300 days of beauty, day 36 [hidden luxury]

I still have one sick girl, going on two. Our kitchen counter looks like this:

We were cleaning and disinfecting this afternoon, and I was struck with a pang of...thankfulness. 

Why? 

I looked at my counter and I saw medicine and vitamin supplements that I can pick up in less than ten minutes...riding a bike no less. My kids get sick and a store with everything I need is only minutes away. A doctor is a call away or a ten minute drive.

I saw my electric kettle. Hot water--a luxury to so many in the world and I rarely, if ever have to give it a second thought. Hot water for tea, to mix with lemon and honey, for hot showers and baths and laundry. An aid for healing, relief and killing germs. Luxury.

My hope is not in my proximity to my local store, my hope is not in the medicines or the doctors. My hope is in the Lord. But I am thankful. We have what so many do not and it should not be taken lightly.

This is not a new thought for me, but it comes back around at times when the norm would be to not feel very blessed. And truly, I'm not saying that having sick kids is not big deal. I'm not saying that the right way to be is rosy and happy in spite of the circumstances. Believe me, I have dear friends walking through rugged trials. But even there, hope and blessing and thankfulness have been found.

Last summer, Belle had pneumonia. She was so very sick and we didn't know what was going on. A slightly frantic call to my doctor was answered by his medical assistant saying, "You need to take her to the ER and you need to take her now." 

The hospital is less than 10 minutes away and the drive seemed to take forever. Within minutes, I was carrying my sweet, snuggly, and super-sick daughter through the hospital doors. Within half an hour, she had an IV and they were doing tests. Within an hour an X-ray was ordered, the pneumonia was found and antibiotics were started and prescribed. Once I felt some relief from my anxiety, I remember thinking that this was all going to be very expensive. I also remember feeling grateful at the mere fact that all of this treatment was available. In her check-ups during the following weeks, her doctor mentioned that it wasn't so long ago that pneumonia was a death sentence for children. Scary, but true. It was still scary, but again, I'm thankful.

My sweet girl sleeps on her "sick bed" in the living room as I type. She'll take a warm bath later, take more medicine and drink another "vitamin drink." We may get sleep tonight. No matter, I'll take it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

P.S. As a side note for Belle's bout with Pneumonia: While I drove to the hospital I prayed for her and for the nurses and doctors who would treat her. A guy in our church is an ER nurse and although their family had been traveling for his work, I had heard they were back in town. I remembered another family who had taken their child to the ER and how blessed they were when Tim walked into their room. I don't know why this passed through my head, but as soon as they took us to an exam room, Tim walked in the door.

Sometimes it's just the little things that let you know that God sees you. He is moving, active, and cares about what is going on. He cared enough to know how much a friendly face meant to me. He was detailed enough to put Tim on the schedule and for Tim to be free and assigned to our case. He heard my unconsciously uttered prayer.

300 days of beauty, day 35 [snuggles]

I love this girl. SO. MUCH. She is happy, vibrant, energetic, joyful, curious, and incorrigible. She went from having a cough, to completely tanking. She said no to chicken, broccoli, and a bubble bath (three favorites!) and asked to go to bed with tears streaming down her face.

My husband snapped the pic--worth capturing.

We put on her pajamas and I asked if she'd like to cuddle for a few minutes. She told me she didn't want to get her germs all over my bed. I suggested the couch and she said she'd like that. Her daddy brought her a "vitamin drink" and we had a brand new Frozen themed Kleenex box just for her. (Usually she steals the toilet paper roll from the bathroom to use as Kleenex, so this is a bit preemptive....)

Belle is the best snuggler of all of the kids. If she wakes up first in the morning, she will crawl in our bed and rest between us. I have many memories of seeing her bright-eyed and bushy-tailed chocolate brown eyes inches away from my face saying "Can I snuggle with you?"

Yes. Every time. Yes.

We snuggled and she fell asleep almost immediately. How many more times will I hold one of my snuggling sick kids in my arms? Moments to cherish. Devastatingly beautiful moments.

Belle stirred awake and said, "Maybe it's time for me to go to bed now." Her daddy carried her to her room and tucked her in. I heard, "I love you too, mommy" as I closed the door.

