Tonight we were out to eat, just Ry, William, and me. In the middle of a busy, colorful new restaurant, William sat on Ryan’s lap and just stared at me as I ate. With the hint of a smile on his lips. And absolute love in his eyes.
My little baby loves me.
The other best part of the night?
When Ryan said, on our way home, “You’re my best friend.”
I’m so blessed. Thanks, God.
A baby lays on the kitchen table, staring quietly out the window. I’m on my hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. My nano plays the songs I programmed, and I’m drawn to a moment of devotion, of hearing…
Priceless treasure, Jesus the Christ
The jewel of my searching demands my lifeSo I bow to You, and I kneel to You, You have my heart
Oh, marvelous Savior, You came down from heaven to us
Oh, beautiful treasure, You made us His daughters and sons
Oh, that we could reflect You, show You to the world that You love
Jesus the ChristYou are my gain in death or in life
My quest is to know You, my god, my delightJesus, whom have I in heaven, but You
And having You, I desire nothing on earth ( — charlie hall )
Those words arrest my heart. I’m impassioned again to live for this marvelous Savior. My soul cries out with this modern psalmist:
Oh, that we could reflect You, show You to the world that You love…
That’s all I want. To show Jesus to the world that He loves.
Here. Now. To this little bit of the world that He loves:
Oh, Lord, may they know Your love through me.
When you think coveting, don’t you mostly thing of struggling with wanting more stuff?
So isn’t the answer to want less stuff?
No, I don’t think it is. (Although my pendulum-swinging, Pharisaical self-correcting human nature would like it to be.)
Truth is, although occasionally I’ll find myself coveting better landscaping, nicer furniture, more money, my daily struggle is with coveting less.
Isn’t that silly?
But it’s true.
You can be just as discontent wanting a simpler life as you can be wanting a more plush existence. If you’re like me, you might find yourself coveting things like a one room Little House in the Big Woods of Wisconsin — or something [admittedly silly] like that.
The point of this “thou shalt not covet” thing is simply this: wanting God, wanting His will — and being satisfied by Him and only Him. And of course, that doesn’t boil down to a simple formula of how many bedrooms you should or shouldn’t have in your house, or how much is too much to spend on a car. It’s about constantly, every day, purposing to worship Christ alone and delight in doing His will.
Hello, you adorable little man.
You are so, so sweet.
In fact, I just can’t stop taking pictures of you.
Look at those fingers, those lips, those cheeks…
…and those eyes!
Goodness, I love you.
I’d love to start reading the Easter story to Jameson, but for SOME reason, finding books about Jesus rising from the dead is just not that easy. (Go to your independent bookstore and count how many references to Jesus you see in the Easter section. None? Really? Shocking.)
Anyway, does anyone have any children’s Easter books that they recommend? (children=toddlers!)
Thanks!!
I’m sitting on the couch, nursing William. Jameson’s disappeared from sight, and then I hear the crash of dishes in the kitchen. Oh dear. “Jameson, please come in here with me, okay?” He skips into the living room, big smile on his face, saying, “Mmm, Mama!” Sure, bud.
An hour later, after everyone’s down for naps, I go out to the kitchen to tidy up and spot my small saucepan on the floor. And what in the world is in it?… Then I spot the [opened] envelope of carrot seeds. Jameson had spied the colorful veggies pictured on the front and figured — hey, why not cook this up for dinner? That was his “Mmm!”
That boy.
Love ‘im.
The cries of a waking baby crackle over the monitor, and I leave the breakfast table to retrieve my little love. I find him, squishy and warm, burrowing his way out from under my down comforter. His pilot cap is hooked behind one ear. And I’m not sure why, but there’s something irresistibly adorable to me about a baby with one ear popping out of his cap.
Must. kiss. him.
Saturday afternoon, and then Sunday, too, found Ryan on his knees, trying his best to get a childhood train set up and running for Jameson’s enjoyment. It took two days, but he finally got everything greased and oiled and firing. The rest of us watched with anticipation — and it was one of those, “Hey, this feels like a real family!” moments.
Maybe we just are [a real family.]
Most assuredly, Ryan is a real daddy.
He’s our hero.