Love Your Story

My friend Steph knew she wanted six kids from the get go. 

I thought she was crazy.

There's a friend who lives down south who's longed for treasures for years and the Lord has seen fit to write a different story for her. 

Another friend lives out in CA and the Lord has given her this contagious passion for adoption.

One treasured friend of mine has nine, and her heart is wide open for more.

This week I read Amy Carmichael's story. She never had her own children, but man, did she LOVE children. 

There are godly women who spread the gospel on soccer fields, those who travel the world and share His story while passing out fresh water and grains to malnourished villages. 

There are those who have found themselves in situations they've never dreamed of, who have been broken and betrayed, those who are raising their treasures on their own because their spouses have died, those who are raising their treasures on their own because their spouses have left. There are those who have found redemption and hope through the sting of it all. 

There are those who thrive on adventure and those who humbly pour His truth into weary souls through a bowl of soup at the local soup kitchen.

All these godly women, seeking His face, seeking His will for their lives, and yet no two stories are alike.

My story looks quite different from the ones above. 

I never knew I wanted five treasures until they got here. My journey with my kids has been a slow one. The Lord has made my heart brave, one kid at a time. 

I never knew I wanted to live on this little farm, a safe-haven way out in the sticks. I never knew that the simplicity of this place would naturally help my heart to slow down, to choose less, to cook more, to sit long, to ponder much. 

I never knew that patience takes practice, that treasures bring opportunity for practice, that practice lasts for years before the patience becomes perfected.

I never knew that hospitality could be the way that the gospel might flow out of this home, that a meal and a conversation on the farm porch could inspire folks to press into their Savior more. 

I never knew that the way my man and I love on each other, that the way we come together in the dark, that the moments spent in quiet conversation after the kids are all in bed, that the things that go on between him and I that nobody sees, that the simplicity, the consistency of these things can testify to the world of Christ's extravagant love. 

My story doesn't involve many extra curricular activities, or overseas missions, or writing of books.

My story has a lot of kids, a man who longs to lead to well, a woman who wants to live humbly but who is often heavy with the weight of her own pride.

My story is full of messes... a baby who dumps a bucket of paint all over himself, cups spilled at every meal, mud on the floors, chocolate-covered faces.

My story is full of joy... kids running through sprinklers, belly laughter, wild flowers in vases, a chai tea latte on the front porch.

My story sometimes feels loud and full and joy-filled.
My story sometimes feels plain and quiet and mundane.

Sometimes it feels small, but in truth, it is being perfectly written by The Creator of all things. 

My story is about a woman who longs to love like He does, a woman who strives and fails, a woman who knows that her Savior is constantly pouring out wild grace like rain on her humble farmhouse. 

My story has called me to surrender to His will, not mine.

My story is enough, because He is enough.

He is the author of our stories...

No two stories alike.

Love your story...

Because the God of love has written it perfectly, intentionally, with purpose and tender care, all for His glory.

I'm learning to love my story.

Attitude Into Gratitude

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. It happens to the best of us Im certain. :)

The dishes were piled high. There were crumbs all over the floor that my darling six-year-old had assured me he had swept up before going to bed last night.

The crumbs were intertwined with pockets of mouse poop, utterly disgusting I know, but that's what happens when one forgets to sweep before bed.

Then while pouring milk over the breakfast cereal, the little poop culprit came creeping across the kitchen floor. I grabbed the BB gun and put five holes in the little rodent but it kept moving so I finished it off with my machete, swept it into the dust pan, and discarded it in the outside trash. SICK, I know... but it's the farm life and sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.

At the breakfast table, three out of the four were melting down, the only one eating her cereal joyfully was sweet-tender Hal, and the scripture that I have been prayerfully striving to live out, (Be quick to listen and slow to become angry) was rapidly running for the door.

Welcome to the first fifteen minutes of another day in the farmhouse.

Sitting at the table I took a deep breath and closed my eyes... the two youngest were still screaming... and I whispered under my breath,

"What am I missing Lord? I got up early, I spent time in Your Word, You and I chatted for some time. Where did I go wrong? How am I going to make it through this entire day, when clearly I'm struggling to make it through the first fifteen minutes? Open my eyes to see what you see in this moment. Cuz right now, all I can manage to muster up is annoyance."

And then it comes. And I hear that still small voice in my head reminding me AGAIN (because I'm always forgetting, even though He's told me over and over again)...

"Gifts... it's all a gift. Every bit of it. Turn into all into thanks."

And it's awkward, but I try it anyways, and I say it out loud, over the screaming and the bickering...

"Thank you for these children Lord.

Thank you that I get to love on them continuously.

Thank you that I get trained by You as I live and learn to train them.

Thank you that we're all together this morning.

Thank you for the opportunity to learn to be quick to listen, and slow up my tendency to become angry.

Thank you that I have dishes to wash and warm, clean, soapy water to wash them in.

Thank you that I have children to dirty up those dishes.

Thank you for the three meals a day that you put in our fridge and allow me to put on the table.

Thank you for building up courage within me to deal with those rascally mice on my own.

Thank you for all these kids loaded with spunk and personality, opinions, and determination.

Thank you for the ones that are like me, emulating both my good parts and bad parts, they're the ones that I understand intimately.

Thank you for the ones that think like their Papa, I love their hearts, the way that I love their Papa's heart. :)

Thank you that we have each other to live this very loud, messy life with.

Thank you for helping me turn my attitude into gratitude today... Because we all know that it's You, it's your wild, unending grace that opens my flawed, old eyes.

As I speak it out loud, they calm. It's a mystery to me. I didn't do anything special. I simply turned my boiling frustration into all the thanks that I could muster up.

