You Are Cordially Invited

Most days, I’m deeply aware of the benefits of our lifestyle.  Schooling at home gives us tremendous flexibility to take advantage of a myriad of rich experiences.  Books read aloud routinely become family friends, and recess often takes the form of digging in the creek or building forts outside.  Fidgety boys take basketball breaks when needed, and my crafty girl creates throughout the day.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Usually.

Several weeks ago, I hastily became quite knowledgeable about the admission procedures and tuition for the private schools in our area.   I also paid particular attention to the big yellow bus schedule, and took note that there were plenty of available seats.  My mind began to construct a new schedule for myself – one that included long runs and a home with preordained periods of quiet.  Yes, it was one of those weeks.  And my commentary has nothing to do with school choice.  It has everything to do with the motivation behind all of my, well all of our, choices.

I don’t want to be selfish.  I don’t want to become angry with my kids, short-tempered with my husband, or aloof with my friends.  I want to be more.  I want to be patient, kind, and other-centered.  But last week, I wasn’t having much luck.  And rather than deal with the mounting evidence that I was the problem, I found myself wanting to sweep it under the carpet.  Or more accurately, put it on the bus and send it away.

Voices were competing for my attention and energy.  There were the high-pitched needs of the children, the muted desires of my husband, and the emphatically heated debate between self-justification and self-contempt that raged inside of me.  But somewhere in the midst of the mental and emotional chaos, I heard that still small voice.

I’m inviting you to more.

When your children’s needs outweigh your capacity to give,

I’m inviting you to grow in dependence.

When your tired husband returns from a trip, and you want his help more than you want him,

I’m inviting you to grow in selflessness.

When you’ve been treated unfairly and want to retaliate (or withdraw),

I’m inviting you to grow in kindness.

When customer service eats up half your day then drops your call,

the guy selling pine needles interrupts dinner, 

and the dog ruins the living room rug (again),

I’m inviting you to grow in patience.

When a friend disappoints out of her own insecurities or fears,

I’m inviting you to grow in faithfulness.

When there are mounting bills, 
piles of laundry, 
sick children and weary hearts,

I’m inviting you to grow in joy.

When  you're heartbroken, and even angry, that life doesn’t look like you had hoped,

I’m inviting you to grow in peace.

And lastly…

When you realize that the problem isn’t your needy kiddos (or schooling choice),

Or your husband,

Or your friends,

Or your life situation,

Or those annoying people who interrupt your day,

It’s your own selfish heart,

But I’m not condemning you…

I’m inviting you to grow in love.

Here We Go Again... Parenting Teenagers the Second Time Around

Barely over a mile in, and I’m sucking wind.  So sad.  It’s hard to believe that a few years ago, an exponentially longer run resulted in euphoria, not fatigue. I’ve been moderately sick for a few months and unable to run, so today was the big day.  Despite perfect weather, adequate sleep, and the strategically-timed cup of coffee, I limped along fueled by sheer determination.  I’m tired.

We have five children, ages 8-25, and currently have no teenagers.  Think about it.  Our family makeup could practically be used as a logic riddle.  The last few years have been somewhat of a “golden age” in our home with no little ones awake in the wee hours of the morning, and no new drivers or high school parties requiring late night parenting vigils.   Let me be clear – I love much about the teen years.  The shift from childhood toward maturity, meaningful conversations, pivotal choices, and a glimpse into what their adult life may hold, collectively make this phase of parenting significant.  But as with any worthwhile endeavor, that which is of great value often comes at great cost.  

At one point, we had two teenagers, a pre-schooler, a toddler, and a newborn living in our home.  Our oldest children are now in their early twenties and actually survived their teen years, largely in spite of us. On this side of the “parenting the teenager” journey, I’m increasingly convinced that much of the stress and heartache along the way is largely reflective of the parents, not the kiddos.  That, by the way, is a personal confession.  In hindsight, there is nothing like a normal, healthy teenager to reveal the selfish heart and personal agenda of a parent.  But somehow, we all made it through, and watching our young adults make their way in the world has made it well worth the effort required.

