home, and that’s okay.

There isn’t much in my planner that needs to be crossed off at this point. After a couple weeks of frantic canceling, the little white squares just stopped filling up with places to go, and zoom calls took their place. But tonight still says, “Academy Night,” the end of the year spring concert and presentation for our homeschool group. And the next 2+ weeks have a big long arrow through them with large letters that say, “EUROPE!”

I thought that by today, my bedroom would house two carefully packed, correctly sized carry-ons, filled with clothing appropriate for the weather in Paris, Florence, and London. I thought that in two days, we would leave our little clan with my parents and fly away, just Ryan and me, a “real” vacation for the first time in…well, ever. The first “for fun” travel I would ever do. It was too good to be true, and so the glass-half-empty me has to laugh a little. But the grounded in Jesus me smiles and says, it’s okay. My cup overflows. OVERFLOWS.

being present

Saw this today. Thought, YES. A thousand times, YES.

We read a lot about being present. Showing up for our own life. Setting down the phone and looking into someone’s eyes. Pausing the housework for long enough to notice your baby before they’re walking out the door to their first job.

Be present.

Trouble is, we want to be present in a world that isn’t real. We want to show up for a dream life that doesn’t exist.

I want being present to always look like reading a favorite book with a sweet child nestled in my lap. I want it to be taking a walk while we hold hands. I want there to be candles and joyful laughter but quiet when I’m tired. I want us to listen to classical music while we study paintings together and have a deep conversation. Movie nights and board games and make-your-own-pizza in a perpetually clean kitchen.

What it really looks like is putting the laundry down to help with a shoe. Inviting the toddler to pull up a chair even though dinner is already late. Stopping your racing brain to realize your son is telling you about all the nicknames for Japanese fighter jets and it matters to him. Setting a timer for 5 minutes and all chipping into pull the house together, and then sharing a deep sigh and some high fives. And over and over, more times than you can count, it’s not ignoring the tantrum or eye roll or sibling bickering, but pressing in and dealing with it, no matter how much you want to pretend you can’t hear it from the laundry room.

Welcome to the real world. The best part about this world is that it’s the one Jesus came to save, and it’s where His Spirit is moving. He’s not so much into instagram fantasies. But this one — the one with noses that run and math that needs a mom and 4-square that sure could use a fourth man — this one He’s all in for.

life at home: seeing increase

As the world is rocked and shaken by lives lost and fingers pointed and political plays or not-plays, I turn my eyes to the life here at my feet, inside my door, and find myself simply blessed. For weeks now I have been living a very simple life with seven people, most of whom can’t reach the top shelf of dishes, and I couldn’t be happier. This home, this atmosphere, is proving to my soul the goodness and faithfulness of God. He calls us to loosen ground, to fertilize, to plant, to water, to weed, to tend, and we do so as faithfully as we can, stumbling many days, aware of how not expert we are as garden-tenders. But we do it with hearts that are looking to Him to bring the increase. We trust that when He says we will reap, it will happen. We don’t always know when, but we know He is not like man, that He should lie. We trust Him.

And this month, as our wings are seriously trimmed and our lives never extend further than a walk down the road, I am seeing fruit. I’m not just seeing it, I am being fed by it. My soul is nourished by the joy, camaraderie, responsibility, servanthood, kindness, laughter, and just plain old enjoyment all around me. These aren’t things that come naturally to us as humans. They are the result of training and discipleship — both in me and in my children. And thirteen years later, as not only I but also my older children set the tone, I am astounded to see genuine and nourishing fruit.

This isn’t to say life is perfect, and that we aren’t continuing every day to water, weed, prune, and stake. We are. We must choose Jesus moment by moment, and sometimes we need a lot of help to get there. But I am saying, Fellow Parents!! Stay the course! Invest by faith! Man your post and allow your weakness to not be an excuse but an invitation for the strength of God! Stay humble and learn! We’ve been commissioned to make disciples, and He will equip us and bring us success.

There are seasons of toil and work and nothing to show for it. But – but! There is that cold spring day when snow has barely cleared the ground, and suddenly you spy with your little eye the faintest trace of pink, pushing through the ground — signs of life! It’s coming! Maybe your garden isn’t producing fruit quite yet, but oh, those leaf buds are so exciting. Notice them. Give thanks for them! And put your gloves on and stay in the game. Sow the Word, invest your life.

And put your trust in Jesus. He will not forsake us.

a culture of celebration

One of the words that Ryan recently used to describe our home culture was celebration. He laughed a bit and looked pointedly at my mom, who can turn anything into a celebration. (I will never forget, when I was around 5 years old, one particular “bedroom blitz” when, at the end of our 15 minutes, we were rewarded with ice cream served in little dishes right at our play kitchen table. I felt very celebrated!)

