Category Archives: family

What Oklahoma Gave me: A Beginning

Posted on by
5

HouseCollage1

Hello from a laundry basket in the middle of our mostly empty living room floor.

I have a grapefruit sized lump in my throat that makes basic function tricky.

I can see the sun coming up through the oval leaded glass window on our front door and it rises on my last moments in this home.  (and it’s all soundtracked by Jamey Johnson’s “In Color“)  

(If it looks like we were scared to death like a couple of kids just trying to save each other… you should have seen it in color)

And suddenly I’m watching a music montage of my own life happening all around me Continue reading →

Cooking my way through Bread and Wine (A review of Shauna Niequist’s new book)

Posted on by
8
goat cheese

goat cheese scrambled eggs and potato pancakes in bed, ala Kel.

Shauna Niequist will always be one of my favorite authors. Her authentic style of essay/memoir blend played a big part in my development as a writer.

She will always be a gracious and unwitting big sister to me in the writing world, I like to pretend she dosn’t mind.

I got to meet her last fall at the STORY conference and I was such a spaz.  I nervously gushed all over her just after meeting Anne Lammott, It’s a wonder I didn’t pass out completely.  I said and did all the typical things ones says and does when meet a personal hero.  But Shauna was gracious about my fan-spasm and eventually my knees recovered from the Anne/Shauna experience.

So when I got the opportunity to receive an advance copy of Shauna’s new book Bread & Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table with Recipes , I jumped at the opportunity.  When it came I skipped from the mailbox to the couch and began to slowly digest every word.

As I moved through the chapters I added the recipes to our menu plan, one by one. They seemed to fit organically into our life, until one day I counted and I’d inadvertently cooked my way through half the book.

Food Collage 1

winter white bean soup, bacon wrapped dates and Nigellas brownies with cream cheese icing for St Patrick’s day.

At that point I decided to keep going, and to cook my way through the entire book, Julie and Julia style (with the exception of 4 recipes, most of which used wheat flour and wouldn’t work well for our GF family)

Why did I decide to do this?  I’m not sure exactly, it seemed like a fun goal and a great way to try new recipes.

Or perhaps I needed something to focus on other than all the unknowns of our impending move.

Or maybe somewhere inside I realized that my cooking rhythm had become rote and monotonous and I needed the creative new life held in these recipes. Continue reading →

On moving in, finding grace and moving on (a letter for the new woman of my house)

Posted on by
14

Dear Future Woman of this house,

I don’t know your name, I keep forgetting to look every time I sign yet another official document.

Your realtor told me you fell in love with this place instantly. I hope this was partly because of the architecture and partly because you felt the warmth we’ve cultivated here.  I’ve been praying that this home would invite just the right family in to stay. People who would love doing life here as much as we have, who would appreciate the sunsets and gather around the table with hunger and gusto.

I know you’re planning on painting the red wall in the living room, I don’t blame you, I’ve being wanting to do it for a few years now. Red seemed like such a great idea five years back but color schemes have cooled down a lot. I was going to paint it a gray/aqua, just a suggestion because of course, it’s your house now. Or it will be in a few short weeks.

home truth

I know you’re excited and you probably want to get everything perfect as soon as humanly possible. You might, like I did, think that a beautiful home is one that’s pristinely clean and tastefully decorated all the time, but it’s not.  One thing that I’ve learned in my five years as a homeowner is that a home is always a work in progress and that the beauty is in the life contained within the house more than the artwork on the walls.

Just as we souls are never finished, neither is a home. There is always work to be done, make peace with this as soon as you can.

I’ve heard that you plan to bring babies home into these walls, this makes me smile broadly because this is a wonderful place to snuggle newborns.  I’ve walked through the white, leaded-glass door with two brand new lives, carrying in my heart all the excitement and fear that comes alongside motherhood.

I nursed new babies half asleep in a glider and walked trails into the carpet soothing their newborn needs.  We woke up in the middle of the night to their cries over and over again, we still do.  You’ll find the hallway layout is such that you don’t really need a monitor, but we installed one anyway and watched their every crib movement from only 12 feet and one wall away.

