october's bright blue weather

i called my lovely grandma recently and spoke with her about how crisp the air feels these days and how the sky seems bluer in autumn. she recalled a poem she memorized in grade school: "October's Bright Blue Weather" by Helen Hunt Jackson.



and i think it's true. october has some seriously bright, blue weather.



we headed up to Carl Sandburg's house this past week. as we keep coming back to this beautiful park, it's starting to feel like a home-extension. full of familiarity and warmth.





the more i get to know our old friend, Carl, the more i really like him. his home is so beautiful-- full of musical instruments and thousands of books. when i wander his property, my heart slows and my eyes open wider. good stuff.



we're slowly getting to know our own property these days. the kids and i took a short walk around the perimeter of our yard today-- saying hello to new and becoming-familiar spots.



a new home. new trees. new corners. i'm sure it will take us a while to get to know one another properly. but we're starting.



and i was reminded today the value of just getting outside. just doing it. even for a walk around the yard. lovely things i didn't even know about were waiting for me. lovely gift-moments.





i can't stand this little foot trying to find its way out of his sleep sack:



hopeful for a few more days of bright blue weather. hope you can find some in your corner as well.

a return.

well hi there.



i was thinking i might be done with this space. as the weeks of quiet turned into these past months of silence. change arrived at my door in waves and there didn't seem to be any room for this little blog of mine.

we have a new house.



a new life.





and you know so much comes with that. so much heart adjusting happens with all that newness flying around. it has been hard to keep up.

somewhere in the past few weeks i realized that i haven't taken very many photos. i miss it. i miss them. the attempts at capturing-- of forcing my eye to see-- the beauty of this life of mine- of ours.

this is a season worth capturing. and this blog, in the past few years, has kept me doing that like nothing else.



these little faces change so quickly.

so.

quickly.







i want to record as much of it as possible.

and then there's the writing. sitting myself down with a cup of coffee and a breeze from the window and writing. chronicling all of this. all of it.

i've been so thankful to be able to pull up this blog, click on the side bar and explore what we were up to a year ago- two years ago- three. to see pictures of the kids, hear thoughts i was thinking and be able to see how God has grown/changed me. it's a gift.



so i've decided to keep writing. come along for the ride if you'd like. i'm no longer going to be posting links to Facebook. no longer going to be tracking site-traffic or promoting. i am going to write here as frequently as i can (my goal is once a week)- writing down whatever is bouncing around this head-space of mine. i'd truly love for you to join me.



(and this is our new little man. our zeke. Ezekiel James Bursch. he's a keeper for sure, folks.)

memorial day

we sat around the table
just the four of us
the boy with his hair freshly cut and the new gap in his front teeth.
(he bites his hot dog with his head cocked- using as many side-teeth as he can)

the girl has yogurt on her upper lip and continues to unknowingly apply dabs of the purple stuff to her hair-
her curls containing every color of a ripe wheat field at sunset.

and i was stunned. my heart stepping away from the table and seeing something bigger.


a son. growing. growing.
a girl who is following.
a dining room where i fed each of them solid food for the first time-
served countless breakfasts, lunches and suppers.
a place we will soon abandon for unknown walls.
and i can't grasp the moment.
can't put my fingers around.
i had hoped that writing would help me find it- find the few lines that would express the beauty-
the immeasurable beauty.
but my pencil was too thin- the reality too mighty.



i saw wrinkles on my neck yesterday- the beginning of the weakening of my flesh.
i know that there is no running from time-
the moon rises and fills-
each week and month passing and changing.
i know my hope lies in something unshakable.
i do.
but today,
i wanted so badly to freeze
pause
stop all this.



may i never forget that boy's smile
or the girl's curls in the sunlight.
may my dear love-mate and i hold hands, as we greet the moons to come, and rejoice-
rejoice in these lunches.
with cantalope and yogurt-
talk of mammals and books.



can the not-forgetting keep it safe?
can i firmly hold on at all to these lovely, mysterious gifts of moments?

probably not.
but i know there will be more
more to remember
and to give hope.

a summary of the quiet months

well hello there. how are things in your corner of april? we're plugging away at all of the regular (and a bit of the irregular, as always). i have enjoyed the months of quiet here on this space. i have. and i'm not sure what i'll do from here. but i thought i'd check in and say a 'hello'- update you on some goings-on over here. much has happened.

spring has come.





