Five-Minute Friday: Grateful

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.

Pregnancy: 11 Weeks

I feel like a bad pop song lately.

I'm hot then I'm cold, yes then no, up and then down, in and then out.

You get the picture.

There are mornings when it feels like my body is starting to make the slow switch toward feeling better, but then I have days like Thursday and Friday where I'm crying on the couch and the thought of food makes me want to gag; and, thus, I'm reminded I've still got a few more weeks before I level out, if this pregnancy follows the other two.

My body has been craving fats lately, so with the green light on some food sensitivity tests to reintroduce dairy back into my diet, I carefully dove into indulging in full-cream ice creams while on vacation in Florida ... but now this week, after three weeks of eating dairy, I'm pretty certain I need to cut it out again. The tough part is that I'm really limited on easy, non-dairy fats because more than it dislikes dairy, my body really abhors coconuts {thankfully, coconut oil is ok} and avocados of all things. Super bummer.

I keep telling myself when I feel better, I'll jump into the world of making my own almond milk and almond ice cream, but every time I head for the kitchen to create I collapse in a winded pity party of exhaustion.

Actually, every time I head to the kitchen to do any sort of meal prep, I am deterred by the reality of tiredness and a plethora of food and smell aversions.

If I sound complainy, I'm not coming off right. I'm so thankful for this opportunity to be carrying our long-desired third {fourth? fifth? I don't know what number to call this one.} baby. Like really. Beyond thankful. It's just like with every other life change and blessing, there comes trial. This is my trial -- feeding my family and myself well while being really limited in the cooking and baking department.

The other trial I face daily is to adhere to my life verse and my word for the year -- rejoice.

My life verse is Philippians 4:4-9

"Rejoice in the Lord always! Again, I say rejoice! Let your gentleness be apparent to all. The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything. Instead in prayer and petition and with thanksgiving make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you."

It's a tall order, isn't it?

To rejoice always {nauseas, exhausted, nervous}.

To not be anxious.

To think only on what is true, pure, lovely.

But the promise of the order -- peace that surpasses all understanding -- is an incredible one.

One that energizes me to take my thoughts and shape them toward my God who is good. One that inspires me to abandon the what-if thinking of worry and embrace instead prayer and petition and thanksgiving.

One that makes rejoicing possible in the midst of waiting.

Waiting.

Today, I woke up snuggled next to a small body who began began getting ill around 4 a.m. I've been next to him in bed ever since, tending to his needs and trying to give him comfort.

John and I were scheduled to go in to my midwife's office so we could try and pick up the baby's heartbeat via doppler; we've yet to see or hear it.

That won't be happening today, though. Not with my sick little one needing mommy and daddy.

Waiting.

We continue to wait

in patience

in gratitude

in trust.

There is peace in that but that's pretty much been a hallmark of this entire pregnancy --waiting,

I knew this was going to be a growing time in the most physical sense of the word. But I had no idea quite how stretching carrying a child after miscarriages would actually be.

Thinking, That's All: A Message

My five year old asked incredulously how I hear God's voice whisper to me.

"Does He call you on the phone?" G questioned. "How do I get Him to call me on the phone?"

I shake my head and share that hearing from God isn't like G getting a phone call from one of his grandparents, but that when I hear a message from Him, it's loud and clear and it usually comes from reading the Bible and reading the exact right verse at the exact right moment in time or having an impromptu scripture-infused conversation with someone in the perfect time and space.

I kissed G goodbye later that morning, and I headed to work before venturing off to get the first of some blood tests aimed at measuring my pregnancy hormones.

****

When I arrived at work, one of my co-workers asked me excitedly if what she'd just read on Facebook meant I was pregnant right now. I smiled and said yes as she asked if I was planning on sharing the news with our senior pastor during our meeting in just a few moments ... so I shared. He prayed for us and thanked God for our new little life, and then we began our meeting after a little more conversation about Christmas and other goodness.

Every week, I have the privilege of asking Pastor Joe what's on his mind and bringing it to our church family via our blog and facebook.

Little did Pastor Joe know, as he gathered his thoughts before our meeting, that he would be speaking to my heart a message from the Lord, as I wrestled between faith and fear in the face of our testing and waiting to see if my pregnancy would progress and bring us a long-hoped for baby come end of summer.

I just have to share it with you:

Isaiah 41:9-10
"I took you from the ends of the earth, from its farthest corners I called you. I said, ‘You are my servant’; I have chosen you and have not rejected you. So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

One day, when he's just a little bit older, I'll share this post with G.

