Science and The Pieta ~ July 2021

'Science is real,' say the signs on the roadside  these days. And the longer I live, the more I believe it is so. Sitting with a table of Ladies' Homesteaders in Athens the other night, my friend Debbie and I expressed our fear of teaching Chemistry to a Master Gardner before her guest presentation. After she had begun,  I realized how ridiculous we must have sounded, as she schooled us in  biomes, nitrogen, ph levels, microbes and nematodes. My Google button was worn out after that evening of true enlightenment. I 'm much more comfortable in the verbal nuances of a literature book or art appreciation. There are reasons I never completed some of the more applicable career possibilities of my degree- Interior Design, Pattern and Dressmaking - numbers on a ruler stump me. Yet they, like the composition of the soil I so regularly dig up and often ineffectively utilize, are the most beautiful and profound witness to the Master Gardner who designed it all from the very beginning. 

It is written - and I believe - that Christ was full participant of the Creation. 

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation.

For by Him all things were created that are in heaven and that are on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers. All things were created through Him and for Him.

And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist. 

Colossians 1:15-17

 A glimpse. We are given glimpses of the magnificence of the Creation. Our portion may be full of joy, exhilaration or it may be full of seemingly insurmountable trials, one right after the other. Most people experience seasons of both, layered with drought and deluge. But for some, the drought seems endless, filled with moments of disbelief.  How, and why, and please, Lord, no more. 

I was gifted this 'Pieta,' statuette. The original stands in St. Peter's Basillica, in Rome. Like others, I can't get past the profundity of loss in this glimpse of history. The original now stands behind bulletproof glass. So many historic and ancient artifacts and artistic endeavors represent the soul of man, the deepest longings and challenge the one who would destroy it. But unlike the temporal nature of the statue, the cosmic nature of the Moment this particular piece represents cannot be destroyed. But it is up to the individual to remember and embrace what is really going on. 

I've never 'born' a child from my body, but I am a mother. Of course I identify with Mary, who 'held these things in her heart.' Her holding all the hope and promise of the world in her arms, having no way to fully understand her small part in a larger plan, in THE Greater Plan. 

It is said, 'We plant trees, in whose shade we will never sit.'  Reflecting on Mary, and upon champions of faith through struggle,  I am  instructed how little I understand and must endeavor like they, to finish well. For even in this moment of loss, the Creator of the Universe  understood loss.  Shamed and despised. Misunderstood. Loved by a young mother, the simplest of participants in this cosmic moment of grief. 

Surely He has borne our griefs
And carried our sorrows;
Yet we esteemed Him stricken,
Smitten by God, and afflicted.

Isaiah 53:4

As this young mother grieved what she could not understand fully, I look at her along side those I watch struggle with loss and grief of losing a child. The daily magnitude of grief in cacophony with the design and  resilience of the uniquely female body and soul is testimony to the fall.   The demonstration of God's gift of his only begotten  Son is testimony to His understanding the need for the remedy.  I believe He gave us Mary to personify just this moment, whether in our own lives the child was lost at birth, later in life, or who still walks among the living. It is for us to see the grittiness of His birth, His humanity, His breaking away from His mother to fulfill His destiny. And for her part,  ladened with the physical and emotional weight that only a mother can feel. 

In this modern world of Science turned on its ear, I reverently and unashamedly embrace this moment in history. This divine moment where the intimate nature  and essence of woman is presented fully exposed. The fragile yet indomitable woman, in her most broken and vulnerable state, holding her Child, flesh of her flesh,  the Cosmic Christ, created yet Creator. For this image, I am thankful. I am thankful to the One who has carried our griefs and holds all the hopes of tomorrow and the unseen fruition of the broken mother's heart. 

