A Good Idea

My three-year-old jabbers constantly. He has so many questions, I can hardly keep up with them all. For a mommy who relishes in quiescence, this can often be a bit discombobulating. So, this past week, when the domino-effect hit our house in terms of a gastrointestinal bug, I felt something missing with a calm and quiet Ezra.

Poor Joey began the array of ickiness on Monday, late. Two days later, I was ready for the routine: holding a bowl while Ezra was vomiting into its silvery depths, even when mostly dry-heaves humped his back; delicately wiping the drips of diarrhea from his reddening, round bottom; smoothing golden hair from his face while he, utterly exhausted from exertion, slowly slipped into sleep. 

I was not surprised when merely a few hours later, I awoke in the middle of the night with the same illness. And it was horrid! I was thankful for a husband who could care for the boys while I tended to my own illness. As I knelt over the toilet, I remembered a mommy that once comforted me as I had comforted my boys just days and hours before. When I was a child, my mother's tender caresses, soothing songs, and confident care were the best and most reassuring part of the healing process.

As Ezra's health returns, his questions do, as well. During lunch recently, he asked - among the myriad influx of random questions - "Are you a good idea, Mommy?"

His comment made me pause. On the one hand, I thought, Am I a good idea? From my perspective there are more things I have done wrong in this life than right. My failures pile up around me and I feel incapable of pushing them back, of mending areas long-ago broken, of finding the path I am supposed to be taking. Do you feel the same, friend? Do you feel buried by the weight of doing things better?

In a capitalistic society, it's not always easy to do good while also trying to just survive. Our own family has so many challenges, it makes me shudder. So, am I a good idea? Am I doing what God would want me to do? I definitely don't have the answer. I try to use what God gave me to help others - but, I'm not always sure I do it well or enough.

These are questions we have to ask ourselves - as shocking as they might be to hear. Are you a good idea, friend? Are you balancing the areas of your life? Our time on Earth is short. How can you make more of a difference in a world that values your marketable worth over a more intrinsic value?

Twining Tendrils

senk 2013

During transitional Autumn, I marvel at the tendrils that roving gourd plants shoot out into the garden. Among dry and yellowed corn stalks, the leafy profusion of yams, and caged tomatoes still trying to yield tasty fruits, those green spirals invade. In the case of a wigwam my sons and I wove into the dying corn, those tendrils conquer, as half the little house has collapsed from the pressure and pull of it all. In the case of our walking paths, those tendrils coerce, as we now find little swaths of ground to use as stepping stones throughout the garden. Even in our yard, where those vines ripen into butternuts or birdhouses or pumpkins, the lawnmower tracks a trail around the encumbrance.

I find people treat relationships the same way - do you, friend? We avoid, we overlook, we ignore what we don't understand, don't want to know, or cannot change. Often our words and body language are used to conquer another, coerce a variant opinion, or shun someone until we know what to say (which often never comes). We malign. We belittle. We deride.

What if we were more empathetic? In our culture, we're taught to suppress emotion and pain, to "suck it up" or "let it roll off your back." But, when we do this, we ignore an essential part of what it means to be human. We have emotion and pain for a reason, and when we use them to communicate in ways that heal, uplift, and encourage - we reveal the beauty of communication, of reaching out to the other sojourners we meet in life.

There are so many broken situations in our lives. We see them everyday and do nothing about them. We pass them on the street; we avoid them in our homes; and we even overlook them in our own hearts. Take a moment to really consider your motives, your actions, and especially your words. Among the jumble, God's there twining in a very different way: not to invade or overcome, but to guide and to love.

Imagining

Water lilies in a pond.  senk 2013

My children love creative play. They've used pillows in lieu of stepping stones and water lilies to traipse about the room-filled pond. A chain of books becomes the extra train track line they do not have; a simple tube becomes a bug catcher (complete with comfortable accommodations for whatever critter they plan to "capture"); a colander and shipping box become a robot costume. Joey and Ezra are so imaginative in daily life.

But am I? And are you, friend? When something breaks or you find yourself wanting a particular thing either for home decor or for work or for an enhanced educational opportunity or for whatever life experience you are planning, do you find a creative way to make it happen or just get what you want?

If you're like our family, we cannot afford to simply get what we want - even when we do just that. My children's mindset challenges me to think more creatively about a household or personal need. What resources do I already have that can be used just as well as a newly purchased item? When I am ready to buy something needed, do I try to save for what will be healthiest for my family and for the environment or do I just go for the cheapest thing available?

There are so many questions we often overlook in the moment. Consider the challenge of incorporating imagination into the day - and see what you may be missing, too.

Just as grand

Waves crash along the shore.  senk 2013

"I never really realized before how stress seems to slip away by the sea." A paraphrase of my husband's comment rings in my head at the end of a long day. Joey and Ezra are finally in bed, Russell is wrapping up at work, and I have a few minutes before truly resting. 

Often, I consider the daily routines of homeschooling mommyhood and custodian of the home to be like the constant push of waves. But, despite the beating, waves also massage and comfort.

