Gift

I took a page from Ann's book of love and asked him, heart pounding...

How can I be a better wife to you?

I would never go back to who I was when we were first married. That girl could not have asked this question, could not have borne the answer.

Our hands met across the table, his blue gazed into my brown, and after a moment, he answered.

And a few moments later, our hands still held. Our gaze still held. Our hearts met and held and we talked and wept and prayed.

It is a gift, this humbling and learning.

And the greater gift? The gracing and loving I still receive in the face of this humbling and learning...

Kev, twelve years have flown.

You are patience for my hurry
peace for my worry
sillies for my grumpiness
and pillar for my weak.

You are laughter for my thoughtful
Sweetness for my awful
Kisses for my furrowed brow
and silence for my speak.

And I love you for it. You and those blue eyes. (Finally, we have a certain Little Man who has inherited them!)

Jungle Pilot

I know how the story ends. Or, rather, the way it began.

And yet I sat, heart pounding, fingers curled tight around the paper boards, brow furrowed in concern as I read closer and closer to that fateful day.

He was a son, a brother, a pilot, a husband, a father... but He was always, always, God's first mate.

I read when I could... it took me a couple of weeks. But I am left with a sense of excitement, a challenge to look closer, to observe in greater detail, to trust fully, to sway with the plane as it moves from side to side, piloted by my Captain; I want to rest fully in His care.

Nate Saint left us a treasure trove of words; observations, brilliant inventions, soul attuned to listen, heart completely and fully focused on spreading the Good News.

Jungle Pilot.

Read it, and be changed.

I am.

(The book is free if you click on the link... please look around while you're there and see what else you might be able to do to support this important ministry! And perhaps, when you've finished the book, you can pass it on to a friend, or donate it to your library. It's a story that has touched so many... let's keep it going! And let's don't forget our dear friend Joy and her family, who are missionaries to Indonesia with MAF!)

Children's Book Monday

Tim and Lucy Go to Sea
by Edward Ardizzone

Apparently, there are eleven of these Tim and Lucy treasures; to think, I knew nothing of their existence before this last week! We've devoured it thrice upon arriving home from the library, and now have the rest of the series on hold to pick up when we return.

I'm hard-pressed to choose just one feature of this dear book that I love the most. Is it the artwork? The soft watercolor and ink lines add vivid life to the story.

Is it the dialogue? (When Lucy spies a young boy with his belongings hanging from a stick over his shoulder): "Hallo, boy!" she said. "Where are you going and what is your name?"
"My name is Tim," answered the boy, "I am a sailor, and I have been shipwrecked. I am now looking for another ship."

Is it the enchanting way the story unfolds, unbelievable to this grown-up mind but absolutely thrilling to the younger set? When Mr. Grimes hears Lucy and Tim's proposition to buy a steam yacht, he is immediately "delighted with the idea!" and they're off to look for a yacht at once.

Is it the delightful, hand lettered word bubbles that are peppered here and there throughout the book? "Are you better now you're up, Mrs. Smawley?" "Worse, sir, worse."

It is all of these things, yes, but most of all, it is the way my little ones' eyes dance, mouths form an "o", and imaginations soar when we read this book together.

I cannot wait to read the rest. For you, perhaps you can start at the beginning, with Little Tim and the Brave Sea Captain. That's where we'll be next - see you there!

Little Tim and the Brave Sea Captain
Tim and Lucy Go to Sea
Tim to the Rescue
Tim and Charlotte
Tim in Danger
Tim All Alone
Tim's Friend Towser
Tim and Ginger
Tim to the Lighthouse
Ship's Cook Ginger
Tim's Last Voyage

Happy Reading!

All Girl

Me: Did you have so much fun hiking with the boys?

Eliana: Yes. But I got kind of "girl". 'Cause I was tired.

Daddy: Yep. Had to carry her on the way back.

Oh, yes, my friends. She's not just kind of girl.

She's all girl.

As You Love Me

I have little time to visit blogs lately. I miss that weekly dose of inspiration from my fellow women; mamas, sisters, friends. That encouragement infuses my writing, and so I think you can see why it has been rather quiet here of late.

Tonight, however, I found inspiration at (where else!) the kitchen sink.

Scrubbing dried spaghetti sauce from pots too numerous to fit into the dishwasher, and delighting in that last little bit of cool breeze blowing in my June windows, I listened as my husband read to his boys from Jack London's breathtaking, adventurous book, The Call of the Wild.

I had left them, moments before, sprawled on the living room couch. Corban, long-limbed and brown, prefers to lie as a pretzel would; arms and legs twisted in uncomfortable positions. I mean it. All that's missing is the yummy rock salt. Micah, his nose and cheekbones red from playing in the sunny, windblown outdoors most of the day, leans back and stares at the ceiling.

I smiled and turned to plunge my hands into the dishwater, listening close to that exciting story.

John Thornton holds his head close to Buck's; he has made a hasty boast, and he cannot take it back. It falls now to Buck, this proving. One thousand pounds, sled fully unbroken, from a standing position. For one hundred yards.

As you love me, Buck, Thornton whispers into his sled dog's ear. As you love me.

Those words fell softly on Buck's heart; a heart which had been broken and beaten down before he met John Thornton.

And he broke that sled out. And pulled it. One hundred yards. For the love of his master.

............................

And I began to weep there at the kitchen sink.

I stepped around the corner to peek through tears, and both boys were smooshed as close as possible to their daddy, eyes wide, hearts pounding, I'm sure.

Hands plunged deep again.

I am often reminded of His love for me. It is in the eyes of my husband. It is in the freckles and smiles of my children. It is in every breath I am granted, the mountains rising above my head, the music that moves me to tears. It is in the reminder of Jesus, who hung on the cross for me that dark and beautiful day.

But it is not often that I consciously think of how much I love Him. Why is that? I wondered.

So I said it there at the sink.

I love you.

I said it over and over and over again.

As you love me, Elise. I hear Him.

When I am faced with overwhelming tasks, when my sleep is interrupted all night long by a teething babe, when I've snapped and hurt and scalded and denied...

I'm going to break that sled out of the ice. I'm going to turn it upright when it's been upset with carrying too heavy a load. I'm going to pull with all my might, and walk...

As far and as well as I can.

Because I love Him.

So much.



Say it with me today.

Children's Book Monday

A House is a House For Me
by Mary Ann Hoberman
Illustrated by Betty Fraser

We first discovered this fantastic book through A Child's Geography; Explore His Earth- it was recommended to accompany chapter one's lesson; every person, everywhere, has a home.

This book is now a family favorite!

With clever, fast-paced rhyming, Hoberman weaves such word pictures that the book stays on your mind for days! The entire thing, forty-eight pages, evokes giggles and quiet exclamations of surprised agreement as the comparisons between homes sink in.

The cooky jar's home to the cookies.
The breadbox home to the bread.
My coat is a house for my body.
My hat is a house for my head.

Did you ever think about your pockets beings houses for pennies? Or garbage as houses for germs? This book makes you look at your surroundings with new eyes- and you will begin coming up with clever thoughts about houses of your own!

(From different moments around the house):

Corban: This mitt is a house for my hand!
Micah: My tummy's a house for my taco!
Eliana: My eyes are houseseses (struggling with plural forms lately) for my crying (tears).