My house is a mess, the kitchen stacked with dinner's dishes, projects and to-do lists abound, my daughter is sick, schedules will be rearranged, the day went just okay, but I feel happy. Not perfect or together, but happy. 

Snuggles will do that.

300 days of beauty, day 18

Yes, this is a bucket...in a bathroom. To be more exact, we call it the throw-up bucket. The day started one way and ended another and my poor girl retched for hours. She couldn't leave the bathroom she was so miserably sick. I have these weird moments when I really feel that I'm a grown-up mom. And for whatever reason cleaning up vomit and taking care of them when they are very sick is one of those moments. That probably doesn't make sense but anyway, it was one of those days. 

[Just to be perfectly honest, if at all possible, I don't deal with vomit. I'm one of those people that "sympathy vomits" and I have to tread lightly when I'm around it. My husband has taken most of these bullets, but not today.]

So, why is today beautiful? I was forced to stop my agenda to take care of my girl. It's a good thing. Taking care of her when she is immobile and crying and miserable spurs compassion and mercy in my mama heart. It doesn't matter what has been irritating me or what has been challenging in our relationship...there is a softening that happens when I remember what really matters. I can be thankful for so many abundant days of health. We can rest and drink mint tea and binge-watch new episodes of When Calls the Heart on Netflix.

I also get moments like this:

Belle: Do you know what good sisters do?
Cece: What? (through tears and extreme nausea--it was lucky we made it home...)
Belle: Good sisters take care of their sisters when they are sick and I'm going to take care of you.

Yeah, I know, melted my heart too!

And man, my bathroom is so clean you could eat off of the floor. But that would be gross...on principle.

300 days of beauty, day 14

“Many people will walk in and out of your life, 

but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart”
~ Eleanor Roosevelt

 [love these kids. Missouri farm fun. so sweet, too short.]

I am rich in friends and I don't take this gift lightly. As a mom, I love seeing the blossoming friendships of my kids--honey for my mama heart. Friendships change, it's the natural ebb and flow of the world, but I believe that some of their friendships will last across the years. And each and every kindred-spirit-soul-stirring connection will leave the best kind of footprints.

300 days of beauty, day 7

My husband snapped this picture without my knowledge as we were weaving our way through Saturday crowds in Chinatown, during our time in New York City. I liked the candid shot and I liked that my husband wanted to capture the moment. He's not a picture-taker. I have often said that if I die, they won't remember what I look like. In spite of my joking, I don't mind being the one behind the camera. I love it and I love to capture the world around me. To some it feels like clutter, to me it feels refreshing and stress-relieving. 

I don't think I realized how much it mattered to me that the people I'm with were enjoying the moments and adventure with me. Taking photos is not the only way to communicate that time spent is valuable, but for this photo, that is what it spoke to me. It was a non-verbal message to my heart that communicated, "I enjoy being here with you. This time, this moment is valuable."

The other aspect of beauty in this picture is my sweet daughter looking up at me. I don't know what she was thinking, what made her look up toward my face, but this frozen moment felt profound. She is growing up and yet still very young. While her younger sister had to be forcibly convinced to hold our hands at times, Cece would silently sidle up next to us and slip her hand into ours, just like in this snapshot. It first happened in busy Chinatown, then at night in Little Italy after polishing off an exorbitant amount of rice pudding. At other times it was maneuvering through the subway stations, walking through Times Square, through Rockefeller Center, and down Fifth Avenue.

In New York City, I never worried about her wondering off, running ahead, falling in the subway tracks, or not listening to our instructions. I wouldn't have required her to hold my hand. But in the silent action that communicates more than hundreds of words, I heard her. She needed to hold my hand. She is not the girl who asks and pushes her way into whatever she wants. She is reserved and hangs back and is often uncertain of how to approach the world around her. But she was brave enough to be the little girl that she is. She felt safe with us and safer when she held my hand or her daddy's hand.

I have three kids and three very different personalities. They are complex and beautiful and unique. I want to see them, truly see their hearts. I want to hear them, whether they communicate with words or non-verbal gestures. I was surprised at first when she took my hand. I was touched and thankful that she did not feel above it. I'm treasure the memory it imprinted on my heart. And I'm thankful that I could hear her, without a single word.

