Monday, August 31, 2015

When You Feel Hope Slipping

I read a quote about writing today wherein an established author was admonishing writers to write the story they know.

I've written a lot of things over the years for a variety of reasons and for different types of people.  Magazine articles, blog posts, guest blog posts, letters - oh so many letters - and emails to people in an effort to encourage and exhort them in their current situation.  

So today I thought, what story do I know?  What story could I write?

The truth is, I know only one story.  I've heard a lot.  I've considered many stories, read more, and scratched out outlines of a few.  But only one do I truly know.

I  know a story of broken people.  Of men leaving the wives of their youth and justifying it any way they see fit.  I see articles about hacked websites, each name representing a broken home, a broken family, a broken heart, a broken will, a broken life.  

I see broken women paying professionals to break the bones of their babies, professional liars exploiting these women broken and deceived for the purpose of money and fame.  

I see broken children picking up the pieces of what their broken fathers have left behind, their mothers weeping.

I weep with the broken as I consider their burdens and I find myself wondering what kind of victory this is.  What  kind of Christian lives are we leading, bruised and beaten and where is Joy?

This is the story I know.  The one I see played out over and over.  And over.  

Perpetual is the broken life and the existence therein is desolate and lonely.  Hope weeps and so do I.

It's easy to look around and doubt the Holy Spirit.  Doubt His power, or as our late pastor, doubt His very existence.  If He is powerful, how come He isn't keeping His children from sin?

But there's more to the story.

Christianity is entirely based upon a broken people in need of a Redeemer.   We cannot use the fact that people are broken to disprove or doubt a religion that is based on the very fact that people are broken.

God looked down and said, "You are broken."  Then He came down and they broke His bones and He said, "My body is broken for you."  Then He defeated hell, walked out of a tomb, and said, "Come to Me,"  and we look around at the brokenness and think, "Where are you, O Lord?"

And He looks at His hands, the skin broken on our behalf, and He says, "Don't you see?  It's why I came."

If we weren't broken, we wouldn't need a Redeemer.  If there were no Ashley Madison accounts, no adulterers, no fatherless children, no women being raped, no children being abused, no racism, no women afraid to go to their own homes, no women wishing they could...if we were whole, completely whole, then we wouldn't need Jesus.  Our Bible only rings true if we recognize the hellhole in which we live.  The broken world that spins so rapidly, I fear we are dizzy from the sin soaked ride.  The Bible makes sense only IF His people are broken.  

He knew the story far before we did.  He wrote the story, the broken world pining for holy and falling short.  I look around at the story unfolding in front of me and I feel broken.  I feel lost.  

I feel short on hope.  As if there is none left for the taking.

Then I remember Jesus.  And I remember every story has several chapters.  Every good story has a redemptive theme.  Our Father's story is no exception; it's the only one I really know.  And the only one I herald as Truth.


Saturday, July 25, 2015

While the Scones Were Baking

She thought about the scones that were baking, how they seemed so messy, messier than the first time she made them all those months ago.  The dyed batter, streaked with the heat of a Missouri summer, sizzled on the pan reminding her that her butter was not cut into Saturday's breakfast in the most thorough of ways.

She smiled, remembering the gathering, the parting of the leaves, the morning sun turning to a fire that poured sweat out of all those brave enough to bear its love for fruit of the same.  She remembered the first time she went blackberrying, or the first of the times wherein she went every year, and she had a stroller at her side.  Bumping through the rows, little hands underfoot helping, her own hands pointing and gently reminding them how the ripe ones looked.  That middle child with her laughter and chubby fingers, the oldest inspecting carefully the berries and running swift through the grass.  

I sat on a bench that first day and nursed the baby while the other two went swinging into the blinding light.  Every time they swing, I say it, louder some times than others, "How would you like to go up in a swing, up in the sky so blue...oh don't you think it the pleasantest thing ever a child can do?"

I think I probably chanted it to the baby, her little eyes closed, and never dreamed how fast her little hands would  unfurl.  Never did I think I would be the one to walk down the aisles alone while the children ran to their own rows, up to the blueberries, to the car for water, and back again.  Never did I imagine that these scones, streaked with love and traditions of years gone by, would be the fruit of years of dreaming.

The oven beeped and she saw that mess had faded into breakfast.  The berries stood hot against the dough, the mess of the morning now baked into something sweet and beautiful.

