Monday, September 28, 2015

270/365 #sundaysaremyfavorite

So often I am reminded, watching parents of older children, and wading slowly into those waters with my own, that people are hard, and they don't get along. It sounds great to strive for and dream of, especially in curated feeds and selective soliloquies, but no amount of pictures or reprimands or even heart to heart talks will make a kind heart happen. I was so discouraged this morning, watching my kids spat and rumble, while we readied to gather in worship. But of course worship was just what we needed. To hear others affirm and remind us of the depths of the mercies of God, and to ponder all the way that our fallenness brings shame, but the entire Story is about reaching out to redeem us to our image-of-Godness, our true humanity. It helped me to walk forward in hope with my kids again, extending grace without erasing expectations. Seeing them as hooligans but never without hope. A story needed for us all.

269/365 Saturday treasures

268/365 Friday comes

This boy came home just in time to help me. And tonight we celebrate the weekend arrival and the fact that all next week is Guo Qing Jie, and no school. Sometimes I feel a little spoiled by all the holidays here. And so the weekend comes with The Man away again, and though that is our regular lot during these fall months, and the distance wears on all of us, I also feel grateful for the things that fell into place for the next several days. Like little gifts reminding me that we are not doing this alone, and He knows just what we need.


Take what you can get, even if it's a few small yellowing leaves on the wet curb. The thing is, she doesn't pine for what is not or what could be. She and her brother just took five small leaves in each hand and threw them up in the air giggling with delight.


| where you go |
...I will go, where you lodge I will lodge, you're people shall be my people...

I often think of the unexpected graces that have helped this place become loved and for the near nine years that have been shaping that love. At certain times of the year when I could dream of home and it's comforts, the repetition of doing the next thing walks me through to a surprising place of peace.


| in your eyes |
... The world is probably big, but I think you believe you are even bigger. A lot of three year old bravado in your bones. It's fascinating and frustrating and often has the rest of us rolling in laughter. This morning, you told me your leg really hurt and you could barely walk, because your big brother had been talking to you too much.

| afternoon |

sometimes they call for bran muffins and java. This one was mostly full of work, of the good sort though; a design project, which I always love, buying tickets and planning, and making bread and dinner for the next two days...

264/365 Tuesday Stories


262/365 #sundaysaremyfavorite


Friday, September 18, 2015

260/365 A Good Friday

This day, with little feet, a slow agenda, and the chatter of a constant companion was just the sort of good Friday we needed. He doesn't watch shows by himself, he ropes me into every game his busy little brain comes up with, and there is little space in the air for silence, but it is all welcome. 

259/365 Teaching Days

Unfazed, he is. By the rain, and all that life is throwing his way. Because if he has a ball, an apple, and someone to talk to, he's happy.


257/365 Tuesday Stories

256/365 City By Morn

Saturday, September 12, 2015

255/365 Today's Worth

If I tried to catalogue the worth of this day, how would I do it? By the number of times I lost my patience? Or the number of times I didn't? By the moment I said yes to being a young boy's horse and paid for it with my knees, or the moment I said don't get another thing out of the kitchen or you won't eat for the rest of the day? By the things I thought about, the things I tried not to think about, the things I refused to think about, the things I should have thought about? By the number of times I saw the light hit a certain way and thought, that's beautiful. Or the number of times I saw the light hit a certain way and interrupted it like the paparazzi? By the drifting pattern of wanting to live each moment like it was the showcase of heaven, or the subsequent moments of forgetting altogether that the weight of my words and actions echo into eternity? Would I catalogue it as a day lived by faith, or the focus of self?

Of course it was a mixture. Of course it wasn't tidy. Thank goodness for stories about prodigals and proud sons, about men of valor who had weak knees, about women who sacrificed in love and then sought for some approval. I find myself and not a few of my people in all those stories. Thank goodness for Good Fathers, working worth into the worst of us.