I learned about sacrifice and selflessness in this house and I suspect that you will too. The first years of marriage are hard and adjusting to marriage with kids doesn’t come naturally either. The living room has seen arguments and make-out sessions the likes of which you wouldn’t believe.

The kitchen walls were splattered with cookie dough one Christmas after a fight over using whole wheat flour in cookies (which I’ve learned isn’t worth the extra fiber.)  I sat in the car with wet socks stewing in anger but I never left home.

The driveway is a good place to cool down, but as soon as you can go back inside.  Always go back inside and keep working at loving well.

This home is a place for staying but it’s also a place to for going somewhere.  Every season will give way to a new one and lessons learned add up to progress and depth.  As you stay within these walls, you’ll move and change as a family in ways that you never imagined.  No home leaves you the same, who knows where this home may take you?

Oh and use the tub, use it frequently and often.  I’ll leave you tips on cleaning it and the shower as well.  I may as well pass it on and make your life a little easier, who wants to clean the bathroom any more than they have to?  Nobody, that’s who.

But mostly, If I could offer you one piece of advice, if these walls could whisper one word to you it would be this:  Grace sister, just grace.

Grace and deep breaths as you get everything settled and make it feel like home, your own brand new home.  Grace as you hang wedding pictures and order just the right curtains.  Grace as you tuck into bed exhausted and discouraged that you didn’t get it all done.  Tomorrow is another day, remember a home is never finished.

May new life come easily to you. May you find grace in your pregnancy and peace in your impatience to hold your new person.  Put your feet up and breathe deeply again in this season, love it as best you can.  Oh and remember:  Babies don’t care what color the walls are or how well-themed the nursery is, babies just want to eat, sleep and feel love.

Grace as you learn that you can’t get nearly as much done with children as you could before.  May your standards lower and may you make peace with it, may you learn to rethink your definition of a successful day.

Oh and when they start walking I recommend moving out the coffee table for a while to foster a safe space for toddling and exploration, trust me the cute coffee table books aren’t worth the banged up baby foreheads.

But really, it’s your house now, in a few short weeks I’ll turn in my keys and this place that seems like it’s been my home forever will become your future and my memory.  A bittersweet moving on for us and a joyful coming home for you.  

Grace. Shalom. Blessings.

Graceful Elephant Eating

Posted on by
8

Can I follow Monday’s post up with a post about moving anxiety?  Okay thanks.

It’s Wednesday morning and the rain is tapping noisily on my window.  I’m sipping my coffee with special almond cashew creamer as Caedmon lays in the other room watching Little Einsteins. This is the only way I will get some me time in this morning because the cat woke him up with his obnoxious morning song just moments after my feet hit the floor at 6AM.

We have a termite and septic inspection today and then an overall home inspection tomorrow. Last night the kids helped with this by coloring all over the dining room area while I was busy getting dinner in the oven.

Then just before bed, Caedmon clogged the bathroom sink with toilet paper and ran the water until it overflowed onto the counter.

We move in three weeks and I have only three boxes packed, just three. Kel works every evening this week and is out of town next week for an extremely exciting job interview.

When he gets home from the interview we will have only two weeks until the big move… and … Dang… That’s not a lot of time to uproot a family of four after five years of settling into every nook and cranny.

You have no idea how desperately I want to hide in the closet with a book and pretend that all this pressing work of sorting and packing isn’t looming over me like an evil piñata.

My Pastor Zac has a phrase that always comes to mind when I’m facing overwhelming tasks:  How am I going to get it done?  The same way I would eat an elephant: One bite at a time.

elephant

I have no doubts that I’ll be a mess of crazy as we load the truck, I’ll try to hide it with bad jokes and nervous laughter but I’ll be on the verge of stress tears.  I’ll be giving things away left and right and throwing crap through the back door like a madwoman, anything to be done packing.

