Going West

When Nicholas was little, he loved the Little House Picture Books. Every night, for close to three years, we read at least three of those books at bedtime. They traveled with us when we went on trips. A couple of them became so worn that I replaced them, and, at one point, I had all of them memorized. I loved the books nearly as much as he did.

There was one book, though, that I preferred not to read. And there were three pages in that book that tugged at my heart all those many years ago, as if they foreshadowed a day to come in March 2016. On the first of those three pages, Laura and Mary hug and kiss the Grandma and the aunts goodbye. What are those aunts thinking? Are they remembering the day Mary was born? How exciting it was to welcome a new baby? How it made them all more family to welcome one into the next generation? As the girls clung to their dolls, were the aunts thinking of all the times they'd played with them and all the funny little names they knew between them for the playthings--all the many fibers that wove together to make a family culture? Were they thinking of Ma, and how she was one of them, and how much they'd miss her we've-always-known-her presence in their day-to-day?

Then, we see Laura and Mary saying goodbye to their cousins as they get ready to climb into the wagon and leave the woods of Wisconsin for their new home on the prairie. The little family had always lived within the context of a bigger one and grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins make their appearances in some of the other picture books, threaded into the storyline of Laura's younger years. In Going West, Laura says goodbye to big parties at her grandmother's house with lots of familiar babies all lined up on the big bed and breakfasts in her kitchen, where she's treated to pancakes and syrup from her grandfather's maple trees. There is a sense of somber bewilderment on the faces in the picture. What will this all mean?

Were they thinking that it was entirely possible they'd never see these dear people again? Did Laura understand that the easy familiarity she had with her cousins and her grandparents would fade into infrequent written correspondences? Did the grownups think Pa a fool to pull his family from the security of the known community? Did they understand that he only wanted what was best for his family and opportunity lay to the west?

 And Ma. Sweet Ma, reluctant, but brave.

The dog on wheels is named Izzy, in honor of the real Izzy, who lives at Lucy's other grandma's house. Both Izzys will wait patiently for a visit in June.

It's the next picture that does me in every time. Grandma is holding Baby Carrie as the family gets settled into the wagon. She's looking the little girl straight into her eyes while still holding her as close as she can without blurring her vision. I imagine her vision was blurred all the same. How did she do that without crying? She will hand that baby to Ma, knowing full well that, if she ever sees her again, Carrie will no longer fit in her arms. Grandma won't feel that toddler curve around her hips ever again. She won't sit her on her lap at dinner time. She won't wipe the day's dirt from her face in a warm bath by her woodstove. No matter how reliable the post, letters will never let her feel the baby softness of Carrie's cheek or the tickle of toddler hair after a nap. She knows that she won't be the dear, familiar face to any of the girls that she is when she lifts them onto the wagon. They will grow as quickly as children do and if their paths cross again, the little girls will not be so little and she will be but a friendly stranger to them. They are leaving and nothing will ever be the same.

It's 2016. We have Skype. And Instagram. And FaceTime. And Snapchat. We can see each other every day. We have airplanes.

And I am very grateful for all of that.

I'm also spending countless hours trying to understand the new paradigm where some of my favorite people live 3,000 miles away. I'm trying to imagine how an introverted, homebody kind of a mother who has always understood that "acts of service" is her love language (how she gives and how she receives) and everything is about showing up even begins to wrap her brain around the cosmic shift in her household. 

I'm the mama who always hid Going West so we wouldn't have to read that one. 

Even then, I think I knew. 

Tonight, I read Going West to Sarah at bedtime. We both cried.

Monday night, we'll take turns reading aloud from Little House on the Prairie--right after we FaceTime with Lucy.

Take this Cup

I’ve fallen on my face fairly frequently lately. That part, I seem to have mastered. Like Jesus in Gethsemane, I’ve come to the end of myself. I can’t see, like He does, the suffering that lies ahead. That’s definitely God’s good design, because I’m sure if last year at this time I could see all the way to this year, I’d have been terrified. All I see is what is directly in front of me. Still, I throw myself facedown and pray with all my heart. Something happens here, in the facedown position. Grace is poured. I don’t always recognize it at once, but it’s there.  (Please read the rest here)

To falter, to fail, to find Him

It’s time for the familiar, seasonal conversation. Every year, it’s about the same, just with different combinations of children. They talk about what to give up for Lent. They weigh one thing against another, testing the viability of various options. They bounce ideas off one another, and they are honest in rejecting or applauding those ideas. One refrain always makes itself heard.

“No, I’m not going to do that. I could never stick to that for 40 days.”

“He’s right. That’s too hard. I tried it last year and couldn’t do it.”

And then it’s my turn to weigh in. If you can’t do it, if you really, really know that you can’t possibly do it, that’s exactly what you should do. Go ahead. Set yourself up for failure.

