The garden is almost there.
Green tomatoes on the vine.
Pinkish raspberries on the bush.
Close, but not quite ripe.
Amazingly enough... soon and very soon, if not watched, those raspberries will be gone,and the tomatoes rotting under the plant.
Things in the garden are only ripe for a short time. Blink and you've missed the moment.
We just came home from a camping trip with the family. A rental 30' RV, a cooler of gatorades, a few bags of marshmallows and lots of library books.
It was a weekend of family time. All together in the same place and with not many plans.
And it was ripe.
Ripe for letting B loose on the bike, to ride and play and ride some more.
For letting loose on the eating healthy and saying yes to just a few more cookies.... jelly beans.... smores... etc.
And for the moments that will not come again.
K loved the lake. Loved it more than I have ever seen a 2 year old love anything. Squealing with laughter she swung from my hands -- feet swirling a figure 8 in the water -- smiling and flinging her head back to let her blonde hair trail in the water. Stopping to rest my arms, she looked up at me, brown eyes twinkling, "Momma, swim me more. please." And more we did. Without the tick of the clock, the pressure of the schedule, for a moment, it was her and I and the beauty of a cool lake on a hot day.
Ripe.
And JT, in his planning ways, smiled more over snacks and silly jokes than I had seen in awhile.
We ate over a picnic table, 3 meals a day in the fresh air, choosing our foods off the table against the camper... mostly meat on buns and fresh fruit... and lots of chips!
And celebrating a 4th bday.
Ripe.
Packing up, we almost patted each other on the back, proud of a job well done... and then it happened.
Driving home, on the freeway, following Big J and the RV.... I opened a window in the back to cool off the kiddos in the back seat, and looked in the rear view mirror just in time to catch the newly minted 4 year old laying her head back in her car seat with a giant grin on her face. Wind blowing her hair back. And I watched her sigh.
Ripe.
And I am blessed to know when to stop the work and take the time to reap what I have sown.
Blessed be the Lord for giving me the patience to wait for the season.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
In the garden.
This may very well be my favorite time of year.
After months of hurrying in from the cold, the warmth of spring lures me outside.
After many hours spent searching for the lost mitten or hat, I watch with a smile as my kids pile out onto the lawn in swimsuits and flippy flops.
After the short days of winter, I am inspired by the daylight that lasts well past a decent bedtime.
And the garden.
Every year I have had a garden thus far, I have been either expecting a baby or carrying a newborn one in my arms.
Not this year. This year I am surrounded by kids old enough to wield a trowel, to drag the hose, to pull weeds.
And we have been hard at work in the garden.
Weeds removed, soil broken and turned and amended, flowers planted, seeds sown. Water them in the morning, and at night.
Lots of work, but a chore that is wanted around here. Eager hands have helped every step of the way.
Why?
Because these small ones now know the joy of watching seedlings pop through the black dirt. The awe of flowers turning to baby veggies that will ripen and grow seemingly in front of their eyes. And the excitement felt when it is their night to take the garden bowl out to the yard to pick the dinner veggies.
Sometimes the bowl is overflowing, beans, squash, peas, tomatoes.
Sometimes it is a single cuke, waiting to be shared, or a handful of raspberries that never quite make it in the house.
But the kids know the reward, so the work is worth it all.
I couldn't agree more.
Working in the dirt, alongside my children, I have time to talk to them. To listen to them. To learn with them.
We have found toads, slugs, june bugs, pill bugs, centipedes, spiders, worms and butterflies. We have worked together and cooled off in the spray of the hose at the end of the day.
And the hard work makes it even more worth it. I doubt that they would be as into going to the store and buying a cucumber. In fact, I know that wouldn't be a chore fought over.
The garden allows the kids to see with their eyes what faith is.
Faith is believing in something you cannot see.
I have faith that those tiny seeds contain all the makings of my August salad. That the water I sprinkle on them will help them reach their potential.
The garden. Not too different from parenting, if you ask me.
I can only sow the seeds, and provide the sun and water, and the rest is all out of my hands. Faith is what carries me through the rest of the parenting journey.
Seeds are planted daily around here.
You see, we are raising a different breed around this house. An heirloom variety, if you will.
The seeds we plant are those of patience. Those of kindness. Compassion. Humor. Reverence. Obedience. Respect. Knowledge. Christian faith.
The seeds are small. But if we prepare the soil first, and tend to them daily, we will see the results.
If we keep hard at work in the garden that is our family, there will be a harvest more than we could have dreamed of.
God is good.
