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Actual Sunshine

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Rain, rain, go away… 

It has been uncharacteristically wet this month, with more than twice the amount of rainfall than average and barely a dry day to tackle the jungle taking over the backyard. Summer heat has mostly eluded us, with at least one frost warning and images of snowfall in the higher elevations of nearby mountain parks. Day after day we’ve traded sunshine and slip-n-slides for puddle-jumping and umbrellas.

It has given way to a green countryside we don’t often get to see in July! By this time of the year our landscape is usually taking on a dull, yellow-brown hue and my plants have all but given up trying to survive bouts of heat and hail. While the rainy summer has been lovely for the imagination, local waterfowl and the veggie garden, it has been hard on the hopes we had for long stretches of hot weather full of deck-lounging, lake fun, pool pop-ins, family water fights and late picnics in beautiful places.

Until this week.

An angel chorus burst into song in my heart when the first rays of actual sunshine broke through the violet haze of dawn. And in the forecast for the first time in weeks, no threat of rain! Just summer perfection as the radiant, glorious sun dazzled against a bluebird backdrop. As if on cue, the breeze picked up slightly, just enough to keep the heat in hand and the bugs at bay.  Unexpected towers of angry marshmallow clouds bubbled up in the distance but then — poof! — dissipated into flat, thin, wispy-edged, white nothings floating steadily across the horizon.

We’ve already forgotten the chill we’ve been under and have fully embraced the heatwave. And it’s wonderful! Perhaps the rain will return, and for more days than we’d like, but for now we’re basking in the blessing of the sunshine.

I’ve been reading through the book of Psalms and it seems to me that many of the Psalms are just like the weather pattern we’ve been experiencing recently: cold misery followed by radiant joy. “How long O Lord?”, followed by “Praise the Lord O my soul!” in the very same Psalm! In the middle of the pain and sadness, honestly acknowledging the difficulty, crying out to the Lord for help and salvation and remembering His faithfulness in days past, then finding that He is faithful, bursting into shouts of praise for His goodness to His people.

Psalm 145 (NIV)

I will exalt you, my God the King;
    I will praise your name for ever and ever.

Every day I will praise you
    and extol your name for ever and ever.

Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise;
    his greatness no one can fathom.

One generation commends your works to another;
    they tell of your mighty acts.

They speak of the glorious splendor of your majesty—
    and I will meditate on your wonderful works.

They tell of the power of your awesome works—
    and I will proclaim your great deeds.

They celebrate your abundant goodness
    and joyfully sing of your righteousness.

The Lord is gracious and compassionate,
    slow to anger and rich in love.

The Lord is good to all;
    he has compassion on all he has made.

All your works praise you, Lord;
    your faithful people extol you.

They tell of the glory of your kingdom
    and speak of your might,

so that all people may know of your mighty acts
    and the glorious splendor of your kingdom.

Your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom,
    and your dominion endures through all generations.

The Lord is trustworthy in all he promises
    and faithful in all he does.

The Lord upholds all who fall
    and lifts up all who are bowed down.

The eyes of all look to you,
    and you give them their food at the proper time.

You open your hand
    and satisfy the desires of every living thing.

The Lord is righteous in all his ways
    and faithful in all he does.

The Lord is near to all who call on him,
    to all who call on him in truth.

He fulfills the desires of those who fear him;
    he hears their cry and saves them.

The Lord watches over all who love him,
    but all the wicked he will destroy.

My mouth will speak in praise of the Lord.
    Let every creature praise his holy name
    for ever and ever.

I love how the cycles of nature and seasons of the year point us right back to the goodness and faithfulness of the One who made it all! Echoes of His resurrection power ring through all creation with the sunshine after the rain, spring after winter, streams in the desert, fireweed after the wildfire. And don’t we desperately need the reminder to keep us focussed on Him in the face of unforeseen realities! Through it all, our eyes are on the Only One who truly saves, who is near to all who call on Him in truth, who watches over all who love Him.

What an incredible blessing to know that we are never alone!

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14 NIV)

Image: mine

Spring Again

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Caught a glimpse of my first red-winged blackbird this week. Birds of prey are back in town, soaring over greening landscapes. My hollyhocks and strawberries have popped up and the irises are well on their way. 

All at once, the world is alive!

