I know that look

It had been only three months since we purchased our first home when my husband met me in the kitchen with a look in his eyes I hadn’t seen before.  He grabbed my hands, looked into my questioning eyes, and told me about an email he had received.  The Navy was sending him to Afghanistan.  He would leave in a month.

I know my knees buckled and  I clung to my husband, shocked. 

My next clear memory is of us sitting at our kitchen table, sighing big sighs, trying to pry our minds and hearts open wide enough to take in our new, monumental reality.

Two weeks ago, on a Monday morning I barreled into our bedroom where my husband was busy working, asking where I could find our extra checks so I could pay the piano tuner.  I was stopped in my tracks by the slow turning of his head from the computer screen.  On his face I saw an eerily familiar look, tender, shocked, excited, one I remembered from that day in our kitchen years ago.  The Navy was calling once again, asking him this time to teach, sending him this time to a place where we could all go.

Our family will be packing up this summer and moving all the way across this great land of ours, from our home here in Southern California to the state of my birth, Maryland. 

Understandably it has been hard for me to write lately, hard to find a way through the whirl in my head and put words down.  Inside the whirl are military acronyms like PCS and DITY and  I have spent way too much time online trying to understand the layout of the city of Annapolis, which is hard for a girl who doesn’t carry a map in her head.  Remember that quote from Prince Caspian, anyone?

There are so many layers to this, so many things I am pondering, ways that this could go, reasons I think God may be moving us there, moving us now.

I am sure we are not the only couple who stays up late at night talking out our dreams.  Or whose conversations on date nights revolve often around the what-ifs of the future.  I love dreaming with my husband.  The possibility of Annapolis has been a part of those dreamy conversations and I am giddy to know that a door to a dream we have dreamt together is opening.

We have told our kids, our families, and the word is trickling out to our community here.  And you know what?  Maybe I am seeing something that is not really there, but it feels like something has already shifted in our family, like we are turned toward one another in a subtle but powerful and different way.  Perhaps it is because we know that soon it will be just the five of us.  I have noticed more deliberate talking and sharing of feelings and thoughts.  More laughter and inside jokes.  More tears and tender conversations.

My dear husband, professor that he is, asked each of our kids to write down their thoughts about moving.  They willingly complied, and I will close with the conclusion written by my 12-year old:

“In conclusion, moving gives me mixed thoughts.  One side of me is excited for a new experience, while the other mourns its fate.  I can only hope the two will balance out.”

Exactly how I feel, son.

visit Holley's blog to read other posts by my God-sized Dream Team sisters!

for Boston, with gratitude and love

one of my favorite places in the world...

I have been heart-heavy this week, praying and thinking of the people of Boston, the tragedy they have endured.  These words were written months ago after a trip my husband and son and I took to Boston in January.  I share them now with gratitude and love for the experiences I have had in that glorious city.

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He is navigating the subway like a pro, this son of mine, checking the map and making sure we are heading the right direction.  We are riding the “T” through Boston, clanking down the tracks side by side.  The sights and sounds of riding the subway have my southern California suburban boy enraptured.  We emerge onto the cold, bustling sidewalk at the Park Street station, and head through the Boston Commons.  I am guiding us, making a beeline toward the statues of Mr. and Mrs. Mallard who I remember are on one of the Charles St. corners of the Public Garden. 

We find them all dressed up for the holidays, and a kind stranger snaps photos of us together, us with the ducks. 

Stephen and I with the Mallard Family

And my heart fairly bursts with a kind of healing joy.

Oh, Jesus, how do you do it?  How do you line up these moments that go off like a flashbulb in our hearts?  My heart beats out a steady rhythmic thank you, thank you, thank you.  Every step we take through the Public Garden reminds me of the healing journey I have been on for the past six years.

When I look at photos of the first trip my husband and I took to Boston in the Spring of 2007, I am always struck by my eyes.  They look so sad.  And I was.  So very sad.  Five months earlier we had buried our fourth child.  We had planned the trip to Boston when I was pregnant, planned to bring our then unborn son, William, along.  I had imagined pushing a stroller through the garden while my husband attended his academic conference. Instead I sat by myself near the Swan Boat pond, watching families push their own strollers, journaling down my grief.

me and my husband along the Freedom Trail

A lot of life happens in six years.  Sitting on the bench where another stranger kindly offered to take our photo, I watched my son, Stephen, walk out near the Swan Boat pond, now covered in ice, and I felt Spring blooming sure right smack dab in the middle of an icy winter.

in front of the Swan Boat pond

This boy of mine is growing up.  Sharing the time with him in Boston was partly like spending time with a friend and also definitely like spending time with my son, and I loved it.  Stephen is appreciative and observant and funny.  He is smart and inquisitive and willing.  We walked a mile or so through the city in the cold evening air, and he mused about how alike we are.   We laughed and sang and quietly enjoyed one another’s company.