After months of hurrying in from the cold, the warmth of spring lures me outside.
After many hours spent searching for the lost mitten or hat, I watch with a smile as my kids pile out onto the lawn in swimsuits and flippy flops.
After the short days of winter, I am inspired by the daylight that lasts well past a decent bedtime.
And the garden.
Every year I have had a garden thus far, I have been either expecting a baby or carrying a newborn one in my arms.
Not this year. This year I am surrounded by kids old enough to wield a trowel, to drag the hose, to pull weeds.
And we have been hard at work in the garden.
Weeds removed, soil broken and turned and amended, flowers planted, seeds sown. Water them in the morning, and at night.
Lots of work, but a chore that is wanted around here. Eager hands have helped every step of the way.
Why?
Because these small ones now know the joy of watching seedlings pop through the black dirt. The awe of flowers turning to baby veggies that will ripen and grow seemingly in front of their eyes. And the excitement felt when it is their night to take the garden bowl out to the yard to pick the dinner veggies.
Sometimes the bowl is overflowing, beans, squash, peas, tomatoes.
Sometimes it is a single cuke, waiting to be shared, or a handful of raspberries that never quite make it in the house.
But the kids know the reward, so the work is worth it all.
I couldn't agree more.
Working in the dirt, alongside my children, I have time to talk to them. To listen to them. To learn with them.
We have found toads, slugs, june bugs, pill bugs, centipedes, spiders, worms and butterflies. We have worked together and cooled off in the spray of the hose at the end of the day.
And the hard work makes it even more worth it. I doubt that they would be as into going to the store and buying a cucumber. In fact, I know that wouldn't be a chore fought over.
The garden allows the kids to see with their eyes what faith is.
Faith is believing in something you cannot see.
I have faith that those tiny seeds contain all the makings of my August salad. That the water I sprinkle on them will help them reach their potential.
The garden. Not too different from parenting, if you ask me.
I can only sow the seeds, and provide the sun and water, and the rest is all out of my hands. Faith is what carries me through the rest of the parenting journey.
Seeds are planted daily around here.
You see, we are raising a different breed around this house. An heirloom variety, if you will.
The seeds we plant are those of patience. Those of kindness. Compassion. Humor. Reverence. Obedience. Respect. Knowledge. Christian faith.
The seeds are small. But if we prepare the soil first, and tend to them daily, we will see the results.
If we keep hard at work in the garden that is our family, there will be a harvest more than we could have dreamed of.
God is good.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Hook, Line and Sinker.
When approached to teach 4th grade Sunday School, I will admit I was a little apprehensive.
OK, I was scared.
The idea of being in front of 5-8 intelligent and inquisitive 10 year olds. Teaching the Bible.
Was I enough of a Bible reader?
Could I answer their questions? Fill their hearts with the love of Jesus I have?
Today was my day to teach. I had 5 kids in class, hands grasping the new Bibles they received 2 weeks ago on Bible Sunday. I was armed with a Bible curriculum and a bag of Goldfish crackers.
Game on.
We made it through the beginning of the lesson, marking specific books with ribbons in our Bibles.
Jonah, Matthew, John.
Marked in yellow, blue, green.
Started in on the story of Jonah..... lots of fish crackers doled out while the kids shouted out answers about Jonah's story. But that's another blog.
What hit me most about today's class was when we read Matthew 4: 18-20
As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. "Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will make you fishers of men." At once they left their nets and followed him. - Matthew 4:18-20 (NIV)
Promptly, one of the girls said "Jesus didn't mean we were to actually fish for men, did he?"
Moment of truth. I knew what the passage meant to me... but where I was headed was nowhere on the photocopied page on the table in front of me........
"Yes.
We are to be Fishers of Men, what do you think that means?"
Among the answers was one that made me stop "We are to gather men to follow Him"
BINGO.
So, I had that young girl draw a picture of what she meant. And I ended up watching her draw a girl calling others to follow God... and many many many stick figures gathering around to listen.
So, as talks with 4th graders do, we wondered off from the path we set out on.... but we were in REAL interesting territory.
We discussed what you need to fish.
A hook.
Bait, preferably a worm.
and "fish".
We had gone from a lesson on the order of the books in the bible to a lesson on being a true disciple.
In the end, we decided that we WERE asked to be fishers of men... we had the hook, we had the line, we even had the bait we needed, as one girl explained "Jesus dying on the cross is our worm. He died to take away our sins. God's own son died to save me. Now THAT's a worm".
Smiling, I agreed. We can't help but be fishers of men with a worm like that, huh?