All of the pages are filled with colorful depictions of different kinds of houses, and minute details such as bedbugs in their house (a bed!) invite us to pause and linger in the pages.

As you read this book and ponder the deep thoughts within... A box is a house for a teabag. A teapot's a house for some tea. If you pour me a cup and I drink it all up, Then the teahouse will turn into me!... enjoy some fresh perspective and laughter with your children!

Me: My heart is a house for Jesus.
All of us: Amen!

Happy Reading!

{Also highly recommended by Hoberman - Fathers, Mothers, Sisters, Brothers}

you know you're really in love when...

...after the children go to bed you spend the few moments you have alone together cleaning out the minivan and when you find a nearly empty bag of orange milano cookies you share the last two and a kiss and then he says oh, great, this can be the trash bag now, thanks! and you finish cleaning and that's the end of the date.

And it's still just as sweet as fondue by candlelight when you first met.

Children's Book Monday

Homeplace
By Anne Shelby
Illustrated by Wendy Anderson Halperin

This is the kind of book that makes me want to snuggle up under a quilt with some hot chocolate while I disappear into the story and the pictures. So we tried it- and the children heartily agreed!

But whether you lie on a blanket in the sun, or squish together in a lumpy chair, or read to your family while they enjoy their dinner, Homeplace will find its own way into your hearts.

Six generations in one family are portrayed in this wonderfully busy storybook. A grandmother rocks her grandchild on her knee and begins to tell her the story of the great-great-great-great grandfather who built the house in which they live.

On the bottom of each page are vivid illustrations depicting the work that went into the building of the home, and as the years go by, the house is expanded to include a nursery, a greenhouse, a porch... the watercolors are soft and simple, with borders and landscapes that capture your imagination, but require a good deal of attention and discussion - give yourselves lots of fun time to read this story!

Even Eliana asked questions and pointed and gave little gasps of delight as we picture-gazed, and the boys, of course, thoroughly enjoyed the building of the old house- they were taking notes, since this summer/fall they plan to build a big fort with Daddy in the backyard!

I hope you can find Homeplace at your library- you will be inspired, no matter where you live, to make your *house* a home.

Happy Reading!

(If you have a children's book review posted today, would you kindly leave the url in the comments?)

Tonight

...my kitchen looked like this.


And while pots bubbled on the stove, and vegetables rinsed in the sink, and the table was set with forks and spoons that had previously been ordered neatly on the floor, I slowed down.

I had to. Often, I move so quickly that food is dropped and little toes are squished and plates clank loudly. But not tonight.

I love that she does that. Makes me slow down.

It reminds me of another evening, not too long ago, when a little girl with golden wisps and dimpled arms stayed in my path while I prepared dinner.

Where did she go?

She's here. Only now, her legs are long, the dimples are nearly gone, and the wispy gold has grown into a ponytail to rival mine.

But she still teaches me to slow. And I'm so thankful.


I especially love that once she finished with her masterpiece, she brought her hamper from the bedroom and set it by the back door so she could watch the brothers play outside. Meanwhile, I hopped and tripped around the kitchen finishing supper with smiles and laughter...

...and then I joined her.

Oh, yes. I'm still learning.

happy feet

(photo by sister, auntie, friend... Bethany)

Children's (Devotional) Book Monday

For Christmas, my brother and his family gifted us with this sweet devotional; we enjoyed it as a family during breakfast, and it was such a sweet way to start our days.


Sammy and His Shepherd: Seeing Jesus in Psalm 23
by Susan Hunt
Illustrated by Cory Godbey

As parents, Kevin and I have tried to share Psalm 23 with our children in vivid detail, dissecting it piece by piece, desiring to open their eyes to what our path looks like with Jesus leading as our Shepherd. How pleased we were to read this story of two sheep, on very different paths, in a way that opened our eyes to see this Psalm in a fresh way!

Sammy is a loved sheep, kept by a Shepherd who named him, watches over him, and leads him in gentle pastures while disciplining with his comforting staff. A sheep in the next pasture lives in a very different world, completely ignored and uncared for by her shepherd. Sammy attempts to share with this lonely, lost sheep the beauty and safety of following his Shepherd, and the story unfolds.

Verse by verse, the Psalm is broken down into short "chapters", each statement beautifully illustrated by both the words and artwork. At the end of each section, there are questions and scriptures to accompany the story that encourage sweet discussion with your children.

The author encourages families to read Psalm 23 in its entirety each time you read a chapter, and by the end of the book, you will find yourselves reciting it in unison!

You would be blessed to enjoy this sweet book with your children- we were!

Do you have any family devotionals to share? If so, please share in the comments! (Also, if anyone would like to re-join Children's Book Monday on a regular basis by reviewing your latest favorite children's books, please let me know! If there is enough participation, I will put up a linky and we can all share together!)

Happy reading!

See

I smooth stained green across my folding table.

A grass stain? Really?
On the hem of this pink, gauzy dress?
I sigh, and dutifully spray, scrub, and soak, shaking my head.

And remember.

Hands scrubbed pots in soapy sink, eyes stared, unseeing, through streaky glass.
I whispered prayers, made lists, hummed softly.
And then I saw.

Long, brown arms raised, forming a steeple between them.
Their faces turned away from me, but backs of heads beckoned, Come!

She entered my line of vision;
a vision herself in soft braids, twirly, gauzy pink.
Bare feet, toes painted pink.
Fingertips pink, but not painted so.

Her eyes danced as she took her place.
Backs of heads continued to beckon;
she ran.

London Bridge fell down,
over and over and over again.
I laughed from my post;
silently cheering on the runner.

She was captured, she was locked up, she was let go.
Captured, locked up, and let go again.
Down to the earth, knees deep in the grass,
up again with a smile to rival the morning sun.

Laughter danced through screened window,
soapy water growing cold as hands lay idle.

And - ah, I remember! -
as the sun began to set, three golden-haired children clasped hands.
In a three-deep row, they walked towards home;
she smiled up at first one brother,
then the other.

And her knees were green.

I smooth stained joy across my folding table.

And smile.

The Hike in Which I Am Truly and He is Caractacus

(To decode some of the names in today's post, do a little research here!)

We had a beautiful family day today. Kevin takes Wednesdays off, since his Sundays, some Saturdays, and many evenings in the week are taken up with ministry. So, we invaded the city library (and I think we may have even left a few books behind for others to enjoy!) and then I got to sneak away and enjoy sushi with some dear friends while Daddy "did" lunch and put G down for a nap. When I returned, we watched a family movie while snuggled under some blankets, and then we took our family worship to the hills, with a hike, some swordfighting, dinner, hymns and psalms, and even some rock sliding. (Yes, I said rock sliding! You'll see.)

(This post is mostly for Nana and Papa, who are missing their little ones lots - but you'll enjoy it, too! Caution: Many photos ahead!)

Posing by the rapids

Gideon's only pose, due to the misfortune of also being the only one who can't walk.

If you look carefully, you can see my climbers up ahead!
Daddy only had to use his I-can't-see-you-so-you-better-show-yourselves whistle twice.

Gideon wanted a closer look at the rapids, so Daddy obliged.

Hi, Truly!