Seems the spring snow has done its job, though it will likely return to nourish the earth before May is through. Spring is so changeable here! Last week snow flurries fell as the sun was shining. Good weather is never a guarantee, so even though the breeze has a hint of a chill at times, we try to drink in each drop of amazing golden sunshine while we have it.

After the soft pastel skies and brilliant white palette of winter followed by the drab grey and brown of the spring melt, I am ready for bluebird skies and every shade of green dotted with the myriad of pinks, blues and purples, reds, yellows and oranges of the annuals and perennials in the neighbourhood. Bring on the birdsong, even in the wee hours, accompanied by the babbling of the nearby creek and the rustling of leaves on the once-bare trees.

What a gift!

Every year I am amazed that what once looked lifeless is now bursting with growth. The days lengthen, with light touching places that even a few short weeks ago seemed beyond reach — our annual reminder that God is always at work fulfilling the promise of new life, streams in dry places and beauty from ashes.

The God who created these beautiful natural rhythms of life is the very same God who carries us through the most difficult moments we are currently facing. He is faithful to bring the sunrise each morning and we can trust Him to continue His work in our lives.

Recently I’ve been thinking about this passage from 2 Corinthians 4:5-12 (NIV) — 

“For what we preach is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. 

For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.”

Nature reveals the glory of God, but at times our circumstances threaten to rob us of our joy. For you who feel battered by life today, hold on to the One who made His light shine in our hearts, who places treasures in jars of clay, who fills us with His power to face the day. When you wake up in the morning and that same thing is still, well, very much the same, hold fast to the truth that we are not crushed, not in despair, not abandoned, not destroyed. He is revealing His life in and through us. 

Then, step into the day with confidence knowing you are never alone. Intentionally notice the gifts of spring and let them refresh your heart as the Lord does His work. It’s all for His glory!

Thanks be to God.

Image: Stocksnap

Always Learning

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The rhythms of the year are more and more precious to me with each passing season. Birdsong floats over a carpet of green, buds appear on otherwise barren branches and tender shoots poke up through the earth. The sun plays hide and seek with layers of clouds, peeking its head out now and then to cast shadows.

Spring snow brings moisture, although we would rather it fall as rain, but we are well-acquainted with the changeable nature of the season. Even so, the first lines of Psalm 24 echo in my mind… 

“The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it,
    the world, and all who live in it…”

Time drifts along, rearranging the space in my life to suit the season I am in. I am the first to tell my friends that “life is seasons” when the waves of change roll. I’m telling them, but in reality, I’m preaching to my own heart.

I’ve never liked endings, even necessary ones. Even though I know how it will go, I can’t help myself. I’ve shed tears over the break-up of the Beatles, the final minutes of Return of the King, the closing pages of Pride and Prejudice and Anne of Green Gables. I always wish for just one more song or scene. My 9 year old appears to have inherited that trait. The other day she said to me, “Sometimes I don’t finish books because I don’t want them to end.”

Oh honey, I feel that deep in my bones. I don’t want this season to end so I hold on with an iron grip and refuse to open my white-knuckled fingers for fear not that I will drop something but that I myself will be dropped. Is it trust that I am forgetting? I know the One who holds it all together. Can I not trust that He will sustain? That He is enough?

In holding on so tight, I’m trying to hold back the sands of time grain by grain.

Impossible task.

Every time we reach a new stage, a new milestone, a new season, a piece of my heart goes with them. It’s just another version of the same lesson we begin to learn the moment they take their first breath.

Yet, in my heart I hear the gentle whisper, reminding me of the One who is always good.

“Let them go. Let them experience and learn and grow and discover the very good God that you know. The God who sustains, rescues, forgives, saves and love so deeply. The God who is with us, and will be long after you’re gone.”

Oh Lord have mercy on this mama who is always learning to let go! Give me the grace to keep moving through these ages and stages, knowing that You are good and Your love endures forever, and that Your faithfulness continues through all generations.

Help me to trust them, but most of all, to trust You with them, Lord.

Image: Stocksnap

Joy in the Morning

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“Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.”

When I was a girl we went to a little country church where our aging pastor stood behind a huge walnut-coloured wooden pulpit and reminded us of these words from Psalm 30. He would say it once with as much passion as he could muster without raising too many eyebrows, pause, and then repeat it in quiet confidence. It may have been the only phrase that brought murmurs of “Amen” out of a tight-lipped group of unflappable farming families steeped in tradition.

