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progress revisited.

19 Feb

Seven months ago (minus one day :), I wrote the post below on the subject of progress. Tonight when I sat down to blog, amidst my fill of emotions on a challenging evening, I knew there were words I’d written before that would fit the bill to a T. This particular post was a good reminder for me about being intentional and making the most of what we’ve been given. I’ll share more soon about why this is so significant in the moment, but for now, I hope the refresher is as good for you as it was for me tonight. The part striking a chord most fittingly was this–

Love your heart out. Love until it hurts, until you’re exhausted and you can’t see straight. Love like tomorrow may not come, and then love even more when it does. Love so that everything [anyone] knows of you is filling up and bubbling over with joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control…Love. Oooooooh, it’s the very easiest and the very hardest thing to do at times. But it’s worth it.

Without further ado, progress:

“It’s in the little things. I used to think that moving forward meant huge strides or big, ginormous leaps into new territory, but sometimes (or most times) it’s the small, hard-to-notice steps that really make the biggest difference. This applies to so many things in life…the littlest prayer turns into a daily conversation with God, which turns into life change and spiritual wellness and world change if we let it. One first jog around the block becomes two, becomes miles, becomes a marathon. One day’s change in a piggy bank evolves into a dream vacation, a college fund, a downpayment on a house, savings. And all of the little steps we take to get to such monumental places in our lives are each significant in their own right. Without one step, how can we take two?

I’m thinking about this tonight as I ponder our new way of life with a little one, and as our conversations these days revolve around schedules, structure, finances, our future…Henry’s. When you have a baby, suddenly you think about his or her future more than your own. And life choices feel more significant because you’re making them for more than just you; for more than just you and your spouse and your future together for the next however many years. Now, I think about Henry and the generations after him. I think about things like diapers in landfills (insignificant in the grand, Kingdom scheme) and generational sin (HUGELY significant where the Kingdom’s concerned)–and everything in between. How will we afford what Henry needs on every level? Spiritually, emotionally, physically and mentally, financially? And what about his someday brothers or sisters? Whoa. There is serious significance to a good number of the decisions we make, and at just shy of three months old, Henry is making this more obvious to us than ever before. (Just one of the many reasons we’re meant to procreate and look after children, no?)

So these smallish steps we’re taking daily are baby steps for a reason. We have to relearn to navigate a lot of territory, for Henry’s sake, yes, but for our own as well. There are still plenty of priorities that stayed the same when Henry came along, but there’s a whole new set of priorities that are edging their way into the daily mix. Of utmost importance and at the top of the priority list? Love.

Love your heart out. Love until it hurts, until you’re exhausted and you can’t see straight. Love like tomorrow may not come, and then love even more when it does. Love so that everything this little person knows of you is filling up and bubbling over with joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. Love in your home so that there’s no question about where it comes from. Love God so that your little one(s) can see Him radiating through you into their lives. Love your spouse, inwardly and outwardly, in such a way that your tiny babe can SEE it between you and KNOW how secure a life he or she is living as part of a family. Love. Oooooooh, it’s the very easiest and the very hardest thing to do at times. But it’s worth it.

Every time we choose love over the alternative (whatever that may be in any case…exhaustion, laziness, disdain, frustration, sadness, emptiness, loneliness, forgetfulness, distraction, pain, naivety, hate, mistrust…), we take one step in the right direction. Not only the right direction for our little ones, but for our own hearts, our marriages, our friendships, and most especially, for our relationship with Christ. And that–no matter how many dishes are left dirty in the sink, no matter how many loads of laundry are left to do at the end of the day, is progress.

I want Henry to remember a mom who took care of things…one who cooked and cleaned and washed and kept things up so he felt provided for in as many ways as possible. But more than that, I want him to remember how I prayed. And I want him to remember–so well that he can grasp at any moment, for his whole lifetime, how I loved.”

processing,

mm

and my burden, light.

18 Feb

This is not the first time I’ve come to the blog at the end of the day and found this verse on my mind: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Mt. 11:28-30

After two emotionally challenging days, I need to be reminded. Not just for my own sake, though. There is comfort in knowing that this verse applies for anyone who will embrace it–dear friends, family, and strangers alike.

Come to me. A perfectly simple invitation. Come. Bring yourself. Bring the junk from your day, the mess you’ve made or the mess you’re in. Bring the hurts and the triumphs, the hard stuff, the stuff you can’t handle on your own. Just come.

