -- all I can do is fold them in prayer, offering thanks

and humbly receive the love that's been freely and generously given. 

Everyday Life: In Sunlight

It's amazing what a little sunshine can do.

I felt like a wreck last week before we left Chicago.

I believe the best word to describe it was desperate -- and I just left it hanging out there, my last written words of the week.

The morning sickness, the fatigue, the overwhelming emotions, the anxiety -- it all seems like it was exasperated by the cold and the dark and the dreary of early February in the midwest.

But here it's all soothed by sunlight and warm and slumber.

And, I think, by being together and just being.

The little gifts are actually the big ones, and it's astonishing how much that reality is magnified right now in my heart.

I've already had to stop myself from trying to find a way to stay here in this bliss instead of boarding a plane home in a week ... reminding myself to live intentionally in the moment, reminding myself to drink in gifts as they are given. 

This week is for drinking in gifts.

And praising boldly for gifts given

one by one by one. 

Bigger Picture Moment: Unwrapped and Found

I'm a mess of swirling emotions.

I wade in the lovely waters of hope and life and swim too deep into worry and fear all in the moment.; but I don't have the words to explain the beautiful mess of my heart these days, though I seemingly have some time.

Every night, I settle onto the couch with the boys by about 6:45, which is so unlike our normal life where we go and do and run and play and work from wake until down most days of the week.

The first few weeks of pregnancy, though, have given us a sweet gift in this new slowness ... one I'm coming to embrace.

There's talk time at night now, most of us home now and central to one room most nights.

Time to snuggle together in the hours between dinner and bed.

Time to read and watch movies and giggle and sing together.

More time than I knew existed.

I didn't realize how many hours in the day there actually were until this slowness set in.

And I didn't realize how badly we needed them to be inundated in slowness.

A gift in a gift in season.

A first of many to unwrap, I pray.

Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week.. 

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Bigger Picture Moments: On Waving the White Flag

It's one of the battles we said we'd fight to the very end that's left us raising our white flag of peace high into the sky on a cool December night.

That food is more than calories and carbs/fat/protein and taste, that it's meant to connect us to the soil and each other, to nourish, heal, sustain is a philosophy John and I wholeheartedly embrace, especially now in the aftermath of chronic illness and healing.

But here we are in the chill of almost-winter, preparing together to raise the white flag, a peace treaty for our oldest son, regarding the guidelines we've set for the way we do food in our house.

Because when we said it was a battle we'd fight until the end, we didn't really mean it; I, honestly, had forgotten what battle entails -- a forceful overtaking, a strong-hold grip that leaves slain hearts along the way. And that's what's happening with our oldest -- he's taken us to battle. Our troops -- at 3 and 5 years old-- are on the verge of declaring civil war.

We'd more envisioned standing united, going up against the normal Standard American Diet, educating, encouraging and helping our boys, who would then help others, implement change.

What we'd envisioned sounds a whole less like battle and a whole lot more like a mission rooted in love. But we got what I asked for -- we got battle instead. Worse yet, my mom had pointed out, is that it's on the verge of war within our own home.

As John and I plan our offer of peace, we don't abandon our conviction and belief.

Probably, it's just the opposite; we affirm what we've come to learn about nourishing our bodies versus simply eating anything edible is foundational for good health.

But we refocus -- our mission, the delivery of the message, the rallying of the partners in work because our oldest, he is angry, too angry for five years old and that red flag is what we need to reframe.

I'm bewildered, but his anger isn't lost on me or John. In times of passion or frustration at his questions and insertion of his will, we've come at this the wrong way -- information drawn like swords ready to pierce the misinformation instead of with teaching words and heart.

And in those times it's like we picked a battle with the wrong little people -- two strong-willed boys, the oldest being a leader to his core who will battle until the very end.

So now we begin the peace process, cleaning up the land mines of anger unintentionally planted, soothing the open wounds with salve of choice, putting down the swords of information and arming ourselves instead with words of love-coated explanation.

Because this actually isn't a battle I, either of us, are willing to fight until the bitter end favoring conviction over the actual heart.