Out of all the forty-five minute sermons he preached, this sentence took root my heart like no other.

Weeping may last for the night.

The holiday season has come to an end and we’ve moved into a new year with all of the old sorrows and struggles. Grief ebbs and flows, new challenges arise as old ones fade, and as we navigate the changes and make space in our life for the unexpected, we weep for the losses we’ve experienced in the past 12 months.

Joy comes in the morning.

Struggles never resolve at the same time, do they? The night may be fading away and morning joy is dawning in many places we once waged war with the darkness, and yet there are other places in the thick of inky blackness with terror on either side, awaiting first light.

And the peaceful places under a rose-gold dawn remind us that one day every bit of dark will have the full light of the sun blazing on it, bringing beauty from ashes and life from desert wastelands.

Isn’t this the good news of Jesus?

As I tread softly into this new year with all of its unknowns, these words bring me comfort:

The desert and the parched land will be glad;
    the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom;
    it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.
The glory of Lebanon will be given to it,
    the splendor of Carmel and Sharon;
they will see the glory of the Lord,
    the splendor of our God.

Strengthen the feeble hands,
    steady the knees that give way;

say to those with fearful hearts,
    “Be strong, do not fear;
your God will come,
    he will come with vengeance;
with divine retribution
    he will come to save you.”

Then will the eyes of the blind be opened
    and the ears of the deaf unstopped.

Then will the lame leap like a deer,
    and the mute tongue shout for joy.
Water will gush forth in the wilderness
    and streams in the desert.

The burning sand will become a pool,
    the thirsty ground bubbling springs.
In the haunts where jackals once lay,
    grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.

And a highway will be there;
    it will be called the Way of Holiness;
    it will be for those who walk on that Way.
The unclean will not journey on it;
    wicked fools will not go about on it.

No lion will be there,
    nor any ravenous beast;
    they will not be found there.
But only the redeemed will walk there,

    and those the Lord has rescued will return.
They will enter Zion with singing;
    everlasting joy will crown their heads.
Gladness and joy will overtake them,
    and sorrow and sighing will flee away.

(Isaiah 35 NIV)

What a promise! Strengthen my hands, steady my knees, Lord. Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.

Sunrise Beauty (image: mine)

Roots

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Long have we waited.

The frozen fingers of a cold spring have finally released, and early summer heat has breathed new life into the neighbourhood.

We’ve witnessed the return of nearly all the winged migrants in the past few weeks, flying back and forth over our backyard as they build their nests and prepare for another season of fledglings. The unseasonable temperatures have coaxed the leaves from the trees and the early-blooming flowers up out of the ground to bob their heads in the warm wind.

My irises stand tall in full bloom, two weeks early. The strawberries are coming up, the Saskatoons and apples are full of blossoms and the hollyhocks I sowed last year are returning with great enthusiasm.

My life feels tied to the rhythm of the seasons. Maybe it’s because I spent the first part of my life in an agricultural community centred around seeding and harvest. You can take the girl out of the country… 

I don’t mind. In fact, I welcome the week in May where we prepare the ground and plant the garden. As I was turning soil and pulling weeds in the front bed last night, a sense of calm came over me. The job felt insurmountable, but with my two helpers, we made quick work of the quack grass and mixed the soil for some new perennials. I’ve often joked that after fifteen years of trial and error, I should just read a book about gardening and learn how to do it right, but trial and error seems to be my gardening style and I’m making peace with it.

My arms bear the marks of weeding under the rose bushes that I planted one year just to see if they’d take. They’re my favourite addition to our yard. They bloom from June to the first snowfall without fail, and their ruby red rose hips bring a cheerful pop of colour in the late days of fall. Our Saskatoons have barely ever given us enough berries to make a pie, but we enjoy daily handfuls in late July. The apple tree is a saga in itself, and after eight years we’re seeing enough fruit to have a taste. It’s more of a hobby garden than anything else, but it’s lovely. I battle critters all season long, so I guess we can consider it a pretty good year if we get anything out of it at all!

So many times I’ve wondered if I’m wasting my time and energy trying to grow things in less-than-ideal conditions on a shoestring budget, but I’m amazed at the beauty I’ve witnessed in this humble hobby garden. I’m even more amazed at the things the Lord is teaching me through this simple summer pastime, and at how good it is for my soul. Every year is different, and every year I’m changed by it.