So I told the kids of our last trip up north with the kids. They all know my kids (JT is in the class, but was out for cub scout camp today).
Told them of the vending machine B and I found near the bait and tackle shop in town. It looked like a pop machine from the side... but when you walked around the front, it read, in large letters... LIVE BAIT.
B studied the words for a moment, and let the idea draw itself in his mind. Then, slowly, he asked me .. "A worm machine???" We giggled at the idea of an early morning fisherman with a pocketful of quarters to swap for live worms in a can.
He was laughing when the thought hit of the fate of the worms.
A sad look crept across his face. Somberly, he told me of his plan.
He was going to bring his piggy bank next time. One can at a time, he told me, we was going to buy those worms their freedom. Unscrewing the lids and scattering the once-doomed worms on the grass next door, he'd yell "Squirm, squirm for your lives, little fellows!"
As I told the story to the Sunday school class, I added that there was a large restaurant right next to the bait shop... one with a patio and lots of customers... a great audience for B's worm saving adventure.
As the laughter died down in the classroom, a voice said "and the worms would be ALL over".
Exactly.
The worms would be all over. No matter how wrapped up in your daily life you were.. if you were in that small town at the same time B emptied the machine of all it's baity goodness, you'd likely hear of the worms.
Hear about the worm.
Just what we had decided Jesus asked us to do. To use Him as the worm when we became fishers of men.
It wasn't on a photocopied sheet.
Not in the lesson plans.
nor in the ideas I had going into the class.
But, by the time the class heard the "5 minute bell" ringing near the end of class, they were sure of a few things.
1. Use the table of contents in the front of the Bible. It works.
2. We are to fish for men, Jesus said so.
3. Jesus died on the cross, and that, my friends, is the worm.
Laughing, I asked them to explain it ALL when they spilled into coffee hour. I was a little concerned that I'd have a confused CE director and lots of phone calls when the class ran through coffee hour proclaiming "Jesus is the WORM!"
I needn't have worried about being in the 4th grade class on Sunday mornings.
I am learning LOADS there.
OK, I was scared.
The idea of being in front of 5-8 intelligent and inquisitive 10 year olds. Teaching the Bible.
Was I enough of a Bible reader?
Could I answer their questions? Fill their hearts with the love of Jesus I have?
Today was my day to teach. I had 5 kids in class, hands grasping the new Bibles they received 2 weeks ago on Bible Sunday. I was armed with a Bible curriculum and a bag of Goldfish crackers.
Game on.
We made it through the beginning of the lesson, marking specific books with ribbons in our Bibles.
Jonah, Matthew, John.
Marked in yellow, blue, green.
Started in on the story of Jonah..... lots of fish crackers doled out while the kids shouted out answers about Jonah's story. But that's another blog.
What hit me most about today's class was when we read Matthew 4: 18-20
As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. "Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will make you fishers of men." At once they left their nets and followed him. - Matthew 4:18-20 (NIV)
Promptly, one of the girls said "Jesus didn't mean we were to actually fish for men, did he?"
Moment of truth. I knew what the passage meant to me... but where I was headed was nowhere on the photocopied page on the table in front of me........
"Yes.
We are to be Fishers of Men, what do you think that means?"
Among the answers was one that made me stop "We are to gather men to follow Him"
BINGO.
So, I had that young girl draw a picture of what she meant. And I ended up watching her draw a girl calling others to follow God... and many many many stick figures gathering around to listen.
So, as talks with 4th graders do, we wondered off from the path we set out on.... but we were in REAL interesting territory.
We discussed what you need to fish.
A hook.
Bait, preferably a worm.
and "fish".
We had gone from a lesson on the order of the books in the bible to a lesson on being a true disciple.
In the end, we decided that we WERE asked to be fishers of men... we had the hook, we had the line, we even had the bait we needed, as one girl explained "Jesus dying on the cross is our worm. He died to take away our sins. God's own son died to save me. Now THAT's a worm".
Smiling, I agreed. We can't help but be fishers of men with a worm like that, huh?
So I told the kids of our last trip up north with the kids. They all know my kids (JT is in the class, but was out for cub scout camp today).
Told them of the vending machine B and I found near the bait and tackle shop in town. It looked like a pop machine from the side... but when you walked around the front, it read, in large letters... LIVE BAIT.
B studied the words for a moment, and let the idea draw itself in his mind. Then, slowly, he asked me .. "A worm machine???" We giggled at the idea of an early morning fisherman with a pocketful of quarters to swap for live worms in a can.
