300 days of beauty, day 31

I'm training for a half-marathon. I swore I'd never do one and I'm pretty sure I thought every friend who did was crazy, but here I am. Today was my first long run, 5 miles. I've done 5 miles two other times in my existence, so I was apprehensive.

My husband mapped out a 2.5 mile loop that I could lap. He tried to convince me that laps were bad, but I didn't listen. It was not fun to run by my car and know I had to do all of that over again. So, no more lap loops!

It was windy, icy and muddy in spots, but I made it. I'm hobbled now, but it felt very good.

The loop takes a wide birth around a community lake. After finishing my five miles, I walked up the embankment to this view. 

Beautiful. Serene. Peaceful.

I did some stretching until I couldn't take the wind anymore and sauntered back to my car. 

Running is such a mental game. I can feel elated, angry, discouraged, and sick in the course of each mile. I question whether or not I can do this. I talk in my head. I pray. I pound out lyrics...word by word, note by note, each helping my stride stay constant, to not give up.

Each year I go after something that I just didn't think I could do. Those feats I had avoided because I assumed I would fail. This spring I'm tackling the half-marathon. And my afternoon run culminating with this iced-over-lake-scape became my first big notch toward my goal.

Ask me how excited I am when I can't walk tomorrow...

300 days of beauty, day 23

"For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you
    when I was made in the secret place,
    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. 

 Your eyes saw my unformed body;
    all the days ordained for me were written in your book
    before one of them came to be."

Psalm 139:13-16

 

This girl.

I look at her and marvel at God's sovereignty.

I smile at my girl, born in a land-locked, semi-tropical Central American village, who loves the snow with her whole heart.

I love that she would go barefoot every day if she could, she adores rice (which is the only food we could get her to eat when we brought her home), she dances with grace and innate talent, she devours audio books, and she could spend every day baking in the kitchen.

Back to the snow--I love watching her in snow. For me it represents a path and setting so different than what she seemed destined for at birth. Her life experience repertoire would most likely not have included snow. I realize this is one superficial fact, the truth is much more profound. 

I don't know why He chose her to be plucked out of her country of birth, but I know He did. Just as I know He chose our family for her and her for our family. 

I watch her play in the snow, icicles in her raven-black hair, crusty snow on her caramel-colored skin, and glittery snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes as she swipes droplets out of her gorgeous eyes, described aptly on her birth certificate as "coffee [cafe]". And her joy, so much joy. Beautiful.

I marvel and I'm so very thankful.

300 days of beauty, day 22

Snow day number two. Read. Paint. Shovel. Sled. Repeat. Plus a few hot cocoa fixes.

This painting sharply contrasts the scenery behind it...

We "celebrated" Groundhog Day and watched Punxutawney Phil make his prediction. 

[Spoiler alert: Early Spring!] 

We remain skeptical as we still have ice and snow from December that we can't get rid of. But in the spirit of learning, we watched the Wild Kratts episode on groundhogs, followed by Peep and his episode on the groundhog, plus painted spring pictures, and we constructed a super-cute craft D put together for his sisters (with measurements and everything!).

The kids were thrilled that their dad came home early to build a snow fort with them. We went sledding with friends until we couldn't feel our fingers, and Belle lost a tooth when her daddy threw her in a snow bank. She was very excited.

Also, the kids were able to serve neighbors by shoveling. D has struck up a very sweet friendship with our neighbor, Joe. It started with shoveling and has turned into so much more. Today, Joe asked D if he could come run errands with him. D returned beaming and so enjoyed his time with Joe. They went to the bank, stopped at Starbucks and Joe bought D a hot chocolate, picked up a prescription, and then some groceries. Joe even bought Dawson a very nice shovel so that he would have the proper equipment when he shovels the neighborhood.

Because we homeschool, D is always available and it has made a path for this relationship to blossom. This is not to say that serving neighbors is dependent upon homeschooling, not at all. For us, we happen to have quite a few retired and elderly neighbors and because we are home during the day, we have been able to build these relationships and serve them in the daytime hours. It's good for my kids and I believe a blessing for our neighbors also. We are so blessed to have the neighbors we do!

P.S. This morning as my husband was shoveling with our kids, using our sub-par shovels, he decided to pray for a shovel...for God to provide a new, high quality shovel to better serve the neighborhood. This may sound strange--we could go to the store to buy one. But for us, the shovels we had were functional. Encouraged in faith by reading God's Smuggler about Brother Andrew, my husband, in faith prayed for this simple and seemingly insignificant provision. When he arrived home, standing by our front door was a brand new shovel. He had no idea that D had spent the afternoon with Joe and none of us knew that Joe would buy a shovel for D. We knew nothing of his prayer either.

God is active. He cares about the little things. I needed this reminder so very much. And I pray this provision etched Truth onto the hearts of my kids too. 

300 days of beauty, day 21

Is there anything better than a snow day? Cancel everything, read books, bake, paint, drink hot cocoa, watch snowflakes fall and frolicking children build snow forts, and in the evening you're all ready for bed because you never changed from your pajamas. Bliss.

300 days of beauty, day 17

A view from my bedroom window--my son relishing freshly fallen snow.

300 days of beauty, day 3

I took a weekend trip with a dear friend to the Glenwood Hot Springs. Crazy cool. And such a sweet time with my friend. 

In the hot springs, the steam is so thick, it feels more like Brigadoon, like we might vanish or the world around us might disappear. At night, it's eerie and wonderful and somewhat magical. We could almost believe we were in Iceland or Scandinavia, not only the atmosphere but the myriad of languages spoken around us. 

I could barely snap a picture without my hands feeling numb, dry towels turned crispy in the cold, water bottles froze and wet hair morphed into icicles. Necessity trumps style--preferred apparel includes flip-flops (concrete is crazy cold), shorts, swim-suit, winter jacket (for the locker room to poolside transfer) and a winter hat (to wear in the hot springs so you don't freeze your ears off).

It all felt exotic and was a much needed break for both of us. Even though I have posted three pictures, it was the beauty of one zero-temped winter day.

300 days of beauty~day 2

I walk under this beautiful tree outside our home every day. White blossoms in the spring, green-leafed shade in the summer, golden hues in the fall, and frosted crab apples in the winter. Set against our vivid blue, sunshined winter sky, I can overlook our below freezing temperatures and savor the artistry.

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.