Pohlkotte Press

Five Minute Friday: Born of Grit and Grace

2012-02-24T00:15:00.000-06:00

candid of ava during a children's wild west parade

We were born of other generations, fighter women who knew their name.

We were born inside covered wagons, and far off places that no one yet called home.

We were born of tall swinging grass, that sway to protect their seeds.

We were born of women's suffrage, of equality, and expansion of rights.

We were born of rocky hillsides, our place in birthing rooms, and graveyards.

We were born along the seaside, our busts planking the starboard side.

We were born in hours spent scrubbing kitchen floors, over pots at rolling boils.

We are born of divine strength and fire. Cultivating generations to come.

We are born of mighty bloodlines. Of wanderers, and the Appalachia's too.

We are born brave anointed daughters, called to a love that's bold and free.

We are born our moxie showing, our jaws set, and hearts steady, true.
We women; born of grit and grace.

This week's word: Grit

Dear Me,

2012-02-22T07:25:00.001-06:00

To the "Me" of 5 years ago, and oh...say, 5 minutes ago,

You've really got to stop over analyzing- if your words make sense...if you should have said "no" to that friend...if you could have been more present whilst sipping on pretend tea, three deep in half dressed barbies, watching your son and Mario take over a galaxy.

Stop reworking things already submitted, wondering if your voice has value in a world where everyone is trying to be heard, or whether your life will make an impact at all.

Oh sure, you can stop and ponder these things, there's value and discernment in doing so; but when those voices, those questions stop you from doing what you love, or "being" without hesitation? You know you've gone a hair too far.

See, I'm here in the future. In this moment called the "now". It's messy here, and not that large, and it's true, nothing does look exactly like we've planned.

But it's got all the things to sustain you, and that smallness of grandeur leaves you the right kind of full. - you've got laughter over shuffling cards, "I love you" over top the heads of the lives you've created, moments written down, and a passion for mankind felt deep. In one sweet hug that hits you across your knees and in one "My Mom is cool" sentence scratched, you will feel the wonderful weight of it all.

                                         Your life. Your meaning. Your abundance.

So just sit back a little, enjoy your time. For who by worrying can add a single minute to their life? No, your worry will only waste them away.

You've got this.

Why? Because you're not left to make it matter alone. So stop being so damn dramatic and all encompassing. Allow others to come along side you. To love you. To carry you through. You'll do the same for them someday, you'll see. We'll do life together.

And when you get here to the present? Oh, you'll be amazed. You've come a long, long way in tiny life changing steps. Best part? You ain't close to being done.

What's that? Will you fail? Oh, darling...you bet. And some of it will hurt like hell. But that's the great thing about time. It always propels you forward. Through it. Past those hurts and into new dreams. New hope.

So just relax.

Pick up that baby, or that book, and always that pen. Sink into your chair and into these moments. Because these moments? Those are the one thing you don't get back.

                                                                             Love,
                                                                                  the present day me

PS - oh- if you happen to run into the me of 5 years from now, or for that matter, 5 minutes from now? You may need to make sure she gets this letter, too. xoxo

(linking with Tracy's, Life Unmasked, and the Painting Prose communities)

Moments Warmed by the Sun

2012-02-20T09:44:00.000-06:00

She awakes.

Sitting up, back lit by the sun seeping through the blinds.

Her hair, giving hints of the hard night spent,

dried wavy. wild. nymph affect

from the fever damp and cold compresses applied .

The only thing brighter than this morning's glow

is her smile greeting me.

The shadow of her emerging chin

dances across the bare slope of her shoulder

She's clothed now only in sheer delight.

Awhile later, we are tucked tight under the softest fleece on the couch.

The whispers of the past night's worry make her presence next to me

all the warmer and more affectionate.

The sun now creates a stage upon the cushions

for her spooky spider shadow puppet

to creep, on the hunt for its next victim.

Her hands,

slowly losing the dimples housed at each knuckle,

hands stretching out to contain all of her almost 4 years.

Her wrist bone

now peeks through the toddler,

just as the girl she will become glimmers next to me

in the winter's bright.

How many more days will we pass like this, she and I?

Her fitting perfectly at my side ~ natural, fluid.

How many more days will her spirit feel free to the open stream of imagination bubbling forth unconsciously?

How much longer will she need only my presence to feel safe and secure?

How many more moments I wonder, will feel this whole. This holy.

Five Minute Friday: The sky lit by delight

2012-02-17T00:20:00.000-06:00

This week's word: Delight

Dusk falls upon the expectant crowd

photo credit: John Christian Adams

Sticky anticipation clings to us in the summer air.

photo credit: John Christian Adams

With heads tipped back, we stand ready....

photo credit: John Christian Adams

Even those

who were

uncertain

took cover

in the form

of their mother's

brother.

Then that sky opened up, ripping open its bag of bright jewels -

She clutched me tight, delighting in the colors.

photo credit: John Christian Adams

slowly, so slowly the tight grips began to give way.

And there we sat,

he and I as when we were little,

faces upturned delighting in wonder.

Yet now, our hands were full

of that bloodline continued.

She, with my strong mind.

He, with his strong heart.

A moment lit up by the twinkling sky, sheer delight...

captured forever on my full heart.

photo credit: John Christian Adams

Because Love Lives Slowly

2012-02-13T11:50:00.001-06:00

I am contributing the fact that I am writing about love for two weeks straight to the sheer amounts of pom-poms, pipecleaners, and foam hearts I applied to Owen's valentines box yesterday. It's got even this non-valentine'er in the spirit...or, it could be that The Run aMuck love letter series (this week's on patience) inspires thought...

Oh, the subject of patience...not always our strong suit is it? I am not often prone to patience, with my mind running down "what if" roads 30 years from now. Always examining the present for what it will mean in the future. You'd think I'd let that go by now, because for all my crystal-balling, we still have to walk through the day, each one.

And you, so hard-wired for efficiency. You who can look at a car driving down our lazy street and point out a tire not properly rotated, or a clock gear making it move a second too slowly. This desire to make things run as they should, well, leaves me I'm sure, lacking in your mind's eye some days.

We both have high standards for the present moment, wanting to get things right the first time around. So, we can sometimes get caught in the frustration of seeing each other more clearly than the person living it... a real-life bewilderment at the girl in the horror movie - choosing to run upstairs, where there's no hope of escape, with us pleading for her to open her eyes to the danger, to turn around and face it head on.

Yet when we look at what love is, patience is the first distinguishable mark that makes it love, and a subset of all the other of love's characteristics.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."

It is patience that allows us to keep hoping, to keep protecting and to trust. Patience that tells us that in the end we together will be the people we dreamed we would become. And that last piece? "and love perseveres"? This, this is the fruit, the child of patience, that it endures all the elements along the way, keeping the seed of our future selves, and carries it to a time when we can be firmly planted and watched bloom.

For I see in you now the man you will become. The one who will allow life and relationships to come in slowly and change you and with you as the seasons turn. I know these things because they are here now inside you, just starting to unfold. So I will wait here beside you, patient and still. Watching us grow.

Because love lives slowly, through the always.

{sharing with the Just Write, Jen , Tracy and Jennifer's communities}

Wise Words Remix

2012-02-11T12:13:00.000-06:00

So floating around the internet is this really cute project of a teacher asking her first grade class to finish famous phrases. I decided to play with Owen....

1. Don't change horses food.
2. Strike while the dogs run.
3. It's always darkest before morning.
4. Never underestimate the power of doom.
5. You can lead a horse to water but can't see the dog.
6. Don't bite the hand that moves.
7. No news is just boring.
8. A miss is as good as garbage.
9. You can't teach an old dog new karate.
10. If you lie down with dogs, you'll smell.
11. Love all, trust people.
12. The pen is mightier than the pencil.
13. An idle mind is trouble.
14. Where there's smoke there's mom cooking {!!!}
15. Happy the bride who marries me.
16. A penny saved is just a coin.
17. Two's company, three's definitely different.
18. Don't put off till tomorrow what beeps loudly.
19. Laugh and the whole word laughs with you, cry and whine alone in your bed.
20. There are none so blind as mice.
21. Children should be seen and not lost.
22. If at first you don't succeed you'll probably cry.
23. You get out of something what you like most.
24. When the blind leads the blind laugh.
25. A bird in the hand might poop.
26. Better late than a dinosaur.

~ ~ ~
Adding to these pearls of wisdom my list of thanks with Ann, which thanks to above said child, is long and large:

41. children who see the world just a bit different than I do. They grow me and this world I live in.

42. Friday afternoon dilly bars, while there is a snow storm brewing outside.

43. sanity in the voice of family from miles away. A little of yourself returning home each time you hear their voice.

44. starbucks giftcards, and the wonder that is the skinny carmel macchiato.

45. new journal day. This day sends me into nervous fits that I am selecting the right one, my children staring blankly at all the choices tentatively speaking to me "mom? I don't get it. What's different. Wouldn't writing in each one be the same?" And seeing the look on my face he says, "I see, it's got to be just right for your thoughts." I've trained you well obi-one. {I found it by the way.}

46. expandable-just-add-water animals. Who are now delightfully in serving bowls on my kitchen table for the next three days. We have high hopes for the sting-ray and octopus.

47. spending the afternoon with bits of pipe cleaners, foam hearts, and pom-poms glued to me and every surface known to man. As a self-proclaimed nonvalentine-er, these activities bring joy to this day. And that green lantern valentine that he snuck off to make me, writing his own name and my own? something I will treasure for always.

48. At being present to watch these people walk through life- when our beloved reward night for two weeks of great behavior had to be rescheduled due to unforeseen issues while we were putting coats on to go. The amazing way the kids said they understood and that it will be great whenever we can celebrate. ah. this mama heart is proud.

49. A Saturday morning. Nestled into the couch, fleece blanket, coffee, journal and book, sun streaming behind me. Peace settled in my lap.

50. Opening my son's door to get ready to start the night's "get-ready-for-bed-rally" to find both children and dog curled around your husband, three stories deep into a magic place. Finding my spot beside them, their bodies bending to enclose me in limbs, laughter, and love.

Five Minute Friday: How will I know?

2012-02-10T00:53:00.001-06:00

This week's word: Trust

My hands tremble as I dial, sinking into her presence on the line. "Mama, how will I know when it's time?" And she chuckled low and deep in the way only knowing women can, and tells me "You'll know, baby girl, trust in yourself. your body will tell you."

And it did. I fell into the pattern told only by my body. Bringing me to the brink of this new journey. And when my story unfolded sooner than was expected, I trusted my own sense of self to say, "It's time."

