Monday, April 27, 2015


i asked the kids to wash the bird feeder. i provided a bucket with soapy water and two washcloths. i gave specific instructions and left them to it. i folded laundry, walked back into the kitchen- on my way to the patio to check on the cleaners. my legs came to a halt before i made it outside. i saw this:

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i stopped. i considered. and i shut the door. shut myself inside and distanced myself from the insanity. the mess. the giggling.

oh these are the critical moments, aren't they friends? i stood in my kitchen deliberating briefly. and today i put reprimand on the shelf and went to get my camera.

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(the clean feeder. they had cleaned it before soaking themselves with bubbles..)

this parenting gig is no joke.

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full of so many such moments-- so many times where my legs need to stop (or where my mouth needs to stop) and i need to take stock. take a moment. reinterpret what i'm seeing (or hearing) through the lens of a saving King.

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i'm so thankful for the lens i have. for the knowledge growing more in my heart every day that He is real. that He really did come. He was perfect when i wasn't. He lived the life i never would. oh the freedom He has gifted to me.

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today i'm also thankful for the truth. for the good gifts. for the ability to hear the giggles. for getting the camera. and for the immense hope He has given. that i get to share with these super-fantastic people He has put in my home for a little while.

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Friday, February 27, 2015


i don't know what the difference is.
i really don't.

some days i have eyes to see it.
some days i don't.

i don't know why the "some days" is true.
but it just is.

it's always there just the same.
whether i see it or not.
still there. still true.

my home is filled with it:


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pure magic, i tell you.

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i watched my eldest outside today. talking to himself as he took huge licks off the snow chunk in his mittened hands. he ran at, then tumbled over, the recently built snow fort in the front yard.

he leaned over to ask me questions about math as i made some chocolate chip scones this morning.


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my daughter's curls were perfectly arranged on her flowery pillow today as she told me her plans for her calico critters. big plans, friends. i tried to listen well as i examined the freckles forming on the bridge of her nose. pure sweetness. and, you guessed it-- magic.

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that baby. oh goodness. a pile of smiley mischief. he was so fascinated today by the way items disappeared if he shoved them hard enough under the crack of the door to the basement. old phones. scone pieces- you name it. joy and delight all over his face.

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i know i've written about it many times before. but the fight for good remains.
the fight to see the good.
in the midst of piles and piles and piles of yuck.

He is still here.
He is real.
and His gifts are good. they come from Him.

the Father of lights. with Whom there is no shadow.
or variation due to change.
good. perfect. gifts.

and so i'm documenting some of them. to remind myself.
good magic-gifts.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

bike riding.

hi there.

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i know. i know. been awhile. but let's pretend it hasn't.

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hi. again.

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do you remember biking? when you were a kid? oh man, my sisters and i cruised our neighborhood like we owned the place. actually, pretty seriously, convinced that we were a posse with some authority. if you could pick up enough speed-- if the wind in your ears was so loud you couldn't hear someone yelling at you as you whizzed past-- you had certainly earned some pride. some neighborhood clout.

the days have all piled on top of each other. sometimes it really feels like those sun-filled bike riding mornings were yesterday. maybe 3 years ago. maybe.

but then i walk out my kitchen door.
i see my kids just starting out on their bikes.
my kids. my own babies. so excited about this new freedom. their very own vehicle.

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it has been such a little gift to watch them try. to fall. to try again.

to concentrate. to succeed.

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then to watch them be sweet siblings. oh how sweet they are. a lot of the time.

it has me thinking about my own bike-filled childhood. and then all those heavy-joys involved in parenting. days passing. inches gaining. legs no longer fitting in my lap. things like this.


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i would not be the first or the last to examine the scale of passing time. the days are sweet. very sweet. each one passes and builds on itself. i see myself-- blond pigtails zooming down the black pavement on my blue banana-seated bike.

and then i'm here. now. watching my own babies grip those handle bars. delight in the wind. steady the front tire as they head into the grass.

truly weighted-joy. that kind that brings tears. a jumbled mix of joy and grief.

oh it's a beautiful life, friends.