Post Category → just life

spring: a blur of goodness

It’s a rainy Wednesday afternoon. Percival is napping, girls are enjoying the rare treat of a movie, older boys are studying, and I found myself wandering for a moment, looking for a plan that would appeal to my current energy level. At last I decided to organize and upload photos — and oh my! I was aghast to see it’s been since Christmas that I have done such a thing!

Busy, of course, doesn’t begin to describe life with this talented, energetic, growing tribe. Throw in a full basement renovation of 2000+ square feet, and of course a pregnancy, and you have one interesting spring!

But oh my, the best busy of all. Life poured out and then received — pressed down, shaken together, running over. The smiles and laughter, joy and encouragement, music and art, and just plain old help I get from these kids far exceeds what I give — of that I’m very sure.

Beyond the walls of this home, dearest friends who bring strength and vitality, family that is so dear, opportunities to grow and bless — so much.

Reflecting on such a large lump of time as January till now reveals this, over and over:

B L E S S E D

And were I to suffer the loss of all things, simply knowing the grace, mercy, and unfathomable love of Jesus would still leave me with overflowing cup. To add to those immeasurable gifts the twinkle of Jameson’s smile, the quiet “I’ll do that for you, Mom,” that William offers so faithfully, the effortless laughter that bubbles out of Beatrice’s soul, the energy and creativity Fiona brings to every situation, the sudden need for a hug that brings Cecily to my side, Enid’s sparkle and vivacious sweetness, the hysterical and endearing unfurling of Percival’s personality, the dearest of husbands who tends the field of his family so faithfully, a home that is warm and so much more than sufficient — where shall I stop? Yellow daffodils welcoming spring, joined by pink tulips, acres and acres of green grass and trees to explore, a mother and father who have spent hours just this spring investing in my children and their gifts, talented workmen who have made a shapeless space into bedrooms and more, friends who delight in giving unexpected gifts and words of encouragement, fellowship that goes long into the night and still not long enough, nieces and nephews whose faces light up in the presence of the Lord, a pastor who has loved our kids and laid down hours and hours showing it…

Perhaps it is the end of pregnancy, but I suspect it is the goodness of God that brings me to tears.

Yes, the end of pregnancy. A few weeks away. It suddenly consumes more of my thoughts — what to eat and when, how to get up off the ground, what exercise to do, how to arrange the pillows at night. What to name this new life. I have not fully wrestled through the fact of labor and delivery, which never gets smaller or easier in fact or imagination, but I forge ahead knowing that I am pursued by goodness and mercy.


































A December album

Just a little photo-album-post, for my own memory’s sake:


Beatrice quietly slipping into a more and more helpful role — one afternoon she rolled and cut over 100 linzer “heart” cookies while I wrapped gifts. Game changer.


My heart catches a little when I see this. William blew me away singing the part of Amahl in my mom’s stellar production. He sang in the stratosphere, the music was challenging and he did it effortlessly, his presence on stage was endearing and sweet and tear-jerking. Something about a boy soprano is such a bittersweet thing: even as I listen and savor, there is the knowledge that, more than most things in life, this is incredibly fleeting, and once gone, will never return. Perhaps Percival will take the torch someday, but for now, I think we have heard some of the last amazing Dunphey boy soprano singing for awhile.


Breakfast out on a leisurely Saturday morning — such a rarity I can’t even think of the last time it happened. Pure enjoyment!


Finding pictures of favorite decorations — we all love this little toymaker!


My mornings by the tree are usually quite solo, and I love taking in this view.


Hundreds of cookies, pounds and pounds of butter, and plates to share wherever we go — it’s a blessing to enjoy and give abundance.


The kids and I, along with two sisters and their families, made a day trip to visit our grandparents. The kids all played piano and ukulele and sang and were generally happy and excited and the biggest treat for everyone who lives at the Center. A long, long day of driving is so worth the joy we leave and the love expressed.


Finding this little crew, happily singing “Twelve Days of Christmas” together.