And in a blur of mere minutes, you were here. In my arms.

I was entrusted to your care. You, of zero days behind you, and me with only 22 years on my back. My hands shook once more as I clipped you into your seat. No one seemed to see the desperation in my eyes - I've never done this before. These nurses. These doctors. Even my own family, trusted you to my keeping. One deep breath in, I told myself I would do the same.

~~ And yet again, this fall ~~

With the leaves curling brown behind us, I fix the straps of your backpack, smiling at all we have learned together, my first born love and I.

Now, we were to enter a new phase.

Still unsure. Still uncertain.

But I am learning to trust this love that guides me.

But mostly, I trust in your ability to flourish even when I falter.

This River of Life

2012-02-07T16:21:00.000-06:00

There is a marriage prompt every Monday at The RunaMuck's, and this week was about being opposites. This spoke to me. to my marriage.

Dear Jason,

They say that opposites attract. I hate it when I have to admit that cliches are true. These differences between us have grown us hard this season. But, I see us now, stronger than we were. We forced each other open to life a little bit more. See, you will stare blankly at my love spoken in written form. It will make you uncomfortable, and you will retreat and go build something. But darling, I see your love written all over my life. I think maybe we aren't so much as opposites, as different parts of the same force.

Daddy got it right all those years ago when he described us as the babbling brook and the forged dam.

My current is constantly flowing. I am fluid with thoughts and actions. I wear myself weary with the swirl of thoughts and emotions...that is, until I come and rest up along side you.

You remain steady {yes, sometimes stuck}, keeping your presence and self strong and dependable. You aren't worried about reinventing yourself or others, you are happy with your place in the order of things.

Some days my babbling drives you nuts, some days I want to break through your structure so you flow.

But both are needed, aren't they love? One provides a sense of self, security, structure, the capability of carrying the weight of all that pressure on your back. The other provides forward movement, carrying us along into the future, washing away the sins of the past.

Together we make this river of life sustain us, we submerge and are washed clean.

Come what may,
T

{linking too with the Just Write, Tracy's, and Jennifer's communities also? new community for those of us that couldn't let Imperfect Prose go...}

Team Pohlkotte on three...

2012-02-06T07:25:00.001-06:00

I have a confession to make...when Owen came home with his kindergarten report card the other day, I felt just as nervous and anxious {insert heart pounding and quickening of breath} around opening it as I did opening my own back in the day ~ and when there were a few minor things for us to work on with him, my perfectionistic heart just froze.

There he was, staring up at me with his saucer sized brown eyes saying "what does it say, mama?" And see...this first born of mine? oh, all of my perfectionism seeped right into him. So I knew that the news that he wasn't perfect was going to be a shock to his system as well.

I forced a stiff smile told him I was still looking it over {won't lie, sent a frantic text to my brother, knowing I was losing some mom award} and then took a deep breath out reminding myself he's five, he's amazing, and I'm a bit crazy...

So when I saw this call to round up parenting advice, I chuckled to myself pretty sure I had little to add to the greater good on the subject of not being a zealot mother. But then, I heard in my house this weekend my kids banding together to clean their rooms because they were Team Pohlkotte... I remembered I had written a previous post on the subject of what works for us....and what a great reminder to me to settle right on down.

~~ ~
With almost six years in with this mothering thing, I am still just barely scratching the surface of proper ways to discipline. Here’s one lesson I am very confident I have learned…children respond to “play” much better than rules. Or for that matter, anger.

I hate to not feel understood.

So, as you can imagine, as I repeat myself for like the 100th time to do simple tasks…I get downright miffed.

And, as my temperature rises, along with my voice, I see no change in behavior with my kids. Well, maybe Owen, but that’s out of fear…and that is not a way I wish to parent.

Yet somehow…when you make it into a funny phrase, or somehow point out the way in which their behavior is missing the mark…along with giggles, you get – results! I try to employ this approach in regards to our family unit.

We, are Team Pohlkotte.

We huddle up. (I do this for big and small things I really want them to listen too), and the glimmer of expectant excitement with our heads crouched together allows me to get a direct connection to their brains which I don’t get by yelling. It's simple. It's fun. It's kinda a lot amazing.

We bench. Some people call these “warnings”… gives them a second out of the activity they are involved in to get their wits about them before they are thrown back into the “game”. Um, also? This includes mom.

We assign nick-names and codes. Owen knows he doesn’t want to become “that guy”…you know, the one no one thinks is cool and just feels a little sad for. We warn “don’t be that guy...” and he gets it. Ava, well thanks to the world of SpongeBob, she has become “Crabby Patty”. When we feel her gearing up for a fit we cry “crabby patty, order up! Ding!” This diffuses some of the tension of a tantrum instead of heightening it with your own sharp words. {believe me, she does sharp words just fine on her own.}

We pinch hit and make some wicked assists. Let's face it. While we love our children equally, there's going to be stuff that one is better at than the other. I can never get Ava to bring something upstairs. ever. But, that girl kills it on trash duty...so we assign her with her strengths. When one of my kids is done with making their bed or cleaning their room, you better believe they are expected to go and help a brother {or sister} out.

We do visuals of plays and discuss after the game. Right now this is in the form of responsibility charts. Before bed we look over what went right in the day, what needs to be tweeked and new ways to achieve what it is we are looking for.

We fire people. We all have “jobs” that get assigned us on our team. You are expected to follow through, and if you don’t…you’re sacked. I don't know why the kids find this a funny as they do, but it works.

We cheer. When our players do good work, we are all right there to celebrate the victory. We celebrate success as a family unit. And let me just say, we've got a MEAN victory dance. You will see this family shakin' what their mama gave them. Dish in the sink? Do a little spin... got that homework done with flying marks? Lace up them dancin' shoes- it's gunna get funky.

And while this approach is not for every situation, it is just as big of a reminder for me to not take myself too seriously as it is a way to use play to shape good behavior and a spirit of thinking of others, and connecting us together.

I can't wait to hear other ways to keep this motherhood thing fresh...

Five Minute Friday: Sunday Sisters

2012-02-03T00:16:00.000-06:00

This week's word: Real

"...Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY love you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.

Generally by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

~ The Velveteen Rabbit

And there's the truth of it. Spoken in words for children, spoken slowly so that grownups will understand.

Every woman needs friends like this, ones that pick up the phone whatever the time, and listen as you sob.

Friends that you call in a moments notice, who open their homes, their lives to watch your children so that you can rest easy while you are away.

These are the girls that you don't shower for, shave for, or pretend you didn't sleep in the clothes you're still wearing today.

These girls push your hair back, tilt your chin up, wipe your mascara away and remind you that you are fierce. They stand beside you, and together you make some wicked karaoke magic.

These are the woman who walk miles with you literally and figuratively. Making adventures in the mundane, and always stop for ice cream...always.

These are the friends who you write to every week because distance divides you. You whisper your heart in word form, you are the Sunday Sisters.

These are your partners who come along beside you, assist where you are weak, making ship sails, cause this mama don't bake; dressing up in sweltering heat cause the birthday boy wants a pirate's loot.... celebrating your children's lives and triumphs as if they were their own. And they are theirs too, because you do life together.

Loving each other for the long, long time through it all.

No, this can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand...

It's Real.

Gypsy King...telling my children why I follow a roving man instead of pulpits

2012-02-01T12:20:00.000-06:00

As the kids get older, I need to keep redefining what of my faith I want them to know, what I want them to challenge and what to make their own. I’ve written some of this down before.

It comes to a head for me as every morning I hear the tooth and nail fighting that happens on the road of the presidential candidacy – grown men who condemn other men for having a too loose stance on abortion, or family values. That life is valuable and they flair their nostrils, stomp their feet and yell that families have to be protected. What am I to say to my children when they ask why and how? Surely, the answer does not lie in grown men spouting pro-life taglines while spending millions and millions of dollars {while his own constituents remain hungry and unable to provide} on attacking the marriages, the views, the very characters of those that run against them…clawing their way to the top over the bloodied mess they’ve made below them.

I do not want my values to be defined by others actions, so I will start to write my children my views:

My children,

Your mama loves this man named Jesus, the same name you’ll hear outside. And yet, like with a lot of things, names mean different things to different people. It doesn’t necessarily make one right, or one wrong, just different I guess. So when mama says she wants to share her faith in Jesus, this is what I mean -

Your mama finds the sky her sanctuary; I make my pulpit from the tall pines. I find communion in smoky bars, broken places, with people who don’t pretend. My rosary is each ten of your toes, and while my prayers may seem sporadic, my faith runs deep and comes out in whispers.

Your mama follows the Gypsy King.

My gypsy Jesus, he doesn’t serve on a committee, a cause, a church calendar. He roams this world just looking for people to love. And when he finds them, oh, child- how he loves them…not for their potential, but in the now. He doesn’t care if they see love between a man or a woman, he doesn’t care if they’ve signed a recall petition. He loves them through the beauty queen, the bar scene – he doesn’t want to transform them; except through love.

Never, ever for one second believe that a fictional preteen boy with a lightning bolt on his forehead is the enemy; or the scared girl with no one to turn to who runs to boys, to drugs to keep from despair. The enemy lies in each of us, that enemy named fear. That fear that tries to root out our worth, our identity, steals our name of beloved.

It’s ok to search and hold to truths, but learn that this is fluid and a bit hard to find. And if that truth don’t change a bit with the more people you connect with, seasons you live through, tears you have shed, then honey, you can bet it was never the truth to begin with.

And oh, my darling son who already wears virtue and strength - Don’t you ever stand up completely straight and tall with your ideals that turn to idolatry. I pray that your back is permanently hunched from all the bending low to pick up others, the falling prostrate, the stories you carry the weight of, that pull you deep down into the depths of humanity.

They can keep their Bible studies, their quick tips and brownie clad judgments. Not because I’m better than them, but because these things pull me in. They keep me tight, and bound, and worried, while I watch my view of Jesus slip silently away.

No sweet girl – Fight to join him. Fight to love with a passion that is scandalous. Fight that need to compete. Fight the lies that tell you you’re less than what you are. Fight the pride that tells you you’re more than just enough.

Lose everything. Let life wreak you good. Breathe deep in your living. Let your surroundings sink deep in.

Follow closely this changing figure, who slips in and out of view. When you think you catch hold of him, and confident you speak his voice, look again that you’re not clutching a mirror.

For he is a force of nature, changing with the needs of this world. He roams and wanders, healing with the dust kicked up from his feet.

