What this World is Full Of

It only takes a moment. I barely set our things down and she is yanking off her sandals and grinning wild.










We are outside! There is a hill! Wind in the face and bare toes to the earth she swipes the dirt and ants away and runs round and round and up and down all giggling joy. 


Her bobbling laughter turns many faces, most often mine, towards the sun setting slow, crowning her flushed face with gold and amber.









It's just a hill with a spotted tree. It's just Selah's soccer practice. It's just a common sunset. It's just a little breeze. It's just being outside. 


But I miss it. 


All the joy waiting to be felt beneath dusty feet. The earth which the breath of His mouth created... I walk this everyday. The heavens that declare His glory, I forget to stop and look up and see. 


"Do I not fill heaven and earth? declares the LORD."
~Jeremiah 23:24











Does she know she walks holy ground? 


I slip my sandals off, and look up. It's just a common evening rolling in a deepening gray, a soft blanket cooly tucking in the warm day. But I think I can see, a little more...








"Earth's crammed with heaven, 
and every common bush afire with God.
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes..."
~Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

A Daughter's Confession: Why Confess? (Part 2)

She is the most mature six year old I have ever known. 

But her vocabulary, her inquisitive intelligence, and her concept comprehension sometimes work to her disadvantage. I forget she has only just turned six. Even when I remember, I still struggle and pray about each questionable discipline situation... is this where I give grace due to her youth?

Lord, help me!  

But this... this was way over the very clearly established lines. 

She had been grumpy from the moment she woke up. She had been not-quite-complaining about everything. She had made it very clear she thought she “might be getting sick”... something was “tingly” in the back of her throat, she said. She had asked for the herbal expectorant I rarely distribute. But really, what the key issue was: she was exhausted. 

Two days in a row of my not being there for nap time/quiet time had simply worn her little body out. Yes, my six year old still needs, and takes, a two hour nap 90% of the time. The days she doesn’t sleep after about 30 minutes she plays or reads quietly on her bed for at least an hour. She hadn’t done either the past two days. She works hard, plays hard, thinks hard, and sleeps hard. 

And now, her face was hard. After breakfast I asked her to go upstairs and dress for the day. A few steps up I stopped her to remind her(so I wouldn’t have to correct or discipline her) to not drop her pajamas on the floor, but to please fold them and put them away if they were clean, or in the dirty laundry if they needed to be washed.

She had stopped, and during the course of my saying these few words she had spoken over me almost continually just saying “expectorant... Expectorant... Expectorant.” 

I didn’t break eye contact with her. “Selah. Come down here now. You know that was rude and unacceptable. Please stand in time out.”

She comes down, wearing a teenage face I thought I wouldn’t have to see for another decade, and slumps face forward against the wall.

It was some of the longest seven minutes of both of our lives. A child standing in time out can be so creative in what they can do to be annoying or distracting without exactly being disobedient to the point of incurring another punishment. 

With two minutes remaining I could see the signs that she had decided she needed to go to the bathroom. I cut her off before she began to speak. “Selah, you have a couple of minutes left. Do not talk or your time will start over.”

When this eternal two minutes was over and I told her her time was up she turned woundedly with tear-brimmed eyes and said in exasperation “MOM, couldn’t you see I had to go to the bathroom?!”

I see. I see clearly similar attitude issues in her God had just been working out in me. I respond to her calmly as He had responded to me: “I knew what you thought you needed. If we had been in the car you would have had to wait longer than you did while standing there. You may go now.”

She does. Not-quite shutting the door too hard. 

Lord, help me! 

She is about to tromp upstairs again when I call her to me, to come sit, come talk, I want to make sure she understands why I disciplined her. She slouches in resistant obedience. I lead her with questions... does she know why I asked her to stand in time out? 

“Yes. I know why. Because I interrupted you.”

“And why do you think that calls for correction?”

“Because I was rude.”

“And why is it wrong to be rude?”

She almost rolls her eyes. She takes a long breath in, resigns herself to having to say what she thinks I want to hear. She knows the application for the verses she’s long had memorized.

“Because love is not rude. God is not rude. And we are supposed to be like Him.”

I hear the inflection and follow it close “and do you want to be like Him? Not rude, not proud... but loving... patient and kind?”

She hesitates. Then says it straight and watches my face for reaction “sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no.”

