::Teething::

ny item that should happen to cross paths with her
tiny fingers befalls a
gummy, gooey fate.

::Levi David::

new life: First brother. Second son. Second nephew. Fifth grandson. He is so many things to so many people. Above all, he is loved.

::Beyond the boundaries::

hile I cannot be as candid as comes naturally to me, I want to offer a more sober reflection on the mess we found ourselves in this past weekend. And while I will be more sober still in a month, three months, a year-- already, there are lessons that have been learned. There is an opportunity to glorify Jesus even now, just on the other side of a little bit of suffering.

Here is what I have been awakening to:
While the teachings of Jesus are extremely difficult to live out in one sense--the sense that they are completely counter-instinctual-- they are also beautifully straight forward. Simple, even. My roiling emotion demands a complicated, drawn-out response to the hurt I have experienced. But Jesus demands only this: be filled to bursting with the insults and judgments of others. Let them pour into you until you are topped up. Take and take and take. And then?
Love.

Now, this is so alien to the human experience it's almost laughable. Part of us gets the part where we brace ourselves and take the hits. We learn this lesson early on in our Christian ABC's. Morality lesson #1: Revenge is bad. But the love part? I think we convince ourselves that just martyring ourselves--taking the abuse in silence and then ploughing on-- is love. That's not love. Love in active. It washes over bad deeds, seeking to bless the aggriever. It does not barricade against them. Love is, in fact, the only way to move beyond the hurt.

Unpacking this a little:
Say the teaching was a little more ambiguous. Say there was an allowance for us to settle into a neutral state with regards to the ones that hurt us. Now, I am the queen of the neutral zone. I get wounded by someone, and like a dog who gets zapped during obedience training, I learn to avoid the source of pain. I just don't go there. I let my eyes glide past certain people, and the smiles I offer them never reach my eyes. In this way, I don't have to "give the other cheek." If I stay far enough away, my cheek will never be within slapping distance.

However, there are no such allowances. We are left with many, many, verses in Scripture that tell us to, not only take the hurt without retaliation, but to return it with love. What does that mean? Without the specifics, I can share what this will look like in my life over the next few weeks-- should I walk in obedience to the lessons I am learning. It will be me walking with my head up into a VERY uncomfortable setting. And I will do so again, and again and again. Furthermore, I will not slip into anonymity. I will carry on with the work I have been doing, and I will pray myself into doing so cheerfully. Further still, I will be pushing against the boundaries of my own personal judgments, seeking to extend a hand where my hand has never been extended. Seeking to know and understand those who are different than me. Seeking to love their hearts as Christ does. The same Jesus that loves me, loves them fiercely and I am duty-bound to seek out the hearts he loves so tenderly.

Christendom is blessed beyond measure with the perfect example of love. We know a blameless man who took physical lashings from hate-filled hands, and yet, begged for those hands to be redeemed. Though our own trials will never compare, the example stands for eternity. It is meant to be mimicked. Had God taken our abuses towards him and responded without love, we would be standing here now without a Saviour and without a hope. Love is our life-source.

Because I am weak, I will forget. In moments of weakness I will recall the hurt and mull it over and build up resentments, but I can only live without peace and joy for so long. . . I will go running back to the way of excellence. It is a better place to dwell. It feels like home there.

Children of Light
Ephesians 4

²⁰You, however, did not come to know Christ that way. ²¹Surely you heard of him and were taught in him in accordance with the truth that is in Jesus. ²²You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; ²³to be made new in the attitude of your minds; ²⁴and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.

::8 Years::

I will always adore these roses. Our wedding roses. Eight years ago.

::Acceptance::

The one thing he requires of us in response to deep waters is acceptance. This acceptance is not passivism, quietism, fatalism, or resignation. Peace, joy and faith will not be found in forgetting, and they will not be found in busyness or aloofness or the submission of defeat. They will not be found in the "unfairness" of it all. . . A quiet heart is content with what God gives. It is enough. All is grace.

~Elisabeth Elliot Be till My Soul~

Rejected.

Waves of sadness rolling outward from my heart. Tears breaking through the barriers I have tried to build.
Embarrassment.
Inadequacy.
Confusion.
Anger.
Tempest of emotions. Frenetic dialogue in my skull; Not good enough. Never will be. What will people think?--stop it. Child of God. Loved by Him. Good is meant for us. What is the good? What does it look like? Where will we find it?
Soon.
Please?

