tired but alive

That look on Seth’s face; it’s the same one Josh had that time we rented four wheelers and he took me on those trails that were MUCH more intense than either of us expected… that edge-of-danger sparkle, “can’t you feel it? we’re ALIIIIVE!” And his motor roared and off he went, and I wondered for how long will he be alive with a wild spirit like that one?  I followed as fast as I could and prayed all the way.

Today, I watched my son come alive in the same way on the mountain bike trails.

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My legs shake and I just got hit in the face with a branch, but I plow forward on my bike, trying to keep up with him.  The trails are tricky and we have to focus; no chatting, no looking up at the trees.  Dodge that tree, jump over that root, try not to fall off the narrow bridge. It’s all balance and muscle and timing.  I only fell once, and he only laughed a little.

With a sore wrist and behind, I push on and stay cheerful. It’s like i’m trying to prove something, and I suppose I am. I’ve still got it. I’m not ready to surrender this body to slowness;  I want to push through, to sweat myself strong, to be a fit mama and a fun mama.  When my kids find things that make them come alive, I want them to show me, really show me, for as long as it’s possible.  

He showed me; conquering those trails at a rate I didn’t dare: doing stunts and riding on balance beams and makeshift stairs.  I slowly did the stairs, but I drew the line at the balance beams. A broken arm wouldn’t fit well with my schedule. I am still amazing, but I withhold some amazing feats that might have happened for the sake of prudence. (Adulthood can be so lame!)

I can feel it coming: the need for a nap. “Ok guys, if we stay longer, that means when we go home you’re fending for yourselves for dinner while I take a nap.” They are happy to consent, and I am happy that my legs have a good rest to look forward to.

We stop conquering the world for a moment to sit by the river.  I am the first one to free my feet from shoes and cool them in the lake; this gives them all permission and they quickly follow.  The one who always takes any fun farther than the rest is soon skipping rocks and painting himself with mud.  The cool water, the shade, the breeze, and the soothing gurgle of the river: we take it all in.  

“I survived many a summer this way,” I tell them. I remember watching toddlers play in the lawn, and sitting my pregnant body down with my feet in a bucket of ice cold water, feeling it cool me and giving me hope I could make it through another summer day.  Green grass, a healthy garden, and loud little kids- life, everywhere, including in a giant wiggling ball on my lap.  That was certainly another way to “feel alive!” Tired, yes, but alive.

Now with my feet up in a chair at home, I trace over the edges of the gifts God has given us today.  I’m tired, yes, but alive, and grateful for this day that bursts with life.

"The Spirit of God has made me, And the breath of the Almighty gives me life.” Job 33:4

“You alone are the LORD You have made the heavens, The heaven of heavens with all their host, The earth and all that is on it, The seas and all that is in them You give life to all of them And the heavenly host bows down before You.” Neh 9:6

we shall get in

I watch my children play in Lake Michigan at sunset.  The water looks like it is made of magic; the blues and pinks and golds mix like liquid ribbon.  It's beauty, and it's a play place for the bodies I love best in all the world. The magic drips off their arms as they walk to me, begging me for just five more minutes. I'd like to give them an eternity, and I'd stay with them, right there, on the shores of Lake Michigan.


But we are looking forward to something even better...



Thoughts from CS Lewis (Weight of Glory)


"We want something else which can hardly be put into words--to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. 

At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in. "

Nature is mortal; we shall outlive her. When all the suns and nebulae have passed away, each one of you will still be alive. Nature is only the image, the symbol; but it is the symbol Scripture invites me to use. We are summoned to pass in through Nature, beyond her, into that splendour which she fitfully reflects."

living art

We are up before seven on vacation, but nobody is complaining. Daddy and I got them up early- we are the excited children, we are the ones who couldn't wait to get down to the ocean early in the morning. We eat powdered donuts on an old sheet at low tide.

People walk the beach, looking for treasures. Perhaps they are walking slowly through memories.

Meanwhile, little boys eat quickly so they can dig, run, and tease the waves. Daddy and I linger on the old sheet, with coffee and open eyes. The ocean roars, and we sit in comfortable silence. The sea and the sky are blue with a million blues, and I am glad that I brought my watercolors.

But for now, I stay still, marveling at the living artwork made by the hand of God. I watch those precious little boy bodies playing in the surf. They scream when the waves come, and I do not tell them to be quiet. Little legs cannot seem to outrun the ocean; waves grab ankles, and a boy trips, laughing as he spits salt water.