And we'll revel in God's goodness

to talk to ordinary people just like us

without ever making the phone ring.

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. 

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.

Bigger Picture Moments: Christmas Monkey

The morning after we'd dressed in costume and taken to the neighborhood streets for a bit of trick or treating, my oldest woke me up with a loud, joyful song I wasn't quite expecting.

"Christmas monkey, Christmas monkey
No one's sung about Christmas monkey.
Christmas monkey's got no song.
It's been that way for way too long."

It was like an assault on my ears, honestly.

I mean, never mind it was 6:10 a.m. and I can barely peel my eyelids open by 6:30 a.m.; he was singing about Christmas monkeys

as though the kid had never heard of a turkey or pilgrims or gratitude

as though the kid totally went from October 31 straight to December 1, completely bypassing Thanksgiving.

Of course, he's five, so I calmly escorted him and his serenade from my bedroom and downstairs while explaining that he could carol in the basement until the rest of the family was awake and ready for the day considering the other two were awake with a stomach bug the night before.

Each day, more and more Christmas monkey anthems began circulating around the house, especially after the older brother taught the younger brother the lyrics.

And how to sing it.

In surround-sound stereo.

And, because the boys are three and five and I get three and five and I even remember five, I've gently explained a few times that we can definitely be excited about Christmas; I mean the birth of our Savior is exciting {read in his mind: presents and family celebration and cookies with a side of baby Jesus thrown in}

but

"Christmas monkey! Christmas monkey!"

perhaps we should enjoy November while we're in November

"Christmas monkey! Christmas monkey!"

I mean November is a special month, too, because it's a time we remember all for which we're thankful.

"Christmas monkey! Christmas monkey!"

And it's a time we get thank God for providing for us and for those who came to our country in search of freedoms.

"Christmas monkey! Christmas monkey!"

And, darn it, kids, doesn't the turkey get a special place in our lives instead of just at the table?!

::Silence::

Two little eyes stared at me in wonder, perplexed as to why I as talking so passionately about turkeys {when I usually reserve such passion about poultry for chickens}.

I quickly excused myself from the room, desperately needing to wrangle and harness some sane, less passionate thoughts about the separation of Thanksgiving and Christmas while recalling the magic of seeing life through the eyes {and joyful song lyrics} of two little boys.

In a moment of inspired genius {ha!}, I brainstormed a way to slow down the proverbial sleigh and linger a bit in the thankfulness of November: each night at dinner, we would share what we're thankful for in audible gratitude.

And that worked well for a few nights until two more of us got sick; dinners ceased for a few days and Christmas monkey reigned.

I tried bringing it back into focus this morning; the boys happily and excitedly obliged, citing all for which they were thankful:

"Mommy. Daddy. G. E., all my friends, Chase, my family .... light sabers, syrup, Jesus, ice cream."

I couldn't help but smile at their overflowing, easily voiced gratitude, giggle at their honesty.

Maybe they get it a lot more than I think they do.

"You guys want to know what I'm thankful for?" I asked.

"What?!" G. exclaimed.

"Christmas monkey."

Maybe, sometimes, they get it sometimes more than I do.

****

We're 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 Jade'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.

Everyday Life: There is joy

There is joy.

It is wild and spread out like fields of unexpected wildflowers rolling up hills and stretching out across meadows. Sharp bursts of lemon and violet polkadotting the lush greens of fields.

Photo courtesy of Corrin.

There is joy, and it cannot be stolen unless I first give it away.

Unless


I first 


give it


away. 

I steal my own joy, rob myself barren of it when I worry-wander into tomorrow while I'm still living in today.

What sense does it make to live in tomorrow's fears?

Fears that might never and will probably never unfold into realities?

Something happened this weekend, after the suffocating what-if waves began lapping at my feet

and I toyed with wading far into the worry-waters.

When I turned turned my back on that sprawling sea of uncertainty,

ran uphill,

fell to my knees

and opened my hands to the Giver of Good gifts,

I began to not just see the good gifts given, the many good gifts given, but I began to more intimately trust the Giver who keeps giving them.

I soaked up words from Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts, and I realized it was true, what she's written:

"The quiet song of gratitude, eucharisteo, lures humility out of the shadows because to receive a gift the knees must bend humble and hand must lie vulnerably open and the will must bow to accept whatever the Giver chooses to give.
Again, always, and always again: eucharisteo precedes the miracle."