It's happened several times today.

I've breathed deep, over and over again.

My eyes have searched for the gifts, and my lips have spoken the gifts out loud.

And I've felt my heart soften and found hope for life under this farmhouse roof to be more than just making it through. I'm finding a way to soak up this life, to see Him in all of life, even in the messy parts.

He's here. He's always here. I just need eyes that see. :)

Counting the gifts.. #'s 527-541

In Our Love

To My Joey,

You and I, even back then, being innocently molded together.

Eighth grade, everyone needed a partner for the graduation ceremony. It somehow got around the school that I wanted to walk down with you. I was thirteen then, with frizzy hair (damaged from a bad perm experience), pimple-faced, and awkward. You wore pants five-sizes to big and rode your skateboard around campus. You were cool, I was not... but you still said yes to this shy girl, who had to have a friend of a friend even ask you because she was lacking the everyday-kind-of-courage back then.

That day, it's one of my first memories of your kindness. And now it's twenty years later and this heartbeat of mine still gets wrapped up in you, wrapped up in the way you think about others.

But there's something deeper about us now...

It's no longer the flighty butterflies of a timid 8th grade girl. It's now the thing that pushes me, your bride, into wanting to be a better woman.

Those junior high days, we were just kids. Now days, we're pouring our hearts into our own kids.

We've lived a good fifteen years together of letting down our guard around one another, speaking true and sometimes difficult words to one another.

We've learned the art of being joyfully silent around one another.

You've somehow found a way to dissipate my tendency towards irritability simply by not taking it personally, and by being bold enough to tell me gently to buck up and get over it. You're right you know... I waste a lot of my life being bothered by things that don't really matter. Thanks for your courage to lead me into being a better woman.

And with the passing of time, You and I, we've built an unspoken trust and we know we can walk away from one another knowing that it'll only be a few hours before our pride falls and restoration comes. Yes, through these years together there's been pockets of friction, but time itself uses those moments of intense fellowship to strengthen this love... our love.

The way you love on our treasures is a daily gift you give to me. You have an ability to patiently explain things about life to them. You are willing to stay with them when this Mama needs a break. I feel humbled when I hear you pray out loud in front of them thanking the Lord for their Mama. I am way to aware of my failures in Motherhood, and even though I know you see them to, I'm so grateful that you purpose to remind me of my strengths.

And after all these years, we still have so many things that we do not understand about each other, things that might take a life together to fully understand, some are silly, like why you just can't bring yourself to give me a high-five or how no matter how hard I try to mask the flavor, you still don't care for whole wheat pasta.

And maybe right about now you're wondering why I'm writing this letter in the middle of July... Our Anniversary's not till August and neither is your birthday...

But I was sitting in church on Sunday, you were standing tall next to me, a cowboy hat on your head, your worn working hand resting on my bare shoulders... and we were singing,

'Lord,

in my life, be lifted high

in our world, be lifted high

in our love, be lifted high'

And maybe the part that talks about 'our love' is about something totally different than what I was thinking about... but I was thinking about us, you and me. I was thinking about our love, our forever commitment to learning to love one another on the most intimate of levels and I was praying through my tears that our life together would somehow reflect His extravagant love for us to our little world around us.

Because when I think back to that day in the eighth grade when you showed kindness to a nerdy-timid girl, I think about His kindness, and I think about how all the little things add up and display His splendor in our lives...

And I pray that as we live out this life together as husband and wife that we would somehow not get sucked into thinking so much about ourselves, about our own happiness.

Instead, may the way that we live,

the way we walk through our mistakes,

the way we choose to offer one another the same grace and forgiveness that Christ has offered us,

the way we look for the blessings in the small everyday stuff,

make us more holy, not simply just plain happy,

set us apart fully, not allowing us to effortlessly blend in,

and all this, completely for His glory.

In our love... Lord, be lifted high.

#'s 495-510

Worshiping Him together with him on a Sunday morning

Running down a country road, one that leads me home to the farm

Using my birthday machete on tiny snake and becoming a hero to our six-year old boy

Candles burning

Littlest one looking up at me with that stellar smile

Birthdays and little girl giggles

Spring cleaning

Freshly washed sheets

A new pitcher, a gift from Antrhopologie

Day at the salvage yard with sweet, godly women

Thunder storms

Heavy rain

Growing plants

Nights on the porch watching sunsets over the mountains

Our Love, displaying His splendor

Brave... Catching A Full View Of Your Glory

It's been coming up often.

I can feel my ears perk up at the onset of seemingly mindless conversations.

We were five sitting on a park bench, childless for an evening. Five women in love with their Jesus and I got the privilege of an evening in friendship with them. The two on the left were lost in their own conversation, but the three on the right, myself in the middle, were getting lost in a randomness of thoughts falling, each one of us popping in and out of the conversation.

We talked of the Dirty Girls Mudder (A girl version of Tough Mudder) coming up in September, we talked of reading scripture in front of church. We talked of brave things that my mouth seems to want to declare that I will never do, but my heart kind of invigorates at the thought of it.

As we throw thoughts out there I hear myself say it, "Sometimes I think I've used my kids as an excuse over the past six years, to stay home, to mask my fear of being brave and call it "just a season."

In the moment I think nothing of it, just continue on in words.

That night I lie there in my bed, wide-eyed, and replaying my own words that I didn't even know were living somewhere inside this skin. My Joey's rhythmically snoring an arms length away and I'm tempted to wake him, to have someone tangible to process with, but I know that he's the type that once asleep, won't remember anything of importance in the morning.

So it's just me and HIM, and we chat back and forth about bravery and seasons.