In my 39^th year, I confessed to a friend that running a longish race was on my unspoken bucket list.  She didn’t let me stop at a wish, and pledged to run all of the longer training runs with me.  Before I knew it, I had registered for the race, printed out my training schedule, and purchased bright new running shoes.  I had no idea what the next few months would hold, but was fueled by excitement, aspiration, and a meticulously-loaded ipod.    I couldn’t have anticipated the cold, dark, insanely early morning runs or the “gut through it because I only had four narrow windows each week” runs.  But somehow, we made it through, and race day made it well worth the effort required.

As I embark on the familiar territory of starting to run again, you’d think that it would be easier this time.  I know what to expect.  I know my best times of the day to run, and the proper way to eat and hydrate.   I’ve run much faster and further with considerably less effort.  But for some reason, starting over today seemed harder.

During the last several months, it has become clear that it's time once again to lace up our shoes and prepare for parenting the next round of teenagers (the oldest of our younger crowd is twelve).  And as we embark on this second round of parenting teens, you’d think that we’d be better prepared for an easier experience.  We’ve covered similar territory before. We know what to expect.  Which may be why it feels daunting this time… but for very different reasons. 

Thankfully, what I’ve lost through the years in terms of energy and brain cells, I’ve gained in other areas.  Although this is the section where you might expect the “now we’re wiser and more prepared,” well… here is what is different: This time around, I’m more aware of my selfishness and the reality that I do indeed have a personal agenda.  I’m less sure of the answers, and more curious about the questions.  And most importantly, I have a glimpse of my general tendency to parent out of my own strength and wisdom.  The challenge this time isn’t getting it right.  It’s acknowledging that I can’t.

No doubt, we made a multitude of mistakes the first time around.  And my guess is that we’ll make a whole new batch of mistakes with this second opportunity.  But I’ve come to believe that the goal is not to be the perfect parent, but rather to become a diligent pupil of the Ultimate Teacher.  And in doing so, I hope to slow down and enjoy the scenery of the everyday.  To focus less on the finish line, the adults that we hope our teens will become, and focus more on the gift of each step along the way.  Even the accidental rabbit trails I wouldn't have chosen, unexpected obstacles in the path, and weary muscles are a gift.  They are a necessary part of the process, and will eventually be absorbed into our larger lives’ stories.

As dormant muscles are reawakened, healthier patterns are established, and the initial shock to the system ushers in a “new norm,” my hope is that:

• I'll be less likely to gauge my progress by the apparent pace of those around me

• I won’t take one step for granted - even on the hardest of days 

• I’ll be mindful of the Source of all true wisdom, energy, and direction, and will parent accordingly  

• I’ll count it an honor and a privilege to run this race… the second time around 

A Visit from the Tooth Fairy

Twas the month before Christmas

And all through the house

Not a creature was stirring...

...unless you count the faintest sound of delicate wings fluttering through the air, down the hall, and under the door into my daughter's room.  The tiny sprite hovered over a stuffed Tooth Fairy Bear, which had gotten quite comfortable in a doll's chair.  His work had been sparse as of late, but the little girl with a mouth full of teeth finally called upon his service a few nights ago.  Caroline's baby tooth, which had managed to evade being pushed out by its replacement,  had snuggled tightly out of sight behind her new gleaming white grown-up tooth.  I'd begun to worry that her dental fate would be the same as that of a Yorkie puppy, with 2 complete sets of teeth, row behind row. 


Alas, the baby tooth had released its grip, the Tooth Fairy Bear was summoned from the back of the cluttered closet, and my plucky little seven year old set out on a mission.  In her best handwriting, she carefully crafted a note to the Tooth Fairy.  She wanted to know if the Tooth Fairy was real, and what she (or he) did with the collected teeth.


Just as Santa's gift creation, selection, and distribution habits differ from family to family, the same is true of the Tooth Fairy.  For some children she leaves notes, for others, small presents, coins, or other tokens of great value.  She knows our family well, and as a result, leaves behind carefully selected and signed books in exchange for outgrown teeth.  In addition to inscribing Caroline's new book, she noted a few of the most common fairy uses for children's teeth.  

Rather than satisfying her inquiring mind, the correspondence fueled the fire of Caroline's curiosity.  She spent the better part of the next morning using her very best penmanship to compose the following:

Dear Tooth Fary- 

 Are you small or larg?

 What do you eat?

 Wher do you live?  

 What do you do with your dust?

 What are your magic pours?

 Are you a boy or girl or wimon or man?

 Do you have randbow bridge?

 What is your name?

 Do you have pets?