Let's take a picture together, Truly! said Jemima.

Take one with Caractacus, Truly!

And with Corban!

Okay, and with Micah, too!
(I think Truly's nose got bigger with every picture.)

She borrowed brother's sword and made ready...

...poor, unsuspecting Micah.

Don't worry, Caractacus! I'll save you!

Take that! And that!
It is simply too much for Corban. He can't look.

Yep, that's what I thought! You better run!

Okay, Truly, it's safe now!

From now on, you shall be known as Boy Who Must Always Climb.

And you shall be known as Boy Who Always Tucks in Shirt.

Are you wondering what's going on in this picture?

Well, let's back up and show you what happened right before.

Apparently, the tree got a little mouthy, so she got one more swing in before Truly decided it was time for brother to have his sword back.

I'm not cold! That stuff running down my upper lip is cause I'm so happy!

Silly Mama. She ran all the way around to the other side to take my picture again. But I only have one pose!
Okay, I'll give her a smile.

Bread 'n butter 'n honey. Perfect.

Some cashews and cheese, too.

Our favorite Wednesday evening pastime completes the evening, spent outdoors singing hymns that remind us of His beautiful creation; reading Psalms that do the same.

And I couldn't resist. I'm going to title this one "Before and After Hair."
(But secretly I'm going to call it "Could Gideon Be Any More Bald?")

The End.

Letters to Eliana

As we drove home from our church's Mother and Daughter Tea Party, I gripped the steering wheel tightly and ran through the next few hours in my mind, making a list.

Kevin leaving to visit a friend in prison... Gideon will be hungry... what can I make for dinner?... should probably fold those baskets of laundry that have been shuffled from room to room the last couple of days...

"...and flowers and cars and clouds and..and..and sign stops and grasshoppers and..."

Need to prepare May package for our friends in Africa... prepare school for Monday... prepare...

"...dresses and girls and chocolate and boxes and tea and driving fings and..and..and daddies and pretty hair and..."

Should get that birthday card in the mail... and...

"...so many fings! And you know what, Mama?"

I shook my foggy head and looked at you in the backseat, your hair so prettily braided, your pink flowered dress laying lopsided on your shoulders, a chocolate ring around your lips.

"What, Eliana?"

"We should ask Him to bisit our house!"

Confused, I thought back to the words I had heard piping through my busy thoughts moments before. Were they things you saw out your window? Things you're thankful for?

No.

You were naming everything you could think of that, in your three-year-old thoughts, have been created by the Lord.

"Do you mean God, precious?" I glanced again in the mirror, and you nodded emphatically, eyes big, raising your fingers to form a pretend knock on the door.

"He's gonna knock on our door, and we'll say 'come in, God!' Should we do that, Mama? And He will say, 'Who are you, Eliana?', and I will say, 'I'm an Eliana - You made me!"

Oh, how you made me laugh. A joyful, freeing, from-the-gut laugh. You changed my list, Eliana. Now it reads... laughter and braids and freckles and chocolate (we're so alike, you and I!) and books and tea and photographs and Mama's Day cards and hugs and dances in the kitchen...

Yes, precious. We should ask Him to visit our house. And when you greet Him at the door, He will know exactly who you are.

Because He made you.

Let's make an Open House for Him together. I don't think He'll mind the laundry baskets and leftovers- He won't even mind the crying Little Man. He'll kick the baskets out of the way, scoop the beans onto His plate, and bounce the baby on His knee. If we're smiling, it's enough for Him.

And He's never going to want to leave.

'Cause you make us smile every day.

Love you, my girl.
Mama

related: Open House

(I've linked this to Emily's Tuesdays Unwrapped posts... such a lovely idea!)

Reading G

Yes, happily, he fits right into this family.

(I'm coming, my friends. Standing here, hands clasped behind my back, foot drawing circles in the sand... remember me? The cobwebs are shaking free and I am longing to be with you again... in the meantime, feeding, loving, leading takes up the full circle of my days. Soon!)

Spring Allergies

Eliana and I are particularly miserable this season, blowing our noses and moving a wee bit sluggishly.

I sneeze just now, during schoolwork. She turns and laughs in astonishment-

"You blessed on me, Mama!"

What started out feeling like anything but a blessing certainly feels like one now as I pull my girl into my arms for a hug and a laugh.

Just As He Said!

The angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay." Matthew 28:5-6

Joyful Easter greetings from the Hooper family!

Selah

I know. I've been away. For awhile.

I will remain there. Away. For a little while longer.

For I am finding a new groove.

Just now. Five months later.

Life and death in the span of one short but beautiful week set off a blurry pace.

Attempting to attain my old groove (on my own) has led me off the safe path, and into a quiet, lonesome desperation.

Humbly, I am again allowing Him to gently lead me in His paths, that I may gently lead my own little lambs along the same.

I can almost see the way... please pray for me, friends.

{Comments closed. Email always, gratefully, open.}

Letters to Eliana

“Hey, you’re squishin’ my girl!”

I stop in my tracks and look down. You squint up at me with a half smile, your little hand snug in mine.

I glance around, and then follow your eyes to the ground. It takes a moment, but eventually I realize that yes, the setting sun is peeking over our right shoulders and casting long shadows on the grass. Indeed, I am stepping on your shadow. Your girl.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And somehow, as always, the way you turn a phrase causes me to catch my breath. That shadow is an extension of you, but it is not you, I want to say. No mere shadow can ever encapsulate all that you are.

You have pink fingertips. You have blond ringlets. You have a tiny mole on your right cheek. You run for your apron whenever I even set foot in the kitchen. You have a heart so tender that when your brother cries, you come running to hug him and caress his chubby cheeks. You wear dresses every day. Twirly ones, of course. You love to make your daddy laugh with funny, nonsense stories. You love Jesus so much; every night in our prayers we thank Him for His sacrifice, and every night you sigh contentedly, “He loves me,” as you snuggle down under the covers.

You and your shadow-girl are not who you are going to be yet, but He laid His foundation in you. Right after He knit you together in my womb.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I squeeze your pink fingertips in my hand and start to chase your girl; you laugh in surprise and run to squish mine, then shriek, “Let’s squish Daddy’s boy!”

We run, deep grey shadows rippling over the new spring grass.

And the sun sinks below the hills.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Tunnel Vision

Sometimes we mama's get a little tunnel vision... life presses close, minutes are crammed with so many "have-to's"... but it's okay. He meets us where we are...

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Fog slips away, burned off by the fresh air coming in the windows and doors flung wide.

Medicines are stocked in cupboards, blankets and rags washed and folded, and noses wiped for the last time.

Children test their legs, starting with a slow, tentative walk and quickly changing to a run as they shout joyfully in their newfound strength.

Sickness flees our home.

And husband prepares for deprivation of another kind.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Lunch on Friday is a hearty casserole. We gather close around the table, sharing our last meal together before begins the 30-hour fast he will lead with the teenagers of our congregation. Prayers as a family begin to turn minds toward the sadness faced by so many.

And I regret. Did I really say I faced difficult choices? How tunnel-like is my vision…

For truly, my choosing is always optional. If I choose to, I will cook for my family today from a refrigerator fully stocked for breakfast… lunch… dinner… snacks.

