Here Comes the Sun

It started September 23rd. That was the first day of bedrest. For six weeks, I was confined to my house, my room, my bed. And then, there was a baby. And I was confined to the hospital, to the well-worn path to the NICU. We brought that sweet baby home. And the doctor said solemnly, "Keep her inside, away from crowds, and out of public places until the end of flu season. Probably late March." I tried not to cry. I reminded myself that I am an introvert, a homebody. I got to know the extraordinary ministers of the Eucharist. I counted my blessings and there were many.

But, slowly, I started to feel it creep in. The cold. The loneliness. My walls grew closer around me. The baby fussed. The big kids acted needier than the baby. I resolutely told myself a hundred times a day that this was not postpartum depression. We hit rock bottom.

A Package arrived in the mail. A lovely Package. A Package that made me smile to see the name in the sender's corner and brought tears to my eyes when I saw what it contained. It was a hat and booties--a darling hat that fit just perfectly. A hat with sweet hearts over baby's ears. Ah, but I sighed. We never go anywhere. And an urgent need made itself known. I had to get out of this house with the baby. I had to go somewhere worthy of The Hat.

Yesterday was one of my top five worst homeschooling days ever. And I can't even think of what the other four are. As I went to sleep last night, I remembered The Hat. I told Mike that I was taking the children to Bull Run. Bull Run--Home of the Bluebells--is the place where we go every year to herald the spring. It's the place where I am happy and relaxed and content just to be. It's our springtime. Gently, the love of my life reminded me that it is still February. Doesn't matter. I have The Hat. I had to be at Bull Run.

The day dawned a bit gray and windy, but not all that cold. The forecast was for rain by noon. No bother. I was up early. I had The Hat. I told the children the plan. Nicholas balked. He doesn't like rain. It's not a typical "not like," --it's sort  of a "thing" with him. It's a really big deal "not like."  I wasn't going to fight it. I told him he could stay home with Patrick. Christian had to go to art.No matter. This wasn't about them. It was about me. And my baby. And my place. And the Hat.

We took the familiar road and parked at a familiar place. We hiked in to "our spot," all the while noting how gray it all seemed. The landscape had changed. The log I posed the children on every year had  decayed to a point where no one could sit there. Right next to it, however, a new tree had fallen--bigger and sturdier and longer. "Just perfect," Katie declared. "There are too many of us now for the old log anyway."

Several trees had fallen. The top of their favorite climbing tree was now laying across the river. I thought of those windstorms last month, the tree that fell and claimed the life of a beloved pastor. I heard trees creaking around me and branches snapping in the not too distant distance. Good thing Nicholas stayed home, after all; he would not have enjoyed this time at all. We tried mightily to find signs of spring. There were a few small buds and some tiny shoots, no signs of the bluebells yet, though.

I snuggled my sleeping baby (she sleeps?) and breathed deeply of the fresh air. Oh! how this place speaks to me, even in its grayness. I thought of how much I missed it last fall, when the leaves were changing color, and my only glimpse of fall came in my inbox through the kindness of a friend's photos. I remembered my long talks with God and how begged him to grant me many springtimes to hang out with my children in the woods. I thought about how much I wanted to walk that trail with this baby. I breathed gratitude. And hope.

I just sat there, nibbled on pistachios, and watched the delight of my two-year-old as she saw this place anew.   Marveling at the familiarity and the changes, I understood that this place is ever old and ever new. My children looked different to me in the natural light. They were sweet and innocent and silly and fun. The baby slept soundly on my chest, warm and loved beneath The Hat. My head cleared. My shoulders relaxed. I had faith that I could get safely to the end of winter and reach confidently for the holiness of spring. Recalling that God has written two books, Scripture and nature, I resolved to read them both this Lent as my soul stretches and my face turns towards the Son.

Why Blog?

Why do we blog? Wrong question. I can't answer that. I don't know why some people blog. There are as many reasons to blog as there are people, I suppose. Why do I blog? I've been trying to articulate the answer to this question for myself. I'm considering the answer in light of the quotes from Thomas a Kempis that Colleen shared in this post. I've made a note of those posts for the sidebar here on my blog. I like them there: they encourage me to share, but to do so with thought and care and caution and prudence. But what do I share?