But it is a mission field on which we'll stand in truth and love and enough faith to know that messages delivered in love don't often fall on deaf ears.

Link up at Melissa's!

  

'Twas the Write Before Christmas: Rebirth in Self Truths

So in the beginning there are small fingers and tiny toes

and no mother's heart seems to really grasp

that the fingers she holds and toes that meet her lips

will one day, perhaps, be bigger than her own.

Mary, she knew, that smallness was destined to be greatness.

But probably, it was just beyond her heart,

that smallness would become such Bigness.

These ever-growing bodies

these reminders

that smallness is fleeting

and has no indicator of

how wide

how deep

how long

it can grow.

I am reborn through Grace every day

to love

and Love.

And am reminded of such love

and Love

born in smallness and growing into bigness

and Bigness

every time feet that once fit inside the palm of my hand

outgrow another pair of shoes,

travel little pieces of my heart further from me

in ever-growing portions.


Inspired by the 'Twas the Write Before Christmas Day Six prompt:

Join us in creating as we get into the Christmas spirit!

Everyday Life: Hands

His hands are warm, and I don't expect it.

Not amid the cold of a chilly November day. 

Not within the four walls of this pale room. 

His hands, they are warm, and his grip, it is still strong despite the frailty of the rest of his body. 

They betray his poor prognosis and leave me hopeful that his strong will and determination will carry him through, leave him steady and standing, walking tall until the end. 

These hands

they say something different than does the gauntness of his face

the whimpers of his lips

the doctors' reports.

At first I can't find my voice to tell him what I intended

that he is loved

and that he is Loved. 

That I appreciate him

and those strong hands that 

fought for our country

built a business

bound together a marriage 

a marriage that made a family

a family that grew my father

a father who helped grow me. 

The words -- when the room empties of family and falls silent and still washes over the bed and his body quiets into a sounder sleep -- they come crashing out of my mouth, loud as they do when I'm talking over the  building and echoing voices of my boys. 

He responds not in words 

but in firm squeezes 

his hand to mine 

in a language he's been speaking for I suppose his entire life

one I'm just now beginning to understand. 

Just Write: Pictures

John was clearing out the garage this weekend, and he set aside a box from my mother's basement that was loaded with old pictures.

The minimalist in me wanted to toss them into the the recycling bin, but I couldn't stop looking at the faces that had once been so important in my life

the wrinkled hands laced together, anchoring my small body on their laps

the smiling eyes locked onto all of the great-grand babies spread out across the couch

their full hearts apparent and full across their lips as little arms wrapped themselves around their necks.

I called my grandmother this morning to chat and to ask if she and my grandpa would come visit Friday and spend the day with the boys while John and I tended to the many things calling our names.

My kids cheered and hollered, a surge of joy and exclamation at the thought of grandma and papa coming for the day.

And I wonder if they'll look at pictures one day when they are grown and linger for just a few minutes whispering gratitude

that mere pictures can bring them to a dead halt

when they're clearing out the garage

take their hearts captive with memories

for days after.

And I hope they'll know that they've become the people they've grown to be

in part

because of those hands

those hearts

those eyes

who long held them beyond the carrying years.

Bigger Picture Moments: Golden

When I was younger my grandma shared with me that it wasn't easy being the oldest generation.

Because, she'd said, who do you call when you need a little wisdom, a little more life experience than what's spread out across your own table?

Honestly, I didn't know what to think of that then, but now I'm starting to understand what I'm sure is just bits and pieces of what she meant.

Photo courtesy of my sister, Jill. 

I understand it slightly more every time I watch my little boys all but fling their bodies into still-strong arms that held their own babies and their babies' babies and now the babies of those babies.

It becomes clearer to me now on those days I pick up the phone to dial my mom or grandma or mother in law and upon hearing their inviting greeting I sloppily wring out the dirty water of a messy day's events only for them to offer soft, dry towels of compassion and perspective.