I understand that. I live that. I smile into her honesty. “I understand how you feel. I really do. But I know in your heart you really do want to be a kind young lady, I know you don’t really want to be rude. I know you want to be obedient and respectful. Why don’t you take some time on your bed and talk to God about how you’re feeling? He can help you. He helps me.”

She shrugs in acceptance. “Okay, but I don’t really want to talk to Him.”

“Why is that, babe?”

“Because I’m angry.”

I understand that too. “Yes, it can be very difficult to talk to God when you are angry. What are you angry about?”

I hear the beginnings of a break in her voice. “Because... I’m angry because of what I did.”

The Spirit inspired words scroll across my sin-bent heart “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do... Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God--through Jesus Christ our Lord!”


I prompt further gently. "That's okay. That is a good thing. You can talk to Him about what you did. What do you remember about confessing your sin to God?"


She spouts it quickly, irritation pouring from her lips: "if we confess our sins He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." Then immediately follows with "but I just don't see the point. It doesn't make any sense to me."


I pray for her to stick with me here, to keep a willing heart, in this difficult place when we don't understand. "What doesn't make sense to you, Selah?"


She looks at me, frustration churning, and reveals the source. "Even if I confess my sin this time, I'm just going to mess up again. And then what? I'll have to confess again? I'll just mess up again and again and again! Why confess when you're just going to make more mistakes?"


I lean in close, so that she look will look into my eyes. "That is a very good question." She glances up. I look at her with tenderness and love, she connects, and softens a little. Oh sweet child, you have a lifetime of confession ahead of you. I don't want to tell her what she already knows. I pray for the Spirit Who reminds and teaches us all things to bring it to her mind. "What does God say He does for us when we confess?"


"He purifies us from all unrighteousness."


"Yes. He purifies us from all unrighteousness... and what blessing do you receive when you are pure?"


She is connecting the dots. "Blessed are the pure of heart for they shall see God."


"Yes. What an awesome blessing! Why do we need to be able to see Him?"


She speaks truth so easily, so obviously, and I'm refreshed by talking with this child who has no image to maintain, no pride greater than her questions and doubts."Because if we couldn't see Him we would be blind. We wouldn't know where to go or what to do. We'd bump into stuff."


I smile wide and one lights across her face too but she stuffs it back quickly, the reflection lost as she lowers her eyes back down to the ground. "But it still doesn't make sense to confess. I'll just lose that purity again."


I nod slow and serious. The motion draws her attention again to my face. I hold her there with affirmation. "That's true. We do not remain pure. But Selah, what if we never had a clean slate?" Breakfast dishes are still scattered everywhere. "What if I never washed, if I never purified the plate you eat off of?"


She is determined to be stubborn, a trait that can be used for God in such powerful ways and therefore has such potential for the kingdom of darkness as well. "I wouldn't mind it."


I adore the directness she starts from, a place God lovingly drags me to, so we can begin to work on my real issues. I laugh outright. "At first you might not! But what if I didn't wash it for days? For weeks... think of what would pile up! What then?"


Again, I appreciate her honesty. "That would be gross."


I nod. "It would. And what do you think would happen if you kept trying to be nourished off this dirty plate?"


"I would get sick."


Some of the words so impressed on me, only a few minutes earlier during my time with the LORD, ring straight through and strike loud. "they will be in despair, and all the workers will be sick at heart."


I take her hand in earnestness. If only she could learn this now, and not forget. "You would, Selah. You would get sick. It is the same with confession. We may not care about having a pure heart or a clean slate at first, but if we wait too long we will get sick.... How long has it been since you've confessed your sins to God and asked Him to purify you?"


I can see she wants it now, right relationship restored. "A long time..."


And she offers this low and timid "but I don't know what to say..."


I ask if she would like me to help her pray. She leans towards me with a yes, all the blindness washing from her eyes. I hug her close, just hold her for a while as the sickness is loosening, all coming clean.


The un-stiffening of arms and the being held close opens the tender self-wounded heart to Love. 


She tells Him she knows she sinned because she didn't act like Him. She tells Him she wants to be like Him, have His character. She asks Him to forgive her, and thanks Him that He is faithful to do it, and that He says it is just to forgive her. 


She lays relaxed in my arms, and when her face turns towards me, all her blue is clear and free. 


And the heart of it all, why He wants us to confess, I speak it straight from my spirit to hers "I love you.".