All you who are weary and burdened. This is an all inclusive gig. No one gets left out here. Are you exhausted of something? Are you weary from the everyday, the routine, the rhythm? Or maybe the non-ordinary, super hard stuff? Can’t get something or someone off your mind or heart? Feel a bent towards righting an injustice or helping a complete stranger? Then this means you.

And I will give you rest. “I will,” Christ promises. Perhaps not eight hours of solid sleep or a king-sized bed, but real, valuable rest. Your spirit will be refreshed. You won’t run out of steam and have to give up. His grace will be sufficient for you. You heart will be well again. You will always have what you need, when you need it.

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart. Christ will be careful with you. Pursuing Him and leaning on Him will make anything easier–if you’ll let it. He will teach you how to focus on what he has shown you, training you to become more and more like Himself in the process.

And you will find rest for your souls. No, really. This is so important it’s stated twice. No one gets to be the energizer bunny without sufficient rest. When you lean into God, He gives you strength for the next step. And then the next. And the next. You don’t have to know how things will turn out in the end, because God already has you covered. He has written and is writing your story as you sit at your computer/read your phone this very minute.

For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Pursuing me, following my promptings, resting in my promises for your life, and opening up your hand to me to release your troubles into my care–these are all ways to experience my peace. Ask me for what you need. Share your heartache. Pray over and over again. Praise me in advance for what you’re trusting I will do. Go confidently in the direction I lead you. Leave your burdens with me, at the cross.

I am so thankful tonight for these promises from God, and for friends and family who become the Body of Christ around us when we need to be loved, reassured, prayed for, hugged tightly and encouraged in just the right moment. Things don’t always feel ok, or fair, or comprehensible. And we don’t get to have all of the answers, as much as we may want them. But we do know this: when we are weary or burdened and we ask for help, God will give us rest.

may it be so,

mm

love is.

14 Feb

A handwritten note. A home cooked meal. A gentle voice. A prayer spoken. It’s an anonymous blessing, a purposeful act. It is filled with good intention.

Love is a back rub. It’s a task checked off your list by someone else, so you can step a little lighter. It’s a reminder that everything is going to be ok. It’s not easily contained.

Love weathers the unexpected. Is tireless. Fearless. Limitless. It induces hope.

Love is a nursing mother in the middle of the night. It’s a hard working father, providing for his family. It’s a child, clamoring to learn anything that will bring a smile, draw attention, result in praise. It is ingrained in us, and either nurtured in us or squelched in us from before we even enter the world.

Love might be a sacrifice of time, energy, resources, comfort, familiarity, belongings, words, hurt, addiction, quiet, space, basic needs, or temporary gratification. It is almost always a sacrifice of self, almost always calls us to a better version of ourselves than we’ve been before.

Love seeks justice, truth, forgiveness, reconciliation, restitution, resolution when possible, peace. It does not always seek equality, nor does it compromise Truth for the sake of making things easier or more comfortable. Love faces the hard things head on. Love leans on Truth in order that others might know it more deeply. Love never gives up.

Love is what you’re able to summon from your heart when you know who the world’s greatest Love is and when you accept what He made available for all of humankind. For that weird guy across the street. For the prisoner. For the prostitute. For the downcast and the outcast and the unloveable. For you.

LOVE is a four letter word, yes. And it’s something we celebrate on February 14th each year. But before and after it is these things or anything else, it is Christ on a cross, dying in my place–in your place, for sins He never committed, so that we might live in freedom through Him.

Love doesn’t just win, folks. Love IS. Alive, available, something you don’t have to wait for to possess. You only have to say yes to the greatest proposal in the history of creation. God is romancing each of us, if only we let Him.

love. today and every day,

mm

somewhere else.

9 Feb

We all have moments from time to time when everything else stands still–when something in the everyday sparks a distant thought, hope, remembrance, curiosity, sadness or joy. I suppose I don’t know this for certain, but I presume that it’s true. There are things in life that can evoke deep, striking, vivid imaginations or memories in an instant, and in my own life, I believe that God has used such fleeting thoughts to move my heart. When they happen, I’m always left thinking more clearly than I was before. And it’s rare that I don’t carry these real, evocative moments around with me for the rest of the day…or days…sometimes weeks.

Most often, mine occur out of doors, when the light of the day, the haze on the sky, a smell in the air, or the precise crispness of morning bring me back to places I’ve loved: Africa, Australia, India, any given beach, a vacation, spaces I’ve called home for a season. But sometimes, like today, they take place in the inbetween: in a very quiet moment when the lists and to-dos and commitments have all stood still–when I’m simply living the exact thing God has intended for my life in that space and time.