 Do you have a house?

                                             Love, Caroline

The following day, she awoke to find the following letter penned on lilac fairy stationary leaning against her Tooth Fairy Bear:

 

Dear Caroline,  

Thank you for my note. Again, you’ve done a lovely job with your handwriting. 

You asked me several good questions. Sometimes in the Land of Fairies, we answer good questions by asking good questions back. For example: “Is Narnia real?” Let me know what you think, after you decide. 

Someday, Caroline, you may grow too big for me. You’ll have your big girl teeth and you won’t think of me too often. But, you will never grow too big for Jesus. No matter how old you get, He will become more wonderful and more real to you as each year passes. You can never outgrow Him. Ever. 

If I fade, Jesus will become brighter to you. And if I become smaller, He will become larger. His adventures are exciting, His gifts are beautiful, and the friendship that you have with Him will last your whole life… even beyond. His is the best story of all, and I am happy for mine to help you to find it. 

In fact, that’s why I’m here, and why Santa and the Easter Bunny exist. Our job, you see, is a lot like the job of Mr. Beaver in Narnia—we point you to the King. 

I can’t answer all of your very good questions, but I’m happy to answer a few.  Indeed, I do love to eat spiffiny drumkies, but not too many or it’s hard for me to fly.  I live wherever I am.  I don’t have pets, but there are many creatures that are my friends, like snicket jumpers and peffiny lumkets.  But, they are too small and too fast for little girls to see. 

Now, if you wouldn’t mind answering a question for me, I could also use some help. Someone once told me that little girls are made of sugar, and spice, and everything nice—and that little boys were made of snakes, and snails, and puppy dog tails. Is that for real? 