We are in a valley. It is cold and gray here. We'll catch the chill if we stay.

But we can't stay. This place was never meant for us. Across the plains of grief comes a call that cannot be resisted. We must obey.

We're here now. Perched. Up on the rim, looking down at the bowl of the valley. Teeter. Totter. Teeter. Totter. Tempted to free fall back into the chill. The easy way is down in the depths. Simple submission to our humanity--bitterness, self-pity, withdrawal. . . Comes naturally. Feels instinctual.

But our feet are meant for different soil. A path is open to us that is infinitely harder, yet infinitely more beautiful. We have no choice but to take it. There is a coil of steal rope that has anchored us to this path. It can't be broken. Or untied. It pulls us. Pulls. Pulls.

We follow.

Harder: Denied the right to wallow. Guaranteed no protection--not from anything that will make us more like the Son. Not from anything that can be used to refine and perfect. Locked in a battle against a weaker self that longs to be exalted.

More beautiful: Mingled tears of compassion. Warmth. Arms braced in support. Love.
Growth. A certainty of good things unseen solidifying in our humbled souls.

Acceptance.

Lamentation 3

²¹ Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:

²² Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.

²³ They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

²⁴ I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him."

²⁵ The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;

²⁶ it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the LORD.

²⁷ It is good for a man to bear the yoke
while he is young.

²⁸ Let him sit alone in silence,
for the LORD has laid it on him.

²⁹ Let him bury his face in the dust—
there may yet be hope.

³⁰ Let him offer his cheek to one who would strike him,
and let him be filled with disgrace.

³¹ For men are not cast off
by the Lord forever.

³² Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
so great is his unfailing love.

³³ For he does not willingly bring affliction
or grief to the children of men.

***

⁴⁰ Let us examine our ways and test them,
and let us return to the LORD.

::Pray::

{::BigPicture::}

::Ebbs & Flows::

{::Annorah napping on me. I will miss these days::}

January. Fresh new year. The pace has dropped and all is quiet. Well, apart from the hungry squeaks of my precious 5 month old, and other natural and necessary disruptions. I am back to packing lunches and planning out dinner menus. I am, personally, determined to shed baby weight and am bent to the task--jogging and eating carefully. I am striving to learn more about this Christian life, and what are the most excellent ways. Asking big questions. Trying to grapple with the answers I am finding. Looking back at last year, I realize that now, more than ever, I am at home. There used to be weeks where the kids and I would spent every day away- for restlessness. No more. I am so content here. That is a timely and helpful development, as this is where I am needed most.

My days have been governed by the ebbs and flows of child and house care. Along with the ebbs and flows of spirit and emotion. There are days when I am almost dancing with joy. My tasks are easy and rewarding. I have been disciplined in my study of the Word and am blessed with the quickening of spirit that results. And I strive to cling to the high. However, years of this have given me an unwelcome expectation of loss. I will inevitably ride off the rails. I will wake up in a foul mood and be unable to shake it--betrayed by the endorphins than loved me then left me. I will not pick up my Bible. I will not bow my heart to pray. I will try and grimly make my way alone.

But those same years of experience have gifted me with the knowledge that all will flow forward once more into renewal and re-invigoration. New hope. Fresh determination. Growth. Wisdom.
This is a promise I can attest to. The low days are never long. And the high days are things of beauty, unequaled.

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.

2 Corinthians 4:16

::Getting organized::

Next room on the list: Mudroom.
It's a new year, and after the clutter of many hosted parties--hundreds of soggy boots & mounds of moist coats-- and the promise of many more to come, I would love to get a bit more organized. Our mudroom is the first room you see when you walk into our home so I want it to be, both functional, and nice to look at. We have planned and measured everything out. This week Aidan will go and pick up materials.

Yay!


As always, I will post more pictures once there is something built.

::Christmas Morning Mugs::

e draw names every year and fill up the stocking of the person we've chosen. But I still like to give each family member some little thing that will delight them. This year I discovered a way to easily paint a design on finished ceramics. I scooped up a bunch of mugs and indulged in the art of sketching tiny details. My inspiration was Montreal. Each adult got a big mug, and each kids got a tiny espresso cup.