Do I share the bad days, the ugly underbelly of life with lots of people? Do I share the failings, kind of like a virtual confession? Do I share the plans gone awry and the sin that ensues? Do I share the fear and the illnesses and the general muck of life? Sometimes. But when I do that, I do it with an eye towards something else. I might share the grief, but only to get to the glory. Because it's the glory that's of Him!

I blog to share the joy.

And there is joy to be had in every moment of every day. Rebekah writes :

In the pressing moments of the day, where sorrow, sadness, anddisappointment may dwell; where thoughts and fears fill the heart, there is beauty...there must be. That is why this corner of the blogworld is mine. There is a need for the soul to look toward the sun, to find the tiny bud blooming in the cold, to hear music through the noise. Beauty must be sought after, although at times it reveals itself without warning or announcement. I will purposefully run after it and dig for it if I must. It is small and simple, huge and glorious...everywhere it is. There is beauty in my day, joy in the moment and in each breath. It waits around a corner, smiles beyond the glass, and whispers with tears.

We can claim a spot for ourselves in this blogworld--a spot that illuminates the beauty of the days, the hours, the moments of this life lived in pursuit of holiness. We can persevere in writing about the joy. To do so doesn't deny the ugly, the bad, or the sinful. Instead, to do so is to glorify the redeeming power of our Savior and the goodness He has planned for us in every moment. No one wants to suffer. No one really wants to sin. No one wants to fall or to fail or to falter. But we do. We all do. It goes without saying. I blog to give voice to what comes next. I blog to say that God is good. And He is real and He is present and there is tangible grace and beauty in every single corner of our lives. So celebrate it. Dance for joy! Sing for joy!

Write for joy!

God is good. Tell the world.

Forever in Blue Jeans...

Last week, I ordered Mike some new jeans. It had been some time since the last jeans. I'm fairly certain his jeans were older than our last two children, maybe our last three. He was pleased to know that I ordered the exact same size as last time, slightly different style. In the elevator on Thursday, on our way to the midwife (the height of romantic outings these days), I admired his person in those brand new jeans. He definitely wore those jeans well. Perhaps just to be kind, he turned his attention to my jeans. He said something sweet and appreciative, without sounding completely unbelievable to this eight months pregnant mommy. And I told him that I was wearing "vintage jeans," all the rage these days. My maternity jeans are twenty years old.

I've mentioned them before on these pages. They are soft and faded and are truly comfort for a tired body. I hadn't really worn them since last spring. I had skirts and capris for the summer months. When bedrest began, the temperatures were in the high 80s and low 90s. I had last had a winter baby eight years ago. Then, there was such a long gap between Katie and Karoline that I gave all but a few sentimental favorite maternity clothes away. So, when I woke up Thursday morning and it was forty degrees outside, I went for those old, old jeans. And I paired them with a jean jacket I bought in college. Vintage jeans, vintage jacket.

I love denim. Those very old jeans look great. They are faded, to be sure, but they are still very presentable. Denim is like that. It's the ultimate mom fabric. Denim is the most frugal fabric on the planet; I am quite certain it's true. I have no khaki pants or skirts from twenty years ago. I have no rayon skirts from even five years ago. They stretch out and wear out and frankly, they get dirty in a home where little people frequently grab my skirts. But not my denim. My daughter is wearing denim skirts I bought when she was born. My denim apron has gotten better with every washing. And my jeans...I do love my jeans.

Erin assures me that pregnant women get a pass for wearing pants. Her arguments are sound. I've never seen men's pants with maternity tummies. And I've never seen a man who looks like I do right now in jeans. So, there's no chance they 'll be mistaken for menswear. And every maternity shirt or sweater I own falls well below my hips, so I think I'm more than modestly covered. As a matter of fact, last time I was pregnant, I discovered that once a week, my jeans were more modest than my skirts. I wore skirts almost exclusively through the spring and summer of Karoline's pregnancy. Except when I went to chiropractor. Both the good doctor and I were very glad that I was wearing pants while he manipulated my legs and hips. Yep, pregnant women should be allowed to wear pants, particularly when they've been on bedrest for six weeks, have absolutely no warm clothes to wear and don't want to pay extravagent prices and shipping to buy warm maternity clothes, particularly when they might not even be pregnant this time next week. Nope. I'm going to make do with what I have. These jeans work nicely for my weekly dates with my husband to see the doctor.

