Pressing.

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As Jesus went, the people pressed around Him.  And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years, and though she had spent all her living on physicians, she could not be healed by anyone. She came up behind Him and touched the fringe of His garment and immediately her discharge of blood ceased… Jesus said, “Someone has touched Me…” And when the woman saw that she was not hidden, she came trembling, and falling down before Him declared in the presence of all the people why she had touched Him, and how she had been immediately healed. And He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.”  ::: Luke 8

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and:

on a morning barely light, while I stumbled over my slippers and my broken way, and gave my love a kiss and a thermos on the way out the door and I settled in to listen to the message in the quiet with my coffee and my bible and the my day-plan already spinning tired in my head:

The pastor, he spoke these words of God’s truth straight to my thought-whirling-weary heart and said something like this:

We have to “press our way through”.

We have to be “desperate enough to say I want to touch the hem of His garment”.

And I heard it.

And I replayed it.

And I inhaled it deep.

And I listened again.

And the tears welled.

That was it.

That thought.

The one that has been settling slow over three days past, that I hadn’t put into spoken word.

Like her.

That’s what I want for.

That’s what I hope for.

To be so singular in focus.

Like her.

To be like her:

To be faith-pouring- out like her.

To be proud- dumped- empty like her.

To be Him- only- truth- seeking like her.

To be on-my-knees-humbled-in-awe like her.

And her?

The way she hemorrhaged sin and blood twelve years.

How she lived lonely- lost on the fringe:

of life.

of community.

of hope.

and then was desperate.

desperate enough.

enough.

she had:::

enough.

And He knew she would come:

to bore a one-way-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel through the mobbed and dusted street to reach- touch the fringe

:::just the edge

of who He was.

Who He is.

She knew:::

it would be:::

::: enough.

To save her.

To heal her…

her once- forever- bleeding heart:::

that plagued her and followed her and chased her and shattered her and forced her to live less than who she was created to be.

And she knew.

He could make her whole.

She knew.

Just the hem…

Could hem her close to Him.

Comforted, close and kept.

So she reached.

and in her trembling before the King,

::: she found what He had called her to.

Hope.Joy.

Healing.

And, in just a while,

He would bleed for her.

Instead.

To heal:::

the hard- heaving : bound- up : fallen- down world

And, in forever- gifted grace, and abounding, love- filled mercy- words, He would say to us, like He said to her:

“Your faith has made you well; go in peace.”  ::: Luke 8

Press on.

Through the crowd.

Press on.

He loves you.

Reach for Him.

Be desperate for Him.

Taking her by the hand he said to her… “Little girl, I say to you, arise.”  ::: Mark 5

all the sweet; all the salt

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I am The Lord who sanctifies you. :::Leviticus 20

I’ve been making lots of muffins lately.

Walnut ones

Banana ones (awesome)

Apple ones

Chocolate chip ones (not so awesome)

Oatmeal ones

Chocolate oatmeal banana walnut ones

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Some have been quite tasty and some… well… I thought if I piled enough icing or butter on them, they might be… ok…

But, really, it’s about this:

I have been making more muffins because I love him and he. loves. muffins.

:::::::::::::: makes sense.

BUT:::

I have to work at this muffin-making-baking- homemaking thing.

And I continue to.

I do.

:::: And I know it’s a gift. I do. And I love it.

I do.

That’s not me trying to convince myself. It’s me saying what I know is true. And I am savoring it::::

savoring…

:::: all the sweet; all the salt…  

But this:

I am not a muffin-maker by nature.

I’m not.

I’m a let’s-stay-outside-as-long-as-we-can-today-and-throw-chili-in-the-crockpot-so-we-can-have-it-when-I-get-out-of-the-treestand- kinda- girl. I’m a I’ll- always- need- want- a- job- outside- of- the- home- and- if- things- get- too- busy- we’ll- order- pizza- and- get- some- rest- on- the- weekend- kinda- girl.

:::: I thought.

There’s never been aprons and three kinds of spatulas to choose from while I make Rice Krispy Treats with one hand and pour perfectly-timed coffee with the other hand– mulling over how the all-natural chicken is on sale this week and wow, wouldn’t he like it if I met him at the door with a kiss? since I already ran all of my errands and I will be home before him?… while I wait for the kids finish their schoolwork… and feel a certain joy I never felt before?

There’s never been too much of that kind of thing.

’til:

now.