I wonder if there are other areas of life that I am pouring into, areas that feel like they are a waste of time, areas of costly investment that one day will reveal fruit I cannot even imagine!

“So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.”

Colossians 2:6-7 NIV

Every gardening year I’m reminded that sending my roots down deeper into Christ is the only way to truly thrive.

“No family will always be there. No talent will always be there. Your looks will certainly not always be there. Whatever it is you put your anchor down into, if it’s a circumstance, it’s like putting it into the water. Everything but the promise of God is water.” – Tim Keller

My roses. (Image: mine)

Growing

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My poor sweet little plant.

In the late days of fall, I received a beautiful little gift of red blooms to brighten my days. It was lovely for the first week or two, and with some watering I prolonged its life. But a short while later, it withered away to almost nothing. The stems were black and death hovered above its roots.

In years past I’ve simply tossed a plant like this into the compost with a shrug, but this year I wondered if it could be brought back to life. I cut it back, re-potted it, watered what was left and then waited. Nothing seemed to be happening, but I gave it a spot in the pale winter sunshine and watered it when needed. The Christmas season came and went and once the tree was down and the decorations were away, there stood the little plant, a slight bit of green poking through the dirt.

Amazed at its resilience, I faithfully cared for it and watched it grow and expand into a pretty little burst of green on the top of the piano. One day, half the plant died! So I cut it back again and nurtured what was left. As the weeks went by and spring crept closer, it was joined on the top of the piano by pans of vegetable seedlings, a pretty little succulent, some sunlight-hungry hollyhock sprouts, a mini-rose bush on a plant stand and an experiment that has us attempting to grow sunflowers in a small zip-top bag.

After already watering it once this week, I noticed this morning that it was shrivelled and sad. To my surprise, the leaves dropped at my touch. Disappointment set in. I had a plan for this little plant and we were nearly at the finish line! I was hoping that if I could keep it alive another month, I might be able to transplant it to the front planter outside and watch it bloom in the summer sunshine.

Can this little November plant be saved yet another time? I got to work pruning the sections that were definitely dead, gave it deep drink and found it a new home with more direct sunlight away from all the other plants. Only time will tell if my plant CPR will work, but the consistent work of checking, watering, re-potting and pruning was a necessity to give the two remaining stems a chance to survive.

After over a decade of trying my hand at growing things, I still have so much to learn, not only in plant care but in lessons that transfer beyond the soil to my heart.  

Jesus’ words in John 15 come to mind (John 15:1-8 NIV):

 “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.”

Two little stems left to try again (image: mine)

Thankful

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That little sunflower, the one from April that nearly drowned after my earnest 7 year old cared a little too much for it, is three feet tall now.

It stands guard at our front window, watching the sun cross the sky from morning ’til night, a stalwart reminder of resilience in the face of trials of too much water, not enough water, hungry critters, heat that rivalled the desert, and now the kiss of frost.

I’ve often said that I don’t garden because I’m good at it; I garden because it teaches me things. Every year I marvel at the wonders the Lord brings out of my feeble efforts to grow beautiful and delicious things. I’m slowly realizing that it really isn’t me that’s doing the work. Some plants that I thought would thrive have long since shrivelled up, and the ones that I had little hope for are still blooming in Technicolor as the last few weeks of summer fade into the glory of fall.

We are not self-made. Each of us is a garden of hopes and dreams, where ones we think will thrive die off and ones that were planted without a thought grow tall and strong and beautiful, surprising us with a fragrance of life that fills our senses and thrills us beyond measure. God’s goodness is truly astounding!

While roses and sunflowers bloom and carrots and beets sweeten in the frosty night air, the golden and amber paintbrush of fall begins to touch the edges of the landscape.

Thanksgiving is on the horizon and it’s all too fast for me, to be honest. That’s usually when the initial waves of cold and flu season are slamming our home, school and fall commitments are ramping up and the urgency of the final days of warm weather pull us outside as often as possible. Nearly a decade ago I began a tradition of Three Weeks of Thanks, where we spend the three weeks before Thanksgiving intentionally focussing on gratitude and preparing our hearts. In years past, we’ve done handprint leaves out of construction paper with the things we’re thankful written on them. They go up on the wall under a “tree” of sorts, as if they’re gently whirling to the ground. I already know what mine will say.

