Lazy Morning

It was a perfect, beautiful morning.

We ate cereal together in the sunshine streaming through the windows.

I was feeling quiet inside.

I asked them if they wanted to read after breakfast.

It just felt right.

We forgot about writing and reading and other stuff I thought we were going to do for sure today.

I sat down, bathrobed with stockings on, wrapping the warm throw on the couch around me.  Isaiah snuggled in next, pushing his feet under the blanket, burrowing in beneath my legs.  Mia wanted my lap but she's getting a bit big for that sometimes now and it makes me sad.  (I have to kind of move my head at an awkward angle when she sits on my lap these days so I can see the book.)  

[Interjection: In church on Sunday I said something to Scott about how I swear my neck or spine is out of whack just because of how often I'm not sitting straight to accommodate this little body.  And he whispered back something with beautiful perspective, conveying what a lovely thing that was, about what a lovely person was making that happen, about the wonderful blessing she is -- and he's right.] 

I put her next to me on the couch, in a small niche perfect for her little bum.

Benji sat down next to Isaiah, Mr. Bear in hand.

We read the end of Where the Red Fern Grows.

I've never read it before until now.

I knew it was going to be sad, and I was a little anxious about how sad I knew the boys would be.  The house was still, morning sunlight felt warm and beautiful and light and welcoming.  It felt so peaceful -- there was nothing but us snuggling, the story and the words.  Reflecting, for me, on the beauty of life and relationships, childhood and parenthood and family and what it means to be -- or have -- a little boy.

The boys and I cried.  They had big tears streaming down their cheeks throughout the last several pages.  Isaiah kept saying to me that he hoped they were going to come back to life.  He kept telling me that Billy should say a prayer.  I think he said that was the only thing that could make a difference.  I don't think Mia got what was happening, but she would look up at me as I was trying to read through my tears.

Afterward I held both of them while they were crying.

We talked about how before we came to earth we knew there would be great joy and great sorrow, and about how death is a part of life.  We didn't quite get to this part, but I wanted to talk to them about how sometimes God lets really sad or hard or unjust things happen.  Sometimes saying a prayer isn't going to change what actually will BE.  I think we barely skimmed this, but I didn't really get to thresh it out and talk with them about it.  I want to come back to it, tho, because it's such a powerful and difficult concept.  It then requires us to join in, to offer our faith, to ask questions, to brave hard roads and climb the boulders in each of our paths.

But we did talk about the beautiful part of the end of God's plan.  That everything will be made right.  That all the unfairness of life and difficulty and struggle and sorrow will be recompensed.  It will be okay in the end.  I so believe this.

Bonds don't end at death.  There is great beauty and warmth and joy beyond.

I snuggled them and thought about their tenderness, those big huge eyes brimming with tears.

It melted me inside.

And my recommendation for the day?

I just read this article written by a woman I want to call friend but have, as yet, not met in real life.  I LOVE what she shared and has to say and feel inspired to make some changes.

Being a Father

The other night I was at the computer when the little gal woke up. 

I was trying to finish a couple of posts and so I took her upstairs to her dad.

This is just another reason that I love him.

He was all snug in bed reading his book, one of a string of biographical stuff he's been reading lately.

We walked into the room.

Looking over and seeing her with me, his face broke into a big smile.

Bookmark went in the book.

Book went back on his night stand.

I said I wanted her to snuggle with him for a few minutes while I finished something.

(We kind of have this deal: he gets up with the  boys and I get up with her.  But it's not really a firm deal...we help each other, too.)

He pulled back his covers and made a spot for her.

I left the room, watching them both turn on their sides facing each other, smiling and giggling.

When I came up about 30 minutes later, I found them like this.

All was peaceful and quiet, and my heart felt warm inside.

This is no small thing.

I think fathers are of utmost importance, and their role cannot be undervalued.

Good fathers are so needed in today's world -- men who will truly be MEN and show their children the importance of integrity, honesty, love, service, hard work, compassion, and how to honor, love, and respect women.