For what is justice in light of mercy. Righteous in light of grace. Laws in light of love?

So keep loving. Trying. Living. Crying. Until at last it all seems too muddled, too gray, to find where the truth ends and the world begins….

Maybe then...I pray my children, oh how I pray...we’ll see a sliver of that Gypsy Kingdom.

{joining my words for the last {for now} Imperfect Prose, and Soli Deo Gloria praying they will be met with the love they are intended in. Not condemning others, but freeing of self.}

{repost} Outside Our Door

2012-02-01T10:12:00.000-06:00

I am reposting the words I wrote below last month to join Jennifer in the conversation about marriage. While marriage has been a delight to me, and I am so proud of this life his hands have built and count myself so blessed to know the journey in each strand of his life, I want to celebrate the beauty that can be found in the fight for it all. The pain in keeping connected and and the struggle to find the strength to remain one...for in this, I see true love.

Oh, those winds blow hard outside our door tonight my love…
I lie awake watching your chest rise and fall.

When did each day become common place;

when these days were the very dreams we shared

inside each of our teenaged kiss?

My eyes flash

Your teeth gnash

We stand hard on these worn disagreements

In words long felt but not spoken

You tell me I’ve changed

My heart sobs as I tell you I wish you’d do the same.

And in the silence of those pregnant moments,

I find us grappling hard for the love that brought us together.

No longer are we fresh twenty, holding hands before our wedding alter.

We are now in those very days our vows committed to one another.

Yet, as I watch the sleeping rhythms of your breath,

I realize they are but a mirror of my own.

We are connected by our essence,

alike in ways our conscious thought rarely understands.

Together, we emerged decidedly one

made so not only by fate, but by faith, and by fight.

For those winds, they’ve come to shake us,

wake our babies from their beds.

Let us pull up all around us the blankets of redemption,

Rest our weary heads in the lap of forgiveness

And brave this night, hand in hand.

Pulling Tight the Cloak of Comfort

2012-01-30T09:27:00.003-06:00

source: Pinterest

The moon reflects up off the snow and onto your restlessly sleeping face.

You brows still knit tight together,

your dimpled fist clutching that tissue like a life line.

I prepare to stay beside you through this night,

with soothing words, cool hands,

and the reassurance that lies for every child in the presence of mother.

For even in the discomfort that has befallen you,

and the sleepless night in store for us both;

I find myself opening wide and welcoming these moments.

Because when your child needs,

a mother you become.

Tonight I slip on the cloak of comfort, the wisdom of sages

when you ask so reverently if you'll ever breath again.

I nod only once, praying that the half shadow of the princess nightlight

hides the smile dancing on my face.

Some days motherhood is a title that is hard fought.

Full of self-doubt, faultered steps, worry.

Not tonight, little bird.

Tonight, I pull tight into my title.

Rejoice that I smell just so.

I push back the falling strands of hair from your forehead.

Momentarily erasing signs of pain with a kiss.

And sink us slowly into the night

singing low sweet words sung by the ages

rocking us to the beat, the rhythm of our shared hearts.

Counting with Ann a thousand gifts:

31. Finding pleasant smiling faces, even from the car in front of me.

32. Baby girl, who has been going with brother since she was 2 weeks old to the bounce-house play area, can now officially do all the slides and fun all on her own. And boy, does she ever.

33. Date night with grandma, Owen, Ava {and her two closest dolly friends} to Beauty and the Beast 3-D. There will always be a place in my heart for singing plates, dancing knives, and debonair candlesticks.

34. Submitting my homework a day early. This never happens… I mean, never.

35. Saturday afternoon unexpected naps on the couch while your husband and kids have an epic Super Mario galaxy session raging on.

36. Owen learning to beat-box from his little friend from kindergarten. Proudly showing us his skills… in his underwear. Word.

37. Finally taking down the Christmas decorations. I think we officially get the holiday cheermeister award for two full months of being decked and jolly.

38. For husbands who ASK for you to wait to watch Downton Abbey until he’s home from work. And when you have to pause the show to take care of your sick daughter, unable to return, you find him watching the rest of the episode on his IPad. #lovemanlymenwhowanttoknowMatthewsfateasmuchasyou

39. Children excited by responsibility charts.

40. Clean socks. Finally doing laundry. Ask my family…it’s been awhile.

{linking with Jen and Just Write today too}

Five Minute Friday: Love Spoken in Action

2012-01-26T23:58:00.000-06:00

This week's word: Tender

I watch the sun kiss the crowns of their three bent heads. Elbows deep in sand. Minds deep in concentration. Hearts deep in the actions of love.

It's not often I get to see my children's daddy interact with his own, but when I do ~ oh, my heart aches for the tender.

For these Pohlkotte men love in ways long since forgotten by this modern world. They love with their actions. They love in diligence. They love with their hands.

And this baby girl? She gets to grow in the shade of their tree of strength. When she is lost stranded on the shore, these men will pave her a path across, brick by brick.

I will speak softly in her ear so she doesn't miss those love moments that go by in a whisper. Tenderness spoken in strength. Love spoken in action.

Practicing the Art of Being Still

2012-01-25T08:43:00.000-06:00

I just got back from my soul quenching vacation. It was exactly what I was looking for in a week away.

As is the case when you have a spare moment to catch your breath, I noticed some things about myself as well.

The beauty of this trip wasn't just the landscape {although this right here? this didn't hurt}

It was that even though we had some wonderful things planned, we also had many hours to fill with whatever we desired.

Oh sure, I had a mental list that would squeeze sap from a number 2 pencil, of all the things that if I wanted to make the most of my time I would do: I was going to fill my time writing pages upon pages in my journal...character studies...self exploration... I brought my running shoes like I was going to run anywhere but back in line for more ice cream...and oh, I would have deep conversations with Jason that would bridge the gap that managing a household and parenting on separate shifts creates.

I boarded that plane with more good intentions than clean underwear and fastened my expectations tighter across my lap than I did my seatbelt. This trip would restore...I'd make sure of that.

Instead, I smiled once in Jason's direction and fell dead asleep. Full out, mouth gaping, head hanging - sleep. I woke in a panic and said to Jason "woah, I don't know what just happened." And he looked at me and said, "You were forced to sit still for a minute, and your body took what it needed."

I had to fight the urge to feel as though I had wasted time. And as we boarded the boat and lost all cell coverage, e-mail reception, blog updates, school reminders...I had to loosen my belt of expectations a bit and realize that these things that I 'do'? They don't define me.

See, as Emily so wonderfully puts it, I'm a barely recovering Good Girl. {In fact, I'm thinking I need to instate a AA inspired chip system that rewards days that I don't try to earn my value. Only, my chips will be the chocolate kind...}

But this trip, oh, it wrapped me in its arms and told me to let go.

Don't write one word that doesn't burn to be written. Instead rest in the words of others...no, not the soul shattering kind. The Hunger Game Trilogy kind, tucked under a comforter or under the setting sun.

Don't speak one word that doesn't need to be said. Don't poke at barely healing wounds simply because we have time to change the dressings. Instead fall delightfully back into laughing, or saying really nothing just like we used to. Like we did before we had to speak of carseat logistics and 401k growth. Finding more closeness over a shared look in an elevator than from hours of heavy handed comments.

Don't self analyse to "Alice-down-the-rabbit-hole" proportions. Embrace my own forward movement to want to love, live, and learn more, yes...but instead also allow for my thoughts to remain where they are. Allow my brain to power down and rest.

~~
I lost my chip last night. {and this girl hates to lose out of chocolate}. I caught myself stirring spaghetti sauce, google reader scrolling, Itunes singing, responding to an e-mail on my phone all at once. When my daughter came in to ask if she could help me, I looked up from my haze, needing to come down because I had been "using" again. Where I used to say multi-tasking, I am now calling multi-missing.

I nearly missed the freckle of sauce that landed on her nose as she tugged and prodded, directing my sleeve to stir the pan.

I nearly missed the look of pride as she gleefully threw a noodle against the wall, declaring dinner ready.

So, I am committing myself. Rehabilitation to the art of being still. I will not count my worth in tasks achieved.

Counting instead the eyelashes that catch falling snow.

Counting instead how the truths of Martin Luther King Jr's "I have a Dream" shine when spoken with the fervor only five year olds possess.

Counting instead the grays growing at the temples because I've been by his side for each one.

Counting instead a life worth lived by the moments that leave me full and still.

{Linking with Emily and Jennifer}

Strands of Life {dripping sweet and full of joy}

2012-01-23T13:04:00.000-06:00

Today I celebrate your life,

hand in hand we wander through the day.

soft. quiet.

Just the way your heart works,

and how it heals the swirl of my own.

eleven birthdays I have spent by your side.

The first to welcome in your seventeenth year.

I still see him here, that growing man,

wise beyond his years, with the glimmer of life yet yearned for

lightning in your eyes.

Now, the appearance of a few gray strands

dance just above your ears blown by the oceans wind.

I smile as I tuck a stray one down.

You have earned these, my love.

Earned them through the responsibilities you eagerly accepted at a young age.

You have earned them by scraping through the valleys and hills

of love. of fatherhood.

My chest swells with the wonder and honor of being made your partner.

That I know the heartache, joy, the journey in each of those strands.

Those emerging signs of the story we are building together.

And it reminds me too of another who knows the number of strands that lay on your head.

Of the one who before you were created wove your life tight with mine.

Rejoicing before our heartbeats

of the snowy mountain top day when you asked me for my hand.

knowing before you even entered this world

the beauty of our sons eyes and the rosebud lips of our daughter.

today I celebrate every year we have faced together

every year that brought you to me

every year that keep coming at such a rapid rate.

I vow to keep counting those years through

the lines that etch your face

the browns that turn to gray.

For each is for us to remember,

to create,

years to fill with love.

These are the days when the moments drip heavy with joy:

17. One glorious night in New Orleans: Beignets, rice and beans, and the soul moving music of the Preservation Hall Band.

18. Leaving the world behind: no cell phones, e-mail, access to our responsibilities- boarding a boat, just he and I, to rest. renew. rejoice.

19. Sandy toes, drinking in the Mexican Sun, Letting the wind erase worry.

20. Climbing Ruins. Greeting Monkeys. Digesting the country of Belize.

21. Reading 3+ books, watching no less than 8 movies. Not moving until I wanted to.

22. Napping and ice cream. Every afternoon.

23. The hills of Honduras, hauntingly beautiful. Finding rest beside the water ~ forgetting time and thoughts.

24. Being free of agendas, time, and responsibilities.

25. Laughing over shared looks in groups of people.

26. Feeling insignificant before the massiveness of the ocean.

27. Watching the sunset above the clouds. holding hands. Savoring these last moments.

28. Scooping up warm sleeping bodies, tucking them into their beds. The house clicking with heat, popping to expand to the life returning. Family together under one roof.

