To Struggle

Today I'm guest blogging for my friend, Jill @ Living Interrupted.

Life

We incubated eggs. 

A friend of the family sent us 30 eggs (27 after the car ride), of different varieties and a small incubator.  We set it up on the dining room buffet, because let's be honest, it doesn't often get used for dinner parties.  Then for three weeks we waited.  We checked the temperature and kept water in the reservoir for humidity, and waited.  We made a tally mark for each day that passed and waited. 

The kids made predictions about what the chicks would look like when they hatched.  Would the blue egg make a blue chick?  Were the chicks in the light brown and dark brown eggs the same or different? 

Then on a Thursday, just after ballet, a day earlier than we expected, Grandpa called to say an egg had hatched!  We went home quickly, and then waited.

Seven eggs eventually hatched and the we were all amazed at the process.  It was a little smelly and a little messy and a little noisy to have chicks "cheeping" in the dining room, but a lot of fun. 

And that's kind of the way life is at our house these days, a little smelly, a little a lot messy, a little noisy, but a lot of fun.

Reflections on Holy Week

The moon shines brightly in the night sky and I sit in awe.  All week my mind has been swirling with words, phrases, and thoughts about light and darkness.

The first recorded words of God were, "Let there be light.".  Jesus said that he, himself, is "the light of the world". 

And my brain turns flips and my soul flutters to think that this One who is light would choose darkness.

That He who is light would choose to confine himself to the darkness of a fragile woman's womb.  When most babies leave the darkness of the womb and cry into the light of the world, by some miracle that I'll never fully comprehend with my finite mind, this babe left the darkness of the womb and brought light into the world.  His first cries resounded in a world that had not heard the voice of God for hundreds of years. 

Then, as He grew, He illuminated the darkness with the full spectrum of His being.  He brought understanding where there had been confusion.  He opened the eyes of the blind.  And like the light of an x-ray He revealed the things that were broken within and offered healing. 

This light, this amazing, unwavering, life-giving, world-changing, light spread as He said, "you are the light of the world" and "you may become children of light".

I can hardly believe it is true and I marvel at the grace lavished upon me as I know well my own darkness.

And yet, He who is light, chose again darkness for my sake...for our sakes...for His glory.  He suffered, and died, and went to the darkness of the tomb.  But the story doesn't end there.  Because the dark places are just waiting for the Light to shine and so after three days, He rose!  He lived again!

So I remember, as I go through my days, that shadows do no exist where there is no light.  When troubles come, when darkness creeps close, I know that there is Light.  By some great miracle, I can be in this light, and this light can be in me and the burden of the most difficult day is somehow easier, lighter.

Seasons change

Tonight I had a few extra moments with three of my four children at bedtime.  I'm glad I didn't rush through it, as I normally would.

They had been in bed for about half an hour and I actually thought they all might be sleeping as I finished cleaning up the kitchen, but I heard Annie on the stairs.  I dried my hands and walked upstairs with her, then followed her onto the bottom bunk bed.  We whispered in the glow of a princess night-light.  Then I rubbed the back of her hand, still soft and round in the early months after her third birthday.  I thought about how quickly that toddler hand will lose the dimples and bony knuckles will appear.  It won't be long until she'll be dressing, brushing teeth, and even fixing her hair independently (she already does give these tasks her best effort).  In the darkness she held her "Toddler Mulan" doll close and I smiled to see her dark curls mix with the doll's curls across her cheek. 

This season, when the helpless outnumber the helpful, will soon pass.  Prayerfully, I'll treasure these moments in my heart, and be content in all these seasons of mothering my brood.

Insignificant

Sometimes it's the six-year-old that doesn't want to go to his sister's ballet practice.

Sometimes it's the three-year-old that isn't quite ready for bed.

Sometimes it's the almost five-year-old that just wants to play a little bit longer.

Sometimes it's the baby that has spent too much time in the car seat for one day.

And sometimes it's their mommy.

We cry out with fatigue and frustration and our voices float through the air and we hope that they will land on attentive ears.  We hope someone will hear, recognize, acknowledge, validate, and act on our behalf.

It is often so very difficult when we feel like we're just being moved along by someone else and the choices they've made.  We want control.  We want to be the agent of change.  We want our words to have power.

And they do.

We are a reflection of our Creator, the One who spoke the world into being (Genesis 1), the Word that became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1), and we have His words which can do more to sustain us than bread.  We also have the promise that we have a God who hears when no one else seems to be listening.

Psalm 145:17-19

New International Version (NIV)

 ¹⁷ The LORD is righteous in all his ways
   and faithful in all he does.
¹⁸ The LORD is near to all who call on him,
   to all who call on him in truth.
¹⁹ He fulfills the desires of those who fear him;
   he hears their cry and saves them.

  

For the bunny rabbit gentleman and his friends

One of the books we've been reading for school this year is Uncle Wiggily's Story Book by Howard R. Garis.  It's full of wonderful stories of how Uncle Wiggily Longears, the bunny rabbit gentleman, and many of his animal friends help "real boys and girls" with various problems they encounter.

Since we've been having wonderful weather, one morning I took the kids for a walk in the woods to collect things that we could make into tools, toys, or even a picnic for Uncle Wiggily and his friends.  (The six-year-old worked with great concentration, but said, as we set things up outside, "They're not real.  They won't come."  The four-year-old replied, "I think they'll like it so much, they'll tell other animal friends to come, too!")

Here are our creations for our animal friends:

 "for chopping stuff"

 The picnic table with stone benches

 Setting the table and preparing the "feast"

See-saw

 Swing

 "A cradle, with soft moss for the baby to lay on and a birch bark blanket"

 Sail boat with berries for a snack

Broken, Cut Down

There was a tree in our backyard when we moved into our house. You could tell that it wasn't completely healthy, be we left it alone for a few years. Sparse patches of green would pop out in spring, but in winter we would wonder if it might fall with a "snap" and take part of our home with it.

A few weeks ago the tree was cut down, sawed and carried away, piece by piece. Some sections of the trunk were hollow and rotten inside, dark and ugly, eating away from the core outward.

Now the wood from the tree is stacked at the side of my yard. It sits as a silent reminder; my own temporary alter that calls me to worship God, who alone shines light into darkness.

He is exposing years of inner sickness that has been growing beneath the surface. I recognized the threat, that as it grew within, dark and ugly, it would only be a matter of time before it came crashing down. It was threatening my home. So now, I'm getting rid of it, cutting it off at the source, and taking it away--piece by piece.