The Thrill of Hope ~ Bookshelf No. 4 ~ December 2020

Almost every Christmas, I pick up a book I've had my eye on and read it cover to cover, reading until I can't hold my eyes open, avoiding every  unnecesary task, praying no one will notice. This Christmas has brought me to a second title by Kristin Hannah, Winter Garden. It falls right in my favorite novel genre, historical fiction, specifically World War II. To me there is nothing more engaging   and encouraging than reading about the numerous resistance efforts throughout Europe,  the hope on both sides,  and the people who lived and endured the war between the Axis Powers and Allied Forces. 

Winter Garden moves slowly into the historic portion of the story. The main characters are living with someone who survived, but bears the results of living through such a time.  For-shadowing of a very layered story tells the reader, 'She hasn't enough of herself left to share.' And  in another part of the story (no spoiler's here), families of 'criminals,' 'can recognize other families of criminals. They move like victims, with their shoulders hunched and their eyes cast downward, trying to make themselves smaller, unremarkable. Unnoticeable.' 

Tragic is not a word I would ever use to describe my life. But in every persons life there are moments that are classically tragic in nature. The expectation and  hope are pitted against  mortal odds unsurmountable. This post is not a tale of 'done-me-wrongs ,' but relatable moments, without stories that cast a martyrial shadow. This one is more humorous. 

Eric and I became 'us' when we moved to Louisiana. We knew no one, and no one knew us. As much as we loved everything about Louisiana, I learned to be realistic there, make some compromises, and even drop my expectations. We learned to depend upon each other more fully, even if we didn't need to. My mind looks back to Uncle Mike meeting us in the Atlanta airport, because he could get through security in uniform, when we adopted Henry from California. Our family is ALWAYS there for us. Yet everyone has some dark passages that no one knows nor is it easy to share. The Lord only knows how much I would need resilience in future days, but I can most humorously  convey this with a story  about my church attire. 

I LOVE sweaters . Textiles, yes, but knitted cables,  the yarn, the feel of wool. Love is the only word. But wool and Louisiana do not mix.  Once while sweating through church, a kind sister told me afterwards to ,  'Give it up. Just buy you some Christmas Sandals and summer clothes in fall and winter colors and move on.' Best advice I think I've ever received. 

I have not spent all of my life in the South. I did a spell in Ohio, learning to appreciate snow, ice, and that cold which cannot be shaken. I learned how to skate on a pond, by myself in subzero weather. I wore long underwear to school from October to April, and we selected our Easter parkas just like my kindred sister from Louisiana  advised us to -- adapt, compromise,  have realistic expectations. But there was something about those sweaters, something in my psyche that insisted it was what one should wear, how one should prepare, what expectation, nee- advent- should look like. 

Within the book, Winter Garden, there are just such moments displayed in what seems to be senility, but the one challenged by change and true tragedy is remembering how to  cope and how to survive.  Her actions seem as crazy as wearing a wool sweater in 70 degree weather. She packs food in her overnight bag instead of clothes for the trip.  Her daughter finds packs of butter in her coat pockets. She's always concerned about the cold. And always concerned about food.  

This is my favorite period of history because so many faced what appear to be insurmountable odds. They are faced with starvation, exposure to the elements, and corruption in powerful places. They seldom know who they can trust, and they often suffer some loss that leaves them changed forever. I walk away wondering how would I survive,  measuring up my coping skills. Introspectively, considering my odds. 

Our collective challenges may not seem to look as dire as this on the outside, although 2020 has brought its 'A Game' to the table. But if you were to ask the average person today if they could relate to characters like these in the books, I'd bet they could easily blow your hair back. Those times do come, when something we hoped for doesn't happen, or happen the way we thought it should. That is life. Living fully, engaging with humanity. It would seem 2020  is the year so many find themselves, myself included, moving the bar back, moving the mark lower, when it comes to hopes and dreams. But the surprise has been to feel resilient-- and still feel off balance. 