I rocked Henry in and out of sleep this afternoon as he settled down from a full on cry and into a dreamy, sighing place in my arms. Cradling his sweet head in one hand, his little body tucked tightly to my chest, I whispered, “It’s ok, baby. It’s ok. Shusssh. Everything’s ok…” and I was completely struck. Somewhere else in the world, a dark skinned mama cradled her dark skinned baby, shushing him or her to sleep as she rocked, everything within her wanting just to make it all ok. She acted out of an identical set of instincts, desires and emotions, the same hopes and aspirations and sense of protection I was feeling in that moment. She gathered up all that she had in her–weary and worried, wondering about the next hours or days ahead of her–begging God for help, and loving out of everything she could offer at the same time.

I say that she was dark-skinned, because in this time-stopping moment in the nursery with Henry, she was. She was huddled in a small shack, dressed in worn, but still colorful clothing, lit only by the sun streaming through cracks in the structure above her. She was desperate, trying. She had shut out the grim reality of life just outside her own walls and instead, focused on the one thing God had tasked her with in the moment. A baby. Her baby. An entirely different set of circumstances than my own, and somehow, the same.

Hours later, I don’t yet understand why I needed, in that moment, to feel the burden of another young mother, comforting her babe. I don’t think it was simply so I could recognize that as moms, we’re not doing this alone. God comforts me to that end in friendship and fellowship on an almost daily basis. There was far more to it than that. I ached at the idea of this mother, longing desperately to console a child who lacked significantly more than sleep. I wanted there to be more than just a thought–I wanted to do something. I don’t know who she is. I don’t know where she is. But I know she matters to God, and I know that there are countless others like her.

I’m burdened to share this tonight because I don’t want to forget. God is always tugging at my heart in some way or another, and on days like today, when it feels so tangible and purposeful, I want desperately to preserve what I’ve seen or thought so I can continue to make the connections in my life. What is it that God is after in me? What does He want me to pursue? Be passionate about? Ache over? Certainly, the hearts of mothers who are struggling to do the very best with what they have, even when what they have (by worldly standards) is next to nothing. Certainly those who are isolated, alone, fighting for basic human needs and the lives of their children. What does God to do in me? Through me? Through this?

And what does God want to do through you?

I could have written all of this in a private journal, I know. And it would have been there for all time for me to go back to and re-read if I ever got around to it. But I sat down at the keyboard tonight, unsure of what I had to say, and this is what came out. Something bigger than who I am–bigger than I can entirely explain. We all have our something bigger, our someone, our somewhere else. And I am convinced that God wants to use each of us to do something significant. Not small, not quiet. SIGNIFICANT. As is big. Really, really big. The kinds of things that change lives…eternities. I marvel at the possibilities of what God will do.

If you’re the praying kind, and you read this tonight (or tomorrow, or next week, or next year), will you take a minute to pray for me? Will you ask God on my behalf to keep showing up, to keep making the burden apparent, to keep moving me towards the things I’m supposed to be about? I am praying that for you. Where two or more are gathered, no?

opening my hands up,

mm

do not worry…

2 Feb

…about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matt. 6:34

This has been an absolutely necessary reminder for me this week! Without it, I’m not sure I would have made it out of bed this morning. Each day, something else has piled on that’s required a high level of emotional energy, and I was starting to feel like I could completely crumble under the weight of it all. I’m not trying to sound and/or be dramatic by any stretch–only honest. I write a lot about all of the beautiful things going on in my life most days, and today I just need to be real about the hard stuff, too. Undoubtedly, there’s beauty in and amongst the tough things that come our way, but I think it’s terribly hard to see at times when you’re in the middle of them. If I had allowed myself to worry much past the next 24 hours on any given day this week, I don’t think I’d have had any resilience left to enter into the next set.

The beauty in the hard things for me this week is twofold:

1) I have needed to press into God like crazy, remembering at all times how faithful He is in all circumstances. I’ve had to lean in with more prayer, more reflection, more quieting of my own spirit in order to be led through a rough patch with God’s help.

2) I have been able to see God’s hand in each situation. I don’t have to understand the entire picture to realize that He is responding to my requests and to the requests of others–and that he is changing the world around me for good. When I worry too far into the future, I often miss what God has for me in the present.