  

A Time for Confession: A Mother's Confession (Part 1)

She’s up long before the alarm, wanting water and a new diaper, then is not quite sleepy enough to drift away in the remaining dark. I lay still and listen to her even breathing, eyes blinking heavy but always reopening. 

I breathe prayers for patience. I breathe prayers for her to go back to sleep. I plead with the One who knows I went to bed early to rise early because I could feel it in the deepest places that I needed to meet with Him. I need to see His face and hear His voice. But, I breathe in long and weary, You know what I really need, and if she doesn’t go back to sleep... please help me to have a good attitude anyway. 

I had eaten supper then read and prayed before going to bed... but all that is soothed and smoothed out the night before has a way of crinkling and crumpling in all the tossing and turning and I woke thoroughly tangled and starving to break my fast from Him. 

She doesn't sleep. The alarm sounds. Something inside me wails too. But feet hit the floor and I stop the nagging sounds with determination. 

I will walk with You today. I will listen anyway, the best I can. 

I take the lamp I can't walk without from the nightstand and guide the toddler downstairs in the soft gray-blue light of morning, His word clutched in my left hand, her chubby palm in my right. 

And to my great surprise, we are immediately followed by the staggering, sleepy six year old, with deep purple rings still 'round her eyes. My spirit ruffles a bit more, but the strain doesn't quite reach my voice "well, good morning! You sure are up early."

From the way she groans and flops herself down in a chair I can tell we are in for a day. 

But, the girls become distracted by the cats and begin to play so I quickly sit on the stair landing and open my  Bible towards the light falling soft from the back door. 

Then I close it. Must pray first. I know, in general, what I will find when I turn to my spot in Isaiah. I am not in the midst of happy chapters. I consider flipping to a gospel, seeking out a more pleasant story. I don't know if I can bear to read about the nations not following the LORD, and the horrid things they experience as a result. 

But, I pray and hesitantly open, He knew I would be here today. He knew how I would be feeling. And this is where I am in His word... I will not assume it won't apply. I will not assume it will push me over my spirit-exhausted edge into depression or frustration. I will listen for His voice. 

I read chapters 18 and 19. 

The light continues to brighten and I begin to see The Truth... even with background noises crashing, the children play cooking and stomping loud. 

These prophecies against Cush and Egypt... they are a physical unfolding of what was already happening spiritually. 

The waters of the river dry up... they had already been dying of thirst for Living Water.

The plants wither, every sown field becomes parches and blows away... there is no sustaining harvest from their sowing wicked and fruitless deeds.

The fishermen cast hooks and nets but catch nothing... they were not following the LORD, who makes us fishers of men, they gather in nothing... they lament, pine away.

Those who worked with cloth, those used to being clothed by the works of their hands... they despair, lose hope, become dejected and sick at heart. 

They have a spirit of dizziness poured out on them by the LORD. 

They lose everything. But it is after this happens... it is at that time that they bring gifts to the LORD Almighty. 

In that day they swear allegiance to the LORD Almighty. They return to the LORD, He responds to their pleas and heals them. 

Their physical and emotional state helps them to recognize their deep soul-need for Him. 

I lower the lamp for my feet, turn my face full into the Light: what does my physical/emotional state reveal about where I am with You right now, LORD?

I am needy.  

Desperately needy. I am needy everyday and it just takes a lot for me to acknowledge it because I don't like to think of myself as needy. I don't like the idea, I don't like the word, I don't like the feeling. 

But apart from Him... I can do nothing. Nothing. I forget this. 

I can not even stand, much less stand firm. I can not stand in His presence when I am arrogant. And what great arrogance to forget, act, live in ways that proclaim that I don't need Him for life and breath and everything else? 

Remembering this is humbling. Recognizing that I could have forgotten... that I did forget... that I do regularly forget... is humbling. 

And it is in this bowing, this kneeling down, this not being able to stand in His presence, that I offer the gift He desires... a broken spirit and a humbled, repentant heart.  

I return to the LORD, He responds to my pleas and heals me. 

In a matter of moments, in a peace that passes all understanding, all that was broken He puts back together.

Something crashes upstairs. 

I stand up, foundation of the day dug down deep and laid on Rock. 

And good thing... because in a moment the torrent is about to strike the house...  

**A Daughter's Confession (Part 2) will be posted tomorrow** 

Counting His endless gifts today...

#670-691

*Proverbs 1:23 "If you had responded to my rebuke, I would have poured out my heart to you and made my thoughts known to you."

