Exciting July happenings: we started swim lessons(Rosebud was STELLAR!) and we made slime for the very first time at a library story time(it was nice to have a location where we didn’t have to do any clean up !) ☺️
In other news, we also bought a van because…our family is EXPANDING and we ran out of room! We are grateful!
Still playing catch up with my photos…here are some more summer highlights! We celebrated our nation’s freedom by attending church, then hosting a bbq for friends. The night of the 4th we attended [probably] the closest fireworks show I’ve ever seen at another friends house! The fireworks were launched from the mountain where we were sitting—incredible!
Phew, the summer is flying by, right? After taking the month off, I’m ready to share some updates!
Back in June, our girls had their FIRST EVER dance recital! They both ROCKED it! We were so proud!
I often forget that this is the dream. In those long, awkward teen years, when I wondered if a boy would ever notice me, this is the man I prayed for.
And on the hectic, stifling college days when my dorm suite kitchen squeezed me in, this was the house I imagined.
It was enough for me to dream, to hope—to pray—that this would be my one day.
Of course those days were tearfully joyful and sorrowful with every emotion mixed in-between. It is not lost on me that the days of my youth were a sweet symbol of a season that will never again be.
But this life…this was the beginning of forever. It was my impossible prayer, my pipe dream; the dream within the dream.
So why then does my heart so easily forget?
And once again, Jeremiah’s warning that the heart is deceitful cautions my wayward heart…
They won’t be little forever, reminds my husband lovingly. And while he is right, sometimes—lately especially—this heart forgets. I become enraptured with other seemingly lofty thoughts—or even new dreams that have skewed my perspective. The caveat here is, naturally, that dreams aren’t necessarily destructive. But my placement of these dreams is.
This job has been given to me to do. Therefore, it is a gift. Therefore, it is a privilege. Therefore, it is an offering I may make to God. Therefore, it is to be done gladly, if it is done for Him. Here, not somewhere else, I may learn God’s way. In this job, not in some other, God looks for faithfulness.
Elisabeth Elliot
For me, this is the job. I could pursue more if God allowed but for this season, I am home. If I’m being honest, some days I wrestle with the calling. Of course I have career goals, and my days don’t always feel the most stimulating, but they are good because their Author is. And even when I’m feeling the moments are wasted [which is a lie permeating my thoughts all too often] there is so much joy in this quiet life. All of the sweaty kisses, carefully curated dress up shows, nighttime rocking rituals coupled with hymns and laughter, foraging adventures, tree excursions and every moment in between and thereafter. For now—for always—instead of a forgetful [read: discontented] spirit I can choose gratitude.
It is here, and not somewhere else, that I may learn faithfulness.
Oh Father, may my fickle heart ever treasure the beauty of these sacred, fleeting moments!
It isn’t lost on me that he was always there—for every performance, game and ceremony…not to mention all of the little moments in between. He was present. And usually my biggest cheerleader. When no one stepped up to coach my basketball team, he did it. When I needed a last minute-run to the store for hairspray–he made it. If I needed anything–prayer, wise counsel, encouragement–he was there. Not because he wanted to be my favorite parent, or the “cool dad”, but because he had committed long before I was even born to love me.
There’s a story I like to tell my daughters about this kind of love. As a child I grew accustomed to walking through tall, dew-kissed blades of grass to his office. It was a a couple hundred feet away, and with every step my heart leaped at the thought of a big mid-morning hug, and [possibly] a treat from the giant glass jar on his desk. But the walk wasn’t without turmoil–for there were stickers littering the path. Of course I didn’t mind because I get to see Daddy, but it was mildly painful, and my blood-splotched toes were evidence of this.
It is always at this point in the story when my daughters, wide-eyed, glance up asking–Mama, what did you DO? This is when I respond that I did nothing. But my daddy–their Papa–did. He carefully wrapped my feet in sheets of snow white printer paper–the durable, crisp kind that isn’t easily torn–taping along the edges. That always ensured my safe, scar-free return. And it made me feel more special than anyone on earth.
