My little Goldilocks.
Only weeks away from a first birthday.
When did a whole year happen?
We sit here, couch corner, lamp on, blanket-wrapped. Our evening routine.
Usually you fall asleep nursing. But not tonight.
You rest your head on my chest. I rub your tummy as you quiet, sink into my arms, succumb to sleep.
Sweet, sweet babe of mine.
Not many words, though plenty of them are swirling around this pollen-fogged head of mine. While four children lounge on a couch, watching Little Bear on an overcast summer morning, I will post photos.
Lots of growing. Babies make you stop and say, “Oh my!” Seven-year-old-boys who are almost eight don’t scream for attention in the same way. They slip quickly and steadily toward manhood and suddenly my heart is in my throat and I want to yell, “Stop!” They don’t stop. If they did, mothers would squander (we’re human beings, prone to a bit of lazy and selfish, after all.) They don’t stop, and so I must live purposefully. Give, sow, love. Every day.
babies discovering windows: top 5 favorite things to watch
my glamorous life, captured by william
slowly becoming the full, crazy patch of flowers I’ve been dreaming of
she hit the mother lode
simple pleasures
just mama and babe, on an evening errand
this boy knows when he’s tired
I promise, I do have beds for my children
playground + ice cream date outing with mama. sometimes you just gotta eat a huge ice cream cone for lunch and call it a day.
Pastor them. Shepherd them.
Amy Carmichael wrote, “The salvation of a single child—who can measure what that may mean not only here but There? You can’t do everything. ‘After it, follow it, follow the Gleam.’ For us the Gleam is the salvation of children, and it involves the prosaic towel. ‘He took a towel.’ So we won’t mind if our feet are bound, for it is Love that binds them.* His were bound on the cross.”
*Tamil proverb: ‘Children bind the mother’s feet.’
Take a towel. Serve them.
Everyone to whom God has given wealth, and possessions, and the power to enjoy them, and to accept his lot and rejoice in his toil—this is the gift of God. For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart.
“Blessings, like children, are not ethereal and weightless. Sometimes they feel like they come at you like a Kansas hail storm—they might leave a welt!
But if you accept your lot and rejoice in your toil, God will give you the kind of overwhelming joy that cannot remember the details.
Motherhood is hard work. It is repetitive and often times menial. Accept it. Rejoice in it. This is your toil. Right here.
Those are their faces. Enjoy them.
The days of your life are supposed to be full of things like this.
But joy is not giddy. It is not an emotional rush—it is what happens when you accept your lot and rejoice in your toil.
So rejoice in your children. Look them in the eyes and give thanks.
You will not even remember the work of all this planting when the harvest of joy overwhelms you.” (Rachel Jankovic, Loving the Little Years, emphasis mine.)
Busy, busy, busy! Long days that fly by. Spent with four of my favorite people.
*****
last day of Friday School this year!
recovering from a late night at the boys’ spring concert
how? when? that tall??
bright blues, proud of climbing up the slide
who knew life could be so fun?
pigtails.
my helper
teeth.
scooch
highchair for a big girl!
*****
And lastly, this. Long awaited.
******
I know you won’t believe this, but sometimes those adorable little cherubs up there drive me right over the edge of sanity.
Well, actually, that’s not true. They may create the pressure, but the Bible explains so clearly that the desire to sin is in me. But that’s another topic for another day.
I find myself blowing my lid more often than I’d like. Sometimes I kick myself: “Danica, they’re kids. Be patient.” And sometimes I think, How else do I communicate that you may not attack your brother???
But here’s the thing: I don’t want to communicate anything to these little disciples but what God wants communicated. I’m just His representative, after all. When I ask a boy to deliver a message from Mama to the siblings, I’m not pleased when I hear him yelling at them with words and tone that I did not send. I expect him to begin with “Mama said…” and to continue with the kindness I first communicated. The strength of the command is in those little words, “Mama said.” If they don’t respond to that, we have a problem. But big brothers (or sassy little sister) yelling at them isn’t going to help the situation.
And so God “sends” me. This mothering thing is His assignment for me. I didn’t come up with it. I didn’t even dream of it. It’s just what He called me to one day, and I am thrilled to serve Him in this. I have become an evangelist, a shepherdess, a discipler, a teacher — in short, the mouth and hands of God to these precious lives.
If I am His mouth, then I need to simply echo what He’s asked me to say.
Sometimes I scoff at His ideas. I think, I’ll improve the message a bit. I’m sure that if I raise my voice a few notches, bark a little, grit my teeth — I think that’ll help get results we’re looking for.
He must cringe. Like I do when I hear the messenger yelling at my beloved children.
This morning, I read 2 Timothy 2:2 for the umpteenth time. Gentleness. The correcting is required; tolerating sin, turning a blind eye, making an excuse for them isn’t what I’ve been asked to do. But the correction is to be firm, consistent, and gentle.
I don’t always know what that looks like. But that doesn’t give me permission to throw out the Bible and say, “I’m gonna do it my way.” All it means is I better learn. And God will show me. He will tell me and teach me, but most of all, He shows me.
We have a gentle Shepherd, after all.