… and now I find myself in the blessed wait for him to come home so I can serve him dinner with a touch of prayed-for leisure and make sure that he can rest a bit and hang out with the kids so he sleeps well before he walks out the door again…

so we can savor:::

one more day:::

of this moment.

:::: And, I pray, remember to be grateful for it.

(And, by the way, I did make my first Rice Krispy Treats last week, you know.

And let me tell ya. They were nothin’  like Aunt Ella’s.

They stuck to my hand more than they stuck to the marshmallow. (?) And my 9×13 pan of treats were more like an 8×8 pan of treats in the 9×13 pan by the time I was done… who messes up Rice Krispy Treats? This girl…) !

But that’s the stuff I work through now… and it sounds silly? but::: it sanctifies me.

For me, this kind of working pushes me and stretches me and encourages me to be less selfish and more giving in ways I haven’t given in to before.

It demands more of who He is and what I am not.

And I have to work through and press through and I have to give up and walk in obedience and let Him work through me:

The Lord knew I needed home-making and love-making and muffin-making and smile-making and making time ::: s l o w ::: down.

… let him seek peace and pursue it. ::: 1 Peter 3

And so now, I make lots of muffins.

And I settle in to this kitchen…

And I pack his lunch…

And the kids eat a breakfast I think about…

And I like it. A lot.

And it happens, this serving and loving and learning and crying and smiling and burning up and burning out and falling tired on my pillow::::

manifests the joy I am finding:

1. In a muffin.

2. That he finds in his lunch box.

3. That makes his day. (!?!?!?)

I am amazed and filled and humbled and thankful.

{… Like the day his lunch buddies were all jealous of his banana muffins… And when he told me all about it, like it was his best story of the day, and there was a twinkle in his eye.}

Really?

Lord, I am loving my husband more deeply because I am making more muffins?

So tonight, I made him carrot muffins.

With a few less raisins, because he’s not so fond.

But with a few more carrots, because carrot cake is his favorite, so I thought he’d like that.

And while I was making them, the kids were running around crazy, pork chops were in the oven, visitors just left, we just finished school and we didn’t get everything done, the dog wanted to be fed and let out, the woodstove needed to be filled, and I was frazzled and I watched the dirt cover the floor I just swept…

but I was making muffins… and I knew that would make him happy.

So that was that. I was happy seeing him be happy. And so he helped me with the pork chops, so I could finish the muffins.

And now, I’m learning.

I’m learning that deep down, in that no -muffin -making deepest part of myself….

I LOVE making muffins.

I never knew it, really, but I have always loved homemaking muffins.

Nothing compares to this.

Nothing can take this place.

This present place where this apron-wearing-new-muffin-recipe-searching-realizing-that-after-10-years-her-oven-at-350-is-really-like-325 girl meets the take-me-bear-hunting- chili-will-be-in-the-crockpot-when-we-get-home girl…

and those two girls can coexist in the same kitchen (!!!!)

And by His grace alone…

pursue the Lord in all these things He’s teaching more about:::::

to

love my husband well

serve my family with more intention

begin to become this woman I had no idea I yearned to be…

… and then, when I’ve washed up my last muffin tin,

I throw down the towel,

:::::::::

and we head out to the Woods.

And for when we get back?

Well…

We all think chili in the crockpot sounds good.

Teach me to do Your will, for You are my God!  ::: Psalm 143

The Joy Fight

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I boxed my flesh for joy in the morning.

The morning I woke upside down and floundering on the wrong side of the disheveled bed.

I woke up feeling alone and forgotten. Actually the first thing I said to myself. I’m alone.

Wallow-like in a pity- pride- pit of self and me- loathing and this human skin aching full of sloth.

It had been coming closer like that. Sliding in tiptoe- slow and cantankerous and wrinkled with empty.

I had seen it coming. I told him and I told Him and I said help me hold it off, yet I laid right down in the mud of it ’til it slip-covered me comfortable, smooth and cool.

Deep, my soul knew I am never alone and my Jesus bears witness to just that.

:::: glory.     

                         

                                                                                  The Lord will fight for you… :::Exodus 14

 

But my head? My heart? My wincing flesh? Alone.

So I wanted Him, needed Him, implored Him to step in the ring with me.

Really, He said, Enough’s enough of this, five minutes awake and three weeks of this, we are done.

I didn’t make you for this, He reminded.

 

…and you shall be called by a new name that the mouth of The Lord shall give. You shall be a crown of beauty in the  hand of The Lord… :::Isaiah 62

 

He pep-talked me in His Word.

