Post Category → just life

new year, new day

One year ago, our purchase offer was accepted. The boys and I were recovering from a violent tummy bug, and our little California house was topsy-turvy with the remains of a cross-country visit.

What a difference a year makes.

Lately, though, I’ve mostly been thinking about what a difference a day makes, as I ride the waves of nausea and exhaustion and not feeling myself. I wake each morning and wonder, what will this day be? Will the simple acts of breakfast and shower completely wipe me out till evening? Will I be forced to sit perfectly still, hoping to keep my stomach from sloshing, upsetting? Or will there be the gift of energy spurts, and a lifting of the “I just don’t care” that seems to be my constant feeling these days?

What a difference each day makes.

Everyone around me is talking about new years, fresh starts, new seasons, and I try to not feel severely lacking as I continue to simply process days. I have no exciting game plans, no fresh excitement for routines. Instead, I’m trying to let go of everything but bare essentials. Trying not to feel bad that the routines I so enjoy are having to go by the wayside for a bit. Trying to combat a sense of guilt for letting a New Year go a bit uncelebrated and unprocessed. Instead, being thankful for two little boys who are so happy these days, who have not once been demanding when I needed rest, but instead are almost always delightful. Thankful for a husband who is happy with clean socks and sandwiches. Mostly, thankful that, although God grants us the newness of seasons and years, He moves in our lives day by day.

Morning by morning, new mercies I see.

Strength for today.

Bright hope for tomorrow.

Blessings all mine.

right now:

I’m sitting in a cozy chair while a quiet 4 year old boy builds Lego spaceships at my feet. Every once in awhile he tells me something: “Dis is da hallway. ‘Paceships need a have hallways, Mom.” (We’ve been sitting like this for almost an hour. So relaxing.)

William is sleeping. He loves to sleep in. Isn’t that funny?

The snow on the woods outside my window is beautiful. In February, it will still be beautiful, even if I’m ready for something new (read: no more snow.) I remind myself of this, because I don’t want to be a grumbler come late winter.

Two little chickadees are flitting and fluttering right up to my windows. Aren’t they the sweetest little birds?

My phone’s timer is going off. Jameson says, “Mom, you need to do jumping jacks.” He’s right. It’s my lame attempt to get my body moving on these winter days. Every hour, do something.

Right now, I’m thinking that I’m going to be thankful for this day and enjoy every calm, crazy, happy, sad, organized, and chaotic moment.

november

November. Almost gone.

: A delivery of wide-plank antique heart pine flooring. Right now it’s occupying half our living space and means that our home is a bit topsy-turvy, but come January, it will mean a beautiful floor in our kitchen and family room.

: Lots of sewing for a homeschool musical. Dresses, tunics, leggings, wimples, and gobs of gold trim.

: A house renovation at my sister Brietta’s has meant a family of 6 here with us for a couple of weeks. It has been so. much. fun.

: Baking for Thanksgiving, and days at my parents’ house. Games, food, being together. And, of course, wanting to be more thankful.

: Watching a landscape turn gold and silver, and excitedly welcoming the first flurry of flakes (none of which bothered to stay long. Sad.)

: Replacing beautiful pumpkins with garlands and snowmen, special books and an Advent calendar. I kept it simple and focused on our hearth and mantel (see #1), but those red berries and pine cones are effectively ushering in a season of warmth, beauty, and Expectation.

over the river

We were away for 5 days, visiting Maine and people we love. Aunties, cousins, a puppy dog, and grandparents — does it get any better? Jameson brought dress up (which he wanted to wear every day), got a new “big boy” car seat, tried his hand at dunking for apples (and got thoroughly water-logged in the process), and played golf all day long at his Papa’s house. William got late birthday gifts (staggering presents really should happen every year; isn’t it way fun?), went out alone for sushi with Daddy (turns out he doesn’t love chunks of raw fish the way his brother does), and got to hand out candy on Sunday night with Jameson (the two of them sitting on a bench by the door, looking out the window? Adorable.)

We had fun.

We also managed to fit adventure into our drives: on the way there, Ryan almost ran out of gas, and we were driving down New Hampshire country roads late at night, hoping for a gas station. On the way back, I helped out by driving for a couple of hours — except that one of those hours, I was on the wrong highway, heading in the wrong direction. Lot of help I am.

But we got home.

I love coming home.

And I don’t care how local and organic the restaurants in Burlington are, I’d rather eat at home. (My local, organic Swiss chard is just as good.)

learning

This morning, I’m thinking about:

“spend me.”

And how I say that to the Lord all the time — all the time — and yet, I’m disappointed when I’m spent and there’s none left for me. Silly, right? I want the satisfaction of giving and living for the Lord, but I also want the rest and ease of having. Classic “have your cake and eat it, too” syndrome, I guess.

So yes, I’m thinking about how I shouldn’t be surprised that when I say, “Spend me,” I end up feeling spent.

(And I can trust God to nourish and nurture my soul along the way.)

flexibility

and how it’s not flexible unless after getting pulled and stretched and totally re-shaped, you bounce back to “on track.” If the stretching leaves you totally bent out of shape, then you’re not being flexible.

And that flexibility requires grace. So much grace. It requires enthusiasm for serving the Lord every single morning. It requires that cynicism and frustration and resentment get checked at the door. It requires that you constantly be asking, How do I need to stretch today? It means not getting angry when you work so hard to accommodate today’s needs, only to have tomorrow bring something completely new.

And most of all it requires that you always maintain the kinetic memory of “home”: only Jesus.

Yes, it’s not early bedtimes or dinner at a quiet table or chores all done or 5 days in a row of uninterrupted mornings. (Those are nice, and certainly can help.)

My soul’s center isn’t A Routine Day, it’s Jesus.

bits of life

It’s been way too many years (okay, only 3, but still…) since I experienced fall on the East Coast. And oh, how I love it. And I’ve never known autumn to arrive so on cue. I swear, the trees were all a dull green on September 20, and then September 21 — BAM! Orange! Red! Everywhere!

After haircuts on the afternoon of the 21st, we couldn’t help but be struck by the bright, almost neon, orange maple trees across the street from my sister’s salon. Actually, it was Jameson who was struck:

“Look! Mom! Those trees are orange! Do you see that, Mom?”

“Beautiful, huh? Isn’t it amazing?”

Pause while he takes in the wonder.

“Mom, I never saw that before!”

And it’s true, I realized. He hasn’t ever seen a gorgeous, dressed-for-autumn maple tree. And he’s totally in love with this transformation happening all around us, and happily made a little bouquet of red leaves for our table. Perfect.

*****

Of course, along with dramatic gray skies spread over vibrant foliage, the sniffles have also arrived. We had a good, long night of interrupted sleep that ended with Mama and two stuffed up boys all “sleeping” together.

This morning called for warm cornmeal mush, cozy new socks, and a candle. Not so bad, right?

*****

And then there’s this adorableness of Jameson suddenly deciding to set up a hotel. He’s got a little makeshift counter, an old computer keyboard, and he sweetly asks, “Would you like a bedroom?” (type, type, type.) “Okay, five dollars.” (type, type, type.) Then he leads his customer (William, 9 times out of 10), to one of our rooms. Although just now, I heard him lead William to our hall closet, open the doors, and say, “Here’s our elevator. Will this be okay, or do you want another elevator?”

And of course, William just agrees with it all: “Da.”