A couple of years ago, a friend reminded me of good advice. She participates in the trapeze classes here locally- yes, she is boldly 60 years old and exercises with trapeze. But she reminded me as my world was spinning out of control-- 'Find a place on the wall and look for it every time-- find your point of focus.' She was right. Even when the hope is deferred, when they keep moving the goal post, finding that one thing and focusing is the way to survive. 

My reaction to reading this book at the half way point is two-fold. After one of the most tragic moments of revelation, the mother responds to her children when they ask what they should do? How they will go on? Her response is the epic. Live. Adapt, compromise,  have realistic expectations. This is where God feels our pleasure and delight in His creation. Live. Hope boldly with dreams and beliefs in what God has given to us- the blessings. 

Secondly, and most importantly, rely and depend upon the most miraculous Provider. When nothing seems possible, we are brought to our proverbial knees. It is then that the cosmic Christ is revealed from cradle to grave, the Father 'that sees' is beheld, and we are able to not 'lay aside the cares of this world' but handle them with a strength that comes from a supernatural and miraculous point of focus - God the Trinity. All of our messiness is doable, nothing cannot be handled by the One who began his mortal life in a manger found  in a dirty stable. And there is no wound or loss our God cannot heal with the never changing Hope He has set in our hearts- if only we will embrace it. 

Nativity from Jerusalem ~ Gift from Dad, 1996

Glimpses ~ June 2020

The color of the flowers at my wedding were a disappointment. In that many thought the event was miraculous in itself, this seems a trivial detail. It was a lovely occasion over all. One that we determined was appropriately elaborate for two 30 year old types who might have never matched up in another lifetime. After 23 years though, when I see the color I desired for that day, I take notice. I remember how my Mom asked the florist if there was anything he could do. She's faithful that way, as Dad was too. But there was little to change the color of that flower. Although that florist tried, and when my bouquet was returned to me, unanimously everyone agreed how much better they looked, worried the bride was going to snap. 
But I didn't and we proceeded into our life together, with no idea what delights and disappointments lay ahead. 
Yesterday the perfect flower appeared at Publix. People refer to these type of sightings as 'unicorns,' as do I. I also think of them as 'glimpses' into perfection. Too many at one time and a circus will inevitably occur, tickets must be sold, lights too bright must be illuminated. But these by the wayside 'glimpses' are a gift. 
It would have been ridiculously ungracious of me years ago to have truly complained about the roses, especially in light of the effort to which everyone had gone to in order to make the day so special. I look back on how my parents graciously endured many disappointments- their own, or theirs shared- throughout their lives. If you talked to them, and still talk to Mom now, there is always, always something for which to be thankful. Glimpses, I believe, are what kept them going. Glimpses of Eden and glimpses of Heaven. 
I find myself in the in-between, maybe even the shadowlands. Sorrow will cloud our ability to see the glimpses, especially if we only feed the sorrow. Again, I think about my parents. I am thankful for their persistent effort to press forward into everyday with a renewed spirit, to try to fix the little things, while handling the bigger things in life with patience and perseverance, sorrow or celebration. 
There are so many things I cannot fix right now-- in my home, in my community, in the world. But because tragedy seems to be everywhere does not mean all that was once good - wasn't good. Because unrest seems everywhere, doesn't mean we don't still need rest. We need 'glimpses', moments where the proverbial, yes, spiritual light shines bright. And in that light we may see a 'broken reed' upon which we've been leaning too long, and see behind the bush a ram the Lord intended the entire time, the 'glimpse', the provision, the gift. 

Thoughts {Feelings} Actions and a Double Feature ~ December 2019

While I'm munching tasty treats topped with Rasberry Pepper Jelly from Thomasville, GA, I'm hammering out the worlds problems with my bff on a Monday. My snack is leftover's from Thanksgiving, and my thoughts are straight out of 'Life in Grace' Life Mentoring School. 
Over and over, Edie kept saying, it comes down to your thoughts. You can't change someone, you can't make people behave differently (even your kids.) Circumstances don't always change or go away. Changing the circumstance doesn't always bring the desired result. Actually, almost always it doesn't bring the desired result. It just creates more chaos.  
I've gained so much from Edie's classes. For years, I've known the concept of 'Thoughts produce Actions,' but with this new approach inserting the feelings, and asking? 