I get it more and more as I watch my father in law pour into his grandsons in only the way a grandfather can, my husband standing close by, almost taking mental notes on how to father from the man who helped raise him into the good man he's become.

It surfaces when I catch the gaze of eyes that have seen so much linger long on our two giggling boys, as if they were the most interesting, lovely sights ever to be seen.

Photo courtesy of Erica Lynn Photography

These generations, they weave together

tightly tangled and connected.

And each year I celebrate another birthday

I seem to take another step back from the brightest, most intricate of tapestries,

breathe in the bigger-picture design of family

and realize that these days of being sandwiched in the middle of it all are absolutely golden.

Share your moment at Brook's!

Marriage: On a Monday, On Oneness

On a Monday, our feet don't stop moving in opposite directions until we're about to bid the day farewell and welcome in the night.

He was up and out the door before my eyes even opened this morning and our paths spread out over miles and miles of unshared terrain.

It's quite unlike the day we shared seven years ago, gripping each other's hands, eyes locked, voicing vows of love and respect, honesty and loyalty and, most importantly, oneness for all of our days together on Earth; even the clean, crisp air of today is a drastic difference from that day's thick humidity.

Today whirlwinds by, and to the untrained eye we seem anything but one as we quickly exchange a hello via phone bidding each other a happy anniversary, one brief email with a written sentiment and then a small face-to-face and kiss before work beckons me to return just as he arrives home, his capable hands taking the reigns of the household.

I tease him and smile, "What? No time for flowers today?" before walking out the door for work.

In a miracle of sorts, I arrive home in time for a late dinner that he's struggled to prepare amid boy-wrangling and unexpected-necessary errands and poop-splosion clean up.

We all find a space at the table and fall into a stillness of body as we recount our days.

Our oldest talks about school and then his little brother explains the basic tenants of good applesauce {"it yummy and it mushy"} as we listen and smile.

After the littles are talked out, he gives voice to his day's adventures and I can't help but laugh at the raucous of his grill catching fire at the same time our oldest reported that our youngest was mooning the neighbors with a poop-covered butt in the backyard.

As he recounts the craziness, he ends with the scene I unknowingly walked in on just a little bit ago.

"Then we sat down at the table and I exhaled and we thanked God for our food and our day ... and for mommy. And we asked Him that mommy would please come home, um, soon."

And with that prayer shared, he unknowingly unwraps for me the best anniversary present ever.

Because those heart cries are ones I pray everyday, too -- that we would just come back together at the end of days long and alive and filled to the brim with goodness and hardness and everything in between after being stretched so out of shape

and enter back into that oneness we knew in the most physical sense the day we promised it

but now know with our hearts seven years beyond.



Happy anniversary, John. I tried not to sing out of key for you. :-)

Join us at Alita's!

Share the Love: Ann Arbor Hands-On Museum

Michigan, to me, is like a treasure chest filled with hidden jewels.

We typically spend a few weekends at John's grandparents’ cottage in southwest Michigan each summer along with an entire week when we can swing it.

Each time we venture into this beautiful state, we always find new places to explore during days of rain.

And it seems like each year we find a place to which we just cannot wait to pay another visit. This time, we found several, as there were a number of rainy days that were better spent exploring than looking longingly at the beach from the windows of the tiny cabin.

We decided to venture into Ann Arbor to visit friends with whom we don’t often get to spend time, and while we were there we paid a visit to a wonderful kid-centric destination.

The Ann Arbor Hands-On Museum, though, is not a typical indoor children’s mecca of fun that leaves parents harrowed and chasing after myriad children who just cannot find anything age appropriate to sink their hands into and wrap their minds around within the same space.

This museum lives up to its name; it is the epitome of hands on – and not just for one age group. The activities located on the main floor appeal to myriad age ranges and offer different levels of engagement for toddlers all the way to older children. I appreciated that my almost three year old could play happily in the same room with the same activities that my five year old enjoyed; even Alita’s seven year old engaged in the same activities albeit in a different way.

Picture by Alita of Alita Jewel's Treasures.