Yet I know that the moment will come when we pull the truck away with bittersweet tears and begin the slow, three day journey from one home to another, it will get done one way or another.

And I know something else, they’re just boxes and it’s just stuff, only a few things in this house matter and the rest can be replaced at Target or thrift stores.

Last night as I tucked Caedmon into bed he requested I sing him Amazing Grace and as I did he surprised me by knowing every word of the first two verses.  I melted into a puddle as his beautiful, tiny two-year old voice sang those words along with me.

Tis Grace that brought be safe thus far, and Grace will lead me home.

Grace will lead us home, Grace will pack the boxes, Grace will load the truck…

The tiny little man in the crib is what’s real, the rest of it’s just boxes.  One step at a time, one bite at a time we will gracefully eat the elephant that is our big move.

Oh Praise the one who causes the baby sing and the Pastor use ridiculous metaphors.

How do you tackle the big stresses?  Any moving tips?  Will you all be my moving support team for the next three weeks and be okay with my crazy?

Quilting my womanhood

Posted on by
5

One of my favorite modern theologians is Rich Mullins, I get this from my Dad, who I believe has coffee with Rich on a regular basis.  In my heaven they’re buds, don’t challenge my doctrine please and thank you.

One of my favorite quotes from Rich Mullins is this:  “I think, writing-wise, I am probably more of a quilter than a weaver because I just get a little scrap here and a little scrap there and sew them together.”

I adore the idea of quilting l and I’ve found that this quote rings true, not only for writing but  parenting, cooking, reading, self-image and marriage as well.

We truly are quilters, gathering scraps from each other and sewing them into the fabric of our lives, piecing together something entirely new.

I made my first quilt of sorts this past weekend, an easter skirt for Noelle. I cut and gathered scraps of fabric and pieced them together to make up the swirly bottom of the skirt.  I used some new patterns from the local quilt store and some leftovers from my rainbow suitcase of fabric, a huge old trunk full of scraps all lined up and waiting to be repurposed.

There is something magical about taking a little stack of squares and creating something harmonious, all the fabrics singing together like a choir.  Suddenly you take it off the machine and you’ve created something entirely new and original and completely whole.

It’s not “less than lovely” because it’s comprised of found materials, rather it’s more beautiful for the patchwork, more interesting for the hodgepodge.

Lately I’ve spent a lot of time thinking of my sense of womanhood as a quilt and reflecting on all the different pieces I’ve collected over the years.  Every session I spend in reflection leaves me a touch more thankful and inspired.

Growing up with an overwhelmed and depressed mom left me confused about it means to be a woman and to be honest, I didn’t want to be one.  I hid my body and balked at the though of someone referring to me as a woman rather than a girl.

I thought that womanhood may undo me, that any bumps and bruises would mar my heart for life.  I saw myself as weak and unworthy.

I remember the first time I consciously added a scrap to my quilt of womanhood. I was working at Asbury Seminary for two woman, both named Tammy. They were strong and lovely, brave and hilarious, gracious and intelligent.  They were both single and raising three kids after difficult divorces.  To my surprise they didn’t live their lives in despair, there wasn’t an ounce of bitterness, only a vibrant zest for life and God.

Since then I have been gathering scraps here and there, so many friends and bloggers have become unwitting mentors and spiritual mothers to me.

I’ve quilted the way my friend Sandy thoughtfully loves her people
The way my Aunts weave God into every conversation
The way my Grandma prays for her grandkids and gathers us as a close-knit family
Sarah Bessey’s gentle mothering
Rachel Held Evan’s brave quest to bring truth
Anne Bogel’s intentional take on life

The list doesn’t stop here, so many women have given me valuable lessons that I’ve sewed into my quilt, God has used so many of you to teach me what it means to be a fully alive daughter.

For too long I thought I was just a little sister copy-cat of better mothers, writers and women.  Always running behind them, doing what they’re doing, hoping to be notices and deemed acceptable.

quilt pic

This weekend as I gathered and stitched together the squares I realized that all fabric is woven from existing threads.  Nothing starts out whole, it’s woven from something else.  We are all quilters. This doesn’t makes us boring copy cats, this practice of scrap gathering is a beautiful practice indeed.

