Soft as a kitten. Sweet babies. Absolutely precious. Today, as I was holding my sweet baby in my arms I buried my face into her soft hair and breathed it in. It was wonderful. Call me crazy. Go ahead. I don't care. There is something enduring about the smell and the feel of a baby. It's like holding a kitten close. From the peach pads of their feet to the feel of their velvety hair and all the cute stuff in between babies are bottles of joy ripe for cuddling. Amazing creations. So there I sat taking in my baby, holding her tight in my arms, just cuddling. Times with our children are so fleeting, we all know this. You blink and that pink and new baby starts walking, blink again and she's riding a bike, blink, blink, blink, now you're looking at her holding up neon earrings asking you when she can get her ears pierced. Blink, blink, blink some more and you start bouncing her babies off your knee and taking in their sweet scent when you hold them close to your chest. Then all of the sudden your treasure chest of baby memories open up and you snap back to all the sweet times you had with that sweet babies own mama. My grandbabies aren't here yet but I love to still imagine the times I get to hold them in my arms and watch them wrap their cute chubby fingers around my wirey grey hair and remember when their own mama wrapped her precious chunky pink hand in my smooth silky brown hair. The love will be the same, even if the face and the hair is different. And I don't stop with little babies. The other day my twelve year old buried herself into my lap and wrapped her legs around my own. We sat there for awhile, us two, breathing each other in, holding each other close. I buried my face in her thick brown hair and remembered briefly when it was soft,black and new. I ran my fingers along her own, looking at her Hello Kitty nails and started counting them like I did when she was first born. The years don't matter. I've stopped holding my eyes wide open in fear of blinking the time away. Babies are precious at any age, from newborn to ten months to 3 yrs to 12, even 80. All the years are precious. And I'm going to love taking in every moment of it.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Soft as a Kitten
Soft as a kitten. Sweet babies. Absolutely precious. Today, as I was holding my sweet baby in my arms I buried my face into her soft hair and breathed it in. It was wonderful. Call me crazy. Go ahead. I don't care. There is something enduring about the smell and the feel of a baby. It's like holding a kitten close. From the peach pads of their feet to the feel of their velvety hair and all the cute stuff in between babies are bottles of joy ripe for cuddling. Amazing creations. So there I sat taking in my baby, holding her tight in my arms, just cuddling. Times with our children are so fleeting, we all know this. You blink and that pink and new baby starts walking, blink again and she's riding a bike, blink, blink, blink, now you're looking at her holding up neon earrings asking you when she can get her ears pierced. Blink, blink, blink some more and you start bouncing her babies off your knee and taking in their sweet scent when you hold them close to your chest. Then all of the sudden your treasure chest of baby memories open up and you snap back to all the sweet times you had with that sweet babies own mama. My grandbabies aren't here yet but I love to still imagine the times I get to hold them in my arms and watch them wrap their cute chubby fingers around my wirey grey hair and remember when their own mama wrapped her precious chunky pink hand in my smooth silky brown hair. The love will be the same, even if the face and the hair is different. And I don't stop with little babies. The other day my twelve year old buried herself into my lap and wrapped her legs around my own. We sat there for awhile, us two, breathing each other in, holding each other close. I buried my face in her thick brown hair and remembered briefly when it was soft,black and new. I ran my fingers along her own, looking at her Hello Kitty nails and started counting them like I did when she was first born. The years don't matter. I've stopped holding my eyes wide open in fear of blinking the time away. Babies are precious at any age, from newborn to ten months to 3 yrs to 12, even 80. All the years are precious. And I'm going to love taking in every moment of it.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Blessed Contentment
Blessed contentment nestled safely in the arms of an active imagination. Children are truly gifts finding joy in simple things, creating stories out of everyday objects. One might see the palm of the hand as something to grasp objects, or perform everyday functions such as holding a pencil or cooking but to a child, the palm of a hand can be an airplane gliding over the jungles of his shag carpet, locating lost treasure in a faraway island.My three eldest took to an adventure in the crocodile infested waters of the Amazon with merely the lid of a sand box and some baseball bats for oars. Their adventure began calmly at first until my tiny navigator spotted trouble ahead, is it a 100 foot anaconda? Or a lost and volatile tribe of jungle natives with sharp spears in hand?
