needle & thREAD

The first summer sewing project is for Sarah. She has chosen fabric for a Popover Sundress (free pattern) and a reversible bucket hat (also a free pattern). I got it all cut out yesterday (when Kristin was around to snap some pictures) and it's nearly finished this morning. The fabric she chose for her bucket hat is brilliant. She's got an eye for coordinating across lines; the bucket hat will go with this new dress and that one Karoline wore three years ago. Smart girl! I should have them both finished this afternoon. Check Instagram (heartofmyhome) to keep me accountable, please and thank you.

One of my (many) summer resolutions is to be screen-free after sunset. My brain needs a significant amount of time to "un-wire." Also, we all know there are reams of research reports on the detrimental effects of screens before bedtime. Towards the goals of better sleep and more peaceful repose, I'm settling in with something light before bed--at least for the next three months. Habit, then? One can only hope.

I'm reading The Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap: a memoir of friendship, community, and the uncommon pleasure of a good book. Sounds pretty perfect, right? A rural setting, stories of good people, and, well, the uncommon pleasure of a good book. I love stories about bookstores! Have I ever mentioned that my favorite movie is You've Got Mail? (Incidentally, people tell me all the time that my husband looks like Tom Hanks. Joe Fox/Mike Foss---I'm just looking for the right bookstore...) Anyhoo, this one is a good one. The author, Wendy Welch, and her husband leave high-powered job and take a chance on a bookstore in a small, Appalachian coal town. They filled a  ramshackle Edwardian house with 38,000 used books and then they fostered community in, about, and beyond the books.  So far, I'm thoroughly enjoying warm stories of good Virginia people and the quiet dreams and tenacity of a couple in love.

What are you stitching and reading these days? We are especially looking for some happy, light read suggestions for bedtime. What's your favorite?

Throwback: My Not So Simple Life

In an effort to do some tidying up around here, I'm going to take advantage of Thursdays to pluck some old posts from under the hard-to-find pile and spruce them up for new readers (and people who might want to re-visit with me). I'm editing as necessary, and cleaning up those dead links. 

I've noticed a trend lately, as I sit in waiting rooms of various medical offices with various children. There is a quest out there for simplicity. According to magazine covers, we want simple meals and simply cleaned homes. We want no stress and plenty of simple fun. And the rallying cry for simplicity reaches a fever pitch as summer approaches. I've stopped questing after simple.

My life is not simple. And I am not simple. My life is complex. I am responsible for the care and nurturing of 10 other people. They live under my roof. I feed them and clothe them and counsel them and pray for them. I educate them (well, one of them — my husband — I don't educate, but I do explore new ideas with him). When they are sick, I nurse them back to health. Ten people. There is no way that can be simple. People are complex. All the people here are individuals. They all have individual needs and individual wants and individual personalities.

Running a household of this size is not simple — it's complex. I can try to make it simple. I can try to pin down that elusive system that forces everything to march in a perfectly orderly manner so that it all looks as sleek and uncluttered as an Amish kitchen, but sooner than later I will be frustrated to learn yet again that there is no simple system that will work here. Even if each component is simple, the big picture is a complex tapestry. Life happens. In a family this size, life happens constantly and it's never simple.

Sometimes, particularly when I'm tired, I wish it were simple. But then, I usually quickly recognize that I'm wishing away the very life for which I prayed. I begged God for the fascinating, complex man who is my husband. I begged God for every single one of these children. I begged God for the means to buy them the clothes that necessitate nearly perpetual sorting, washing, folding and putting away. 

I begged God for the good job my husband holds, which provides ample food that requires extensive planning, shopping, cooking and serving (and also means an erratic work schedule and frequent travel). I begged God for this house, for the things in it, which He has so graciously provided and which I must clean and maintain. And I heard God when He begged me to educate my children at home — each one according to his individual needs and abilities. None of it is simple. Not a single bit of it.