As we gather and stitch, the pieces becomes so many and the pattern so wild that each quilt is something entirely new and breathtaking.

A daughter living out her God-woven gifts is one of the most lovely experiences on earth.

Through our mothering, singing, painting, doctoring, writing, cooking, teaching, quilting we bring God to life through our hands and he is truly worshipped.

Suddenly money, square feet, job titles, marital statuses and dress sizes don’t define us but rather the very act of glorifying God through the fabric of our souls.

You are not a copy cat, we’re all quilts friends and we were made to give and take scraps from each other, to mentor each other by simple proxy.

You are a part of my quilt and I am flattered beyond words for the gift of your scraps.

Tell me about your quilt, who do you love to gather scraps from?  

How to eat Humble Pie on Palm Sunday

Posted on by
7

Cross palms

I was born into a traditional Christian Reformed church where my family were charter members. I still remember the crazy confetti carpet, the stained glass windows and the padded wooden pews.

I remember getting into major trouble for turning on the organ and banging away one afternoon during children’s choir practice.

I remember gazing longingly into the Sunday school reward case and wishing I’d have done more of my Bible Memory so I could get a Noah’s Ark cup or Jonah pencil.

I remember realizing in horror that I’d picked my nose while the Sunday school sang Happy Birthday to me. I beat myself up over this for years and always saw it as the turning point of my popularity at school.  I was sure they all knew.

Eventually my parents switched to a more contemporary church.  This was fine with me, I was never quiet enough to sit through the service un-spanked.  That’s why my Dad eventually started giving me a roll of Mentos before the service, I couldn’t be half as noisy if I were chewing candy until the Doxology finally announced my freedom. 

At our new church our pastor used videos in his sermon clips we ate cookies and lemonade around tables during the sermon. I swore that I’d never return to anything remotely traditional again.  I was done with hymns and responsive reading, on to bigger and better things.

In my early twenties I left that church and went to an even more progressive church the next town over. It was at that point that I really thought that “this way” was the “right way” and that all the others were clearly doing it “wrong.”

I threw around words like “post-modern” constantly just in case people weren’t 100% sure that I was “in-the-know.”  I was feisty and argumentative and more than a little arrogant.  I railed at the idea of marrying a Methodist pastor and tensed up at the thought of being contained by a denomination.

And I was young and wrong, too busy claiming this new church and faith as my own that I failed to see how un-Christian my words and behavior really were. I spent a ridiculous chunk of my twenties giving very little grace to other churches, or to myself for that matter.

Now that I’m older I want to go back and shake 22 year old me. I want to tell her that the name on the sign, however modern, post modern or traditional doesn’t define the church, the people inside it do.

I want show that girl that she’s a fool for throwing the baby out with the bath water when it comes to church tradition. Because whether we sing hymns or contemporary songs, gather in sanctuaries or experience rooms, listen to TV pastors or those wearing robes we all bear in our hearts a need for the very same God who shatters any such constraints.  

Don’t worry, I eat regular bites of humble pie over that season, God makes sure of it.  These days my usual station on Pandora is the “Instrumental Hymn” station.  Something about the soft sweetness of souls seeking God through those words makes me feel connected to something far greater than myself.

Today found me a bit too sick to make our home church so my husband Kel too the kids for a visit to another wonderful church down the road.

He sent me a picture of Caedmon, walking down the aisle of the enormous sanctuary, waving a palm branch with a tentative grin on his face.  When I saw it something inside me burst, there was my son engaging in a tradition that goes back as far as I can remember.

His view of Jesus is already being formed by a Palm Branch on a Sunday morning he’s not likely to remember but that will be a brick in his faith journey.  

I burst with Joy that my children are engaging in a practice that started back on the first Palm Sunday, with a young boy not so different from Caedmon who sat around a table listening to stories about God and salvation.  Who stood in a street waving a Palm branch because wondering if perhaps his salvation, his freedom was right before his eyes.