Looking toward beauty, looking back with thankfulness

New Year's Eve marks an important anniversary for me. For my heart it represents a line in the sand. I stepped forward into the year 2004 feeling the gift of time that had been given to me.  I've gathered two blog posts that I wrote on New Year's Eve 2008 and 2013, five and ten years past my New Year's Eve of 2003.

December 31, 2008
 
Five years ago I was 25 with a three-month-old son and I was told that the I mole I had removed was melanoma. It changed my life forever. Today, New Year's Eve, is the five year anniversary of when I had my surgery--a sentinel node biopsy plus removing the area around the mole to see if the melanoma had spread. Every year since then, I start each year with profound thankfulness. Five years feels even better. 

Medically speaking, two years and five years are milestones for cancer survivors. I am thankful to pass those markers, but I also know that God is the ultimate holder of my statistics, each of my days here on earth have been numbered long before I was born.

I often ponder how different my life is now because of my cancer experience. When I had my five-year check-up two weeks ago, the doctor left the room, and I just started crying. I left the building, got in my car, and started bawling. Tears of joy. The happiest tears I had cried in a very long time. So thankful to be given another day, another year.

What have I cried out to God the most in the last five years since God preserved my life? To be able to stay home and raise my kids. To raise kids who love the Lord. At that time I only had one son. My family talked about what he would be like next Christmas at one-year-old, and I smiled outwardly, but inwardly wondered if I would be around next Christmas. 

Now, we have three amazing children. After our son, we adopted two beautiful daughters--every day they amaze me. I have been given such a great privilege to stay home with them, teach them, play with them, love them, learn from them, and be amazed at what God is doing in our family.

God allowed me to see what really mattered--I think my contentment in being a stay-at-home mom is largely because I faced the possibility of not being around at all. My life is rich. This New Year's Eve, I'm home celebrating with a cheese fondue dinner, no-bake cookies, snuggling with our three-month-old, smiling daughter, chatting with my son, listening to giggles from our three-year-old daughter, and watching a movie with my wonderful husband. This is the only place I'd want to be.

There is so much I could say about this, but I'll end with the first verse I read after finding out that I had melanoma: "Don't be afraid," he said, "for you are deeply loved by God. Be at peace; take heart and be strong!" Daniel 10:19 NLT

December 31, 2013

When my son was a baby and I would take him to the grocery store with me, gray-haired patrons would OFTEN stop me to ooh and awe over him, and then (without fail) remind me to cherish these years because they end in a flash. So very true. I hope I have honored their sage advice spoken from their life experience.

On this day, 10 years ago, I was scared to death. Early in the morning, leaving my 3-month-old son with my parents, my husband and I headed to the hospital for my surgery. Several weeks before, I had been informed that a mole that had been removed was melanoma. Since I had been pregnant when it developed, they didn't know how fast it had spread. The surgeon was removing a large chunk of area around where the mole had been as well as removing lymph nodes to check if the cancer had spread from its original site. I've journaled, blogged, and reflected about this time in my life each New Year's Eve for the last 10 years. 

Many events change a life, but this one was a doozy. And really, I wouldn't change it. I saw God's hand and felt His presence through it. It has directed the course I have taken as a wife and mom probably more than any other factor. That's not to say that I didn't battle tremendously with the fear, hurt, and anger at facing this at 25 years of age, but I see how He's used it in my life. He was and is faithful.

So today, I am thankful. I have been gifted TIME. Time to be a wife and a mom, time to be a sister, daughter, granddaughter, cousin, niece, aunt, and a friend. I don't feel like I always use my time the best, I feel unworthy and inadequate often, but always there is a thankfulness for being able to be here. The journey is not easy, but worth it. Ten years later I can say that I have continued to engage with the Lord. I may cry, question, yell, fear, doubt, and hurt at life sometimes, but I walk with Him. Not because I'm so great, but because He is. My heart's desire is to continue with Him--walking, running, leaping, limping, skipping, crawling, piggy-backing, or being cradled...whatever it takes.

The old hymn "In Christ Alone" has popped into my head. I love the whole song, but will highlight the beginning and the end...