                                                           Love, The Tooth Fairy

~~~~~~~~~~

It should be noted that the above-mentioned letter looks suspiciously like the letter from Santa written to Rebecca Reynold's daughter years ago.  Although I was initially shocked at this discovery, I eventually realized that of course Santa is far better with words than the Tooth Fairy.  His work is quite seasonal, so he has ample time in which to read books and refine his writing.   The Tooth Fairy, on the other hand, is in constant demand throughout the year.  Given Santa's generous nature, he had given his permission for the original letter to be tweaked accordingly. 


With that in mind, if you have any children (young or old) who doubt the reality of the Tooth Fairy, or Santa, or any of their friends, perhaps his letter can be of use.

Wishing a Merry Christmas to all

And to all a good night!

"Under Where?" is Available - and Worthy of the Accompanying Hoopla

I'm taking a break from writing alone this week, and thought I'd let my kiddos help out.  They want to share with you their thoughts on the new Slugs & Bugs CD that was just released by Randall Goodgame and Andrew Peterson.  I must confess:  although we have five children, I'm not typically a big fan of children's music.  Perhaps it started with the big purple dinosaur, but over time, I've become increasingly finicky about the music that fills our home (and car).  I'm not even sure that my youngest has ever heard "Wheels on the Bus" or "B-I-N-G-O" all the way through.  I know.  Sad.  But I digress.

So why the post dedicated to a children's CD?  So glad you asked.

The best music, like the best books, tells the truth about who we are, who God is, and the situations that we face in life.  A well-written song assures us that we are not alone in the feelings we experience.  It can provide comfort, insight, or much-needed levity.  The effect of music on people can be astounding.  The same is true for our children and the culture of our families.  Music can bring us together, give us a "secret language" between family members, and influence the tone in our homes.   Slugs & Bugs tells the truth about the everyday experiences that children have (losing pjs, wanting to help, finding a hole in a sock, getting angry).  It speaks truth about who they are, and about who God is.  It's refreshing, unbelievably clever, but somewhat addictive.

If you're not familiar with Slugs & Bugs, here's a sample of what you're missing.  This recording, produced by our own bears, surfaced unexpectedly early one morning.   And to think that we blamed goblins and feechies for all of the ruckus the night before.

In the the words of the ones whose opinions matter most:

Caroline (7yrs):
"I like the Slugs & Bugs CD because it's funny, and it gets stuck in my head so I can always sing it.  My favorite song is the pajama song because when the person can't find his pj's, he says 'Gotta find my mama, someone call Obama.'  That's my favorite part."

Sam (10 yrs):
"I really like the Mexican Rhapsody song.  It's very fun, energetic, and it even made my dad dance.  Be careful, because 'cheese dip' easily gets stuck in your head."  

Will (12yrs):
"My favorite song is the Ninja song.  I like the music because it's fast-paced, and the words are clever.  It makes me think of kids pretending to be ninjas.... although I'm too old for that now."

My boys are surprisingly offended by the potty song.  Peculiar.  I'm pretty sure they're actually uber-impressed that you can sing about such things.

Like a baby box with carefully stored booties and special blankets, I have within my heart a place to safeguard the cherished icons representing my children's childhoods.  Included among those treasures are Charlotte's Web, The Chronicles of Narnia, Rescue Heroes, Star Wars Legos, Robin Hood, various weapons, American Girl dolls, and Slugs & Bugs.  Go ahead and  buy more than one - you'll want to have them on hand for Christmas and baby gifts.

You can order "Under Where?" here.  Enjoy.

Necessary Losses

I'm feeling a little sad this afternoon.  An hour ago, we put my baby boy on a bus that is taking him to camp for the first time.  Ok, he's almost 10, but he's still the baby boy of the family.  He was "a little bit nervous but more excited." Backpack and guitar in tow, he bounded up the stairs of the bus behind two of his best buddies.  After they boarded, we strained to see through the darkened windows as the three of them peered out and waived furiously... "good-bye."

This is my tender-hearted boy, who only a few years ago, couldn't bring himself to say goodbye to his sister as she was leaving home after a weekend visit from college.  "Mom, it just hurts too much." As I sat on the edge of the bed and watched my sweet boy unsuccessfully fight back the tears, my heart was divided. I never want him to hurt deeply.  I want to protect him from all of the evil in the world.  I don't want him to be disappointed.  I don't want his heart to ache.

At the same time, my hope is that he will grow to be a man who will love others well and live life to its fullest.  This is the kid who exudes life.  Whatever he feels, he feels deeply - both joy and pain.  You can't have one without the other.  I love his depth of emotion, but I'm sad for the self-protection that years and experience will most likely bring.  It's a paradox of sorts.  The very thing that I love about him is bound to bring him pain in life.

So it is with love and life.  Virtually every good gift that we are given comes as the result of some kind of loss.

~The butterfly - the end of the caterpillar
~The tree - no more a seed
~Wisdom - only after loss of innocence
~Marriage - the loss of carefree singleness
~Each new child - the smaller family unit will never be the same
~Graduations, weddings, birthdays - markers that a chapter of life has been written and completed

For me, here are a few to add to the list:

~Coming home to be with my family - the close of a rewarding career
~High school and college graduations - the shift in our family as 2 adult children launch their lives