What do I want to feel? And her answer kept coming back, 

'Then you have to change your thoughts.'

Eventually we run out of adrenaline to push through the difficult times. We can do hard things. But taking every thought captive is really a pretty healthy guideline for living. 

 I want to thrive~not just survive! 

Inspirational Double Feature last night after surviving/thriving through Thanksgiving week: 

Queen of Katwe 

Secretariat.

Tatoos, Bumperstickers, Summer ~ July 2019

Standing in line to check out in the Athens-Clark Public Library, I noticed one of the few tatoos I'd consider having. There is something about Rosie the Riveter that strikes at the heart of every woman. And there she was boldly staring me down from the arm of the mother cued up with books and babes in tow.

Norman Rockwell’s ‘Rosie the Riveter’ The Saturday Evening Post 

I knew I'd be crossing the Rubicon of Culture as I spoke up to this strong mama. I don't remember what I said, but it wasn't as stupid as it would be if I tried to recreate it now. She was flattered and kindly turned towards me and greeted my boys. They weren't all smocked up, so we didn't appear to be aliens. Little did she know, she was the pace-setter for the next 10 years of my life.

The next friend I met was at Tae Kwon Do for my homeschooled kids. Juli Wisotsky. My heart swells thinking of that day on the bench in the Carter's Dojo off Alps Road. She was in the process of specializing in adoption law. Already an attorney, she was refining her work to serve now hundreds of parents, both adoptive and birth, in life changing decisions. She took note some years later that one thing she knew about me, I'd always have on the same pendant nechlace, a gift from Drake and Kelley for my birthday, when we first moved here. Lisa Leonard's 'tree of life' with our little family's names circled about the tree. It's a raw and a simply stamped metal pendant. Sacred. I've only added and swapped it out a few times for a more polished version Mom gave me, and the addition:  a small ring from Kelly Bell with a friendship message engraved inside. But I always return to the original pendant. I tend to stick to less painful engravings and stampings to share experience or passion. Take for instance bumperstickers- I blamed the kids for them for a while, but now it's me. I'm the one picking them out and putting them on the van. But I think all these things serve as reminders and markers that declare something about us we wish not to forget. But also, we wish for others to know. A declaration of sorts. But some markers we would change, some mantras we'd rather swap for a newly discovered truth, when the image we bear no longer suits our soul. If  I recall correctly, Juli told me that exact thing, that she wished she didn't have the tatoos, not that she's against tatoos, but because they were a part of a life she no longer lived. They were a reminder of a past she'd given up, a life she'd left behind.
I heard a favorite line about parenting in the movie, 'Eat, Pray, Love'. The character played by Julia Roberts is unhappily married with no kids, struggling in her life-plan, who shares her angst with her friend played by Viola Davis, who has just had a baby. Viola turns to Julia, in character of course, with swagger and gust, holding and consoling her babe, and replies adroitly, "Having a child is like getting a tatoo on your face. You have to be committed.' The Jonas Brothers have a current pop-hit that includes the line, 'You're the tatoo on my brain.' And I think of my children, and that tatoo on my brain and how some thoughts are hidden in our hearts, like Jesus' mother, Mary. Some thoughts we wish we didn't have to hold. But we do. When our children look at us, they expect us to hold every memory, like it was yesterday, just as they remember it. We are the marker-keepers, the arm that wears the tatoo, the van with the stickers, the bearers of the good choices and the bad.
Eric and I would agree that both boys will remember this as a good summer. And that is what I can hope. I hope they remember predictability, consistent joy, safety. I pray they remember their mother and father laughing, praying, keeping a rhythm that is steady, prepared, and ready with space on that same van for the next bumper sticker -- and flexibility and patience for even -- the unexpected tatoo.