Denim can be darling, too. I'm a big fan of embellished denim. No one does it quite so well as J. Jill. And I remember fondly some floral patterned denim overalls I wore seventeen years ago when I was pregnant with Christian. I wish I could wear them now. I loaned them to my friend Alicia and never got them back. Alicia is now a nurse-manager in Labor and Delivery at the local hospital. When I was admitted last month, I almost asked her about those overalls. But since her youngest is fifteen, I doubt she has any remembrance of them at all. Perhaps only I get emotionally attached to denim.

Now that I think about it, the only three other things I saved when I gave my maternity clothes away are all denim. One is shirt that is a denim floral. It is the first article of clothing my mother-in-law ever bought for me.  I love that shirt. I don't think I'll give it away. Maybe I'll make it into quilt squares when I'm expecting a grandchild. Of course, first I'd have to learn to quilt. The other shirt is a denim with floral embroidery. And then there is fair aisle sweater in denim hues. Do you sense a theme here?

My husband is a big fan of denim. I like to pair denim skirts and jeans with feminine tops--fun buttons, lace flourishes, interesting knit patterns. He likes to bring me too large hoodies with various ESPN logos on them. And he likes me to wear them. Fortunately, these sweatshirts, which come from his place of employment and are distributed fairly regularly to the staff, are always too big for me. That means they fit perfectly right now. It also means they fit well on a snuggly Sunday, watching football in front of the fire and eating halftime junk food. Denim and sweatshirts. Comfort and cozy. I won't even try to make a case for feminine except to say that my husband finds the look cute--just as cute as he found it 25 years ago when the sweatshirt sported the name of our high school.   And perhaps that's the real lesson of denim: feminity and modesty are in the eye of the beholder. And if it were up to my dear husband, I'd be forever in blue jeans.       

Silence

Mid-September through the first week in October have proven to be very intense in my household. I've learned in the past few years that early autumn requires my full time and attention at home. There are lots of happy things: feast days and a flurry of birthdays. There is the inevitable strain of adjusting to my husband's intensified travel schedule, coupled with the children's intensified activity schedule. We all need to hunker down and adapt to the demands of "school" and we usually have some unforeseen things thrown in there, too.  By September 13th or so, I begin to feel sensory overload, just anticipating what's to come. This year, the sensory input is coming from within me, too. A precious little person keeps tapping me and reminding me that she is in need of particularly special care. And then there is this to consider: Autumn is my very favorite time of year~outside. So, it's time to stop reading and writing on the web for a spell. Time to go for long walks, God willing.  It's time to save my words for the people in my home and hope that in doing so I will find for myself some of the silence so vital to souls of those seeking to live in His will. If I can persuade my camera to begin speaking with my computer again, I'll let my kids post pictures so our journal will continue. Otherwise, we're going to be quiet here for a few weeks. Have a beautiful, blessed early autumn!

Just for Today

As I was tinkering with templates and sidebars, I was particularly struck by this food for thought (and prayer). I thought I'd post it here for us to ponder as we try to live in God's presence during this busy weekend.

• 1. Only for today, I will seek to live the livelong day positively without wishing to solve the problems of my life all at once.
• 2. Only for today, I will take the greatest care of my appearance: I will dress modestly; I will not raise my voice; I will be courteous in my behavior; I will not criticize anyone; I will not claim to improve or to discipline anyone except myself.
• 3. Only for today, I will be happy in the certainty that I was created to be happy, not only in the other world but also in this one.
• 4. Only for today, I will adapt to circumstances, without requiring all circumstances to be adapted to my own wishes.
• 5. Only for today, I will devote ten minutes of my time to some good reading, remembering that just as food is necessary to the life of the body, so good reading is necessary to the life of the soul.
• 6. Only for today, I will do one good deed and not tell anyone about it.
• 7. Only for today, I will do at least one thing I do not like doing; and if my feelings are hurt, I will make sure no one notices.
• 8. Only for today, I will make a plan for myself: I may not follow it to the letter, but I will make it. And I will be on guard against two evils: hastiness and indecision.
• 9. Only for today, I will firmly believe, despite appearances, that the good Providence of God cares for me as no one else who exists in this world.
• 10. Only for today, I will have no fears. In particular, I will not be afraid to enjoy what is beautiful and to believe in goodness. Indeed, for twelve hours I can certainly do what might cause me consternation were I to believe I had to do it all my life.  ~Bl. Pope John XXIII