How cute is he??

But no Ryan means a special chance to be all Mama and soak up all the little boy lovin’ I can. Jameson holds my hand lots, and William (who has a little fever and an upset tummy — sad!) wants me to hold and snuggle him lots. My very favorite, though, is bedtime, when we all three fall asleep into bed together, nestled close against each other — and then wake up and snuggle even closer for just a minute before Jameson hears his Uncle Merrick and runs away to play.

That’s all, really. I just wanted to write and remember this special week, with my two boys, sharing pillows and dreams.

I love them!

All day we’d been working so hard with the movers to load the truck, keep children out of the way, and then cleaned the house, and finally, packed suitcases with all the leftovers for our flight back east. And life had been that sort of whirlwind for days. I’d been thinking about packing, and about missing friends, and had scarcely spent a minute’s time to realize I was about to leave to many special memories.

I stepped out our front door into the dark night to drop one more stamped envelope into the mail. Lingering traces of afternoon’s warm sun scented the air — a fragrance I suddenly realized I’d grown to love. End-of-day traffic illuminated the street with red and yellow lights, and palm trees waved high above everything else, outline of black against a dusky sky.

This had been Evening for almost three years, and now it is no more.

My head fell upon a sister’s pillow last night, my boys and I nestled safely under a favorite red roof, and my mind wandered to a stuccoed bungalow far away: once home, now empty; once ours, but ours no longer. We lived life there. Baby grew to boy. We became a family of four. I hung diapers on a line hundreds of time; baked hundreds of loaves of bread; paced bedroom floor through long nights of sick babes; cuddled all together for family movie nights; celebrated Easters and Thanksgivings, birthdays and Valentines Days; hosted new faces who became good friends; laughed and cried, fought and made up, loved more and better than before. So much life.

So yes, I feel like I’m leaving part of my heart behind, but that’s not a bad thing: I poured my heart into those three years of living, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Good-bye to a wonderful season of sunshine and amazing coast lines, hip cities and easy suburban living, choo-choo trains and constant air traffic (what the boys will miss!), and regular walks to Trader Joe’s. (I was going to include wonderful new friends in that list, but I’m not saying good-bye to them. I hope they’ll be a part of this next season of life, too!)

And hello to a season yet to unfold — where Evening looks like silver moon on vast fields of snow, a new house awaits us, waiting to be filled with memories of its own, and where we look for God to use us and change us in ways we never expected.

This past Monday, we got a whole van-load of boxes, and, knowing that was the day’s plans, I mentally rolled up my sleeves and prepared for this task of packing. I reviewed my strategy, but I also gave myself a little pep talk. The house will seem like a disaster, said I to myself. The kids will get cranky at all the wrong moments. They will unpack boxes you just filled, and will rip tape off the boxes you thought were so well sealed. Those amazing little houdinis. Tempers will probably flare, and tensions will run high, and you’ll have to remember that it’s just a season, and soon it will be over. And you’ll have to work hard at kindness and patience — more so than usual.

And that’s when I was struck.

I saw, in vivid color, as though for the first time, that kindness and patience are a fruit of the Spirit — and the Spirit will still be active and moving in our lives, even during this topsy-turvy month!

I literally teared up, and my heart just burst with happiness and relief. I can have love and joy all the time.

Love, joy, peace — they are not fruits of routine, order, and a good night’s sleep.

Against such there is no law — not even the laws of chaos, exhaustion, teething babes, and tight budgets can keep the fruits of the Spirit from growing in a willing life.

Suddenly I’ve found myself murmuring to myself —

– when it’s only 9am, and two kids are crying and whining and I’m just so tired: Joy is not the fruit of rest; it’s a fruit of the Spirit.

– when I trip over the crying baby who’s trying to climb up my [moving] legs: Kindness is not the fruit of tranquility; it’s a fruit of the Spirit.

– when little hands are reaching for me, a boy is getting into trouble, a dear husband calls his need for something, and I can’t do it all at once: Peace and love are not the fruits of manageable moments; they are fruits of the Spirit.

And if that’s true, then there’s nothing about right now that makes those fruits an impossibility. In the middle of these boxes, in the midst of any tears, above and through and in all the pressures and demands, we can experience:

love. joy. peace. patience. kindness. goodness. faithfulness. gentleness. self-control.

See what I mean about the wonderfulness of it all?