"In Christ alone my hope is found
He is my light, my strength, my song
This Cornerstone, this solid ground
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm

What heights of love, what depths of peace
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease
My Comforter, my All in All
Here in the love of Christ I stand

...From life's first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny

No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
Til He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand"

wet, bedraggled, and laughing on the Grayson Highlands in Virginia

December 31, 2015

Today is a spectacularly normal day. Bright blue skies and frigid air and temps. I will have three to four cups of coffee. I will go for a run. I will probably clean my house, I will listen to my kids chatter and play and argue and sing (Belle is currently singing a Latin Christmas song while playing by the Christmas tree), I will soak it up because it is all so beautiful. We will spend time with friends tonight and then return home to ring in the New Year. My husband will not tell me to go to bed because it is the one night a year I am entitled to stay up as late as I want. Can you tell we disagree on this sometimes?? He loves me anyway. 

My theme for the year has seemed to center around the "beautiful mess" that is life. There is nothing pristine about the days I walk in, but I'll take them, every single one of them. 

I believe to the core of who I am that joy and beauty can be found wherever you find yourself this New Year's Eve. That does not mean life is perfect, that does not mean that hardship and tragedy can or should be glossed over in a fake sort of happiness that is neither genuine nor realistic. It's just that God is good, He is active and moving, He has purpose, gives beauty and joy, and radiates love and grace into this shambled world. He has never wasted anything that I've walked through, He has been faithful and patient and loving and present through more yuck than I can say. To journey through this life with my Lord is worth it and there is no other way to do it.

May you all have a, joy-filled, beauty-infused New Year's Eve and start to the New Year!

 ...and a few shots from our Isle of Palms beach weekend...it's always a good day on the beach

**********************************

My husband and two friends have an annual New Year's Eve snowshoeing expedition that they take each year. I call it the Arctic Expedition. They had a blast this year and as usual it was very cold and very windy. Nothing has quite compared to 2013, so I pulled the blog post from that expedition below, just for fun.

Arctic Expedition, December 31, 2013

Now onto the snowshoeing excursion which was more like an Antarctic expedition simulator. 

Here's the estimated data: 

• a hike to Lake of Glass which sits at timberline (between 11,000 and 12,000 feet above sea level)

• 8 miles round trip
• pelting snow

• 13 degrees with negative 8 windchill

• 50-100 mph gusts of wind

• some gusts being more constant than gusty

With these three guys that equals FUN. More or less anyway. Shaun said at one point he physically couldn't move his leg forward because of the wind's force. Mark lost a glove that was whipped off his person to unknown parts. With the wind at their back, they could practically fly :-). Jeff shot some video because the pictures couldn't quite capture the intensity. None of them had ever experienced such wind and they would be what you would call "outdoorsy" guys. Anyway, they had a blast, with much shared laughter and a growler of Coop's beer to drink at the top. It was epic (the wives will laugh at the stories, while shaking our heads in consternation).

After surviving Antarctica, the guys drove through the flood-ravaged valley and town of Glen Haven. The roads have been rebuilt, but many of these new roads are temporarily dirt. The dirt roads show where the floods completely demolished the previously paved highway. The devastation is unbelievable. 

As they rounded a curve, the tires hit ice sending the car into a slow spin. The momentum of the spin seemed too great to even think they would stop before the front tire dropped over the edge, sending them rolling into the river below. In the moment they each were rapidly calculating how they were going to get out of the car once they rolled. But then the car stopped...less than a foot from hitting the edge. Like an angel stuck a wedge under the tire, no joke. 

Praise the Lord for His protection!

can I choose you?

Many evenings as we put our kids to bed, we're done. "Done" being a universal code parents use when they feel like they cannot do one more thing. One more question, whine, mess, request, anything will tip the scale to results that will be nothing resembling pretty. My husband and I don't like this about ourselves. We know we live in days which are very long, and years which are very short. My husband and I talk often of finding the balance between taking the "brain space" we need in the evenings without putting a wall up towards our kids. Boundaries are good for their life, but we can draw the lines too sharply at times. Balance. Illusive, yet worth striving to find as our parenting seasons change.

Several nights ago, I was tucking Belle into bed and she requested a story. Our dialogue went something like this:

Belle: "Please can you read me a story? Just me? Just one book? Please?" (She pleads quite well with her big chocolate brown eyes.)