If I choose to, I will read to my little ones, rather than rest my eyes.

If I choose to, I will be imaginative and joyful for their sake.

If I choose to, I will pursue bettering my mothering, my homemaking, my partnering with husband. My faith.

If I choose to, I will just… keep going.

How pitiful my complaints seem now, in light of the frightening statistics posted on the walls of our church building this Sunday past. 26,000 children under the age of five die every day… [That’s one in twelve.]

I look at their faces, drawn and blank. Hunger has pressed them beyond knowing.

Gideon’s dry scalp that cries out for coconut oil on a daily basis is my most pressing concern. I don’t slap flies away from his nose and eyes.

In Uganda, a mother will walk ten miles each day to find water for her family. I tap the faucet handle and water - clean water - flows freely from the spigot.

I walk the church halls, holding Eliana’s hand tighter, pressing my Gideon closer to my chest; eyes are tempted to close against the pain I read there on those walls, but I keep them open.

Forgive my complaints, Father. And thank you, for meeting me where I am. For gently prodding me to dive deeper, examine closer.

Let us continue to take back our days and nights. But now...

...consider expanding your vision with me?

~

Redeeming the Night

It is the eighth day of sickness in our home.

A perpetual cough can be heard, from all corners of the house. The air smells of onion poultices and tinctures; Little Man whines and moans in a most unusual way, trying to let us know and understand his misery. Lady Eliana refuses twirly dresses in the mornings, (also quite unusual!) choosing instead to remain in the comfort and warmth of her flannel nightgown and cap, easing the chill of her fevered body. Big boys cough and sneeze, but continue to run and play as if the illness is part of their game... We're orphans, okay, Micah? Like David Copperfield. Mama is Peggoty, and this is the boarding house...

[Oh, but to read about a bright, shining spot in our week!]

Husband and I rise and fall from our bed almost hourly for the past four nights. Eliana cries in bewilderment, unable, for some reason, to open her door to get to us, then clings to Daddy's neck for comfort. Little Man wakes so often, crying, coughing; then refuses to settle in Mama's arms the way he normally does.

So I lie awake, baby at my breast, head resting back on the wall, comforter pulled high against the chill of the house at night. As my Little Man nurses and fusses, pulling away and crying in between eating, I close my eyes against the tears that threaten.

For I know that today will be another day of difficult choices.

The choice to leave the bed, rather than stay tucked in its warmth. The choice to prepare meals, though my appetite is gone. The choice to read a story to little ones rather than rest. The choice to stay home with sick children rather than worship and fellowship, hearing the Word read by my eldest. [This hurts so much...] The choice to smile and be creative, rather than pull inward and hide away. The choice to just keep going, rather than... not.

Let's begin now, shall we Lord?

I pray for my minister husband, who will teach class this morning. Give him strength and energy, Father. May his mind be clear so that he may speak Your Word to your people, and that You may shine through. May I anticipate his needs today, stepping outside of myself and my weariness to care for him, for he is tired as well.

I pray for my sick children. Heal them, Father. Clear their lungs, take away the fever. Bring back the smiles and the energy in my littlest ones. And may they grow in faith and responsibility and wisdom... I pray for their future spouses, Lord, keep them... Prayers for my children can last for hours.

I pray for our parenting. I pray for our finances. For our church. For our missionary friends, and the countries they minister to. For our president, our nation. I pray for friends, family, for you.

And before long, Little Man relaxes his neck and pulls away, content and quiet at last. I slide down under the covers, tucking him close. His hand habitually reaches for my cheek, and I smile.

The night is redeemed; it is not lost. Dark circles rest under my eyes, head is a little foggy, but heart and mind cling to truth and rest in Him.

The day begins.

Smile

So I was a mama of few words today. And?

They waited for me as for showers
and drank in my words as the spring rain.
When I smiled at them, they scarcely believed it;
the light of my face was precious to them. ~Job 29:23-24

The day stays rooted firmly in our possession when we give freely of our smiles.

Don't be stingy. Try it.

He smiles, too.

Moment at Dusk

My taking back the day moment came at dusk.

I, trying to pull dinner together while preparing Kevin's birthday lunch for tomorrow at the same time. She, fluttering around my feet in a wedding veil, The Sound of Music pouring from the stereo speakers.

Gideon, fussing from my hip, Daddy throwing the baseball with the big boys in our backyard; pots bubbling, oven timer beeping, sun sinking behind the mountains. And that pesky hair pulling free from a bobby pin and brushing eyelashes.

Dance with me! she calls, for the fourth time.

And I bite back.

Green eyes hurt, shoulders fall.

Sigh. This is my moment, isn't it, Lord?

Okay! I chirp. Let's dance!

And we do. Gideon quiets on my hip, soothed by mama's swaying. The oven timer still beeps, the pots still bubble, and the sun has now disappeared.

Either way, dinner was going to be served. But this night, the table was set by a laughing, waltzing mama (or was it the polka?) and her partner, a little lady with shining eyes, who promises to remember to say please when she asks Mama to dance.

No regrets, even when it comes near the end of a day. Keep taking it back, one moment at a time.

Taking Back the Day

My weary eyes blink rapidly, as if to shake loose the sleep that clings to them. I read the clock, and blink again. Seven? Does that say seven? And without even taking a moment to rejoice in the fact that Little Man is still asleep, I leap from the bed.

In a panic, I dress, forgoing the shower I so desperately need. Scooping up laundry, I leave the bedroom as quietly as possible. My mind races. What should I do first? I wanted to have several loads of laundry finished already! No time to exercise, no time for the Word, I'll pray while I make breakfast... Rats. I'll have to play catch-up all day.

How I weary of my days being stolen. How I weary of letting them be stolen, as if I am without Help. And I feel the day slipping away.

Or is it?

I pause in the hallway. In a moment, my children are going to rise from their slumber, smiles on their faces as always. It isn't their fault that I am running behind. It isn't their fault that I cannot set my alarm for fear of waking the baby sleeping in my arms. Their sweet sleep has not prepared them for Barking General Mama, and I cannot bear to think of the evening, when I will sneak into their room for sleepy kisses, and then feel the regret washing over me at what they've been through.

It's not too late.

I close my eyes, taking time for that prayer right now. Father, help me to turn this day around. Help me to let go of my expectations, and re-prioritize my day. I don't want it to be stolen by one who would rejoice in the smattering of broken hearts I will leave in my irritated, rushing wake.

And together, He and I, we begin taking back the day.

A quick load of laundry begun. I can keep it going all day. My favorite granola bar suffices for a quick breakfast. I'll eat an early snack when the children have theirs. Deodorant, a comb through my hair, and a touch of chapstick. I feel refreshed already! A favorite joyful hymn escapes my lips as I open the blinds and see first light touching my beloved Wasatch range. This is still the day! [I am speaking words of truth; my heart will catch up.]

And when little feet stumble from bedrooms and night is rubbed from sleepy eyes, the first thing they see is a smiling Mama, her arms open in a good morning hug.

Many moments during the day feel a little like that one piece of chocolate that throws one off their diet. Well, that's it. The whole day is ruined- I may as well eat everything in sight! But in those moments, I refuse to believe the day is ruined. I bend to look into amber eyes and say, I'm sorry. I reach for a departing child and pull him close for a hug. I call I love you! to the little girl who has an accident in her pants and is sitting on her potty chair.