Partying hard at the Ockrin’s was a bit much for this little lady.


Someone lit all the candles for our first dining room table meal and had to take a picture. I don’t blame them!


Rare, and a favorite: sitting all together by candle- and tree-light, eating Christmas cookies and reading Christmas stories.


This. How I love these girls, love their affection, love that in the midst of so much busyness and commotion, they find my hand to hold or my lap or my neck to squeeze.



Cecily turned SEVEN! Oh my, what a treasure she is!! Her heart is so tender and sensitive, her humor so developed and hysterical, her smile so full and unabashed.


Sometimes I see something like this and my heart catches in my throat — something so simple as sitting and laughing together at a random moment of the day, and yet, someday sooner than I know, it will be the rare treat that only happens through great effort and planning around holidays and summer visits.


We did our family shopping trip without Ryan, who was home with quite the virus. St. Lawrence Bookstore was the destination, and we were successful without too much agony, and now bags are stashed in my room, waiting for the great Wrapping Afternoon.

And now, a few more sleeps, a few more busy days, a few more Advent books to count down… *sigh*

Christmas Time is Here…

We’re on that fast train called December, hurtling along, express style, toward 2023.

It always takes me by surprise. One minute we’re in September and I’m catching my breath from the summer, settling into a routine for what feels like the first time all year, and the next minute it’s almost over.

Time presses us, doesn’t it? It heals wounds and brings growth, and it cuts short and signals death. Forty of these ever-flowing weeks brings us to the birth of a new baby while simultaneously carrying me along, ever closer to my end.

But were time and money infinite, we would find ourselves lost in a sea of priorities with no urgency to actually choose any. Instead, they are anything but infinite. We are anything but infinite, and don’t we know it, deep in our souls. And so each tick of the clock is a crossroads, a decision point: what will be the things that matters to us? (There is a Kingdom outside of Time, whose rule is infinite, and investment therein brings eternal rewards. I highly recommend, with each movement of the second hand: choose Jesus.)

*****

This past week we said goodbye to November, full of thankful hearts as we gathered the Sinclair clan for food and fun. Pilgrims and pumpkins were packed away, Diana Krall began her yearly reign from our kitchen speaker, and Christmas appeared.

We decorated, made cookies, prepared dozens of teacher/CFA volunteer gifts, watched Christmas movies, lit candles, got our tree, ironed holiday clothes, and inaugurated the season with the kids’ CFA Christmas concert.

We also got hit with a tummy bug, several days of a fever for Percival, horrible rainy weather instead of snow, had gobs of study for Greek finals, basketball practices, and had to cancel our very first holiday gathering.

Our “tree day” summed up what so much of this fall has felt like: not quite to plan, not exactly how we’ve usually done it, plenty of divide and conquer, with Ryan and I trying to keep the big picture in mind as we work with a new set of variables. And it also summed up the goodness of God I’ve been basking in: years of working very hard to build a family where love, servanthood, and right priorities shape us, and now seeing those values genuinely take root in the lives of our older children. Suddenly a day can seem to go awry and yet stay absolutely on course because we are pulling together, smiling, serving, keeping our eyes on the prize. And so, when that tree was vertical and watered, lit and decorated, and we all sat together eating rum logs, although the day had lacked “magic,” what we ended up with was even better. We had persevered together, repenting along the way as needed… and by George, we’d gotten that tree up!

And so here we are: a month to celebrate well, purposely carving out time to reflect, enjoy, beautify, and create. May we all serve and bless as we go, giving generously, and receiving the small blessings that surround us and the staggering blessing available to us all through the kindness of Christ, our Savior and Friend.

just popping in…

It’s snowing.

Grass, brush, field, wood — all slowly and silently disappearing into white. Horizon, so recently thick with foliage, now hemmed in by bare branches standing stark against gray, thick sky.

Hemmed in.

That is the nature of winter.

Calendar does not reflect any slowing, but here, this Saturday morning, as husband and children sleep a bit extra, wind whistles down the chimney, and silently silently the snow flies outside my window, I still.

