Post Category → marriage

fruits

Sometimes I am so struck by the wonderfulness of this walk with Christ. Like, wow, what a great plan!

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?

sowing.

I love to find beauty in my days. I love to notice little moments of loveliness that might easily be rushed right past and forgotten. I work hard to make each moment something — books, crafts, chores with Mama, candles at supper, clean pj’s, tickles and kisses on bare bellies. Those things are little seeds.

There are some hours, even days, when it’s harder to see life as beautiful, as sowing seeds. And when life is less than beautiful, I find it hard to not blame myself for failing. When there is an hour of repeated blatant disobedience and a baby crying hysterically in the background, and two parents are finding it hard to not lose it in the emotional pressure-cooker of the moment, I most likely am thinking, “This is awful. What am I doing wrong?”

Sometimes? Nothing.

Why does it surprise me, when I live with three sinners (plus the one within), that there are messy hours? When these darling little babes are born into the world as haters of God, rebels from the get-go, why does it surprise me that faithful parenting sometimes means coming face to face with sin’s ugliness?

That awful hour of tried patience, multiple offenses and meted consequences, crying baby and general upheaval — is that any less sowing seeds than the quieter hours of reading and singing and dusting? In the midst of that chaos, isn’t it possible for me to hear a whisper of commendation: “Keep up the faithfulness; you’re doing great”?

From the right perspective, isn’t it even possible for me to see something beautiful — to see that my little men are having seeds of righteousness planted in their hearts? To see young parents who know so little about grace and patience learning the ways of a perfect Father?

It may not be the most fun sowing — but it is sowing. Necessary and invaluable sowing.

And I don’t need to flog myself for having failed; I don’t need to feel like I’ve let God down. Sin coming to the surface — that’s part of His plan, and part of the crazy adventure called Family.

In fact, if I’ve failed at all, it’s because I’ve hated those moments and wished them gone instead of being glad that grace is at work. I, too, want to see beauty in the ugly.

being family

It’s been more than four years since we said “I do”, started this crazy adventure of blending (and bending) and becoming a family. Four years later, it feels like we’re still just beginning to figure out who this family is — and it’s fun. It’s fun to learn each other, add a few kids, try something new, let something go. (The more I let go, the more we become something unique, fun, useful.)

It’s still funny to hear people say, “We’re going to the Dunphey’s;” I only see us as Ryan and Danica, with two kids, learning to be a family. What do we look like from the outside looking in? I have no idea. And I have no idea how long it will be before I answer the phone, “Hello, Dunphey’s,” the way my mom says “Sinclair’s,” and Judy says, “Tomford’s.” I have a feeling it will creep up on me while I’m learning the art of loving this husband, mothering these children, making this home.

All of that to say, Ryan decided several months ago that rather than buying a medium flat latte every single morning at Peet’s, he would buy an espresso machine. But of course, not a push-the-button espresso machine; we’re talking weigh the beans on a scale, change the grind for every new roast, precisely 30 pounds of pressure with a very nice tamp, set the timer, and pull that shot in exactly 27 seconds. (27? I think.) It’s his new hobby. He takes care of this stainless-steel machine like it’s his car, spit-shining and all. In the evening, when the boys are on their way to dreamland, he makes me a decaf latte. Can you say spoiled?

And all of that to say, we have a new Saturday morning tradition: homemade chocolate chip scones and lattes for breakfast. I light the candle, set the table, and we gather around a plate of warm yumminess while Ryan pulls shots, giving us nothing but the best. It’s slow. It’s crazy one minute and calm the next. Sometimes we’re showered and dressed for the day, sometimes it’s a pj party. Mostly, it’s just one little thing we do that helps us stop and say, hey! We’re a family!

(You’re welcome to drop by and join us, of course. Just let me know, and I’ll pop a few more scones into the oven!)

a ramble

I’m tired. The boys just went down for their naps, and my down comforter sounds awfully nice, but I’m telling myself that if I just sit here in the delicious afternoon sun for a few minutes, it will be positively energizing. Right?