When I look at this picture it reminds me to take heart and find solace in simple matters. We all wear heavy coats lined with our own weighted circumstances.
I have to be honest, moving here has been one trial after another. Once one growth project gets completed and plucked from my garden then planted in the memory of my Never Agains, another always seems to take root. But that is life: a series of refining circumstances. To look at the path of one's existence and become burdened by the adventure ahead is always a disastrous beginning.
Watching my children play is a great reminder that no matter what I deem as important enough to steal my joy, it really isn't. That is something I love about the foundation of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I know my purpose. I know my end. Health, finances, child rearing, marriage, faith or lack there of are all prime soil for discontentment. I will never be asked to do more than my Lord was and because of His redeeming grace, there is solace and peace for the Christian. labored works will never be enough to pay any toll. Only Christ. Only Christ is sufficient. Maybe that is why He says to come to Him "as the little children." (Matthew 19:14, Mark 9:37, Mark 10:14)
Monday, October 17, 2011
"No one goes to church more than the devil does..."
Author: Elisabeth Elliot
Source: Keep A Quiet Heart
Scripture Reference:
Spiritual Opposition
When Lars and I returned from a fortnight in Scotland and England there was the expected pile-up of work awaiting us, and the usual temptation to feel overwhelmed by it. The suitcase had to be unpacked, clothes washed, mail opened, read, and answered. The house had been partially cleaned by the student who lives with us, but upstairs I had to deal with the dust. There were phone messages waiting, and phone calls we needed to make to family members. Do you know the feeling of utter inadequacy to cope? I'm sure you do. But I believe the enemy of our souls is specially alert at such times, seeking to use them to turn us in on ourselves rather than upwards to the One who stands ready to be our Refuge and Helper.
Laying all the work before the Lord on the first morning after our return, I asked for His help to do it faithfully, carefully, and in an orderly way. I believe He answered that prayer--I'm sure He did. Everything that had to be done in those first three days was done, and I couldn't possibly have done it on my own. Then there was the lovely respite of Sunday, with time to read and think. I looked forward to tackling Monday's work (radio talks, scheduling of speaking) at a clean desk.
Monday came. The day was committed to God as always. But I felt like the wheels of the Egyptian chariots which "drave heavily." There were interruptions, distractions. I could not get on as expected. My mind was dull, confused. At the end of the day I could not see what I had done with my time.
Tuesday was a continuation of the day before. Where had those hours gone? I took my usual walk after lunch around Ocean Drive--a cloudless sky, a glittering sea. I walked alone, talking to God about my failures, asking Him to clarify things. When I got back home, such an unexpected source of help came to hand--a letter written to my father thirty years ago by an old missionary. Things were not going well at that time with the paper, THE SUNDAY SCHOOL TIMES, of which my father was editor, and he was on the verge of what was then called a nervous breakdown. He had asked counsel of this old veteran, E.L. Langston, in Africa.
"The devil does not like that paper nor its articles, and is evidently attacking you in your inmost heart, not causing you to doubt so much as causing a spirit of discontent. Fortunately we both know that temptation is not sin, it is yielding to temptation that causes us to sin and I feel that you must count it joy that you are passing through these times of difficulty, for they are sure signs that the Lord is blessing you....
"There is another reason, I think, for the cause of the feeling within us. It comes from the flesh and self-introspection. It is good for us to look at self and know how loathsome it is, but with one look at self we must take ten looks at Christ....
"No one goes to church more than the devil does, and no one appears as an angel of light as he does. We are in the thick of facing powers of darkness who are determined to rob us of Him and rob God of us, and you and I, my brother, have just got to hope in Christ and rely on Him for His Spirit to direct our thoughts, our ways, and our works so that it is not us but Christ in us."
Wasn't it wonderful that that letter had been preserved so that I "chanced upon it" in the hour of my need? But that is so like the Lord, for it is through the tender austerity of our very troubles that the Son of Man comes knocking. In every event He seeks an entrance to my heart, yes, even in my most helpless, futile, fruitless moments. The very cracks and empty crannies of my life, my perplexities and hurts and botched-up jobs, He wants to fill with Himself, His joy, His life. The more unsatisfactory my "performance," the more He calls me to share His yoke. I should know by now that mine makes me tired and overburdened. He urges me to learn of Him: "I am gentle and humble in heart."