While at Virginia Beach in early August, Russell worked hard reviewing SOL-questions while the boys and I visited various historical and botanical hotspots in the area. Russell's true time to rest was while playing with the boys on the beach: building sand castles with Joey, acting like a sea otter with Ezra, hunting shells or tracking sand crabs with flashlights, savoring the slow slip of sun in the horizon as color splashed into the sky, and feeling waves crash upon his legs along the beach. It was wonderful to see the stress slip from his shoulders after a long day indoors, thinking.

Friend, do you often feel so battered by the day's events that it's hard to really relax? What helps you peel the burden back and feel at ease in your surroundings?

We often feel there is so much work to do, we don't have time for leisurely pursuits. But, if we don't enjoy the beautiful gifts God has placed in our paths, we'll soon be a source for bitterness and unkindness, rather than the hope He wants us to spread. So, be idle - even if for just a moment - and watch the sunset's glow, sip a warm sweet chai while crickets croon outdoors, or find that peacefulness that can restore the bit of you that's burdened.

Work is important, but so, too, is sharing in an inspiring moment that's just as grand with God.

Pottery lures

Pottery pieces made by students in the Parks & Rec "Pottery in the Park" class I'm teaching the next two weeks are drying along two wooden benches on the front porch. Sculptural pieces, mugs, serving dishes, leaf bowls, and even a few hand-thrown pieces are at various stages of the drying process - some were already dry enough for the first firing.

A warm breeze blowing the wind chimes nearby, I surveyed the pottery pieces. As I lifted the driest works of art to carry them to the kiln, I noticed movement on the support of the cedar bench. Hard-at-work, two potter wasps were constructing a complex of pot-shaped mud nests for the little ones soon-to-be housed. How delightful and amusing to find their presence at just such a moment!

And yet, I have not always been delighted or amused by the presence of their cousins in the family Vespidae. While cutting transects across a heavily wooded (and poison-oak/ivy/sumac infested) site many summers ago, when I worked for an archaeology firm, I dug my shovel into not one, but three different yellow jacket nests. My shovel became an over-sized swatter and the crazy dance I did would have made anyone laugh. I also recall the year I pumped breast milk for my stubborn newborn, who split my nipples trying to nurse and was hard to keep awake while feeding. That summer, after plenty of months to get a routine for pumping, our house was invaded by ever-appearing paper wasps. I kept the vacuum at the ready until we saved enough to call an exterminator, whose vicious spray somehow deterred their appearance after that.

At the time, experiencing painful moments is not fun. I'm certain you, friend, have noticed the same thing. And yet, often, with time's steady roll, we can more easily see the strength or courage we've gained through such an experience - learning to harbor hope in even the most uncertain of situations.

May you feel a wave of hope today in whatever difficult situation that tramples through your life's journey.  And may the unknown positive possibilities in that situation present themselves, too.

Love abounding

In "The Cloister Walk," Kathleen Norris shares, "in matters of the heart... there is no right or wrong way to do it, but only the way of your life." I recall meandering through desert roads in Joshua Tree National Park - experiencing the expanse of dry sands and scrubby brush, only to find sprouts of lovely yellow flowers here and there. Even in an environment that exudes harsh reality, there is such beauty and life abounding.

It makes me wonder how love percolates in my life; and perhaps posing for you the same preponderance. For me, I often focus so much on my shortcomings and failings that I forget there are more ways in which my life reveals love than a realize. During a recent shopping trip, a familiar store clerk exclaimed, "The boys are such a delight!  I love to hear them sing." She then went on to praise me on how well I interacted with them and harbored such patience with them. While I thanked her for such kind compliments, my inner-self could not help but protest. I would put patience on a long list of characteristics I am in constant need of learning and re-learning.

Do you have such a list, friend? Does it seem to grow daily? Perhaps if we focused more on what unique ways we touch others' hearts and provide for their needs, we'll be able to experience more love for ourselves and for others, too. It's difficult to love when we don't know how we'll be received - but that is precisely why it's so important to love. So, let's put aside our insecurities and smile, looking forward to the next person God plants in our lives.

Open Window

I'm often amazed by the quick, cool breeze that sets the curtains soaring like kites through the open window. Although corners of the room fill with warm air, a comfortable stream flutters tablecloths and dangling runner-ends. But, it doesn't just bring a delectable chill that sometimes sends me wrapping up in a shawl. Sounds and smells (at least most of them) are just as comforting.

Bagpipe drones and swift jigs filter through the screen, along with tinkling metal chimes and thudding wooden ones too. A multitude of tunes from chirping birds add dazzle to the day. And, then there're the softest sounds: leaves waving wildly as if to bid adieu to day and the swiftest beat of hummingbird wings, whose beaks dip nectar from delphinium.

Lavender's purple tufts sit nearby - so my nose detects. And, have you smelled the puffy mimosa flowers, ripe and cheery fuchsia-pink? Occasionally mock orange drifts through the window - though most the blossoms are spent by now. And even honeysuckle's heady scent is more memory than reality. Tomato greens send my tastebuds to dancing as they imagine the sweet, ripe heirlooms that I'll soon hold in hand, along with the yellow squash, zucchini, and cucumbers we're currently harvesting.

I'm more amazed at how I would miss these natural beauties upon going inside if the window was not open. Do you often wonder what you're missing, friend, as I do? Let's both hold on to the hope that we don't take too much for granted. Let's savor the sweet breeze inside, as much as outside.