the story of a tree

Two years ago, we were scrambling to get back in our house after 6 weeks of impromptu displacement, thanks to the discovery (and inconvenience) of lead-painted wood flooring layers beneath our wall-to-wall carpet. Due to the all-around scramble of moving back in, cleaning up sheetrock dust that seemed to appear out of nowhere every single day, wrapping gifts and doing last-minute shopping, we opted to just get a small one (honestly? I had wondered if we should skip it altogether, but fortunately for my kids, Daniel is always up for anything and was willing to do some high-and-low searching for a tree the week before Christmas).

It was such a quaint and special tree.
It was so easy.
In fact, it was so simple and pretty that we decided to go with a small tree again last year.

But we promised the kids that this year? This year we would get one that would reach to the ceiling.
We kept our promise and the sparkle of awe in their eyes has been worth every bit of extra hassle.

Arriving at the tree farm with great expectation

Measuring to make sure we filled up every inch of space that we could

Enduring cold noses and numb toes for the joy set before us

We found it!

Pausing for nourishment (or, at least, food) at the local diner before we move on

Bringing the beauty in

I'm pretty sure carrying a 10' tall tree from the top of the suburban and into the living room when you're 5'10" isn't as easy as he made it look

Lights!

Ornaments!

And, finally, the star!

The End.

 

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 2012 dawned clear and bright and early and with great excitement around our little yellow house. We do love holidays, after all!

Little girls excited about what clothes they would wear, boys eagerly packing "football gear" for a highly anticipated family turkey bowl, me relishing the joys of a day set before me with no agenda beyond being.

Breakfast was enjoyed in lovely morning sunlight. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade was watched while I soaked, trimmed, and painted 3 sets of little girl nails and a little babe napped. Baskets were filled with pies and breads and dip, jackets were hurriedly thrown on, and we were off!

A short jaunt down to my older sister's home for our first ever Thanksgiving celebration there.

From that point on, the day was just the kind of day I love: foosball and ping pong ball and pool, girls snuggled in a guest room bed watching Little Bear, gourmet cheese and crunchy apples and cranberry bread and coffee, candles and pretty china and Pilgrim place cards, pregnant sisters and far-away sister and little people everywhere, football outside and football on TV, mounds and mounds of all the best traditional foods, singing and laughing and playing games around the kitchen table.

At one point I looked around the room, full of many of the people who are nearest and dearest to my heart, and I felt so rich just to be able to know them all, let alone call them family.

This year:

I'm thankful for plenty.
I'm thankful for forgiveness for me.
I'm thankful for freedom to forgive others.
I'm thankful for lovely things.
I'm thankful for how He uses even hard things.
I'm thankful for His love.
I'm thankful for His plan.
I'm thankful for relationship with others, made possible because of relationship with Him.

I'm thankful for days like today, a pause in the routines and demands of regular life and activity; a chance to stop and truly take stock. He goes above and beyond, over and over and over again, in loving and relentless pursuit of my heart and devotion.

These are the gifts, He is the Giver.

May I never love what I receive more than I love the One from whom I am receiving.

 

Regrouping

Do you ever have that sensation that life is the dog and you are its tail?

Yeah.

Among many things I want to be doing that I haven't had time for of late is writing in this little space. I've got to say, I miss the pause that blogging seems to help me find. Whether anyone reads or not matters little to me; whether what's written is near and dear to my heart or just a mentioning of the details that make up my days is irrelevant; what means the most to me is simply the taking a little time to process.

I suppose for some people a lack of writing means an abundance of living. In my case, a lack of writing probably just means that my life is a bit out of control.

This school year has taken me for quite a ride. Don't get me wrong: I love each and every day of homeschooling my children. It's just that this year I have to say I'm not always feeling entirely on top of it!

And of course there are some moments I'd rather erase ("What number is this, Aubrey? You don't know? Try counting up to it, okay? Huh. You've got nothing? Well, it's seventeen. Okay? Okay. Now tell me, what number is this? You forgot? Already? That's okay, honey. It's seventeen. Got it? So tell me, what number is this? You forgot? Again? OHMYWORDIMGOINGTOLOSEMYMIND!").