March 2019 ~ Mercy At the Speed of Hiking

I believe the sun rising signals the start of the day. 

I believe the seasons are a blessing. 

I believe our bodies are made for the speed of walking
 and our souls for running, 

towards God's goodness and away from evil. 

I believe in God's divine plans for me and all creation. 

So I'll savor the sunrise and give thanks. 

When life begins to move too fast, I'm thankful for the new habit of walking. This morning I walked our local park whose trees you can just see on the left. It's more open and I can choose how far and which direction to gather the best view. Today I chose to walk in the sunshine, as it's still cold. It is my current chosen physical 'labor' I think Edie calls it, as we don't have the same amount of physical movement in our sedentary lives as our ancestors. 

Our hike this weekend was breathtaking. We visited Tallulah Gorge, about an hour and a half away from home. I went specifically to cross the suspension bridge, to revisit a place that causes great fear. We can do hard things. It's needful to push into things that challenge us, and this time it wasn't the height but the number of ascending and descending steps. My calves haven't had that kind of workout in a while. The best was this picture. All four of us collected of free will in one photo for posterity. 

We did it. #ihike2019 8/52, in the books. 

Laura, Jack 15, Eric, Henry 12 

Tallulah Gorge 2019

'Oh, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good!

His mercy endures for ever.

...

I called on the Lord in distress;

The Lord answered me and set me in a broad place.

the Lord is on my side; I will not fear. 

What can man do to me?' 