29. Early morning reunions. Beaming faces who delight in the trinkets given and telling you they "missed your smell".

30. Finding out the fantastic, fully deserved news, {this sister is bursting with pride} that my brother and dear friend Adriel Harris are confirmed musical guests for The Late Night with David Letterman {June 4th!!!}

On this last note, here is a video {shot by my friend John, you know the one with the amazing pictures} of Cory and Ade rehearsing and performing with The Preservation Hall Band at the NewPort Folk Festival. Such talent. All of them.

(linking with Ann, on, in, and around Mondays, Laura, Jen, and Rebecca)

Five Minute Friday: When you Awake

2012-01-12T23:31:00.000-06:00

This week's word: awake

For my son,

When you awake dear child

I'll be here

there will still be clouds and there will still be tears.

When you awake dear child

I'm afraid I'll find

your hand slipping a little from this grip of mine.

When you awake dear child,

I pray you do

find each one of life's doors and go running through.

When you awake dear child

I'm proud to say,

you'll walk with intention into each new day.

When you awake dear child

and find me gone

know that I'm deep inside you

steady.

Strong.

{shameless friends plug: Aren't sweet friends who take amazing pictures such a gift?!? check out my perma-links to the right for some amazing photography, and cutest stationary made by my friends who share these images that capture my children's spirits}

Memory Weaver

2012-01-11T07:13:00.003-06:00

I can get discouraged easily, looking around my life at all of the things I fall short on ~ actual mounds of laundry, dishes of processed foods in the sink...I don't do crafts with the kids like I should, bake like I should, or go on as many nature walks as I should...all of these "shoulds" swirl around me and I worry about what my littles will remember about their time growing up...what they will remember about me.

It's hard work being the magic maker.

Then I read two great posts this week about a mother's memory, Lisa-Jo so touchingly portrays how much we miss about our mothers as children; and how much we learn about the moments they treasured of us, by being mothers ourselves. And Stephanie wrote breathtaking words about how we moms worry about forgetting these moments, lost because we can't possibly soak them all up.

Both made me sit and remember how I viewed my mother, not now, but as I did then. What her presence meant to me in those small swell of years I had lived. Funny, how certain clothes or events are instilled upon me, but not in the way I'd expect.

The torn-at-the-elbows teal bathrobe she wore wasn't perhaps, in hindsight, the most fashionable,

but to me: it was the definition of warmth, and softness... and if anything it was tattered by love and too many hugs.

I thought that before and after school kisses always tasted like a hint of peanut butter, or the whisper of junior mints, and a lot like heaven.

I thought that slumber was brought on by slow rocking in the dark, raven hair against your cheek...Jesus loved me, this I knew, not just because the Bible, but because my mama told me so.

Never once were my thoughts of my mother in childhood based on clean laundry, or Martha Stewart craft afternoons. They were of her warmth, her smell that meant home, her presence. She meant life.

~~~

Of course life will teach my children my imperfections, perhaps their teen aged years will be spent meticulously charting just what planet I must be from...but their childhood self will know me in ways I hope they never forget.

They will learn that my laugh comes out low, deep, and a little too loud.

But they will know how I delighted in them, head tipped back, eyes disappearing in a bed of crows feet.

They will learn as they show me highschool math that my intelligence can be surpassed quickly,

But they will know that I am smart on the matters of heart. A touch of my hand can make fake bravado drop. I respond to their needs before they are aware of any wanting.

They will learn that I don't try to keep up with the latest fashion, or keep a teenaged size frame,
But they will know that I smile and feel at peace at how my body changed to meet them, and I welcome that with grace.

They will learn to panic when a 90's dance song plays over a speaker...that I can't keep from shaking these mom hips, spinning my bad self around wildly.

But they will know how I stop where I am, throw myself wide and delight in the moment we have been given.

They will learn that I can be sharp, unrelenting in my expectations.

But they will know through the words I whisper that I think they are brave. beautiful. smart. loved.

Forever they will carry their womb knowledge of me with them.

The encircling strength, maternal warmth, the pulsing of joined matter, and of ultimate worth...the life cord that binds us.

~~~

So I will lay down my "shoulds", my trying to earn being known by the smoke and mirrors of the external.

And rely on the truth that they won't lose this knowledge of me that they keep.

For in reality, I'm not the magic maker...oh, no.

I am the memory weaver.

{Sharing with Tracy's and Laura's communities today}

Outside our Door

2012-01-09T10:43:00.001-06:00

Oh, those winds blow hard outside our door tonight my love…

I lie awake watching your chest rise and fall.

When did each day become common place;

when these days were the very dreams we shared

inside each of our teenaged kiss?

My eyes flash

Your teeth gnash

We stand hard on these worn disagreements

In words long felt but not spoken

You tell me I’ve changed

My heart sobs as I tell you I wish you’d do the same.

And in the silence of those pregnant moments,

I find us grappling hard for the love that brought us together.

No longer are we fresh twenty, holding hands before our wedding alter.

We are now in those very days our vows committed to one another.

Yet, as I watch the sleeping rhythms of your breath,

I realize they are but a mirror of my own.

We are connected by our essence,

alike in ways our conscious thought rarely understands.

Together, we emerged decidedly one

made so not only by fate, but by faith, and by fight.

For those winds, they’ve come to shake us,

wake our babies from their beds.

Let us pull up all around us the blankets of redemption,

Rest our weary heads in the lap of forgiveness
And brave this night, hand in hand.

Linking up with Ann, counting a thousand new gifts in 2012:

1. Winter walks that wake the spirit and stir the soul.

2. Small quarters, smelling of garlic, cornbread, ham, and a lot like love.

3. Late night movies in bed, a mound of blankets, laptops and contentment.

4. Books that leave me drinking in my own heart, written by another’s hand.

5. My daughter’s hair in the morning. All frenzy, fire, fabulous hot mess.

6. Friendship that transcends distance and defines understanding and grace.

7. Finding wisdom in my mother body

8. Growing boy legs draped over the edge of the couch.

9. Open suitcases, packing warm clothes and a week’s rest.

10. Excitement pulsing in our veins for this time committed to one another, this new day that is ours.

11. The book Sky Sisters~ learning the objibwe word for little sister, one ava and I both responded to: Nishiime.

12. Downton Abbey premiere. ~Feeling so very posh and sophisticated while in reality wearing sweats and snacking in my living room.

13. Sibling whispers in the dark, laying together under a mechanic solar system…brother taking serious his responsibility to teach, sister reverent in her adoration.

14. Squeals of 5 year old boy laughter over a subject I find a baffling example of “men are from mars”

15. Ava overcoming the fear of being alone by whispering the mantra I have taught her:

“I’m brave. I’m beautiful. I’m smart. I’m loved.”

Those words and the clicking of her trusty four legged sidekick’s nails echoing up to the ceiling as she conquers the quest upstairs alone.

16. Perfect afternoon of sledding.

Five Minute Friday: The Roar of Silence

2012-01-06T00:35:00.000-06:00

This week's word: Roar

roar/rôr/

Noun:

A full, deep, prolonged cry

It's the silence
that's the most deafening
out here in the woods.

A raven cry sounds as mighty as a lion.
one twig breaks
and I am frozen by the sound.

standing on the bridge
over looking frozen water
one spot left flowing river

its strength, its movement
its mighty current surges
under a thin sheet of ice

the roar of its vitality
its perseverance
is ringing in my ears

I stand beneath those tall pines
bent with snow
that have seen nearly 100 years

the sharp wind at my face
a challenge
to live. to be better. to stand strong.

I stare up into the stone grey sky

What is this I feel inside me?
its building deep
drawing strength from each footstep

I am waiting:
with purpose
with anticipation

I am ready:
to set loose upon a calling
to bring a voice that is all my own

to let out a full, deep, prolonged cry.

I am ready to roar.

the wisdom found in my mother body

2012-01-04T11:44:00.001-06:00

I find myself a week out of Christmas, just two days out of our New Years celebration standing in front of a mirror...in a swim suit... looking like the Ghost of Christmas past (a past filled with one too many cookies, thank you), nervous that I will soon grace the decks of a cruise ship looking less than my best.

Then, as I lay with my son, tucking him in for the night, he tells me "you are the perfect kind of soft.", and as I laugh away his remark telling him that perhaps mama shouldn't be so very soft, he looks up at me startled and says, "don't lose all your mama"; I realize there's truth here too...

The awkward full of my height that was reached at age twelve;

somehow does not look as precariously far from the ground on me as it did then.

Those once gangly, string bean arms, that flailed about in excitement;

wrap perfectly around car seats to serve a juice box, find a lost toy or retrieve a fallen blanket.

A belly, then scooped half moon in, waiting for the full of my life to begin;

now has seen the swell of life harbor inside me twice,

soft now from the remembrance.

Oh, those dancer legs that went from here straight to the sky, the gate of steady determination;

have now carried the weight of sleeping babies,

paced slow miles into the rugs around their beds

weary, tired, but they've never failed me.

photo credit: John Christian Adams

Hipbones that were hard, angular, decisive;

now have been worn smooth by

lessons that sharp and strong should never be chosen over gentleness and love,

releasing control to allow life to softly guide you

That youthful voice, so sure, loud with proclamations,

ready for battle cries to move mountains;

lives now within the power of hushed tones,

traded in soapboxes for lullabies,

knowing I change the world through the truth I whisper in their ears.

photo credit: John Christian Adams

Hands that used to grasp for self-purpose, ambitious dreams;

now are extended to steady first steps, calm fears,

wipe away the physical traces of sadness,

clap wildly with pride.

This heart of mine wasn't used as openly then.

I kept it apart from others, cautious of it becoming worn,

storing it away for when I was sure I needed it;

It bleeds and beats freely now, sometimes too quickly,

but has learned one will never run out

when you don't try to limit love.

I store this wisdom in my very bones

lessons housed beneath my very skin.

this, my mother body.

Thank you, buddy friend, for reminding me.

photo credit: John Christian Adams

(linking today with Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood, living-well-wednesdays, Just write )

{all picture credits are for the fabulous John Christian Adams, please do not reproduce images without permission, instead, if interested, go check out all his great work, permalink on the right of my blog}

One Year; One Word: Communion

2012-01-01T11:55:00.001-06:00

I love the idea that instead of having lofty resolutions which are forgotten, or I am riddled with guilt for not living up to; choosing one word to guide me through my year - taking in the variety of forms the word may manifest into with the changing seasons.