I don't really know what it is that I'm afraid of...

Granted, I loathe the idea of being covered in mud and start panic-breath in confined spaces, and can't run more than a half mile without feeling like I might just fall over.

Granted I get all flush when I stand up in front of a large group of people and have to actually open my mouth.

But all the same.

Have I not given my all to You Lord, even my fears, knowing that you are trustworthy in all things? (Psalm 46, Jeremiah 39, Philippians 1, 1 Peter 3, 1 John 4, )

If you ask something of me will you not be right there next to me, opening my mouth with the words that You would have me speak? Calming all the muscles in this skin as I walk forward in complete surrender?

At first glance all I can see is what I'm afraid of. But as I take small steps towards those very things that want to keep me paralyzed, I lose sight of myself and catch a full view of Your Glory.

As our days go by, I would love nothing more than for my kids to see their Mama living brave... not so that I might gloat in my own pride, but quite the contrary... that I might bask in the wonder of what You can do in the heart and life of a quiet, scandalous, daughter of Yours, who gazes at the adventure but feels more comfortable hiding behind the daily grind of motherhood and wife-dom.

Draw me out LORD. Lead me.

'God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us.' (Ephesians 3:20)

Work deeply, gently within...

How The Best Birthdays Can Be Altars

After reading birthday cards in bed from my Joey and my treasures.

After my Joey gave me a machete (yes, a real machete for all those lovely snakes making way through our farm fields) for my birthday.

After lunch with one of the godliest women I know.

After pizza and friends and candles and cake on the farm.

After an already most lovely day...

My Joey and I, we tucked the kids in their beds. We gathered the stones that we had been collecting into the back of his rusted -old pickup and drove the pickup into the thunder-storm sky, a mere 100 yards from our front porch onto the north field. In the center of it lies a sole tree stump... it's dead but still towers far above our heads.

He set up two red chairs (walmart specials:) in the bed of the pickup. The view was glorious, we could see the dark clouds shifting and beams of light making themselves known through the fog as the sun set over the mountains.

As the weeks have past the kids and I have been reading through the Old Testament. We've shunned at the horrific things that they had to go through... looked into our own hearts and seen ourselves in those doubting Israelites... sat in wonder as the words unfolded the details of our God parting the Red Sea, raining food down from the heavens, quenching their thirst by bringing forth water from a rock of all things.

And my Joey and I, we've been reminiscing of all the times in which God has been faithful to us. Talking about how easily we forget. How the story of the Israelites just might be parallel to the story of our own lives. And throughout the whole old testament the Lord has His people building these altars, places of remembrance. Tangible evidence of His faithfulness.

So with the sunlight disappearing behind the hills, we sat in the back of that old pick up and with a permanent marker we took each stone and remembered. We wrote down things He's walked us through in our 11 years together... the way His presence surrounded us in that hospital room when our first two boys were born. The way he united us, showered peace upon us, taught us to surrender our deepest desires to Him. The way He was with us just the same the day that we met our Siah, the way the room filled with a baby's cry and both our eyes rained with tears of truly unspeakable joy. The way looked at each other in complete awe and gratitude, this time knowing that our little boy was pure gift, 100% miracle. We remembered the way He blessed twice in a year and brought us our Hal. We remembered His financial provision through every season. The times He's brought checks in the mail and food to our table.

We wrote them down and one by one we put them under the towering trunk in the field, our field, the field that to us represents the miracles of Him in our lives.

Once all the stones were laid bare and open under that tree, he took my hand and prayed gratitude... thankfulness for what Christ has done... thankfulness for what he will do... thankfulness for me, his wife for life.

This morning I opened up the Bible at breakfast to where we had left off the previous morning with Joshua leading the Israelites into the promise land and this is what it said...

"When in time to come your children ask you, 'What do these stones here mean?' then you must tell them, 'The Lord our God dried up the water of the Jordan for us here, so that we passed over on dry ground.' And this monument will remind you that the hand of the Lord is mighty and you must fear your God forever." Joshua 4:22

We might not yet have seen the Lord dry up the Jordan so that we can walk over it, but we have for certain seen His faithfulness continuously in our lives. Lord willing we will be on this farm for some years, and now in the center of all that He's provided for us here, there's an "altar." A place where we can continue to write a few words and a date and remember that He permeates this place, these hearts, this family. A place that for years to come, our kids will have a visual tangible reminder that God is trustworthy in all things. A place that we hope will help us never to forget. :)

When he was done praying over us by the tree in the field, he held me long and I whispered with my face up against his,

"This just might be the best birthday yet."

Acceptance WIth Great Joy

Sometimes kids act a certain way simply because they haven't been trained otherwise.

And even when they're trained they still need that daily reminding.

But I often times find myself forgetting that I too am a forgetter.

We're learning trust around here. We're also learning to "accept Mama's 'no' with joy."

When I write it down it seems almost funny to me... How easy is it to accept the Lord's "no's" joyfully? How easy is it to try and convince a three-year-old to smile and say 'okay Mommy', when they're devastated over the fact that you just told them they couldn't have ice cream for breakfast? Neither flow without effort.

But like most of the best things in this life, although it's rather difficult, in our home we find it worth the fight, worth the time, worth the effort, to, by His grace, find acceptance with joy as we make our way through these days, under this farmhouse roof together.

What it boils down to is, if we want His best, then we need to learn to accept what He gives with joy. And if I know the heart behind the request, then acceptance with joy can come to pass without much of a fight. The thing is, I know that My Jesus has my absolute best interests in mind. He wants nothing less than His God-size best for me in all areas of my life. Knowing that one simple truth enables me to accept what He gives with an often times unexplainable joy.