I love this guy.

He is a fantastic father -- and I've said it before, but he literally lights up when he sees our kids.  He is committed to, and takes time for, them.  He takes them exploring and adventuring, lets them work with him, goofs, wrestles and is silly with them, reads them bedtime stories and sings them songs.  

This weekend he is starting guitar lessons.  The other night, while cleaning up dinner, we were listening to Keb Mo's Lullaby Baby Blue and he repeated the track after we'd listened to it.  I said something like, "Hey, once you learn your basics, you'll be able to sing this to them at night."  And he said something like, "That's what I intend to do."  He teaches them respect and self confidence and is sensitive to their needs.

I'm grateful my children have this.

On Civil Rights

On Monday during lunch, while the kids were having some trail mix post sandwiches (for Isaiah and Mia) and cereal (for Benji), we read this story and this story.

I think they correlated quite nicely -- treating others as you would like to be treated, not treating others as less than yourself.

The thing I love about the first book is that it shares the phrase of the golden rule in the way it is taught from various religions: Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, and the Shawnee Tribe.  It also promotes thinking about applying the rule in different situations from a child's perspective, and was very thought-provoking for me as well.  

Then we read about Martin Luther King's life in the other book, and I prefaced it with earlier conversations we've had on slavery and the poor treatment of black people, the whole ugly issue of racism and how wrong it is.

The story sketches Martin's life as a child and as an adult.

What he fought for, how he worked and prayed with people.

It shares the Rosa Parks incident.

We talked about how Martin knew it was right to fight for equal rights, even though it was scary.

He had courage and he knew he was doing God's work.

I love that famous phrase: "I have a dream."  It moves me to the core.

We talked about how some white people wouldn't let black people in their stores, on the bus, use their toilets, share their common things.  They viewed black people as LESS, as dirty or unclean.

I asked them throughout the discussion if they thought this was right, to which the answer was always no.

Benji didn't understand why Rosa Parks was arrested because she wouldn't give up her seat.  He said, "The policemen did that, Mom?"

I spent time reinforcing.

We talked about how we are all God's children, and not one of us is any better than anyone else, regardless of skin color, eye shape, or any other discriminatory factor.

We are all equal and all beautiful.

Then, after this discussion, Isaiah came out with this:

"If the white people kept doing that to the black people, I would grow up to be the bishop and teach them all about Jesus Christ and that they can use the same potties and the same buses and the same plates and tables as the white people are." 

Aside from it kind of cracking me up that he referred to being a bishop so he could teach people what was right (we had talked about how Martin was a minister), I thought it was very profound.

I found myself uttering a silent prayerful wish, right then, in my mind and heart:

Oh Isaiah, I hope you have the courage to fight the injustices in your time.

I hope you have the courage to speak up and out.

To teach truth by your words and example.

And God, please give me the courage to do the same.

Last Saturday and Sunday

On Saturday morning I woke up and saw fog sitting low on the mountains.

I had a list to do and knew I needed to get out and run before it got nasty.

Turns out, in the time it took me to start getting dressed, the rain began.

I kind of ughed inside, but went anyway.

So glad I did.

Ran up the hoofer hill right by house and kept going for 40 minutes.

I was soaking wet.

But every time I work out after or in a beautiful snowstorm, or with rain falling all around (and on!) me, there is a great quiet inside.

Something about being in the element creates something still inside me.

I forget how much I love this until I do it again.

I pushed hard and came home.

It felt so good, and I was so glad I hadn't let the cold keep me inside.

Took this dorky picture of myself to try and show you guys how soaked I was. (I was trying to get my wet legs, not my face and upper body---clearly this didn't work.  And my hand below almost looks like a black spider...what's up with that?)

This one is a bit better.

Notice how much lighter my spandex is towards my feet??

We bought a couch over the weekend.

We've wanted leather, something with classic lines, chocolate brown, simple.

Found it.

Love it.

We ate some yummy food.

Had a date night (I love being with him!).