As I thought about what I wanted for this year, I struggled to come up with just one word that encompassed all I hope for this year. I want to remain open. Open to life, and learning, and people. I want to love deeply and well. I want to be in the business of people.

With that, I choose for 2012: Communion

I base my meaning of this word in the Biblical sense, but perhaps not in the connotation that the word has taken today.

I have often wondered what it was of this breaking of bread and wine at a table with other other men that caused it to became the very symbol of Christ himself.

Eating meals like that of the Last Supper was common place for the disciples. They shared countless meals in the same fashion. Coming together for food, conversation, life.

But more than this, Jesus's words, are the basis of communion:

"This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me."

1 Corinthians 11:24

This is my body, which is for you: Jesus, limited his infinite self into flesh form. Mortal-pain bearing, capable of love, anger, pain, strife, joy. Why would he do this? "I do this for you." He breaks his flesh, sent blood flowing in order to come along side to experience life with these men.

Do this in remembrance of me: more than a ritualistic act of bread and wine to remember a Jesus, I believe this line infers a desire for others to do as he did, gave of his very self, to and for others. In this way he calls to be remembered.

Not by symbols.

Not in self-righteous piety.

Not pretending to be strong when we are weak.

Not pretending to be weak when we feel our strength.

Not trying to do this life alone.

Do this in remembrance of me:

The ugly cry in front of others when your heart is breaking, shedding redemptive drops that travel the length of your face, your sorrow, onto the outstretched hand of those who love you.

Dancing with sure delight when the moment comes. Not hesitating for a moment to encircle those around us in our arms and twirling as wildly and as quickly as we can.

Taking in the truth of the moment. Learning of ourselves through the lives of others. Expansion of thought and respect of worlds that are not our own. Finding our common thread that joins our life with theirs.

For I believe in this, there is communion.

There is life.

Source: jesustats.tumblr.com via Tiffany on Pinterest

Five Minute Friday: This New Year, Open.

2011-12-30T00:17:00.000-06:00

This week's word: Open

One only has to converse with a child to know that they wholly embody this word, "open"

Open with their distaste for bedtime and broccoli.

Open with their opinions on your dress, hairstyle or anything else for that matter.

Open with their love, affection, and, unless your my 3yr old daughter, their kisses.

Open with their tears, streaming down letting you in to their soul that has had a little shaking, for they do not break in isolation.

They are brave enough to do it before others.

Being open is not something I am particularly good at. I tend to calculate thoughts, emotions, responses subconsciously before I even recognize I have taken in information.

I make lists in my head, plans {ha!} as to how something will go, and reasons to do or not do as they fit in my comfort zone.

I am learning to lean into the open. Some of the best moments of my year have happened when I have allowed myself to be open to plans that are not my own, and with people, right where they are at...no assembly required.

This includes allowing myself to be vulnerable. To show there are days and scenarios that hurt. There are people and situations that call for open celebration. Even to allow myself to write on a public forum, new, and not without its set of self-doubts and self-risks.

I can think of no greater resolution for 2012 than this. To remain open to what life may bring. Process it within the moment, and with others.

To do life together.

{please join me...it's so much sweeter with friends}

I like big books and I cannot lie...

2011-12-28T19:46:00.001-06:00

source: pinterest

See this bag right here? It cracks me right up.

I want this bag. In fact, I may plunge right on in to the dramatic and state

I NEED this bag.

Since I could read, I would read. Spring break road trip in 6th grade found me spending the 12 hours in the car devouring Gone with the Wind. Senior spring break found me with my bikini packed, along with my adored copy of An American Tragedy.

My family knows that where ever I went, a book is surely tucked neatly inside my bag/purse. After moving my book collection 4 times in 2 years, my husband got smart and bought me a Kindle. (the great moral wrestle I had with myself to get a Kindle is another blog post entirely. I have come to be at peace with the fact that I can love both...)

Anyway, since graduating high school I have read on average 40 books a year. And kept a list of the running titles in a little black book very similar to ones my other friends kept their dates numbers in.

This year, I felt myself slowing. Between going to school part time, work full time, raising the littles, and trying to talk to adults once and awhile, I have not read as much in 2011 as is normal for me...and you know what? I feel ok with that too.

When I saw the Nester open book listings, my heart soared, and knew I needed to throw my hat in the ring because I love recommending books to people, and matching them with titles I feel will suite them. A literary match-maker of sorts. Don't worry. I'm used to being looked at like that.

So while I don't have a mountain of books from 2011 to recommend, what I do, I believe in, and can't WAIT to hear what others recommend as well. (week long cruise coming up in less than 3 weeks? Meet happy reader with no kids to look after, and a pool chair with my name on it to curl up with some fab. new suggestions. Perfect.)

Crosswicks Journals This consists of four books (A circle of quiet, The summer of the great-grandmother, The irrational season, and Two-part invention, the story of a marriage) by Madeleine L'Engle. Every great while a book comes up to hit you exactly when you need it to. A Circle of Quiet did just that. It forced me to quiet. To reflect. To take inventory. To take myself a little more seriously, and a lot less seriously all at once. To anyone wrestling with throwing your words out there, into the great wide world, in written form or otherwise, you should read this. The rest are good too and recommend them all. I now just refer to her as Madeleine, because you know...we're friends.

One Thousand Gifts: a dare to live fully right where you are by Ann Voskamp. I have always been drawn to simplistic beauty. Wildflowers will always move me in a way that roses can't. Give me the lake to the ocean, a cottage in the woods to a highrise any day. This book appealed to me in this way, and kept me by the challenge and wonder of finding beauty all around me. Washing hair, making lunches. It's there. Ann reminds us of that.

Cutting for Stone: a novel by Abraham Verghase. This is just a full out, great, take you there novel. Full of complex and rich characters and exotic lands, it always took me a second to realize when I looked up I was still in fact, in Wisconsin.

A Girl with a Dragon Tattoo Trilogy and The Help all good books too, although, I'm sure you've heard a little something about these before :)

Next on my list...

Don't Sing at the Table: Life Lessons From My Grandmothers by Adriana Trigiani. I cannot wait to read this. If you haven't read anything by Adriana, you should. The only author that I buy her book immediately upon release, or preorder. Her books are like mini-vacations with a binding. Stories that refresh and endear you. Others of hers: Lucia, Lucia, The Big Stone Gap series, The Queen of the Big Time to name just a few.

What are your favorites?

Please, please, please let me know of recommendations.

I love to hear of new books for me to discover!

Oh, and Dear Family....

Feel free to gift me the before mentioned bag.

thanks!

Making Christmas

2011-12-27T13:16:00.001-06:00

For the first time in 28 years, Christmas was up to me.

My parents and brother were spending it in Minnesota, the place I was born, my spirit country, and where just recently, I had the most fantastic time.

So, as dusk settled in, my heart hurt just a little for the want of them, and for the place my Christmases were born.

While in our movie nest, watching A Nightmare Before Christmas (got to love a 3 year old daughter who enjoys Tim Burton and Bing Crosby with the same religious fervor.) We got to iChat with all of our Northwoods family.

Gleaming even in cyber space, were the faces I love, gathered together in the place of my haven. And as I watched little cousins Noah and Owen show each other nick-knacks received, and how to beat the next level of Angry Birds,

my heart knew.

This. right now. Is their Christmas in the making.

when they are grown and gone, these are the nights they will speak of and the moments that will forever define the celebration.

As Owen prayed over the meal, thanking God for the food, his family, love, and for joy.

I knew my soul needed to search no further.

And it danced quietly by Ava, pirouetting in the candle light.

As my husband cooked the traditional Norwegian pudding, to perfection, like no other Italian boy would,

I knew then my bones had settled into my home.

As the kids added a hearty one part glitter to one part oatmeal, and sprinkled it along our walk way for the reindeer,

I felt the weight of being in charge of their memories.

...then I saw these faces

And I knew we were doing just fine.

As Jason helped me up from my wrapping sweat-shop; munching on Santa's cookies, smelling faintly of Chocolate milk...(after all, O is SURE Santa gets tired of plain milk, and we want him to remember our house the most); and we walk up the stairs lit only by tree light, trying to miss the creak in the middle of the 3rd stair,

I knew that this night... was enough.

(also, a great treat for me. Emily from Chatting at the Sky selected my post for one of her ten favorite blog posts of 2011~ you should really read the others selected as well, just opened up a lot of great writers to me.)

{These are} The Magic Hours

2011-12-21T07:41:00.000-06:00

These are the hours when pain gives way to pleasure.

When those long sleepless nights

give way to tall tales by tree light

the weight of his 5 years pressing on you

as he throws his hands wide

and his voice sparkles and cracks

with narrative

And a toddler arm drapes around

your neck as she drifts,

sleep dancing across her eyelids

as her body sinks into

the night.

These are the hours filled with past treasures and future dreams are imagined.

When we sit frozen

drinking in frame by frame

his presence. his voice. his spirit.

captured by a 6 year old's unsteady hand.

Fresh tears are shed as our very limbs ache to hold him

and laughter bubbles from the assurance to see him as our hearts remember.

And in a single click we stare at each other,

incredulous...we finally booked it -

a week away, just us. 11 years best friends, 7 years man and wife.

and while we tuck beneath our tired and worn sheets,

and our heads rest on familiar pillows,

we whisper of the new places we are going, our new life yet to discover.

These are the hours when past hopes fall away, and the present is undone with limitless love.

When you believe with everything you have

that the best is yet to come

because the road has risen to meet you,

and you carry the weight of your past

as knowledge, instead of pain.

And you kneel with your son who's weeping

because the man at the restaurant tells him

no balloons today, because of a helium shortage...

He's weeping not just for the lost prize, but as he puts it,

"for a world with no more balloons."

These are the hours that dance and delight, that wonder and imagination take flight.

When 3 year old girls

give way to sugarplum fairies

and with every twirl of her purple tulle skirt and pointed toe,

we are all pulled out of the kitchen of present

to an exotic land of decadence and mouse kings.

And chairs, blankets, and stuffed friends

become the best kind of puppet stage

while tinkling laughter washes over us all

due to elementary school humor

and objects appearing from thin air

behind ears.

These are the hours that make the years fly, folding us into life with grace and love.

For these~ these are the magic hours.