A woman smiles at me through wrinkles, a smile rich with memories and understanding, a smile from a mother to a mother. She keeps walking. She does not tell me to seize the day, to enjoy every moment, and that they grow so quickly. I see her slow steps, her sun-spotted skin, and the slight curve of her back as she walks away. I hear the speech she did not give.

My husband hands me his glasses and runs into the water with the boys. I observe his figure and smile. Yes, I still like watching him play in the water. I remember before kids, when I had to drag him in to play with me; when he was so in love that he let me talk him into swimming in the rain. (Perhaps that old blue bikini was a factor.) Now, my boys drag him, and he flings one over his shoulder.

Fatherhood looks so good on him.

Florida is for romance: romance and babies, and I smile thinking how these things are all tangled together in this life we have been given. The blue bikini has been packed away forever, but I do not grieve. My heart, life, and figure are full. I embrace this season of fullness.*

I towel-dry sandy little boy bodies, and as we pack up, I hand them things to carry. Even the littlest will carry something, and he will insist on doing it by his “OWN self.” Our family is growing up, growing out of things, into other things.

While the boys stop to dig just one more hole, an elderly man tells us about the sea turtles, and low tide, and the best pizza place “just around the corner.” His wife hides in her book, and I wonder if we will be like that someday. I suddenly miss my grandpa.

When my arms no longer carry Mickey Mouse towels and tiny sunglasses, of what will they be full?

Perhaps I'll wear an enormous sun hat, and it will shade my workspace as I write and paint. Perhaps he will have a tan bald head, and he will be reading his 3,000th book on his Kindle. And nobody will be running after seagulls or digging for crabs. And I'll be the only one drinking from my water bottle.

Unless there are grandkids, of course.

“I found a gold doubloon!” my son yells, holding a seashell. “I'm going to use it to buy my very own motorcycle!” He hands me another piece of God's living art, and I almost try to explain how there are things of value that cannot be exchanged for motorcycles... but I just ruffle his hair instead.

“Leave the seashells at the beach, boys.” He drops the “doubloon” and grabs my hand without looking back. I let him drag me through the broken shells, through the sand, and up the stairs towards showers and naps.

I look back at the ocean, but he pulls me on.

He's right, of course.

Carrying today with me will not keep me full tomorrow.

Then, and now, fullness comes from living with hands open before God who gives. To be sure, the sun will still feel good on wrinkled skin, and sand on crooked toes. 

And perhaps, God's living art is even more beautiful through aged eyes.

*(Full disclosure: I deleted a few pictures of myself, but only the ones that were totally exaggerating.)

Desperate for sunshine

It was raining, and the morning crawled along.  

How can it be only 8:00?

I sipped coffee, and made a hearty effort to be fun mommy. The activity was a good one, in theory, but someone hit someone, and the markers spilled, and one was in tears, and nobody was listening to me, and then, my patience was completely gone.  

It was 8:05.

God, how are we going to make it through this morning?

But God causes the sun to rise on the evil and the good. 

And so, by grace alone, the rain stopped and the sun came out.  

Desperately we went out into the rain-soaked world.

And, as He so often does, God distracted us from our complaints by overwhelming us with beauty.

It was everywhere.

I took a picture of him smelling the flowers, and he consented, 

but then he made sure that I stopped to smell them for myself, too.

I love when they care for me in this way.

And to me, the smell of roses mixes in my memories with the taste of red raspberries,

because my Grandmother nurtured both in her yard,

and she shared the sweetness and the beauty with me.

Raspberries and roses.

Why is this one different than the others?

Wonderfully odd.

I never get tired of the beauty of water on things.

Thirst quenched.

And mine is, too.

My heart expands again, as I behold His works.

 My  heart expands, 

filled with the beauty of spring around me, 

and once again,

filled and grateful for the beauty

 of the little hands and noses and feet that explore this world with me. 

A Lovely Note

Lovely and Loved.

Thank you, my lovely daughter.

Healthy Beauty, for little girls

Welcome to today's guest blogger, Gina Gallutia!

She is contributing today as part of the series on Growing up with my 'tween.

Today's topic: Modesty

Modesty is relative.

Now before you stop reading because you think I’m a crazy, liberal hippy, give me a sentence or two more.