He doesn’t get pushed around, at all.

In spite of the fact that we’ve been suggesting he try to take a few steps, he has stubbornly, resolutely refused to ever let go of our hands when walking.

It has to be his own idea, on his own time.

Maybe he thought the typical first attempts at walking — you know, two or three steps followed by a face plant — were a bit beneath his maturity level. He wanted to make sure he had it totally figured out in his head before actually implementing his strategy. At any rate, he had us in stitches last Thursday night when suddenly, he decided to start walking:

(Or friend Emre is behind the camera.)

Of course, what really cracks me up is that since that night, he has not taken a single step! He absolutely refuses to humor our requests and acts as though that walking event never even took place. What a guy.

We put in an offer on a house.

Which was then accepted.

And we are now mere weeks away from ending this process and becoming official homeowners.

Can you imagine how excited and uptight I’ve been, waiting for acceptances and approvals and commitment letters, trying to hold loosely something I very much wanted? You can imagine.

Would you like to hear how this came to be?

You would?

Great!

(You don’t have to read all of this, really; my mom is the only person on the planet who has any sort of obligation to do so, and she already knows the whole story!)

Where shall I begin? I hardly know!

So, in 2007 we moved out here, to gorgeous northern California, to the suburb to beat all suburbs, aka “Middle Class Heaven” (so named by my father.) It really is beautiful, by the way. The ocean, the mountains, the redwoods, the flowers blooming in February — all of it. And this neighborhood really is about as good as it gets. Here, they build 4 million dollar homes around huge redwood trees in the middle of a lot. Half an hour south, they bulldoze it all and build a hundred matching McMansions, but not here. It’s really nice here. And there’s a Trader Joe’s a short walk away.

Anyway, we moved here. Last January, we found a church nearby that we’ve absolutely loved being a part of. Loved. Our sightseeing opportunities have drastically been reduced, thanks to weekends full of hanging out with friends and doing church stuff. The Golden Gate bridge is awesome, but I’ll take pizza with friends any day.

We never thought we were going to be here forever and ever, but we certainly didn’t have any niggling thoughts of leaving anytime soon, nor did we know where we would be leaving to. God’s never been in the habit of sharing His plans with me, I’ve noticed. That’s okay. He’s the kind of driver where you know it’s okay to roll down the window, put your seat back, stick your feet up on the dashboard, and just go with it. Not that life’s always a sunny drive down Coastal Highway 1, but He knows what He’s doing. That’s my point.

Anyway, Ryan joined us halfway through December in New York, and we heard plenty of the usual, “Are you moving back”s and “We just miss you guys so much”s. Which we always appreciate, of course, but as always, we just had to say, “Yeah, we’d love to, we miss you, too.”

But then a couple of people seemed to go out of their way to share such sentiments. People who we wouldn’t expect to spend a lot of time thinking about our future. Others seemed more persistent than usual. And nothing was a blinding light that stopped us in our tracks, but it was adding up to something worth noting. Our hearts were listening.

Ryan started looking at the houses in the area again. He does it regularly, sometimes just for fun, sometimes thinking we could do the landlord thing. We noticed a nice house in town had been quite reduced in price, and since we’d always been curious, we set up an appointment a few days after Christmas. And in the meantime, our hearts were hearing more and maybe even sensing a nudge or two. Hmmm.

So we went through this house. My mom and Nancy helped us dream a little, my sister approved, and when we left over an hour later, we could not believe how much we had felt like this could be home. I fell asleep that night with visions of raising a family in that kitchen. (And I have never pictured myself in any other house. I just am not wired that way.)

We set up another appointment so we could show my dad. And suddenly, we found ourselves in the middle of quite a crazy situation: was the house already sold? Was it available? The details are crazy and the story is long, but at the end, we were free to put in an offer if we so desired.

And so, four days after seeing the house for the first time, and on only our second visit to the home, we found ourselves having to decide if and what we would bid. So much for our ideas of flying back to California and thinking about it! Isn’t this stuff supposed to move a bit slower in the North Country?

We put in our offer. The next morning, with a vomiting baby in tow, we flew back home. We landed, and the rest of the family came down with the same bug. Three days of canceled flights, hotel rooms, violent vomiting and a house full of suitcases later — our offer was accepted.