some projects have been finished.





there was a beach trip.







it was my beautiful mother's birthday. and we seriously celebrated.

oh and we're having a baby!

coming into the world sometime in the middle of august. we're very excited. 

and life just plugs away. with lots of good stuff. good gifts. good things & moments.

we've also been getting ready to possibly move. there is a 'for sale' sign in our yard as of today. i may be back to discuss that whole notion with this white screen of mine. these life changes are sneaky and can catch me off guard. i thought i was doing okay with all of this change. and now there is a sign in my yard. i have had a few freak-out moments today about that. but... we'll discuss that later.

hope you are all well. hope spring has truly arrived at your door and that the flowers have (or will soon) fill your yard and home. what a glorious time of year.

back soon.... well, sometime...

On hold

Hello there. Thanks for reading this I know I have been slacking on this space for a few weeks now. And a few days ago, our computer broke. I'd been wondering if I should take a little blogging break, and it would seem that I should. Computer should be mended in the coming weeks and I hope I'll be back with vigor. In the mean time, happy hope-filled days to you, my friends. Thanks for reading.

life

life around here these days has been a little plain.



the usual things are filling our hours.



and as january plods on to a close, i think we're about ready for a change.



although i'm posting cute, happy pictures, please know that these plain days i'm describing have also held all the normal things that i really don't ever take pictures of.

laundry, arguments with children, frustration teaching math, laziness, grumpiness (apologizing to children), etc.

{example: jason and samuel were outside and samuel asked jason, "how old is our house?" "about 50-60 years old." samuel- "oh. is that why it's so dirty?"}

fantastic.

i will admit to you that i've been a bit tempted to discouragement these past weeks. feeling like i can never quite reach the top of any of my piles. i keep looking around and feeling like i'm maintaining my life at half-capacity.



i'm going to try to have eyes to see truth today. truth about the love my Father has for me. truth about His death and resurrection. truth about me. and the hope and joy that it all brings.



get my eyes off my list. and fixed on Him. He's the only way. and He's so nice to me.

psalm 22

jason and i had the opportunity to attend a CCEF conference back in october. it was a really lovely weekend where our brains were jammed full of lots to think about and discuss.

one of the breakout seminars that i got to attend was one on worship. specifically, how can we (people who plan worship services) do our best to help people struggling with feelings of guilt, shame and isolation to feel a sense of community and acceptance. 

there were a lot of things spoken of in this seminar that were very informative and helpful. but one of them really took my by surprise. 

our speaker was talking about how community is built and felt when we read scripture aloud together. then, he mentioned reading passages like psalm 22 and what a relief and comfort that passage is for everyone at different times in their lives and that it has a place in our sunday morning gathering. 

i'm sure i made some kind of quizzical expression as he was talking about this, as i seem incapable of controlling my facial muscles most of the time. here is a bit of the psalm for you. perhaps you'll understand where my questions were stemming from:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

   Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?

O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, 

   and by night, but I find no rest.

this is not your usual Sunday morning, worship fare. we usually fill our mornings with songs of rejoicing and comfort. not often words of despair. 

but oh what a comfort these words have been to me when i've been weeping alone in my room. that david felt what i have felt. that generations of believers have read that psalm and surely had it resonate deeply in their souls at one time or another. what a true comfort. 

and for people arriving sunday morning who barely found the strength to walk in the door- who are trying to stand while weighted by stones of guilt, shame, trial, etc. 

comfort. 

the psalm continues:

Yet you are holy, 

   enthroned on the praises of Israel.

In you our fathers trusted;

   they trusted, and you delivered them.

To you they cried and were rescued;

   in you they trusted and were not put to shame.

how good it is to remember those that have gone before us. when i'm feeling lonely and full of despair- hopeless. it is good to remember those that have gone before. 

as i imagined a person standing in front of my sunday congregation and reading this psalm, my initial questions fell away. and tears began to fall instead. because i've been here. i'm sure i will be again. and my friends are/have been here as well, not to mention whole communities of faith that i've never met. what a joy it is that we can declare together, when things look their blackest-- when you feel as though your Holy Redeemer has turned His back, we can say, "remember. we are a community now. we have felt this. generations have been here. remember His past goodness. we are here. with you."

He is so good and kind. what a caring Father to give us this passage. to allow us to speak words of loneliness and isolation to a Father who never leaves- never forsakes. He's so very very nice to us.