Source: Keep A Quiet Heart
Scripture Reference:
Spiritual Opposition
When Lars and I returned from a fortnight in Scotland and England there was the expected pile-up of work awaiting us, and the usual temptation to feel overwhelmed by it. The suitcase had to be unpacked, clothes washed, mail opened, read, and answered. The house had been partially cleaned by the student who lives with us, but upstairs I had to deal with the dust. There were phone messages waiting, and phone calls we needed to make to family members. Do you know the feeling of utter inadequacy to cope? I'm sure you do. But I believe the enemy of our souls is specially alert at such times, seeking to use them to turn us in on ourselves rather than upwards to the One who stands ready to be our Refuge and Helper.
Laying all the work before the Lord on the first morning after our return, I asked for His help to do it faithfully, carefully, and in an orderly way. I believe He answered that prayer--I'm sure He did. Everything that had to be done in those first three days was done, and I couldn't possibly have done it on my own. Then there was the lovely respite of Sunday, with time to read and think. I looked forward to tackling Monday's work (radio talks, scheduling of speaking) at a clean desk.
Monday came. The day was committed to God as always. But I felt like the wheels of the Egyptian chariots which "drave heavily." There were interruptions, distractions. I could not get on as expected. My mind was dull, confused. At the end of the day I could not see what I had done with my time.
Tuesday was a continuation of the day before. Where had those hours gone? I took my usual walk after lunch around Ocean Drive--a cloudless sky, a glittering sea. I walked alone, talking to God about my failures, asking Him to clarify things. When I got back home, such an unexpected source of help came to hand--a letter written to my father thirty years ago by an old missionary. Things were not going well at that time with the paper, THE SUNDAY SCHOOL TIMES, of which my father was editor, and he was on the verge of what was then called a nervous breakdown. He had asked counsel of this old veteran, E.L. Langston, in Africa.
"The devil does not like that paper nor its articles, and is evidently attacking you in your inmost heart, not causing you to doubt so much as causing a spirit of discontent. Fortunately we both know that temptation is not sin, it is yielding to temptation that causes us to sin and I feel that you must count it joy that you are passing through these times of difficulty, for they are sure signs that the Lord is blessing you....
"There is another reason, I think, for the cause of the feeling within us. It comes from the flesh and self-introspection. It is good for us to look at self and know how loathsome it is, but with one look at self we must take ten looks at Christ....
"No one goes to church more than the devil does, and no one appears as an angel of light as he does. We are in the thick of facing powers of darkness who are determined to rob us of Him and rob God of us, and you and I, my brother, have just got to hope in Christ and rely on Him for His Spirit to direct our thoughts, our ways, and our works so that it is not us but Christ in us."
Wasn't it wonderful that that letter had been preserved so that I "chanced upon it" in the hour of my need? But that is so like the Lord, for it is through the tender austerity of our very troubles that the Son of Man comes knocking. In every event He seeks an entrance to my heart, yes, even in my most helpless, futile, fruitless moments. The very cracks and empty crannies of my life, my perplexities and hurts and botched-up jobs, He wants to fill with Himself, His joy, His life. The more unsatisfactory my "performance," the more He calls me to share His yoke. I should know by now that mine makes me tired and overburdened. He urges me to learn of Him: "I am gentle and humble in heart."
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Reuse, Reduce, Recycle: Crafting Domes with Newspapers!
What fun! Using old newspapers, we crafted a geodesic dome using the creative idea of one of our favorite magazines: Family Fun To see the directions simply click the link.
Here are some pics of James and my rendition of it:
It all started when this handsome guy turned seven. He mentioned he wanted to try out the geodome and James and I thought "Ding! What a great idea to surprise him with it the morning of his birthday!" So off we went...
You will need quite a bit of newspaper. We used 4 Sunday papers. Family Fun says use four full sheets of newspaper (the double page layouts take out the single page inserts) and lay them flat one on top of the other to create your newspaper rod. *Note: Just because we are cheap we did end up using half sheets which we stuck next to each other to create a full. We just made sure we had a full sheet for a base to make the rolling much easier.* Total rods needed will be 25 so you will need 100 sheets. We used a pen to start the rolling by placing it horizontally in one of the corners and rolling it up. Don't make your rod too tight or you won't be able to get your pen out!Tape the middle to keep the paper together.