This is my mission field, my apostolate. I am reminded of the woman who struggles to raise three small children while being a missionary in a Third World country. The life seems simple enough. The house is humble; the furnishings are sparse; the meals are plain. But I am assured it's actually quite complicated. Washing clothes requires transportation and time and the cooperation of nature. Health care can be sporadic and inadequate. Personal safety is not guaranteed. 

My mission is in suburban USA. My challenges, like the challenges of the foreign missionary, are often the challenges of the culture in which I find myself. But our missions are the same: to make believers of all nations, to bring the Word of God to the culture. My mission begins at home, on a cul-de-sac in Virginia, where the days are very full indeed. In a world that is increasingly complex. There is no doubt I am called to do it.

The only simple part is how I do it. I am called to do it diligently. I am called to do it wholeheartedly. I am called to devote my entire life to working hard for the glory of God in this complex household. I am called to do it — no matter how intricate and complicated "it" is — with love. Mothers love with all their hearts, minds and souls. It's a pure love that God wants us to give to our families. Many, many times, this love looks like plain old hard work, work that requires heroic discipline and almost incessant busyness. Work that is softened by grace falling like rain, rain that sounds like music. It's not a simple tune. It's a symphony conducted by the Lord Himself. And in every family the song is different, each according to the score written by the Creator.

Mother Teresa lived a life of seeming simplicity. But was it really simple? She founded an order, traveled the globe, feed millions, saved lives, dined with heads of state, worked for the kingdom of God. This was a rich and complex woman. This was a deeply spiritual woman. And, I think, what made it all seem like a simple life was her agenda. At the root of it all, all she wanted was to love. She wrote:

“There is always the danger that we may just do the work for the sake of the work. This is where the respect and the love and the devotion come in — that we do it to God, to Christ, and that's why we try to do it as beautifully as possible.”

We mothers are like that. We work. We work hard. And often, our work schedules are very complicated. But we can have the peace of simplicity that emanated from the tiny nun if we work those schedules the way she did: with love, and respect and devotion. With the simple purpose of creating something beautiful for God.

And now I'm off, to spend the day in an increasingly familiar circuit of orthopedist and physical therapist, grocery store and post office. I'll come home to cooking and cleaning and laundry and maybe a little bit of writing. I sat last night and mapped it all out — I had to in order to be sure that I did the work that is mine for the day. It all looks a bit messy on my handwritten list. It looks absolutely nothing like I thought it would at week's beginning. 

And I know the list does not include all the things that I will do which will make me "Mama" to small people. Those go without saying. They are my very being. They are the simple part of me. And all the rest, all the chores, all the scheduling, those I plan as best I can. Now I give it all to Him — the simple part and the overwhelming part. I tell Him I will do the very best I can and I trust Him to show me what's important, to make His will clear and to conduct the rich and joyful symphony that is my not-so-simple life.

This Summer, Maybe Make it About You?

Humidity hangs heavy today and the temperature has crept toward 90; it’s undeniably feeling like summer in Virginia. As I sit with a calendar that has palpably shifted from the frenetic end-of-school-year busyness to a more sanguine, relaxed busyness, I’m making a promise to myself. Summer will be for self-care. 

Summer will be for strengthening the habit of entering into God’s rest.

It is said that it takes 21 days to form a habit. My experience has been that the best habits take considerably longer. Some studies have confirmed it takes 66 days for behaviors to become as much of a habit as they were going to become. And those are habits like exercising every day or giving up a daily muffin with one’s coffee. Resting in God isn’t like giving up smoking. Resting in God is a re-alignment of a life. 

In the pursuit of caring for our families — whether by earning an income or running a carpool — often we fail to care for ourselves. We martyr ourselves on the altars of professional advancement or pleasing others or both. We sacrifice sleep, eat on the run, write way too many things into a calendar square, or neglect the true needs for margin in our lives. In bowing to the urgent, we fail to breathe deeply of God’s grace and see clearly His intention for our lives. Often, self-neglect is slow-creeping and insidious; it begins as dying to self in order to serve others in a vocation. It becomes burnout because we have failed to understand how much we are valued by God and how we actually are called to live in His gentle care and accept His rest — not to power up again and again under our strength and derive the meaning in our lives from the productivity of our lives.