I could recall countless stories like this–when he thoughtfully considered my needs before his own; planning and prayerfully counting the cost. He placed–more often than not–the needs of others before his own. He did it joyfully in my foundational years, and it is with a heart swollen with gratitude that I recount the moments.
Even now, as a young mom of 3 thousands of miles from home, I have watched how he and my mother have taken strains to provide seasons of respite[through family vacation, time away with my husband, or caring for our littles so I can recharge]. I can think of numerous times when both of my parents sacrificed to make our lives more fun and comfortable, even if that meant they themselves were lacking. And I can’t help but wonder if that would have happened without my father’s tender, yet strong hand to lead our family. He modeled gracious living—giving of oneself constantly that others might be nourished–so well, and He continues building upon that legacy even now.
Susannah Spurgeon once wrote of a father’s love,
What little one is afraid to run to a loving father and ask for all it wants? Never a doubt rises in a child’s mind as to the supply of all his needs, and the direction of all that concerns him. The child has positively no care for the present, no thought for tomorrow, no fears for the past. Father knows everything. Father can do everything. Father provides everything. In fact, father loves.
Free Grace & Dying Love
I am grateful because I knew this love, and it continues even now. But I have seen the brokenness of this world. I have heard the stories of friends, and I would be remiss if I failed to mention the harsh reality that the word father stirs tangled emotions for some. This grieves my heart more than I can say. The fallen world has stained things meant to be wholly true, lovely, pure, excellent and praiseworthy. I have seen this within my own circumstances at times. However, we are not without hope. I know this because I have a father who–in his own imperfections–faithfully pointed me to it. He knew that as my earthly father, his failings would be many(although I can’t think of any at present). But he also knew the only One who is entirely good, strong and kind. At every point–in conversation, voicemails, prayers, letters–my father’s eyes were fixed on the Father. When my sensitivities planted seeds of doubt within my own heart, my daddy was there to remind me of truth. Not because he was a perfect man, but because he served the Perfect Father.
Spurgeon continues,
O my soul, can you for a moment imagine what it would be of joy, and rest, and peace, to live out day by day such a child-life love of the Father? He knows you altogether. He understands all of your individual peculiarities, sees your weakness and sinfulness, your sore temptations, perplexities and daily shortcomings; but he loves you notwithstanding all, not for any merit or worthiness in you, but because you are his child. You have believed on his dear Son, whom he gave to die for your sins; you have accepted his complete salvation, you have received the Spirit of adoption, and now with confidence and perfect trust, you can look up to him and say, ‘Abba Father’. And does this not suffice to make you absolutely ‘without carefulness’, like a little child?
Free Grace & Dying Love
And so on this Father’s Day, I am humbled to be loved by a father who showed me the Father through unconditional love, unending sacrifice and tender care.
Whatever this day conjures within, there is peace in remembering Paul’s words to the Romans:
What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us. He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? For I am sure that neither death nor life, neither angels nor rulers, nor things present or things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:32,38-39
Our middle little has been particularly challenging the last few months. Not because of a stubborn spirit. Not for failure to obey. Not because her heart is hard. It is, in fact, quite the opposite problem–her tenderness. I hesitate to use that word problem because being soft-hearted is something I pray often over my children. But lately—and I’m not sure if it’s because we’re juggling busyness again, or just for the fact that I have 3 under 5—her little emotions seem to have run haywire. Some days my husband and I exchange puzzled glances wondering how to move forward. I suppose, however, that is not uncommon in this journey of parenting, as a whole. But this feels different. Our sweet girl cries instantly over seemingly the smallest details—my tummy isn’t hungry for this food, I wanted to give you one more hug, my chalk isn’t coloring right, my barbie car won’t fit., the water in the bath tub isn’t right, my pants won’t go on..and the list goes on and on. You may be shaking your head at my overstatement of the obvious—she’s a toddler. In fact, she’s not just a toddler, she’s three. That’s the age so far that has challenged me most. I think most can agree that it’s easy to Google developmental milestones to see why. 3 is that magical age(at least for the kiddos in our family) where they’re learning to deeply interact with the world and relationships around them. They’re asking questions. They’re exploring. And they’re responding as they learn to think critically. With our eldest, we didn’t experience an amalgam of emotions because she is more logical. She asked, we answered and she(for the most part) trusted us. When we didn’t know the answer, we would research together and she retained much. That is just the way she was made. But with our very fragile, tender middle it is entirely different. That’s not to say that both of my daughters don’t harbor gentle, sensitive spirits. I’ve seen it manifested in both on different occasions and under different circumstances.