But 99.9% of the time there is nothing I'd rather be doing and nowhere I'd rather be. And I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

I love my kids.
I like my kids.
They are my favorite people to spend time with.
Having a front row seat to all that they're learning and experiencing is worth every sacrifice and all the effort.

I'm having to readjust some priorities and figure out some new strategies. What worked last year isn't necessarily working this year. And, yes, I've been a bit slow in figuring out what does work.

It sure does all make me so thankful that the Holy Spirit is a present help. There are many days I've had to completely scrap everything I had planned to do what is needed. What a tough lesson for the slightly OCD, everything-must-fit-in-a-box, planner I naturally tend to be! And how good it is for me to get a grip and be flexible.

Prayerfully, I'm coming back to a more centered rhythm. Not because everything fits in a box now or because it's so controlled, but because I'm learning that what's needed really is what's worthwhile.

And in the meantime, to make up for months of no writing (apart from an occasional birthday shout-out to one of my precious kids-- no matter how busy things get I can't let those go because it's the closest thing they'll ever have to a baby book!), here's our fall in some pictures:

clockwise from L:
Bronwyn preparing a report on 1912 fashion on the Titanic; the 4 school kids bright and early on the first day of Friday School; Aubrey proudly holding her rendering of the Titanic while dressed as a first class passenger on our display night; building a model of the Titanic with Daddy; Claire, Gabriel, Aubrey, Bronwyn, and Jack on a field trip in the foothills of the Adirondacks

Elliot, Elliot, Elliot!
This boy makes me laugh, he makes me cry, he makes me want to pull out my hair, he delights me continually. He's seven months old, has three teeth (and a fourth on the way), is the most proficient "army crawler" I've had yet, moves from sitting to "crawling" and back freely, loves to "wrestle" and growl, nurses exclusively, is in love with his daddy, and has quite an aggressive personality.

We love food around here.
Cooking with new-to-us foods thanks to a Community Shared Agriculture program has been great fun.
Preserving food is something we all got in on this year in a greater way than previous years, and the fruits of our labor are very tangible ones: a cupboard filled to the brim with jars of strawberry jam, tomato juice, and applesauce, a chest freezer filled with locally grown meat and raspberries from our own bushes, and 100lbs of potatoes that I purchased from a nearby Amish woman cured and stored in the basement for the winter ahead.
On a daily basis, the kids love to help me cook dinner and will watch cooking shows with great delight. The beauty of a fresh lemon takes our breath away and we get downright giddy about cake!

   

I love making home.
I'm so thankful to have grown up in a home where we didn't just save the pretty napkins for company, where a simple meal of oatmeal was deemed worthy of candlelight and good conversation, where our bedrooms were well organized and our clothing thoughtfully purchased, where I was taught how to clean a bathroom and dust mop in the farthest corner. It's a privilege and an honor to now get to invest all of that into others.
Not to mention, Daniel and I do both love a good project, and we have found over the years that some of our best conversations and funniest shared moments are over a can of paint and while covered with saw dust!
Hopefully, the external efforts are only outward signs of a deeper investment we're making in our children and community through our home. That's what I pray every single day, anyway.

 

 

Claire-Bear 'Vangeline

 

On Tuesday evening we celebrated our little Claire's third birthday.
(Today is her actual birthday, but tonight is busy, so we partied a few days early.)
Family came over, along with Claire's "Sunday Mom" (as Alexis has come to be known around this house), in honor of the day.
We ate chocolate cupcakes, lit candles, and sang boisterously.

If you know our Claire, you know how easy she is to celebrate.

Claire is so warm. So affectionate. So effortlessly thoughtful. So aware of people.
She loves music and she loves the stage.
(Sure, she's never actually been on the stage, but her little heart most definitely dreams of the day!)

Claire has consistently been used by the Lord, since day one and everyday since then, to bring refreshing and healing to parts of my soul. What a beautiful, humbling thing.

She is an amazing gift-- to all of us: she is Daddy's special helper, her older siblings' delight, her baby brother's biggest fan, Mama's most faithful buddy. We are blessed, blessed, blessed to have this girl in our lives!

 

Celebrating

Today we celebrate Aubrey's birthday.