Our work doesn’t define us. Our output doesn’t define us. Our bottom line doesn’t define us. Our homemaking or childrearing capability don’t define us. Instead, God calls us to work and asks us to let Him energize it for His glory. Are you feeling crushed as the school year wraps up and you’ve jumped through a million and one hoops? Jesus is calling. He’s saying, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Mt 11:28-30). If you are bowed down and burned out by the demands of your life, you’re not in His will. Summer is the perfect time to attend to self-care in order to learn a new habit of rest in Christ.

Sometimes, I have to be reminded that not every need must be filled by me. The bone-tired feeling? That soul-crushing fatigue? Usually they are the symptoms of self-reliance. They mean I’ve tried to save the world instead of trusting that God can accomplish His will in my life and the lives of the people I love. I take on every need as my personal mission, and I neglect to seek God’s wisdom and direction in filling the needs around me. I am certain His plan is more prudent than the full-throttle assault that is my default.

So summer is a perfect time to reconfigure the default. It’s a perfect time to stop worshipping at the altar of self-reliance. With a little more breathing room and the opportunity to spend more time outdoors, I’m more likely to successfully re-calibrate. 

Self-care means saying “no” to some people who are very much in the habit of hearing my “yes,” learning that God can step in and say “yes” instead, and we are all better off for allowing Him to do so. Self-care means taking the time to tend the temple of the Holy Spirit. No matter how willing my own spirit, my body can only be pushed so hard for so long. It’s self-abuse and it’s sinful. So, summer is the perfect opportunity to sleep a little more, to exercise outdoors, to curl up with a good book, to journal in longhand for a long time. My brain and my body need time and space to unfurl in the presence of my Maker. 

What things are life-giving for you? Where does God meet you? Can you put your hand in His this summer and let Him take you to a place where He fills your depleted soul and nourishes your tired body?

Wordless Wednesday: Why I Love Soccer Sundays

Gathering my thoughts on the cusp of summer

Outside my window:  Virginia is in full bloom. And it is utterly breathtaking.

Listening to: the sounds of the orthodontist’s office on a very crowded morning. Wow. A lot of people here. Let’s see how well I can filter out the competing noises.

Clothing myself in: White shirt. Bright blue (borrowed) capris. I have a lot of white shirts. Actually, almost all my shirts are white. I love them. However. Big sigh. I have nearly nothing to wear. I stopped running regularly around mid-March. Then there was some sort of thyroid storm. The combination was lethal. As in none of my clothes fit. For me, this is a hard reality. I’m super sensitive about body image. Back out to run. Early and often. When no one’s watching, because it's not going to be pretty.

Talking with my children about these books:  I’m kind of holding my breath. Nick has moments to go before he’s depleted all the Percy Jackson stories. And I know there will be mourning. I think back to the books that have become beloved for my kids. Michael loved Redwall—all of them. Both of those series are amazing audio books. Redwall is read by the author who wrote it originally for his radio show. Christian loved Harry Potter. Patrick is still waiting to fall in love with a book and is still a reluctant reader. But we know that once upon a time, Anne made an impact on him. Mary Beth first fell in love with The Penderwicks. Stephen’s favorite series was also Harry Potter. The Harry Potter fan club is curious considering Michael's adamant opposition to it. Katie would rather listen to Adventures in Odyssey than read. Karoline is a Shakespeare fan. It’s hilarious to hear an 8-year-old drop the Bard into everyday conversations. (She has some of these books memorized. I'm surprised to see they're only available from third-party sellers. Snatch them up; you won't be sorry!). 