Then we trimmed all the logs to 30" and stapled them together to form triangles. Make 5 triangles. Then staple the triangles together at their bottom corners like you see James doing here. (One up one down, etc) Pick up your row of triangles and staple the ends together so it forms a standing pentagon. Family Fun said to make the remaining rods into a star but we just went around and stapled them along the top then stapled them altogether in the middle to form the roof. 
The kids enjoyed playing with it. I hope yours do too!!
Friday, September 9, 2011
Cling to the Cross
It is well to remember, friends, that we live in an imperfect world. We are surrounded by cascades of imperfect people.
When darkness falls upon your shoulders and clutches it's spiny fingers around your warm beating heart, it seems the only thing to do, sometimes, is fight it. And so you do. Strong at first you fight refusing to be defeated. Sometimes you catch on early to what needs to be done. And you win. But sometimes it doesn't stop punching. You fight and you fight but the fists of your enemy keep flying. Bruised and broken, you fight until you just can't anymore. The comfort of a small corner calls to you and you climb into it. Tired. Worn out. Sleep depraved. Emotionally empty. But it doesn't stop. Soon the darkness blankets your cold toes but not in an effort to warm them. The hairs on your neck raise, your mouth cries out, "Please, I can't take it anymore!" Pain, like birth pangs, shoots out from every orfic of your body and it isn't listening to your cries. Soon that cold blanket stretches itself out and you find yourself crushed under the weight of it. Tight. Empty and black. Like cold concrete walls. It takes all your strength to raise your hands in an effort to block those walls from closing in giving you enough room to breathe.
Just breathe.
You are not alone. Come with me as I introduce you to a man who walked through great darkness. But he isn't Jesus. He's a lawyer. Wealthy I am sure who dabbles in real estate. A blessed man, married with five children. He knew darkness once. It loomed over his shoulder in the form of a large fire which consumed most of his real estate. Still dealing from the death of his son and now the consumption of his provisions he thought it best to spend time away with friends. Business which needed his attention came up and instead of canceling his vacation he sent his wife and four daughters ahead of him. He had every intention of following his family out to sea shortly but he was stopped short when terrible news in the form of a telegram was sent to him. Wrinkled and wrought with his tears it spoke only two words, "Saved Alone."
The ship carrying his family collided with another leaving 47 survivors. One of which was his wife. None of which were his four daughters. Pain greater than the pangs of birth knows no other like the death of a child, much less all of them. He left right away to comfort his grieving wife and on a ship over the very place of this tragic accident he penned this breathtaking hymn:
Imperfection is a weak wall with cracks big enough for sin and evil to seep in. Only the enemy will lead you to believe a Perfect God, The Strong Wall, is to blame for it... because he doesn't want you to know He is your relief from it. You are drenched in the blood of a Perfect man who sacrificed Himself for you, who fought greater darkness than you will ever fathom for a cause you will never fully understand. You don't think you can fight this battle anymore? Of course you can't because YOU are the one fighting it. There is One out there stronger than you who cried out to you, "Come to Me all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest. ..for My yoke is easy and My burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30) Climb out of your corner and cling to the cross.
When darkness falls upon your shoulders and clutches it's spiny fingers around your warm beating heart, it seems the only thing to do, sometimes, is fight it. And so you do. Strong at first you fight refusing to be defeated. Sometimes you catch on early to what needs to be done. And you win. But sometimes it doesn't stop punching. You fight and you fight but the fists of your enemy keep flying. Bruised and broken, you fight until you just can't anymore. The comfort of a small corner calls to you and you climb into it. Tired. Worn out. Sleep depraved. Emotionally empty. But it doesn't stop. Soon the darkness blankets your cold toes but not in an effort to warm them. The hairs on your neck raise, your mouth cries out, "Please, I can't take it anymore!" Pain, like birth pangs, shoots out from every orfic of your body and it isn't listening to your cries. Soon that cold blanket stretches itself out and you find yourself crushed under the weight of it. Tight. Empty and black. Like cold concrete walls. It takes all your strength to raise your hands in an effort to block those walls from closing in giving you enough room to breathe.