Today I lay another piece of my arrogance aside and pray that in every way shape and form may our churches may be like the streets of Jerusalem were that day: a place where God’s people from 2 – 102 can wave their hands at the freedom their souls are finding in that man right in front of them, riding on a donkey.

What Mama Did: The Song and The Dance

Posted on by
6

I’ve been spending the week reading LisaJo Baker’s series, “What Mama Did.”  Lisa invited some friends to share their stories of what their mothers did that left a mark on them.

What are we doing as mothers that will leave a mark upon our kids? Perhaps it’s not what we think.  Tell me all about what your mama did that made her yours…. 

It’s been bittersweet for my heart to read through these this week, an odd mix of joy and jealousy.  So many of the lovely memories my Mom endeavored to make for us were marred by her mental illness and eventual suicide.

Yet the longer I spend on my own motherhood journey, the deeper I understand my own mother, it this this is a universal experience for all parents.

The more I reflect on our memories together, the more I uncover the truth of who she really was.

As I dig into my past I emerge with pearls, moments where she was exactly the woman God created her to be, nearly free from the depression that gnawed too often on her heart.

I’ve already told you about the warmth of enjoying her muffins on the rug and the way she would curl up and read books with me, both of the memories are precious to me.

Dancing-Feet-300x225 Yet this week I’ve been reflecting on my Mother’s singing and dancing.

I remember vividly the gray plastic CD player that sat on our kitchen counter, and the cassette boom-box that preceded it.  Both of these devices were usually playing Celine Dion or Cynthia Clawson… a bit of Josh Groban in her later years.

They rarely played “kids music” because when mom sang and danced it was because something in the song freed her heavy spirit to do so.

Something in weaving of THOSE words set to THAT music left her no choice but to dance with us across the linoleum flooring.

She never sang without dancing, even if only with her hands.

I remember a childhood vacation that is completely soundtracked with my mother singingly “Earnestly, tenderly Jesus is calling.  Calling to you and to me, come home, come home all you are weary, come home!”

Or a car ride with her in college when she hijacked my Disney Hercules CD soundtrack and belted “Go the distance” over and over again.  ”I will find my way, I can do the distance! I’ll be there someday, if I can be strong.  I know every mile, will be worth my while…” 

When I re-read those lyrics, they tell me more now than they did at the time.  She needed to believe that Christ was calling her, that she could go on another day.

My Mom showed us the vulnerability of her soul through the lyrics of songs and the freedom of soul dancing, she taught us that words set to music can set you free.

She modeled the need to resonate with things, and to allow ourselves to become overwhelmed as our souls connected with something essential, eternal.

The freedom of the soul moving to words set to music, that’s what mama did.

 PS I did not know this was supposed to be a 5 minute friday when I started writing it Monday.  I should have.  Forgive me, I’ve been sussing through it all week.

These are my people, and they’re tall.

Posted on by
3

I love sharing our stories, and since it’s Thursday, not quite Friday, I thought I’d share a piece of mine to brighten your afternoon or evening… or morning really, any time of day will do.

So, my Dad was one of 5 children and I am one of 14 first cousins on that side of the family. 8 of us are married and have started a new generation of over a dozen gorgeous great-grandchildren.

When we get together, it’s a raucous party with all the trimmings including monkey bread and jello “salad.”

There are people everywhere you turn and I want to hug every one of them.  I usually do.

I love and adore my family, these cousins are some of my best friends and have been for as long as I can remember. We grew up in the same towns, went to the same schools, rode our bikes to each other’s houses and did nearly all our vacations together.

This close-knit bunch didn’t happen by happenstance, my Grandparents were intentional about it. They wanted their grandkids to be friends, they wanted a family who had their hands in each other’s lives, that played cards together and swapped stories over second helpings of blueberry buckle.

So they skipped fancy Christmas gifts in lieu of renting cottages to foster togetherness.