(Linking with Tuesdays Unwrapped, Just write, and darling Emily at Imperfect Prose)

VIP Christmas cards

2011-12-20T16:53:00.000-06:00

so my grandma sent a nice card to Ava for Christmas...too bad "Nana" isn't receiving credit for it :) "goochy-goochy-goo!"

Five Minute Friday: On this New Shore

2011-12-16T01:05:00.000-06:00

This week's word: Connected

We sink into the night,

jammies on,

blankets pulled tight,

piled in until the couch may burst.

and have no greater desire

than to order in

and watch Christmas movies,

or really nothing at all.

we sit together

connected

breathing in the quiet

contentedness that is family.

when did this happen?

this ability to exhale

and draw in the air of the present?

it seems like for months now

we have been under water,

fighting our way through the current,

churning wildly through

possibilities

gasping for breath

as the next wave hit.

trying desperately

to grasp hands

under the surfaces

deceptive angles.

But find each other we did.

Emerge to dry land, we have.

And while we may be

tired

from the fight,

we find ourselves in new form.

our edges worn smooth

from the tide.

our voice stronger

from the labored breath.

our fingers joined tightly together,

connected.

our hearts dancing in the peace found

on this new shore.

Undaunted Faith

2011-12-14T08:43:00.000-06:00

With Owen losing his second tooth, and the obscene amounts of mama pride I felt for something I had no part in,

it made me think of a Jesus, two teeth missing, gap tooth beaming at his mom.

Mary must have wondered looking into his face,

"there's got to be more to this. This child is not strong enough to carry the world."

We get the God perspective when we read Mary's story.

We know each time we read what contribution she makes,

what contribution He makes.

But staring at her son,

knobby knees, tripping over his feet as he races off to play with his siblings -

She must have felt let down. Wondered out loud:

"I thought he was destined for more."

Besides that one angel's greeting; Mary did not get reassurance that what had happened to her was valid, fruitful,

or would produce what was fortold.

Each day as Jesus ate her out of food,

as his neck thickened and his shoulders widened with the effort of his father's trade,

did not her mother's soul cry for the injustice that for her son,

she had been promised more.

Her soul knew he was more than

calloused hands

dusty beard

steady gate

She had borne the disownment.

The utter abandon and wild seeking eyes of Joseph when he learned her news.

She carried through that night on the blood soaked hay

because the angel had told her

"He will be great and will be called the Son of the most High."

Instead, it was only his mama's heart he touched as he squeezed her hand in thanks.

When in excitement he scooped her up fully in his becoming man embrace.

Yet, when she looked in his eyes, she knew.

From the moment of his conception she was steadfast in her devotion.

Did this not anger her all the more?

And as the years pass, and she heard tell of him becoming the man she knew him to be,

did she not crumble as she stood below his broken body.

as she watched vinegar pass to those lips

that used to seek nourishment at her breast.

that head, now adorned with bloodied thorns

that she once cradled in her lap.

Did not her inner soul rebel against her maker?

that deceitful messenger

that promised redemption

a savior of men.

Where were those wise men

and their gifts of gold?

Where was the star that shone

and brought those shepherds to their knees?

The skies darkened

while his broken cry rang out.

As he lifted his eyes to heaven.

She waited.

She had faith in her Son.

Tuesdays unwrapped: All I want for Christmas

2011-12-13T12:56:00.000-06:00

Is my two bottom teeth :)

See that right there?
That little boy a tad disheveled from a day at school
fresh glory and a
teany bit gory
sans tooth he just lost?

He's growing up.
And I'd say it's breaking this mama's heart,
except, it's not...
annnd,
it is.
all at once.

That little man is also reading sight words
and writes important things down in
his journal.

He can count all the way 'til...
well,
I make him stop

for just...
one....
moment's...
quiet.

He has friends.
Most of them girls.
He earns tokens for listening well at school.

He has learned almost every
Christmas Carol
that he sings in the
precarious
warbling key
of
adorable.

He uses words of encouragement
he's learned in class
on his mama.

He tells me I am good at almost everything
and
I've got great hair.

He's got skinny little scapulas.
When he's tired, he wiggles his buns.
His earlobes are
the
softest
place
on Earth.

He tells me he's got a headache because
his brain
gets a little scrambled
from all that
running.

He walks upstairs everytime little sister
needs to use the potty;
"Cause he's tall, and someone's got to
turn on the light
so she's not scared"

He makes inventions like this:
Because he's smart.
Because he dreams.
Because he wonders.

He's my peace on earth.

(linking up for the first time with Tuesdays Unwrapped where we take the day, whatever it holds, and look for the gifts.)

{Guest Post} How Rick Perry Miraculously United America

2011-12-10T13:13:00.001-06:00

( note about my guest post: Jacob is a intellectual, intentional person who has the ability to put complex thoughts into words...get out a dictionary, dig deep, and gain insights by his writings. Whatever your feelings are on the subject of homosexuality and the greater Rick Perry debate at large - I believe Jacob puts into words the issues that this campaign clip thrust on all of us, collectively.)

This past Wednesday, an acquaintance of mine pursuing a Manhattan-based career in choreography posted a facebook status update link to Rick Perry’s now infamous clunker of a YouTube campaign clip, “Strong.” The link was preceded by my friend’s expression of total exasperation, a couple disjointed words trailing off in an ellipses indicating that unique variety of dumbstruck, cognitive dissonance that the Jackie Chan meme adjacent to this paragraph can alone properly express. And while I had not been very interested in Perry’s candidacy up to that point, I valued the opinion of my pal in New York enough to view that clip.

Jackie Chan meme, you are so helpful!

I should mention that I had just concluded a modestly pointed yet vastly rewarding discussion with about a half a dozen folks from the church I am privileged to serve on the topic of Jesus’s prophetic role as depicted in biblical texts like Hebrews 1:1-4. Perhaps I felt inspired by that investigation to speak some truth to power myself, to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, as that saying by Finley Peter Dunne goes. Perhaps I was motivated to provide a counterexample to what looked like a bizarre amalgamation of something quietly hateful and deceitfully Christian in Perry’s message for the benefit of my friend and whoever else might click through that link he posted. Perhaps I was just really ticked off from the whiplash I suffered by plummeting from the heights of rewarding, respectful conversation with friends to the depths of Perry’s tortured campaign dreck. In any case, I just had to respond.
Now, if you’re one of the few people who has not yet viewed this clip in question, please do so now and then read onward; it pains me to even summarize its content any more than I do in passing below. And in case some of the things Perry said in that clip positively resonate with you, in case you sometimes feel that society is waging war against your faith or your ideals for our culture as a whole, please bear with me until the end. (The same thing goes for those of you who are sick of Perry and his video clip.) Aside from a few clarifications accommodating for the shift in context from a more personal facebook comment thread to a more general blog post, here is what I wrote three days ago and stand by this morning:

(join me here at Jacob's site to finish with his findings. It's worth the extra click to read.)

five minute friday ~ Soul trees

2011-12-09T00:14:00.001-06:00

This week's word: Color

As I pass by the glow of the trees in each child's bedroom,

it occurred to me how the colors of each tree captured so much about them as people:

Ms. Ava's tree is as she would say, "fancy nancy":

a tree that is all flash, glitz, excitement.

Her pink tinsel tree is adorned with feathers, glitter and a sense of style that screams past her three years, and all of my twenty eight years combined.

But...then again, so does she

Mr. Owen's tree is about as traditional as they come:

red and green, nutcrackers, planes, and candy canes.

The tree speaks to every christmas past and everything that is holy and good about the season.

My sensitive son, he speaks of that for humanity.

He is the reason I have hope for things to come, and the reason I desperately hold on to what has past.

so each night, I creep by their sleeping rooms, and bask in the colors of their little souls,

glowing,

warming the night.

just a few miles north of ordinary

2011-12-06T12:40:00.001-06:00

skinny legs
boots mid-calf
beanie hats and jackets wrapped

Come traipsing into town...

from all over
come to smother my brother
with warmth
with strength
with love

Christmas lights shining
glowing slightly
on faces turned to songs

palpable excitement
blood bonds tightened
make present time seem suspended

squirt shots pouring
spirits soaring
sky lit bright by stars and laughter

country twangs
muppet serenades
hot toddies, food, and songs abound

all snuggled in
Bear trap’s den
raise a glass
a roast
and toasts

laces tightened

first timers frightened

glide tentatively across the ice

a trip to town
pack more food down
decked out in Ely’s finest

accordions
moonshine
grins
give faces to the people who shaped us

I’m drinking High Life
first time in my life
yet somehow, right now, it fits.

the stage is rushed
and these once acquaintances
thrust
deep into my heart right then

late night bowling
jalapeño pizza still smoking
pool table surrounded by the men

dance floor pumping
bodies bumping
overtaken by song and fun

cold white morning
all of us mourning
leaving behind these woods….

just a few miles north of ordinary

Five Minute Friday: Tired...The weight of this broken Eve

2011-12-02T05:54:00.001-06:00

This week's word: Tired

Withthe changing of the seasons, I have felt a kinship with the barren mother offall.

She is bending, heavy with the knowledgeof her fruit unused, foliage one sought after for shade and delight, now hangfrom her clenched fists by a thread.

Somuch death is on her breath; so much weary weight is placed on her, this broken Eve, who once was alive with possibilities, now groans under the weight of thepresent.

Andhere, my soul felt at home. I wastired. Tired of carrying the burden for things that were once ripe, and nowseeding on the ground… untouched, unwanted.

WhenI woke this morning, I feel the dawn air pregnant with the promise of snow, andof the promise of re-birth.

Thechill that will kill what is left of the old.

Theweight of the packed landscape that will force brokenness and endurance.

The freedom of a snowflake changing directions in its dancewith the wind.

I will unburdenmyself of the past, my expectations will lay on the trees bare branches thatwill soon be covered with a blanket of redemption.

I will wait for the breathlessrelease of rest as the snow slowly covers me.

This life, 30 years in the Making

2011-11-30T10:54:00.001-06:00

Those eyes,

have taken in 30 years worth of beauty, 30 years of images that cannot be erased.

Those feet,

that have moved you through 30 years worth of moments, traveled you through ruin and grace.

Those hands,

that have picked 30 years worth of songs on that old guitar, 30 years of grasping hands with your ancestry, dirt through fingers of the land of who you are.

Those lips,

that have whispered 30 years of broken prayers and petitions, 30 years of hymns set to your own music pass by its gates.

That soul,

harbors in it 30 years of hard fought lessons. 30 years of betrayal, redemption, majesty, pain.

Those years,

30 in the making...have led you to this place. This moment. This man.

