Counting Gifts

"This is just a season.  It will not last forever."

Those were the words my sister-in-law said in my face last night, and I needed to hear them.  This week, more than any other, has felt like a week of transition with dominoes falling into place of people and churches being so generous with their time and money to partner with us.  And the house showings.  Don't forget the house showings.  It has been our busiest week yet with those, and we are grateful.  Today a realtor showing my house commented that it was super clean and well-maintained.  It's kind of ridiculous how validated that made me feel, but you know, for all you women that do the work no one sees.  This afternoon I was able to rest, and the blinds were all open, and light streamed in, and I exhaled and enjoyed the cleanliness, but I wouldn't want it to stay this way.  It's too much work.

 
The kids and I were out for 3 hours on Monday running errands and buying pumpkins.  "Mom, you're going to buy ANOTHER ONE?"  We have two more on the back porch.  I don't regret it; my porches have never been more inviting.  
Cooler temperatures came right on time with the advent of Autumn, and boy, has it felt nice.  We've spent lots of time at parks letting the kids run free in the past week.  It's just so nice when it no longer feels miserable outside, am I right?

They've had some intense hide-and-seek games.

A few years ago now I read Ann Voskamp's, One Thousand Gifts, and the concept of seeing all of life as a gift really took hold of my heart.  It's still hard to "Give thanks in all circumstances" when the circumstances are hard or not the way I want them to be, but if every little thing comes to me from a loving heavenly Father, who is working all things together for my good, then every little thing really is a grace and a gift.

I've been keeping my own list this year, hoping to make it to 1000 by the end.  It's been such a good practice throughout each day, trying not to take things for granted but feeling really and truly grateful for so many things:

  1.  brewing coffee on a cold morning
  8. fresh starts
 35.  Dad and Josh in Guatemala together
 71.  watching Sherlock with Parker and KJ last night
 83.  the kids each eating one bite of broccoli :)
133.  James' sticking-up hair in the morning 

The list kind of serves as a diary of sorts of the past year.

185.  looking forward to Skyping with Del
270.  being able to see Papa
340. reminders the Lord cares for me
365.  Amazon Prime
425.  talking to Mom
483.  the very thought of iced coffee
503.  I get to move to England!  It's really coming true!
534.  not running out of gas
585.  an e-mail from Kristen Sosebee

I'm at 773, and I'm going to keep counting graces, because this really is just a season, and I don't want to miss it.

Cleaning Out My Closet

I learned a new word several months ago:  ephemera.  I think I read it in connection with scrapbooking.  Ephemera is defined as things that are only useful for a short time, mainly paper items that were only meant for one use but then become collectibles.  Think ticket stubs, wedding programs, and that fortune you saved out of your cookie at the Chinese restaurant.

I spent some time going through my boxes of ephemera in my closet last week.  There were wedding programs, birthday cards, letters from my little brothers, and lots of cards from my mom from my college days.  

There were letters of encouragement from sweet sisters in Christ, and an e-mail I printed out from KJ the summer he was in China with a list of 70 things that we could do together when he came home.  Apparently when you're young and in love, "getting lost" is something you plan to do.

I threw away some things but kept a lot.  There will probably be more things I need to throw away, but I like ephemera.  Sure, it's been 6 years since I last took it out to look at it, but it reminded me of all the many seasons of my life that are in the past, people and places and ways of life that are gone now.  For instance, I found a stack of papers, engagement stories from couples from our church in Kentucky from a Valentine's dinner we had.  That was a precious season for us.

Sweet friend, Breck, in our old Kentucky Home

And those past seasons used to be future ones.  They are reminders to me of God's faithfulness, of how wonderful it is to be a part of His Body, the Church, because there are friends and family wherever you go.

Be still my soul; thy God doth undertake

To guide the future as He has the past.

Thy hope, thy confidence, let nothing shake;

All now mysterious shall be bright at last.

Be still, my soul; the waves and winds still know

His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.

- Katharina A. von Schlegel -

The Bend in the Road

I've had a long love-affair with words, and I've always loved having a space to write things down.  I can clearly see my first little space, white with a rainbow across it, a small lock and key, and in large type across the front: D I A R Y.  I can remember sitting very seriously at my desk to write in it.

I've loved having this space to write in and to record the past 4 years of our little lives.  A couple of years ago a few people asked me if I'd share my posts on Facebook so they'd be sure to see them, which I was happy to do, but it periodically causes me great anxiety because..."The introverted are the people who live in the constant tension between the desire to communicate...and the desire to hide."  Oh, wow.  Ann Voskamp wrote that in a blog post a few weeks ago, and I said, "Yes!  That is me!"  I love writing down our family's stories, and I love reading other people's stories.  I love to communicate, but I also don't like drawing attention to myself.  My inner introvert wants to preface every Facebook share with, "Please don't feel obligated to read this." 

I enjoy writing in the morning before the kids are awake, but this morning I felt nervous because it felt like a day to let lots of cats out of bags since KJ posted this on Facebook yesterday.

 

Post by K.J. Pugh.