Me: "Not tonight, time to sleep."

Belle: "Oh, please!?"

Me: "Okay, just one."

I grabbed Horace off of the girls' bookcase and read this very sweet story to my very sweet girl. I love this book. It tells the story of a leopard cub adopted by a tiger family. One day, he sets off to find a family that looks like he does. He finds a family playing in the park and spends the day with them, but realizes that just because they look like him, it does not make them his family. It's a beautiful story of adoption, displaying that families do not have to look the same to be designed perfectly.

I love my kids so very much. They call themselves chocolate, caramel, and vanilla. It is their normal. I can't imagine having a daughter who looks like me and I wouldn't want it because I wouldn't have my two beauties. I tell them often how very glad I am that God chose them especially for our family. I want them to rest in that truth. Knowing God sovereignly hand-picked them to be with us. Not just for their sake, but for ours. I don't know where we would be without them.

Belle was thoughtful as I read her Horace. In the middle she said, "I never wanted a new family." Sweet words for my heart.

When I finished and I was tucking her in (again), she looked at me and said, "Hey mom, can I choose you as my mom every single day?"

I would love that.

We bought this leopard for Belle when she was born. When she first learned to talk, she named it "Beppo" because that was as close as she could come to "leopard." Sweet memories.

seasonal life..."let the season be..."

I love the four seasons and I'm not merely referring to Vivaldi (which I admittedly adore). I anticipate the coming of each season and I also feel a loss for a season's end. Constant, change like clockwork. I like change and I hate it.

Autumn is my favorite. Bright greens transition to reds, oranges, yellows, burgundies and shades in between. Crisp, cool days, bright sunshine, crunchy leaf piles, pumpkins, apples, fleece hoodies, hiking, and hot drinks on my front porch. Autumn never lasts long enough for me. One early storm with swift, bristly winds can ruin its splendor.

I prefer winter to be the shortest season. I do love winter clothes, stacks of books, hot drinks, soup, cobblers, candles, and watching pudgy snowflakes flutter and swirl and fall through my large picture windows. I like being cold so I can cozy up under more blankets. I love watching my kids romp around in the backyard snow.

Winter often bleeds into spring. Spring often has an identity crisis. New growth breeds hope, fresh non-freezing air fills my lungs, buds appear, birds fill the air with twittering, I start to think toward summer days. I savor the blossoms, my beautiful blossoming trees. These fragrant blossoms are so often taken out by spring storms and vicious winds, winter's reluctant release, but I breathe them in while they last. And, as much as I like blossoming trees, one type of tree in particular smells like rotting garbage. No joke, no exaggeration. I have no regrets when this tree transitions to its summer coat of unscented leaves.

Summer seems like it should be the best, but it's a mixed bag for me. I don't particularly like the heat, I hate mosquitoes and wasps and snakes, I hibernate during bright sun hours. Still, leafy trees and a hedge of bushes return to give me my own Secret Garden. I love sitting and sipping my coffee in my backyard while I read. I love the lingering daylight, swimming, BBQ, baseball and 4th of July. I look forward to cool mornings, cool evenings, summer storms, fresh basil for pesto, bike rides and field trips. Time seems to speed up during summer, it feels more the length of Leap Day, barely existing before it is gone yet again.

In life and in mothering I've heard many thoughts on seasons. Usually the reference is in hopes that a certain season will pass. To mothers of young children, "the longest days and the shortest years," has reached proverb status. Despite the cliche, it's very true.

Leaving that season, I felt a sadness for the little nothings and sweetness that I couldn't bottle up and wondered if I were too overwhelmed to really enjoy it all. I tried. Every season I leave, I feel bereft of something. Changes in my kids, our schedule, our home, my friendships...it hurts. Every season I enter holds uncertainty, but also a knowledge that new joys await, new experiences, new phases for our kids, new paths on our journey. New.

I miss my toddlers' exuberant excitement greeting me at the door, but I don't miss diapers and tantrums and not sleeping well. I want to hug their baby pictures sometimes, but I don't want to return if it means giving up where we are now. 