It's not to say that what He gives isn't sometimes painful. And it's not to say that when I call my kids to accept my 'no' with joy that I am hoping that they will have a smile on their face but be a raging mess in their hearts. Acceptance with joy means that every part of us can rest in the knowing that He is always looking out for our hearts. And even more so He is wanting to make my heart more like His.

I've been thinking about some of the most beautiful things on earth and how most of them have to go through this intense refining process to shine in the glorious beauty that God has intended for them. Take gold for example. Gold gets beautiful in fire. There is little sustenance in this life without first the refining.

I'm finding as I muddle my way through these mothering years that so much of His Word has everything to do with parenting. So much of our relationship with Him is a reflection on how we might live out our lives with our own children.

Acceptance with joy is a difficult one to pass on to our treasures. It's been a process over the past weeks, months, even years. But daily we speak of it around here. Daily we talk about the authority that Christ has given this Mama in the lives of these many small children. Daily we talk about the knowing that this Mama has her kiddos best interests in mind. Daily this Mama speaks acceptance with joy into these kids hearts because I am confident that if they learn this lesson while they are still young, it will benefit them beyond words as they face the whirls of this sin-struck, sometimes painful world. If we learn to accept His 'no' with joy, then the trials might even be seen as gifts, the way Paul came to see the thorn in his own side. (2Cor. 12 MSG)

I'm finding that the best ways to train up children are rather simple. I am the one who finds a way to somehow make them more complicated than they ought to be.

As for acceptance with joy, the way we train our children is through a simple conversation, one that we vow to never tire of repeating. The older two are catching on, but the third is in the thick of her learning. When I tell her that she can't have ice cream for breakfast she pulls out her most adorable pouty face. She hangs her head low. Sometimes for added flare she'll bury her eyes in her chubby little hands and shake her head back and forth, saying "no, no, no," in her obvious-fake cry.

And the way I handle it...

Well, first I try and hold back my laughter, who can resist a smile when you see that pouty little face? But then I get down on my knee so that my eyes can see her eyes. And I lift up her chin in the palm of my hand and I look gently straight into her and I remind her,

"Reesie-piece... I need you to accept Mama's 'no' with joy. I love you and want only to do what's best for you. So I need to see some joy in that heart, so much so that it shows up on your face."

At this point she usually crosses her arms and gets a mad face. So I smile and say something silly like, "don't you dare smile." Then of course, she grins from ear to ear and I pull her in close. We've been doing this for months now. Initially she might have gotten her smile simply from my light-hearted silly talk. But I can see a shift now in her heart. And more often than not, once she has her grin back, she'll say, "Mama, I find my joy." And that makes me think that there is something deeper growing in her heart. Something that will hopefully carry her through a lifetime of running into opportunities for acceptance with great joy.

Who knows, she might even be like the nine-year-old girl that spoke deep into me one recent Sunday in church. She spent her days cleaning the wounds of lepers with her Mom, Dad, and two brothers. One night her dad and brothers slept in their van after staying late at a leper colony. Because they were Christians and some of the authorities in the area did not like them being around, they burned them alive in their van.

When asked about the horrific event later, the little girl said of her dad and brothers, "I feel honored that the Lord would deem them worthy of dying for Him and His glory."

Acceptance with great, GREAT joy.

I can only pray with my whole heart that under this farmhouse roof, we would have the privilege of grasping acceptance with joy with such profound depth as this nine-year-old girl who found unfathomable joy, in one of humanity's greatest fears.

Mama's don't have the power to convince small hearts of this deep need for acceptance with joy... that's merely a work of the Holy Spirit. He alone can convince a soul.

But what we can do... we can exemplify. We can live a life that shows our passion for the things of GOd. And what could be more attractive to a young soul than witnessing the miracles of God come to pass in the life of their own Mama.

Lord, may I learn to accept all that you give, with great joy. May I never tire of gently repeating to my children their need to accept my 'no' with joy. And may I never cease to accept your 'no's' with joy, knowing that the trials are often times the greatest of all the gifts that you give.

When They Ask Why

My Joey and I, we wanna parent with purpose. As we train and direct our treasures we want to be intentional with our words and be aware and mindful of the how's and why's of our responses to their questions.

"Why" seems to be the most common question under our farmhouse roof.

"Why do butterflies have wings?"

"Why does the moon shine so bright?"

"Why do I have to go to bed?"

"Why did Jesus have to die?"

"Why" is threaded through nearly every conversation and I've been thinking about the way that I respond...

Sometimes I answer them with a simple one-liner and they accept my words and move on with their day.

Sometimes I answer and they counter with a flood of more "whys".

And still other times I find myself getting all flustered with the never ending "Why" question.

I've been thinking about myself with my Jesus. Been thinking about the way that maybe I bombard Him with my "whys" and how He responds to me when I push in and insist on an answer, the way my children push into me each day.

I've been thinking about the events that He's brought that I've begged for answers, for an explanation and how more often than not He's given me very little explanation.

When I lost my mom nearly 11 years ago, I begged Him to tell me why.

When the nurse came in to see if I needed any help nursing our twin boys and I had to restrain myself from yelling at the kind old woman who clearly didn't get the memo. When we drove down a dark road with empty car seats in the back of our black pickup truck and paid the cremator for the tiny box of ashes, the only physical evidence that remained of our first two treasures. When we signed death certificates when we should have been signing birth certificates. "Why" was intertwined through every last prayer that came through my mouth that first year.

And in the depths of the things I wanted to understand most, His response was so different from what I wanted it to be. I wanted detailed explanations and all He said was, "Trust me. In this life, you're not always gonna know why but I need you to simply trust me."