And she dreams again.  

Of another blackberrying day, of future scones, and of messes redeemed.


Monday, April 27, 2015

Where Do We Go From Here?

We read about it all the time.  

The stories are all the same.

A leader in the church leaves his family behind, his faith in shambles, his flock confused and wandering.  I've read the articles and the headlines and I always am sad and hurt and confused.  But from a distance. 

This weekend, the truth of a fallen soldier hit home.

Our pastor announced that he no longer believes in the God of the Bible and also that he was having an affair and leaving his wife for another woman who is also married.

The amount of emotion this left me with was inexplainable.  The weight, the tears, the anger, the sadness.  I ache for his family, for the other woman and her family, for him.  For our church.  For the explanation I had to offer my own children.  

My heart is grieved.  Our hearts are grieved, all of us who called our pastor friend and teacher.

The question that has been asked a lot is, "What now?"   

Good question.

What DO you do when you pastor fails?  When he walks away from everything to which he's spent years encouraging his sheep to cling?  When he abandons his family, his friends, and his God?

As my fallen pastor always said, it is to the Scriptures we cling and find our hope.  When Jesus wanted to explain to us the deep truths of the universe, he did it through story.

He told the story of the one lost sheep and how the Shepherd would leave the flock and go bring back the one who strayed.  He told the story of the prodigal son and how his Father held out hope and showered love upon his return. 

Then he walked on water.  He was carried into a tomb and walked out three days later.

He showed us that the laws of this world are His. 

So to these things we cling:

1.  We remain patient.  Our Good Shepherd will never leave His sheep astray.  If our pastor belongs to the Lord, He will bring Him home.  

2.  We love the victims in this tragedy disguised as decisions.  They are victims, but they are not casualties.  They are children of God, His righteous remnant, and they will be restored.  We love them.  We love them unconditionally and in whatever way we have been gifted to love.

3.  We do not doubt the truth we have been taught.  For years, our pastor taught the Bible.  He no longer believes the truth that fell from his lips, but truth it was and truth is remains.  We never doubt the ability of God to deliver a message.

4.  We spend time in the Word.  His Word is a lamp unto our feet, a light unto our path, the Flesh that dwelt among us, a sword in the hands of His people.  We never stop reading.  We never stop running after the heart of our God, the Good Shepherd, the One who will never leave or forsake us.  

5.  We pray.  We pray without ceasing for the lost, the broken, the weary, His church, His will, His people.

And in these things, in these truths, we stand firm.  With our heads held high, we pray without ceasing that the glory of God may be manifest even in this.  That His Word would be exalted, His will clear, His place on the throne evident to all Who call upon His name.   

And upon His name we call.  

"Even the youths shall faint and be weary,
And the young men shall utterly fall,
But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint."

-Isaiah 40:30-31

For His glory,


Thursday, April 2, 2015

Fridays Unfolded #151

It's Friday again.

The brightest and darkest one there ever was.

Today we celebrate the King, mourn His death, await His resurrection.

This...the resurrection...it's why I follow Him, this Humble King.

Many prophets lived.

And died.

Many Kings reigned.

And lay in their graves.

Many gods and men are worshipped.

Though they no longer live.

Only our God walked out of a tomb and left it empty.  Let this truth reign with us always.

May you be blessed this weekend as you celebrate this most joyous occasion...the one that separates our religion from countless others.  He lives!

How about some features?

Eliza showed us how to make some bunny art and I think the girls will enjoy trying it:


I, however, will enjoy trying this from Pattie:



And I think I might add something like this to the girls' Easter baskets this year.  Adorable!


Let's party again, shall we?

How it works:

  • follow your hostesses in some way 

  • link up as many posts as you like-recipes, decorating, faith, kids, homeschooling, humor, giveaways…whatever unfolded for you lately
  • grab the button and post it or linked text somewhere on your blog
  • visit a few links (it’s a party, people!)
  • pin only from the original posts
  • by joining Fridays Unfolded you are giving us permission to post a linked photo from your shared post
  • try to use nice, big photos in your posts.









Friday, March 27, 2015

Friday Hiatus

Hi friends!  I'm buried in tasks and commitments, so I am not going to be able to host the party this week...but please hop on over and see one of these lovely ladies!