Sure, my day starts in a panic, and many of the things I hope to accomplish are placed by the wayside; but when warm cheeks are kissed that evening as my little ones slumber in their beds, I cast a grateful smile heavenward, so thankful for His care.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It has been weeks since I began practicing to take back my days. And what I'm learning in the process is how great His grace is for me. I never feel rejection or disappointment from my Father when I fail. He never throws up His hands and just forgets the whole thing. He's right beside me, helping me take back my days. And those days just keep getting sweeter and sweeter.

Won't you come with me?

Prince Bubby

Crowned and christened by Lady Eliana.


He feels so honored.

Snow

For the third day in a row.

It snows and thaws. Snows and thaws. Snows and thaws. (Wow. If you look at that long enough, thaws doesn't even seem like a real word anymore. And if you look outside long enough, you start thinking that it probably isn't.)

It doesn't help that I checked out these books from the library last week.

So what shall I do, to both celebrate and commiserate this repetitious occasion?

:: wear a skirt. I am wearing a calf-length white linen skirt and a pink sparkly t-shirt. Sure, I'm freezing, but I feel so springy!

:: put new words on the scrabble racks... today, ours read brrrr and hibernate.

:: make hot chocolate. This never gets old. My children still ask for it at the height of summer's heat.

:: after school is finished, sit close together on the couch beneath a knitted afghan and read, read, read. Maybe take a nap, too.

:: go ahead and let the children outside to play. Even though the bundling up and bundling down again are getting tiresome, you love to see their red, chapped cheeks and bright eyes. You really do.

:: think of others. All day long. Write letters, cook warm food for your family. Get outside of yourself, even if you don't actually get outside. 'Cause linen skirts are not conducive to snow.

:: (and these are most important)...

Remember that to everything there is a season.
And this season is still winter.
Ponder this miracle again.
Remember that spring will bring with it an awakening of the garden, and new chores to tackle.
And then you will be thankful for the heavy snows that sank deep into your garden.
Be thankful now, instead of later.

Rest in His warmth. Gather close in worship of the God who makes all things new.

So I'm heading back upstairs to change our scrabble word hibernate to rejoice.

Because I do. I really do!

And while I'm up there, I'll probably put on a sweater.

12

twelve years ago, he asked me to marry him.

he tied a ring to the ribbon-marker in a new Bible, with my married name engraved on the cover.

the ribbon-marker lay at the love chapter.

i thought those feelings in my heart that day were deep love, but really, they were not. love, yes. deep, no. i was nineteen. how could I know?

twelve years have passed.

and amidst resounding gongs and clanging cymbals (on my part), my shallow love has grown into a deep, rich, appreciative love. [i'm still working on the unconditional, unselfish part.]

because he loves me.

and I know not why. though I am thankful.

thank you for loving me, my darling. for showing me what it means, in all its beauty.
i love you.

You Are Loved

Silly G

Silly, and drooly.
(Click on the photo to enlarge- love the fuzzy ears!)

Memory

Can I tuck my children into a verse purse?

For it is they who bring scripture to life in my heart, watering its parched surface, soaking in deep... this mama who is weary, yet happy; busy, yet peaceful; harried, and yet oh so thankful for what the Lord plants in His time... His Word, rooted deep, springs to my lips on a daily basis in the presence of my little ones. No new memorization here, only the snippets that have stayed with me through the years.

Gideon. My little man. I count them... four dimples on the hand that holds tight to my blouse as he nurses. I feather them... eyelashes that swoop across rounded cheek, my finger separating them in a caress. I inhale them... the scents so universal, yet still individual to my little man; sour milk, baby sweat, toe jam...

Psalm 139:13-16
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

Eliana. My Eliana. A princess-to-be, but not yet. For now, we talk of being a lady; how one should speak, how one should work, how one should serve... and how one should show gratitude. She pirouettes through my kitchen, her sparkly tutu twirling and slipper-shod foot pointed in arabesque. She is beautiful, and she knows it. Who made you, Eliana? "God did!" she declares, flinging her arms wide. "He said, 'I will make an Eliana!' Thank you, God!"

Proverbs 31:30
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman (a lady!) who fears the LORD is to be praised.

Micah. My steady, dependable boy. Never stingy with his soft, squishy hugs and even more generous with his smiles. I watch as he walks in his brother's shadow (sunlight!), content to gather all of his ideas from Corban. But here and there, bits and pieces of original Micah are beginning to appear. I pray over his heart, that it would seek to follow after Someone even greater...

Deuteronomy 8:66
Observe the commands of the LORD your God, walking in His ways and revering Him.

Corban. This boy-turning man before my eyes. Smile that rivals the very sun greets me in the morning, and unexpected kisses pepper my cheek all day long. What's next? he asks, What will we do, where will we go next? Are you SURE this is the right way? A planner, this one, to the extent that he worries so. Trust us, child. We shall do what is best, by the grace of God. Bring peace, patience to his heart, Father...

Psalm 90:12
Teach us to number our days aright,
that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

These verses, they are short. They are well-known, and yet they retain their profundity, even to this memorizationally-challenged mama! (See? I don't even think that's a word! There's no more room there, I tell you!)

So, until my mind has a corner clear for new additions, I will be grateful for the Word that already resides there, and be thankful to a God who knows my heart and understands.

Flight of Fancy

Bins full of scratch paper at his feet, crayons and colored pencils at eye level, encyclopedias within tantalizing reach... I love it when a plan comes together.

Corban, (9), my formerly reluctant artist.

Don't Forget...

...to hit "Next" on my Shelfari! There are pages and pages of recommends...

Happy Reading!

I Love My...

...2009 seed catalog! (It's a little easier to say than "I love my 2009 R.H. Shumway's Illustrated Garden Guide", isn't it?)



Happy weekend reading!

Wishin'

"Sometimes, I wish Gideon was a rabbit. That way, instead of him crying, I could just tell by his ears if he was sad."

~Corban, as he held a crying Gideon while Mama finished making dinner.

Children's Book Monday

I know, I know. I said I was putting CBM on hiatus... and I do have this one on my shelf in the sidebar, but I simply had to post a review for you as well...

Why? Because I've finally found it! The perfect book to read to your children when another little one is on the way...

Do You Know What I'll Do?
by Charlotte Zolotow
Pictures by Garth Williams

Have you despaired, as I have, of finding a book to read to your children that doesn't include jealousy of a new sibling, and the portrayal of tantrums to get the attention back that is now spent cooing over the sweet baby? Perhaps there are some other good ones out there, but what I found in a second-hand bookstore over our *second Christmas* break has stolen my heart forever.

First, Charlotte Zolotow is one of my favorite authors- I've reviewed one of her others here, and lo and behold, Garth Williams, one of my favorite illustrators, was also the illustrator for that book.

With the simplest, sparest of prose, Zolotow paints the picture of a big sister's desire to share all of her experiences with her little brother. William's beautiful, simple drawings depict the dark eyes and round limbs we've come to know and love from his work on Charlotte's Web, Stuart Little, and the Little House on the Prairie series.