from ~   Psalm 118

November 2018 ~ #Project50 and Being a Boy Mom

On Monday the week of Thanksgiving, we planned to go to Six Flags theme park. Boys were encouraged to find a friend, preferably one that has a reputation of getting along with their sibling. The turn-out could not have been better. It's not an easy gig to plan. I don't pretend to be the master-mind or great-appreciator of Six Flags-that would be my husband, Festivus. But I have embraced the chaos of boys and all  most things my husband plans for us. But this was on me. Festivus was still at the UGA salt-mine, so if it was to be, it was up to me. Load 'em up, move 'em out.
While on the ride, my older 'tech enabled' son quietly announces a shooting has occurred in Chicago, at 'a hospital.' So as not to bombard him in un-cool mom fashion, I think quickly to ascertain which hospital. 'The big one,' he replies and returns inward like a preying mantis after it gobbles its food, but the reverse, to 'the source.' My first thoughts go to what at one time was a reflex response- crime-ridden Chicago, a city I will likely never visit, as I never made it to the Oprah show, nor do relatives live close by. I'll never see the 'Bean' up close. But for a time, about 25 years ago, I tuned in every week, to the 'Windy-City' like numerous other Americans. I watched faithfully, 'ER,' and became like everyone else, either a fan of George Clooney, or the actress Ms.Marguellis, known to me and my kids now as 'The Good Wife.' I watched as single people, like myself at the time, navigated the waters of internships and relationships. I cried when characters fell in love with co-workers, mothers and fathers came to live with their adult children and declined with disease. When the doors flew open with an emergency, I was peaked and waiting to know what would happen. And then I waited until the next week, all the week working with kids-in-care, going to church, and Friday-night-dinnering with friends my age and in my same situation. I had no cell phone, I barely watched the news. I had a camera and took photo film to Eckerd's for their amazing printing booth. I envied the people printing Christmas card family pictures. 
But I had George Clooney. (wink)
All those thoughts happened in about 30 seconds when I was brought back to how this newest information impacted our car ride. Snap-chats didn't stop, dirt-bike videos didn't quit, the tunes from the 'Fish' didn't cease. There was no pause.
I rode the Cyclone yesterday. The ride that replaced the old wooden roller coaster. Being afraid(horrified) of heights, this is no small thing. I have crawled and clung to the ropes of Talullah Gorge, trying to avoid permanent residency on that bridge when I underestimated the impact of the height and succumbed to child-pressure (not peer pressure) to cross. But I digress. I. Can't. Even. The speed, the turns, the drops. G's. That's all I could think. I felt like I'd been in a space ship simulation for a trip to Mars. While I had gained a little street-cred with my gang of ear-budded urban hoodlums, I felt the need to go back and retrieve my face from where it may have landed in Alabama after it flew from my body by sheer wind force. I had just enough time to gather my remaining wits and gumption before I headed to the next contraption of out-of-body experience. I recognized 'The Mind-Bender.' Yes, I could do this. It's reminiscent of 'The Beast,' my childhood-first roller-coaster. At the time, it was the highest and fastest on record and located just at my backdoor in Mason, Ohio. I had a seasons pass. Mom would drop. us. off. (who does this anymore?-- well, now I would, but only with 'the bigs' not 'the littles.') Anyway, just enough time to catch my breath, I ride, I survive, and I disembark. Remember, I am often now mistaken for my children's grandmother, gray hair and all. My present riding partners (the littles) stay seated as the park is low on revelers at this early point in the holiday season. They ask to ride again, the drivers say 'yes!' They go. I almost collapse, almost drop my phone, almost drop the drinks I'm holding. I am thinking it's time to go home.  It's time for a pause.  They go, I pause. But experience to which I've paid greater attention as of late has taught me, this day has only begun. And I'm in. All in. #project50 and all that. But without a word or conscious acknowledgement, they see me pause. (just like everything else they see me do-- or not do.) 
While I can. not. Can. Not. connect entirely with my kids, I *must* stay connected. While we are generations apart, and even more so by the lateness of our entry into parenthood, I must make the effort to tether where I can and bind where I am able our fleeting moments of connectedness. Their mental health depends upon it. I don't say that lightly. Locals know the proximity, but dear friends, I know you all have experienced loss of *that* unspoken nightmare. I believe more than ever, or at least in the history of our young country, there is a sense of being overwhelmed and over-stimulated that gravely impacts our hearts, especially the young. And while there are some, myself included for so long, say just withhold enabling the young, this is harder to do than one might think. We do not live in isolation; it's everywhere, and even the young ear-budded urban hoodlums crave companionship. One just cannot stand against a rail in broad day-light scrolling one's phone--all *alone*. Nor can one experience the heights and free-fall of  'Goliath' with out a ride from mom in the min-van. My lesson I take from this day is not that we should avoid Six Flags (although I hear a chorus of angels above my head when I consider that thought)-- it is that we should be there when they need $4 more for a healthy water, when they've made a poor choice before riding, neglecting a pause in the sugar fest. Because if they are like mine, and Pandora's Box is already open, they are going to make poor choices. I'm going with being present. I'm going with the 'strengthening the tethers' plan, with love and honesty. When the questions about a more important 'Goliath' come up, I'll be there with a proverbial sling and a (silent)song (in my heart) about 'only a little boy David.' Their lions are real. And Bathsheba is everywhere. Perhaps a pause will surface, and they'll be looking past Reddit, to me. 
God help me be ready and not posting my FB status. 

Life Meds #47 August 2015

Birthdays in August- we celebrated both boys, Jack 12, and Henry 9. Nana made a Mandarin orange cake for candles. All the adults had 2 slices. 

We started academics at home this week. Ancient History Writing IEW is amazing. Any edition is great. We have already tackled ziggurats in style.

Dory shared her garden of volunteer tomatoes and peppers. I canned and have shared. But still have plenty if Jalepenos. Yum.

So hard to believe we're in the last year before teens. And Henry. This boy.

Football. Oh my. 9U. Love this boy.

Every Saturday till November.

Counting my blessings. So thankful for life, opportunity. 

Life Meds. Don't stop counting. One Thousand Gifts.