See you next week...

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Fridays Unfolded #149

It's Friday again, and I've missed the last two parties!

The last two weeks have found me skiing and recovering (apparently my knee is a little irritated with me.)  Now I'm ready to see what you all have been up to.

Angela at Simply Beautiful showed us how to make this adorable pillow.  This MIGHT actually be easy enough for me to make.  Maybe.


Amy at Delineate Your Dwelling gave us some tips on organizing kitchen cabinets just in time for spring:


And Krista at Far From Normal showed us how to make Thieves Carpet Freshener.  Genius!


Let's party again!

How it works:

  • follow your hostesses in some way 

  • link up as many posts as you like-recipes, decorating, faith, kids, homeschooling, humor, giveaways…whatever unfolded for you lately
  • grab the button and post it or linked text somewhere on your blog
  • visit a few links (it’s a party, people!)
  • pin only from the original posts
  • by joining Fridays Unfolded you are giving us permission to post a linked photo from your shared post
  • try to use nice, big photos in your posts.






Friday, February 27, 2015

Fridays Unfolded #146

Brrrr!!!  It's freezing cold.  Like freezing.  Our dear weatherman said it felt like -20 yesterday and I believe him.  I have a habit of almost never believing weathermen, so that's kind of a big deal.  Not that they don't have the best of intentions.  I'm just usually skeptical.

But my coffee is warm, my socks warmer, and I'm sitting here looking over some of your posts from last week, with images of some dress I stared at way too long on Facebook last night playing somewhere in the periphery of my consciousness.  Anyone else?  

Some features:

My lovely next door neighbor makes a hot fudge sauce similar to this and it is fabulous.  You should try it:


I keep trying to make homemade dryer sheets and have had zero success so far.  I'm hoping this tutorial will help me this time!


My husband loves french onion soup and he would be forever indebted to me if I made this for him.  Well, maybe not forever.  



While I was languishing under the weight of cold this week, I also wrote this poem.

Can you languish under the cold?  I feel like languishing is something you do in the heat.  But it seemed to fit. 

Our pastor is from Southern California and he made the comment that one of the interesting things about moving to the Midwest was how much people talk about the weather.  I guess they don't do that where he is from.  "So, it's 75 again?"  "Yep." 

Obviously, I am not from California.  Hence this post, and my incessant poetry and writings about the snow and ice and sunshine. 

How about I stop talking and we party again?

How it works:

  • follow your hostesses in some way 

  • link up as many posts as you like-recipes, decorating, faith, kids, homeschooling, humor, giveaways…whatever unfolded for you lately
  • grab the button and post it or linked text somewhere on your blog
  • visit a few links (it’s a party, people!)
  • pin only from the original posts
  • by joining Fridays Unfolded you are giving us permission to post a linked photo from your shared post
  • try to use nice, big photos in your posts.







Spring Interlude

Warm, yet brisk,
Cool and translucent,
Sunshine
Washing over the Earth.

The shy light
Bends her head, 
Demurely,
Afraid to scorch
The breeze dancing.

The North wind
Stands firm,
Bold and incessant.

I cower and look
Beeseechingly
Towards the sun.

Beckon its heat.

She wavers,
Unsure of her place
In this torrential change.

The wind dies.
The sun peeks, 
Brave.

The wind,
Not to be subdued,
Summmons a cloud.

So it shall be.

Until our sun 
Can hold back no more.

Until even the wind
Emodies the warmth
That engulfs us all.

Blazing, 
She will emerge.

Victorious.


Tuesday, February 24, 2015

For the Love of Story: On Teaching a Child to Read

I sat on the floor, roughly five years ago, my oldest daughter sitting across from me.  Why I always chose the floor for phonics lessons is beyond me.  Even now, as I teach my third and last child her phonics lessons, we sit on the floor.

She sat on the carpet that day, neither despondent nor joyful.  It was work.  Hard work.

"I really don't like phonics."

She said it frequently.

"I know...but you love stories."

I also said that frequently.

Most every day we worked slowly.  Some days we got very little done.  When it was time for reading, it was the same, reluctant child, the same rigor for her small brain. "Just read one sentence today and then I'll read you a story."  

It wasn't reading that made her hesitant.  It was the work involved.  