I love the short, fine hair blowing in the wind as the little girl picks flowers to share with her brother. Her expectant eyes as she holds a bucket out the window to catch the rain in a pail to water his plants. Her front leg kicking out in a happy walk home from a party, where she has chosen a piece of cake with the candle still in it to share with him.

There is an updated version of this book, illustrated by Javaka Steptoe- the prose is the same, but the illustrations are not, of course. My preference is the 1958 Garth William's version, for its softness and simplicity of color. So look carefully [here is a link] as it is out of print and can only be bought used, as you can see from the wear and tear on my own cover picture. [Also be aware that there is an abridged version, made for kindergarten classrooms to accompany a reading on tape. While it includes the highlights of the original story, it is much shorter.]

I'm hoping and praying that each one of you who looks for this book may find it... whether you have a little one on the way or not, it is a wonderful lesson in desiring the best for someone; in looking around with the eyes of a giver every moment of the day, and in longing to see true joy in another's eyes because of simple thoughtfulness.

So now, the final page... I've wrestled with myself whether or not to tell you what it says. The side of me - the one that wants you to experience it yourself as you are reading, so that your voice may crack as your hand steals up to cover your heart - that side won out. I'll just share the picture, shall I?


Happy hunting! And happy, happy reading...

Listening

Don't you just love mopping floors when the house is quiet, and everyone who walks, runs, crawls, dances and skips has gone to the library with Daddy, and baby who always wants to be held while he sleeps has been laid in his basket-bed and is sleeping by himself, and Third Day plays softly in the background, and with each swish-swish of the mop your heart grows a little more peaceful and you can hear His voice again?

'Cause I do.

Second Christmas, Part II

This is me with my four brothers and three sisters. (We had to take about seven before the boys would behave and stop making bunny ears on the girls.)


These are the three eldest's children. We had to take about twenty of these to get (almost) everyone looking in the same general direction.
(What's so funny, Cor?)


This is our entire family. Don't even ask how many it took to get this one- and the only two not looking are the wee babes- how did that happen?


I love to imagine how this picture will look when more spouses join the picture and even more grandchildren begin to arrive!

All together in one place. We thank the Father for this wonderful delight!

From Nana's House to Yours

"I don't want to eat my crying, just my tea!" said Eliana, after she took a spill that hurt her head, causing tears and runny nose to wet the rim of her tea cup.

After Mama wiped and kissed, she sipped again.

"There! That's better my tea."

Yes, my darling. That's better.

Um, yes. This picture was taken right after said incident. Don't let the soft, flowing hair and silken dress fool you- there were tears. Lots of them.

But a lady should never be caught off guard when Nana's camera is nearby.

Second Christmas

"Tonight has the energy only a big trip can bring!" ~Corban (9), as we hustle and bustle around the house.

We head north in the morning, to celebrate Christmas with our families. The holiday season found us weary of travel, so instead we cozied up in our home, just the six of us. Now, weeks later, we are ready to journey forth!

We cannot wait to hug and laugh and eat and unwrap...

...and rest. Looking forward to that very much. (No alone time, thank you very much- and I couldn't be happier about that!)

Love to you- be back soon!

Three

Because I couldn't pick just one. And because I know you'll totally agree.




Love the ears. Love them.

Once Upon a Time...

...there lived a mama who wanted to be alone.

Not all the time. Not even some of the time. Just for a couple of minutes one evening.

She finished feeding her family, then cleaned the kitchen with her husband while the children read books in the living room. She laid out ingredients to make cookies later, and prepared a snack of apples and peanut butter for the seven-year-old who is always hungry. A princess in a tutu begged Daddy for a dance, and when he dried off his hands, they began their waltz.

Mama looked around.

Little Man sleeping for a few more minutes. Children snacking, dancing and reading. Butter softening for cookies, can't make them now. Hmmmm...

And she slipped down the stairs for a few minutes of *alone*.

She got thirty seconds.

Husband finished his waltz and came downstairs to send an email, chatting lovingly with his wife who tried to seem interested and smile as she read an article. While he folded some towels, he mentioned the mess the boys had left in the bathroom after their bathtub escapades with their action figures. She sighed and stood, thinking that while she cleaned the bathroom, she would at least be alone. [At this point, Mama should have called her boys to clean up their own mess, but she was feeling particularly martyr-like this evening...]

She got ten seconds.

The boys hollered that the girl needed to go potty, so Mama dropped sopping towels in the washer and headed up the stairs, grumbling internally the whole way. I don't know what I was thinking. Five, maybe ten minutes alone? Ha!

She took sweet girl to the bathroom, then sank to the floor in the hallway, head resting on her knees. Little Man squawked from the bedroom; her window was gone. What happened? I never even used to need alone time. What if I wanted to read a book? Or learn a foreign language? It would have to be in the middle of the night, 'cause if I can't even have a moment to tidy a bathroom or read an article, how will I ever add anything else to my day?

And she cried soft, dramatic tears of self-pity.

Bewildered husband helped her to her feet and held her close. She scooped Little Man into her arms and kicked ballet slippers and stripped-off clothes into the hallway that a little girl had left in Mama's bedroom. Boys quietly cleaned up the new mess and put it away, without being asked. Daughter pulled on Mama's pocket and asked for a bedtime story. Little Man buried his head in her shoulder, hugging in his own baby-sweet way.

And the mama knew.

She didn't want to be alone. Not anymore.

'Cause she didn't want to miss a single minute of this.

Besides, while she held Little Man in her lap and read the bedtime story upside down so little girl could see the pictures, the writing looked like Russian.

That counts as a foreign language, doesn't it?

The End

Kiss

Happiness Is...

...a snow cave!


Pure delight is...


...building one with your daddy!

(Happiness is also books to add to your library list - check out my new recommendations in the sidebar. We loved these! Happy reading!)

Me and My G

i musn't forget:

::the imprint of an ear on my forearm after a nursing...

::the tiny jammies that still smell good, even when they're dirty...

::his shyness... smile, duck head, turn away, still smiling...

::the patch of red hair at the nape of his neck...

::the clicking and smacking of his lips and tongue as he prepares to nurse...

::sleeping with my boy nestled in my arms every night, though I ache all over...

::the giggles as I pull his ticklish arms through sleeves...

::Eliana calling, "We comin', Bubby!" as she races down the hall ahead of me...

::how he turns himself inside out trying to talk to Daddy...

it is flying by, this time with my G (mama's tender nickname for her Gideon)... I am fingering the days, turning them over in my hands,

examining,

memorizing...

yet so full of joy at the gift of this time, however fleeting it may be.

this is love.

Little Town

Poor sinner!
Christ has not left going forth yet.

And when He goes forth,
recollect,
He goes to Bethlehem.

Have you a Bethlehem
in your heart?
Are you little?

He will go forth to you yet.

Trust Him.
Trust Him.

Trust Him,
And He will go forth to
abide in your hearts forever.

C.H. Spurgeon
The Incarnation and Birth

Merry Christmas, friends and family! We hope and pray your holiday is warm and special, and that the joy of His birth shines forth in your festivities as the star once did over that little town so long ago.


(We are sending our Christmas letter in email form this year, so if you would like one, please email me (in my sidebar) and I will send it out!)

A Thanksgiving Story, Part III

read Part I and Part II...