This space has been silent, I know. Rare is the moment I sit with my own laptop — it is usually being borrowed by someone for some math/history/writing/something. And my lap is usually non-existent, as laps generally are when one is busily standing here, walking there, anything but sitting anywhere.

More than ever, time and heart and mind are pulled. I knew I was headed here, knew that early years of parenting are physically demanding and slowly the demands become more and more soul-and-life encompassing. I knew as soon as my first precious baby was put on my chest that I was in over my head, and if I’ve ever thought I had the mom thing figured out (which I never have), this is most certainly not that moment. I cannot help but remember every day that I am on a divine mission, and desperately in need of Divine mercy and grace and wisdom and strength. Is there any other way to live? In over my head, yet knowing God prepared this good work for me and will empower me and cause my fishes and loaves to multiply, my scattered seed to bear fruit beyond the time and space I occupy — yes, this wild invitation to the Holy Spirit that my pleading life makes every day, and the amazing ways in which He shows up and moves… Jesus, keep me humble and seeking You every day. Be glorified.

at the seaside

Growing up, the ocean was always a part of summer for my family. We buried uncles in the sand, strolled the boardwalk of Jones Beach at dusk, learned to ride waves with my dad, and collected too many shells that never made it home. My kids have grown up much the same way, visiting their Papa every summer, walking through his lawn to the rocky coast of Maine, smelling the roses and the salt, occasionally driving to a calm harbor to swim and find hermit crabs.

But it’s been a few summers now, thanks to the shifting sands of life. I was ever so thankful when we rather spontaneously decided to make the trek to the shore to spend time with family. The weather was perfect, the family time ever so wonderful, and the beaches were perfect. Thank you, God, for the roaring waves and the steady tide and the colors of sun setting over an endless horizon.

And yes, the ocean is not nearby. We all pile into the van and drive for many hours, and traveling with this crew of kids is one of the easiest things I do. Our drive home was eleven solid hours in the van, and guess who was the only antsy one, as far as I could tell? Me. Yup, my four year old’s contentment challenged me to take a deep breath and just settle in for the long haul. And we made it. And it was so good.

His faithfulness and ours.

Great is Thy faithfulness, and oh, is that ever true! A rock, a narrow path, a guiding light appearing in my soul’s night, a vine full of life-flow, a consuming fire. Captain of the hosts, Intercessor, Shepherd, Father, Word alive forever, Peace, Truth. Defender, Deliverer, Lamb silent before the slaughter. Righteousness like mighty mountain, Love like depth of ocean. My rest, my hope, my salvation.

He makes me stand firm. Makes my arm strong so that I can bend a bow of bronze. Makes my heart soft and my tongue lie still.

His love becomes truer. Is this the reward of the man who perseveres under trial? Truth becomes knowing.

This is how my life goes right now: soul deep in meditation, hands and feet and lips busily serving the precious people God has given to me to steward.

Great is Thy faithfulness — change the sheets from last night’s accident. Oh God my Father — scramble to find red ribbons for 4th of July hair. Search me, oh God, and know my heart — dive into sewing lessons for four eager daughters. Purify in Your refiner’s fire — grab chubby hand for an impromptu adventure in the woods.

Yesterday for a brief moment, I had only two little girls. They were dressed in flowy summer dresses from our outing earlier, and we prepared lemonade with mint and big red strawberries and a vase of flowers, and we sat out under the umbrella and chatted while waiting for our guest. It was special. And they tumbled about a bit while Guest and I talked of things that are heavy in adult hearts but are lost to little girl minds.

God is able to stretch us, to give us hearts to serve by trimming little toe nails and watching “cool tricks” while also entering into the labor of hard spiritual warfare. Faithfulness is a great weapon of ours, and the action of one foot in front of the other is an offensive attack on an enemy whose great aim is to sideline and isolate us. Great is Thy faithfulness — and because He is faithful, I, too, can be faithful. It is my act of worship, warfare, and a declaration of trust.