It was five years ago on a Thursday much like this one that we found out that there was something terribly wrong with our baby girl's heart and she was delivered via emergency caesarian section at 7:00pm. By 8:30pm she was being life-flighted 140 miles south to the nearest neonatal intensive care unit. Daniel was being driven down by a friend while I stayed behind recovering from surgery. Even that day we had no idea the extent of "deformities" that was Aubrey's heart, but we knew enough to be scared.

Very, very scared.

Due to pain killers, the agony of it all didn't really hit me until the next day. It was also almost 24 hours after her birth before we knew more of the extent of the problems: Daniel called to tell me that after running tests the pediatric cardiologists in Syracuse were saying that Aubrey had a very complicated heart and would need a very complicated surgery at a very young age. I was spent, I was feeling very alone and helpless being so far away from all that was taking place, and I was terrified. I remember thinking that I needed to muster up more faith, but the truth is that the only thing I could seem to have faith to pray for was that she would live long enough for me to travel down and see her one more time.

Just one more time, God, I wept.

And I remember even as I cried out that desperate prayer feeling oh so thankful for the Body of Christ, for believers who I knew had more faith for my daughter than I did in those very broken moments.

In the days that followed, there were many tears. Many highs and lows. Many middle-of-the-night terrors. Many words of encouragement, cards, gifts, and visits from friends who drove in from all over to stand with us. Many hours of feeling like I was living some strange nightmare. Many reminders of faith.

And through it all, there was God.

I will bless the Lord at all times;
His praise shall continually be in my mouth.
My soul shall make its boast in the Lord;
The humble shall hear of it and be glad.

There were good reports and there were bad reports. Anyone who has ever been through medical challenges knows that is par for the course. I tried to take it all in stride, but really I just wished there was some way I could trade places with her.

Our little baby.

She had perfect skin, golden peach fuzz hair, big eyes. We named her Aubrey Colette: "noble leader; people of victory."

Why did she have to have a broken heart? And oh! why couldn't I just trade places with her? I wondered.

And my heart broke.

Yet even as I asked questions that had no answer, there was God.

I sought the Lord, and He heard me,
And delivered me from all my fears.
They looked to Him and were radiant,
And their faces were not ashamed.
This poor man cried out, and the Lord heard him.
And saved him out of all his troubles.
The angel of the Lord encamps all around those who fear Him,
And delivers them.

On October 4th, Aubrey was discharged. She hadn't had surgery and we brought her home without a single machine. Those days were heavy-hearted and wonderful ones all at once. Heavy-hearted because at that point we were still being told that we had a long road ahead of us and that surgery would almost surely be necessary within the next 6 months; wonderful because we were home, no longer torn between our 3 older children and the baby, no longer being separated from Aubrey each night, and having crossed the first hurdle of coming home for at least some time before an operation.

We prayed so much. For a miracle. For time. For growth. For health. For life.

And God was there.

Oh, taste and see that Lord is good;
Blessed is the man who trusts in Him!
Oh, fear the Lord, you His saints!
There is no want to those who fear Him.
The young lions lack and suffer hunger;
But those who seek the Lord shall not lack any good thing.

In the past five years, Aubrey has only had one hospitalization. As of 3 months ago, she is off every medication. Her heart is still jumbled, but it's working. You would never know she isn't the picture of health if you saw her today. Sure, she doesn't run as much as the other kids and sometimes when it's humid she starts to look a bit wan and blue around her lips and extremities, but that's it.

That's it!

If you had told me five years ago that we would be here today, I would have wept and wept and wept with relief and gladness. Today, just thinking of it, I cry tears of joy.

Still, I wouldn't erase one day of what we've gone through because there are great and mighty things the Lord has taught me through it all. And the greatest and mightiest thing is this:

He is here.

The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears.
And delivers them out of all their troubles.
The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart,
And saves such as have a contrite spirit.

Many are the afflictions of the righteous,
But the Lord delivers him out of them all.
He guards all his bones;
Not one of them is broken.

Happy Birthday, Aubrey-girl! You are spunky, spirited, bright, and victorious!

 

Transitions

A couple days ago I claimed part of the yet unfinished guest room as a "nursery nook" for Elliot.

The plan when we broke through the second story of our home more than 14 months ago was to have both of the bedrooms we added (master bedroom and guest room/nursery combo) done by now, but as all projects go, things have taken longer and cost more than even our most conservative planning accounted for.