In Jane Austen’s day, low, low, low cut dresses were the norm, totally modest. Today, not so much. There was a time when guys would get excited to see the flash of an ankle from underneath layers of petticoat and skirt. Today, not so much. And well, there’s those ladies in Africa who, well, it’s hot there. So yes, modesty is culturally relative. What’s not is an immodest or modest mindset.

There were probably girls who took the ankle-flashing too far. And there were Elizabeth Bennetts who had no intention other than looking nice when they wore dresses that seem to us as though a “wardrobe malfunction” could happen at any moment. Which brings us to the question of the day:

What is your intention when you get dressed? What’s your mindset?

We are the primary models of healthy or unhealthy modesty to our children. Remember back to your childhood and the influence of how your mother looked or how she spoke to you about modesty had on your clothing choices. Many of us dress in response to a notion we picked up as children or beyond. And many of those weren’t healthy ones. Sadly, I’ve known great deal of women who dress “modestly” (aka dowdily) because of a moment or more of molestation in their past, and women who flaunt every inch of their bodies for the same reason. So before we can impart a healthy idea of dress to our young ones, we need to examine our reasons and possibly come to healthier conclusions.

 And as we contemplate deeply the idea of dress, one thought should remain at the forefront:

God made our bodies and He made us in His image.

Beauty and Beauty

 He is Beauty, which means that we are beautiful and should reflect that to the world.

We should reflect Him. Especially as women, we are called to bring beauty, to bring life, to our particular area of influence through our thoughts, expressions, actions, and adornments.

Once we have this clear, then we can prayerfully pass on a healthy concept of modesty to our dearest of dear daughters. But as you do, remember, that God made her her and you you. So she may not dress in kindred ways, but as long as she is glorifying Him and dressing for the right reasons, then you are blessed indeed.

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Comments from Emily:

Gina, girl, you make me think, and I'm not sure I like it! 

What's my intention when I get dressed? What's my mindset?  It is usually something like this:

What is nearby that I can throw on so I can get to the coffee pot faster?

Beauty seems like an indulgence that busy mothers just can't afford!  But wait, let me be a little more honest and say it this way: beauty is simply not something I care to think about these days, and I have a wonderful house full of good excuses to make that seem ok.

And I think this mindset of mine has consequences.

This topic is worth exploring more fully.

Expect some follow up Q and A between Gina and Queen Frumpy (me.) 

What questions or comments do you have  on the topic of modesty and beauty?

True Beauty

photo credit

Connecting doesn't have to be complicated. (Growing up with my 'tween)

I see these two little girls, my babies grown beautiful. They look at me with eyes full of questions and hope.

I feel the temptation to pull away.

I had thought that children would require less of me as they grew. I has assumed that once they could dress and feed themselves, they would need less me of me. I am tired, and I do wish I could rest now. I wish I could just sit back and enjoy the show, and watch my little darlings spread their little wings. Isn’t it enough to feed and schedule and carpool them? Besides, I don’t know all the answers, and even if I did, do they need my lectures? Would they even hear them?

I look at my little girls, and I see beauty in bloom, and I fear.

I have seen how this world treats beauty.

I remember.

I remember how easy it is to make bad decisions that can completely change a life (or destroy it.) I remember boys and dating and giddy brain fog. I remember wanting to be loved, wanting to feel beautiful, and yet feeling so awkward and self-conscious.

I remember how hard it was to be a teenager.

Staying connected: It doesn't have to be complicated

Studies show the importance of parents connecting with their children (like this one here.) The studies are good, and the stats are interesting, but those are not the things that really motivate me. It is love and fear for these two young women, my babies grown beautiful.

This week, we had a spontaneous tea party when the boys were napping. We grabbed what we had (Ritz crackers and Pez) and we tip-toed out the door.  We sat by the pond on an old sheet, and we spent twenty minutes, just being together.  We didn't have a "big talk" about anything, but what we did was important. We connected.

Our lives are so busy. Connecting with their hearts is not easy.  I don't have time for this. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here, but I resolve to try.

Grow me up with them, Father.  Grow us up together.

Do you feel the temptation to pull away as the stakes get higher and life gets busier?

Did you connect with your 'tween this week, even just for a few minutes? 

Tell us about it in the comments!


See also: Growing up with my 'tween: Why I don't want to talk about it.