Shhhhhh, I Have A Secret To Tell

When all signs pointed no,
When I thought fall had fell,
When I had hoped, hardened and handed over,
When I dared not ask,
Life.
In the dark places, in the still and quiet,

A tiny heart beats.
No bigger than a peanut.
And my journey begins,
with a new life.
With a new gift.
Hallelujah.
Praise the Lord.

It's OK to Enjoy

I love to work.
My hands messy, my brow dusted wet,
I love to work.
To see progress, production, order.
Idleness drives me to inches of insanity.
But lately, I have been realizing something,
that the work, the purpose, the cause,
is never satisfied.
It is never done.
And I am tired.
I am tired because I am missing the beauty.

I used to be creative.
I used to write till my hands cramped balls of fire.
Used to piece pictures till stories bled forth life on a sticky page.
I used to sing meadowlark music that wouldn't stop chirping no matter the hour.
I used to paint. Pictures that were pathetic but expressions of my pain and of my passion.
I used to think it was good to make things beautiful.

But lately, in the vaccuming, in the dusting, in the dishes and the daily,
I have forgotten that God is not just a God of order,
but one of Creation.
He does not just set down rules to follow but paths to ponder.
He wants us, He wants me, to live out my days in order and in reveling of His beauty.
And so I am challenged, to balance,
to believe, to boast, that it is OK to enjoy the unnessecary.
Like a freshly painted bathroom, in bright teal green blue,

like an apron sewing party when aprons aren't needed,

like a blog that hardly is ever read but writes in my mind daily.
It is OK to enjoy. To create and to be created.
And I breathe, again, soaking in my freedom.

A Disengaged Smile

"Don't do that, " I sort of heard my son say.
"It's ok. Mom said it's ok," five year old beauty replies.
"Mom didn't say it was ok," he shoots back.
"No, but look, she's smiling at me so it's ok."
Eyes roll into blue eyed boys head. "She's always smiling. You had better ask."
I snap out of Mommy fog and engage the situation, not really caring what 5 year old is destroying.
"You think I am always smiling?" I ask, in awe.
"Pretty much."
Wow. W-O-W.
Me, high strung, year of grief ridden, self doubting, always tired, vacillating and contemplating, low self esteeming, not doing the dirty dishes-ing Mom,
is. always. smiling.
Ain't God good?!

Ladies and Gentlemen Miss Jamie Grace

I just came to know the music of Jamie Grace.
Boy this girl can sing.
Even better is her testimony.
I truly love my hymns. They are the best.
But I also think it is so exciting to see people stepping out for God in whatever
way He has put it on their hearts.
Thought I would share two of my favorite Jamie YouTube clips. The first is a jam and the second makes me feel something deep in my soul.

 

 

Enjoy!

The Morning

I am sitting in bed,
pillows propped high,
my back arched over them and the wall,
I wake to clean kitchen waiting, Bible pages calling,
children sleeping, and friends waiting for key typed messages I should have sent days ago.
I feel the hum of the day as I type on the hum of my computer.
The screen is bright,
forceful while the sun still slumbers.
And just as I begin, I hear pitter patters,
pitter patters that become thuds as sweet child comes running.
She looks ragged and rosy, smiling pile of bed head,
as she crawls into my bed.
And I type one handed as the other cuddles my once was toddler.
and I smile my thankfulness that God made me a Mother.

I'm A Little Bit Country and a Little Bit Rock and Roll

I love music. I love music that praises the Father.
I love hymns.
And I love to shout praises to my Jesus.
I love to be solemn, broken, on my face in reverent praise.
I love to jump praises, arms raised high, face turned up to Him.
I love to worship Him because He alone is worthy.
Amen.
Let it be so.

A Morning Of Thanksgiving

I woke to my two year old smiling kisses at me,
a husband who rushed to go to his favorite golf course after a sweet morning chat,
coffee steaming creamy in my cup,
sun rising over the pasture fields seen through my bay window,
thoughts of the friend who is dropping her two beloveds to my house this morning,
school books piled precious, waiting for their first days duties,
a shirt that clung now hangs loose,
laundry cleaned, folded and waiting,
the Lord whispering goodness.
my heart beating joy.

