It is a gray day, but perfect for lighting candles throughout the house and wrapping oneself in an old homemade blanket. Everyone is sleeping--including Daniel--and I am content, knowing that we are safe and secure and together. I don't take such things for granted quite as much these days.

Yesterday, I laid in the grass while Gabriel and Bronwyn played nearby. Overhead the beautiful purple buds of our surprise lilac tree (we hadn't realized what it was until its blooms gave it away) waved gently in the breeze against a backdrop of clear, clear blue. I love north country skies.

As a girl, I never thought I would be so imperfect a person. In my mind's eye, I was going to grow up and be wonderful at and through whatever He might set before me; I sincerely hoped His plans included being a mom. I imagined my children--children with big blue eyes and infectious grins and great personalities. In this, I have not been disappointed. But in myself, I encounter disappointment. Often.

My frailty is so clear to me. I come face to face with it constantly in my efforts and in my squanderings; in my children's faces when I hurt them; in my husband when I fail him; in my lack of devotion and in my wrong motivations; in my inconsistancies and in my instability.

I wanted to be perfect. To this day, I try relentlessly to be perfect.

This is not His way.

I saw myself never missing a beat. To this day, I try relentlessly to never miss a beat.

This is not His way.

I laid in the grass, and I took comfort. In my dreams, I needed to be amazing. That was the only way they would
succeed. But in His dreams, I needn't be.

He knew that I wouldn't be able to handle the children He gave me, so He joined me with a husband who makes our family work. He knew I would use harsh and angry words with my children, so He gave me the gift of repentance. He knew I would try to drown myself in the waters of self-pity, so He gave me His Truth. He knew... He knew.

His way is Jesus.