I went to bed last night with a total lack of peace on multiple levels. Even pressing through as best as I knew how, I still felt helpless, hopeless and weary. Today when I woke up, despite my attempts to shake last night’s difficult space, I found things much the same. Still, I prayed, asked for help, trusted, and had to move forward into the day.

Not all parts of it were easy, I’ll admit, but I never pray for easy. (I pray for things like wisdom, grace, joy, discernment and peace, hoping that things might begin to feel a little bit easier in the process…and it usually helps:) Instead of being all bogged down by tomorrow, this weekend, next month, I just tried to keep my thoughts to today. And it worked.

At the other end of what started out as a rocky Thursday, I can say that God showed up–miraculously and willingly and obviously on multiple counts. Instead of crying out of frustration and pain, my tears today were sourced from joy. I know that if I’d been more preoccupied with other things, I would have missed the blessing of watching God in action. Whole, answered prayers. Peace where it doesn’t naturally flow, grace where I need it the most.

Tomorrow is another day, and with it, I might face new things that challenge, create worry, stress me to my limits or throw me curve balls. This is exactly why tomorrow’s material is just plenty. It’s all I need.

When I (we) take one day at a time, it honors God’s guidance to us. Then perhaps, with less clutter to bog us down, we can be certain to notice all of the places where He shows up. Our yokes become manageable, our burdens lighter. We can fall into bed joyful, thankful, encouraged. And we can trust that there will be enough left over to meet tomorrow’s needs.

one day at a time,

mm

heart of worship.

29 Jan

My heart was heavy this morning. And I wanted so badly to be able to pray through what I was processing and to give it my all, but I just didn’t have it in me. Do you know the feeling?

I trudged through breakfast and taking care of Henry in a cloud. I watched the snow fall in giant, perfect flakes outside and tried to put all of my energy into thinking about the weather. I wondered if I’d have noticed–on any other given day, the way white tufts were piling up like cotton blossoms on the tips of branches out the front window.

Distraction is not a good replacement for going to God.

But I tried anyway. I thought about the eggs as I scrambled them in the pan. I tried to enjoy my coffee and couldn’t. I put the little one down for a nap, picked out something to wear, started the water for a shower. And then it struck me. “All who are thirsty, all who are weak, come to the fountain, dip your heart in the streams of life. Let the pain and the sorrow be washed a way, let the waves of His mercy…as deep cries out to deep, we sing, ‘Come Lord Jesus, come. Come Lord Jesus, come.’”

The words washed over me like a wave. “Come Lord Jesus, come. Holy Spirit, come.” I let myself drown out everything else and embraced each word. The lyrics felt like a deep breath, a safe place to land, a peace offering. I made them my prayer–the one I couldn’t find an hour earlier, and that I so desperately needed. God met me where I was lacking, covered over me in a way I didn’t expect.

Still replaying the chorus of the song in my head a while later, “Heart of Worship” came to mind. “I’ll bring you more than a song, for a song in itself is not what you have required. You search much deeper within, through the way things appear. You’re looking into my heart. I’m coming back to the heart of worship, and it’s all about you, it’s all about you, Jesus…”

“Come Lord Jesus, come. Holy Spirit, come. It’s all about you, Jesus.”

Even in the moment when I couldn’t articulate a request to God, He had already found me and been searching my heart. Gently prodding, He brought me back to what was important, used my vulnerability for good, reminded me that a posture of surrendered worship is a worthy offering. And honestly, it felt like a cool balm, a protective covering over my spirit.

Tonight I’m still singing, “Come Lord Jesus, come,” –still unsure of what exactly to pray in my own words. But my heart is a little lighter, and I know that God is carrying the yoke. “Holy Spirit, come…” Sometimes the invitation is all it takes.

acknowledging joy in the offering…desiring to be more than a song,

mm

love for today.

26 Jan

When I need little reminders of joy, they are everywhere I look. And I am humbled over and over. Thank you for being joy…

BTA: for more than i could ever write in a blog post. for being constant. for always picking up where we leave off. for phone calls on the drive home. for so. much. love.

(R)BW: for photo sessions with our littles (I still owe you pictures), kindred blogging, kindred lives. for four-legged friends and a worthwhile commute.

AdR: for chats about being mamas to boys over coffee, for pups, for fashion inspiration, for friendship crafted over radio spots and marketing meetings.

BWB: for lunch dates and pregnancy conversations, hearts after God and the written word, crafts and craftiness and your amazing ability to find me when i need to be found. and for dinosaurs.