Special Saturday

Some days I wake and see the sun, and I know I am loved by the Son.
Some days I wake and feel rested in my bones and my spirit jumps joyously when my babies come running to rouse me.
Some days I cannot wait to greet the day deliciously without worry or care, knowing Providence guides each moment.
Some days it is not scary knowing that my Father holds my very breath in His palm.
Some days the spilled milk and the leftover dishes look like divine décor.
Some days I cannot help but smile.

James just woke. He is snuggled beside me hoping to read what I write.
I feel the warmth of my child and know that this is a special Saturday.

Encourage

I have been encouraged. Today a building.
I have looked ill most of this last year. Worn, ragged, a wilting if you will.

Today, I ran into an old friend, she and her husband told me I had a glow.
Me? The wilted flower? The rained on, washed out, white walled woman?

A glow?

I have been misery laden, in the midst of my happy life. And while I can hide tears and tantrums; the sick, the sadness, the death, it permeates, pulls through and pops out, but . . .

I have a glow! Where did it come from? When did it pop back into my face, my body, my heart. When did I wake up again and allow happiness, and when did the healing begin? And, if I may be so bold, when will the healing be finished?

And, I know the answer. It won't. Not this side of heaven. But . . .

The yellow brick road has been laid out, and my slippers step delicately, one tiny tiptoe at a time.

I feel encouraged. I feel light. I feel the Maker and know His hand is upon this kind word.

And I feel the glow; the small steady flame-fire. A kindling yes, but fire inside non-the-less.

And I cannot help but smile.

Being in Love . . . But?

I love my husband.

I mean, I really, really, love him.

A lot.

I bet you are waiting for the but . . .

But . . .

there isn't one.

Is he perfect?

Nope.

But he's fine.

He is funny.

He works hard.

He treats me well.

And he still loves me after my hormonal monster messes.

Yep, I love my husband.

Have you been loving yours lately?

Love is a choice. It isn't easy. Lust is easy and we have had plenty of that too. 

But love,
love . . .
agape . . .
laying down our desires, our very lives, for the needs, for the wants of another . . . even when they don't deserve it . . .
well, that is hard.

But that is where we come to the end of ourselves, where the flesh can die, and Christ can reign, where selfishness subsides and Peace can impart.

That is when we truly start to get a glimpse of heaven.
And my heaven is mighty fine.

Dandelion Spring

The grass is peaking through the ground. Poking and prodding dry, refreezing earth. It's happy green grows on me. 
I smile more when I play in the dirt.
And my children play in the dirt too. Lots.
Muddy shoes bless my floor. Grass stained skirts get scrubbed again and again. And jeans never keep their knees.
But in the excitement, little hands bring, the first yellow, the first orange, the first of spring.
"Momma, I picked these for you."
First, its Hazel.
Then 10 minutes later its James.
And before playtime is over Norma has brought me some too.
Little Mary runs around in delight, too young to think to pick them. She just lets them tickle her nose.
But what to do with my bountiful bouquet?
In a glass they are too short. Topped off, too small to see.
In a vase, they are swallowed, not ever to reach their grand giftedness.
In a bowl they drown.
At a thrift store, I hear my Norma, "Momma?"
"Yes?" I turn and look and she's there, holding a vase no bigger than my pinkie.
"This would be perfect for all the flowers we pick you!"
And it is. 10 cent miracle.
A home for my treasures, that grace my table during the sunshine season. That remind me, I am loved.
Oh how grateful, oh how blessed, to have this home of happiness.

If Valentine's Day Left You Empty . . .

We don't do much for Valentine's Day around here. We have a lot of love, but we don't have much love for the buy, buy, buy mentality.

So, when I woke up on Valentine's Day to find a note sitting on the counter from my husband I was surprised. It meant so much more than any box of chocolates ever could. I love it so much I asked him if I could post its contents. He agreed.