I felt like I was forever trying to walk the very thin line between teaching her to do the thing she ought, even when she'd rather do something different, and avoiding the abhorrence of the written word.  Because I knew deep down that if she always loved stories, she would embrace her books.  If I forced them upon her, made her stories another chore, another stone in the bag of the perfectionist child, all would be lost.  What would it gain me to force her towards knowing the sounds if she would forever avoid them once she knew them?

When she was four, I scoured books and articles looking for the "right thing to do."  I knew this was preschool age and wasn't sure the best route to take.  Should she be learning her numbers?  Her letters?  Latin?  

It turns out the answer is yes, no, maybe, if the stars align, and if your grandmother collected crocodile magnets to all of the above questions.  It all depends on who wrote what you are reading.

There did, however, seem to be one thread that was woven through most of what I found that was gleaming and pregnant with truth.  The admonishment I saw most often, or perhaps just the one that kept jumping out at me, was read to your kids.  Every day.

I did read to them already, but I began to make it very routine.  Every day after breakfast, I told her and her younger sister to go pick books.  Any books they like.  And I read.  For about one hour every morning, I read to them.  

So when we were sitting on the floor, a couple of years later, and she didn't remember what sh said and her fluency was lacking and I wondered what I would do, I grasped tight to the only truth we both knew.  But you love stories.

I continued to read her those stories.  I required only enough reading from her to make sure she practiced a little every day.  Consistency is important, but long, tedious lessons are not.  It is better to read one word every day than labor over two pages and hate the book when you are finished.

One day I looked up and saw her sitting on the couch...with a book.  She read it for five minutes and put it down.

I said nothing and kept reading her stories.  

I saw her with them more and more often.  She never finished anything.  She would pick them up, read a few lines, and pick another one up the next day.

I said nothing and kept reading her stories.  

Those months she spent practicing on her own were invaluable. I never interrupted her reading for any other kind of lesson.  What lesson bears more fruit than same one she used to loathe now self-imposed?

She broke through at some point.  I don't remember when or how, but all at once, she was an insatiable reader.  Not because I was a phenomenol instructor.  But because she loved stories.

I think sometimes it's easy to push through, to force one more lesson, one more sentence upon the reluctant learner.  It is easy for us becuase the sentence looks simple and the letters glaringly familiar. But to them, they are Greek.  

Tell them a story, show them that artists weave those words into great masterpieces of the world and they will eventually choose that for themselves.  

The love of story is within all of us.  Jesus spoke to us in stories.  He communicates through His book. He chose story. He chose words.  He chose it because it beats within His creation.  

Let it reign in our own homes, in the hearts of our children, and in the lives that are becoming their own.



Thursday, February 19, 2015

Fridays Unfolded #145

Last week, I was unable to link up here, to share anything with you lovely readers, because I was somewhere else.

Where it was warm.

I wrote a little about that here.  Only I have this tendency to metaphorize everything in my life (that's not a word by the way...I totally made it up), so instead of writing about how my youngest daughter literally squealed with joy then entire time we were near the ocean, I wrote about crossing our proverbial oceans of fear and standing firm on the other side.

But both things happened.  The crossing of this ocean (metaphorically of course) and the squealing of joy (literally.)

I crossed this ocean, or rather I'd guess I'm in the middle of it, when I jumped on the homeschooling raft almost almost seven years ago.

This week, while I was meandering down an actual beach, not a figurative one, my friend, Liz, from The Quick Journey Blog, wrote an ebook about her raft-embarkment (only she doesn't bore her readers with metaphors like I do.  She really called it "homeschooling").  It is a delightful book, full of things I wish someone would have told me years ago.  I read it and I highly recommend it.

Now I'm back in the land of snow and ice, where temperature is hovering around 15 degrees and am ready to look at some features from last week's party.  It's warm inside and I'm thankful for heat, blankets, wool socks, and these lovely recipes to try.

Krista shared these with us:


Nicola shared a recipe for these lovely little english muffins:


And Sarah shared with us this egg scramble that looks amazing.  It has like all of my favorite things in it, save chocolate. 



How it works:

  • follow your hostesses in some way 

  • link up as many posts as you like-recipes, decorating, faith, kids, homeschooling, humor, giveaways…whatever unfolded for you lately
  • grab the button and post it or linked text somewhere on your blog
  • visit a few links (it’s a party, people!)
  • pin only from the original posts
  • by joining Fridays Unfolded you are giving us permission to post a linked photo from your shared post
  • try to use nice, big photos in your posts.