It’s fall here. That means that at the peak of the day, the sun will warm you all the way through, and you may even want to put on a skirt and flip-flops. But come evening, when that sun goes down, the temperature plummets, and all you want is the biggest sweatshirt you own. And so we’ve begun the cold-weather habits of lighting candles, eating soup, and settling in for evenings of togetherness. Is that so bad?

Several weeks ago, I tried to take a step back, get a fresh look at this season of life and our family’s needs, and come up with a new game plan. I’m not always very good at that. Getting off track is way too demoralizing for me, considering it’s just part of life. (I need to get better at that.) I’m also learning, though, that most of the time when we’re off track, it’s because our train changed direction, and I need to get a track in place. Does that make sense? I don’t think of myself as a routine, organized person. My spices, for instance, are a chaotic mess, all dumped into a basket and hidden behind a cupboard door. (Not that I wouldn’t prefer something else, but I’m not enough of an organizer to figure out what that something else is.) However, I’m realizing how inflexible I am about life and how I think it should go. I figure our house should be continually getting prettier and tidier. It is a shock to my system when I realize that the needs of husband, children, or household rhythm dictates that instead, my house has to become more functional. I figure my house should get cleaner and cleaner, and then I realize that Jameson needs me more, I want to spend time with friends, church events happen, and my housekeeping gets bumped further and further down the list. Things like that. Recognizing where the train is going and getting a new track in place. Embracing my call to be a student of husband, children, and home, and then adapt to their needs. And finding joy in knowing their needs are met. Even if my bathroom gets cleaned only once a week. (Get over it, Danica. It’s still not about you.)

I’m loving reading with Jameson lately. He’s old enough now that we can read any book on the shelf — even long, complicated stories — and he gets thoroughly engrossed. Yesterday he pulled out a Happy Hollisters book, sat himself down with it, and then sadly discovered there were no pictures. “I not know how to read this one, Mama!” So I told him I’ll help him read it. I think it’s time for chapter books at bedtime. (How fun!) He found a pictorial encyclopedia of military uniforms of the last century, and has been poring over the pictures, examining the Chronicles of Narnia action figures he has, and delighting in all of the weapons he’s finding. He is particularly fascinated by the German entrenching tool. I’m not sure why, unless digging a hole in dirt and hiding in it is just universally appealing to the male gender. I just slipped into his room and found his arms wrapped around the book, the page opened to military bands. I love, love, love watching his curiosity and fascination with life and the world around him. It’s exhilarating.

I had my first cleaning-with-a-mobile-baby day on Monday. Over the weekend, William officially began crawling. He’s been scooching himself via a series of hysterical movements for several weeks, but now has figured out the efficiency of being on his knees. This means the outlets need to be checked, magazines lay in torn fragments on the living room floor, and he’s finding out the world is not his oyster. It also means that I can fold laundry for 20 minutes undisturbed, because Jameson and William are outside playing and laughing together. I like the undisturbed part, but I absolutely adore the laughing and together parts.

Tonight, I’m finally doing what I’ve been thinking about and wanting to do since I first realized there were women my age at church: I’m starting a small group. I’m incredibly excited about the prospect of being encouraged, challenged, and growing close to these girls. We’re going to start by reading Feminine Appeal, which I’ll do a review of soon. Suffice to say, I really, really enjoyed the book myself and highly recommend it. Perhaps I’ll post my thoughts as we read through the book in our group, so you can read/study along.

Okay. The sun has warmed me in that wonderful way autumn sunshine does. Time to get up and pull the house together a bit.

lately

:: I’ve been taking care of an under-the-weather Jameson. And marveling at the long, scrawny boy he’s become. He’s been talking about his birthday for months now, and a couple of weeks ago, amazed me by holding up three fingers and telling me that’s how old he’ll be. Who taught him that?? He can’t wait. What does he want for his birthday?

“Cake.”