~ ~ ~

Today, I celebrate a man for whom I cannot express the depths of my love for. Never has there been a person who feels so intricately woven into my very being than my brother.

Perhaps it is because from my first breath, he has stood over me, protecting.

Or perhaps it is because since my first step I raced to keep up with his gate.

Perhaps it is because of the secrets we shared tucked away on lazy afternoons of our childhood.

Perhaps it is because I still feel his hand warm in mine as we lowered our beacon of life into the ground.

Or perhaps from the adolescent competitions I tried desperately to win, to prove my worth.

Perhaps its because as I clutched my first born son to my breast, we locked eyes and he knew my truth - I didn't know what the hell I was doing.

Perhaps its because as my children's shadows grow long on summer sidewalks, I feel the sun beat on the crown of his and my hair, walking between the lake and cabin, spilling cat tail seeds into the wind.

Perhaps it is because he challenges me to find myself, picks me out of self doubt, striving to give room for the soul he unwaveringly believes to be strong and true.

Perhaps its in the now, over a glass of wine and toasted french bread, when we share our own communion and whispered confessions that taste bitter and raw, the salt tears of redemption.

Perhaps its how my arms feel right around his middle, with our backs turned, shoulders in, heads bent together to weather these life storms.

Perhaps it is all of this, and none of this, except that;

He is in my blood. My bones.

Five Minute Friday: Grateful

2011-11-25T09:53:00.001-06:00

This week's word: Grateful

I am grateful for our small old house bending and creakingto hold in our family.

I am grateful for game day rivalry. brother pitted against brother, civil warepic proportions.

I am also grateful that of that football rivalry, myhusband's team was victorious...afterall, I have to live with the man.

I am grateful for the grace in which my mother-in-law andhusband prepare food in the kitchen. Conferring softly over steaming lids of dishes smelling of warmth and home.

I am grateful for using my mother's plates to hold the meal,a true blending of family efforts.

I am grateful to have more bodies to share the day with thanseats at my table. I am grateful that at30 years old, my brother and I rejoined the kids table.

I am grateful for the blessing of the meal being given by my5 year old that made my mama heart sing. Why do grownups even try to pray, whenit is said so much better through the honest, simple prayer of a child.

I am grateful that after the dishes were put aside, theuncles carryied my laughing children back and forth to "jail" for thebetter part of an hour, while I just...sat. And smiled.

I am grateful that for a pause, the house felt emptyafter everyone left, for I knew then that it had been full, and it had beengood.

But mostly, I am grateful to the life that has led us to themeal. The shared love, heartache, dreamsthat we have traveled together. For thatI will give thanks.

What's in a name

2011-11-23T10:33:00.000-06:00

I took great pains when choosing my children's names. To me a name is more than a passing fad, more even than a name you can picture saying every day.

I feel a name is a one word benediction, a calling into form a spirit into life.

The Bible is full of examples of God moving in the lives of His children - charging them with their strength traits, re-naming them to a new purpose. As I read, I can't help but yearn for this re-naming from the Spirit, an intimate anointing from the Creator.

While lingering on this, I hear Him say,

"but I have re-named you. I continue to guide you to repurpose of life.

First, you were called daughter, sister, and friend. You grew into these names. You learned to trust, learned to depend, learned to listen, learned the discipline of loyalty.

You have since been named wife. In this has been growth, a need to discard selfish ways, to bend but not break, to speak love into one who has called you to himself.

This purpose has made way to your name of Mother. No greater name has been given, no greater challenge than to love others more than yourself. In this name you will learn devotion, strength, humility and grace."

I carry with me the re-naming of the Spirit. And even still, I carry names He has called me always, whispered into my deepest self. Names that pacify my longings, my lonely depths of despair...for he calls me

beloved

chosen

claimed

"...for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine." - Isaiah 43:1

what to get the girl who has everything, and what to give to those who have none

2011-11-21T07:42:00.001-06:00

I came home for seeing Les Miserables with my mom to this beautiful sight... my daughter who had a little bit of a hard time with mama being gone, and missing her night time routine, so daddy and she set down to the making of the "List"... so far my darling daughter is wishing for these things this year:

1. Screaming gorilla

2. Pretend Asteroid

She might be dissapointed, but at least all of her immediate needs are being met.

But then, these too are my children, my sisters:

Christmas lists are the last thing from their minds. Won't you please read the story Here about how some fabulous women are raising money by putting their children's art and hands to help raise money for this cause by donating the proceeds of these super cute Christmas Cards

Cornucopia of Crap

2011-11-20T08:55:00.001-06:00

(Warning: Not for the faint of heart...this post contains real life pictures of my life...it ain't pretty, but it's loved.)

Clicking through the greater blog community, I have been seeing all of these fabulous "easy" decoration ideas for Thanksgiving...and the more I click, the more I chuckle to myself...

NOT actual picture of my life...read on friend, read on...

See, as beautiful as these ideas are, if I had to be truthful, I just don't care that much. Sure, I'm at a different season of my life: one full of barbies, discarded socks, and piles of school papers...but I could be more organized than I am, but as is abundantly clear by the state of my house, I am not.

My biggest Thanksgiving decor tip is this: Raid your kids backpack, for all his Thanksgiving/autumnal artwork...half hazardly display around the dining room and grin wildly as people exclaim "Oh look! Owen has decorated this room so beautifully!"... The real key to this decor is to bribe said child with extra whipped cream on his pumpkin pie to keep quiet about his not decorating a thing.

Here are the top ten things my family and I will be thankful for this Thanksgiving:

1. The table being cleared off long enough to fit a full family at it to eat a meal

actual table...

2. Jammies with coffee and cocoa watching the Macy's Parade.

3. A day unplugged from electronics...well...that probably won't happen entirely, but less. (After all the Packers play that day!)

4. My children eating something not in nugget form.

5. If we can find two matching socks in under 20 minutes.

alas, matching wasn't even in the cards this morning..

clearly, matching jammies is too much for my tinies to ask for

6. My husband and mother-in-law that will knock the food out amazingly.
(I belong at the kids table, I don't pretend otherwise)

7. Our house smelling of food odors that doesn't send us sniffing under couches and in cushon cracks looking for its origins.

8. Having a house filled with a cornucopia of crap; my bountiful harvest that consists of mounds of dirty laundry and dirty dishes... but it's our crap, and we are truly blessed.

9. If I can keep clothes on my daughter for the whole day. Heck, I'll settle for a whole meal.

not staged...but, if you know Ava, you knew that already.

10. Bodies of the people that mean the most to me gathered around in one place. Flesh contact with those that make my soul sing...really, is there anything more important to be thankful for?

Five Minute Friday: Merry Band of Misfits

2011-11-18T04:10:00.001-06:00

Five minute Friday:Grow

We were all packed in on bleacher seating,
knees twisted at precarious angles, and restraining little sister legs, swinging the full of the bounce that being a fresh 3 years into life can hold.

It's cold now, so there are mounds of jackets slipping from shoulders and through the cracks. Within minutes the heat begins to rise from stagment grown-ups.

In tromps the first child, and with that, every parent is straining to get a glimpse of their child walk through the gym door.

What a sight these kindergartners are: some with jeans, sweatshirts, white pockets protruding....others in full Christmas dress display, black shoes glistening in florescent light. Their hair still holds the fresh colic of sleep, but their face radiates the hope of generations to come.

As they tear into their medley of "head and shoulders knees and toes" and "this light of mine", I watch in awe as the first child I bore stands before me, quite outside of my protection, showing me the skills he has honed while he's disappeared from me 8 hrs a day.

Soaking in this merry band of misfits: some sing too loud, others none at all, sneaker tongues hanging out, the undershirt of the sweatered selves came loose on the playground... seeing how very proud they were to give us the gift of song, and how amazingly happy we as family were to witness their growth, to rejoice in their joined voices. They were as sure of our love of them, and their worth as we were in our pride of their growth, their accomplishment.

I realized then, that heaven must look a lot like this...

A merry band of misfits: not looking at plain sight like a likely group of contemporaries; some dressed in sweats, holes in their jeans, stains on their shirts; others dressed in formal wear and hair done just so. Some who have lived their lives a little too loudly, others not loudly enough...but all beaming with pride to sing for our makers, and the assurance of our worth. And oh, how He must laugh with delight at our own songs, our growth.

from whence I came

2011-11-16T07:41:00.001-06:00

I come from red clay mountains, birch trees dipped in the boundary waters, and the echoes of Whisper Lake.

I’m from Big League Chew and Red Hots too, from next to the ice-cream case, taxidermy proudly displayed.

I come from baby grands with broken keys, and cheap guitars played rich with love.

From peanut butter kisses and midnight cheese crackers, rocked back to sleep in a shroud of raven hair.

I come from the echo of shuffling cards, 13 beds packed tight on cement floors, doughnuts sweet decadence dancing in air.

I come from dead-end streets, refrigerator box forts, basement theatres, and a parsonage turned home.

I come from women who were sure in their strength and from men who wept while singing carols.

I come from pot-luck dinners, cold casseroles, Godly instruction seasoned by the taste of Werther originals.

From PhD’s earned at night school, 4am paper routes to buy braces, coffee and burnt toast.

I come from whispering out into the wind as a storm rolls in, from those 2 tiny bodies splashing in the lake at sunset.

I’m from picking berries and mosquito bites, tucked deep beneath the pines,

From miles traveled ~ the world unfolded in the back of a station wagon.

I come from a little pine church built on miners’ tithes, strong hands that held me as his hymns made flight to heaven.

I’m from Norwegian lilts that made my childhood dance, and from the graves that I’ve stood over.

I come from this land, these people, a blood and bone foundation poured deep…

For I am the memory keeper.

(I was first inspired to fill out my own "Where I'm from" after reading Sarah's at Emerging Mummy and you can track the format back to this form: "Where I'm From" template by George Ella Lyons while I was a little more loose with mine, I love this and could spend years and pages coming up with countless renditions.)

My Great {Un}Expectation

2011-11-11T04:42:00.001-06:00

Five minute Friday: Unexpected

don't let this sleeping face fool you...

From birth my daughter has brought with her a zeal for the unexpected...

cord wrapped around her neck four times,

to the wailing and insufficient eating

(that caused the staff to ask if she was experiencing "withdrawals" of some sort...my postpartum horror, trying to explain, no, I was not on any drugs...)

My son had been relatively easy, and he remains to be. He lives in his head, he's sensitive, loyal...his little brain works a lot like mine. So, I thought (the lover of control that I am) that I had this down.