He was laughing when the thought hit of the fate of the worms.
A sad look crept across his face. Somberly, he told me of his plan.
He was going to bring his piggy bank next time. One can at a time, he told me, we was going to buy those worms their freedom. Unscrewing the lids and scattering the once-doomed worms on the grass next door, he'd yell "Squirm, squirm for your lives, little fellows!"
As I told the story to the Sunday school class, I added that there was a large restaurant right next to the bait shop... one with a patio and lots of customers... a great audience for B's worm saving adventure.
As the laughter died down in the classroom, a voice said "and the worms would be ALL over".
Exactly.
The worms would be all over. No matter how wrapped up in your daily life you were.. if you were in that small town at the same time B emptied the machine of all it's baity goodness, you'd likely hear of the worms.
Hear about the worm.
Just what we had decided Jesus asked us to do. To use Him as the worm when we became fishers of men.
It wasn't on a photocopied sheet.
Not in the lesson plans.
nor in the ideas I had going into the class.
But, by the time the class heard the "5 minute bell" ringing near the end of class, they were sure of a few things.
1. Use the table of contents in the front of the Bible. It works.
2. We are to fish for men, Jesus said so.
3. Jesus died on the cross, and that, my friends, is the worm.
Laughing, I asked them to explain it ALL when they spilled into coffee hour. I was a little concerned that I'd have a confused CE director and lots of phone calls when the class ran through coffee hour proclaiming "Jesus is the WORM!"
I needn't have worried about being in the 4th grade class on Sunday mornings.
I am learning LOADS there.
Friday, April 30, 2010
The table.
I am starting this blog to chronicle the happenings of this house.... the comings and goings of the kids, the trials and triumphs of raising small Christians in a not-always-Christian world.
So, the title. Where in your house are things done? Where do you gather? In our house it is the table. The long wood kitchen table with 6 chairs around it. Here we read report cards, the Bible and silly books over applesauce and graham crackers at night.
The table is where we all meet in the morning, over Froot Loops and banana bread, refreshing each other as a family before we part ways and head out into the world. Plans are made, prayers said, jokes told... it is the start of every day and the end to most nights.
The table.
J and I have been blessed over the past 2 weekends to be a part of an amazing Christian weekend. The weekend was centered around talks, which we listened to seated around tables. And both of us were profoudly struck by the differences in the fellow members of our tables. No homogenous tables of other 35 year old, post grad degreed parents of many small offspring here!
The tables were filled with people of all ages, professions, backgrounds and places in the Way of Christ.
But we were all at the same table. The SAME table.
All seated to hear about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. All there to sing His praises and support each other in our walk.
Many Paths, one table.
Not too different from our house.
Some come from work to dinner, others off the school bus, still others from the basement playroom. Some are facing tests in the future, new adventures, and challenges of patience.
But we are all at the table together.
This blog is for my reflection as we turn the direction of our house. As we redirect our hearts and energy toward His path. Leading our kids to follow Him. Meeting the bumps in the path with hugs and prayers.
And at the end of the night, settling into bed, gaining rest to rise in the morning and gather around the table.
Together. In his name.
So, the title. Where in your house are things done? Where do you gather? In our house it is the table. The long wood kitchen table with 6 chairs around it. Here we read report cards, the Bible and silly books over applesauce and graham crackers at night.
The table is where we all meet in the morning, over Froot Loops and banana bread, refreshing each other as a family before we part ways and head out into the world. Plans are made, prayers said, jokes told... it is the start of every day and the end to most nights.
The table.
J and I have been blessed over the past 2 weekends to be a part of an amazing Christian weekend. The weekend was centered around talks, which we listened to seated around tables. And both of us were profoudly struck by the differences in the fellow members of our tables. No homogenous tables of other 35 year old, post grad degreed parents of many small offspring here!
The tables were filled with people of all ages, professions, backgrounds and places in the Way of Christ.
But we were all at the same table. The SAME table.
All seated to hear about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. All there to sing His praises and support each other in our walk.
Many Paths, one table.
Not too different from our house.
Some come from work to dinner, others off the school bus, still others from the basement playroom. Some are facing tests in the future, new adventures, and challenges of patience.
But we are all at the table together.
This blog is for my reflection as we turn the direction of our house. As we redirect our hearts and energy toward His path. Leading our kids to follow Him. Meeting the bumps in the path with hugs and prayers.
And at the end of the night, settling into bed, gaining rest to rise in the morning and gather around the table.
Together. In his name.
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