She was sound asleep when I laid her down — carefully turning back our comforter, slowly easing her onto my pillow. So sweet.
A few minutes later, with no warning or warm-up, her sobs suddenly began. I hurriedly finished brushing my teeth and turning out the lights, and then slipped into bed next to her. Her tear-filled eyes lit up instantly, and a quivering smile that was so relieved.
She’s sound asleep again. Because she’s fine now. All she wanted was me.
Isn’t that amazing?
I think so.
Here we are, on the eve of a wonderful celebration. A day to stop and just say, Thank You. What a gift this day is, in and of itself!
In recent years it’s struck me that being thankful is very “on trend.” It’s kind of popular. But somehow, somewhere in its rise to fame, Thankful has become synonymous with Positive Thoughts.
That’s not what it means, I tell my children.
Thankfulness inherently is an acknowledgement of two parties: you, the recipient, and another, the giver. And being thankful without acknowledging the giver is rather like mailing a thank you card with no address.
Thankfulness is a chance to remember who we are and where we stand. It’s an invitation to embrace humility. And joy.
So I ponder this. Tomorrow, I want to respond to that invitation. I don’t want to simply look around me, take note of the good things I enjoy, and proceed to feel good. I want to treat thanksgiving as what it is: a chance to humbly say, All I am, all I have, the very breath I breathe, is a gift. A gift from a Giver.
Now thank we all our God
With heart and hands and voices,
Who wondrous things has done,
In whom the world rejoices.
Who from our mothers’ arms
Has blessed us on our way
With countless gifts of love
And still is ours today.
*****
Moments of blessing far beyond what I deserve (what joy and freedom!):
(written late last night:)
My mother shared this with the Literature Group she leads, and I loved it so:
Twenty Minutes a Day
Read to your children
Twenty minutes a day;
You have the time,
And so do they.
Read while the laundry is in the machine;
Read while the dinner cooks;
Tuck a child in the crook of your arm
And reach for the library books.
Hide the remote,
Let the computer games cool,
For one day your children will be off to school;
Remedial? Gifted? You have the choice;
Let them hear their first tales
In the sound of your voice.
Read in the morning;
Read over noon;
Read by the light of
Goodnight Moon.
Turn the pages together,
Sitting close as you’ll fit,
Till a small voice beside you says,
“Hey, don’t quit.”Richard Peck
Tonight, Mama and another wonderful home school mother spoke on teaching from literature. Of course, the first and overarching encouragement was to not neglect reading to your children.
Reading is something we love to do. I always wish I spent more time reading, and am looking for ways to re-work our days in order to do so. I’ve read out loud to Jameson since he was a toddling babe, and over the last 6-7 years, we’ve had poetry-at-lunch, Bible-storiy-at-nap, chapter-book-at-bed, picture-book-every-other-time traditions. Whatever works at that stage, in that season, we do it. They don’t turn the page; that’s Mama’s job. They sit and listen, and I read.
This afternoon, it was just William and I in the kitchen, and he requested I re-read a favorite chapter from a Narnia book. It wasn’t a chapter I’d been terribly impacted by — in fact, I hardly remembered it. But as I read, he could practically finish every sentence! I couldn’t believe how, after hearing it once, he had memorized every detail.
Then, right as I was getting ready to go hear my mother share, Jameson sat down next to me with the Jesus Storybook and began reading — flying right through, barely stumbling, with animation and expression in his voice. I was astounded. When did that happen? I honestly don’t know.
That only confirmed, once again, how wonderful reading truly is. There are worlds and ideas opened up to little minds, not to mention phonics and grammar and vocabulary that practically fall into their laps as they listen to good literature. And as their minds hear of far-off places and people, we hone and sharpen their worldviews, showing them how Jesus has something to say about it all.
That’s why “read loud” is almost always a Most Important Thing on my daily list. If we do nothing but chores and lots of reading, we have had a wonderful day.
I’m reminding myself of that. I’m committing to memory William’s shining eyes and Jameson’s confident voice. Not to mention Beatrice’s sweet head resting against me as she listens to Jemima Puddleduck for the hundredth time.
Reading is a gift — one I’m so grateful to have received, and one I’m determined to diligently pass along.
*****
When it came time for reading today, Beatrice wouldn’t sit still, Jameson wasn’t much better, and William interrupted almost every sentence with a question about vocabulary. We plodded on. Because they will learn the art of listening and self control, and in the end, no matter how many corrections have been issued, they beg for the next chapter. (Today, I said no. I had to excuse myself so I could go tear my hair out. Ha!)
(we all have our own favorite reading nook, right?)
We sat down all together to eat lunch one day this week, and I took a quick picture.
It doesn’t always happen that this guy sits with us, but sometimes he does. And it’s such a blessing.
Our little family loves being together. And Jesus really is the center of our togetherness. I’m thankful.
That’s all.
There were cousin cuddles, sister cuddles, fires in the hearth with a babe sleeping by its warmth, first snow and first hot cocoa, first apple [free form] pie, and Viking lessons-turned-dress up.
Proverbs 14:1 says something that I need to hear regularly:
The wise woman builds her house,
But the foolish pulls it down with her hands.
Of course, this isn’t This Old House, and I’m not about to give anyone any tips on construction. There’s a scary thought!
No, this is about people, family, home. It’s about building lives.
Tonight, I read that verse again, and I’m struck by the fact that there’s constructive and there’s destructive — but there’s no neutral. Every single day, I am either building or tearing. Period. There’s no, “Eh, I don’t feel like going into work today,” option.
It’s a serious calling.
So, here we are, building this proverbial house, as mothers of young children. Guess what house building begins with? A foundation.
These first early years are all about the foundation — and boy, doesn’t it feel like it! There are plenty of days when I’m tempted to think, “Hey, for some funny reason I feel like there’s not much house-erection happening.” Or, “Wow, this feels about as productive as digging a hole in the ground and then filling it with rocks!” Maybe you’ve been there, too. You know. “When do we get to the pretty part??”
Not yet.
It’s time for digging.
We need to have a vision for these particular days of tender hearts. Wide open eyes. Minds full of wonder. These years that, when seen day by day, can seem so small and mundane — they have the potential to be life-changing. Here are these little lives, placed in our stewardship, and for a fleeting season, they are yet young. It’s time to dig.
It would be easy to discount sleepless nights and pb&j and favorite stories read for the thousandth time and have-I-taken-a-shower-today and holy cannoli. How did I get that far behind in laundry??… It would be easy to lose our way and begin to doubt the importance and meaning of such days.
Don’t doubt. Don’t. Yes, it’s dirt and rocks when viewed up close, but really? Really, it’s a deep, firm foundation.
It would be easy to go into auto-pilot. It would be easy to think, Later. I’ll do the real spiritual stuff later.
Don’t. Don’t miss it. This is it. We’ve got a house to build, and it’s foundation time.
Yes, we’re sinking rocks into holes. We’re seeds dying in the ground.
But when we live these small days as an offering to the Lord, with an eye to eternity, and with hearts eager to impart the gospel and our lives to our children, the Master Builder turns what seemed to be nothing into something.
I know. I was the 4 year old who saw Jesus in my mom’s smile, my dad’s worship. I fell in love with Jesus because I saw Him in them.
So don’t grow weary. Don’t try to skip it. Dig deep. Die completely.
He’s got a house in mind.
My beautiful mama, about to begin a long season of foundation laying.
*****
Related posts:
1. Hazy Days
2. The Lens of the Word
3. The Word + Being a Mama