Beatrice’s birthday party

Birthday season has begun around here, and it was kicked off this year with an especially big celebration: Beattie’s “real” 6th birthday party!

We pick a theme — for her, a tea party. The soon-to-be-6yo can invite a whole table full of guests, and while Beatrice could have filled ten tables, we sorted it out eventually and mailed invitations. We pick a menu — in this case, heavily influenced by a mother who could commit to a variety of little desserts but not also an entire dinner. Games are selected and prepared. We decorate party bags and place cards and just make this day a big deal. There is one big idea here: to bless and affirm this child in a special way. I can’t do it every year, but we can do it once, and it is fun.

Beatrice loved it. She counted down the days and lit up with every incoming RSVP. She also kept trying to lobby for those 9 other tables of guests, but I held firm. She would see me gathering supplies and pretty things, baking ahead and preparing and just glowed.

And finally the day came, and we welcomed a houseful of sweet friends, from young cousins to high school graduates and grandparents, and we celebrated our Beatrice Elaine, bringer of joy and light.

Happiest of days to you, my oldest daughter and special joy.

*****


All in readiness


They’re here!


All the pretty girls!


Pin the teacup on the saucer.


Nana won!


Houseful.


Pretty desserts,


in tiers, because tea party.


Make a wish


Brothers who happily dressed the part and helped me out.


I love these three.


The birthday crew, including two incredibly generous young adults who made her birthday dreams come true by coming and and being nothing less than selfless in their interactions with these many young children. Hats off to them!


The aftermath… *sigh* All just memories.

memories

Mid August.

The sun changes, the air cools each night. And the scent. I love the subtle changes of scent as summer blossoms, then matures into autumn.

Nostalgia.

As this 30-foot long row of hydrangea bursts into bloom, its powdery scent filling the yard and wafting through open windows into the kitchen, I’m taken back to my Augusts of expectation, nine months pregnant with Beatrice, and then Fiona. I hear the bees buzzing, morning till night, in these sun-drenched blooms and am transported to those days of waiting, anticipating, and finally of bringing a swaddled newborn outside to see the hydrangeas for themselves.

On this day six years ago, I awoke still pregnant, overdue for the first time in my life, and I started to know what hope deferred felt like in a physical manifestation.

I listened to bees buzz and smelled the hayed fields and Queen Ann’s lace and brought in new bouquets of hydrangea, and waited.

This morning it all comes back to me. And I know the best is yet to come, but these memories — they are my most precious treasures.

July memories and musings.

My mother wrote about the nature of July, and I certainly couldn’t say it any better. It starts out with flag-waving, kickball-playing, pie-in-the-sky hopes.

But those last two weeks sort of fizzled out, with me trying to figure out a plan each day, but mostly just pushing through till bedtime while fielding emergencies and everyday humdrum in the meantime. This summertime thing can really be my nemesis — me, of innate idealism and high expectations, who can’t help but try to measure productivity and purpose, floundering through days of loosey-goosey summer. I start to chafe for September, when I know what the goal is and what’s expected of me.


I had to laugh at this one. Someone snapped a picture of me at my best. Desperate moments call for desperate measures.

But Jesus doesn’t need September. His constant work in us doesn’t depend on chore charts. Isn’t that great?? And He doesn’t need magical summer afternoons to work His magic. In fact, it could (hypothetically) rain almost every day (just imagine with me), and He can still count the day a win!

I love that. It isn’t always magical. Sometimes it’s just putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes it’s doing what you ought to do because you ought to. It can look a lot like breath prayers and confessing dependance on a strength greater than your own. But you know what is magical? The way He appears, with gentle peace, with fresh joy, with quiet conviction, with water for a parched soul.

“Let us press on to know the Lord.
His going forth is as certain as the dawn;
And He will come to us like the rain,
Like the spring rain watering the earth.”

*****


So much baseball.


Lymes and antibiotics. Thankful for catching it quickly.


Ballerina buns, every Wednesday.


An evening walk, a summertime gift.


Bookends who adore each other.


Amazon boxes are awesome.


A morning walk that was less exercise and more flower picking.


This baby doll.


Dinners that conclude with “run around the yard”.


Three Sunday morning princesses, one of whom will not stop reading. Ever.


Because sleeping with Mama chases all the bad dreams away.


Dinner for two.

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Bedhead.


“Mom, can you take a picture of us in age order?” (Someone didn’t cooperate.)


The late summer flowers beginning to take over.


A special wedding weekend.


Last July hurrah: a picnic lunch with plenty of cherries.

Nurturing the Nations

I am very much continuing to enjoy the challenge on which I embarked in January — reading 13 non-fictional Christian books this year. That said, the last few months have been more challenging than the first few, as evidenced by the unfinished Keller work I began but didn’t finish, and the *cough* novel *cough* I read in May. Oops. Back on track! And boy, did this book do the trick.