JLR: for history. for wisdom and friendship and prayer and openness that withstands all tests of time and distance. for doing life, and for witnessing life at its very beginning.

KTB(D): for ruby slippers and choreography and a love of everything literary. for travels to coastlines and shorelines, and for poems we understand without saying a word.

LZ: for sparkle, both the kind you feel and the kind you wear. for generosity of spirit, for encouragement, and for adventure. (and birthdays, of course.)

LH & NJ: for loving our little family like your own. for prayers, guidance, reassurance, countless blessings, time, nourishment in so many ways.

AT: for fridays. for target dates. for raising boys in a crazy world with reckless love and abandon. and for being real.

BZ: for thoughtfulness and encouragement and spirit. for talent that goes on for miles. for always finding the good. for fake mustaches.

EV: for phone calls that break up the day. for too many similarities to count. for trading in tiaras and earning new titles as mamas instead. for strength.

EJH: for laughter. for being honest. for finding silver linings and reminding me of good. for celebrating what matters and never giving up.

GDZ: for believing. for cultivating love and family and generosity and care. for graciousness and gracefulness and grace.

TMD: for late night conversations. for cheering on and lifting up and leaning in. for lessons. and for bunches, not grapes.

JMK: for covenant. for building a legacy. for falling in and rolling to the middle. for dreaming and watching dreams come true. for what is to come.

And there are more, of course, who I don’t mean to miss in the least bit. More who challenge me in the best ways and who build me up–who teach me about blessing and God and what it means to be selfless, generous, willing, authentic, kind, bold. This entry could be a novel, and I sit back in wonder and think, “How did I ever end up here, with so much beauty at every turn?” You are. Believe it. I know it to be true. Beautiful.

there are not enough words.

mm

from my vantage point: nine months.

25 Jan

Darling Boy of Mine,

The days are passing like minutes on the calendar; where have nine months come and gone so quickly? Today you are the same in age as the amount of time you spent tucked inside my belly, growing into that sweet, small, dependent babe we met face to face just three quarters of a year ago. Still the same Henry David we named you in those very first moments, now you are coming into your own in new ways all of the time.

What do I want you to know about where we are in this very moment? I wish I could capture so much more of you who are than I’ll ever be able–wish I had a replay button to catch every little expression you make. But then, who could keep up?! One of the things I marvel at most about you these days is your ability to light up any room. It only takes a moment, but with one funny face or laugh or nod you have us all softened and attentive to your next entertaining act. You pull me out of a bad mood or a sour day like nothing else can: a blessing to my spirit in a way only God could fashion…

On a lighter noter, you are outgrowing all of your pajamas!…and your socks and onesies and nearly anything else you’ve been wearing as of late. Your army crawl is getting to be more of an army run–nothing gets in your way if you’ve set your eye on something across the room. There are still no teeth in your sweet little mouth, but we think they’re very close. I doubt you’ll make it to your first birthday without a few pearly whites to show off when you dig into cake. You’ve added breakfast in the highchair to your repertoire, making that three square meals a day and milk inbetween. You will eat nearly anything we put in front of you, and finger foods have quickly become regular entertainment. Kruger is also a source of interest all day long. The poor dog loves you and doesn’t know what to do with you all at the same time. I hope you’ll both soon learn to play well together, and I trust a best friendship isn’t far down the road.

When dad gets home from work each day, we eat together at the table, play on the floor, splash around at bath time and always make sure to read a story (or stories) before the end of the day. We continue to pray health and safety and faith and joy over you, trusting that God will look after you and care for you in ways we can only supplement as your parents. When we say goodnight, you always look behind you and over your shoulder to see us leaving–not so ready for our time to be over but tuckered out after a busy, play-filled, action-filled day. Life is never boring with you as we mark your new discoveries and celebrate what a delightful little boy you are becoming.

I’m not ready to give up on you being a baby just yet, and as our first, I probably never will be. You are still cuddly and cozy and dependent and hesitant in all of the right ways, while fiercely independent and curious and adventurous in others. The contrast is striking to me as your mama, honored to have a front row seat as you change and grow so remarkably in this all-too-short amount of time. I’m so thankful to have three months between us and your first birthday, because I still want to take in “Baby Henry” for as long as possible. I don’t want to rush it along or wish it away or think too far ahead. You are marvelous just as you are, right at this very moment.