Homeschooling the Dyslexic Child - For Our Family

I recently came back to blog. Our homeschooling journey has not been reflected here. It's just been too personal. Too difficult. But for those of you, like me, who venture back to old (cyber)friends, I wanted to catch you up. 
It's been a educational 'Groundhog's Day' around here. 

And that's what it feels like sometimes. 

When you really don't understand, so you throw caution to the wind. You. Just. Let. Go. 

But eventually, you find yourself really seeking relationship with your child, the way they are made- the way they see things. Adding Sally Shaywitz book, Overcoming Dyslexia & The Out of Sync Child to my reading list is a big step. It says 'it's real.' And 'it's not going anywhere.' They've been on my shelf, bedside, and book bag for years now, but saying it on the blog is full circle. 

This may not seem like a big deal to some. It has been a real challenge for us. Our household has had some real come-to-Jesus moments. The kind that the baby-books just don't go into. And the kind that The Well-Trained Mind or The Lost Tools of Learning doesn't cover. It's been more of a 'Mr. Holland's Opus' kind of a ride. Admitting and tossing what you thought was ideal to the side, and embrace the child as they are. 

When you are thinking they are hearing you.

 Other children do....?

The literal struggles over what seems mundane.

No one can accuse you of not being willing to put on the monkey suit to make things happen. 

But sometimes the results don't become clear until after the composition has gone to print.

Dreams turn into struggle, success not happening where you have prayed for it to be seen, wishing it was for your own child. And then perhaps at last, seeing that smile that makes you know, they are going in the way - they should go.- In the way they were created and designed by a benevolent, loving Creator. 

Lifemeds #44 March 2015

There is a delightful moment in 'The Family Man' where Nicholas Cage has taken Tia Leoni to a penthouse apartment that is only one of the minor perks he's been offered if he takes the job he 'really has' in his real life. He's trying to describe the amazing life they can have and all the amazing things that will happen and come if they just step up to the changes, alterations, enhancements. It will be so much better than their existing life. 
 I recommend watching with the hubs. After the kids go to bed. (maybe you can catch the edited version, disclaimer: some parts are inappropriate.)
 For us, when things get out of control and we need a reset on our perspective as marrieds or parents-- we say what Tia says to Nicholas -- we are that family, we are have what folks are striving for. Oh please, you know I'm not saying perfection, or the modern interpretation of success. We are blessed. We have longevity, a collective history, safety, warmth. HOME. We have stayed the storm of 17 years, with all the details that go with those years. And we still like being together. But it's those stress filled days of 'no answers' and 'no compromise' that seem to make us wonder - what were we thinking??
What fool commits to a life of ... - this?
Parenting, marriage, living, = challenge.
(Perhaps this explains my affinity for end of the world movies- theme-- survival. Like The Day After Tomorrow. Yes, you'll catch me watching this during our personal catastrophic moments)
 But our goal is not just survival- right? It is to thrive, live, honor God by honoring one another.
The week is here. It's Monday already. Lord, accept my thanks for all that you have blessed me with. 
My cup runneth over. 

 The Serenity Prayer seems appropriate-- 

Lord, help me to accept the things I can't change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. 

Give me, oh Lord in your infinite wisdom, perspective and gratitude for the smallest wonder in my life. Love for those in my immediate circle of life. May you be honored in all things, in every way, by my actions and that which is in my power to influence. May the whispers of my heart's voice be only love and self-sacrifice. 

If you wish to read and fellowship with others in life-changing thanksgiving and gratitude, consider visiting Ann Voskamp at A Holy Experience. 

An example of her beautiful expression can be found in this post. 

If you are looking for a Lenten Series,

 visit Edie at  Life In Grace and sign up for her e-mails. I highly recommend.  I'll be heading there shortly, even though I do not strictly keep Lent.

 Go there, sign up, you won't be disappointed.

 And you'll be welcomed, even if you don't know what the ashes are for.