Tuesday, February 17, 2015

What it Means to be Brave


I just spent a week on the brink of the world.

There is something about staring out over a different kind of frontier, one that was crossed by brave men so many years ago.

It takes a lot of courage to cross a new frontier.  The plains, the mountains, the ocean.  They all stare us down and dare us to come find what's on the other side.

What sits beyond the vast that separates us from the unknown?

The vastness of our great world, the majesty of our God, the infinite heart of the cross - if we are brave enough to stand on the brink, to look at where we sit and say it boldly...I want something more.  What could we find? 

Can we can say it, believe it, own it, and take our first steps towards an unknown pilgrimage...towards a holy that only stands on the other side of labor and backbreaking sacrifice?

It's pretty comfortable here, in this warm house, in my complacent state, leaning on my own understanding, loving the small way I know how.

Thankfully, we were never called to a life of comfort, but one of endless journeying and sacrifice. We aren't called to stand on the sand, stare at glory, and walk away from it.

Let's walk together.  Let's journey together.  Let's get in some ramshackle boats, nailed together by a bunch of women who know nothing about nails, and let's trust we won't sink.  Let's cross our oceans, our plains, journey over our mountains and stand in a place of renewal.  Let us never believe the journeying is always for someone else.  Let us move swiftly, labor lovingly, work tirelessly, and never quit until we look back at the ocean that separated us from our place of holiness.

Maybe we'll see it differently.  Maybe we'll see a shadow of ourselves on the other side.  A young woman, toes near the water, afraid to cross for the crashing waves.  We will close our eyes, open our arms wide to the salt, and give thanks for a safe pilgrimage, for the leading of our God, and for a journey worthy of death...that brought us to life.




Thursday, February 5, 2015

Fridays Unfolded #143

Since we met last week, I've been watching the snow, teaching the girls, doing quite a bit of reading, and giving thanks for our warm home in the midst of below zero temperatures.

Around here, I shared a post from the archives about the manna of motherhood and also I shared some new ramblings as I finished 2 Kings.  

Let's see a few features from last week's linkup, shall we?

Cheryl at Since I Became a Mom shared some wise words that resonated with me.  I hope you'll take the time to read this if you haven't already.


Books...any size...all sizes. Yes, please.
Thank you, Rita!


Brittany showed us how to make 


Time to party!

 How it works:

  • follow your hostesses in some way 

  • link up as many posts as you like-recipes, decorating, faith, kids, homeschooling, humor, giveaways…whatever unfolded for you lately
  • grab the button and post it or linked text somewhere on your blog
  • visit a few links (it’s a party, people!)
  • pin only from the original posts
  • by joining Fridays Unfolded you are giving us permission to post a linked photo from your shared post
  • try to use nice, big photos in your posts.





Monday, February 2, 2015

Kingdom Ramblings



I feel like I've just finished a novel of the most morose, yet inspiring, content.

I began going through 1 and 2 Kings a long time ago, chronicling the names of the kings as I read through them. I finally, this morning, closed the book on the last chapter.  Our beloved Israel was just carried off to Babylon and the promised land abandoned.

I look at God's endless patience with David, with Israel, with His children who so quickly and readily forgot their Father, their Deliverer...and it astounds me.  

Yes, there was plenty of chastisement woven throughout the story of the Israelite people.  Yes, God tried to get their attention. But always there was grace, there was patience, there was hope in the face of extreme adversity.  

They forgot Him.  But He never forgot them.

I feel sometimes as if my entire life is a modern day example of Israelite history.  I put one king on the throne and serve him.  I fail; the king betrays me.  I remember my  God.  I destroy all the idols in my life.  Except maybe the gray areas.  The high places.  Those I keep around because they aren't blatant sin. Then I begin again, forget the faithfulness of my God, the promise of His word.  I am so apt to forget, to wander, to worship others, to remain in a place of mediocre worship.

I can't worship God from a place set aside for idolatry.  I can't love God from a place of half-obedience.  To serve our God is to be all in...to be a woman of unleashed faith, of obedience as thick as the waves that bring in both life and death.  