That, of course, was just the beginning, and it’s been a very busy, very intense few weeks of getting our ducks in a row (we had not been planning on buying a house!) This past Monday, boxes were bought and I began the process of packing. Last night, my mom bought a ticket to fly out soon and help me finish up and fly back.

Back home.

Crazy.

:: I crawl out of bed, excited about the prospect of a few minutes without kiddos for the first morning in a long time. Call my mom. Be excited about seeing her soon.

:: Coffee into the maker. Granola and yogurt into the bowl. Button’s pushed, now wait.

:: It’s still dark. I light the candle on the kitchen table, check my email on my phone. Coffee’s ready.

:: The first sip warms my chilly insides. Winter mornings are winter mornings, whether you live in upstate NY or Northern California.

:: I sit at the table with breakfast, laptop, and ESV. Sip, skim blogs, baby cries.

:: William is happy to nurse, snooze, and cuddle while I enjoy my granola and Exodus. I’m working my way through the Bible, again. This time, I’m not promising it’ll be in a year. I’m hoping this open-ended plan will be less discouraging.

:: Flip to Galatians 5. Be glad I live by the Spirit.

:: Welcome another little buddy to the table. Time to turn on a light and start the morning, for real. Naturally, that will include the newest tunes from my favorite superstar.

The most exciting part of the last month and a half has simply been the sense of the Lord leading us. Most of the time, we’re called to just be faithful — to keep on fulfilling the last orders we received. But every once in awhile, the pillar picks up and starts moving, and it is so exciting to be swept along with its movement.

That’s how this has felt.

I tried to put my finger on a very clear sense one night. I told Ryan, it doesn’t feel like we’re “moving back.” This isn’t about missing good ol’ Mom and Dad, or small town life, or whatever. Sure, we’re thrilled beyond thrilled that being near to family is part of this deal — of course! But there is such an exciting sense of having received our next assignment, of moving ahead. There is a sense of God!

I’m so eager and curious to know how He plans to knit us in. I’ve never lived in the North Country in this season of my life! I don’t know who He’ll bring into our lives, who will become the regulars around our dining room table, how He’ll lead us to get involved in church life, who my kids’ best friends [other than cousins, of course!] will be. God does know, and He’s moving us so that our lives will intersect at just the right moment with others’ lives. Isn’t that amazing?

So yeah. We’re moving back… but actually, we’re moving forward. So exciting.

:: So would the purple bags under my eyes.

:: A little treat of chocolate chips in a pretty bowl bought in Seville is a welcome bit of cheer.

:: The smell of sauteeing onions and rising bread doesn’t hurt, either.

:: And John Mayer playing. I’m trying to catch up on years of not being very cool. Am I way behind? (That’s sort of a joke. The answer is: hopelessly.)

:: Remember this?

What a fantastic trip that was. I highly recommend Spain in March. (But stay away from Morocco. Those carpet salesmen are wheelers and dealers.)

:: ‘K. That was fun. Back to work.

Each day has its own.

I’m not always very good at embracing the slower tempos. But I think — dare I say it? — I’m learning.

The last few days have been runny-nosed, congested (which means vomiting up phlegm, yuck), and feverish for my littlest guy. That means my goals have been reduced to feeding and clothing my family. I’m finding how to fit the little necessary duties into five happy minutes here and there — but not to work myself into a productive frenzy every time the boys are both happy. Because really, it’s the tempo of my own heart that I need to reign in, need to slow down so that it can find the rhythm of today.

I naturally tend to fight it, insisting that I can still get so much done, can still do my own little projects. It’s sort of like fighting a horse, rather than just moving with them: you find yourself ridiculously sore at the end of the day.

It’s so much nicer to realize that some of the days that the Lord has made are meant to be slow. And when I move with the pace He’s asking for, I often find there’s time for special things that I never can fit in when I’m the one setting the pace:

– watching a whole movie with my little Jameson. He loves it when I sit with him, and I never do.
– reading not just a few books, but LOTS of books together.
– playing with William and making him laugh.
– getting out the finger paints and creating little masterpieces.
– enjoying homemade bread and not caring that there’s not much else for dinner. (Ryan didn’t complain. I think he’d eat fresh bread for dinner anytime!)
– being thankful for the rain, because it’s not interfering with my busy schedule, anyway.

The onions are sauteed: time for me to get back to my sauce. Yes, it’s a pasta-for-dinner night. (It would be pb&j, but the bread was all but consumed last night!)