A culture of celebration is different than just throwing parties because parties are fun. Celebrating requires an object of celebration, and it confers value upon that object — whether it be the value of a person on their birthday, the completion of 13 years of school, or 15 minutes of hard and productive work.

Celebration is part of our home culture, but not just because I love to make my life complicated. Ha! No, celebration is a culture we learn from observing the Heavenly Kingdom. Reading the Old Testament makes clear that God understands the connection between celebration and value. Studying the glimpses we have of heaven reveals that celebration will go on forever!

And so we celebrate as a way to, with time and energy and creativity, point out what’s important.

Celebrations can be ever so simple. They need not require much money. But all celebrations require a bit of sacrifice, because that time and energy and creativity has to come from somewhere, and chances are, you don’t have any of those things lying around in excess. There are some seasons when I have had more of those things to give than others. New babies, fledgling businesses, and sickness all come to mind. There have been times when the weight of life — incredible grief and heaviness of soul — have tempted me to skip the traditions of rejoicing. But those are the times when a culture of celebration bolsters. Celebrating isn’t just having a party; it’s reminding others as well as our own souls of what matters most. (Does grief matter most? Disappointment?) The celebration might be smaller when life is demanding, more creative when managed by a mother in bed with illness or a baby, but it can still exist. It might take unusual twists and turns when we’re, say, sheltering in place, but sometimes those become our most memorable celebrations! No matter the method, our souls need to remember what we’re valuing.

So this week we’ve been celebrating (because really, all the preparations for the celebration are part of it!) We’ve paused the usual school routines and made room for sending cards, making foods, prepping clothes, and special moments as a family. More than any other celebration, this week deserves every communication we can offer of its worth. Jesus, crucified, resurrected, and forever victorious. The Holy Spirit, poured out on us. The Father, inviting us into His presence with arms wide open. This is everything, and so we celebrate.

a month to remember


How the month began

Suffice to say this has been a strange month.

Ryan talks to the kids all the time about not putting our hope in this world. About holding things loosely, knowing that what we have today might be gone tomorrow, and only Jesus is a sure thing. We read stories of days gone by, and so our children know that indeed what Dad says is true — one day you’re living a carefree childhood, and the next day, Nazis march into your town. One day your family is warm and snug in a house in the East, and a month later your parents are dead on the Oregon Trail. You are the prince of your tribe, your world no larger than the village borders, and suddenly slave traders descend and drag you halfway around a world you didn’t even know existed. We live in an incredibly safe and insulated world, but so have others, and their worlds were disrupted. And we all know that.

But how strange to actually watch our world get upended in a way that we just hadn’t imagined. Quarantines, hand washing, rules about who gets the mail, food supplies, letter writing — the things my kids see. Questions about our personal responsibility, economic forecasts, caring for a business and all those it represents, praying for grandparents, checking in with parents — the things on our hearts. Will this end in 4 weeks? Four months? Are we doing enough? Are we doing too much? Will the curve flatten? Will the numbers stagger? Will the numbers have names that we know? Will we all emerge from our houses and return to normal, or will the infrastructures we’ve known be decimated by months of economic stagnancy? What is going on?

And with all of those questions, the foundations of our souls are asking none, really. We have long known the answer that settles and gives peace: Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever. And of His Kingdom there shall be no end. Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age. Therefore we will not fear, even though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. All things work together for good to those who love Him.

I don’t know, but He does.

When I was a little girl, my dad would occasionally invite me to come with him for a daddy-daughter date. These weren’t elaborate events, but usually just an errand he needed to make which could easily accommodate the company of a daughter. Maybe he’d add an extra stop for a donut or some such thing, but regardless, you better believe we all jumped at those opportunities to go with Daddy.

He didn’t tell me where we were going. I didn’t grill him for details of our destination, the roads he would take, how fast he would drive, or whether or not there would be stops along the way. I just got into the car, happy to ride with him to the ends of the earth — or Munro Muffler.

And so it is for those whose trust is in the Lord. We are with Him, and He is bringing us somewhere special. The details of how, when, and what path need not shake us. We shall be like Mount Zion — not moved, not shaken. We can look at tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword, and know that neither those things, nor death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, can separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

What a way to live! Today, whatever new legislation may come down, whatever numbers from Italy, whatever the current case count in our state — let us be found persevering in tribulation and rejoicing in hope..

Our God reigns.


Fiona helping Cecily with her devotional reading