And it's the same with the many small children under this roof. There are countless questions that can be answered quickly and simply. But there is an element of trust that

needs to be gained. Sometimes there's no time for an explanation, like when we're about to cross the street and I firmly direct them to stay next to me and don't let go. If there's no trust there and they disobey because of lack of explanation, I could have a squashed treasure on my hands. Other times I simply lack words, I don't know the explanation but I know that what I am asking of them is right and it's something that needs to be carried out quickly, them knowing that even though I lack words for them, my requests of them are trustworthy. And still there are other times when I myself don't know why. Oldest son asked me the other day while we were reading a very difficult part of the Bible where God told Moses to kill a group of people that had disobeyed Him, why God would ever want to kill anyone. And to be honest I had no idea how to explain the answer to that very real question except to say, "Son, I don't always understand the reasons behind God's decisions. But what I do know is that He is always just, and His decisions are always trustworthy. His ways are not our ways. And as the creator of this universe He understands things that we do not and will not ever understand."

Our hope, our desire, as their Mama and Papa is that through our daily interactions with our children we develop a trust between us and them that no matter what we are asking of them, they will be able to lean into and rest in the trust that we have between us, whether or not we are able to offer them an explanation as to why we are asking of them whatever it is that we are asking.

Christ models perfect trust, something that we as flawed sinners will never be able to model. But we can still strive for trust with the help of the Holy Spirit alive and well within us.

Consider a very small moment that happened today...

I simply asked my Reesie to come.

I was at the bottom of the stairs and she was in her room. Immediately I hear here respond with a winey, "Why" from the top of the stairs. "Please just come," I responded. Eventually she came down the stairs and she dragged herself over to where I was standing. And before I even bothered to ask her to do whatever it was that I was going to ask her to do, I just spoke gently to her...

"Reesie, when Mama asks you to come, I simply need you to trust me. And a way that you can show me that you trust me is by choosing to obey Mama the first time and come. I'm not always going to be able to tell you why, but by your obedience you're showing Mama that you trust that I know what's best for you. Do you understand?"

She says "yes Mama," and then I proceed to ask her to do what I had needed her to do.

Does she really understand? Probably not yet.

But it's not just a single conversation or a single explanation that's gonna mold these kids hearts in a hopefully godly direction. It's years of repeating, repeating, repeating. Years of living it out in my own life that's gonna mold their hearts. It's them witnessing me, as I learn the same lesson with myself and my Savior. As I learn to obey, to trust, often times without explanation that they too will learn to obey, to trust. It's the faithful work of the Spirit in them.

I don't need her to obey so that I can feel powerful or in control. I don't need her to obey so that I can look good to my neighbors. I don't need her to obey simply because "I said so." Instead I want to teach her to want to obey because at the root of obedience is trust. And trust brings hearts to life. Trust makes hearts free. Without trust, a heart can easily shrivel up and die. My hope is that my words and my actions towards her are trustworthy.

Today went on and I was thankful for the countless times that I was able to tell her again and again how much she would gain in this life if she learned obedience paired with deep trust. To come when I call her, being fully confident that I will only choose to ask of her what I know is best for her, just as the Lord purposes only to choose what's best for me. Even if I don't understand, I can always trust that He is always good.

And if I ask Him "Why" and He chooses to be silent, I can still always be moving forward in obedience, because He alone is trustworthy.

So when they ask you why...

Tell them that it's mainly about trust.

Tell them that sometimes in this life, God's gonna ask things of us and we're not gonna understand why. But regardless of our own understanding, He is trustworthy.

Tell them that a way that we can show God that we trust Him is by obeying and trusting Mama and Papa, with whom He's entrusted with the incredible privilege of gently leading you, through their own example as they daily give their lives to Christ.

#451- 471

Thank you for countless opportunities to speak truth to my treasures. For birthdays that become alters, days of remembering your faithfulness. Thank you for deep heart conversations with women who wanna know you more. Thank you the cowboy who holds me close in the dark hours in our safe-haven. Thank you that we don't always know why. Thank you that you're trustworthy anyway. Thank you for hope and purpose right smack in the middle of trials. Thank you for rain on a Monday in late June that brings life to our strawberries. Thank you for old farm trucks and memories made in fields, in love. Thank you Lord for you in this life. For homemade ice cream and friends on Father's Day. For Papa's that love deep. For pictures that capture the personalities of our kiddos. For hours of living adventure out doors. For new discoveries. For phone calls and texts and cards and emails that bless me on my 32nd birthday. For prayer on the couch... always prayer on the couch. For weekends away, treasure-less. For true friends who love on our kids while we're gone.

Long Days Of Summer

The long days of summer have finally come. I woke this morning to a house warmed only by the sun, opened the french doors to the sunroom and all it's warmth. Sweet, fresh fruit on the table and a picture of iced tea.

Last night the kids were out romping around the fields with a dozen small friends... catching moths, playing hide and go seek in the blooming scrub brush forest on the north side of the farmhouse. Papa cooked up some steaks on the grill. Mama made the best kept secret potato casserole recipe on God's green earth. Friends brought summer berry cobbler and ice cream. We sat around the farm table and played Uno for a bit, laughing at the humor God had in the funny details of our many small children, one who kept the chip bowl on his head so that the other kids wouldn't steal his chips. :)

Papa started a fire in the fire pit and kids swung into the warm summer night air until their heart's content. Boys laughing on the front porch about bugs.

Oh how I've longed for this day to come. The day when I could walk out side to the perfect temp, the kind of air that you don't really even feel at all. The kind that your bare skin soaks up in a nearly surreal contentment.