While my toddler enjoyed doing things like flushing the model toilet, the older children liked figuring out how all the pipes were attached; I could almost see little engineers in the making, though, they were definitely in different seasons of exploration

We spent about an hour on the main floor exploring the building blocks rooms, the water table and an indoor activity house, but we spent more of our time in the amazing preschooler room, as three of our four littles ones fell most comfortably into that category.

While they explored gravity and mass and the like by engaging in hands-on play with an elaborate ball and tunnel/forced system, the adults actually had a chance to {gasp!} sit down and share in adult conversation.

This wasn't made possibly simply because of the awesome activities in the room, but also because most every crevice of the room is easily visible from the center. And it's in a bright and airy but enclosed space on its own floor of the museum, so there was no need to contemplate little escape artists making a break for it.


One feature I especially appreciated at the museum was break room where families can go and eat food they've brought from home instead of being bound to purchasing from an on-site cafe.

The only down part of the day was leaving, as all of the boys really wanted to stay and continue playing. Even after an entire afternoon spent exploring, more activities still lured them in. We could have closed the place down had we not had dinner plans.

All pictures by the fabulously talented Alita of Alita Jewel's Treasures

I have to be honest; we have some really fabulous museums close to our house in Chicago, so we're a bit spoiled, but my children so very much enjoyed the AAHOM that we would return despite it being two hours away from our cabin --

especially if we were privileged enough to have the same fabulous company we had this time around; it's truly a wonderful destination for imaginative play and discovery and perfect for meeting up with friends!

Disclosure: One of my favorite parts of blogging happens when I'm able to share life in a meaningful way -- and that includes divulging about places we've visited and thoroughly enjoyed. Ann Arbor Hands-On Museum welcomed both mine and Alita's families for an afternoon of fun in exchange for us sharing our experiences at the museum. 

Connect with Ann Arbor Hands-On Museum on Facebook, if you're planning a trip. 

Everyday Life: On Vacation

 

"As the sun on summer days gladdens us with beams more warm and bright than at other times...so is it with the mercy of God; it hath its golden hours; its days of overflow, when the Lord magnifieth his grace."  - Charles Spurgeon

One glorious week spent beneath August sun on the sands of a tiny lake in Michigan, and I find myself full.

Full from a feast of gladness.

Every now and then we have to get brave

and brake

in order to break up this steady daily rhythms of the rushrushswoosh of time.

Every now and then

{despite the pull to just keep swimming through the currents}

life needs to be interrupted by

waves gently sweeping over sandy beach

toes immersed in clear water

laughter erupting from little lips

crickets singing in the crisp air of dusk

whispers uttered beneath stars, amid burning embers.

And then

like the golden summer light of August, of summer making way to fall

mercy begins to drip thick

like honey from a hive

as the heart hears

and the eyes see

and the lips confess

all of the small and beautiful blessings

we breeze over in the day to day

but realize in full

when we brake

and break

from the spin cycle of the everyday.

Bigger Picture Moment: On Time and Blood and the Thickness of Both

Each Thursday we come together to share the harvest of intentional living through sharing a piece of life gleaned: a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week. Link up your gleaned moment this week BELOW!

****

As penned by my sister, Jill ...

When my father passed away, I was 21. During the very few weeks leading up to his death I spent the weeks with my sister driving back and forth to the hospital. We would talk on the car rides up, spend all day together in the waiting room, then continue our conversations on the drive back. For some reason I don't remember to conversation, but I do remember us playing "Time Bomb" by The Format, over and over again and eventually learning to words where we were singing along.

We didn't always get along. In fact, in my eyes she wasn't my older sister most of the time. She was a second mother who took the reigns when our mother was at work. Sometimes she would make me breakfast, then we would walk to the park, then come back and watch t.v. together.

As we got older, I became the little sister that was her shadow. I always wanted to be with her, and play with her and her friends. She even took me trick-or-treating with her and her cool friends. (Yes, that's me dressed as Barney.)

