thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 2008:

William’s first. With no pictures of him, whatsoever. This is particularly sad because he was dressed in a new autumn ensemble from a lovely friend. He feels like a marshmallow when he wears it — extra nice squeezability.

Jameson was all dressed sooo handsomely in an outfit I’d washed and ironed just for the holiday. As we’re walking out the door to leave, we encounter Jameson already in the driveway — absolutely drenched from a puddle-jumping episode. I wish I had laughed. I cried. He wore blue instead of pumpkin and brown. Oh well.

We enjoyed dinner and spent the day with Jared and Andrea. Jared was executive chef, and oh.my.goodness. We ate well. It was delicious. Most of all though? It was just fun to be at their house with a fire in the fireplace, games at the table, and little boys whoopin’ it up all day long.

And then we fell into bed exhausted. Literally. As in, Ryan fell asleep with his glasses on when he “laid down for a minute” with Jameson.

could i borrow…

I’m flying into New York on Wednesday. (Yay!)

I’m in need of two things:

— An infant carseat. This I need for our ride home from the airport on Wednesday, so if you have one to lend, could you get it to my parents by Sunday?

— A pair of snow boots, size(ish) 9, for Jameson. I say “ish” because, you know, there’s nothing an extra pair of socks can’t overcome when it comes to snow boots. Jameson is soooo excited about snow, by the way. He can’t wait to go sledding “whee!” down the hill with Papa and Uncle Daniel.

right now ::

:: It’s cold today. The gray skies of early morning never gave way to sunshine — a rarity here, even in November. It’s a tea and soup and afghans and candles sort of day. (Or, if you’re two, it’s a run around the playground for a couple of hours, heedless of your frozen and red hands.)

:: Two boys are napping simultaneously. That didn’t happen yesterday, and so I’m extra grateful for it today.

:: Thanksgiving is in two days. We’ll spend it with friends who have kindly invited us to their family gathering. It’ll be my first Thanksgiving ever away from all family. Strange. Makes me all the more grateful for friends.

:: That’s all. Off to turn on the teakettle, and hopefully sew a few seams before the quiet of simultaneous naps ends.

perspective?

In answer to this question, I’m always getting perspective. I certainly am not going to go on record as saying that I always possess it, that’s for sure.

I think I got off on the right foot, thanks to examples like Mom and Brietta; growing up with tons of younger siblings and seeing with my own eyes that toddlers do eventually outgrow habitual juice-spilling ; and being ridiculously task-oriented my whole life and therefore constantly having to learn that God cares about my response to the process.

Before Jameson was born, I found ann v’s blog, and her posts on joy, gratitude, and worshipful living reinforced all I knew to be true: that all I do is part of my worship sacrifice to the Lord. How that elevates the mundane!

Sometimes (read: last week), I still don’t remember. I still believe the thoughts that I’ve failed. I still look around and think that I’m not sowing the right seeds — after all, we’re eating at a hastily thrown together table with paper plates, watching TV when in my ideal imaginations he’d be building entire cities out of blocks, and I haven’t done a thing to make Thanksgiving anything other than read a pilgrim storybook over and over — and doesn’t all of that mean I’ll have lousy fruit? That my kids will never have manners, won’t appreciate creativity, and are destined to a childhood lacking any stability and tradition?

Yeah. I succumb to those things sometimes, too. And it sounds silly all written out like that, but it’s not silly in my head, I assure you. They’re bullying thoughts. I have a hard time refuting them. (Isn’t a good lie the kind that’s half truth?)

Of course, that’s the perfect setup for being rescued, again. For being drawn out of many waters. I can’t even tell you how, but God hears my cries of, “Uncle! I don’t know what to pray, what to read, what to memorize, what to say… just FIX ME!” — and He does. He restores my joy. He pushes away those dark, menacing clouds and says, “Just trust Me.”

Tuesday night I fell asleep crying. Wednesday morning I woke up ready to just enjoy each moment as best I could, as a gift from God. It’s not like He had painted this clear picture of a brilliant future in my dreams — a future where everything will play out exactly the way I have it envisioned. In fact, He didn’t really speak to my worries and doubts and self-deprecation at all. He just lifted my head, helped me to see Him.

And He is the lamp for my feet. All the light I need to take my next step in confidence.

(But I am really hoping that the future does include sons who know how to eat politely!)