Post Category → Jameson

a week away

Last week, there were long days of hot sun, just perfect for a week away at the lake. Today, I wake to cool air and rain, the sound of geese filling the sky, and a sunrise that is growing tardier by the day. Everyone I talk to says the same thing: What a strange year, and how can it be the end of summer already? Somehow, in the midst of Phase 1-4 and canceled festivals and family vacations gone awry and summer camps 6′ apart or not at all, Time kept moving. July is July, I guess, whether we travel as usual or not. Summer happens, with or without swimming lessons. School must resume, even if it seems that wasn’t quite the break we had planned. Strange or not, this is the year we are living. And I know I sound like a broken record, but isn’t it awfully good to realize that while a sense of normalcy may be tethered to Maine and theater camp, God is not? Nothing surprises Him, nothing deters Him. Plan A is still being executed: He will dwell in our midst, and His glory will cover the earth as the waters cover the sea. Period.

And so, feelings aside, I set my hands to school preparations, tying up the loose ends of summer and thinking ahead, at least a bit. (Who can think ahead too far? This hasn’t been the year for such things.)

But I can’t help, as the sound of coffee grinding fills my kitchen early this morning, reminiscing about coffee made and enjoyed on the lake, the summer days we were given, and already wishing to go back.

June is bustin’ out all over

Every year, I swoon over June. How could you not? The brown and bare earth breaks out into shades of brilliant emerald. Dainty buds of promise suddenly erupt into blooms of deep purple, golden yellow, delicate pink, rich magenta. Skies are high and blue. The sun’s brilliance lights up the early morning and late evening and invites you to live the day full and strong. Books begin to close and and kids run free. Screen doors slam and sunscreen is slathered. Bikes and chalk and basketballs and sprinklers. The intermittent cool day that (if I’m honest) becomes the highlight of my week because I can garden and work without the full heat of summer.

June doesn’t hold back. Halfway through, and I already can barely recall the beginning. So many full days: house projects continue. A new niece to welcome. Finishing an intense sprint of store redesign and renovation. Church opening back up, a bit at a time. Visits from out of town sister. Zoom piano recital. New perennial bed turned and planted. Three meals every day, eight sets of clothes (at least) to launder every morning, the never-ending list of little homemaking tasks that wait for school’s end.

Children growing by inches, literally, before my eyes. Pressing into Jesus together, knowing we need Him so very much. Praying with young men who have become humble wisdom-seekers. Answering the four year old who wants to know, through tears, “how can I ever do nothing wrong?” and assuring her that’s exactly why Jesus came. Feeling my human limitations when trying to keep up with the two-year-old’s training, tired and stretched and knowing that there is grace for me to lay hold of. Heading into summer’s carefree days and knowing that freedom is the power to do what one ought, not simple slipping into lazy waste of days, and praying for wisdom to lead my brood into restful joy and growth.

Bustin’ out all over. In me, too? I pray yes. Pray that all of this showing up every morning, asking for help moment by moment, praying through national issues too big for me to even understand and dealing with little hearts too deep for me to plumb will result in growth in me, too.

May’s end

Oh so cold for oh so long, and suddenly, pass the lemonade and I’ll be at the pool: this is North Country weather, and it keeps us on our toes.

Wrapping up regular days of school, getting things crossed off, watching the calendar slowly morph into the beckoning adventure of summer living.

Weeding and mulching the tiniest signs of life, and within weeks, seeing those empty spaces filled with unfurling leaves, spring’s flowers, and June’s buds.

Every day somehow so very busy with the next thing for so many projects — in the house, in the yard, in the business. What’s next? I’m sure I’ve forgotten something, somewhere.

Slowly loosening up. Seeing a few familiar faces and itching for carefree gatherings, for stores with doors open, for a haircut and soon a summer pedicure? Praying we can all rebound.

Watching space shuttles launch and buildings collapse in flames all on the same day, the kids’ eyes large and trying to understand. Confusion and tears and sweet innocence wondering how these bad things happen? How easy it is to wonder, except, of course, an honest look into our own hearts, knowing there is none righteous, not one, and our violent, hateful, screaming, rioting, weeping world needs Jesus.


watching Jon, a favorite activity




She turned two!



A little history display night, and these kids did such a wonderful job.





So much sister-life, all the time. Brothers, too, but harder to catch on camera!


A strange Memorial Day with no ceremony, but still a pause.


Watching the green appear on my morning walks.


This girl, growing so tall and seeing young lady begin to appear.


May’s flowers, inside all the time.



Living that bagel life.


William mowed a maze in the field, and if you squint, you’ll see kids everywhere, running and laughing.




New gardens, old gardens, I love gardens.

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.

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 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