I always feel nervous about sharing big announcements, especially with my family.  Talking about moving to England out loud felt like when I called my mom to tell her KJ had proposed (even though she knew that was coming); it feels like announcing to my brothers stunned faces that I was pregnant for the first time.  In other words, it's pretty big news.  It's life-changing.  It means a lot to me.

I'm really thankful for KJ's succinct announcements with the pertinent information because I would probably want to tell the story from the beginning before ever getting around to an announcement.  And by beginning I mean the story my Gramma told me once of when I was born, and they found out I was a girl and said, "We've got our missionary," as opposed to another preacher.  It is definitely encouraging when the big changes come to look back over your life and see God's providential organizing of it all.  I read again last week, "He made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined their appointed times and the boundaries of their habitation, that they would seek God..." (Acts 17:26-27a)

I'm really excited about my new boundaries for the next year, and if God wills, even more.

There will be lots of stories along the way.  

Though of course, you're not obligated to read them.  ;)

Thoughts and Memories

The past five days have been very full ones for our little family.  They have been filled with activity and filled with every sort of emotion.  In the hustle and bustle of all our Easter preparations we learned that my Papa had finished his fight with cancer and was now in the presence of Jesus.  What we believe about Jesus' death and resurrection changes everything anytime of the year, but it felt especially hopeful having it as the backdrop of losing someone I love.  And the natural bitter-sweetness of Easter weekend--the horrible sin of murdering the sinless Son of God, the suffering, the very real pain and death, followed by victory and joy inexpressible, and a perfect, strong resurrection body of Jesus who will never die again--was felt in our own personal experience.  

The bitter is the loss felt by my family, felt by my grandmother especially who loses her husband of nearly 60 years.  The bitter is the pain of cancer felt by my grandfather.  The bitter is the burying him in the ground.

But hope offers the sweetness.  There is hope in Jesus that this really isn't the end of the story for my Papa but only a new beginning.  The hope is that my Papa isn't really lost but is with Jesus and will one day be reunited with his body, a body made strong and perfect.  

Yesterday as we drove to the cemetery KJ told the kids that a cemetery is like a garden, because we plant in hope.  In the language of Paul, "...It is sown a perishable body, it is raised an imperishable body; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power...".

Three cheers for my dad again for giving us the gift of scanning all of these pre-digital pictures.  It's the best gift to have these to enjoy.

Riding the lawnmower with Papa while he cut the grass was a much-coveted activity.  We only had a simple pushmower growing up, so this was the height of excitement.  I'm the in the background in the screen door looking on with envy, I'm sure.

Papa loved deep sea fishing and enjoying all the fresh seafood the Gulf Coast has to offer.  Our Christmas dinners always veered away from the traditional turkey and ham to shrimp, fish, and oysters (though I never tried an oyster).

I was really blessed to be able to go to college in the same city my grandparents lived in.  I'm going to have to spend my own time at the computer scanning photographs of times spent there.  Gramma and Papa were always so welcoming to all my friends.  Papa would cook my favorite shrimp and rice, and we would sit around their table and laugh...and laugh and laugh again because we were 20 years old, and everything was funny.

Papa loved to ride his bike, and we went on several rides together.  Look who even joined us on a ride during our first anniversary trip to the coast.

When we lived in Louisville, we were a good half-way point for Gramma and Papa on their way to Michigan every fall.  I'm glad they got to stop and spend time with baby Ella.

Last Easter weekend we were able to spend the day with Gramma and Papa at my parents' house.  Even that day, I recognized how beautiful and perfect it was.  It was a beautiful and ordinary day, and we were together.

A Tuesday Walk and Random Thoughts

Last Tuesday I loaded the kids up so we could take care of some business at the library.  There's always so much drama involved with outings.  You have to decide what everyone is going to wear, listen to complaints about the clothes you picked out and make suitable adjustments, try to make sure you remember everything you need to pack before leaving the house while your thought processes are interrupted every 30 seconds to mediate in an argument about who gets to close the garage door this time.  And I have awesome, pleasant, obedient-most-of-the-time kids; they're just being kids.  And managing kids just being kids is so much work that just the thought of interrupting the normal course of our day with an outing started raising my stress levels.  But you push on anyway because you hope it will be worth it in the end, and you want to give them a happy childhood full of fun memories.

Sometimes all of the effort doesn't feel worth it, but most of the time, it does.

I mean, sometimes your mom wants to take a picture of your sister, too, and life becomes unbearable, but it passes.

As we were loading books in the car I noticed a tree with bright gold leaves, my favorite, so we trooped across the parking lot and then across the street enjoying the blustery day.  It was much colder than we expected, but running and tramping through leaves did us all a world of good.

We had some impromptu races.

Sometimes my mind feels so overwhelmed with all of the things I'd like to do, all the things I feel I ought to do, and I have a hard time coming to the conclusion that I really can't do it all.  I want to do it all, and I want to do it all well. 

It helps to take a deep breath (or several) and walk as fast as you can into the wind, to stop and freeze in time childish delight.

And go to Stonehenge.  Because when given the choice you should always go to Stonehenge.

"It is simply no good trying to keep any thrill;

that is the very worst thing you can do.

Let the thrill go--let it die away--go on through

that period of death into the quieter interest 

and happiness that follow--and you will find

you are living in a world of new thrills all the time."

- C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity -