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."

small in the mountains

After an epic month of sadness and trial, we went on vacation.  As fun as that may sound in theory, as I packed I felt like I was doing one last chore, running up one last hill so that I could finally, finally curl up in the fetal position and just cry.

I'm sure we are not the only ones who have been in that place. 

So we went from that place to this place, a campground in Kentucky.  We camped in tents, and my mother-in-law did the cooking for all of us. 

The world and God conspired to give us a space to rest, to heal. 

The mountains are good for the soul. My little adventurers trudged along for mile after mile of hiking trails, panting but not complaining.  Our eyes were too full of wonder to worry about our tired legs. 

"Mommy, I feel so small here," said one.

Grammy and Peter, age 4, who is NOT a baby.

Yes, child, we are small, so small. 

We can climb and explore and stand beside waterfalls, but here we are cured of the notion that we are in charge of any of this. We are freed from the burden of believing our shoulders were meant to bear the weight of it all.  These mountains have been here for ages; these trees have grown since before any of us were born, and they continued their stretch heavenward even while we were at home near the cornfields, burying our dead. 

Psalm 90 English Standard Version (ESV)

A Prayer of Moses, the man of God.

Lord, you have been our dwelling place

    in all generations.

Before the mountains were brought forth,

    or ever you had formed the earth and the world,

    from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

You return man to dust

    and say, “Return, O children of man!”

For a thousand years in your sight

    are but as yesterday when it is past,

    or as a watch in the night.

You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream,

    like grass that is renewed in the morning:

in the morning it flourishes and is renewed;

    in the evening it fades and withers.

For we are brought to an end by your anger;

    by your wrath we are dismayed.

You have set our iniquities before you,

    our secret sins in the light of your presence.

For all our days pass away under your wrath;

    we bring our years to an end like a sigh.

The years of our life are seventy,

    or even by reason of strength eighty;

yet their span is but toil and trouble;

    they are soon gone, and we fly away.

Who considers the power of your anger,

    and your wrath according to the fear of you?

So teach us to number our days

    that we may get a heart of wisdom.

Return, O Lord! How long?

    Have pity on your servants!

Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,

    that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.

Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,

    and for as many years as we have seen evil.

Let your work be shown to your servants,

    and your glorious power to their children.

Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,

    and establish the work of our hands upon us;

    yes, establish the work of our hands!

He is our dwelling place, and we are his small-but dearly loved- children. 

As we travel through valleys of sorrow and up moutains of joy, again and again, 

He will prove to us His faithfulness, and He will give us rest.

Confirm the work of your hands, Lord.

Amen.

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.)

In the light

I did not teach them this.

We’ve read no books on the topic. Not one lecture given. Not once have I told them, encouraged them, commanded them.

Yet they know.

It is good to rest in the sun.

Bodies cooled by the water lay still, grateful; getting warm slowly, deliciously.

And I consider how these moments age like wine, how stillness in the vacation sun is treasured more deeply by me now that I have felt the stuffiness of an office building, of a schedule, of the daily grind.  The stillness-- the chance to breathe, to just be--  it is a blessed spot of time, objectively lovely, worth savoring.

My dear children know little of darkness yet, and so they do not appreciate the sun deeply yet, but they do appreciate.  They receive, rest, rejoice, as children.

And this mother who watches them, she rejoices too, but as an adult.  And she ponders these things in her heart.

I consider God, who spoke light into existence, Jesus, the light of the world; His Word, a light unto my path.  I consider the darkness in my heart, the ridiculous way I fight Him, asking to stay in the stuffy office building of my own creation, pretending to prefer the oppressive hot air of my own “righteousness” instead of the free and sweet air of His grace.

I consider the odd and amazing invitation given to me to live in the light, to walk in the light, as He is in the light.  

I breathe in, and pray for a heart open like my hands, for life and light to fill me, for Jesus to scatter my darkness.

The contrast increases as we age, does it not?  As does the threat or darkness, the shadow of death, the horrors we hide in our own closets: darkness oppresses, tries to suffocate, to strangle us.

Do we shut our eyes and pretend it is not happening? Or do we flee for refuge to the only place we can- to God’s infinite mercy, seeking and imploring His grace for the sake of His Son Jesus Christ, our Lord?

Jesus, scatter the darkness.

I look at my dear babies, soft limbs still playing in the sun.  I would not dream of forbidding them this pleasure.  May they be surrounded with His Word as generously as the sunshine, that they may grow up in the light of Christ.

The light of Christ brings life and sight, warmth and energy with it. Just as the light of the sun produces physical life, sight, warmth, and energy in our world, so also God’s Word brings life to our dying souls, vision to our dark minds, warmth to our cold hearts, and energy to our weak bodies.  Through His Word the triune God comes to us, makes His home with us, and fills us with His presence (cf. John 14:23) (Kleinig, Grace Upon Grace, p 116)

Fall "break" survival strategies

Is it safe to admit this here? I think so.
I'm bracing myself for fall break.

I love my kids, I do. And I love family time. And I am glad they get two weeks off of school in October. This is supposed to help us cope with shorter summers, and I admit, it really does. October is beautiful here in Indiana. Plus, this is a great time for us to travel, especially as a pastor's family, because there are NO religious holidays!

But still.

There is an image in my mind, perhaps an amalgam of images, in which I am sitting in the kitchen, near tears, with my head in my hands, saying, "How in the world are we going to survive this entire (spring? summer? fall?) break?"

So, self, you know this is coming. Let's take a minute, self, to ask your self, why is this so hard?  And what can we do about it?

Well, self, what do you think will happen when you mix the following things together?
- little kids, accustomed to little-kid pace, little-kid games, and mama's full attention
- big kids who have been to school and therefore know SO much more than little kids
- all kids, with free time, who are now on "break," and interpret that to mean they ought to be having maximum fun 100% of the time
- mama, who wants to facilitate a reasonable amount of fun, but also must remember to keep up with the laundry, dishes, etc; who shouldn't be the only one doing work around here; who simply can't play line-tag and snuggle the baby at the same time; who needs another cup of coffee, again; who just wants us all to survive this week with everyone still loving each other!  Why is that so much to ask?

It's going to be a challenge.
So here's my plan. The way I see it, this will be a great break, if only we can keep three major factors in place.

Discipline
I must accept my responsibility in this, early on! It is my job to make the expectations clear and enfoce them with consistency.  Daily chores, basic manners: these things have not changed just because our routine has! This part of my job must increase on "break."  If I send mixed signals or get lazy, it will be every man for himself, and war will ensue, and I will be crying in the kitchen again.

So lace up those running shoes, mama.

Attitude
Oh, the power we have, mothers. We have the power to send them to their rooms. We have the power to cancel the sleepover. And we have the power to ruin an entire vacation if we allow ourselves to succumb to bad attitudes.  We can live like goats, get mad about the mess and clutter, and become generally impossible to please.  Trust me, I'm really good at this. And the temptation to be this way WILL come.

So what helps you change your attitude?
I've found a few things that help me. Prayer is a given.  (God help me be a fun mommy and not a jerk!)  Along with that, I find that it really helps us all if we can find a way to shake things up a bit-- to do something simply unusual.  (This is why I had to throw a party during another break.)

Get outside
- Collect leaves for leaf art while
-go for a walk, hold hands, sing songs
OR
- Send them outside and tell them they can't come back until they collect 5 red leaves, 6 pinecones, 7 flowers, 8 acorns, 9 striped rocks, and 10 spiders
(Do you think they will get distracted along the way? ha.)




Get them laughing
I have big plans for crazy activities.
I'm hoping there will be sometime when nobody's in time-out, they've actually practiced piano, and I'm not frazzled beyond sanity, when we can actually have some fun.

Right now, I have "snowballs" waiting in my garage that I plan to use in a surprise attack.  There's nothing like a surprise attack for shocking them out of bad moods!

For more ideas see my pin board: Things to do with kids
or listen to this song with your kids (What does the fox say)

Focus
"Vacation time shouldn't mean vacation from God's Word." Pastor Cook

Do I take a vacation from food or from air? From medicine? Sleep? And yet how much more important is God's Word, for the health of my soul, and that of this family?  If I want to see them as He sees them, to love them with His love, then I must abide with Him, in His Word.

We will need God's help, His Word, His grace.

Father, 
Thank you for autumn, for changes of season, and for time away from our normal schedules.  Thank you also for being our unchanging God, for your unchanging love for each of us. Grant us patience, compassion, self-control and a sense of humor as we spend time together. Help us to see as you see and love as you love.
In Jesus, Amen.

What challenges do you face during school "breaks?"

What suggestions do you have for the rest of us?

Forget the beach- go to Michigan!

Mackinaw City, MI

My cheeks are red and wind-whipped, and my hair is wet and scraggly.

The children are huddled in a small, dark room, watching a movie under blankets, and it is quiet.

It is only 4pm.

We've been here for only two hours and we hope to stay here a week.  As daddy sleeps and the kids rest, I shake my head and laugh, wondering if the entire vacation is going to be as ridiculous as the first hour.

We went for a walk to explore our campground. October in Northern MI.  The grounds were quiet. The colors were gorgeous. The wind was cold.

I made the kids wear hats, mittens, and winter coats for our walk. They climbed a big rock and then we found a playground, and one by one they handed me their mittens and hats, not needing them as they had been warmed by play. Perhaps they didn't need to dress so warm.

We turned down one path, then another. “Kids, look at the wind, the way it whips the water back into the air,” daddy said. And we looked. And we smiled. And we leisurely walked along.

The wind whipped, faster now, and suddenly the Mackinaw bridge was nearly invisible.

 He and I realized it at the same moment. 

We need to move, now! 

Back to the cabin, back, back!  

Drops fell on us, just a few, then many, then what was that, rocks?

 HAIL! You can’t be serious, I thought.

I took Peter off my shoulders. He was screamin’ mad. I put up his big winter hood and put his back to the wind. The hail could not harm his puffy coat.  Still he screamed, angry screams giving fury back to nature.

RUN kids!

(Six kids, shocked, cold, horrified, determined or angry or panicking)

I said, RUN!

(more hail)
Run backwards!

Eldon curled into daddy and bounced along uncomplaining.
Marcus refused to put his hat down or walk backwards.  He walked, and he yelled, YELLED at the hail that smashed into his cheeks. 

The other big kids pressed on.

The whole thing was just... ridiculous.

But I couldn't help it. I took this picture.

Those faces after the rain run...  Those wind-burned, wet, accusing faces.

Our parents call this a vacation?

-------------------------

Have you had any ridiculous vacation moments with your children? 

Or with your own ridiculous parents?

------------------------

** Despite this rough start, we had a fantastic time in Northern MI. We stayed in a cabin at Camp Mackinaw. I recommend it. But, Northern Michigan is not for wimps, not in October.

Rest. Day Five. Gratitude.

"I'd love to hear how you balance your marriage and keep it healthy.."

so said a few of you when I last asked about blog topics.

I have to admit, I snorted a laugh on this one. Marriage advice? Really? To write about marriage I'd actually have to THINK about my marriage and sad to say, I really don't do that very much.

Most often, I am caught up in surviving, managing the children, and just making it through the day.  My husband gets what's leftover, maybe, if there is anything.  And he's surviving too, living out his vocation as pastor and daddy.

If it were on my shoulders to plan some sort of marriage maintenance event, it would never happen. The logistics involved for me to get away, even for a night, are overwhelming.  I'd rather just stay home, and keep doing what I am doing, rather than do the work required to "find a sub."

He has to make me get away. He's always had to force me to relax, even in college, when he taught me that it was OK to walk away from the books for the sake of fun, of him, of us.

He took the initiative, and put our vacation on the calendar with all the authority of a Man. I submitted, packed, and planned for our time away.

We don't shrug off our vocations. I am still mommy, and his is still pastor, and daddy.
But we are husband and wife, too, and the time we spend living as Lover and the Beloved is good for us both.
We fill each other up, as God intended.

How good it is to be loved by a man who seeks my good.

Father, when chaos returns to our lives, keep us grateful for the gift you have given us in each other. Continue to grow us up in You and in fervent love for one another.  In Jesus, Amen.

Messy Mommy Jobs:: Where I've been (Mess photos & Link Up)

Where have I been all week?

Here:

Pretty Lake (Wolcotville, Indiana.)

Before you get too jealous, remember that I had my kids with me :)

And that even the peaceful-looking picture above is only peaceful because there is no audio track.

It was no quiet desert island, but it was fun!

My mess this week: post-vacation aftermath.

Here's a glimpse:

15 things I've learned from a week without kids

My babies are gone this week. Yes, all week. They are with their grandparents, getting spoiled, swimming, drinking chocolate milk, and driving a golf cart through a pole barn. (Nobody got hurt.)

in no particular order

• I actually eat less because I am not eating in a panic. I don’t eat because I’ve found 30 seconds when nobody needs anything and I might be hungry later so I’d better eat now. I just eat when I’m hungry.  Weird.
• I am nicer to our pets. I actually have affection and patience to spare for the furry critters.
• I still think like a kid.  My thoughts think as if they are here. The children are stuck in my head.
• I notice the tractor and I want to say “Hey, look! A tract-y!” or “Look that cloud looks like a turtle!” We finally got some rain, and it was beautiful, warm and heavy. I wanted to say “It’s raining! Let’s go outside on the trampoline!” I was sad that they were not there to frolic in it with me.