Hi, I’m Danica.

I guess I’m a lot of things: a wife, a mom, a daughter, a sister, a crafter, a cook, a reader, a writer, a homemaker, a pianist, and probably a lot more too. But at the end of the day, I’m just a Christian trying to find and obey God’s will.

cute things. Sep 11

Boys with dimples, being so excited about new lights for a new season of dark evenings…

…and who begged to rearrange their beds so they’re almost touching. Despite the utter awkwardness of the arrangement, who could say no to brothers who are best friends?

Spun-gold hair. It just gets lovelier.

Siblings chats. Very serious.

And last. I mean, come on.

Lots and lots of cute things. Not always the first thing I see when I take note of life around me, but goodness. It’s a treasure trove of adorable people here in my world.

all in a week. Sep 6

What a week!

One week ago, these fine young gents were trying out the window seating at the Canton Bagelry, which was then open only to adorable children related by blood to Mr. Dunphey or Ockrin.

At 2:30am Monday morning, the Mister and I turned off the lights and locked the door behind us, completing a grueling summer of preparation by Ryan and Gabe and so many others. Done, ready. Launch.

(Another tractor pic? Oh yes. You have no idea.)

Cue the next four days: sick babies and mama.


Yes, I cut flowers for the sake of sanity.


Sometimes she would sleep for 15 minutes. Pretty girl.


Sometimes she didn’t sleep. But then I could just eat this.


One of my kids has a sense of humor, apparently.

Then we started to feel better. We even did our Friday errands, which included peaches!

And I’m not big into the ombre trend, but when I cut into this tomato, I repented of my ways and declared it the most beautiful thing in the world.

Just in case I thought this week was going to end with quiet and calm, Beatrice had an accident that had me driving her to the ER for stitches this morning.

Whew. I’m not a whirlwind kind of girl. But apparently this isn’t my universe, so things don’t always cater to my temperament. I am going to go out on a limb, though, and say that I’m hoping to slowly start school on Monday. A fresh set of colored pencils, brand new composition books, and Mama creating a little semblance of order-on-a-page (hoping to make up for the tangled-mess-in-my-brain) is all that these great kids need to get excited about a new school year.

After the last few weeks, I’ll hold my hopes for Monday loosely. Better to hold tight to the right things: Jesus.

where did it go? Sep 6

And by “it”, I mean summer.

It is, you know, almost a week into September, and I’m still just sort of standing here clueless, saying, “Wha–?”

A strange summer. Even my photos reflect the helter-skelter life lived these last few months: uploaded in bizarre and random fashion, almost impossible to sort.

Tonight I just browse through. Smile. Laugh. Cry a little because you know? It was a blur. But it was full of joy.


My dad rescued me when I was having tractor troubles — over and over. And over.


Matching dresses. And a little too much love.


“Take our picture, Mom, can you?”


Two sleepy-head girls after several nights of being out late while I helped Ryan.

Just a smidgen of the abundant joy I have.

(Not pictured: the redeeming work of Jesus in my heart every day, and the presence of the Holy Spirit indwelling this frail, undeserving soul every moment. Joy unspeakable.)

on work Aug 31

This morning came early. It’s Sunday, though, and a shower isn’t optional. Neither is a bath for a baby who spent several hours crawling around a new restaurant floor last night.

So I’m up. Coffee brewed. Two little girls chatting and cooing and just sitting. Bethel worship playing softly on this rainy morning.

Sunday is our pause. There are mountains to move and heaps of work seem to bury us, but we stop and rest and remember that He is our provider and source and everything. Our bodies need a slow morning, but our souls do, too.

He is our rest in the midst, though, too. We are called to work, I tell my boys. Our strength and creativity and intellect were given so we could build. The What is up to Him, and we joyfully serve as foundation layers, wall erectors, finished carpenters — joyful and faithful is our job, the grand plan is His.

Dad’s sermon last Sunday (8/24, keep your eye out for it on cfconline.org) was fabulous. Jesus declared the gospel — the good news of God reconciling men to Himself — and then He healed their bodies and minds. He didn’t say, “See ya in heaven.” He said, through word and deed, “I came to restore your life.” And so we experience the restoration ourselves, but then we live it to the world. We care for people, we give our lives to seeing souls and minds and bodies redeemed. Living the gospel is incredibly holistic and we are all called to say, through word and deed, Jesus can restore.

And so our work is not just work. It is laying life down to see the Kingdom of heaven come.

*****

I don’t know exactly what God is building through our little contribution at this time in history, in this spot on the globe. But I am incredibly blessed to work hard in the family field, alongside my husband, knowing that my work is helping to build him. I love this guy.

pause. remember. one year. Aug 25

Hard to believe that you only just arrived a year ago. Oh, the wonder of welcoming a brand new person into your heart, knowing they’ll forever be a part of you, change you, help make you who you are. You wonder who they’ll be, how they’ll fit. And a year later, there’s no fitting. They belong, and life can’t be imagined without them in their place.

Hard to believe, on the other hand, that it’s been a year. Faster and faster, it flies. Kissing you, holding you longer, treasuring dimples and cries and baby-in-my-arms nights.

How deeply we love you, Fiona Elspeth. My blonde beauty. God was very, very kind to bless us with you.

Happy birthday!

Beatrice is 3 Aug 24

Last Sunday, the 17th, was the beginning of birthday season at our house. All but me will celebrate birthdays by October 21st. Suffice to say, my heart is both bursting and weeping by November (New grades? New ages? This melancholy Mama can’t take it!)

Beatrice starts off the birthday parade.

In my head, I still think we’re somewhere around here:

Oh my. What a sweet baby.

And now she is three. My mother in law says, “That child is perfect.” If perfect allows for moments of sassiness, a recent rise in talking back (testing boundaries, anyone?), and the occasional meltdown, then yes, she’s perfect. She loves people. She loves laughing. She loves telling stories. She loves singing. She loves singing conversations instead of just plain talking — we sing back and forth all the time. She loves her new baby doll and her spinny-est dresses. She loves to boss her brothers around (ahem), and loves nothing more than to go somewhere with her daddy. She loves to pray for every person who comes to her mind. She loves to pick the wild blackcaps in our yard and makes friends with every snail she sees.

You are a joy, little girl. Every day I am thankful for you.

Even though you keep getting bigger, and you do it faster than my heart can handle.