Our family traveled to New York City last fall for several weeks. At ages 11, 9, and 6, our kids are old enough to take such a trip and have it be amazing. They remember and appreciate it. They won't fall off a subway platform or wander off (we were a little concerned about Belle, being as fearless as she is...). We couldn't have done this trip when they were all pre-elementary school. (Well, we could have if we were totally nuts).

We are in a new season. Some parts are spectacular, some parts challenging, we hit the beautiful and the ugly. It's a different beautiful and ugly than five years ago. Not better, not worse, just different.

This season, ordained for us by the hand of God. Whether it be beauty or desolation, turbulent seas or mind-numbing doldrums...ordained.

Seasonal is defined as: fluctuating or restricted according to the season or time of year.

I've found this so true of life. Fluctuating. Restricted. But not just restricted, restricted according to the season....

Ecclesiastes resonates:

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

2a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;  

3a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;  

4a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;  

5a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;  

6a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;  

7a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;  

8a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

I've been reading Victim of Grace by Robin Jones Gunn. My heart has been encouraged. She writes:

"Why are we caught off guard when the seasons change? We wonder if we've done something to precipitate the loss of the previous abundance and all the vibrant evidences of God's wonder-working power. All of nature willingly surrenders to the changes in the physical universe, yet nothing in our human nature allows us to simply let the season be what it is and trust that the hand of the Great Gardener is still at work in us, carrying out his bigger plan for the world as well as for our lives." 

I have felt these seasonal shifts. I tend to focus on the negative, what I will lose with each passing season. I cannot see what lies ahead, but I can know my God. I can remember all that He has led me through, all the seasons gone past, the many joys and sorrows and I can know that He continues to turn the seasons. 

I will praise Him as Samuel did after Israel defeated the Philistines in battle saying, "Thus far the LORD has helped us." (1 Samuel 7:12)

Beauty awaits on the horizon, seasons changing the world around me, but God does not change and I will walk hand in hand with my Lord toward the horizon, letting the season be.

happy and lovely, switching agendas

On Fridays my kids attend an all-day program designed for homeschoolers—extracurricular type class choices, they love it. This is the first year, all three of mine have attended, so I have A DAY to myself. I try to stay home most of the day to enjoy my quiet house (yes, that is an introvert speaking), and I've also met friends for lunch and that has been a blessing too (social introvert).

This morning, my youngest was not quite well enough to go to her kindergarten program. Even when she fights a cold, she usually starts to get a cough. I reluctantly agreed with my husband, a restful day would be good, but I still really wanted her to be well. I wanted my day. I had lots of happy, lovely plans. I didn't really want to change and give up the only break day I have all week.

God slowly nudged my heart in the right direction, using my snuggly girl who sidled up next to me, with a few tears in her eyes and said, “This will be the best day ever. Spending time with each other!” How can I be grouchy about that? God is sovereign, right? Even over the little things? He made this day. He allowed my sweet girl to have a mild cold, but just enough to keep her with me. Maybe she needed a little one-on-one time for her heart.

Belle took this pic because her drink was "so pretty."

I had planned an extended quiet time at a favorite breakfast eatery. I had Belle pack her kitty backpack with her Color Wonder markers and coloring book attached to her Hello Kitty clipboard. I grabbed my Kindle and we set off. We arrived at our eatery and perched ourselves on the end of the breakfast bar, ordering coffee and a blueberry danish pancake for me and hot chocolate and a side of bacon for her. A flat screen TV is positioned behind the bar, playing only and always Cartoon Network. Belle sipped, colored and watched. I read, we chatted, and I helped her color. We enjoyed this respite for almost two hours. It was happy and lovely. God's new agenda for me blessed me and my girl.

Our sweet waitress kept my coffee refilled, talked with Isabelle and toward the end said, “Your breakfast has been taken care of.”

I was speechless and puzzled and amazed.

She continued, “The gentleman who was sitting next to you paid for it, but didn't want me to say anything until he left. He's a very nice man.”

I had smiled at this middle-aged man who was drinking coffee and reading his paper when we sat down. I remember thinking that I hoped we wouldn't disturb him too much. I didn't talk to him at all. I gathered that he was a regular and our waitress addressed him by name when he rose to leave. I didn't pick up on anything, but now I can see a little bit of the exchange in hindsight.