Easy-peasy.


on tip-toes, watching the lawn crew

:: I’ve been smiling at William’s chubby California-baby toes. Nice and brown. And adorable. I could eat them. I’ve also been laughing lots, thanks to his constant attempts at humor. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a baby so eager to laugh and make laugh. It’s awesome.

There have been lots of frustrated cries the last couple of weeks, because he gets down on his belly and then is stuck. I smile as I watch those brown toes pushing against the floor for all they’re worth, trying so desperately to move forward. But I get a little catch in my heart, too. Remember my new baby William? Well, he disappeared before I even had a chance to notice. And I love this little guy who excitedly reads books with me, does adorable dances to any and all music, and belly-laughs at his brother’s [naughty] antics, but. But.


chubby toes

:: I’ve been looking forward to Ryan’s return from work each evening. Some weeks don’t seem quite so long, but this one has, and I just like it so much better when he’s around. So do my boys. And did I mention that he watched both boys here at home last Sunday while I went to see Julie and Julia and then went out for dinner? Yes, he did. I was very, very blessed. He tells me in a million ways how much he loves me.


out with his boys

:: I’ve been thinking about joy. Actually, that’s always on my mind after a trip back home. There are just so many people who have purposed to live out joy, people who I know have been around the block a few times, people who just set their sites more firmly on the prize to come — and somehow that infuses here and now with joy.

It doesn’t come naturally for me, this joy thing. There’s a tad too much pessimism and idealism in there. (How is it that I ended up with all the cons of my temperament, while she got all the pros?) But the good news is that the Scripture’s command to rejoice is just that: a command. Do joy.

I want to do joy. There’s just so much life in the exuberance of pure, Jesus-inspired joy. It’s battery-charging to be around, you know? Shouldn’t our countenance remind fellow pilgrims of our journey’s destination, and speak of Good News to the world?

Loving this quote on joy.

leftovers

Years ago I heard that Susan Brown, mother of many, would say that some days all the devotions she could get was reading a Bible story to her kids. That, I knew, was something worth remembering.

Fast forward to this past week, and you’ll find me reading Bible stories to Jameson at lunch every day. He’s recently become very enamored with Jesus, and wants nothing to do with Old Testament stories (even though, you know, every story whispers His name…) He’s not happy unless I can point to the illustration of Jesus — and then we can proceed. Anyway, his very favorite selection he calls The Food Story, otherwise known to us more learned adults as The Feeding of the 5,000. We’ve read it many times.

And can I just say, wow.

I’m so blessed by that story.

I’ve noticed this week that:

:: Jesus used kid food. Nothing fancy, just, you know, pb&j. Kinda like me. I don’t usually feel much more special than that.

:: Jesus took what wasn’t enough to begin with and managed to end up with leftovers. Leftovers. The mere mention of the word abundance makes my dry and tired soul stir, and that’s the word I see all over Jesus’ miracle.

:: Jesus lifted this piddly little lunchbox to heaven, blessed it, and… it was still a piddly lunchbox. But it managed to feed 5,000. And I think, how often do I say, “God, You’re going to have to multiply my grace/patience/ability/energy, because it’s just not enough,” and then I expect to see some abra cadabra za-za-zing thing happen, when that’s just not Jesus’ style. There was no *poof* moment when suddenly, before their very eyes, the mountaintop was covered with loaves and fish[es]. And there just may not ever be that moment in my life, either. And that’s okay. He can still feed 5,000.

:: And there will be leftovers. Did I mention that? Amazing.

So yeah. I look around at the untidy corners and surfaces of my house, see my boys who need, need, need, wonder what’s for dinner because I’m starving, not to even mention my poor husband, and there is never a Fairy Godmother who shows up and snaps her magic fingers. But there’s me, humble and pb&j-ish as I am, and I never look like much more than how I started, but amazingly, He multiplies. I put my hand to the plow, lift my efforts to heaven, say, “Use me to feed them,” and He does.

And maybe, just maybe, there will even be leftovers.