Our eldest is a pre-teen. Our youngest is off to kindergarten this year. And the in-betweeners are in the thick of elementary-age experiences. No longer are the wee hours of the morning fraught with spills and potty accidents, nor are the evenings quiet with kids in bed early. It’s easy to write a blog when your kids are little; the material writes itself! There are so many adorable moments and I’m glad I’ve recorded some, but as they get older, the stories are shifting. My children are becoming their own people and I’m learning so much about them and myself as we grow together.

That means this space is shifting too. Gone are the days of a young mama sharing about sleepless nights and applesauce smears, here are the days of a late-thirties mom of four learning to trust the One who made these sweet ones to take care of them in the way that only He can.

For this journey, I am thankful.

Thank You Jesus for these hopes and dreams that are thriving right in front of me. I am fully aware that these aren’t by my hand but Yours. You are the Master Gardener, and I’m living proof that Your plans are far better than mine ever were.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. He chose to give us birth through the word of truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of all he created.” James 1:17-18 NIV

Image: Stocksnap

Slowing Down to Savour

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A temporary relief from the stifling heat of summer is so welcome! Dark clouds hang overhead, yet to give us the treasure within. We’re waiting for the rain to fall after a week of bright blue skies, blazing sunshine and hot, sleepless nights.

Summer is sailing along now, heavy with the scent of life in full bloom. All the things we’ve planted are showing their resilience in the face of hail and heat. Some stand tall regardless of what comes, others are crushed beneath the weight of the elements or become food for critters and birds bent on survival.

Saskatoons are slowly ripening, but the sparrow stole my only strawberry of the year. Though the plants are young and the soil likely needs more nutrients, I have hope that in future years we’ll have more berries. Maybe I’ll expand the patch in a few more years if the plants are doing well.

Amid all the flowers and fruit, our kids are engaged in the very serious business of backyard play. With four between the ages of 5 and 11, there is no shortage of ideas on how to spend the day. Morning ’til night, with short breaks for food and responsibilities, they play. And play. And read. And play. I believe in the gift of a rather boring summer, with loads of space in the schedule to literally do nothing, if that’s what they want to do. Of course, the responsibilities are always an expectation, but otherwise, we aim for a rather carefree summer pace.

I glance outside. The much-needed moisture begins with sprinkles at first and then turns to a steady, gentle rain. The thirsty ground is soaking up the blessing of a long, cool drink. Trees bend in the wind and robins impatiently pull the surfacing worms out of the ground.

The kids wander around for a while before becoming thoroughly soaked and chilly. In the back door they tumble, asking for a late snack, although lunch is nearly ready. It’s our daily reset button, a gathering around an abundant table, filling their hungry bellies and setting them on track for the afternoon ahead.

I don’t want to forget what it was like in this season of life. I am learning to slow down and savour the small, ordinary moments of each day. These scenes are mainly for me, snapshots of what life is like in these good old days, moments captured on paper and in photos, and mostly, in my mama’s heart.

All four kids, home together, more of a gift than I can fully appreciate, I’m sure. That old cliche rings true: “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.”

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom….
Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.”

Psalm 90:12, 14 (NIV)

The pansies are doing alright this year. Grateful.

Remember

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A mama house sparrow hops around our front lawn, looking for a bite to eat in the sunshine. Everything is alive now, with dandelions, saskatoons, apples and irises in bloom. Ants carry on, bees bumble from sweet flower to sweet flower, sparrows and chickadees flit here and there, robins diligently care for their broods. The hawks are back too, solitary hunters soaring and diving to fill their bellies.

Let heaven and nature sing!

In becoming what I like to call Noticers, we’ve caught breathtaking glimpses of our magnificent, carefully designed world right in our own backyard. I’m amazed at how many times I hear, “Mom! You’ve got to see this!”, an invitation to hurry out the back door to observe the shape of a spiderweb or quietly tiptoe across the deck to spy a house finch among the leaves.

For years I’ve thought that I was just one of those people who didn’t like change. We have this vintage book about opposites where the characters go to the circus and at the very end two of them are heading home. One says, “I’m sad that it’s over” and another one says, “I’m glad that it happened”. Guess which one I tend to be! I’m the one who sheds a few tears at the end of the Beatles Anthology every single time, even though we know from history how that story ends. It occurred to me this week though, that it’s not change itself I dislike but its hallmark sense of loss.