Nine months feels significant, because you’re surpassing the amount of time you lived in-utero by the amount of time you’ve been in the world. Suddenly, you feel bigger to me than I can contain, although I’m not sure why I’d want to try. You get better and better with every day (and I never thought it was possible!)

I love you beyond my ability to express it. So proud to be your mama. So blessed to watch you grow.

on the other side of a different kind of 40 weeks ;)

mommy

everything.

24 Jan

Tonight’s gathering of worship team vocalists concluded with this song (below), the lyrics of which I can’t claim enough over my life. Perhaps I’ve heard it before, but I don’t remember it well. Sometimes things strike you suddenly–as if they’re brand new, when your heart is ripe and ready for them.

God, I invite you into my life in this way tonight. I don’t want to be lost in the rhythm of days and routine so much that I lose you in the small things. And I invite you into the big things too, God. I pray that you will work in my heart in a way that prepares me for your will in my life–in a way that makes room for you in everything that I am. Please help me to hear you, to be open to you, to glorify you in my roles as wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, writer and employee. Continue to grow my servant heart. Shape me to be more of who you are. I love the idea of you as God in my breathing…God in my working…God in my waiting…God in my everything.

I’m so thankful for the reminder tonight that you are exactly what I need and who I am waiting for. I pray for your help–that I would have the ability to be quiet and listen, and that I would press into what you have for me in each day, trusting and walking faithfully through every high and low.

keeping my eyes and hands open,

mm

God in my living
There in my breathing
God in my waking
God in my sleeping

God in my resting
There in my working
God in my thinking
God in my speaking

Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything

God in my hoping
There in my dreaming
God in my watching
God in my waiting

God in my laughing
There in my weeping
God in my hurting
God in my healing

Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me the hope of glory
You are everything

Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me the hope of glory
Be my everything
© 2007 Sparrow

Christian lyrics - EVERYTHING LYRICS – TIM HUGHES

oh the weather outside…

19 Jan

…is something. That’s for sure. Can’t say I love it, although I did give it a shot as best I could. I think I made it all the way through the first BIG storm, embracing the grand excuse to stay home and tucked in and cozy. And although I’d like to say that more than a week has passed since then, it hasn’t. It’s been seven days exactly, and I’m ready for something different. I have a terrible attention span when it comes to winter.

It’s mostly the cold, really–and the ice, if I’m getting right down to it. I hate being cold. And I hate the threat of slipping on ice, especially with a little one in my arms (or a growing belly containing precious cargo, as was the case last year). The snow, itself, I’m beginning to embrace. It falls so perfectly and quietly out the window, and before the world gets to it, it’s crisp and pure and without blemish. The perfect metaphor for anything with new life in it.

I know that without the winter, we would likely appreciate other seasons less: the warmth of the summer sun, the vibrance of colors in autumn, life being breathed back into the landscape in the spring. For a long time I’ve considered winter to be sort of grayish and sad–always coming on strongest after the holidays and bringing with it a cloudiness that covers everything, makes the days feel dim. But there’s a perfect stillness about things in wintertime that doesn’t happen in any other part of the year. It’s quiet. Introspective. Reserved, in a way. We all huddle in, bringing comforts closer and nestling into home and family in a different way than we’re prone to in warmer weather.

And then there’s the snow. Some years it comes on like a bear, and others, so subtly you almost miss it for a while. When it gets here, it seems as if to say, “It’s time. Settle down your life for a moment…there will be plenty of days ahead for you to fill to their brim with busyness.” Maybe I notice it more this year because I’m spending less time rushing around and more time tucked inside–staying busy, but in an entirely different way. Or maybe I’m taking note because I’m getting older, and I’m tired of loathing the winter months…desiring to make the most of what’s in front of me as it comes.

I have a harder and harder time taking things for granted these days, and for the most part, I’m grateful. The result is twofold as I see it:

1) I have to try harder to ban worry from my days, for risk of pondering too many what ifs and irrational fears that detract from the life that God is giving me each moment.

and

2) I appreciate things and people and slivers of time so much more than I once did, and my joy is drawn from the small things just as much as it is the big ones, which I love.

There is an inner peace that comes with accepting the seasons we’re in, while we’re in them. Even when the snow is falling, when the wind is whipping, when the chill in the air seems biting and without relent. And even when the world is swirling in a way that we can’t see clearly what’s in front of us, but we trust that there is something, and that it is good. It is in that moment of trusting–in our willingness to make peace with where we are, that we say yes to moving along.

admiring snowflakes in the streetlight glow tonight,

mm

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