And in all the glory of these summer days, my heart's hurting bad, worse than it has in a long while. I thought it might be that I am I homesick for CA. I thought that it might be that I feel lonely sometimes out on this farm by myself with these many small children. I thought it might be the way that I struggle to be content no matter where I am or what I'm doing.

But then this morning on the porch watching Him raise the sun high up over my head I think I realized that the true heartache comes from my homesickness for my eternal, forever home with Him. He's the only one who really makes all things good. The one who put the moon in the sky last night right next to the setting sun in all it's purples and pinks. The one who told the stars the very moment that they were to appear in the dark night sky. The one who made this Mama to live in this time and this place with this man and these kids. He knows my need and he knows how I look to fill my broken heart with things from Ross and busy-ing up my days with things that might make me feel like I'm making this one life that I've been given matter.

When these days of emptiness creep in, I know why I feel empty. Because in this house full of people, big and small, daily bleeding red, it's easy to get bogged down by the grossness of self and it's practically impossible, in my flesh, to choose to live in victory. He says it in His word, He says that I can live in victory. He says that He's overcome the world.

"In fact, this is love for God: to keep his commands. And his commands are not burdensome, for everyone born of God overcomes the world. This is the victory that has overcome the world, even our faith. Who is it that overcomes the world? Only the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God." (1 John 5:3-5)

It's simple really, believe in Him, in the death and resurrection of His Son, have a little faith. But this heart of mine makes it so difficult. Where's the victory Lord? Why can't I seem to find it? Why do I feel so stuck in my sin when I know you, when I long for you, when I seek you moment by moment?

I'm here Lord. I'm Yours, all Yours. I may not "get it"... get this thing called life. But all the same, I'm yours and I want to know you and bring you glory. Use my life sweet Lord. Make my life a sweet incense to you. :)

May these long summer days, be days that lead me living in the victory that You say I already have.

With all my love... I pray these things Lord. :)

You're Beautiful {Just In Case You Were Wondering}

I'm up with her in the pink attic room in the old farmhouse. She had asked if she could wear the green dress, with no pants, cuz they're still CA girls who want to wear spaghetti strap dresses all year long.

I'm (not:) helping her arm find that missing armhole, because of course she wants to dress herself, no matter how long it might take to get all the right body parts in all the right holes. She's determined that way. Maybe she can't quite find the hole because she's distracted by her head full of thoughts. While her arm's fighting through the cotton for air, her mouth is moving at light speed and she's giving me the run down on her future plans.

"Well Mama, I'm gonna marry Tamble (aka Campbell, from church). And Siah's gonna marry Cadence... and Halwee's gonna marry Wyatt, and well... Siah's gonna stay here till 19 betuz he's gonna wait for Halwee so that he can drive her to CA to be wit Wyatt, tuzzz... (One arm finally makes it through the hole, now she's working on the other side) Well, CA is weally far away and so Siah needs to drive her there."

She's gets both arms in and her head through the top and she stops mid-sentence to admire herself in the mirror. Her hair's a tattered mess on top of her head. One cheek's rosy red and the other blackberry purple from slipping on a rock and falling flat on her face on our family hike last week. She holds up both sides of her dress in between her pointer fingers and thumbs, and twirls a full 360.

She gasps and covers her lips with both pudgy hands. "Mom, my wedding dress. I must wear my wedding dress." She scurries to the treasure chest full of dress up galore and pulls out a raggedy old white, shear dress embroidered in pink and yellow daisies. And for the grand finalle, she'll most certainly be needing a hat of some sort... a veil? a crown? a purple and pink stripped beanie? Oh yes, the latter will do.

"I ready to be married!" she proclaims.

"I soo soo pretty!"

"Yes, my little love, you sure are." I say it into her eyes and I mean every last word. And because when a heart's young like hers, there's no reason to doubt, she soaked my words right into her soul and she skipped out of the room and went on with her day... taking great delight in knowing how much I genuinely delight in her.

"The King is enthralled by your beauty, honor Him, for He is your Lord." Psalm 45:11

The part of this life that gets this stretch-marked, lumpy Mama heart, is the part that calls me to accept how HE sees me, and honor Him by living in that beauty. Man, how I could bless His heart if I authentically believed in the great care and detail that He so tenderly put forth to make me just the way I am.

Lord, may I honor you with my life by looking in the mirror and seeing what you see. And when you whisper your great delight in me, may I skip off into my day truly believing that you make no mistakes, and you waste nothing. My life is the work of your hand, how could it be anything less than your best. :)

#420-432

Daughters who know that they are fearfully and wonderfully made. Summer berry cobbler with friends. Green fields spread wide and long around the farmhouse. Trader Joe's chai tea latte on a Saturday morning. Casting Crowns, Bluegrass Tribute. Warmth... finally warmth. Two pieces of old wood, perfect for building a bookcase. Sunshine on my shoulders. Girls in flow-y summer dresses swinging high. A pile of daisies picked by littlest girl laying bright yellow on the farm table. Ice tea. Her and I, a wedding dress, and a mouth full of future dreams.

(Not So) Little Boys And Kindergarden

Thursday was Siah's last day of Kindergarden.

I cried. (Poor kid, I've cried twice now in his class... :)

Time just keeps going on, seemingly without me, or my consent. How did we get here? Has it really already been six short years since we brought our boy home?

There's something still so childlike about kindergarden. Kindergarden still feels innocent. Our boy still gives long,melt into my chest, boy hugs. He still needs a kiss on his scrapes. Kindergarden seems the perfect blend of small and big. He can brush his own teeth and do a whole list of chores without much direction, but he still crawls up close to me on the couch to read hours of stories together.