*Holding onto, trusting in His promise: "Return, faithless people, I will cure you of backsliding." ~Jeremiah 3:22

*husband's eyes lighting up over the intricacies of God's design in aquatic life

*the way the toddler emphasizes every syllable of the word "disgusting!" during potty training

*the three one-year old cousins interacting

*increasing discomfort reminding moment by moment of the precious daughter making her arrival soon

*clothes becoming too small, daughter growing well

*being with the husband as he launches his business, shares his passion

*seeing how comfortable people are talking with him

*mornings and evenings that feel like fall

*stretching groceries resulting in creative new meals

*having clean water to offer my children when they say they are thirsty

*toddler-sized rocking chair

*He encourages me to confess for my sake, for my family's sake, for His name's sake

*the freedom to read my Bible 

*deep theological conversations and applications with the six year old, she sharpens me

*sharing a long drive, just me and the husband

*the farmers market

*bare feet

*re-reading good words from good books

*time with Shannon

*toddler praying loooooooooooooooooong prayers

How Can I Stand Here with You and Not be Moved by You?

A Jesus Story Box story. 

She had barely begun growing in me, and I had laid out plans to kill her. 

The appointment was set. There was a date and time numbering her days. 

But I was wavering... 

My previous abortion festered and spread like leprosy in my soul. All the deadness had worked its way up from my womb and stopped my feeling heart. 

But this... this new little heartbeat growing stronger inside my dark was stirring an ache back into my spirit. New life pumping blood fiercely to the last bits of my soul giving way to gangrene. 

And it kept throbbing in my mind: I don't want to be in this position again. I don't want to make this choice. 

But... I was terrified of new birth. I was sick to my stomach thinking of what new Life would feel like, be like. I didn't know much but I knew the soul labor would split me apart and there would be no anesthetic strong enough to dull the agony of seeing myself clearly before the Holy One. 

That was why I had chosen death before. Why I had chosen hell. 

Any fire away from the unbearable heat of the Refining fire. 

I swallowed down pills to seal my insecurity in a tomb of logic. What kind of mother would I be to bring a child into the world with possible birth defects? 

Though drugged the Spirit could not be dulled and I could no longer distract or entertain myself into pretending He was not there, waiting patiently, not taking His penetrating eyes off me. The sober Witness to all my flailing. 

I tried to run into the arms of death, immediately, to let the last enemy have me and the child at the same time. 

But our days had been numbered... all of them ordained for me and my unborn child before one of them came to be. And that night was not to be the last. 

Morning came. Mourning rose in soberness. 

I knew for me to say YES to single motherhood and all its humbling life changes was to say YES to Him. 

How could I form the words? Six hours of forming others before I could squeeze out: "Okay. I'm going to do it. I'm going to keep this baby."

As soon as I exhaled my surrender and acceptance He breathed into me the words Hope and Reason. 

I had no idea the depth and beauty of what He meant at that time. But it didn't hurt. 

I had known somewhere smothered deep down that I was depressed, apathetic, a slave driven and beaten by self-focus and sin. 

But as Hope and Reason poured Himself back into my life... I was overwhelmed by how much I had been missing Him. Little slivers of Light piercing my dark that left me clawing to get out of my tomb and no longer be buried alive. 

I couldn't do it.

But He is the God who rolls away the stone. 

Now I stack these stones up in remembrance of what He has said and done. I physically keep them in sight so my children will ask "what do these stones mean?", and I can recall the LORD's faithfulness. This is what stones are for. 

It was not merely the words Hope and Reason, it was the face-to-face, mind-to-mind, heart-to-heart, spirit-to-spirit encounter with God showing me He. Is. Hope and Reason. 

And that encounter changed everything. 

Slowly. Because I'm stubborn. Painfully. Because God is God of true comfort and not of comfortable. But what amazed me most was that He did it tenderly.

It was His kindness that lead me to repentance. 

Hope.

"Deep calls to deep in the roar of Your waterfalls;

all Your waves and breakers have swept over me.

By day the LORD directs His love, at night His song is with me-

a prayer to the God of my life...

Why are you downcast O my soul? 

Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise Him,

My Savior and my God."

~Psalm 42:7-8,11

Hope and Reason.

"'For I know the plans I have for you' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.'"

~Jeremiah 29:11

Reason.

"Here is trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners-of whom I am the worst. But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display His unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on Him and receive eternal life."