I know as I sat on that bench, six years ago, I didn’t sit there alone.  Jesus walks with us through our valleys of grief.  And I know that way back then, He saw ahead to the winter day when I would walk here with my delightful twelve-year old companion, and that inside my heart I would be holding a dream and hope of a child we would adopt into our family.  And so He sat with me, holding me in His love and grace.  And He walked with Stephen and me down that sidewalk in the wintry Public Garden.  And we rejoiced.

when God asks us to break the rules and love like He does {a guest post}

photo credit

I am over at my friend Laurie Wallin's blog today telling about a time when God broke into the thick of a messy parenting moment and reminded me that He wants me to love like He does, unfairly.  The first time I wrote at Laurie's place, I talked about how God loves us unfairly, and that is a good thing!

So come on over and join in the conversation!

Enjoy your weekend!  I'll be back next week talking about surprises...

Five Minute Friday: Broken

It's Good Friday, and I'm joining in with Lisa-Jo for my favorite weekly writing exercise:

Today we are writing for five minutes on: Broken...

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It is Good Friday and I can’t stop thinking about how in our home, if something is broken the cry rises, “Daddy can fix it!”  Even when things look impossibly broken to me, they merely pose an interesting problem to my husband, who understands deeply how things work and has the patient spirit and gentle hands needed to put broken things to rights.

There at the cross of Jesus, all seemed impossibly broken to those gathered at the cross.  I have been there in my life, the place where I felt all was lost, that everything was so broken and smashed up there was no way through to healing and wholeness.

But friends, there is Easter.  It is coming. The heavy stone will be rolled away and Jesus full of life, the risen Lord, will come out and He will say Mary’s name and she will know Him.

Let us broken ones know Him, today, in the darkness of Good Friday, and wait to see Him, beautiful, in the light of Sunday morning.

it's not fair! {my first guest post!}

"It's not fair!"

Do you ever hear these words from the lips of your children?  My kids came equipped with highly sensitive radar when it comes to issues of fairness.  Yours too?

Today I am here writing on this subject at my friend Laurie's place.  I would be honored if you would come on over and join the conversation!

I met Laurie through the God-sized dream team.  I was drawn to her encouraging and kind voice in our group.  When you visit Laurie's blog, the first thing you see is her happy, smiling face.  Just seeing her smile will bring a smile to your own face...guaranteed!

what do you do all day?

For our Tuesday link-up, Holley asked us, "What's a typical day in your life like right now? How can you see God's hand in the "small" and ordinary too?"
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It was that Christmas party at the Chancellor’s house that made me realize I needed a different explanation for my life, a different answer to that question handed out to me along with my plate of h’or doevres, “What do you do?” 

I stood amidst the crush of professors and campus staff, all of us juggling small plates of cute food, making requisite small talk.  I think I stood out a bit in my bright red turtleneck sweater from Motherhood Maternity (this was ten years ago, OK?).  My husband and I were invited to this faculty shindig because he was the president of the Graduate Student Association.  We stood smiling politely at one another and eating our meatballs when one of the faculty members in my husband’s department joined us.  They chatted about department things and then, not wanting me to feel left out (no really, I am happy to just stand here quietly munching my carrot sticks, thank you) turned to me and asked, “So, what do you do?”

“I stay at home with our son,” and gesturing to my obvious belly, “and I’ll soon have another child to care for.”

With kind eyes, he then asked, “So, what do you do all day?”

Standing there, my feet aching in pumps I should have left in the closet, I stammered my way through a truly ridiculous litany of changing diapers, doing laundry, and making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  In the car on our way home after the party, I told my husband, “I seriously need to rethink my answer to the question that professor asked me…that was embarrassing!”

Ten years have passed since that cocktail party and my grad student husband is a professor himself.  When we attend similar gatherings now, I am more confident in sharing about being at home, homeschooling my kids, and caring for our family.  I’ve become more comfortable in my skin, helped along by my husband who is ultra supportive of what I do, and often lets me know how highly he values it.

So, you want to know “what I do all day?”  Well, let me tell you…

My typical day starts early when the alarm goes off at 5am.  I scoop up my workout clothes in the dark and head into the bathroom to get dressed for the gym.  I have been working out in the early morning for years.  I love having such an important thing checked off on my list before breakfast!