In my own reading: Every year, when I go to the garden store near our house, I take these books off the shelves. They are nestled next to books about  herbs (that's a really good one). Tom DeBaggio founded this store. When my big kids were little, he’d come out and chat with them while I browsed the lavender plants. He’d teach them a thing or two about plants (or about airplanes, depending on the day and what struck his fancy). He was always very kind. His son is rather brusque with the kids, but Tom never was. Those were the early days of his journey with Alzheimers. Without fail, each spring, I pick up his books, which are memoirs of his time with the disease. And then I put them back. I like remembering him my way. The other reality is not so pretty. This year, though, I picked up a book, put it back, and then went back later and picked it up again. Kristin noticed the second time.

            “I have that book,” she said. “I own it.”

I guess this is the year that I will read it. 

Thinking and thinking: Last week, after I posted these pictures, Jen asked on Facebook, "Do you have so much fun with your life? I mean, I'm sure it's not always great, but you must wake up sometimes and be like, "I love my life". So much love and joy!"

To which I replied, "There are times when I do, but in all honesty they are often embedded in times of just plain hard. These pictures are fun and the night *was* fun, but some things to remember: I was coming off some extreme logistical (and emotional) nightmares (for about 8 weeks). I spent the day in the ER with Katie and it wasn't fun at all. These pictures were taken in the middle of the night. I stayed up until 4:30 and got up again at 6:30. The day that followed this night was yuck. Also, my husband was home for this night. He was not home the week before it or the week after it...My point is that it is fun and I do love this life, but it's not all moonlight and movies;-). Another thing that comes to mind here is that I don't often blog when things are hard. (Notice how little I've blogged in recent months?) I tend to put my head down and focus on the task at hand. I like to blog. It's a great creative outlet, but I haven't had a whole lot of time for fun creative outlets. The hard things get blogged much less frequently because if things are hard, then they take my full time and attention and tapping away at the keyboard isn't a priority.

It’s kind of a vicious cycle. I’m happier when I write, but I don’t write when I’m unhappy. Chicken or egg? Whichever it is, I'm going to try to break the cycle this summer. I need to find a way to write every day, much like I need to run or walk every day. I've learned the hard way (again) what happens when I don't.

Pondering: In matters that are obscure and far beyond our vision, even in such as we may find treated in Holy Scripture, different Interpretations are sometimes possible without prejudice to the faith we have received. In such a case, we should not rush in headlong and so firmly take our stand on one side that, if further progress in the search of truth justly undermines this position, we too fall with it. That would be to battle not for the teaching of Holy Scripture but for our own, wishing its teaching to conform to ours, whereas we ought to wish ours to conform to that of Sacred Scripture. -St. Augustine

Carefully Cultivating Rhythm: The new summer schedule was to begin today. I was going to get up and run at 5:30. Be back and showered by 7. Then something domestic until 8. Then kids up and breakfast. School kinds of things until 11:00. Then Mom ducks out to get some work done for a couple hours (also known as writing therapy). Then summer fun. Sounds like a good plan to me.

Today was the first day. Kari woke up at 4:30--totally awake and wanting to chat. About life. So, we had about 5 quality hours of one-on-one time. I’m not kidding. I dragged everyone else out of bed at 9:30. We were late to the orthodontist at 10. Le sigh.

Creating By Hand:  Those afternoon summer fun hours? I’m calling them “swim and sew.” And it’s totally going to happen.

Learning lessons In: Apology. I’ve decided that one of the most important things we can teach our children is how to sincerely examine one’s conscience and then to apologize honestly and promptly. I am very serious about how much I think this matters. This article is a good one on the topic, though I think it’s message is not at all limited to marriage, and certainly not limited to men. All relationships would benefit tremendously if we become a community of humility.

Encouraging learning in: Math. We’re going to hyperfocus on math this summer. This and this and this and these. Oh, and Karoline has announced her plans to write and entire Bible story book.