Though we knew it might be coming, the death of my beloved's father knocks the air out of us. We stare at each other in shock, then move closer to hold.

Immediately, my mind starts working... When should we go? How will Gideon handle the travels? Should I start packing now? Could we wait until Monday?... Kevin begins making phone calls, and I walk downstairs to inform my parents of the loss.

We sleep.

When the sun opens his eyes in the morning, we are awake, and making preparations. We decide to leave that very day, and begin packing. I pull together clothes and neccessities for a week? Two weeks? My mama cleans the icebox and Papa aids Kevin in winterizing the yard. I pause to nurse my one-week-old precious, and breathe in his scent, praying over his tiny, new body, that the traveling and change of routine will not be hard on him. And then Father reminds me that the only thing my Gideon needs is me. Breathe.

In the midst of the busyness, Kevin pauses to rejoice that Gideon was born early. Perhaps I could be forty weeks at this time, or in labor! We could be separated yet again as he traveled for the funeral and I stayed behind. I think of how often He reveals Himself to me in these circumstances.

I think of my Heavenly Bridegroom, His eyes seeing what is to come. He does not cause death and chaos, He doesn't. But He sees it coming, and sets into motion circumstances that will ease our suffering, that make a way for us. Trials are coming, and so my body begins to release the baby. Beloved is able to be at his father's bedside for surgery, and still at my side for delivery. We have a blissful week of holding and knowing and loving before death creeps in, and then we are ready.

I weep at His care, and I weep because I am still overwhelmed. But I feel so loved.

After our journey, Kevin leaves us to care for his stepmother, and I am tended by my family; my mama and sisters hold and kiss boo-boos. They nourish, encourage, and supply. My brothers and their wives bring cousins and comfort, and we visit and laugh as our children play.

When preparations are finished, we meet one more time to say goodbye. The auditorium is filled with thousands of mourners, for this man was a father, a husband, a teacher, elder, friend... Kevin is strong and silent; his work towards this day is finally complete, and he slips into his grief quietly. We hold his hands and walk with him to the front, and bolster him on both sides.

We sing, and friends offer memories. And then, Corban, gripping his paper tightly, slips past our knees and makes his way to the front.

He reads with confidence and strength, Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken, Grandpa's favorite poem. The timbre of his young voice carries, though he is quietly feeling the magnitude of this day. Not a tremor, not a falter, he finishes and can't help smiling.

When we have time with Grandpa at the end, Corban slips his poem into the casket. Three of our children stand and gaze at Grandpa without fear; touching his chest, his hands, his face. They say goodbye, and tender Micah cries. Kevin holds his sister and stepmother, bracing them.

Throughout it all, I have forgotten to pray. In the flurry of leaving the house; braiding hair, finding tights, packing diaper bag, I have neglected to ask His blessing on the day. And yet, He has given it.

Gideon sleeps from the moment the funeral starts to the moment it ends. He eats, and then we travel one hundred miles to the burial while he sleeps again. The sun peeks out for the five minutes Kevin speaks graveside, and then hides its face the moment he finishes. The rain holds off until everyone has had a chance to greet and visit, and then the clouds open, scattering the mourners. We fellowship at the church building, Gideon nurses, and our other children, happy to be home, run and play and laugh again.

You see? Heavenly Bridegroom, anticipating our needs, knowing the future, blessing when it has not been asked for. I see, and give thanks.

Here and now, weeks later, my beloved still misses his father. The season brings with it a reminder of the holidays after his mama died, in October as well. And yet, as we make new traditions with our growing family; hanging the ornaments, preparing our Jesse Tree, wrapping the presents, there is a joy he can only know as one who does not "mourn like those who have no hope".

He has only to look into the eyes of his newest beloved to remember.

Father Robert
Hello, October 20, 1928.
Goodbye, October 31, 2008.

Approximately 30

The number of times since Gideon was born that Eliana has climbed into my lap, then turned around in disbelief and exclaimed,
"There's room for me!"

A Few Thoughts on Literature for Boys

Some thoughts from my husband, Kevin, the father of my little men...

We are doing our best, by God's grace, to raise three young men (nine years, seven years, and seven weeks). We purposefully fill our home with books - practically every room in our house contains tomes just crying out to be picked up and devoured - and we intentionally have scheduled times that we read together daily and times where we read individually (but still together). In addition to this, we encourage our sons to play outside daily for hours, whether it is sunny or snowing. We find that this combination of limiting video-based entertainment, and encouraging book-reading and physical activity expands their imaginations incredibly.

Now doing these things is not enough, for our sons could be reading for hours a day, and still end up unmotivated, directionless narcissists. It is also important to be picky when it comes to selecting the books that they will be reading. There are three things that we look for in literature for our sons: (1) A main character that is decidedly moral and courageous, and thus, heroic (2) Illustrations that are gripping, but not objectionable (e.g. gory, seductive) (3) A setting that will teach our sons about geography, various civilizations and their mythologies, a particular event in history, or all of the above.

All of that said, a book doesn't have to abide by all three points in order for us to let our children read it. For example, we're okay with our sons reading particular "Star Wars" books for while they don't fulfill our desire to teach something about real history or geography, they do still present main characters that do the right thing, even when it comes to sacrificial action. Books that meet criteria one and two are crucial for us, while three is a bonus! We believe that what our sons read will shape their character, so we want them reading about men that will make a difference!

Upon the conclusion of reading literature that meets this criteria, we find that our sons immediately want to get dressed up like the main characters and run outside to reenact what they just read. Books such as: The Hobbit, Sentinel: City of Destiny, Moby Dick, Treasure Island, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Adventures of Tintin, Swiss Family Robinson, Going Along With Lewis & Clark, Farmer Boy, The Bible, and Little Britches protect our sons from a cultural-induced slumber and propel them into a world of epic heroes, fierce battles, and harsh trials. Thorin & Bilbo, Jadan & Jerol, Captain Ahab, Lewis & Clark, Almonzo & Royal, and Moses & Aaron have had many adventures in our back yard. It is our belief that young boys that imagine themselves as adventuresome heroes can easily imagine and thus become men of strong Godly character.

One such book that overwhelmingly meets our criteria is Beowulf: Grendel the Ghastly. This, of course, is based on the ancient Anglo-Saxon epic poem, but has taken only the first of Beowulf's three battles as its subject. Michelle Szobody does a wonderful job of adapting this 3,000 line, 1,200 year-old poem into a work that is appropriate for children ages 7-12, and Justin Gerard's illustrations take a very dark subject matter and make it beautiful while maintaining the integrity of the story.

Book One tells of King Hrothgar and his newly assembled feast-hall, Heorot, built to further spread his fame in Denmark. The construction of this building initiates great celebration in the kingdom, a thing which Grendel, an evil monster, hates dearly. For the next twelve years, the kingdom is terrified by this beast, and instead of fame and joy, Heorot is filled with death and despair. In the land of the Geats, the courageous prince Beowulf heard of Hrothgar's plight, so he and a band of men came across the sea where Beowulf personally defeats Grendel armed only with his valor. Once again, Heorot is turned into a hall of feasting andd celebration, and Beowulf is personally rewarded by Hrothgar and his queen, Wealhtheow.

