My personal motto- emphasis on WE

Organics/GM foods...

Does anyone wonder why in the United States there is so little press about organic foods? I mean outside of advertising that certain products are in a store near you? The rest of the world is doing back flips to stay away from genetically modified foods and filing law suits against Monsanto for polluting the rice with GM crops, yet you rarely hear a conversation about such things here in the US… thought it is not because food is not an obsession by many here, that’s for sure.

Anyway read this today:
The worst offenders of pesticide residues: peaches. Followed by: apples, sweet bell peppers, celery, nectarines, strawberries, cherries, pears, imported grapes, spinach, lettuce, and potatoes.
Richard Wiles, Environmental Working Group: "Those are some of the most contaminated with pesticides where you should buy organic."
It's a special concern for parents. Studies indicate children may be more vulnerable to toxins in pesticides
From : http://www.ksl.com/?nid=200&sid=610141

It is already after 5 and I have so much to do., The blessed baby is asleep for a while and I actually had 4 hours of sleep in a row last night! Praise God! It still wasn’t enough sleep but I will take what I can get! Woo hoo!

The homeschooling is done for the day. I could feel my patience wearing. Volcanos, counting money, reading and writing, rocks. We are earth bound in our studies- money and dirt. Tomorrow we make a volcano. How fun! I hope we have a good time doing it. The girls really enjoy hands-on work.

Tonight I need to make a stationary package and finish the website. I am currently procrastinating for a few minutes of venting here before I make dinner. My mind is overwhelmed, as it may be from the craziness of this day. Tomorrow is no better.
Tomorrow is busy- we are doing what I have felt called to do more of- service. The 4 of us will go to serve dinner to a family we know mourning the death of a father. We will serve them food. Interesting to me how easy it is to feed people. I love it. I really take to heart what Jesus told Peter “Feed my sheep.” Sweet. THAT I can do. I may not have the right words to make anyone feel any better, but I hope my presence there and my FOOD will do the talking for me as I empathize with their loss. After that I pick up the organic produce, then school a bit, then tap and ballet, then quick home for boy scouts. I am tired thinking about it… HA! Not by my power though, right?

sidelined

So I did it. I said no to money. Well, not actually real money that someone would be handing me- for free. It was money that I would have to work for. I wanted to say yes. I had already spent the money 50 ways.

I had to say no.

It all started when a friend, an acquaintance really, who called to tell me about the business she and her husband were starting. They needed a website- could I do one for them? I met with them and their cronies at my home around the kitchen table with my portfolio within an arms reach should they ask to see it.

The baby sat quietly.

For 10 minutes. At the ten minute mark she decides that she is hungry. VERY hungry. The screaming begins. I desperately try and focus on this business of theirs. I talk a little louder, try bouncing her on my knee to quiet down the agony. This may have only served to titillated, pardon the expression, or create even more ire for her. (Did I mention that 3 of the 5 people in the room were men?) At this point I am thanking God for padded bras that might hide any escaping milk. I excused myself to my laundry folding area behind a door (also known as a family room, not one for my clients to see) and tried to give the blessed child just a nip… a little dab’ll do ya kinda thing. No beans. She SCREAMED when I pulled her away from me. I was sweating it now. They were waiting for me in the dining room. Tick, tick, tick. The woman comes in- offers to walk the baby around- outside. I accept, exasperated. I am annoyed that my dear one, my dearest, sweetest, long-awaited and treasured child is daring to act her age.

It was then that I knew. I was crazy. I simply could not be upset with this cherished child of mine. She knew and was trying to tell me what I was: stark-raving-outta-my-mind-mad to try and maintain this business while homeschooling, having a teeny one, supporting my husbands business, and general household duties with 6 kids not to mention leading a weekly church home group. Like, mama didn’t raise no fool…. SO WHY WAS I SITTING HERE WITH THESE PEOPLE?

I returned to the meeting. Do I disengage now? I decided not now. I would call. Offer to do a small amount to set them on their feet. But no full blown month-long project.

I would not be upset at a baby for being a baby when I was the one who needed to swallow my pride, see the writing on the wall and otherwise extract myself from activities that did not directly contribute to the support and running of this large family.

I guess the business, really the lack there of, but even the possibility of accepting business to turn a profit and learn more about things outside of this home was my last bastion of independence. I like design. I love to interface with people, learn what they need, help contribute to the growth of the business, help them realize a dream. It is one part of my life that has remained constant in the upheaval since kids came. I have invested many years in nurturing this “baby.” I am sad to see another part of “me” pushed to the margins for the family’s greater good. I think of St. Paul when he discusses dying to oneself so that God can grow greater in us. Perhaps this is part of that. Losing that prideful bragging right, But there isn’t time for it now. Later? Perhaps. I can’t help but feel like God may be leading me elsewhere, but it is a handy tool to have in my skill set should I need to call on it later.

In the meantime I will be here, blogging about today, tomorrow and yesterday.