Keeping house: In late March or maybe it was early April I registered for The Nester’s Cozy Minimalist course. Around the second week, I found myself reluctantly begging to withdraw. Life was kicking my butt and I couldn‘t even begin to keep up. Further, it’s hard to take a class in homemaking when you’re not there. I was gone so much of April.  So, to console myself, I’m going to really dig into The Nesting Place and Love the Home You Have this summer. I’m pretty happy with my house (well except for my perennial basement issues) but, I think it will be nice to use that part of my brain a bit as I consider how to nurture myself. I’m super sensitive to environment. Home needs to be a sanctuary. I think I’ll enjoy considering how to make it so.

Crafting in the kitchen: Whole 30. I was one of the first people to review It Starts with Food on Amazon. And I wrote:

One quote that keeps popping up is "this is not hard compared to birthing a baby, quitting heroin, or beating cancer." Actually, it is. I haven't got any experience with heroin, but I had 7 unmedicated births, 2 c-sections, and I beat cancer. Those things are hard, too but that doesn't make this easy. This is hard. It's hard to eat this way in a world that doesn't. It's hard to cook for a big family -- either all eating this way, or them eating this way and me not eating what they're eating. It's hard to stick with it day in and day out. It's not too terribly hard for a few weeks, but it is hard as a lifestyle. I feel anti-social. I know my eating habits put a damper on others' enjoyment when our eating out choices are dictated by my "can'ts." I know I've offended more than one gracious hostess with my polite, "No thank you." And I do miss crafting a perfect loaf of artisan bread or making my grandmother's homemade pasta. I miss tomatoes fresh from the garden with olive oil and fresh mozzarella. I miss handing on food traditions of generations to my own children. I couldn't care less about sugar and I'm not lamenting processed foods at all. They were never in my diet. I'm struggling with the limited choices of real food left for me...I still think this is a valuable resource, but for most folks, longterm success with eating this way is going to take more than, "You can do it. It's not as hard as childbirth or cancer."

They addressed those things in the new book! I think that’s pretty cool. Actually, I think that's really cool. They‘ve also included white potatoes in the plan this time. For me, that’s not good. I love potatoes, but they don’t love me. So, I think I’ll just keep kicking it old school. I like this new book a lot. I thought it would be redundant and it’s not.  Instead, I think it’s more measured, more practical, maybe just a little more compassionate. It’s good. Back on the wagon. I’ll never be a giant meat eater. But I know that the principles in Whole 30 are likely the most anti-inflammatory way to eat. So, I’m not a bacon and duck fat paleo person (actually, there’s no bacon in the new book), but I am fill-the-plate-with-veggies, skip the sugar and grains, eat real food person. I need to be a no dairy person. And I’d probably be a good deal happier if I could kick this stupid coffee habit again.

To be fit and happy: lacing up and heading out. My Fitbit wasn’t working; I couldn’t get it to record my steps. Then I lost it.  Then my Fitbit friends applauded me for getting back after it. That was hilarious, because I wasn’t wearing a Fitbit. They saw my step count increase, but I still have no idea where it is. Somebody is getting some exercise on my behalf, but I don’t think it’s actually overcoming my inertia. I need to solve this problem, because I’ve discovered that I really am motivated by my Fitbit .

Giving thanks: For the intercession of wee saint Bryce. It’s his birthday today. He would have been six. Say a prayer for his mama?

Loving the moments: when my backyard is full of teenagers gathered around a bonfire, philosophizing late into the night. Pretty magical childhood.

Living the Liturgy: I’m praying Divine Office on my morning run. Also, I’m also listening to this new album. She Reads Truth is taking this week to look at five hymns. Yesterday’s post really hit home for me. So good. And so is the album.

Planning for the week ahead: Nick Foss plays in the State Cup semi-final this weekend. Some of you might remember the agonizing decision I made to move him to new team---just after he won State Cup two years ago. (That's a favorite post of mine.) It’s been a hard couple of years for him, no lie. He misses his friends. It’s been hard to watch that team win more than his present team. And it’s been super hard to be the new kid (for two years). But he’s just on the cusp of something good. Pray this weekend is one of victories? One on Saturday and then—big miracle needed warning—one on Sunday, too? That would be good. Really good.

All photos courtesy of Kristin Foss.