I was so touched, tears came to my eyes. I've never had this happen before. It only happens in movies, right? It was a gift from a stranger, but also from the Lord. He saw my day, He ordained it, He blessed it. 

Would the day have been less of a blessing if this generous man had not been compelled to buy us breakfast? No, I don't believe so, I never would have known the difference. I don't buy into prosperity gospel philosophy. My day could have unrolled in chaos and in sacrifice of all of my plans, that would have been God's good sovereign plan too. But this day I was given an unexpected gift, a special time with my daughter and maybe it impacted those who watched us while we breakfasted together.

I submitted my heart to my new day and I think it made all the difference no matter how my day unfurled. Now, we're home resting. We did a few quick errands, scoring a Starbucks sample in the process and discovering a new Barbie movie in Redbox. Still lovely, just different.

This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. Psalm 118:24

march forth and pancakes

This is the time of year when I start to feel the pressure as I look at the kids' schooling. I now can see the end and count the weeks without needing a calendar. And every year I reach a point where I kick it into high gear, having survived February (hardest homeschool month by far), and march forth (yes, it is March fourth, and I didn't even plan that;-)) to complete and conquer each of their grade-level curriculum.

As it is with homeschool, in some respects, it never ends. There always exists an element of constant learning. We do what resembles a year-round model, but we vary the content and schedule. That is not to say that I don't drop things (on purpose), because I do. A dictator doesn't do anyone in my home any good. But some curriculum needs to be finished and I need to be faithful, so we stare resolutely at the finish line and persevere.

To keep myself from becoming that driven, non-conducive to a happy home dictator, I break it up. This usually involves food. The temperature read 15 degrees this morning, inches of powdered snow covered our city, but we bundled up and we went for pancakes, amazing gourmet pancakes. I sipped coffee, we savored each bite and we chatted.

chocolate chip, candy apple, and sweet potato pancakes...so good!

I heard about D's book he just finished, Hatchet. He compared it to other books he read and how it was similar and different. I love that he adds books to my reading stack, it's great. Being a more introspective kid, he then turned his attention to his sisters' conversations and antics.

We talked about “How to Train Your Dragon 2” and as Belle talked about Hiccup, I asked if she wanted to marry Hiccup. Her face was hilarious and priceless. We decided that it would be a good fit for her adventure-loving spirit and he seems to be a man of character, so it was good with me.

Of course, then the conversation naturally switched to whom Cece would like the marry if she married an animated character. She chose Kristoff from Frozen, a man of courage, loyalty, character, and humor. Another good choice, I love Kristoff too. Cece then added how horrible it would have been to marry Prince Hans. The girls then teased each other about their choices, it was a teenager preview of sorts.

The day is thrown off, but in a good way. Plenty of days available for a more intense academia, but today the best choice was pancakes.

a mug, a piece of chalk, and a word

my girl happily building a snowman in the front yard

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, or so the trite saying goes. I'm rarely without a mug in hand or nearby, filled with a choice hot beverage. I may be more attached to having a mug in hand than my phone nearby. I'm not really joking. I have this chalkboard mug, an impulse buy from World Market or as my son calls it "World Trap." A tempting place for those who are drawn to the aesthetically beautiful and the new and interesting and unique, but I digress. I write a word or phrase or verse when I pull this one out of the cupboard. In the last many months, Cece has been steadily increasing her tea and chai habit. I can only blame/congratulate myself. My husband shakes his head in consternation and has not quite recovered from the shock of our two-year-old (also Cece) asking to go to Starbucks, but not knowing the name McDonalds.

Over Christmas while clearing dishes, I saw my chalkboard mug amidst the latest tea party/art project table clutter. It made me smile, it warmed my heart. I so often only see my failings, the bad that I'm passing on, the sin that they see daily. I cannot decide what they take and what they leave from their childhood as they grow up. I cannot control everything. I cannot control them. More than anything, I can entrust them to the Lord, trust His hand in their lives, trust that He can use everything. I can trust that He sees and knows the heart of a sweet 9-year-old, who grabbed a piece of chalk, imitated her mama and felt compelled to write one word that we can all use more of...JOY.