I tried to hang with the big kids. I would try and be "fearless" to fit in with them. Like the time Hyacynth mentioned, when she pulled me in our red Radio Flyer wagon. I told her, "Hyacynth, it's too bumpy. SLOW DOWN!"

My sister then replies to me, "If I go faster the bumps will go away."

Trusting my older, much smarter sister, I nodded my head up and down to give her the go ahead to go faster. Big mistake. The wagon tipped over and she ran me over breaking my finger. I remember crying and crying how mad I was and how wrong she was. I still never let her live this down.

I was sifting through pictures and noticed the older we got, the less pictures we took together. We were always in different stages of our lives. There's a 6 year age difference between us, so when she was in high school, I was still in elementary school and we didn't have too much in common. As I look through my computer files I'm enjoying looking at gems like these.

Then I see a huge gap. No more pictures of just her and I, just forced family photos. I guess you could say we "grew apart" for some time. She was in college and didn't come home very often. Then she got married and had kids. She would visit on the weekends, but by that time I was in high school and cared more about my friends and was a typical teenager. 

While my dad was sick, we became really close and after he passed away he continued to grow in our relationship together. She started to become more than a sister, she was becoming a friend. Then at the age of 21, I needed a change. I saw myself falling into a black hole, spending more time with the wrong people in the wrong places. I saw myself slipping quickly. I think God was showing my sister and brother-in-law too. We joked that I could work for them, but then it turned into a serious offer. (Cue Godfather voice) They gave me an offer I couldn't refuse. I was going to move 2 hours away and live with and work for them.

Oh boy, did my life change. I went from living with just my mom and having all my friends by me, to living with not only my sister, but a brother-in-law, a 3 year old and a 1 year old and having no friends around me. I found myself bonding more with my sister and finding drinking and being wild less desirable. I found my way back to living a life for God and not for worldly things. Photos between my sister and I went from forced and fake smiles to this:

and this.

Soon, I met my husband and fell in love, moved out, and created my own family. It's amazing how God brought the tragedy of my father's death into a blessing within my sister and mine's relationship. I thank God every day that I lived with my sister, that he moved her and John to let me live with them, and give me a job. I'm so thankful that I was brought out of a life that was going nowhere except a dead end job and wasting my time doing stupid things. So dear sister, I love you. Thanks for being my best kind of friend when I needed you the most.

While I'm on a writing hiatus this week, my sister Jill is sharing stories here in this space; hope you enjoy her as much as I do!

****

Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week.. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your gleaned moment this week HERE! 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.

Bigger Picture Moments: She Was

At first, she was all feet and hands pounding against my mother's rounding stomach, a baby with two names -- one for a boy and one for a girl.

Then she was this long, lanky little thing that emerged into the world on a cold February night while I sulked on my grandparents' stairs, having been left at home with my grandpa while my mom and grandma went to the hospital for her delivery.

Soon she was all chubby cheeks and smiles and so cute to lug around on my 6-year-old hip, cooing and batting dark lashes over bright blue eyes.

And before long she became the tag-along I babysat and dragged along with me places at either her or my mother's persistence.

Before I knew it, though, she grew older and realized that cool had a definition other than her older sister, and I sank into college life while she began finding herself

and the sister that I knew was no longer the sister that I had known -- long and lanky, chubby cheeked and always talking.

She was this person, alive and real and not just mine or ours but someone else's, and I couldn't put it all together until

she landed on our doorstep, 20 and unsure of where she wanted to go or what she wanted to do, but here, nonetheless, calling a big bedroom and the place beneath our roof home.

And in a huge deliverance of grace

I found out who she was.

In that sweet time-gift of just 11 months together living as a adults in the same space

I finally realized that she wasn't just my sister

but more so a dreamer

a cheerleader

a born-nurturer, comforter

a make-you-laugh-'til-you-pee-your-pants everyday comedian

a daughter of the King

who is more than what I ever acknowledged growing up.

And in that mercy gift of time spent together sharing the same four walls and roof

He delivered her into a wife and mother

and us from

only blood-bonds

sharers of womb and mother

and same home-spaces

into the kind of friends

who intertwine their lives purposefully

vine by beautiful vine.