To be a bit more approximate

To be a bit more approximate- not so confined to the daily grind/ Not that my day is ever predictable, on the contrary. But, nonetheless, the grind remains, yes?

… I would like to be whisked away somewhere new to me and shiny with possibilites- come with me on fantasyland, to- say gay Paris. There I will be with my true love, nibbling croissants and inhaling espresso, sipping ridiculous amounts of wine, and have passionate… kisses. Bisou, bisou… In this fantasy world where the sun does not set until absurd hours of the night, we will walk the streets, talk to adventurers, indulge in all things art, ride bicycles and experience euphoria. Just a wee tiny escape… thanks for indulging me…

out of the bag

I went through a dead woman’s clothes today. As I reached into the black trash bag, pulling out carefully folded clothes that were then unceremoniously dumped into the crinkly plastic blackness, I thought about who she must have been. I have never met the woman, though evidently we wear the same size. I saw from her clothes that she likes nice things- Talbots, Chicos, but that she was not afraid to purchase clothes from WalMart. She liked casual, unstructured living judging from the amount of shorts and cotton shirts. I imagine her to be a practical woman, in touch with her self as she was not wearing these clothes to impress anyone, though I imagine they suited her.

She died from cancer. Quickly. Within 6 months of diagnosis her body was made ready for the cremator. While I am not personally a fan of such a way to leave my body after my soul has returned home, it does bring the full circle notion of from dust we have come and to dust we shall return.

I think I can learn a little from the contents of this black trash bag.. I will be true to myself- some things I wouldn’t be caught dead in, despite the fact that I might first be found naked, as I do not have the funds to purchase new clothes. But I will keep what I can to wear carefully with my own accessories to make it my own style- and for free- using what I have. I will be practical and return things that are not to my taste to the trash bag’s dark depths for someone else to wear. I wonder whether they too will ponder the whereabouts of the previous owner as I have. Whether she is in her glory, or in her hell? Will the next person to plumb the insides of this bag be grateful or ashamed of its “preowned” status? Or will it simply be a matter of course to them- their pride not a stumbling block as it sometimes can be for me; of little consequence that their style is not reflected in the stitches on their body?

Carefully I place the bag, only half full now, in the back of my car, ready for the next stage of its journey for another soul to explore.

goings on upstairs....

At first I thought it was an extreme case of flatulence. But no, the sound continued- and in some cases louder than the one before- nature wouldn’t allow such things…

Then I thought perhaps someone was moving furniture on the floor above….

Alas- no. It was a trombone. And an aspiring trombonist. Slowly the sounds were less aberrations of nature and became ever so slightly more definite- though I would not go so far as to say musical. My sweet boy came down, imitating in rhythm, if not in tone the song his idol, his father, had demonstrated for him on the instrument. His cheeks puffed out, the trombone glinting on his shoulder dwarfing his frame as his arms extended to their utmost to illicit a sound from the thing. God bless his little self…

10 Years Ago...
1. I was 21 and getting ready to go to art school after leaving a large school in Virginia
2. had moved back home
3. In a sad place emotionally and feeling lonely
4. waited tables for cash
5. excited to finally really do art with people who knew it
6. didn't trust God or know that he wanted me to know Him

5 Years Ago...
1. I had twin 3 year olds who were darlings…
2. I had just met the man of my dreams and we were “telling people” that we were getting married in October
3. I was getting to know 3 sweet children that I would soon be sharing my life and home with
4. God loves me!?? Still coming to that realization...
5. I was very involved in my church community and played bass in the band
6.Loved doing graphic design, hated leaving my babies to be cared for by someone else


Yesterday...
1. couldn’t sleep after being awakened to nurse at 5 am
2. baked a caramel cake from Maya Angelo’s recipe book- had it iced by 7:30 am
3. Got 6 kids dressed and went to church- all 8 of us sliding into a pew
4. Drove in a landboat with my husband at the helm to see his grandparents in Pennsylvania
5. hurriedly nursed a baby off of interstate 95 in the front seat during a potty stop
6. spoke with a woman in her 80’s who inspires me to be kinder, gentler, more loving- not to worry so much about my selfish goals for this life but to think eternally



Snacks I Like...
1. Favorite all time late afternoon snack: chip and salsa with a side of negro modelo beer (bonus with my guac. if I have made it)
2. crackers with mayo and cheddar cheese
3. veggies with dip
4. smartfood popcorn
5. dark chocolate
6. cup of creamy coffee
7. smoked or wasabi flavored almonds

5 Songs I Know All the Words To (there are so many for Opera in the car time, but here are a few…)
1. Closer to Fine- Indigo Girls
2. Reedemer- Nicole C. Mullen
3. Gambler- Kenny Rodgers
4. Steve Miller, Crosby, Stills and Nash- all of them I feel like!
5. A tisket a tasket- Ella Fitzgerald

If I Had A Million Dollars....
1. pay off house and school loans
2. save for kids college (of course at this point there would not even be enough money for this… after including #1)
3. addition on the house
4. travel to France for a few weeks of love with my husband

5 Things I Would Never Wear...
1. Plaid pants
2. shaved short hair
3. any graphic alluding to death or guns
4. fluorescent shorts
5. hose with open toe shoes


Favorite TV Shows...
1. Anything on HGtv
2. The Bernie Mac show
3. Underwater documentary type shows
4. Travel channel
5. ER (long ago when it was good, ditto for Friends)

The air is soft with humidity. This week marks the turn toward fall that you wouldn’t know if you were only looking at the temperature gauge- you need to use your ears. When you exit the house in search of a little peace you find that you have entered a large scale, almost deafening performance. The crickets are screaming in the August air tonight. If not for the crickets I don’t think that I would believe the calendar that it is already the end of summer.