Christmas morning everyone unwrapped a mug to put their coffee and cider in, and were served a warm cinnamon mug with cream cheese icing. It was such a hit that it will be instituted as a new Christmas tradition.

::Christmas Eve Games::

eople arrived at 6:30 on Christmas evening. The mulled cider was warm and waiting. The house was ready to accommodate an extra seven people. Snacks littered the kitchen. Time to crack out the games. Every year I put together a package for the kids to open Christmas Eve that contains a new game, movie and book. This year's game was Twister. Within fifteen minutes, the kids were all twisted up in a ball on the polka dot mat. Sadly, Gabriel got a few moves in before he began to cry. There is fine line between fun and confused distress with 3 year-olds. Daniel replaced Gabriel and held his own, giving us more than a glimpse of his snowman boxers. There were no takers among us older, more brittle, folk.


Once the kids were no longer able to hide their exhaustion, we tucked them into bed and gave Quelf a try. If you have not played this game, and you don't mind kicking all your self-dignity under the rug, please try it. It is so absurdly ridiculous you can't help but laugh from the first play card. The game had my little brother singing a song in a foreign language while dancing with his hands stuck to his knees and his tongue stuck to his lip. My mom had to prattle on about the plight of the timber wolves in Czechoslovakia. My dad had to sing a love song with his knees squeezed together while pretending he had no lips and was coated in maple syrup and feathers. Daniel had to keep the entire game box stuffed up his shirt. Kate had to stuff an ice cube down her pants until she rolled a '6'. Aidan had to yodel until he rolled three 2's. I had to wink and stick my thumb on my forehead every time I wanted to ask a question, and we ALL had to shout "Boo Ya!" every time we rolled the dice. This is simply to name a few. Like I said, you must truly be a good sport to even attempt to play.

While mildly brain-dead, we managed to play a game of Quiddler before calling it a night. Our games cupboard is getting full. That's a good thing.

::New perspective::

o any of you ever get that drowning sensation? The one that is usually brought on by being fixated on lists and particulars. I must admit, I can allow myself to "drown" on a weekly basis. I keep a mental tally of all the things that I feel need to be done, like laundry and food prep and clean-up, and all of the things I want to be done, like trim and flooring and painting. And I begin to strategize on how to possibly accomplish even a few of the things on my list and inevitably realize I will fail.

Zoom out.

See the dust bunnies and rough-edged drywall shrink and disappear as I adjust my lens to encompass the bigger picture. This life is flying past. I have five small children who are growing at a pace that makes me panic. The days are short and if I keep my eyes on the lists and my mind on the particulars and spend all my time trying to tread water, I won't really live. I won't stroke soft curly heads and catch the funny exchanges that take place between siblings. I won't bask in the essence of motherhood that holds special weight when children are still young. I won't lay my head on my husbands shoulder and listen to his heartbeat and be grateful he is here beside me as my strongest defender on this earth.

This season is, ironically, the drowning season. More time is spent running around in a frenzy that soaking up the warmth of family and friends. This, I have come to know. So, my preparation began a few months ago at a slow easy pace. I have no more long lists to struggle through. I am zoomed out and focused on the vast network of loving people and abundant resources God has seen fit to surround me with. And I intend to honour that.

Have a wonderful holiday.

::What Christmas tastes like::

A few WEET recipes from this year's list:

Cinnamon Swirl Cookies
Layered Mocha Cheesecake
Homemade Caramels
Scottish Shortbread

::Winterscapes::

::The biggest bestest birthday candle ever::

ids parties are always hard work. How to balance the food, the fun, the kids. . . This past Saturday, Caelah's party began with a bang, ended with a bang, and was stuffed with loads of good stuff in between. Mom and I were puzzled over how to co-ordinate 10-12 appetizers in the oven, and in the frenzy of getting things ready, a cold glass dish was placed on a hot stove-top burner and BANG! It shattered across the kitchen. Tiny shards were strewn through the first set of meatballs. Garbage. So sad. We didn't want to lacerate any throats.