*****

Starting next Tuesday, I am SO excited to have the honor of being able to introduce you to my sister and friend, Jill!

While I'm on a little hiatus from blogging, Jill's going to be telling stories -- like how she was a rock-star during the home-birth delivery of her daughter and maybe also about how our mother gave us mullet hair cuts when we were younger along with an apology letter she penned her sweet baby E regarding the former hair debacle and genetics.

She'll probably also try to tell you about the time I was pulling her in a wagon and went around a corner too fast and tipped the wagon thus breaking her finger. And she'll probably tell you I was being a little snot when I did that, and probably, you'll believe her because she's the charming, younger sister ... and if you do, we can still be friends. Because I don't blame you; she *is* charming.

She'll be hosting Bigger Picture Moments here next week, so be sure to show her some love?

This week, we're sharing life at Corinne's! Join us?

Five-Minute Friday: Beyond

Long chased and loved there's this dream I've carried around in the pocketbook of my heart, all folded up and tucked gently away like a love note or a picture of a beloved.

And every once in a while I've been known to pull it out in the midst of laundry and lunches and love and read it over and over again 

until I can see it alive and vibrant with breath in its lungs and soul sparkling in its eyes -- me pressing feet onto untred paths, me pressing black ink into white paper, writing their hearts, their lives into words that wander into other hearts, take a seat at the table and linger long after dinner guests normally stay 


-- invited and enjoyed --

There are long days filled to the brim with laundry, lunches and love and my heart sings for the reality I love and the boys and the husband and the life that's unfolded. 


I may not be a journalist walking tepid paths telling stories of the brow-beaten souls on faraway soil


but I've been given long-term assignment from the Editor here in this lush and hot and incredible jungle of motherhood tattooing these stories, our story onto a small screen, into a small space.

And you. You come here to share life and share words and share stories.

And it's beyond what I've imagined, what I've long dreamed and carried for so many years. 

Thinking, That's All: Sunday Morning {Solo}

Yesterday, I posted a collaborative piece from the prompt Sunday Morning by Ani DiFranco where I shared my captures and my partner's words.

Below are the words I penned for the prompt and captures.

Sunday Morning {Solo}

Head sunken into pillows, hips into the cushion of a wool-topped mattress, I used to sleep long and late into the morning, gracious husband downstairs with two little boys scrambling eggs and scrambling to find church clothes, dress two boys.

Inevitably, there was always rushing, some tears, frustration billowing freshly like just-brewed coffee. Sunday mornings groaned for restoration.

So my sleep has since been traded for early-rising, frustration for the fruit of patience and hot tempers for hot breakfasts together beneath summer sun. 

And I was reminded that before redemption could restore and penetrate my heart while sitting beneath the steeple that it had to begin in the heart of my Sunday mornings first. 

Just Write: Too Much

He told me he wanted to walk around the block just us --

no stroller, no bikes, no dad and no brother --

just the two of us walking, holding hands.

We ventured into warm afternoon sun, such a perfect gift during March in Chicago, and we walked the sidewalk lining our neighborhood and talked, his small hand in my own.

How was school?

Eh. I hate learning about the skeletons, mom. They are scary. 


Totally hear you on that one, bud. 



We walked a few more steps and he asked if he could show me something cool he found a day ago while at the park with grandma. He led me down the path to the park, past the slides and swings and over to the trees near the back part of our backyard fence.

A huge limb draped itself atop other smaller trees, making a ramp up to the sky.

He scaled the huge trunk, climbing deftly up to the point where he was higher than my own head and overlooking the surrounding park.

It's like a secret place to see everything you can't see when you're walking, he said.

I asked him what he saw.

Trees, ants, flowers, snakes, grass, people, sun ...

There's too much to name it all, he finally concluded.

We eventually are lured back home by rumbling stomachs.


 What was the best part of your day? I asked


Right now, he said.

And then, for maybe the second time ever, he asked, what's your favorite part of today?


Right now, I agreed.

But somedays, really, there's just to much to name.