Then, Ava danced into my life,

full of fits,

refusing to be alone,

sharp tongue,

brazen in her own strength.

She also carries with her

the world's best laugh,

best kisses (because she makes you work for them),

fantastic artistic taste,

the freedom to break out in dance, wherever she is.

She has been placed in my life to teach me the joy of the unexpected. To stop, right where I am to experience this life I have been given. The beauty in the immediate world around me, not just what I am striving to become, what I wish to accomplish. Right here. Right now. Immediate beauty.

Daily, moment by moment, she gives me the opportunity to choose to love well, as opposed to love easy, by what comes most naturally to me.

Ava, the meaning of her name is "Little Bird",

she teaches me to let go, and fly.

How she came out of her room to be dressed for the day...

In these small hours

2011-11-09T08:33:00.000-06:00

It's the deep of the night,

the moon cradles us in her belly.

your breath still shines of the baby you were,

while your knobby knees tell of the boy you've become.

Our voices rise and fall in time with our heroes,

stories weaved in air, lift and transport us.

Your fingers, sticky sweet from jam and lincoln logs,

rub the gold plated pages of the tales we're tucked into.

We lean into each other under the swell of stars,

sustained by these small hours.

You're Invited: pj's required

2011-11-07T07:52:00.000-06:00

It was a stay home weekend for the kids and I. Ava and I left home just long enough to grab some groceries and a movie on Saturday, and the rest of the time was spent in flannel pants, thick old socks and hoodies.

I am finishing one of my classes for school, so in between snuggling and reading One Thousand Gifts (I am aware of being tardy to this reading party, but still glad that I came!),I was also working on a paper that's due. So, while I'm working, the kids are forced to play a little more independently, then throw in daylight savings, and by five o'clock, we were all coming out of our skin a bit.

That's when our dog Layla, finally settling in to even tempered middle-dog age, got a puppy burst, and caught herself a rabbit. I shriek (as I don't do 'dead' well), and rap on the sliding glass door, of course, inadvertently drawing both kids attention directly where I didn't want it. I took a breath, and explained out that Layla was doing what God designed her to do, and that what happened is another thing that He designed.
This conversation lead to my five year old Owen asking for me to "read from God's words how He created everything for purpose"...

and there, around a sticky table, we were the church, with milk glass rings and left over taco fixings, our communion.

After dinner to get our minds off of Layla's bunny breath, we decide to throw a smashing un-birthday party: cake, sprinkles...the works

Our delight only swelled and turned into a fabulous living room dance party; and in between our peeling laughter, bed heads tipped back in happiness, souls soaring - I got it.

This - this is the great feast we've been invited to; and the state He invites us in.

So Jesus, we're a coming - stale breath, socks with holes, flannel pants and all...because this joy sustains. I don't want to miss it.

Fabulous Music ~ Cory Chisel and the Wandering Sons

2011-11-05T16:38:00.003-05:00

If you are in search of some amazing music made by some amazing people...search no further.

My talented brother and beautiful friend Adriel Harris make, in my opinion, some of the best there is...

perfect for cozy nights in, preparing for winter...take a listen:

Cory Chisel (with Adriel Harris) - In The Deep End - Upstairs at United from United Record Pressing on Vimeo.

to find out more of what they're up to:

http://www.facebook.com/#!/corychisel

Five Minute Friday: Memories of simple grace

2011-11-04T07:16:00.002-05:00

This week's word: Remember

We're in the flurry of life ~ coats zipped, seat belts clicked, overnight bags are in Grandma's car.

We walk back inside momentarily dazed at our "two-ness" and stand uncertain.

then, I catch your eyes and I see him there, my 16 year old crush...

my smile creeps wide, and our old friendship falls back in.

during dinner we speak of dreams and places yet to discover,

not unlike our days of yore when we dreamt of this life we've now built.

in the dark movie theatre I watch the movie screen play over your face,

I hope you see when you look at me,
our life's love,
dancing with simple grace.

As I enter here...

2011-11-02T11:22:00.001-05:00

my mother's womb, full as the rich soil

lay heavy with ripened crop

along her path leaves burning red,

that match the birthing blood

bending, ebbing road and body

rock her to a rhythm of her own

the boundary waters hurry past

as her current brings forth life

the raven with its sharp, strong cry

echo my own deep drawing of first breath

...at last darkened hands that work the land,

now work the outline of my face.

(shared now with dversepoets)

Happy Haunts

2011-10-29T08:54:00.001-05:00

At the end of the huanted mansion, Ava and I were greated by the new 2011 updated "ghosts", just installed. As they interacted with us, and Ava giggled holding her hands out to her new friend, I just smiled remembering my "ghost" that "followed me home" 22 years ago.

Everytime I return, my own 6 year old ghost waves me in, beaming...

I see her dancing savagely with her brother past the 'head hunters' on her way to pirates,

I see her in Peter Pan's shadow as we fly out of the nursery,

She's intensly driving on the speedway, unaware of the guardrails keeping her course,

and if I look closely in the steam of train at Mainstreet station, I see her soaring high above us all.

She's not the only one of my happy haunts that inhabit there:

my teenage awakard self can be found on all the thrill rides with tears of laughter spilling down her cheeks with her friends,

a little older now, but still so young, watching those fireworks reflected in the big brown eyes of the boy she was very timidly falling in love.

two years later she returns to this same spot, her new wedding ring, with no scratches of life, love and loss yet etched upon it, watching those fireworks with that same boy, sending her dreams for her life up into that night sky.

here I find her, her hips a little wider, her heart loving a little boy with a love that's a little wilder...

and another year, belly swollen, tucked up inside her she gracefully protects her second wonder.

year after year

these happy spirits return, my babies bigger, until

I watch with delight as their childhood spirits dance with my own.

5 minute Friday: From Egypt to Fruitloops, with love.

2011-10-28T04:46:00.002-05:00

This week's word: Relevant

It's in the weekend when the most intelligent reply you've made is "Hola, Dora!"
...and when you fall into bed; your husband weary from work and you weary from child rearing can't manage to string together that long of a sentence.

It's in all the places in the world you wish to travel, cultures to discover.

It's in trying desperately to keep your finger on the vein, hear the beat of this generation, feeling removed from the ability to join in, rooted by your duties to family at home.

It's in the most expensive piece of jewelry you own being a frootloop necklace, which may be missing a few after you watched your dog walk away with it earlier that day.

...and then...

it's in the moment when your child grieves heavy, and no one can make out a word, but you, her mother hear the language of her heart and calm fears with a touch.
...and maybe, you are being taught in this season to listen to hearts, and not speak intelligent words.

it's in the moments where you travel to Egypt on your couch-arm camel, or spaceship made from an overturned chair.

it's in the simple explanations to your oldest of what the protests are all about, the fundamental values being set on his heart. You then know you've not only got your finger on the vein of this generation, your blood runs through it.

it's in those chubby toddler hands that strung those beads, those beautiful children who are your pearls, your crown.

Five Minute Friday: Learning to Live in the Whisper

2011-10-21T07:44:00.002-05:00

This is my first crack at this writing "exercise" hosted by the gypsy mama... I am very encouraged by all of the writers out there taking part in this...this week's word is: beyond

All around me noises, movement ~life, swirls.

I am a happy participant in it all, but feel the presence of my nagging self

when I am quiet enough to hear even my dark voices.

"there is no way I am loving enough, cleaning enough, learning enough, traveling enough, reaching out to those who need enough..."

then I hear Him whisper...

"but I am enough.

lean into me.

live here inside this moment,

stay here inside my whisper."

so, I go beyond myself, noticing in the swirl of life ~ whispers...

Whispers of grace as my children hug earnestly after a spat...

Whispers of love as my husband wakes to administers cold medicine in the night...

Whispers of strength not my own as I grasp a hand of a hurting friend...

Whispers of being enough, even alone, beyond my thoughts, quiet in the cold Autumn sunlight.

I will lean into this moment and dwell inside the whisper.

I wish for them to keep

2011-10-10T07:56:00.004-05:00

I wish for them to keep the memory of their heads bent, knees touching, singular in focus.

I wish for them to keep the taste of those first bitter tears that were wiped clean with kisses.

I wish for them to keep weekend mornings: 4 bodies, entwined - stale breath, clammy sleep skin, the feel of daddy whiskers, and mama's flannel pants...and oh, the laughter and hugs before the sunlight finds us.

I wish for them to keep the knowledge that we will all be wrong often. And that its through loving each other fiercer and stronger through those times that will bring us back together.

I wish for them to keep the look in their father's eyes when he scoops them up in his arms. This look is their first glimpse of what it looks like to be deemed fully worthy and fully loved.

I wish for them to keep those quiet moments spent rocking to a rhythm all our own as I have whispered stories of the past in their ears.

I wish for them to keep those late nights of sleepy haze when they are surrounded by booming laughter, music and stories yet to be learned.

I wish for them to keep the essence of these years of wonder, the fierce love of all who protect them and the confidence that they are ready to step beyond what we have taught them...and capture that old world in a jar.

Food for One

2011-10-09T09:34:00.002-05:00

For me, Fall feels like a new beginning, a shedding of the old. With this new season I have started to feel that disapointed I am not able to love as much as I should, or reach out to as many people as I could...just feeling the smallness of one person's reach, that hours in the day, responsiblities and sheer strain it racks on me when I push these limits.

Then, in reading some blogs (most specifically Emerging Mummy's latest post found here: Emerging Mummy) I realize that I am not alone in feeling weary, but that my charge is not for the entire world, just the world that God has assigned to me. Two Mother Teresa quotes that have lifted my spirits as well as inspired me towards intentional love:

"Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love."

"If you can't feed a hundred people, then feed just one."

Today friends, I have food for one, maybe more. I will rest in God that he will supply me the love to give to others that are in my life. I will accept that I cannot control who wishes to receive this love. I will extend. I will be intentional in the small ways my life interceeds others. I will love.

Freddy Winston Churchill

2011-10-07T13:24:00.001-05:00

He was the cutest mouse we ever saw

with big front teeth and tiny claws

Found him resting by the road

made him a grass clippings, leaf, stroller abode

Harbored him there during our icecream break

unfotunatly, all the bumps make that stroller shake

transferred him after tearful child seperation

to Lindy's home with plenty of produce and careful preperation.

Alas, Freddy Winston, it was not meant to be

but you'll always live on in our hearts and memory...

Our beloved "Gus-Gus"

Found: 4:30pm October 6, 2011

Died: 7:58pm October 6, 2011