I walk back in my door by 6:40am greeted with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and by my husband and son who are up and getting ready for the day.  My son has to be at school at 7:00am four days a week for a 0 period band class.  He is already dressed and eating breakfast when I get home.  I practice true love and servanthood, making his lunch before pouring my first cup of coffee for the day!

In the quiet after my guys are on their way, I grab my coffee and Bible study bag and head to my favorite blue and white chair where I spend some time praying and studying Scripture.  My homeschooled daughters usually sleep until 7:30 or 8:00am.  This hour of quiet is a gift, a real boon to the beginning of my day.  I will often use the time to do some writing as well.

Once the girls are up, I shower and get dressed while they get themselves ready.  We eat breakfast together and afterward they take care of their guinea pigs while I do my kitchen chores and prep for our homeschool day.

The girls and I will work together on science, math, language arts, history, piano and chores throughout the morning.  We break for lunch and some time to play outside.  I try and finish our school day so that they have at least an hour or so to play before we have to go pick up Stephen from school. 

If I’ve prepped dinner ahead of time and the house is not a huge disaster (a slight disaster is fine, though!), I will take an hour or so in the afternoon to write.  During that time, my son is doing his homework and my daughters are playing.

The evening finds me in the kitchen where I love to play Mumford and Sons or some other great music while I cook dinner.  When dinner is ready, our family gathers around the big pine table in our eat-in kitchen, talking over the day, making plans, sharing the meal.

Besides that morning hour of quiet, my favorite time of day comes near its end, when the kids are bathed with jammies on and teeth brushed. Our family settles in the living room to listen to my husband read aloud.  We have enjoyed countless books together this way.  The kids will often play quietly with toys or draw, or if they are really tired, just snuggle under a blanket to listen.  I may crochet or knit, or simply sit and soak in my husband’s voice, the story he is reading, and the rare time to sit still.

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So much ordinary in these days of mine.  Messes made and cleaned up.  Laundry sorted, washed, folded, dirtied again. In the homely, quotidian activities of homekeeping and homeschooling I have learned about that servant-love he showed us when He rose up from the table after that last supper, wrapped Himself in the towel, and knelt to wash the feet of his friends.

Linking up with my God-sized dream team sisters over at Holley's blog.

serving joy

Holley asked us to write this last week about what brings us joy.

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 Sunday night I stood at the sink, rinsing dishes to load into the dishwasher.  Brownies stood on the counter waiting to be served.  The coffeemaker hissed and spluttered, its delicious steam mingling above my head with steam from the warm water washing over my hands.  I luxuriated in the waves of laughter and conversation from the group of people gathered around our dining room table. 

In a serendipitous collision of events, my in-laws had called in the middle of the week to say they would like to drive down, accompany us to church and hang out on the same day we were hosting a family dinner for my Aunt’s birthday.  As my friend Michelle says, "The more the merrier!"  

Our large rectangular table was heaped with the goodness of Ree’s Bow Tie Alfredo Pasta with Chicken, caesar salad and sliced tomatoes with balsamic vinegar, basil and feta on the side.  A feast.  And brownies still to come.  Mercy.

After serving brownies and coffee to my loved ones, I took my own plate and coffee and sat down, marveling at this mixing of personalities, families, and histories.  As families do, we laughed, told stories, ate brownies.

My style of hospitality will never be catalogued in any magazine.  You will most likely not find me giving tips to would-be hostesses. 

But having a group of folks crammed around my table eating, talking and laughing brings me a great deal of joy.

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 Tomorrow is Thursday and we will host our college Bible study for a finals week meal.  It will be a simple affair, with hamburgers and hotdogs along with all the fixings.  I will cook and do dishes, refill glasses and serve up dessert. 

And at the close of day, when I lay my head down, my heart will be full of the unique joy that comes with extending hospitality.

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The clock is relentlessly marching us into the day as we inch our way forward and it is then that she asks me, “Can we use the colorful teapot, Mama?  Can we have a tea party breakfast?”

The daffodils are blooming bright on the table, the sun is shining, and even though math will start late, I say, “Yes.”

We brew a pot of Earl Grey and serve toast and smoothies for breakfast.  She pours milk in the small pitcher, finds the tiny spoons, refills the sugar.

And though time marches steadily on, I am no longer paying it any mind.  I am listening to the happy chatter of little girls, planning birthday parties, telling stories from their charter school classes, sharing heart-dreams, giggling.  Between sips of Earl Grey, I notice a peace has spread over us.  We are smiling into each other’s eyes.  And joy is spilling over.

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Linking up with m God-sized Dream Team sisters at Holley's blog.