This book has plenty of helps for parents. Footnotes throughout help the reader understand how to pronounce difficult names, and an appendix at the back defines key words. If you've never read Beowulf, but have heard that it contains pagan elements, don't worry. The original author of the only surviving manuscript of Beowulf wrestled with Christianity in a pagan culture too. And Szobody gives credit to God in her adaptation as well.

My sons and I look forward to the release of Book Two - Beowulf: The Monster's Mother!

Comfort and Joy

Three Things:

1. Children's Book Monday is going to be put on hold for a bit; although our little family still breaks records every two weeks with how many books we haul home from our library, posting a thoughtful, detailed review on a weekly basis is just not possible for me right now! Rather, I will set up a spot in my sidebar to recommend books from our bi-weekly treks. If you see it in my list, I recommend it, how's that?

2. Next week, however, my smart hubby will be posting a special review of the book Beowulf, as well as some tips about choosing books for the little men in your life. Tune in then for some great insight from a great man!

3. Part III still to come...

And the following picture is just because.

Have you ever? I mean, really, they just don't come any cuter than this...

A Thanksgiving Story, Part II

(Part I can be read here...)

There is a flurry of activity, and an hour later I am resting in a hospital bed; gowned and monitored and feeling that first niggling bit of fear as the contractions intensify. I sing quietly with Fernando, whose cd plays restfully in the background of my room.

Open my lips
I will sing Your praise forever
Open my lips, Oh Lord
I will sing Your praise forever
A broken spirit and a contrite heart
These You will not despise
Open my lips
I will sing Your praise forever

And even when the pain increases, I continue to sing, although my now whispering voice is broken. He hears.

Kevin lets me squeeze his hand, hug his neck, cry into his shoulder. My heart sends silent thanks heavenward that this man is here, next to me, even though I had given up on the possibility at one time. Thank you...

My water breaks, bringing with the flow some meconium. The contractions are right on top of each other, and I begin fighting with myself not to fight. Let your body tell you what to do! midwife warns, rubbing my shoulders. She examines, and declares a six.

Ten amazingly intense minutes later, I am complete, and ready to push.

I call on Jesus more times than I can count, bringing smiles to the faces of my midwife and nurse. But it is, of course, in His name that I find the strength to push through the fire, and suddenly, it is over.

I rest back, eyes on the ceiling, letting my body release the last of Little Man's home, thinking of how quickly everything had transpired. But when I look to my left, I see Kevin's tears, and the cries of Little Man finally reach my ears. Do you hear him? Kevin asks, and we hold each other and weep.

When the NICU nurses finish examining the baby's lungs and stomach, declaring him meconium-free, he is laid on my chest, and new life blinks and squeaks, fingers curled tightly, eyes gazing into mine. Our little warrior with a just and upright heart, I declare. Husband agrees. Gideon Justus.

::::::::::::::::::::

The haze of the next few days is pleasant. My family visits, Nana and Papa holding and loving all of our children, and meals are delivered to the door by our precious church family. Gideon Justus sleeps in a milk-induced coma, and, happily, I sleep too.

We marvel at his slightly early arrival... A week early! And Daddy made it home just in time... How we thank the Lord, though we know not His ways.

And my Heavenly Bridegroom begins to reveal His plan.

The phone rings late in the evening on October 31, 2008. Gideon's one-week birthday; his original due date.

Husband stands at the bedroom door, tears in his eyes.

Dad is gone.

...To be continued...

A Thanksgiving Story, Part I

It begins in September.

I sit between Micah and Eliana on Friday morning, September 19th. We study a lesson from this book, Micah and I delighting in Eliana's recitation of the definition of a noun. Then the phone rings, and the husky voice of my husband greets my ear.

"Dad has lung cancer."

One hand flies to my mouth, the other to my swollen belly, and I squeeze my eyes shut. No, God, please. Don't take his father, too!

The children surround me after I hang up, having made plans with my husband to pack immediately and drive to Boise to just be there for his father. We pray for Grandpa, the boys with tears streaming down their faces, Eliana screwing up her face in sympathy, not quite sure of what is happening but wanting to be included.

The weekend is full of memory clicks, as I watch Grandpa Hooper come to grips with the news that there is a tumor on his kidney as well. He is nearly eighty, after all, but a vibrant, active eighty, and he wants to stay. I watch his eyes follow my children. Hear him sigh when Eliana tells a story in her cutesy voice. See him reach over to pull Cor close and kiss him firmly on the head. Watch him shake his head and laugh at a Micah joke. Hear him answer the boys' questions about what it was like to grow up during the Depression.

And I wonder if he will get to meet our Little Man. If he will get to smell his baby smell. Let him wrap his tiny hand around Grandpa's fingers. Delight in his first smile. Hold on.

We pray together, hold each other, and head home on Monday.

I am thirty-five weeks pregnant.

The next few weeks, my husband travels north to be with his father two more times. Each time he leaves, it gets harder to say good-bye, but I try to stay strong because I know that what he is going through is so much harder.

My sisters are here, and I am thankful for their presence.

When Kevin leaves on Tuesday, October 21st, to be at his father's side for surgery to remove his kidney, which is also cancer-laden, I am nearly thirty-nine weeks pregnant and slowing down by the minute. We hold each other in the car at the airport, the children in the backseat clamoring for hugs and kisses. I love you. And I'll be right back, he whispers into my ear. I nod and blink back tears, fully aware that he could be going to say goodbye to his father, and determine to be strong for his sake.

For in my quiet time, the Lord brings peace. He reminds me that Kevin has been present for the birth of our other children, and that He will sustain me if I am alone for this one. That Kevin will be present for the rest of Little Man's life, Lord willing, but it would bring such regret for him to miss this time with his father. I feel stronger as I accept this, and speak words of truth to myself- and my worried mama, who is far away for the first time- I will be all right!

The surgery turns out to be so much more invasive than first understood, and Dad starts to fade. He looks eighty, and it shakes my husband. He is torn between two worlds; death at his father's side, new life awaiting him at home.

And Thursday, October 23rd, I wake to regular contractions.

My husband is to return this night.

I stay in bed all day, hoping to hold off the arrival of Little Man until Daddy comes home. The contractions ease off, and I rest. And pray. Kevin wants to take an earlier flight, but I beg him to spend what time he has left with his father, and promise to lie still until he returns.

When he calls from the airport, six hundred miles away, I tell him that I will stay in bed until we both get a good night's sleep, and then tomorrow I will get up and let things get started. He laughs and tells me, Let's have him tonight! I'm feeling up to it!

So I rise.

I dress, and make dinner, catching up with the children about the day with their aunt. We eat together, and I read from Farmer Boy. I prepare them for bed, and lift Eliana into her crib, wondering when contractions are going to set in again. Hmmmmm, our bathtub needs a good cleaning, I think, and begin to scrub. Nesting!

Husband returns to a clean home, sleeping children, and a grateful wife. We hold each other, and he collapses into bed at 10:15.

The moment my head hits the pillow, the first contraction comes. And three minutes later, another. Three minutes later, another, and when two hours pass at this rate, I know it is time. Thank you, God, I breathe, marveling at His timing and care. I touch Kevin's back and whisper, I'm going to pack my bag- you keep resting.

...to be continued...