Everyday Life: Writing Books

"Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses."
-C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

A small, newly-found voice emerges from the top of the stairs at 7:52 p.m., 30 minutes past bedtime. He jabbers away as he one-foot-two-foots down the stairs, mixing up his conversation with words we recognize as well as ones we don't yet know.

His feet runrunthumpthumprunthump across the wooden floor until he reaches the space in which I'm perched trying to write away the day and the thoughts and the growth I've been feeling stretch out across my bones.

Maaameeee! he exclaims and throws his body atop of the couch cushions like a surfer mounts his board. In seconds, I am the wave beneath his body.

He presses his forehead against my own and gently smooshes my cheeks in between his toddler hands.

"Oh, hello," I say. "Isn't it bedtime?"

I silently think about everything that's left to be done, including a book chapter that needs to be written, before I can go to bed and am tempted to scoot him right back to my husband.

He kisses my mouth and says, "O, halllo!" before snuggling his little rear next to my own and finally pressing his body into the curves of my own all while making the time that was my own into ours.

I only try to type for about 30 seconds before I abandon writing my life out loud and shut the lid to my computer instead choosing to write a few words on his heart.

I snuggle him as we talk, deeply converse about the pressing issues of the moment.

No, we're not having a snack.

Sack, he echoes as he shakes his head no.

But we can read a book.

Book, he says crisp, staccato like a short note struck against keys.

We talk a bit more until he begins rubbing his eyes; it's then that I send him back to daddy for good-night snuggles.

He won't remember what we talked about tonight; he is only two and a half.

I probably won't either, and I'm 29.

But I hope that those few sentences translated themselves into the message that I'm trying {oh, God, help me to write well} to continually etch onto his and his brother and his father's hearts --

that they -- these eternal souls -- are the most worthy recipients of my time, my love, my care

and

that the story of this family

is the most important book I'll ever write* during this assignment from the Great Editor and Chief.

*Sally Clarkson gave these words to a roomful of hungry ears during a conference breakout session at Relevant '11, and her words have deeply impressed my heart.

Everyday Life: Arrivals and Departures

This past week has been filled with departures and arrivals, all starting with us packing up our suitcases and heading to Midway to pick up my grandfather, who flew in from Fort Myers to help make us make the trek down to Fort Myers via automobile.

In the moments before John left for week that morning of our departure, I lingered a few extra moments in our embrace and whispered I loved him an extra time. {Even after six years of marriage, being apart for four days still chokes me up.}

The boys and I spent the next three days in a series of more arrivals and departures, celebrating loudly and vibrantly at each hotel stop for the night before finally {finally!} making it to Fort Myers. The littles literally bounded into the soft hugs of my awaiting grandmother ...

But because life with boys isn't complete until we've had at least one major heart palpitation moment {apparently} we had an unexpected departure via ambulance with an arrival at the local children's hospital just an hour after arriving at my grandparent's house.

Thankfully, with E firmly snuggled in my exhausted arms, just hours later we left the ER when the doctor deemed E's lungs clear after a scary choking incident. As I cuddled him to sleep, I lingered longer than normal, just listening to his rhythmic breathing, thanking God for His careful watch.

The next night John's plane was scheduled to land around 11:15 p.m., but a snowstorm in Chicago delayed his departure ... and he didn't end up arriving here into the warmth of Florida air and my arms until 3:30 a.m. I pulled my tired body from bed when I heard the door creak open and shut, shuffled over to my exhausted husband and lingered in an embrace longer than I normally would when he walks through the door after a long day at work.

And, this week, in this drought of arrivals and departures, I store in my heart the sweetness that was hardpressed from the past week's tensions, let it drip onto my tastebuds, coating my senses with the most succulent juices life squeezes from the ripest fruits of love and time spent together.

 

With Valentine's Day fast approaching {it's tomorrow, yo!}, we've been celebrating all thing sweet this past week over at Bigger Picture Blogs. Sweet stories, sweet recipes, sweet photos ... all leading up to one big sweet surprise!