It’s been one of those days when I wish I had seventy more hands to pair with at least half of all the hats I wear. My feeble mind simply cannot keep up with all that is going on, has gone on, and I can only barely consider what WILL go on in just a few short weeks. To think that again I will be teaching and caring for a newborn is almost more that I can handle- at least from this vantage tonight. But tomorrow brings another morning full of possibilities (and hopefully not too much chaos).

I am in need of encouragement for this homeschooling thing. I am both excited and anxious about the continuing of a very difficult thing. I don’t doubt that this is not for everyone- I question how God thought us suited to do it. But He did, and we are.

In the sunlight
in the kitchen
on an ordinary afternoon
a man and a baby greet nose to nose

no “spectacular spectacular”
no unique verbiage exchanged
but the look of love
and the response in kind; smiling

a dream is realized
a circle unbroken
God’s great gift to me
Tiny, daily moments of shining clarity

A prayer raised to heaven
A hope whispered loudly
Little-girl words asking of God
Big-time requests for a new sibling

From mother to daughter
From father to son
Faith embraced and passed carefully
In tiny moments over any ordinary day

This compiled over the week past my due date:

You Know You’re Overdue When:

At the O.B.’s office your aim into the cup is dead center

You use your insurance card so often that you attempt to use it as a debit card at Target by mistake

You waste no time in making shoe selections for the day: you are limited to the 2 pairs of flip flops that barely fit…

You eye all weather reports with temps above 70 degrees as WAY too hot…

Your maternity clothes are all too tight

You choose clothes at night for the following day just in case you go into labor over night

Every morning you wake up and think “Well, last night wasn’t the night- it MUST be today!!”

Your bag for the hospital mysteriously starts to creep closer to the front door

Your incoming phone calls and emails all begin with “Have you had the baby yet???”

Your bathing suit leers at you from the depths of the closet

You feel entitled to chocolate at breakfast, and every other meal

You no longer feel vaguely guilty about purchasing 2 pints of ice cream at a time

You start to remember all the bizarre baby names and their meanings without trying hard

While at the ob you bump your belly on the vertical stand of the scale

You read and reread what signs of labor are just in case you’ve missed it…

You convince yourself that you ARE indeed in labor… just like last week…

back

One day, I will not be as exhausted as this and will be mourning the loss of infant sized clothing. Today, however, is a tired day, a full and fullfilling day, but one where I stare longingly at my pillow and desire a re-introdcution.

I think it might go something like this:

Me: Hi- my name is Tired Mom- I couldn't help but notice you from across this crowded room- I'd really like to cuddle up to you- if that is okay with you, that is.

Pillow: Hiya- I'm flattered- really- it's just that those circles under your eyes- well it put me off a little, and, like- when was the last time ya did your hair? Brushed your teeth? Sorry- but there are other sweeties I would rather have cuddle up to me....

Me: but like- you don't understand- I am a crazed mom of a newborn- like I NEED YOU- like I've never needed anything before- disregard my exterior- I would sleep solidly if not disturbed!!

Pillow: But your're the kind that gets up in the middle of the night- walks around- talks in strange sounds, keeps checking on small people for breathing like somkinda manic- you are SO not my type- heck, you are even inclined to jam me under your elbow to help you breast feed! Like- dude... how rude.

Me: You're right, I am not your type... maybe in a few weeks I will introduce myself again...

wild roses

a sweet fragrance
lingers in the air
my thoughts linger on a time
when wild roses bloomed.

it seemed just yesterday
a clearer picture could not be painted
when my heart was given
during the time of the rose

wild and rambling it was
rooted, and abundantly chaotic
full of both brambles and beauty
we gorged ourselves on infatuation

drunk on each other,
“obsessive” too kind a word
we feverishly, passionately
discovered one another

agonizing and enthralling
delicious love bloomed alongside the roses
reason and candor be damned
nothing could stop the buds from bursting forth

passing years do not still
the butterflies roused upon
detection of the sweet, musky scent
of the lovely, wild, roses

wishing for beach time...