Today was a milestone for this Mama and her son. Our Siah is officially a first-grader now.

He was a swell kindergardener though. Mrs. Kozyra taught him two, half-days a week. She described him like so many describe his Papa... "He's mostly quiet," she said, "But when he does decide to share, it's always something wise and worth saying." Maybe our little guy has the gift of discernment like his Papa, who knows?

Although it's sad that our little guy is moving up into the first grade, it really is this great privilege to watch his gifts and talents unfold as the years keep on passing us by.

When he was just a baby I had no idea that he would be as cool as he is now.

No idea that he would be so detail oriented.

No idea that he would be such a strict rule-keeper.

No idea that he would be a silent leader.

No idea that he would get flustered at the same petty things that his Mama gets flustered at.

No idea that he would have the same diligence that his Papa has, in learning new things.

I just didn't know that the Lord would choose to give our Siah a tender heart towards the things of God....

The other night we were reading Trial and Triumph (stories of Christian Martyrs throughout history). The book is a bit above the kids heads, or so I thought. I had read a rather gruesome account and I wondered what the kids might be thinking about the whole idea of dying for Christ in such brutal, horrible deaths. So I asked them how these stories had made them feel about God and what not, thinking they would be scared or something. But Siah ministered to me and responded, "Well Mom, to live is Christ, to die is gain, right?"

He's barely six?? Once again the Lord is reminding me that He is the one who's raising our kids. The things that I have no idea how to talk about or explain, His Spirit does the explaining for me.

How incredible His love is for us!! :)

Anyways, here are some pictures to remember Kindergarden...

These are his Teachers, Mrs. Kozyra and Mrs. Black.

They had the cutest cake made for the kids on the last day of school. It had a picture of all the kids in his class. There were only 11 students total. :)

Siah also wrote me a card. I was standing in the back of the class and he came running up to me and read the whole thing. It still amazes me how much he has learned this year already. When we started back in September he didn't know the sounds that each letter made and he couldn't even write his own name. Now he writes sentences and can read short books. It's just simply incredible. And what a gift it was for me, his Mama, that I got to be there through it all. :)

Here's his class...

And here's his Kindergarden picture...

Way to go buddy!!!! Congratulations on your very first year of school. :)

The One Thing Us Mamas Need To Be Successful

I’ve been thinking lately back to the days when I was a new Mama. Thinking about all the decisions that filled my days and quite frankly, stressed me out. When I brought our little boy home from the hospital it was up to me to get him fed, diapered, rested, and loved on. Sounds easy enough? But I was a first time mom. So I racked my brain over whether or not I should breast feed or bottle feed? Demand feed or parent-directed feed? Rock him, or let him cry it out? Introduce solids early or later? Vaccines? Organic? Scheduled? Baby Wise? Dr. Sears? The choices seemed endless.

And the decisions did not end in the infant stage. The months went by and I had to decide on discipline, when to potty train, when to send them to school, IF I was going to send them to school… Motherhood for me has carried this constant weight. And if not to make the decision making even more complicated, every one and their mom seems to have an opinion about what’s best, what’s biblical, what’s most beneficial for their child, what’s most beneficial for their family. It can all quickly become exceissively overwhelming if I let it.

And often times I can become so wrapped up in my own opinion that I alienate other moms, who, just like me, are trying to raise their kids in a godly, biblical way. And there have been several occasions when I've chosen to feel hurt by other people's passionate opinions about how I should or shouldn't raise my own children. Because although we as women can truly bless one another with our words, we can also easily crush with our words.

I’m only six years into this thing called motherhood but recently I’ve discovered something that has changed everything for me in terms of being a mom.

Like so many moms in the body of Christ I want to raise my kids biblically. I want to spur my kids on in the truth of His Words, because His Words are truly the only ones that will lead my kids into a truly abundant life. And as I have searched His Word, I haven’t found much on bottle verses breast, or home-made verses store-bought baby food… but what I have often come back to is this…

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind, AND love your neighbor as yourself.”

I know that it may seem that I’m completely taking this verse out of context but I truly believe that it’s such a freeing verse for mothers everywhere who love God and want to raise their kids to love and serve Him.

I’ve met grown kids who have grown up on cloth diapers and breasts, organic foods and attachment parenting ideals, who now as adults, have a true passionate love relationship with Christ.

And I’ve met equally as many grown kids who have grown up on disposable diapers, store bought food, and schedules who have grown up to passionately serve their Savior as well.

I ‘ve met those who have grown up in the public school who love Christ fervently (myself included in that bunch) and those who have been home-schooled who serve Him with their lives.

But when all is said and done at the end of each of our days, the one thing that matters above all these decisions to be made... is our decision as Mamas to live by example in a genuine, raw, honest, deep, humble, fervent and passionate love relationship with our Savior. Twenty years from now, how we fed them and what we put on their little bums that first year of their lives, is not going to be at the forefront of our minds. But what should be at the forefront from day one until they die are the matters of their hearts. Twenty years from now, are they going to be confident in who Christ made them to be? Are they going to trust in their Savior so deeply, so freely, that they're eagerly willing to lose even their very lives for the sake of the cross?

I don't want to discredit the importance of the daily decisions that we have to make when raising our kids. It's a great thing to feed our kids healthy, to love on them often with a tender mama's touch, and to help them get into good habits for a joy-filled life. I simply want to be mindful in my own heart of not using those non-kingdom issues as as a means of dissension amongst other sisters in Christ.

I can remember several nights that I agonized over hurtful words that were said to me in those early days of mothering over non-kingdom issues.

And in the same breath I want to humbly confess my pride in expressing my own opinions throughout the years that although unintentional then, I know now might have hurt hearts. Diapers are not a Kingdom issue. Leading little hearts to God is a kingdom issue.