~1 Timothy 1:15-17

Hope. 

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him,

so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."

~Romans 15:13

Hope and Reason.

"Praise the LORD, O my soul,

All my inmost being, Praise His holy name.

Praise the LORD O my soul

and forget not all his benefits.

Who forgives all your sins.

And heals all your diseases.

Who redeems your life from the pit, 

and crowns you with love and compassion.

Who satisfied your desires with good things

so that your youth is renewed like the eagles."

~ Psalm 103:1-5

Hope.

"No one whose hope is in you will ever be put to shame."

~Psalm 25:3

And this skit? That girl was me. No one whose hope is in You, LORD, will ever be put to shame. You are the Redeeming God who gives beauty for ashes. Praise the LORD, O my soul, all that is within me praise His holy name!

***What is a Jesus Story Box?*** Click here to learn more!

Thankfulness Helps the Eyes of My Heart See Clearly

He had gone across the field to get in some half-time coaching to our six year old. It was only her second soccer game, but he's been playing for 27 years and just can't keep all he's learned inside.


(Alexa took this picture... love her vantage point!) 

He towers strong and tan over these tiny girls with their pony tails and ribbon-tied sleeves but he stoops down and hand over knees talks to her at eye level. She nods a lot between long drinks of water. He begins to head back.

And as I watch him coming closer, I realize I don't often see him at any kind of distance away from myself. I'm used to being closer to him. But from this distance, he looks fierce with his gladiator stride and serious expression, intimidating behind his dark glasses.

Mom, lounging close in a chair next to Alexa who is sandwiched between us, leans her head back into the breeze that helps make the heat bearable under the shade of the large rainbow umbrella I'm holding. I am too amused to keep it to myself so I just say it to her "he looks kind of fierce, doesn't he?"

Mom looks towards him and at that very moment, though he was still too far away to have heard me, he poses with a foot out and a shoulder up and a goofy smile that brings a laugh bursting from both of our lips.

He is completely focused on our sweet toddler who is holding my camera out towards him(though she was holding it backwards and pointing it at herself) and saying "smiiiile!"





And this is what I love about the God in him. I have seen him fierce and I have seen him fight, I have seen his strength when he's bowed up to defend me. But I also get to see his tenderness. His goofiness. His love of play and his pure enjoyment in making our little girls laugh.

Strength and tenderness. They go together in the most beautiful way. The most manly way. The most godly way.

I am loved like this, too.



And too often I focus on the things that don't matter. Too often I focus on things he does that drive me crazy or my own position and thoughts and feelings. It gets ugly fast because I can't reflect Beauty when my eyes are no longer fixed on Him Who allows me to be part of this sacred picture of Christ and the church.

We are almost to three years of marriage and I just have to say it straight out: my husband is wonderful. He is a gift from God to me. He loves me so. well. I am so grateful I just don't know how to type it in black and white.

Since today's the day for sharing thankfulness... I just wanted to say those things. To share a little moment that opens my eyes to all I can so easily take for granted. I don't want to miss anything because of the blurriness of frustrations and challenges and growing up together. I don't want to miss him in all his tender strength right now. I want to acknowledge the God in him.

And there is a lot of that.

 #647-#669

* I don't have to be perfect to be deeply loved

* working together with my husband to launch his business

* a letter for Selah from Aunt Rachel

* the ant home invasion--stopped

* sharing Christ by sharing life and home and meals with neighborhood kids

* mom cooking for our whole huge family every Friday night, Sunday afternoon

* a few precious minutes with Aunt Carmen--how she embodies and exudes His Spirit

* the pain of the past highlighting the wondrous glory of Grace

* knowing God is in complete control of what happens

* bright colored child-things scattered everywhere

* stacks of Grandmom's dishes

* staying home

* rain and remembering gray can be beautiful

* Alexa laughing herself silly

* LOUD singing

* husband's arm across the back of my chair during church

* tiny jersey and shorts and soccer socks that still swallows her frame

* her wild and curly ponytail swinging

* "cat fishing"

* face time with Lindsay

* that God never loves me circumstantially

* just her



* my sin-- not in part but in whole--nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more! Praise the LORD, Praise the LORD oh my soul!

When You Need God's Help and He Hurts You More

She screams again and I feel as if the sound is shaking my very bones.

It's been two hours. 