Dad spend a good 15-20 minutes, vacuuming. Then I pulled down a serving platter and the tiny glass bowl that was nestled inside it shattered to floor. More vacuuming. Rather than start to cry we all started giggling. It's the better way. . . An hour later, the house was packed, and the food was out. Glass explosions all but forgotten. The kids provided some good anecdotes for the retelling. Elyssa began to address our dog Cooper as "Pooper." Funny. And Matty thumped Summer over the head with a Bible at one point, eliciting a; "that boy is trying to convert those dogs!," from my clever sister. And then there was the cake. Oh, wow. I have to say, it was the best cheesecake I may have ever tastes. Mocha goodness.

But the cherry on top was when the olympic flame came jogging by my parents house. Well, the end of their street, anyways. We had made tentative plans to take the kids down to the hill for 7:00, but really didn't feel like fighting the crowds. So Aidan suggested, in an offhand kind of way, that we run down the road and see if the flame was coming by. One of us took it seriously and stepped outside only to see police lights flashing, That caused a flurry of activity as we all threw our coats on and ran down the street. And within 5 minutes, there came the parade. The guy with the flame had a jogging entourage who gave us all high fives and handed out flags. And the flame was so close we could have touched it. And it happened right outside our door. Bonus.

I told the kids; "You guys remember this, ok? You may not understand yet how cool this is, but someday you will."Then we headed back to cozy up with a mug of cider and more cake. That's the way to end a party.

HAPPY 7TH BIRTHDAY MY GIRL.

::Tracey Capone Photography::

TraceyCaponePhotography

::Snapshot Sundays::

"What if you were to enter into my home at the one moment in months that my older children began to bicker and my babies cried? Would you conclude my life is utter chaos at all times? Of course we can judge each other by freeze frames, and we can conclude and spread all sorts of speculation to others, but we are just outsiders. There is only so much damage we can inflict from our limited vantage point."

~Large family Mothering~

or those of us who attend a mid-sized church every Sunday, ask yourself if you have a growing portfolio of snapshot-judgments cluttering your head? Don't you? I do. Once a week we all come together under one banner. At our very best, we arrive with hearts ready to learn and to grow-- hands ready to serve. We are focused, as we ought to be, on Jesus. But there are bad days. Days when we have left the house in a mental mess, and bring that baggage into the building. We can't manage to focus on the sermon so we look around instead. We appraise the people we worship with. What we see is only eyes-deep: how they look, what they wear, how they walk and talk, what roles they play. And we come to a myriad of conclusions.

A couple. Two feet between them. Backs stiff. Marriage trouble? CLICK.

Late. Shuffles through the doors. Finds a seat at the back. Keeping eyes low. Guilty? CLICK.

Hallway talker. Smiles that never reach the eyes. Many words, but little revealed. Hiding? CLICK.

Four squirmy kids in a row. Two on the floor, squabbling over crayola colours. One sprawled across a lap. Another anchored to the bench by firm arms. Hushed admonishments. Wild hair and inside-out dress shirts. Unruly? Undisciplined? CLICK.

We need to find new context for the people we have freeze-framed on these snapshot-Sundays. Dig deeper. The oddities and idiosyncrasies of people are fascinating, and worthy of exploration. There are so many stories that can't be unlocked by staring at a photo. We can mull it over in our minds but it will only ever have a two dimensional quality to it. Nor can we 'unlock' a person between service and Sunday school. More often, stories are revealed over a hot lunch in the warmth of a home.

I challenge you to work your way through your church directory. There will be names you want to avoid. Don't skip over them, but extend an invitation. Aidan and I have been blessed again and again by the depth of each individual, and the capacity we all have to love our way past the preconceptions. It is a worthy labour-- this home-opening endeavour. Not always easy--but worthy. It is one avenue this family is taking; away from insular-living and towards true community, as we strive to see each and every person clearly--beyond the freeze-frames in our mind.

::Big Tree::

ig tree was chopped down on Saturday. It was love at first sight. Truly the most perfectly shaped tree we have ever taken an ax to. Josh and Karin chose the slightly smaller tree beside ours. We were the first 'chop' of the season at Cedarhill Berry farm. A few families arrived as we were heading home with our tree. We got the best one, sorry! At home, a big pancake brunch followed, with bacon and rasberry compote. The only thing that was missed was a lovely snowfall.