 When the time comes that you falter and you stumble and you do the thing you expressly resolved not to do, you will see what it is to come to the end of yourself. You will know that you have to reach the point where you need grace, and you will beg for it.

All the tricks and tips will present themselves at the beginning of Lent. Don’t want to eat chocolate? Don’t buy it, and make sure no one brings it into the house. Want to give up coffee? Stay away from Instagram between the hours of 6 and 10 a.m. lest you be tempted by all the carefully staged photos of foamy latte art. And all the tricks will fail if you have chosen your sacrifice well. The things of the world — the tricks and the tips — will sustain you only so long. Your soul will be filled only when it is emptied of worldly tricks and tips, emptied of your own resolve and good intentions, and looks to God to fill it.

People who don’t understand Lent object by saying that we are trying to live under God’s law, that it is unnecessary to observe Lent because Jesus already has done the work of salvation on the cross. We don’t have to work out our salvation with self-imposed suffering. He’s done it all. It is finished. We are saved.

They’re right, in a way. Lent teaches us that even if we wanted to, even if we were of iron will and utter devotion, we will break God’s law. We cannot keep it perfectly. We are a people born into sin, and there is no way out without God. For 40 days, every time we bump up against the struggle of making our sacrifice well, we are reminded of death in sin, and we look with hope toward Christ, who brings light and life to the darkness. Lent is precisely about making us aware that it is Jesus Christ, crucified, who has opened the gates of heaven.

This, then, is Lent: to falter, to fail, to find Him. Choose the hard thing, the thing that brings you to your knees, the thing that reminds you to ask again and again for His mercy and His grace. Choose the thing that will empty your soul of you and fill it with God. (It’s likely that is not chocolate.) Let Lent teach you the places you will fail, the places where you are frail. Let it remind you that you are dust and to dust you will return. Let it break you and bring you down. Let it find you kneeling in the dirt — soft, yielding, fertile dirt that will bloom in time with Easter glory. Let it empty you of your weak and weary self and fill you with His strength.

Gathering my Thoughts on the Eve of Lent.

Outside my window:  It's snowing--a soft, sweet, sort of wimpy snow.

Listening to: kitchen sounds as my children fix themselves lunch..

Clothing myself in: Yoga pants and a Mason soccer sweatshirt. I've worn a variation of this almost every day since the beginning of January. And I've gone almost nowhere since the beginning of January:-)

Talking with my children about these books:  Christian is taking an intensive class on the Civil War. He's reached out for some help, so Stephen and Nick are jumping in to provide community. We're all talking about Uncle Tom's Cabin this week.

And, of course, we're stocking the book baskets with these perennial favorites for the Lent and Easter season.

In my own reading: I've just cracked open The Awakening of Miss Prim. Looking very forward to it. One thing on the my list of things I will cherish this Lent (CHERISH is the word for 2016) is reading from books chosen for me. I spend a whole lot of time reading with my kids, even my adult kids. I know I need to not neglect the dimension that is fed by personal reading. I'll keep you posted.

The Importance of Being Little: What Preschoolers Really Need From Grownups arrived today. I was so excited about this book when I pre-ordered it last fall. I think I may wait a bit on reading it now, though. For the first time in my adult life, there are no preschoolers. It's been a long time since I taught preschoolers in a classroom.  Mine own sweet preschoolers are grown well beyond that age. And after having our favorite baby and then toddler come hang out without us several days a week for a couple of years, we are soon to settle into the new normal of watching her become a preschooler via Skype. I don't really have the heart to read this book just now.

Mary Beth has a whole school of preschoolers keeping her busy these days. Perhaps I will borrow them in time;-). 

Thinking and thinking: Oh, about things too tender to share. 

Pondering: “The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.”
--Anna Quindlen

Carefully Cultivating Rhythm: This has been an odd winter rhythm. It is punctuated by the gurgle of the vaporizer and broken by unexpected spasmodic coughing. It's been six weeks since the first diagnosis and antibiotic. I don't really want to settle into a rhythm of being intentional about these days because I still go to bed every night thinking the next day will be "all better" day. I believe in the sanctity of suffering and the holy ground of plans gone awry. I'm praying I understand what God desires from me in the time I spend recovering. One thing that I think about as I sit mostly silently (still laryngitis), is what God hopes I hear in this bubble made quiet by my silence. I had so many clear, well-defined goals for this year. This year has barely started and those plans have been mostly blown away. For several weeks, this unrelenting re-writing has rocked me. Now, though, I'm beginning to understand that building it all again from scratch when I have no strength for such a task, leaves God able to do what He will. I cannot think it an accident that Lent begins tomorrow and with it, Restore.  Two years ago, I wrote Restore--it is where I was (and still am) sure I heard God most clearly. Now, it sits waiting for me, ready to walk me through restoration and healing. I'd love it if you join me.