I find the slow rhythm of the seasons steadies me. Give me the first robin, the first handful of Saskatoon berries, the first pop of fall colour, the first blanket of snow and I feel confident in what lies ahead. These changes I welcome, although they’re bittersweet. New milestones, adventures and plans are exciting, but a sudden illness, unplanned large expense or unwelcome news can throw me for a solid loop unless I pause to remember not only who God is but also what He has done in the past.

This week I came across Psalm 116:1-7 — 

I love the Lord, for he heard my voice;
    he heard my cry for mercy.
Because he turned his ear to me,
    I will call on him as long as I live.

The cords of death entangled me,
    the anguish of the grave came over me;
    I was overcome by distress and sorrow.
Then I called on the name of the Lord:
    “Lord, save me!”

The Lord is gracious and righteous;
    our God is full of compassion. 
The Lord protects the unwary;
    when I was brought low, he saved me.

Return to your rest, my soul,
    for the Lord has been good to you.

Amen. Praise the Lord. He is good to me, even when my plans go awry, when interruptions come, when my energy is drained and I have little left in the tank. Even when the mundane is, well, mundane. Even when the day feels like an uphill climb or the pace of life is dizzying. Even when we have to say goodbye, and change brings its unmistakeable sense of loss.

Maybe, especially then.

What shall I return to the Lord
    for all his goodness to me?

I will lift up the cup of salvation
    and call on the name of the Lord.
I will fulfill my vows to the Lord
    in the presence of all his people.

(Psalm 116:12-14)

The foreshadowing of a fruitful year for our Saskatoon. (image: mine)

Brave Enough

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“What we perceive to be holding us back may actually be the catalyst for the deeper, lasting change we desperately need.

Can we make room for it? Are we brave enough to let ourselves be interrupted by what is better?”
–March 28, 2019

My own words written three years ago, a lesson I am still learning to put into practice. 

I set aside a couple of weekend mornings each month to write. This particular morning, my coffee was made, the engine of my mind was in first gear, my fingers were itching to tap out my thoughts on a blank sheet, and the old school cartoons were on for the kids.

I sat down beside our youngest for a minute to give him a little side-squeeze and a kiss and he looked up at me with his bright blue eyes and said, “Can you watch with me, Mom?”

So often, I’ve blown right past such an invitation. In fact, my default position on such things is, “I’m just going to do this one thing, okay?” which stretches into several things and before I know it, the moment is gone.

Let’s be honest. Sometimes you just have to say no for all kinds of good reasons. Every day made up of thousands of little choices that reflect the current reality I’m living, and every time a request comes I have to weigh it before making a decision. This morning, I weighed the decision before me and I knew that it would be a mistake to turn this little guy down. We cuddled up together, and before long, like a magnet, the other three kids found their way onto the couch too. Each one, with their own unique and beautiful design, settled down beside us, close enough for hugs and back scratches.

It won’t always be like this, I know. One day these little birdies will fly and I’ll cheer them on from the nest but for today, I’m taking the opportunity to soak up all the snuggles. What makes it possible to continue on, day after day, with all the different needs and wants of each one?

The beautiful grace of Jesus in one tiny three-letter word.

GET.

I don’t have to do these things; I get to do these things, even the hard things. I get to hear about their day, help them navigate their world, give them the tools to carry into adulthood, pray for them, love them, delight in them, cheer them on.

This one simple mindset change can make all the difference between a child who grows up feeling like a burden to the entire world and a child who knows they are deeply loved no matter what.

Years ago when we first had little babies, my mother-in-law said something that marked my heart: “I love having a front-row seat to my kids’ lives!”. Her exuberant joy of cheering on her kids and grandkids in the different ages and stages has impacted how I view this life I’ve been given.

It does not come without great cost, but it is worth more than gold.

“Mom! This is a scary part! Come sit with me!” My 4 year old calls me back to cuddle on the couch for a few more minutes. I return to my own words, written long before this morning’s cuddles on the couch:

What we perceive to be holding us back may actually be the catalyst for the deeper, lasting change we desperately need. 

Can we make room for it? Are we brave enough to let ourselves be interrupted by what is better?

Lord, may I always learn to embrace what is better!

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” -Galatians 6:9 (NIV)

Photo by one of the kids