Just breathe.
You are not alone. Come with me as I introduce you to a man who walked through great darkness. But he isn't Jesus. He's a lawyer. Wealthy I am sure who dabbles in real estate. A blessed man, married with five children. He knew darkness once. It loomed over his shoulder in the form of a large fire which consumed most of his real estate. Still dealing from the death of his son and now the consumption of his provisions he thought it best to spend time away with friends. Business which needed his attention came up and instead of canceling his vacation he sent his wife and four daughters ahead of him. He had every intention of following his family out to sea shortly but he was stopped short when terrible news in the form of a telegram was sent to him. Wrinkled and wrought with his tears it spoke only two words, "Saved Alone."
The ship carrying his family collided with another leaving 47 survivors. One of which was his wife. None of which were his four daughters. Pain greater than the pangs of birth knows no other like the death of a child, much less all of them. He left right away to comfort his grieving wife and on a ship over the very place of this tragic accident he penned this breathtaking hymn:
Imperfection is a weak wall with cracks big enough for sin and evil to seep in. Only the enemy will lead you to believe a Perfect God, The Strong Wall, is to blame for it... because he doesn't want you to know He is your relief from it. You are drenched in the blood of a Perfect man who sacrificed Himself for you, who fought greater darkness than you will ever fathom for a cause you will never fully understand. You don't think you can fight this battle anymore? Of course you can't because YOU are the one fighting it. There is One out there stronger than you who cried out to you, "Come to Me all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest. ..for My yoke is easy and My burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30) Climb out of your corner and cling to the cross.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Summer Fun with Paper Fans
Here is a great craft to make with restless kids on a hot summer day: fans! My kids love those cheapy paper fans at the dollar store; however, no sooner do we get home those pretty fans are broken and littered all over my mini van. These gems I found in Family Fun magazine. They are sturdier than the dollar store fans (a duh!) AND the kids get to design them themselves! So massive kudos for kid kreativity!! Yay for us!
Materials needed:
1 piece of cardstock 6x12
double sided tape or glue
stapler
2 craft sticks
tiny rubber band (we used the baby's rubber hair ties)
To get started the first thing you need is a piece of cardstock cut to 6x12 size
Begin an accordion fold on the top at about a width of 1" Do not fold the way I did in the picture or you will get a white fan. Start your fold with the design side face down on the table. Then make your fold so that you see a one inch strip of design paper against a white backdrop.
Continue with the accordian fold until the entire paper has been folded (So simple seriously. It hurts to write this knowing you are probably already all over this by now)
Bring the accordian fold together and staple the middle. I used two staples next to each other.
With your glue, adhere the top fold together. You can use regular tape to seal the edge so it won't split.
Take your double sided tape (preferred but we used scrapbook glue.) With the stapled side facing up place the tape or glue one half of the craft stick then adhere to the bottom flaps of both sides. Wrap your rubber band around the bottom of the craft sticks to hold the fan together until the glue dries.
Wallah! Instant Southern air conditioning. All we need is the sweet tea. Woo-hoo! Yay for fun!
Materials needed:1 piece of cardstock 6x12
double sided tape or glue
stapler
2 craft sticks
tiny rubber band (we used the baby's rubber hair ties)
To get started the first thing you need is a piece of cardstock cut to 6x12 size
Begin an accordion fold on the top at about a width of 1" Do not fold the way I did in the picture or you will get a white fan. Start your fold with the design side face down on the table. Then make your fold so that you see a one inch strip of design paper against a white backdrop. 
Continue with the accordian fold until the entire paper has been folded (So simple seriously. It hurts to write this knowing you are probably already all over this by now)
Bring the accordian fold together and staple the middle. I used two staples next to each other.
With your glue, adhere the top fold together. You can use regular tape to seal the edge so it won't split.
Take your double sided tape (preferred but we used scrapbook glue.) With the stapled side facing up place the tape or glue one half of the craft stick then adhere to the bottom flaps of both sides. Wrap your rubber band around the bottom of the craft sticks to hold the fan together until the glue dries.
Wallah! Instant Southern air conditioning. All we need is the sweet tea. Woo-hoo! Yay for fun!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
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