Creating By Hand:  Katie and I are giddy with excitement over beginning to share Scripture time with one another using these. She has literally been counting the days. Today was to be the day, but it looks like it's been delayed a week or so. All in God's time, right? That's the theme.

Learning lessons In: Mama guilt. I think midlife for women is marked by "What did I do?" or "What could I have done differently?" When we are open to life, to bringing these new people into the circle of our lives without reservation and pouring ourselves into them with reckless abandon, we think they'll know--always know--how precious they are and how much we want for us to always be US, across time and space and generations. We learn that they make their own decisions and their own mistakes. They choose different priorities and different paths. Again and again, I hear women saying, "Wait? This doesn't work? This intentional, life-giving mothering to which I've dedicated all my childbearing years?" They're surprised that grown children reject family values or seem not the least inclined to buy into the vision or even the faith of their parents. And women feel terribly guilty. They are sure it's something they did wrong. Not so, at least not to the degree we beat ourselves with it. When they start the conversation--begin to talk with other women--women with grown children learn they're not alone. Not at all. And they begin to understand that it's not their fault. Children grow up to be adults who make their own choices. There is peace in letting go of Mama Guilt. Mama Sorrow?  That's another story. Sorrow comes with the afternoon of mothering. It is what happens when you raise a child and live long enough to see her go wherever she chooses and do whatever she believes. So, yay for living long!

Encouraging learning in: Civil War studies. Here are my notes. We'll adapt.

Keeping house: The Jesse Tree is still up. It's coming down today, a final admission that I will not be well enough to read aloud all the stories I wanted to share. I left it up because we never finished before Christmas, so I thought I'd grant myself some grace and just finish up in January. Okay then, but I didn't have a voice at all in January. It's time to hide the Alleluia. We shall concede that the Jesse Tree didn't happen this year. Hide the Alleluia. Pack away the Jesse Tree. Move on to the next season. It's a theme:-)

Crafting in the kitchen: For tonight,we are all about Fat Tuesday. Waffles and sausage and whipped cream, oh my!

To be fit and happy: Hah! A sweet friend encouraged me at the beginning of the year with a membership at Run the Year. I haven't tracked a mile since January 7. However, that gift is a treasure. I still have every intention to run the year. It will happen. Let's see how God lets it be so.

Giving thanks: For a good weekend with my youngest boys. Patrick, Nick, Stephen, and I watched the Super Bowl together at my dad's. Then, Stephen and Nick and I went to Lynchburg on Monday. While the boys did a campus visit, Ginny and I had a lunch visit with Ann. I cannot overstate how grateful I am for my time with my boys and my time with two women who hear my heart even when my words are soft and strained.

Loving the moments: I will forever treasure Nicholas' enthusiasm yesterday afternoon. He was so excited about what the next few years could hold for him and it was such a happy thing to see hope shine in his eyes.

Living the Liturgy: Lent, my friends. We shall hide the Alleluia and talk together about what we hear God calling for us this year. My children know that sometimes, you don't really get to choose your Lent. Life brings with it suffering beyond the sacrifice of chocolate. And they know (even the littlest one) that this season will undoubtedly have some of that for them. So we talk today, about how to suffer well and how Jesus walks with us in every season, tenderly binding wounds and restoring souls. 

I intend to share the season with you in the most raw, honest way this medium allows. Please take a moment or two to read what I am offering and maybe to watch the video we made? 

Planning for the week ahead: Mike comes home today. He's been gone ten days! He has a date tomorrow morning to have breakfast with Sarah and Mary Beth at the Montessori school. I have very little on my calendar. I'm looking forward to getting to know some new friends as Restore begins tomorrow and I'm looking forward to slowly getting back into the groove of caring for my home and family. Only as He wills...

All photos are the kindness of Katie Foss

To Create a Home {and a giveaway}

I sat in a college town coffee shop early in January, waiting out the time while Patrick was in surgery, and spent some fortifying hours reading the reviewer's copy of a gem of a book. In the past few years, I've given a lot of thought to the role of women, particularly the role of women in a family. My own motherhood has been influenced more by one woman than any other. That woman is strong believer in home and a great encourager of women to invest their hearts and their time and their talent into the creation of a lifegiving home. She has mentored me and cheered me on since I was a very young mother. Her words, her voice, and her company are treasures of my heart.

That heart is battered these days--weary, worried, wondering. Did I invest too much here at home? Is the pervasive culture the one which will prevail? Will it mock me with the lofty dreams and the careful intentions standing stark against the brokenness of our realities as children grow into young adults? All families have cracked and broken places. I think, perhaps, I thought I could craft a home that would not. 

