One sibling photo a week throughout the year. 9/52
I wrote the following piece on an old, lesser known blog of mine from a few years back, in October 2012. Thought I’d share it today in this space with a few small adjustments. As we begin another week that will surely be full of its own challenges, I pray a blessing over you, that you would discover again (or for the first time) how desperately and completely God loves you.
So incredible, the heart and mind of a child. I have four (now five), so I’ve had a closer look than most at the depth and complexity of each little person and the many things they ponder. I love when their eyes narrow and one cheek crinkles up to meet the furrowed brow when they ask their many questions. It’s a wonder to see curiosity abound with no limits; little sponges, but not the kitchen sink variety. They are the kind that has legs and seeks out adventure, seeks understanding, pays very close attention. Selectively. You know I had to throw that in.
It’s easy to get irritated by them. I mean, I forgot a long time ago what it’s like to see things for what the physical eye will notice, to consider things for what something looks like in honest light without jaded lenses between. I struggle to see what is really there instead of what I want to see, or not see, or what I feel in light of my emotional wounds and developed biases. I have also forgotten how to imagine and innovate with just what is in front of me, however simple it may be. I have forgotten that what it’s like to know just enough to propel the adventure forward and be content with that. My children know a whole lot more about contentedness than I do, even though I’ve been working on that for a good many years. What’s up with that?
They teach me so much about what it looks like to live by faith. They look to the only place they know to go for comfort, for sustenance, guidance, direction, understanding, and love. They look to their parents. Why am I slow to learn when I know exactly where to find those things? I think the Lord gave me four (five) children because I’m at least four times more dense than the average person regarding how to find the peace and comfort my soul seeks. If I could see myself like a child with a parent that offers me comfort, sustenance, guidance, direction, and understanding, my days would be a whole lot lighter. Some days I remember that God loves me and promises to journey with me through every hard thing, but a lot of days I spend fretting, forgetting what He says to me, and giving power away to the enemy who seeks to destroy, or at least, paralyze me from living in forward motion, from walking in faith. If he can keep me from moving forward, responding to God and doing ‘yes’ and ‘faithfulness’ even in the face of my great fears, he can keep me from so much of what God has for me. So here is to learning how to be like a little child, over and over again every day.
Beaming faces pile on top of me and shower kisses and gifts of scribbled treasure, fully trusting that I will feed them, clothe them, and love them without reservation. They are confident that I will care for them when they are sick and cuddle them when they are low. Does not our great Father promise to do all the same and immeasurably more when we go to Him?
Update on goals for week 9:
1) Run/walk at least 10 miles per week. Week 9 ~ 12.5 Run/Walk miles traveled, 95.5 cumulative in 2015
2) Write 10,000 words weekly. Week 9 ~ estimated 5,000 words completed, 33,000 cumulative in 2015
“Come, house of Jacob, and let us walk in the light of the Lord.” Isaiah 2:5
636. park time with the fam, 637. huggabear hugs and baby’s first steps, 638. improvement on writing goal, 639. blissful sunday nap (with cuddles), 640. our awesome homeschool cooperative, 641. building rockets, 642. the one who tells me I’m the best mama in her life, 643. husband cleaning the kitchen (bonus points), 644. peace over big decisions, 645. sweet visit to a new church, 646. the mysterious love of God, 647. retracing a journey and the milestones in it, 648. new mercies daily, 649. sunrise walks, 650. the good and necessary pain of being humbled again and again