I am crazed to get to the beach for some reason! I guess I am in need of a little perspective building- I have been a wee bit caught up in my own microcosm of homeschool, baby to come, bible studies, design work, household management and relationship building with all the many loves of my life… NOW I WANT BEACH! To make it even worse I have been listening to the waves on a sound machine of all things and actually pretending that I am there… hahahahahhahhhahahahahharrrharrhar! Silly girl… I had actually entertained ideas of heading to the beach around this time when I wasn’t aware of how pregnant I would feel. Now I realize what a farce it is to be too far from the hospital. I’ve included some pics from when I lived briefly in Hawaii… I miss the beauty of the people and nature… there is also one from when my awesome husband and I were in LA of Santa Monica Pier from our hotel room... love the left coast...

porch swingin'

forward
backward
swingin’ on the swing
hand holdin’
dream rakin’
swingin’ on the swing

today was mighty busy
‘morrow promises the same
but at the end of each day
forward
backward
swingin’ on the swing

somethin’ ‘bout the porch swing
quiet as can be
don’t interrupt the night dreams
forward
backward
swingin’ on the swing

draw me close to warm me
close to my sweetheart I will go
my heart thrills and settles in
forward
backward
swingin’ on the swing

everything is possible
the breeze teases in our ears
our child large inside me
forward
backward
swingin’ on the swing

visual musings...

It really struck me today what a miracle this world is- that God designed the plants to come up at just the perfect time, that the seasons changing, even if only subtly, are so important to we humans who need to mark their lives within a recognizable framework. Lovely. Every day I am able to grow in confidence and defendable certainty that this life we are given is no accident or a mere mixing of chemicals at a coincidental point in history. God designed this creation with us in mind and for our use.

We did some earth day activities today, one of which where we made rubbings of different tree barks. Such amazing fingerprints for each tree- each unique and magnificent. We incorporated some leaf rubbings as well. Leaves have got to be one of my favorite artifacts in nature.

My daughters just love to be part of the outdoors. They learn experientially the best, so while it is difficult for me to gauge exactly what they have “gotten” out of the different activities that we have participated in, I know that in the very least they have a physical memory and appreciation of where they did it. I am blessed to be such an integral part of these amazing creature’s lives…

It is easy to go overboard with earth day and start to espouse things on global warming that are way over even most adult’s heads. To be free of public schools and the scripted discussions is a wonderful thing, to NOT have my words mimic the prevailing political stance or counter stance on hot topics is key to why we school at home. That said, it is sometimes tempting to use that same language simply to “teach,” forgetting that until that hierarchy in learning is achieved, where the children will be able to make a decision based on the merits of the argument of their own volition, they will just be meaningless words. I have gotten so critical of what I read in the newspapers, on-line and on seen tele programming. I am so distrustful of media in the last 5-10 years as I have gained a bit of personal widom.

Oh to climb a tree again
For the very first time
The unexpected vantage point
The sway and the incline

The rough bark beneath the hand
The open air below
New bugs to meet and sky to see
Careful to move very s l o w

Oh to climb a tree again
The freedom from the ground
Never to see the world the same
A higher perspective found

dirt from the great outside
(from the inside)
not wanted
a filthy windstorm conveys

trying not to get polluted
or dirtied
or sullied
trying to keep clean

my only shield, my protector
as close as I wanna be
watches, waits for me to see
the stained cloth I could cling to

my attention wanders away
no broom that sweeps
no magic Clorox spray
slippery hands grasp things (slip away)

the world glitters and seduces
sparkles and blinds
dazzling sites, sound
caressed pupils widen- ears go deaf

the Living Word only-
sanctifies, revives
cleanes, purifies
all others are stiff bottomless cold lies

His: unsearchable truths
to detox and preserve
to knit and secure
so close- within my hold and my embrace

struggling, struggling as humans do
washing, scrubbing
grasping, pulling
when only His wash and fold will do

on my own, by my own device
smells of rubbish
decay and of death
But He has called me by name-

and washed me white as snow

blueblog/happier things

Easter is here and I am just so exhausted- I have yet to get out the Easter baskets, I am completely distracted by the thoughts of tender shoots of green exploding from the earth- BUT NOT IN MY GARDEN yet because I have not decided what and how to include the beauties in my life with my budget, there is so much to do around the house, so many bible studies to follow along with, so many decisions to make… I am like a huge piece of toast­‑ crispy, dry and lifeless… well until you look at my stomach and see it burgeoning over the normal waistline and realize that I am like 8 months prego… no wonder I am exhausted. Of course I know that the exhaustion will really kick in when the sweet one makes her appearance. Ahahahahah. The irony of life.

