all these mother days

Sunday was The Day, I know. But really, around here, it wasn’t a big deal. Mother’s Day, schmothers day.

I left my sick husband at home and the three boys and I went to church. Just me on the back row and the boys scattered throughout the room and I really just wanted to be done with it and go home, to tell you the truth. Not feeling so joyful and lovely that Mother’s Day, to tell you the truth.

So I sit and stand and sing and pray when I’m told to, and I close my eyes and drift a little, there on the back row with everyone in front of me.

And then the older kids’ class is called to the front, two of my boys with them, and they stand in a line to share a Mother’s Day poem with us. Carter had been practicing his lines that morning, and he’d debated with himself over changing a word or two to make it a little less mushy. Whatever you want, I’d said, and when it was his turn to speak he included his revisions. That’s how he rolls.

Then it was Colton’s turn, tall boy up there at the front, and he didn’t say anything but only looked up from his paper and his eyes glanced around the room.

He’s nervous? He’s lost his place in the poem? He’s holding the wrong paper?

My thoughts immediately went to what’s wrong and oh no and I fretted for him.

But then his eyes found mine, and he spoke his lines deliberately, one by one, straight across the room past all the other people and directly into my mother heart.

And love found me, there on the back row, on Mother’s Day.

my Colton on a spring morning

 

from Dad: thoughts on Mother’s Day

Grandma making buns with Carter

Mother’s Day: We got up early because she was doing what mothers with loving hearts often do – getting ready to serve others.

We went to bed late because she was doing what mothers with loving hearts often do. We were visiting friends. He’d received word on Saturday that his brother had unexpectedly passed away. There was a need to visit, to eat pizza, to look at an ongoing project and to just be there.

In between we went to early church, worshipped, visited with people and came home to finish preparing dinner. A friend who’d had surgery on Friday to remove a brain tumor was our guest. As our family and his family sat around our kitchen table we were blessed by his wonderful attitude, enthusiasm and faith.

Mother’s day:  It was busy. She did receive some flowers from a daughter. There were some texts, cards and a phone call, but the mother in our house was busy serving others. These are the things I learned:

God is good and family is important.

He doesn’t keep us from experiencing difficulties but He extends His grace if we do –  often that grace is extended in human form.

I am blessed by the “grace extender” that lives in our house.

 

thinking about mothers on Mother’s Day eve

I’m blogging over at How to Homeschool High School today, sharing some thoughts about this whole mother thing. Hope you’ll join me there.

 

for when it seems a little stale

I’m packing up the notes and the clothes and the hairspray, laundry on the go and a list running through my head, and I have twenty minutes, barely, to sit down here and scatter a few words on the screen. And all I can think to say is … help.

I know you know what I mean. I know you’ve been there, too. Maybe you are there right now?

It’s one of those times when there is more to do than there is time to do it, but I still want to do it all well.

There are women giving up their tomorrow, their Saturday – a day of doing whatever else they could be doing – to come and hear my two friends and I share a message of story and community and women working together, and I’m feeling a little scattered.

It’s not like I haven’t shared this before. I’ve stood behind other microphones in front of other rooms full of women, but this weekend, can I say, it feels a little stale.

I’ve said these words a thousand times already, is what it feels like.

And I don’t want a bunch of women giving up their Saturday for stale.

And my husband is sick and the yard needs to be raked and there are a pile of things that will be waiting for me when I get back home on Saturday night. A busy, busy Sunday and a Monday class for which I’ve not finished my reading, and the kids have their big drama performance in Regina on Wednesday. And to borrow an expression from my UK friend, Fay, the house is a tip. And, and, and …

I know you know what I mean. I know you’ve been there, too. Maybe you are there right now?

Might I ask, if you have a minute, that you say a little prayer for me? And I will say one for you.

A prayer for fresh words, fresh life, fresh ministry.

A fresh breeze to blow away the stale. Sounds nice, yes?

 

a from-Easter-to-Pentecost thought

I am reading this story for, oh, about the seven thousandth time in my life, but this time I don’t get beyond this first paragraph. My eyes stop here, and my heart stops, too.

I know this story. I’ve listened to countless sermons that have emphasized all manner of different points along this Jerusalem-to-Emmaus journey. The unknowing travelers, the request for Jesus to stay longer with them, the irony of speaking face to face with the man they thought was dead, the immediate return to Jerusalem once they realized who He was.

Today, though, I can’t get past the first paragraph…

 I am guest posting today on Rob Still’s blog, where he has been doing a series of devotions during this Easter-to-Pentecost season. Please stop in if you have time, and read the rest of this post and Rob’s other devotions in this series while you are there.

Rob is a worship guy. Its what he studies and workshops and blogs about. You’ll enjoy getting to know him, I think, at RobStill.com.

 

girl friends

We are on our way, my husband and the boys and I, to visit friends. Specifically, to visit my husband’s friend (who is my friend, too) and his wife (who I have not met). It’s a long drive and we’ll be there for the weekend, and on the way I make him promise not to leave me alone with her. The friend’s wife, I mean.

I know; it’s confusing.

But it’s because I don’t know her yet, you see, and this girl friend thing is not always easy. Maybe she won’t like me. Maybe we will have nothing in common. Maybe we won’t be able to talk to each other. Maybe she’ll think I’m a small town, frumpy, stay-at-home-mom with outdated clothes and poor social skills who spends her days baking bread and quilting.

I’m not always good with girls. Being girl friends can be hard. It can feel like a competition or something. I think it’s me.

So in my insecurity I make him promise me some safety.

I promise, he says. And when I keep looking at him, impressing on him the seriousness with which I am taking this, he repeats, with emphasis, I promise.

Okay, I say. Don’t forget.

We arrive and meet and the weekend rushes by and we talk and laugh and she nods in agreement when I say something about being married to a crazy dreamer guy, and we share some God talk and some family talk and stay up too late and talk some more and it’s all lovely, and I leave thinking I’ve made a new friend.

What a gift.

What a treasure it is, to make a friend, and I shake my head at my foolishness.

Today I will meet a girl friend for lunch. I’ll talk on the phone with another and I’ll text a few, and I’ll spend some time preparing for a Saturday full of them. A room full of girls, and it honestly makes me a little nervous, but I’ll remember what I’ve learned.

That most of us feel the same insecurities, and most of us really want to be each other’s friends.

 

a little reminder to breathe

I’m finding myself a little breathless these days.

Rushing, planning, considering. It can feel sometimes like life is just about dodging obstacles.

But it’s not. I’ve been reminded, yet again, that it’s important from time to time to stop and take a breath. To slow my pace and step carefully and look around. To raise my head from whatever it is that I think is rushing toward me and to really see where I am. Right now.

Today I am slowing my pace. I am taking my time as I travel this sunrise-to-sunset. I’m conscious of the words I’m writing and the clothes I’m washing and the food I’m cooking. Being present, as they like to say these days.

Today I am stepping carefully. I’m watching where I put my feet, trying to avoid damaging anything in my way. Carefully lavish with my words and my hugs, and cautious of what might bruise or hurt or crush.

Today I am looking around. My eyes are fresh to the view. These big/little people in my life. This home. This work. All these minutes of sacredness and love and joy. I’m overwhelmed by the scenery of my life. Truly.

This is my journey today. Not a breathless race. Not urgency or emergency or a great long list, but a renewing, restful walk.

God, my shepherd! I don’t need a thing. You have bedded me down in lush meadows, you find me quiet pools to drink from. True to your word, you let me catch my breath and send me in the right direction.

Psalm 23: 1-3 (MSG)