If I’m going to get together with other moms and talk about my kids, my hope is that we will spend hours filling one another up with the truth and godly wisdom that comes only from His Word. My hope is that we would encourage one another towards Him rather than tear one another down about things that won’t matter in eternity. My desire is to be the Mama who encourages other Mama’s to make all their decisions solely for the glory of God.

I have never known my God to be one who made all his children the same. He created us all differently with different desires and talents. But the one thing He put in EVERY single one of us, is a need for Him. We were made to worship Him. That’s it. That’s the whole of Motherhood. Learning to worship Him in such a way that it becomes contagious and our kids can't help but want to know Him too.

Motherhood is a refining process towards Him. The reason He puts those treasures in our womb, and in our lives, is not so that we can show off how cutely dressed they are, or boast on how well behaved they are, but instead, so that through our day in day out life with them, we might become more like Him.

And through our daily dance with our own sin and His mighty redemption and glorious grace, our life with Him might be so full that it could splash out of our own hearts and into the hearts of our treasures.

By His grace may I be the kind of friend, sister in Christ, and Mama that loves Him with all my heart, with all my mind, and with all my soul... and through that love... learn to love my neighbor way more than I love myself.

Confessions Of A Frazzled Mama Who Truly Loves Jesus

This Mama life is hard.

I love it.

I hate it.

Well, let me clarify... what I hate is the overflow of my own heart towards my precious treasures. I hate the way that I use tones with them in ways that I would never use with others. What I hate is the me that I can be when it's just me and them and the basketful of sin that has it's home in this Clark family bunch.

If you wanna know what had me flailing and floundering in my harsh tongue, well, it was truly the lamest thing ever. It had to do with bubbles, and pretend make-up, and the sunroom, and a little certain someone who happens to be on the flighty, spacey side of things.

It's just bubbles and some pretend make-up, right?

But it's not just the bubbles or the make-up.

I know in my heart of hearts that every act of disobedience from my treasures is an opportunity for me to teach truth, offer hope, and display grace. I know this. Everything in me wants to only speak words that are helpful for building others up. I know that the Lord promises to gently lead those with young. I know that it's His kindness that leads me into relationship with Him. And yet here I am, flying off the handle over bubbles.

They're all in bed now, and I'm left in tears face down on my own bed. My Joey's there, and I'm confessing that I'm so ashamed of the way that I've treated them all day long. (The bubbles were merely the last straw.) And I go on through my choppy breathing about how I'm so afraid that our kids are never going to know or want to be with the Lord because their Mama hardly qualifies as a good example of Christ and the way that He loves.

And fear and doubt creep in. Wanna know what my greatest of all fears is? It's not snakes or death... It's that I would be the reason that my children chose not to give their lives to Christ. I know I shouldn't be so hard on myself. I should live in grace more often than I do.

But this is a big deal.

Their hearts are a big deal.

This career of shaping souls is a big deal.

All the ways that I choose to live my moments, add up. And those moments turn into memories. And memories shape choices. And if I am their main, tangible example of Christ??? How will it all add up for them? I can feel the heavy weight of it all even as I type these words.

And of course my Joey... He's got some wisdom inside of him. And his arms are around me and my tears are soaking his chest as I'm weeping over my sinful heart. And he says it...

"It's the very way that you know your need for Christ that will always lead our kids into a life that wants to love and serve Jesus.

You WILL fail. It's a given.

It's your humility after the fall that shows them the right way.

It's never gonna be your lack of sin. You fail, yes.

But then you make it right. You confess your sin to them, you ask their forgiveness, you pray, and then you try again.

You are constantly telling them that our struggle with sin, is the very reason why we need Christ in the first place.

And that's where you need to live... In the hope that we have in Christ... Not in the guilt of your own shortcomings."

And my Joey, he's right. I can not, and will not ever be or become a Mama without sin. I will A-L-W-A-Y-S be a sinner. It is inevitable, my sin with always find a way to show it's ugly face.

And what I need to be striving for is not unattainable perfection, but rather bathing myself in gratitude of God's very own Son, standing in my place. And I need to believe with my actions and my words that the Father really does see His perfect son when He looks at me. I need to stop drowning my heart in condemnation of myself, and instead nurture it with a constant drip of His never failing abundance of hope.

It's Christ who's gonna raise my kids and bring hope and salvation to them. He is the source, and I am merely His servant. How prideful of me to think that it was ever all up to me. And what a privilege, that despite my sinful self, He's chosen me and my children for each other, to refine us all, and draw us all near to Himself.

******

Recently My Siah and I were left alone on the couch doing our daily reading about some of The Greats and I'm in mid-sentence and he says it loud and slow and in complete awe...

"Oh -my -goodness!! Mama, do you see that?? Does God make the coolest things or what?"

I look up from the pages and there spanning the sky is the most glorious rainbow that I have ever seen. Our farm is HIGH above sea level and up here the skies seem so tangible. The rainbow felt close. And my Siah, his eyes were wide open and his jaw was dropped. He was gazing upon God's glory. This Mama messes up multiple times a day. And still, even still, My Siah... He recognized His Father's glory.

Grace. Sweet, sweet grace.

Lord, I confess my pride in thinking that but for your mighty hand, I could do this soul career on my own. Forgive me Lord, and draw me further into your grace, the one place where I can truly grow strong. For I continue to hear your voice that whispered to Paul and now into me...

'My grace is enough; it's all you need.

My strength comes into its own in your weakness.'

And I agree with Paul when responds to Your voice...

'Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ's strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.' (2 Corinthians 12 MSG)