Reminds me of a song.. these are a few of my favorite things...listed:

holding hands
watching birds at the bird feeder
margaritas and guacamole
eating al fresco
sitting on my porch swing
sunflowers
the feel of hardwood under my feet
opening the shades in the morning
Chinatown in new york
going to art museums and finding a new artist to follow
seed catalogs in February
babies moving inside my body
sipping red wine while cooking
blues women souling out
zydeco
dancing like a maniac
driving through Louisiana at night over the bayou
French movies
watching children at the playground
the beach- all beaches
jogging through coffee fields
teaching about science to my dds
farmer’s markets
the smell of coffee
homemade bread with butter
fiction based in other lands
researching- love it
HGTV
new sketch book
sharp pencils
new crayons
a gazillion sock in the kid’s drawers- matched and clean
being surprised by a rainbow
church bells
feeling protected
scripture jotted on scraps all around me
british slang words
long hair
scratchy beards
broken-in jeans
old letters
old ladies with red lipstick
talking to old men
asking about people’s lives
reading about how people lived long ago
learning a new instrument
finding a new words
Chotchi
haircuts
swinging high into the sky to touch the clounds
walking after dinner
unexpected guests bearing gifts
God’s providing for us always
ladies sitting around talking about women’s things
planning trips
travel guide books
poetry slam books
historical African American fiction
playing with beads
lurking on other’s blogs
the smell of lavender
clean sheets
unexpected kisses on the neck
perfectly painted toenails
a dog who is always happy to see you
finding parents committed to serving God and dedicated to their kids
anything in Kauai
sketching new places
braids
buying watercolor brushes
shopping with my daughters at boutiques
hanging out with my mom
watching my children with their grandparents
eating sushi with friends over a long time
getting out sweaters and boots for fall
the smell of leaves under foot
hiking and discovering something new always
God seeking me when I am hiding in my own world
my husband smiling at me
taking off in a plane somewhere
hot, hot showers
hot, hot, coffee with real cream
cutting flowers for the table
setting a table for a fun gathering
picking out pumpkins in October
listening to my dad’s police stories
sailing on the bay
scuba diving and snorkeling and seeing new things
pony tails with ribbons
afternoon romps
listening to my kids talk about Jesus
looking at old pictures
holding babies
spicy food
college towns
yarn stores
seeing a printed design project that I made
planning fun things to do for my family
old cooking gadgets
keeping secrets

ID tags

This evening I had an interesting conversation about how people are so insulated from others in the world physically that they create elaborate virtual personal identities. These may range in scale from their specialized mobile phone ringtone to websites or blogs painstakingly designed all about them, or their vanity car tags and stickers that scream “THIS IS ME!!” Have we all grown out of the practice of interfacing with humans? **(warning of approaching rant)** One of the more annoying things that drives me nuts is the instant messaging on phones that distracts many of the dear -22 crowd from doing the jobs they are being paid for, or driving down the road, or sitting in a room with extended family. Their thumbtyped conversation takes precendence over all these things. They do not need to be social physically because they are doing it within the safety zone of cyberspace. I feel like an old bitty saying these things, but it underscore the egocentric nature of some of the younger crowd that I know. I was the most recently annoyed when the LIFEGAURD at the pool was too busy typing on his mobile to watch the pool patrons he was being paid to oversee.

Some of the most successful things on the market these days are things that need to be customized to be used. The ipod is a good example of this. The medium is the message- literally. Of course Apple does a fantastic job branding it- and it is now ubiquitous as are the accessories that point out who you are- not just the playlist. (What does your carrier look like?) No one wants to look the same as their chum (if you ever physically see them- you see their “branding” via computer screen.) This is such a departure from the cookie-cutter uniformity of the 50’s and early 60’s. I make no judgment of this- only to note that this customization seems an attempt by individuals to answer the “who am I?” in a virtual and material way through customization or personalization. People can recreate who they are- through their STUFF. People still desire community- as shown through the massively multiplayer online games, the solidarity behind a brand (Mac vs. PC), or their connection to an organization. The thing is, there are few in my generation who would pledge allegiance to the civic or church organizations that my parent’s generation did. Is there a fear of looking to dorky, or campy or “do-goody?”

This tangent has a destination- namely is this generation valuing how they look on their myspace page more how they contribute positively in the physical world? Are the opinions of their online community more important to them then their contribution to society generally speaking? It is no mistake that I post this on a blog… It is the modern day soap box or diary. Indeed I chose a design that I felt was suitable to the image I wished to portray, I chose images to populate the site, it is an originally work and really no different than what I describe above. I really don’t care too much who views my musings. I will not derive my “self-worth” from how others respond (or don’t) to my posts. This is so because I know who I am in Christ and a blog is simply a more convenient, albeit less private form of a journal.

Acts of Service

While soaking in some of my husband's love this line came to me...


We are all like little “sonflowers”- every loving act given to us, like rain, emboldens and fortifies us to reach closer to the Son.

God works it all out- he is so good. We have a few members of a band staying with us for the next few days. As always we are blessed as we open our home. Tonight at church I was watching a woman in front of me just reach out and love on 2 homeless women who were staying at the shelter our church was providing. Tearfully I was praising God for her love, and for the fact that these women made it to the service to rock out with the band while they stayed here. I can’t imagine not having a home… Every day I walk around this house of ours in wonder at how God has provided for our growing family.