However I recently discovered that—like me–our sweet girl feels deeply. When she is hurt, she’s down hard. When she is joyful, her spirit bursts forth with singing. When she is feeling silly, she’s the family comedian. And even though her emotions seem to weigh me down sometimes(because I don’t often know how to respond, or don’t have the capacity to respond in patient love) these are the very means by which she will be used mightily one day.
The other day I stumbled upon these words which express what my heart has needed so well:
Let us not therefore be discouraged at the small beginnings of grace, but look on ourselves as elected to be ‘holy and without blame’. Let us look on our imperfect beginning only to enforce further striving to perfection…otherwise, in case of discouragement, we must consider ourselves as Christ does, who looks on us as those he intends to fit for himself. Christ values us by what we shall be, and by what we are elected into. We call a little plant a tree because it is growing up to be so. ‘Who has despised the day of small things?'(Zech. 4:10). Christ would not have us despise little things
The Bruised Reed, Sibbes
I think I realized that on my weary and worn days, when I’m feeling irritable or sluggish, I only see those emotions negatively. Every complaint, or cry of frustration and woe just exasperates me. But I’m forgetting to see those small beginnings of grace in my sweet girl’s life. Yes, she’s the first one to cry–and sometimes wail-(at an eye-twitching pitch)-when she doesn’t get her way, or she is angered by some insignificant detail of the day. BUT she’s also the first and last person to hug her baby brother before nap and bedtime(something she requests daily). And she’s also the one who prays fervently for my aches and pains every night as we tuck her in( Lord, please help mama’s tummy. Please make mama’s headache go away, Lord, I’m so sorry that mama’s nose was bleeding today. Please make her better). She’s quick to notice when people are hurting, or lost in sadness. And she’s there to help, hug, or just be present in that broken moment. She is our feeler in every sense of the word. But there’s also a hidden consistency there that I often miss–her faithful spirit. In every emotion, she commits. I know that sometimes this is expressed sinfully, but it is a trait there nonetheless. She is unwavering in her tenderness and strength. And when this is expressed appropriately it is stunningly beautiful.
But sometimes, as she reminds me, “it’s just hard being 3”. So on those long days(which have been many as of late) I want to remember this. Her little heart won’t always use these gifts well–because she isn’t perfect. But the potential—the goodness–is there, because these are those small beginnings of grace for which we, as her parents, pray regularly. We ask the Lord to work within her heart, to draw her to himself, to make her see his pure, abundant love. And these precious, fragile emotions might just be the means by which she sees who He is and serves those around her. If only my own sinful heart wasn’t obscuring the view…
I’m so grateful that God has allowed me to see more of His gracious, steadfast spirit in this privilege of motherhood. I’m forever thankful that He doesn’t deal with me impatiently, but quietly and tenderly. He is constantly, faithfully drawing me into deeper rest and recognition that I can’t mother well apart from His matchless mercy and grace.
And I’m going to try–especially when my heart feels faint—to look upon my sweet little one as who she might become instead of seeing her flaws(of which I have many, too).
Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.
1 John 3:2
Redeeming the Mundane 