They planned simple camping trips where we took up 6 lots in a row and made tonka pizza pies.

They still send us all cards on every holiday, pray for each of us every day and know us all by heart.

I can’t write these words without tearing up.  These are my people, these souls are a huge part of the reason I became the woman I am today.

Because of them, life without parents is a lot less lonely than you’d think.

I fall in the middle of the pack of cousins, with all of the younger ones (besides my own siblings) coming from my Uncle Mike and Aunt Dawn’s family of four, three gorgeous blonde daughters and a sweet youngest son named Chad.

The three oldest girls are all in college (Calvin College) now, and playing basketball for the team, for the first and only time in their lives.  And their younger brother Chad is in the stands cheering them on, forever their number one fan.

You see, Chad was born with an undiagnosable mental handicap and it has shaped this family, for the better. He brings humility, joy and laughter to the table, his excitement for his sisters cannot be beat.

He’s one of Noelle’s favorite people and mine as well, every time we circle to pray as a family his enthusiasm is contagious.

He passed out the bubbles at our wedding, and instead of waiting until our sendoff he encouraged people to blow them right away.  This led to a whimsical, wonderful bubble-filled reception for Kel and I.

Today I want to share a video about this family and show you a bit of where I come from.  I hope it makes you grin as much as it does me.

Watch, smile… trust me.

Screen Shot 2013-02-21 at 1.58.32 PM

 

click the picture to watch a 3 minute video clip about an inspirational family.  

You guys, these are my people, aren’t they amazing?  Now you understand why I’m always a bit homesick.

Groundhogs Day (for when you wanna drive off a cliff)

Posted on by
Reply
Yup, life's like that.

Yup, life’s like that.

My amazing friend Hannah (read more about her at the bottom!) says that lately everyday of her life feels like Groundhog Day.  You know the movie where Bill Murray wakes up and does the same thing all over again, and again, and again, until he drives off a cliff?

 

Because if we’re honest, that’s what life feels like sometimes.  It feels like we’re making great efforts all day long only to fall asleep exhausted wondering if we’re making any this busyness is going anywhere at all.  And then… we get up and do it all over away.

(so put your little hand in mine….)

I wipe the same table so often it makes my head hurt.
I load the same dishwasher while saying the same things as I shoo the same kids out of the bottom rack.
I coerce my children to pick up the same toys off the same living room floor.
I cook meals that seem the same in the same pots at the same times.

And a lot of days I wonder about the smallness of my life, I know that in the grand scheme it amounts to so much but some days it feels like I’m stuck.

The other day I caught myself telling a friend that writing has been hard lately because I’ve exhausted all the inspiration I can find within these four walls.  I commented about how I needed to get out more and have some new experiences to stir up the creative juices.

And while new experiences, vacations and escapes are good, needed sometimes, I don’t think they’re the solution as often as we think.  So often when things are falling apart we think that we need to get away to fix things or find what we’re looking for.   Continue reading →

Water, Wash, Sanitize, Repeat. The motto of the sick house mama.

Posted on by
3

317955_522932647757_1296263072_n You Guys, what a week already!  And it’s only Wednesday for crying out loud…

Yesterday our 2 year old Caedmon landed in the hospital with the flu and febrile seizures.  I can say with absolute certainty that driving my seizing son to the hospital was one of the scariest and most intense moments of my life.

I felt so helpless and strong all at the same time, which makes no sense except for the fact that it does…

He’s doing a lot better now, no more seizures and the high fevers are thankfully just a memory.  In case you’re counting, thats three hospital visits in the last month, two in the ER and one surgery.

To say I have a new appreciation for my son would be a profound understatement.  If I get the flu it’s because I compulsively kiss those cheeks, all. the. time.

So now we have the flu and we’re passing it around, one by one.  Kel went down today and I’m not feeling 100% but as the mama, I must stay strong.  If you’ve never been the mom of a sick house, I’ll fill you in on the job description,

It’s basically: Water, Wash, Sanitize… repeat. Continue reading →