"Good Morning. Please read this at breakfast time. Everyone special in my life, My wife Kersten, Wonderful daughters Norma, Hazel, Mary and Magnificent James. I love you all soooo much that I do not need a special day to remind me to love you all. While the rest of the world has to wonder if anyone really loves them, Be happy that you know that you KNOW that you have a Father in Heaven that truly loves you and one right here on earth that wouldn't know what to do without you. You are all very special and do not need some cheap imitations of love to let you know this, because I am telling you. You are! Love to all,
Dad"

Pretty awesome. And written at 3am on the way out the door to work. I'd say our day was pretty happy.

But if you didn't have a great and happy day, if the chocolates were left on the rack at the store, or there was no one to give you a hug or a rose, do you know that you KNOW that you have a Father in heaven that truly loves you? Because He is there,  He is waiting, and His love is a love that will truly satisfy.

Drum Roll Please

It was family day. My hubby works the weekends and Tuesday is our hang out, rest, play, pray day. (We do those things every day but get to do them more on Tuesday's.) We surprised the children by taking them to get doughnuts for breakfast. (Yes, we were soooo cool that day.)

I had to run back into the house to get something after everyone was buckled in. Upon arriving back to the van, hubby says, "Norma thinks you are very pretty. She told me."

Wow, threw on clothes, braided my hair in two seconds, felt funny as I was doing a liver cleanse, and I am having a pretty day? Wo-ow.

Then, at afternoon snack, during clean-up, I was informed by Norma that "I am so smart." I'm so smart that I can't even remember why she told me that, but hey, with brains like these . . .

And to top it all off, after dinner while doing the dishes, I hear her say to her Daddy, "Well, that's because Mom is good at everything."

Yep, you heard it, it was a good day to be me. Thank you my beautiful girl for making one tired and mending Mama feel like a queen.

Being Sad and Being Glad

This blog is an outlet for my grief. And it is deep. But it is in moments. Bits blow breezy, grief pouring out my heart when Hazel, turned 4, says "Mommy, can I bring John a toy in heaven when I die?"
This grief does not consume me however. I live grateful. For Norma. James. Hazel. Mary. For my husband.
And for little things. A new pot rack that frees up my cupboards.

For pictures printed, waiting a scrap booking day with my children.

For read alouds, days that are warm enough to take a brisk walk, phone calls from friends, memories of help in time of need. (Thank you all. And thank you Andy, Terri, and girls. Haven't gotten to publicly thanking your generosity.) For music on the harp played by a girl just turned 9. I could go on and on.

It is a wonderful life. The beauty, the pain, the simple.



PS Blogger is having an issue and I cannot upload my photos right now. :( Hopefully soon, because that potrack is a delight. :)

The Journey

I don't know why the journey has been so varied. How the road has been so long. And I am going to be 34. 34 years old! When did that happen? When did this awkward, insecure, always trying to lose 10 pounds teenager become a wife, mother, believer who is now trying to lose 30 pounds? I'm still awkward, and I am still insecure. But now I am responsible for 4 precious lives, have a great desire to be a good help meet to my husband and want to serve and please my God. Seems like a lot for someone who can't even fall asleep at night when she needs to.
You see my life changed drastically on July 16th when my beautiful boy was born premature and shortly thereafter died. (More to come on his story in another post.) Needless to say I have been challenged. Poked, prodded, torn, divided, and begging for mercy. My body is old. Older than my years right now. And my heart is beating, but sorrow seems to be its tune. I am going to be 34. God is merciful. For although my boy is gone, he is with Him and my 4 babes have a Mom; to wipe their noses, to read to them at night, to tell them no, and to bless with yes. I get to hold them while they cry, and to smile while they laugh. John should have been born the day before 34, but he came at his 24, and this year I am left making sense of 30 pounds, broken hearts, wounded belly, age faded days and gratefulness.
This is my journey. This is the road that winds down, up and around for me. This is where I begin to see the joy, where I search for beauty.
Will you . . . could you . . .  join me?