The miracle, for me, is having eyes that can see joy spread out in the moment,

joy saturating the spanning seconds of today,

joy not stolen by the what ifs of tomorrow.

I've been so greedy.

I've been trying to unwrap gifts before they are given.

In my worry, I've been trying to see the potential dips and valleys that might be waiting in a new day with no more light than that of the moon; I've been trying to see the lay of the land ahead of me while its still, from my view, encompassed in shadows.

There is joy, radiant and saturating. 

And it dawns when the sun rises to shed real light on the day unfolding at the foot of the horizon, when palms are turned up and opened ready to receive the gift as the light inches higher and higher, moment by moment.

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. 

G., 21 months, Memorial Day Parade, 2009 

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.

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Five-Minute Friday: Grateful

We await his arrival, lingering around the front screen door like groupies camp out near the back exit long after the concert ends vying to brush shoulders with the band.

In anticipation, the boys run laps back and forth in the hallway as the summer sun spills through open windows, casting 4 o'clock shadows the floor.

My almost four year old peers out the door, watching for the white station wagon to slowly enter into our cul-du-sac, squints his eyes in attempts to discern if his car might be closely behind.

"Nope, E.," he says to his brother. "That's not it. It's black. Daddy's car is white."

He speeds through that same conversation, changing only the color, several times before asking me if it's close.

"Is it daddy time yet?"

Almost, I assure them, two boys bouncing through the living room, excitement brimming as each minute draws nearer.

And finally.

Finally.

There is white in the distance and then

finally

finally, it's parking in our driveway.

He exits the car, dressed in shirt and tie, sporting aviator shades and a wide smile.

Two small boys bound to the door, overcome with joy and flashmob the king of our castle.

He greets them with hugs, greets me with a kiss.

And my heart basks in gratitude that the father they adore, the man for whom they wait, for whom we all wait more than lives up to all the hype.

Everyday Life: Bribery is Golden

I resorted today to incentivising my big kid to smile for the camera by promising him cheddar popcorn and a movie before bed; I'm considering it one of the best things I've done all week!

Today was absolutely beautiful and mostly relaxing, so I went out on a limb this afternoon, hoping to capture a few of the moments.



E., per normal, went through a few rounds of ignoring me



to then being all "mommymommymommymommymommy, I must be within two centimeters of your face."



Typical toddlerness.

Latley, G hasn't wanted the camera to come within 15 feet of him. And when it does he becomes all Oscar the Grouch instead of his normal strike-a-pose Elizabeth Taylor.



He was a little reluctant at first, but, you know, cheddar popcorn and a movie isn't something to scoff at 'round these parts.



So he grinned and bore it.



Much to my excitment, by the end of our mini-photo session, we actually were playing and giggling while I snapped away.



Though, admittedly, his brow furrows and frowning faces are insanely hilarious and adorable, I'd like there to be some evidence of, um, happiness during the almost-fourth summer of his life, so I don't even feel guilty about the bribe.

It was totally worth every popcorn kernal.

Everyday Life: A Day Like Many Others

We didn't do anything special, anything different, today, Memorial Day, than what we normally do when we're all home together on the weekend {ahh blessed weekends!}.

We woke up, ate breakfast and showered.

We watched some George {of the monkey variety}, watered the garden and cut the grass.

G. had a meltdown when he couldn't find his special gardening hat, Baby E. refused to nap without being attached to the breast because his gums hurt and hubby and I vetoed plans to go to the parade.

Everyone adequately recovered from the meltdowns, smiled again and dumped toys all over the living floor shortly after I had rehomed said toys in their boxes.

We had dinner with Grandma and Buba, shared good conversation and cried when they left {well, G. and Baby E. did, at least}.

We laughed and giggled instead of sleeping, I talked to some good girlfriends via Skype and drank some fresh-squeezed lemonade.

Before the kids went to sleep, we prayed for healing, comfort and peace for various life issues our family and friends are facing, praised God for our family and friends and asked that He care for them and we thanked God for all the blessings He's given us and the free land in which live.

And we remembered and were thankful and were humbled by the service and perseverance and sacrifice of all the men and women who have died fighting for and protecting our freedom so that we could wake up today, Memorial Day, and do what we normally do when we're all home together.

G., 21 months, Memorial Day Parade, 2009

**This post is a most fitting repost from last Memorial Day. Because although our activities are different this year, we're still engaging in our activities amid the freedom that's come at a cost.**