This week in the local paper there was an article about a Girl Scout troop that meets with their moms in the penitentiary. Every Saturday the girls run to their moms that can’t tuck them in at night, or make sure that they have eaten right but meet and do crafts and have a snack. I love that they can have a semi-normal thing like meeting once a week for scouting within an otherwise bare and hostile environment. I was so saddened to hear that the son of a close friend of my husband’s family violated parole and is now serving a sentence for the next 7 years. His son will be 15 when he is released… What a tragedy. I hope he can make a way to continue his relationship with his family.

2nd year past

Another year was survived with the memory of our heaven-resident child. I sensed the date rather then knew it. It was a physical memory. 2 years have past. Though I didn't realize the date I felt a deep sadness. This year a bit easier than last, as the cliché regarding time goes. It is a raw pain, however, and comes up at unexpected and often inconvenient times. I am often surprised by the depth of pain… One tends to think that after a period of time the pain would net be as acute. Perhaps it is that it is not as persistent. One day I shall meet her. The children speak of her several times a week. Interesting the effect of lose of a sibling on those left in this reality. Our family has discussed the advantage of being the first to meet her and would we recognize her? Of course God, the God of details, has all that worked out for us and it is comforting to know that we do not have to be plagued by worries as the writer queried "Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven?" In the scripture it says that we will have new bodies in heaven. They also ask whether she will look like an adult or remain a baby. Leave it to children to wonder about things that can only be dreamt as no eye has seen those wonders.

I ponder if the reason I can't seem to name the dear one in my womb is because of the name that still haunt my thoughts as the "best" one I could think of. Today I am at 26 weeks. There is now a good chance of survival now, even if she were to arrive today. Amazing grace. That I am here in this way. Prayer has carried me here. Prayers whispered on the lips of children, spilled forth from cracked old lady’s lipsticked lips, prayers spoken in the clipped way of men uncomfortable with praying aloud about such intimacies, and moaned by my husband’s and my aching hearts.

Possibilities

A different scent has invaded the air so different from snow- spring! This spring for me, as a previous spring 8 years ago, holds a great deal of significance. There is a striking difference in me during the shared season separated by years. I am such a different person since my first borns. I am grateful that I am not the same after almost a decade! I think I have a bit more knowledge, am a bit more wise, know my shortcomings much better, am more humbled more frequently. And I have love. Lots more love. Praise God for that. Praise God for my dear husband without whom I would feel lost and who loves me in all of my many seasons. I feel like with love in my heart all things are possible. Matthew 19:26 . I feel like I am actually able to receive and give. I love love!

Spring and I are in synch with each other. As my body ceases to successfully conceal the little life within it so do the trees also shed any appearance of finality, but rather take on a look of significance and anticipation- a new beginning. Buds are blushing and swelling on the ends of branches, promising to burst forth at a time in the future. While these appearances promise and look ahead to a time in the future I am also aware of the importance of staying in the present. There are so many things that involve my presence in the present! I am also aware of how radically everything could change with a baby in the house after such a long period of time with older children. I pray that God is sowing seeds of patience and forbearance in my heart for that time of transition. I think specifically of our youngest and her status and enjoyment in being the baby of the house. I think also of one of our dear ones so concerned that this new sister may not resemble her. How exciting to see the plans that God has for our family!

The Show Must Go On

Detour
Left
The stage is over there
Quick
We must make the 4th Act (the 4th Act? Why so many Acts! How many more?)
If we are not present the show cannot go on


Exit
Missed
The orchestra whines on
Deafening
Stop. Silence fills the darkness (SILENT? Is that even possible?)
A single violin screeches, s c r e a m s

Passenger
Captive
Now a dramatic pause,
Mask On
Back at the 2nd Act (Hadn’t we progressed to the 4th? Where is the program?!)
Meaningless dialog

Lights
Blinding
Darken stage, house lights up
Bewilderment
Spotlights turn hot on our faces (Now wait just a minute here!! ME?)
Waiting for direction

4 Way Stop
Indecision
What are we to do now?
Direction?
Forced ad lib., symantical errors (what are my lines!??)
What Act are we in?

snow...

It is ironic that after my last post (my perennial distraction of gardens and spring) it snowed almost 18 inches! HA! This morning as I drove away from the house my children were noticing how glittery and sparkling the snow was. Everything in its season has a beauty unique to it.

The day after the dump came on the East Coast the kids (of course) could not wait to get out in it. After the initial drama of getting 5 kids ready for arctic conditions it was fun to watch them wade through snow that came past their knees. One of our sweet ones is sort of a snowman fanatic, so before she even left the door she was out with her carrots, sticks for arms and prunes for eyes. Finally the new sleds were put to use after waiting in the dry garage since Christmas. Unfortunately, the snow was so high they hardly had a chance to use them to their satisfaction. Hot chocolate and grilled cheese was enjoyed by all- especially by those manly shovelers who worked a great deal that day.

One benefit to snow is the incredible illumination that goes on indoors in the mornings from all the reflected light. It reminds me of the bible verse: Psalm 51:7 Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. Mornings after snows when the sun approaches the horizon and goes on to break through in glorious rays- initially rainbow colored this part of the year- is a treat. It makes the cold mornings feel like a special treat.