That's okay. Elliot doesn't know that the walls aren't painted, the baseboard isn't even purchased let alone installed, the window casings aren't in, and the flooring isn't sealed.

When I look at the space we carved out of the mess of wood, tools, and paint supplies that has resided in that empty half-finished room for the better part of a year now, I hardly know all that isn't finished. It's beautiful in its own growing-with-us sort of way.

The final steps in the moving process were to relocate the baby monitor from the window sill near my bed to the dresser in the next-door bedroom and then remove the bedding from the baby basket so that it could be put away in storage.

And I must confess that as I put the sheet and bumper in the washing machine, a big lump formed in my throat.

It's incredibly sad to me to think that he is done sleeping in this little bed of his, right near my own "big bed" (as Claire always refers to it, due to its height) and close enough that when I wake at night I can hear his gentle breathing. At the beginning of his life, he hated this bed and only wanted to be with me; as he has grown, it has become his favorite place to sleep, and he has slept so well in it that we have carried it all the places we may travel or visit in order to allow him this piece of home anywhere he may be.

He is beyond outgrowing it, though. His little feet have pushed his head right past the bumper and into the wicker many times, occasionally even leaving marks and often resulting in heartbroken awakening.

 

I've put this bed away five times before. Each time I've thought that surely I will never forget how my baby looked nestled within its little walls, safely tucked where I can reach my hand out any time of night and feel the gentle rhythm of their heartbeat.

The truth is that I do forget.

I do.

The other truth is I don't know how many more times, if ever, I will be wrapping a baby and settling him/her in this basket bed again. I'm a little too experienced to think we get to take things for granted.

And while one might think that I'm tired of "the baby thing," that perhaps it's old hat, or that I would be glad to put away these vestiges of early infancy, on the contrary, it gets harder and sadder each time.

Not to mention, regardless of what the future holds for me, I know that this baby, this little man-child, my very own Elliot Hale, will never sleep in that little basket bed again.

Oh, how much a mother's heart must let go of over the years.

So yes, the lumps form in my throat and my eyes burn with unshed tears and my insides ache.

And I think I have barely scratched the surface.

 

Dear Self,

Today you sat down and in earnest began preparing yourself for a new school year. You wrote out some lesson plans to go along with the steady stream of books arriving at your door these past few weeks. You spent time trying to wrap your head around homeschooling not one, not two, not even three, but four young ones, while not losing track of investing in the toddler and baby who need at least as much time and energy as the school-age children. You created a new chore chart and mapped out a daily rhythm. You opened packages and tore off cellophane and got very excited about brand new math and handwriting books now tucked amidst dozens of gently-used living books and field guides and teacher manuals. You even took the time to sharpen 24 brand new #2 pencils.

But, Self, can I remind you of the thought that kept rolling through your mind the whole time, like a wave gently washing over your already-somewhat-panicking soul?

"Above all, let me awaken wonder in my children this year."

Wonder about God, His goodness, His creation, His plan. Wonder about the world around them, their lives, things seen, and things unseen.

In a month, when any daily rhythm seems like wishful thinking, when chores aren't being done well, when the baby keeps interrupting grammar lessons, when getting math finished seems more important than whether or not we're having fun, when you're just too tired or too busy or too distracted or too overwhelmed or too all-of-the-above, please remember this: your goal is to awaken wonder in your children.

Your children are still young. In time, they will need to tuck away facts and memorize formulas and recite information. For now, they need to discover, explore, and absorb. And trust me, Self, when I say that this will in turn be the best foundation for all the things that must come later.

Self, don't be afraid to set aside the books and the plan when necessary. Be courageous enough to let life become the curriculum and reality become the tool. Don't measure your successes against another person and certainly not against another system. Be quick to remember what the Lord is looking for from you-- to do justice and love mercy-- and then choose that when becoming a harsh taskmaster, strict teacher, or rigid dictator seems (in the moment) like the best way to get us back on track.

Enjoy learning. Enjoy your children. Enjoy the process.

And yes: above all, seek to awaken wonder about God's goodness, and this life and world we've been given, in your children.

Sincerely,
Me