Nurturing the Nations: Reclaiming the Dignity of Women in Building Healthy Cultures, by Darrow L. Miller, was one of the most thought provoking books I’ve read in quite some time. I want to sit down and page through it with each one of you, pointing out every bit that struck me and hoping it strikes you, too. It is timely. It is needed. It is ancient truth that has never been more relevant. So yes, I think you should read it!

It is written very much seminar-style, with graphics and regular reiteration of big ideas. Broken into three sections, Miller first explores the heartbreaking statistics of exploitation, abuse, and murder of women the world over — and also explains the underlying worldviews that result in a devaluing of the feminine identity. I looked at my daughters through new eyes, so grateful for a redeemed perspective that allows them to be received with joy, loving them for who they are.

Amazingly enough, however, the other side of the spectrum was just as illuminating, as he demonstrated the modern worldview in which — wait for it — maleness continues to be valued, the female discounted, and in fact, there is a pressure for all femininity to disappear in a world that values only male! In our efforts to be liberated and equal, but our absolute resistance to a Creator and His design, we have simply exchanged one oppressor for another.

He does not make these arguments in a void, however. I deeply appreciated the layers of theology he takes you through as he presents the nature of God as our model, the laws of first mention (which speak so much direction to a world floundering in a sea of sexual identities), and ultimately, the liberation and beauty promised through the gospel — which in turn affects all cultures, as they value and embrace a huge portion of their population, whose innate giftings and contributions have heretofore been trampled or dismissed.


(Is it just me, or do you get excited just reading that little chart? Isn’t it beautiful?)

What does it mean to be female? Male? A person made in the image of God? And does knowing that potentially change the world? Actually, yes. Read this book and be freshly awakened to the fabulous design God had in mind before the beginning of the world.

Maine this year

Last week was our annual visit to Maine to see Ryan’s family. This year was especially wonderful, as we managed to converge for a few days of adults catching up and laughing while hordes of cousins played and played. Memories to tuck away.

*****


First things first: they jump in that pool as fast as they can after our long drive!


Breakfast gazing at the sea.


Being humored by Nana — over and over and over again.


Hunting for sea shells and hermit crabs.


Kettle Cove, from one generation to the next.


Meme’s bowls are at toddler height — Cecily was in heaven!


SO much cousin time, most of which was in the pool but not photographed — too busy lifeguarding!


The unchanging beauty of this view.


Building fairy houses in the woods (“I wish there really were fairies to live here!”, said with sparkly eyes.)


Learning to skip rocks.


Us.


Fried clams, lobster rolls, and a very happy crew.


S’mores with Papa


That time the van wouldn’t start, so we picnicked at Shaws.


Too, too much delicious food, thanks to these two.

And an overnight in Boston, which included a Red Sox victory for Daddy and the older three kids, and a special evening of walking and pizza with Mama for the younger two.

The End. Home Sweet Home, and ever so thankful for all of the wonderful memories.

do less, be more.

Do less.

We have the amazing blessing of living in a land of opportunity. We really do! It’s amazing. And in this great land of opportunity, the little corner in which I live boasts a multitude of fabulous people to share fellowship with, streams and trails and woods to discover, church activities to assist with and participate in — and the usual library events and music lessons and clubs and museums and nature centers and… Whew.

It’s a lot.

The privilege of opportunity brings with it the responsibility to guard and protect priorities. To keep margin and space as a valuable part of our lives. I was reminded of two big reasons for this recently: First, I find that if I am wound too tightly and have too many things crammed into my agenda, I have no time or grace for a child who falls ill. I don’t want to be so committed to the outside world that when my children need a bit more of my slow attention than usual, I’m not free to give it (because it’s already been committed elsewhere.) Second, especially in the summer months, space in our days (day after day) is what finally, at long last, will inspire new explorations and discoveries. If I let us unwind from the school year for a good solid month, the children tire of bikes and basketball and eventually begin to remember the many other things there are to do.

Lately, there hasn’t been so much of this space in my life. Well, there is — and that space has been taken by house projects and sick children and new shops and the things that are precisely why I need margin built into my life! But there was a Saturday a few weeks ago that was a gift, the exact sort of day I look forward to all year. Unplanned berry picking, kids spending long amounts of time making up electric guitar solos and playing piano together, jam and pesto making, cake-just-because, Daddy home for dinner and playing. Happy, tired, sticky kids on a summer evening and parents who are exhausted and full of blessing.

I savor these moments and let them refuel my soul for the work that comes with next morning’s sunrise. And I let them remind me: saying no to busy for busy’s sake is worth it. Say YES to what truly matters.

(And most years, by the way, scheduling in berry picking is exactly the kind of “busyness” I just don’t do. …in case anyone sees strawberries and feels that awful uptick in your blood pressure as you think, “Oh no, I didn’t fit in berry picking!”)

*****