Speaking of sun, I noticed how much longer it dallies in the sky before retiring for the night. I have to admit how much I benefit from even and extra 15 minutes! I feel so much more energized!

almost planting time...

Like a pioneer woman from the days of old, I am so happy to finally have a bit of land. We have a modest (mortgaged) piece of land here and the idea of spring has got me pretty excited. There are just so many planting opportunities! All the plants that I have looked at longingly I now have an opportunity to become friends with! Yipee!! I would like to plant a prayer garden. (Given that the frost date is less then a month from my due date it may take a great deal of prayer to put ANY such garden in!) HA! Being pregnant and contemplating a garden are redundant. Both anticipate blooms birthing and the need for nurture. Anyway, I am trying to get my list of biblical plants, plants that remind me of my savior and those that are sentimental to me since they were sentimental to family members. My grandmother always had clematis. Deep purple. The purple reminds me of Christ’s majesty. My grandmother was Catholic and Polish and took her religion seriously. I wonder what our conversations would look like if we spoke today. Would we talk about Christ? Do we really share His Spirit? I wonder about the mystery behind Catholicism. The Virgin Mary in particular and her place in Catholicism is so interesting to me. Evidently she was very special to my Aunt Joanne, my Godmother. I wonder why? I never asked. At her death I was asked to lay roses in the niche where the statue of Mary was. I remember feeling confused- why to Mary? Anyway roses will also be included- both for the memory of my Aunt and Grandmother, but also since it reminds me of the crown of thorns, and the entrance of sin into the world in the Garden. I wonder what species of beautiful flower friends I will never meet since the Curse took hold. I imagine that many were displaced as the thorns encroached upon their territory. I will also plant some sort of orchid. Orchids are indigenous on every continent of our blue planet- reminding me of God’s handicraft and that flower serving to testify to its creator. Also I would plant it as my wish for all people to know Him personally. Who knows? Their curiosity could start with just one flower. Other things I plan to plant- Israelites: onions and leeks (flowering) to remind me of their example of humanity. That we always wish for what we can’t have, but that God will provide what we need always. I have no idea where to find hyssop- but it is mentioned in a few key places, especially when Jesus is given sour wine on the end of a hyssop branch at the crucifixion. Thistle, bitter herbs or some sort, bleeding heart, fig, lilies, and butterfly bush will be included and “son” flowers will be sprinkled throughout since I adore them. I like the way sunflowers remind us to keep our eye on the “son” and a heavenly perspective even as we are rooted to the earth. All of creation truly testifies to our great Creator and Sustainer. I love that gardening is a way for me to meditate of Him. Of course it has its frustrations, among them pestilence, dirt, sweat, (sometimes) blood, never enough time or money to do it the way I want, and sometimes even tears…

Ishangi Family African Dancers

Today we went to see the Ishangi Family African Dancers. Wonderful experience! Uplifting in every sense of the word! Generations of tradition were represented on stage- from a 12 month old (who saw no reason to not sleep during tons of drumming) to a grandmother. The children in the audience responded so well to the good advice of the sage woman, who instructed them to live their life purposefully everyday and dedicate it to God. Their voices were musical as they explained their dances; their drum beats hypnotizing, and their words so encouraging to the group of rapt 5-8 year olds. My daughters were intrigued by their movements and their outfits. I loved to see that the forms their bodies took in dance were so similar to (East) Indian dances and American Indian dances. Drumming really brings out that ancient, base emotion, completely rooting one in the moment that is played.

Here is a song that they taught us:

KYE KYE KULE


Chorus:
Kye Kye Kule

Leader:
Kye Kye Kofisa

Chorus:
Kye Kye Kofisa

Leader:
Kofisa Langa

Chorus:
Kofisa Langa

Leader:
Langa Tsi Langa

Chrous:
Langa Tsi Langa

Leader:
Kum Alele

Chorus:
Kum Alele (Repeat)

Kye Kye Kule is a popular children's play song, chanted by young people from Ghana to Zaire. Children form a circle with one child in the middle. The child in the middle performs some physical movement that the other children copy. The child in the middle changes the movement as he starts the entire song over again. The child does movements standing, and then changes to floor movements. When he does the last movement on the floor, he jumps to his feet and the last child to get up will be the next one to lead the group. The purpose of the game is to teach leadership and the ability to take instructions, or follow an example.

You will see the ISHANGI children touch their hands to their head, shoulders, stomach, and then waist. Their dance says, "Almighty God, please give us strength for our heads, clothes for our shoulders, food for our tummies, and we will dance for you."