~The wedding of our daughter - she's now under someone else's care

And now, a much smaller, yet still significant loss.  My blonde-headed blue-eyed little boy will come home to me having changed.  A bit more confident.  A little less dependent on me.  More aware that yes, there is life outside of our family, and it is good.  I'm thrilled that he's able to go.  I'm thankful for his opportunity to   have a life-changing experience in a safe, nurturing environment.  But yes, there will be loss.

Ultimately, I am deeply grateful for the gifts of growth, change, and reminders of my ultimate dependance.  My hope is to encourage you that in the dark of night, and in the melancholy seasons of loss and closing chapters, you will be aware that your heartache is evidence of you are living life fully.  That you'd look to times past when necessary losses led to deeper peace, greater joy, and a firmer foundation from which to live.  That you'd be comforted to know that indeed, "there is a time for everything, and a season for every purpose under heaven."

And if you think about it, pray for my Sam (and his mom) this week.  :)

**********************************

"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."  C.S. Lewis

***************************************

Chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast

I don't think he'll starve

A few more songs before we go

Have guitar, will travel

He's going to be missed

Mrs. Anderson and her ducks

Last "Good-byes"

Camp Lurecrest  -   Thanks for taking care of my baby boy...

"... and these are a few of my favorite things" ♪

I hadn’t talked with our eldest daughter for several days when she called and asked what we’d been doing.  I paused, trying to muster up something substantial.  Coming up empty-handed, I winced as I answered, “The same thing I was doing last time we talked.  Trying to gain some semblance of order around the house.”  Again.  And chances are good that the next time we speak, the answer will be unfortunately similar.  I’m not a perfectionist.  I do prefer order and cleanliness in my home, but can’t ever seem to crawl out of the hole of “piles and stacks” long enough to achieve rest on the level ground of “routine maintenance needed.”  I have friends who seem to have it all together.  Their homes are comfortable, but orderly.  The countertops seem to stay clutter-free.  Their family’s coats and shoes find their ways to their assigned places with minimal effort.  Their floors rarely show evidence of traffic.  I choose to like them anyway.

This morning, as I was mapping out my plan for the day, I felt a subtle yet significant shift of perspective occur. It dawned on me that I actually have a choice to make. I can wallow in the frustration of living in “clutter purgatory,” or I can choose to look beyond the stuff to something greater.  I choose the latter.

I am deeply grateful for…

~ Bits of scotch tape adhered tightly to my wooden floors, capless markers banished hopelessly under my couch, scraps of yarn and paper dripping throughout my house and small handprint smudges made from pastel–chalk hands accidentally decorating the wall. There is creativity abounding in my home.

~ Scattered weapons.  Light sabers, daggers, broken cap guns and wooden swords that have been worn down to only traces of the original paint as a result of many battles. I have little boys in whose very souls the Creator planted seeds of justice, goodness, and the drive to fight for all that is good and right. I have fine young men who will one day fight for all that is important, and they are in training… in my home.

~ A clumsy pile of muddy, worn, and sometimes companionless shoes that were deposited right beside the shoe basket. Their owners have quickly shifted from the adventures of exploring the creek, jumping on the trampoline, and straining to see their favorite fish in the pond toward the next exciting venture inside. There is anticipation in my home.

~ An unfinished Star Wars Monopoly game that has taken up permanent residence in the center of our family room on the coffee table (and the surrounding floor)… Because the big brother came home from college and took time to play.  I have children who love and enjoy each other in my home.

~ Tellingly height-specific rows of smudges across the windows in our sunroom, made by fingers and noses pressed hard as wonder-filled eyes welcome the chickadees, house wrens, gold finches and occasional downy woodpecker who have come to feast at the birdfeeder. There is love of God’s creation in my home.

~ An un-manicured backyard in need of tree-removal, weeding, pruning, and an occasional mow.  There is a daddy who chooses to play with his children in my home.

~ A little voice that intrudes upon my coveted quiet time of the day - my bit of heaven in the form of a cup of coffee, a quite moment, book in lap and pen in hand... Because I have a little boy who could have chosen a sibling, but who chooses me to play a game with him.  I have simple pleasures in my home.

~ Traces of the frayed ends from sheer coral ribbon… From tying what felt like thousands of bows on our daughter’s wedding invitations proceeding one of the most joyful weekends in our family history.  I have thriving young adults who have emerged from my home.

~ Towering stacks of beautiful old yellowing books waiting to be re-shelved in our home library… Because my children have befriended hundreds of perilous adventures, brave heroes, quirky characters, and faraway places as their very own.  I have a love of good books in my home.

~ Empty boxes of cereal left in the pantry, empty boxes of popsicles left in the freezer, and granola bar wrappers sprinkled throughout the van… Because my children are growing like weeds and they are consuming food proportionately. I have strong, healthy bodies in my home.

~ Guitar picks that pop up unexpectedly like long-lost Easter eggs from last year’s hunt – in the dusty corner of the bathroom, under the box of crackers, wedged in the floor vent.   I have music filling my home.