Took the kids to their first official concert of baroque chamber music and then out to ice cream.

They did so awesome, and we're already trying to figure out what our next cultural outing will be with them.

Sunday was spent at church and in time together.

After dinner we read for an hour out of Where the Red Fern Grows.

We were gonna make cookie dough and bake some warm gooieness, but didn't get there yet.

That sounds like something yummy for my to-do list sometime this week.

Yes, please!

I love this time.

Letters

 (pics of my Mom with Mia)

 My mom made a big move to the Middle East this past weekend for a new job.

I am so proud of her.

She's almost 61, and went to teach at a school that was founded with the express purpose of educating women to be leaders.
I think it's brave.  She went without knowing anyone.
I love my mom.
From her example she teaches me to think for myself, to stand alone if that's what it means, to be honest in my feelings and how I express them, to be brave, to be okay in my own skin, to not stop learning, to be considerate of others, to never laugh at or mock something different from myself and to respect all peoples.

That's a tall order.

I'm trying to live up to them.

I love these legacies.
This is something to be proud of.
Thank you, Mom.

Each day we're doing schoolwork, we do something with reading and something with writing.
So, we wrote letters last week. 
To my grandparents, who we were going to visit.



 To give well wishes to my mother, beginning this new chapter and adventure.


 We added scratch-n-sniff stickers.
 And wrote these cards for my sister who is recovering from knee surgery AGAIN.


These are so cute I couldn't not share them.
I am proud of these boys.

Mia wanted to write letters, too, so I helped.



As I was getting ready to post these the other day, I thought about how much I love letters.

Super heart heart love them.
They are so romantic and timeless.
There is something about taking the time to put pen to paper, to personalize them with your own handwriting, something that calls back yesteryear in today's frenzy of gmail and text and everything quick quick quick. It's a beautiful thing to take the time for personal, quaint, charming touches that say I CARE.
I've written a few letters in my day.
I think about the role they've played in my life.
I have cards and letters saved in the hope chest at the foot of my bed, in scrapbooks, tucked in corners of desks and stacks to be organized into meaningful reminiscences.
Each a tangible reminder of someone significant in my small world, of a specific time, of how that person influenced and blessed my life.

I went to the letters that Scott and I exchanged on his mission.  
We have four huge binders of letters.

 I looked at the fun letterheads, at the cutouts of Calvin & Hobbes' comic strips, various pics that were part of this or that joke, nicknames, bunches of hand-drawn flowers.

I choked up as I read expression after expression at the beginning or ending of his letters to me -- about what an amazing woman he thought I was, about being such a lucky guy, about how beautiful I was, how special I was to him.
He was so focused as a missionary, so dedicated.
(In fact, later on, I wished he would say a few more of those cute things because he was so into the work.  I knew he loved what he was doing, 100%.  But it was lovely he was so dedicated to truth that I felt so passionately about, too.)  

I knew he had me tucked away in a safe place, tho.
I was reminded of this the other day, and became pretty emotional.

I had forgotten.
One of my favorite parts that I read in those few minutes was a snippet where he remembered the night that he really kissed me for the first time.  And he said something like, "Honestly, I knew I wanted to be with you forever from that night."
I'm more grateful today for his companionship than I was then.
We've been through a helluva lot more.
I feel more bound to him.
But I look back and I see these seeds that were planted.
I see things I've forgotten.
I felt gratitude again.
I felt like a little dry, parched piece of earth in my memory of time got some rain, and little flowers remembered how to grow over there.
A beautiful, shocking, outcropping of wildflowers abloom again.

I plan to order a copy of THIS book I read years ago, but want to read again.

I keep thinking about it.
I loved it.
This is a lovely, lovely compilation.
So romantic.
So sweet and genuine.
Charming and heartfelt.
Inspiring.

Maybe you wanna order it too and get into the valentine love?
And maybe you also wanna join my personal goal for the week and send out a few handwritten somethings?
A card, a letter, something genuine and with a personal touch?
I do, I do!