Our pastor said once that our culture has a tendency to look at the world and the way they live, take it down a couple notches and call it holy.  That is one of the saddest truths I know.

Our cues ought not come from the world, but from the Word. 

The end of the story is tragic.  Most of the Israelites are in Babylon, some have fled to Egypt.  There are a few left in the land.  Interestingly, the ones left are the poorest of them all.  "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they shall inherit the Earth."

But there is a seed of hope.

Jehoiachin, who was on the throne when the Nebuchadnezzar came for them, was carried off when his people were taken captive and held in prison for years.  At the end of the book of 2 Kings, a new king came to the throne of Babylon and released Jehoiachin.

The book ends with bondage...and with a seed of a promise, an inkling of hope, that this descendent of David, of royal blood, was still alive and well.  Dining with the king.  His promise will not go unbroken, even though His people are captive in a foreign land.

"So Jeroiachin changed from his prison garments, and he ate bread regularly before the king all the days of his life." (2 Kings 25:29)

And from him will come the Bread of Life, the atonement for all of our high places, the Deliverer of His people.

Selah.



Friday, January 30, 2015

Manna

I was reading to my girls from the Old Testament in our Story Bible last week.  The Israelites finally crossed over the Jordon and into the Promised Land.  Something struck me as I was reading this aloud...something I had never considered before.  (It's always this way with God's word...the revealing of truth after truth no matter how familiar a story becomes...) Here is where it took me this week...


Manna.  It means "what is it?"  They begged for food, for sustenance in this wilderness...and when the Lord provided it, instead of saying thanks...they said, "what is it?"  Thus manna it was called.

They complained about the manna...it was too dull.  It was so boring.  It was absolutely mundane and they hated it so much, they wanted to go back to Egypt where the food was plentiful.  Back to the land of slavery...where they could feed their flesh for an hour and be abused for generations.

It is not rare for me to tear up while reading to my kids...and, truth be told, I've been known to outright cry through an entire chapter.  So, it should come as no surprise that, when their feet touched Canaan, my voice caught.  The Promised Land.  The Land their fathers never got to see...the Land promised to them all those years ago...here they stand on the other side of a miracle, feet anchored to the promises of a Beautiful God.

Then...and I wasn't prepared for this...the manna stopped falling.  Just like that.  That which had sustained them all these years...the miraculous nourishment they complained so much about...it just stopped.  Tears began to run down my face as the truth of what happened in that moment flooded my core.  To see the miracles of God cease to rain?  To walk out in the morning to a world void of that which has nourished this body and that of my family for decades?  It must have been a bittersweet moment for His children.

I think about my life.  The manna that sustains me.  The nourishment that falls out of nowhere.  The "what is it" that permeates this soul.

The mother's manna.

Dishes in the sink...laundry in the basket...stomachs to be fed...minds to be taught...it all rains hard over us as we are washed in the nourishment of this life of service.  The sometimes literal "what is it" (all over the carpet, all over this shirt, all over this table...)

This life...this life of washing feet, teaching souls and cleaning house...this is my Manna.  I believe it's what nourishes me in this time in my life.  And while I am tempted to complain and moan see the manna as drudgery...I know that somehow...someway...this is what is nourishing me right now.  I've said it before and I'll say it again.

Self-sacrifice is sole avenue by which we become like Christ.

And one day...not so far off...I'll stand on the other side of this.  My children grown, the house empty...I'll cross over my Jordon. And, just like that, it will stop falling.

I will stand...feet anchored to the promises of a Beautiful God...and lament the loss of my manna.  I imagine there will be more ways to serve...different than that which is given to me now, in this moment of mothering.  I will still be a mother.  Someday a grandmother.  I will still work diligently serving my King until He returns...but the manna.  The "what is it" that shook my core, tested my patience, and nourished my soul.  This miraculous, wondrous, discouraging sustenance...it will be no more.

I strive now, to relish in my manna while it rains.  I strive to see every piece of heavenly bread for what it is and smile when I see another way, another reason, another avenue by which I can serve my King.  For what other reason does the manna rain other than to be redeemed? To be turned into nourishment for the whole family?

This is why it rains...this is why the manna floods our lives and our souls...and this is why it must be embraced.  Without the collection of the manna, it cannot be eaten. Without the mother embracing her "what is it" every single day, there can be no provision for her family.