~ Empty cups of Pinkberry yogurt sitting on my bedside table that really should be thrown away but seem to keep resurfacing…  Because I have a sweet husband who spoils me (too often) with trips to get yogurt, backrubs, a forgiving spirit and kind words.  I have 17 years of fidelity, love and commitment in my home.

My house isn’t spotless, perfectly organized or immaculately decorated.  But within it’s walls, I can choose everyday to bask in the presence of boundless life, energy, joy, and beauty.   And when our daughter calls to check in next week, I assume that I’ll tell her that I’m doing “The same thing I was doing last time we talked.  Trying to gain some semblance of order around the house.”  Only then, rather than a wince, I hope to produce a grateful, knowing smile.

 “People throw away what they could have by insisting on perfection, which they cannot have, and looking for it where they could never find it.”  Edith Schaeffer

Measure by Measure

Caroline, my youngest, came into the world dancing, twirling, and humming a happy tune. The baby of five, she plays her role in the family flawlessly.  From the moment we brought her home, we not only loved her, but we loved all that came with her – lots of pink, hair bows, bloomers, baby dolls, and ballet dresses.  As a toddler, she woke up smiling with open arms (literally) looking for hugs.  She spent her days either dancing with poise and grace (as much as a 2 yr old can have), OR chasing her big brothers with a pink cowboy gun.  I’ve learned much from her.  She soaks in every ounce of life and lives each moment to the fullest.  Nothing is boring.  She notices the newest bird that decided to reside in our yard, writes stories for hours (phonetically – reading them can become a game in itself) and has vision for any scrap of yarn or paper.  She’s a living craft tornado, sucking up remnants in her path and leaving a trail of destruction, along with a mighty creative craft project, behind.

We are finally wrapping up the school year.  In the last few weeks, we’ve completed year-end testing, finished (almost) worn out workbooks, scrambled to wrap up the final details and participate in our oldest daughter’s wedding, made it through the dress rehearsal and ballet recital, and have only to complete the piano recital in order to officially wrap up the year.  I’m tired.  And ready to be done.

Will, my 11 year old, spent the last few months preparing to play 3 pieces of Bach in his sister’s wedding.  Perfection of his pieces had received priority over the younger ones’ recital preparation.  I generally left the practice schedule of the younger two to their own management.  Even the 7-year old Craft Tornado.  As with most things, our negligence eventually catches up with us.  Two weeks before the recital, I found myself sitting beside my sweet Caroline to listen to her piano recital piece, only to learn that she had quite far to go.  Not to put the final touches on her piece, but to get the basic notes and to play the rhythm correctly.  It was 8pm – her bedtime, and her piano teacher would be coming in the morning.  I was tired.  She was tired.  We needed to make weeks’ worth of progress quickly.  It wasn’t the best set up.

Over time, the most endearing characteristic of another often becomes the most frustrating.  Caroline is highly relational.  Everything can (and does) become fodder for conversation.  How far she sits from the piano.  Which line she should practice.  What she should wear to the recital.  I began our session aware that her lack of preparation was primarily my fault.  I was the adult.  I had neglected directing her for the past weeks due to preparation for the wedding.  She was tired.  But as her attempts to practice continued, impatience began to bubble up within me.  Her talk to play ratio was 3:1.  We weren’t making much progress, and the clock was ticking.

There was one particular measure that she just couldn’t master.  It didn’t help that each time she played it (incorrectly), she would stop and look at me - not at the music.  She was looking to me for affirmation, support, and encouragement.  I was trying to mask my irritation behind a half-hearted smile and the mantra “let’s slow down and work on that one measure”.  My husband entered the scene, cheery and somewhat bewildered at my poorly-masked exasperation.   With his presence bringing a sense of reinforcement (and accountability for me), we pressed through. Eventually, she hit the right notes at the right time.   At this point, we were well past her bedtime, and encroaching upon mine.  The next morning, I held my breath as she played for her teacher.  Would all be forgotten?  Would the prior evening’s work be too little too late?  Then much to my amazement, her teacher removed the sheet music, and Caroline played the piece straight through.  No big deal.  Hmmmm….

I was struck that this is the heart of mothering:  repeatedly coaching, encouraging, nudging… measure by measure.  Until one day, what we have so diligently (and imperfectly) stumbled through, argued over, yet pressed beyond, becomes seemingly effortless.  And I get to be there to see it all.  With much practice, the music had been written onto her heart.   One day, she too will find deep satisfaction and enjoy playing Bach.  That which had once felt insurmountable would seem insignificant.

As I look back upon those few pivotal days last week, I’m reminded that we all trudge through life in much the same manner. We don’t grow and mature by leaps and bounds. Rather, it’s a slow and steady plodding.  Working through every day, conflict, achievement, and disappointment, one by one. In lieu of being irritated by the time and energy that relationship with others costs me, I want to appreciate the privilege I have in getting to be there.  I want to look at my children, my husband, my friends, (and myself) with eyes that see beyond today.  To have vision to look through the bumbling notes and believe that more is possible.   And I want to count it an honor to walk with others through life, measure by measure.

“He who began a good work in you will carry in on to completion

 until the day of Christ Jesus.”  Phillipians 1:6

... by the way, she did a beautiful job.