I believe in home.

Some days, I need to be affirmed in that belief.

My lovely mentor, wise and gentle, has done that so beautifully in her new book. With this book, in carefully crafted prose, Sally Clarkson has taken all the teachings of all these years and said, Yes, I know, this is going to be rough in spots and you will even stumble and fall, but keep going. Keep keeping on. This is worth doing. This matters for eternity.  And when she tells me to keep on, I find myself fortified to tell my children to keep on.

What makes this book really special is the voices of two generations. Sally shares her mothering experiences and all the love she invested in her home, and her daughter Sarah, now grown, offers her perspective. There, in the exquisite language of Sarah's heart, we hear the fruits of Sally's labors. We hear the richness of a young woman raised in an extraordinary home of love and grace. Want to know why this all matters so much? Ask Sarah. She'll tell you. 

During my time in the coffee shop with The Lifegiving Home: Creating a Place of Belonging and Becoming, I put ink to paper and copied quotes worth keeping so that I can read them again and again. Today, I'm sharing them with you. I think these quotes will give you a glimpse of the true treasure that is this book. Brew yourself a cup of something warm and read slowly. When you're finished, leave a comment and let me know what you're thinking. You'll be entered to win a free copy of the book. I have THREE to give away. Isn't that very kind?

SALLY SAYS:

I reach hearts by cooking meals, by washing sheets and fluffing pillows, by reading a favorite book one more time even though I have it memorized.

It is not the indoctrination of theology forced down daily that crafts a soul who believes; it is the serving and loving and giving that surround the messages where souls are reached.

Food is the universal language that eases hearts to open, tying secure knots of intimacy while satisfying bodily hunger, weaving tiny threads of kindred needs into friendship, camaraderie, and truth.  

When we choose to feast together—take the trouble to make each meal, however humble, an occasion for mindfulness and gratitude—we acknowledge God’s artistry and provision and draw closer to Him as well.

“This is why I came home. I knew you all would fill me back up…” –Sally quoting Joel

 Love can heal so many wounds, and that healing often happens best in a protected environment.

 We never allowed our less-than-perfect house to keep us from inviting people in.

 It’s never quite the way we imagine it will be.

 The lives of most people I know have become increasingly fast paced, and our habits are increasingly drawn into the trivial. We read less and use Facebook more. We spend more time inside than out. We have access to more information than we’ve ever had, and yet we understand less and less. We allow the habit of busyness to replace our habits of prayer and Scripture reading. It is only natural that in the hustle and bustle of family life, craziness easily overwhelms the calm we need so badly. In our modern, consumerist culture, sometimes it seems nearly impossible to find that center.

 Wilderness experiences leave us parched, and through them God teaches us patience, trust, and compassion for others

 The more we practice remembering the story of God’s goodness, the better we can remember that, in Him, all will eventually be well.

 Our home culture has become richer because of the people we have folded into it.

 When I focus not on performance or perfection but on joy, gratitude, and service, everything seems to fall into place.

SARAH SAYS:

The goodwill of mothers is like the goodwill of God.

Home is the shelter where the lonely find rest and the sorrowing come to be comforted.

…home isn’t a place where loneliness never happens, but a place where loneliness is transformed.

Gratitude, in its very essence, yearns to give.

Through technology we have the ever-present hurry of the unsleeping modern world, and if we do not forge strong rhythms of rest and spaces of sacred quiet, that...frenzy will invade our homes and steal the life within.

The point of home is to be a refuge for the soul, a place where beauty can be encountered, truth told, goodness touched and known.

…home is the place where love makes us welcome, a shelter from which we will not be expelled.

…the cultivation of quiet spaces allows the souls within a home to take refuge in silence.

If you want to hear God speak, you need to have quiet time with Scripture. If you want to write a song, a novel, or a poem, you need to draw away and listen to all that echoes in your soul.

… it is only in the hushed spaces that we can clearly hear all that echoes in quiet skies, in the eyes of children, in our own inner voices.

…the sharing of a story accelerates the comradeship of souls.

When people inhabit a realm of imagination together, it’s inevitable that a bit of each person’s imagination and spirit is revealed to the others who sojourn in that marvelous placeA well-stocked kitchen is life for the body, but a library stocked with stories to share is eternal nourishment for the soul.

How joyous a thing it is to then arrive on the doorstep of a home whose windows are golden with waiting light, where soup is on the stove and the cupboard is stocked against any number of unexpected storms.

God grant that my home be such a shelter, a refuge whose windows are alight in welcome, drawing the lonely and wandering in from the cold.

Imagination is the first step to creation, the instigating spark that drives the actions of a hero. 

{{And if you want some more encouragement to restore your heart and home this Lent, please join us here.}}