Let it rain.  And let us relish in this opportunity to receive something bland, give thanks and turn it into something beautiful.

*This post was edited from the archives.


Thursday, January 29, 2015

Fridays Unfolded #142

Last week, I missed you all!  I was sick and exhausted and simply could not make it to our party.

Once my head cleared, we had a week of school that was really quite pleasant (for the most part.)  I shared a little about teaching my oldest daughter to read and wrote a couple of (very) mediocre poems.

We had an unseasonably warm week and, while our east coast friends were shivering through their wool blankets, we were playing at the park under a 70 degree sun.  It was marvelously May-ish.  And it was very short lived.

It's cold again and the sun went and hid somewhere amongst the clouds.  It's as if she's embarrassed of her blazen nakedness yesterday and is cloaking herself in paralyzed moisture.

Let's see what you all were doing last week while I was lost somewhere in a virus induced mental fog.

Some features:


The Best of Baby Blog shared this.  
Funny and relatable.  I loved it.

Te Amo Too told us how to make our own lemonade stand
Isn't this the cutest thing ever?


Doesn't this look amazing?  I loved flavored waters.  
But not the bottled kind.  (Just so we're clear.)


Let's party again, shall we?

How it works:

  • follow your hostesses in some way 

  • link up as many posts as you like-recipes, decorating, faith, kids, homeschooling, humor, giveaways…whatever unfolded for you lately
  • grab the button and post it or linked text somewhere on your blog
  • visit a few links (it’s a party, people!)
  • pin only from the original posts
  • by joining Fridays Unfolded you are giving us permission to post a linked photo from your shared post
  • try to use nice, big photos in your posts.





Thursday, January 15, 2015

Fridays Unfolded #140

There are some weeks that simply find me drained of creativity.  This is one of those weeks.

We have had a wonderfully simple week which really leaves me with nothing amazing, creative, or especially interesting to share with you all.

Some weeks I'm just a boring homeschool mom with a pair of knitting needles and a book or two.

Thankfully you all had some really fun things for me to read about while my week went on fairly uneventful.

Some features from last week's link up:

Angela gave us a great method for organizing a mess.  I read a couple years ago a book that encouraged this same method to getting things cleaned out and have found it works much better than however I was doing it before.  This is a great post:


I love tuna salad.  And flatbread.  


I am amazed at people who make furniture beautiful. This is such an adorable remake of an otherwise not-so-pretty table:


Let's party again, shall we?

How it works:

  • follow your hostesses in some way 

  • link up as many posts as you like-recipes, decorating, faith, kids, homeschooling, humor, giveaways…whatever unfolded for you lately
  • grab the button and post it or linked text somewhere on your blog
  • visit a few links (it’s a party, people!)
  • pin only from the original posts
  • by joining Fridays Unfolded you are giving us permission to post a linked photo from your shared post
  • try to use nice, big photos in your posts.






Thursday, January 8, 2015

Fridays Unfolded #139: Breathless and Hungry

This month has found me in all kinds of different states.  I have been busy, lazy, sad, ecstatic, carefree, burdened, loved, endured.

Christmas, the quiet coming of the Messiah, the dawning of a new beginning, always leaves me breathless and exhausted.

I can imagine that's how Mary felt as she brought forth and raised the Savior of the world.  Breathless. Exhausted.

Christmas is an overwhelming spiral of joy that brings us to a place of surrender and worship.

And hungry.

It makes us hungry.  

In December we had a party and you all showed up with some amazing things to eat.  I don't know why it's always food with me...probably because I'm not super crafty anywhere except in the kitchen.

Some features:

Jessica posted a delightful ensemble of peppermint recipes:


I am, personally, not an eggnog fan, but three other people in my family love it.  Nicola had this fun recipe for us to try:


Over at Lou Lou Girls, they posted this delicious looking soup that looks perfect for winter:



Let's do this again, shall we?


How it works:

  • follow your hostesses in some way 

  • link up as many posts as you like-recipes, decorating, faith, kids, homeschooling, humor, giveaways…whatever unfolded for you lately
  • grab the button and post it or linked text somewhere on your blog
  • visit a few links (it’s a party, people!)
  • pin only from the original posts
  • by joining Fridays Unfolded you are giving us permission to post a linked photo from your shared post
  • try to use nice, big photos in your posts.