Tell Me What You Thought

Do you know what I loved last night?

I came home from young women and was trying to get everyone to cooperate so we could read and they could go to bed.

I was feeling a bit cranky.

Kind of got my head back on and it ended all right, with a good chapter down and scriptures and prayer.

Then I went to facebook and read the article my friend had linked there.

I almost cried and laughed outloud, too.

I totally recommend it.

Love, love, love, love, LOVE.

My favorite line? The one she says she would say to the young mother down the road.

So great. I also love the idea of passing it forward and helping the young mother when you have the opportunity.  I have thought about doing that so many times when I have felt like my hands (and emotional patience) is about all tied up.  I've thought, "Remember this.  Down the road, when you're not in this stage anymore.  And when you see that strung out mom in the grocery store or somewhere else, HELP her!!"

It's awesome.

Go check it out HERE.

 And then, I'd love it if you came back and told me what you thought of it.

Just sayin. 

Learning What It Means

I got fidgety.

Never loved the wintery mantle.

Still haven't figured something out for January that I totally love up there.

So I went on to love month, and decided that from here on out, I'll probably just celebrate the love directly after Christmas.  Why not?

As I got into it, I realized I wanted to celebrate the love we have for each other -- beginning as a couple, morphing into family.

And I wanted it simple.

 Family photos.
I chose the candid sepia photo we used for our wedding announcement.

My current most fave picture of Mimi with her dad.

The pic of me laughing as the boys were trying to smooch my cheeks.

The mantle became an expression of something I've been thinking about a lot lately.

The other night Scott and I were talking about the progress we can both see and feel
 that has been made in our relationship in the last year.

I've thought a lot lately about how the person you marry becomes such a significant choice.

You don't even realize how significant it is when you are doing it, even if you hear yourself saying, "This is a HUGE decision, a HUGE choice."

You don't know that yet.

But it's really starting to sink in for me.

When I come away from gatherings with folks that I love dearly, and feel that comfort in knowing that I don't have to explain myself to him.  He understands me in some ways where I don't have to say a whole lot.

That he loves my kids the same way that I do, because they are his, too.

That we have such a collective history, becoming more and more intertwined.

That he has seen, and accepted, a lot of my weaknesses and still is there for me anyway.

That he has forgiven a lot.

We've walked through several trials together, some pushing us apart, and then have had to fight to come back together.

Sometimes that feels like a crazy uphill climb.

But more and more, I just realize how much we share.

It doesn't mean that he always gets me or I get him.

It doesn't mean that we have 100% crossover of our interests and what we understand.

It doesn't mean we always like the same stuff or share the same opinion.

It doesn't mean we respond to everything the same way.

It doesn't mean we always understand each other and never ever get in a fight because of miscommunication (insert: hahahaha).

What I'm learning though?

It DOES mean it's about letting someone enrich your life, being willing to open up and not be scared of the differences or the beauty you find there.

It's about having a companion, and being a companion to someone else.

It's knowing you have someone to go home to, knowing someone will be there.

It's about recognizing the dual journey,and learning to count the steps together and not the differences.

It's about learning how to make better choices and grow up.

It's about humbling yourself and making it not about YOU, but about US.
It's about thinking about the other person, and how they feel.

This can be hard stuff, folks.

Lately for me it has been thinking a lot about being loving.

Choosing to love.

Not expect.

Not define.

Not put within a certain bracket.

Not compare.

Rather, I am trying to appreciate and respect more.

The more I honestly practice this and focus, the more I find to appreciate and respect.

The more I AM a companion, the more I notice how he is that back brace for me, too.

It's a continual give-give.

We have a lot of love to celebrate, a lot of learning and growing and stretching.

Not to mention the 3 little people we have now that just further us.

And being a family doesn't mean you have it all figured out or that things are always pretty.

It's about having someone to share the journey with, someone who helps you learn and discover a lot about yourself.

It means trying and loving and working at it the best you can, and noticing the miracles that happen along the way.