Two hours of her walking on tip-toe, crying that her heel hurts. Two hours of my trying to lay her down and get her still enough to see what was causing her pain. Two hours of blood curdling screaming anytime I tried to feel the area, or hold her foot still enough for a closer look. 

I called in the husband for backup. 

"I think..." I shouted to him over her wailing "... that she has a tiny splinter in her foot... but she won't let me get a good look at it."

Scooped up in Daddy arms and peppered with kisses over tear-streaked cheeks he laid her on her back on our bed. She relaxed a little. "Kiss it Daddy!..."

He does. Gently. She just lays and whimpers. 

I grab a light and hand him tweezers, standing near as a ready aid, knowing I will be needed. 

"She is just so amazingly strong and stubborn... I couldn't hold her still enough on my own."

He lays his weight across her legs, holds the wriggling foot tightly. "Just trust me baby. It's going to be okay."

And there it is. A dark, ugly thorn wedged into her tender flesh. Too hard to see until we had her still in the right light. 

He doesn't hesitate but firmly holds her foot and extends the tweezers. As soon as the metal touches her heel she kicks and shrieks in shocked betrayal "kiss it Daddy!!!!...."

"Baby!" He pleads softly "I'm trying to help you!" He grips her tighter. Tries again. She kicks harder. Her scream is shrill and continual as tears squeeze out in huge, hot drops and she just cries it over and over in heartbreaking tones "kiss it Daddy! Kiss it Daddy! Kiss it!!!"

And He says it low, and I hear the agony in his concentrated whisper, determined to have this source of pain out of his child "I could. But that won't make it better..."

She can't move out from under his strength, and in a moment he has it. 

Almost instantly, the crying stops. And he holds it extended for her to see, this thorn so dwarfed in his massive hand. "See baby? It's out now. All better!"

She sniffles hard and begins to settle down. He takes her foot and tenderly kisses it. She scoots off the bed and scampers away, both heels softly padding the carpet. 

I watch her go and The Spirit nudges and I wonder silent "how often am I like that with God?...

... screaming about something that hurts me, never being still enough to let Him deal with me...

... keep walking around with it, wedging the thorn deeper...

... and when He finally just stops me, I wail louder that He is hurting me.... that what I really wanted was for Him to kiss it to make it better... not to inflict further pain on me...

... but it's for my good. It's what is needed to actually make it better, to remove source of the problem. The ugly dark that can only be clearly seen in the stillness of The Light. And truly, I'm the one who refused to "wear shoes" in the first place, taking His advice on what would avoid the initial pain..."

And I remember these verses. And I know they are true. And I love Him for it. 

He loves me enough to deal with all my screaming and kicking and fighting and just do what I really need because He can see the real source of my pain, and always does what is good for me because He. Is. Good. 

"Before I was afflicted I went astray,

but now I obey your word.

You are good, and what you do is good;

teach me your decrees...

...It was good for me to be afflicted

so that I might learn your decrees.

The law from your mouth is more precious to me

than thousands of pieces of silver and gold.

You hands made me and formed me;

give me understanding to learn your commands."

~from Psalm 119:68,71-73

Giving thanks today because He is good. All the time. Even when, and especially when I'm hurting...

#631-#646

*learning new things on the computer, brothers who patiently teach

*family support: physically, emotionally, prayerfully

*husband who compliments and encourages me through all my head-shaking insecurities/negativity/ doubt

*praying over my children as I watch Him grant them sleep

*being challenged to think, grow, change, learn

*still fighting battles worth fighting

*roots going deeper, green things still growing, thriving, even under such unskilled hands

*sister-made lentils and rice after a hard work day

*knowing my children are well cared for when I am not around 

*the refuge of mom and dads home, still my home away from home

*orange juice dripping sweet from her joyful I-can-do-it-myself clenched fist, off the elbow, onto her round little laughing toddler belly

*finally finishing defensive driving, ticket for "rolling a stop sign" dealt with and off my to-do list!

*having internet at home again, even if it only works sporadically

*daddy and daughter playing simon says

*family picnic under a shady tree, windy and wonderful

*tea tree gel for ant bites

*toothbrushes

*nice women at soccer practices who let Alexa sit in their chairs, share their snacks, pet their dogs... and enjoy her stone-faced reaction and personality as much as I do 

*baby Jacob... finally here!

*that God is infinitely more patient with me than I am with others

*there is always a clean slate waiting for me

*living guilt free because of Grace and forgiveness gratefully, humbly accepted in the deepest places