Sick One

Over warm from sickness
Hair silky on my cheek
Clinging to me we
Rock, rock, rock, and rock
Nighttime sounds far
From our cocooned microcosm
Cushioned among pillows and soft light

Your eyes are shiny from fever
Your cheeks painfully sweet in their pink heat
Tiny hands limp in exhaustion
Be gone! I scold the sickness within you
I praise God for the time to be
Chosen for this
To hold, to love, to be here

Not flesh of my flesh
But surely heart of my heart
So mature despite your stature
Dearest little one I delight in you
I pray you understand as time goes on
My commitment forever to you
Heart of my heart

CrazyMakers

There is a book that I read once called The Artist’s Way. The book is wonderful aid to those of us who make our living and our life creating things. It contains wonderful information that I would highly recommend to anyone who needs to have access to their right brains left consistently in an “on” position. There are tools and suggestions on how to stay in the habit of making art, staying creative, and generally doing one’s life work as we artsy-fartsy ladies and gents are compelled to do.

In this book the author describes someone that many of us have in our lives. Often (and unfortunately) there may be MORE than just one of these persons. These special people are described as Crazy-Makers. Tranquil moments of peace, quiet, objectivity and creativity quite simply are not possible in the general vicinity of such individuals. These people are often blocked creatives themselves, and are basically miserable. Perhaps it is that they try and distribute their own misery as a way to lighten their load? I can only imagine the myriad of reasons we become what we become- there are many motivations and reasons, and choices that are made. Indeed, there is a certain sadness I feel for such individuals, praying often for their safety and salvation, and that they may find joy and truth in their life. To my great disadvantage I am caught in the Wheel-o’-craziness when the Crazy-Makers in my life choose to commence the insanity. Certainly there are physical or psychological barricades that might be erected at the bugle call… but I have yet to find them. Since extracting myself is impossible, I have only the choices of how I will react when the Wheel rolls perilously into my path. Since as a former democrat I can’t bring myself to own a handgun, and as a Christian there is no way that I could USE a hand gun it is not an option.

I think I have discovered why people play violent video games.

a tender shoot
breaks
the soil as it ascends
tenacious

tender warmth it seeks
gentleness
droplets of rain
nourishment

north wind descends
screeches
flattens the delicate
shock


no roots to hold
fragile
Yellow leaves
withers

Sisterhood of Women

I have always loved women. Little girls, big girls, moms, women whose grey strands show the fruit of their labors-- I love them all. I feel so privileged to know so many amazing women. I am surrounded by a treasury of gifted, beautiful women.

I love to hear the stories of women as they struggle toward womanhood through being a wife or becoming a mother or a caretaker. The beauty of these stories often comes in the similarities that the stories have with one another. A recurring theme is often digested better when given in little parts. One needs to think on them, condense and distill them. There are truths to be learned. It is encouraging to know that the path of a woman is not one that is lonely or solitary, but is rich with the footsteps of those who have traveled before us and that travel next to us. These shared experiences are not lost on me and I crave to write them down, carve them in stone so they are not lost to the next generation as they start on their path. I am often rewarded to hear the stories of those who came before me, met the obstacles that I now meet, and with a practiced and wise word advise me on how to overcome. The hard-won gems of wisdom that are passed down to me, the blessed listener. I gather them together in the vault of my mind, a treasury to be shared with others or accessed myself in times of need.

We are so blessed to be women! To bear burdens, and cares, to bear fruit and bare breasts! When I was pregnant for the first time I wondered at the amazing role I had come upon- to bear precious lives; to be entrusted with such an amazing treasure- LIFE! Just after I gave birth, a woman came to keep me company over that first week of new-mom frenzy. She held out her arms as smiling she said “Welcome to the Sisterhood of Mothers!” She gave a name to the connectedness I felt driving home with my bundles of joy- sisterhood of mothers. This sisterhood is a sustaining force for me. I long to corral all the lone moms out there not connected to her sisters battling it on her on! Come forth! God did not intend us to be Lone Rangerette. We need to hear each other’s stories. We need to hear what God has done for us again and again.

That God would allow me to help in a small part of His creation- the joy! the privilege! He also allowed me the benefit of identifying with the sisterhood of those who lost a child also. Both experiences- of bringing forth lusty life and of quietly letting life slip away within the darkness of my womb- are precious treasures to me. They are gems that I would never barter away for all gleaming, twinkling ones in the world. Some gems of wisdom are cut with edges that bite into one’s skin and leave lasting marks. I grasp them all the same. I am grateful for both experiences. It only adds to my story. One that I hope to pass down and pass on that someone else not stumble on their path.

If not for my dh I am not sure I would have such a thing as a blog. (Even the word leaves something to be desired- it sounds more like a body function, or something one might stumble upon on a hike that a thing that one would contribute to by design.) They seem to be a thing that might threaten to devour the few minutes that I enjoy in a semi-state of solitude or peace. However, here I am, drawn to this gluttonous thing, wondering who (besides dh) may ever read this, and then what would I care to share to the general world?

Of course blogging about blogging must certainly be frowned upon. And so begins a bit of revelation... in a different post.

Some days a beautiful flower can change everything... sometimes that is all a person needs: a thing of beauty to contemplate, a moment to breath in the blessings around us.

It can change everything- for the better.

Just for you...

I create such a thing as a Blog. Yikes!