 

{Oh, read Psalm 31! Aloud!}

 

So He helped me lace up my gloves.

Man, did they feel heavy.

Or did I just feel weak?

 

                                                       … for the joy of the Lord is your strength   :::Nehemiah 8

 

The fight for joy.

Some days it just is.

And I cannot do it alone.

Alone.

I am never.

And when there is a knockout and the countdown’s on, He brings us to our feet.

When we hit the ropes, He bounces us back.

When faces stream with sweat and blood and fear grips and we dodge jabbing fists of doubt…

It’s His blood that covers us.

When we are punch-weary and worn-down beat-down and scratch-throat thirsty before we go another round…

He is our living water.

Because the canvas is His.

And He has won the fight.

Our joy.

Our joy is in Him.

Fight the good fight… :::1Timothy 6

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Of dirt roads and feeling full

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He and I, we tend to make best memories down dirt roads.

No surprise to the people who know us and love us and have seen us then and see us now and have walked with us in times between.  The ones who have been with us this long-lovely-hard-wonderful-up and down-growing up living- it- out time.

They know our heart for the woods, the way we burst-joy over catching the first Spring-fresh trout of the season, how we start pacing the floor when the air itches cool and November deer are moving, how nothing feels so good to us as a sweet summer August night under a moonlit sky when I can hold his hand and laugh too loud.

I love to throw my bare feet up on the dash; to the expected roll of his eyes and roll down all the windows despite the dust.

I love a perfect date night riding the roads to nowhere of vintage George Strait mixed with a little Marshall Tucker Band and two fishing poles right before dusk when blackflies and peace are equally fierce.

I love how sometimes a road impassable the year before opens up and beckons new adventures…

and how sometimes the paths I have bumped over a million times thicken dense and close up tight, so I have no choice but to try some other road worn-traveled to others, but raw and untouched to me.

I love how life leads across a map of trails like these.

Sometimes I think I kind of know where they are going to end. The roads.

And sometimes I don’t know they are even going to. End.

But when I’m with him, it’s ok like that.

:::: When I’m with Him, it’s ok like that.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go…”  +Mark 9

And the roads……..

Some end at my favorite lake surrounded by sunset and some of my favorite people with laughter hanging on star-strings on a summer evening.

Some end with a meandering after a smooth tar beginning til they turn to spinning gravel and then to grass and then bounce and jostle slow til the path fades away into the silent woods like it never existed at all.

There’s those that just. End. Abrupt.

Some lead to some unexpected blessing, a road to things beautiful and enchanting, that I had never seen anything so feasting before, ending by a stream spilling refreshment and bubbles under the coolest shade of hemlocks with yellow shafts of sunlight shining and you know that somewhere, just somewhere there must be a fairy sitting on a pink lady slipper dripping with dew.

Some end up somewhere unexpected and jolting and I am not even sure how we arrived there.

But, it all…

it all…

Fills me, somehow.

…and the hungry soul He fills with good things… +Psalm 107

All the roads that lead to fulfilling that one thing, that one thing…

His purpose for us.

As I have planned, so it shall be, and as I have purposed, so it shall stand… +Isaiah 14

And I am content with that. I must be. Because I must trust Him down all of these roads.

And The Lord gave me this pretty amazing husband. The one made just for me. The one who leads me and accompanies me and guides me and walks beside me down every pathway. The one who rides all the roads with me.

The one who turns up the music and plows through the dirt and doesn’t mind the mud and keeps us moving and hunts for happy and discovers new paths and brings me along and clears the way when the brambles stick and holds my hand while he drives.

And that, by His grace…

we can trust Him down every way we walk.

Because He,

He

is walking with us.

I pray we remember that.

“Stand by the roads, and look,
    and ask for the ancient paths,
where the good way is; and walk in it,
    and find rest for your souls…”

+Jeremiah 6

Music.

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Her eyes welled to brimming when she didn’t have music class today.

The day was warm, thawed out and heaving a lifting fog on an odd-weathered January morning. I tried to focus on pictures of glistening drips of sunlight caressing a branch that days before was burdened with heavy snow and heavier ice. And I couldn’t quite focus in. To really see its resilience in the sparkle of the sun bearing down on the winter-beat earth. The way the branch gladly bounced each time a shining drop teetered on the edge and broke free to the ground.

Instead I tried to drink it into my self.

The beauty of the second before the shadows moved just so slight and the brilliance shifted from the trees. The light. The warmth. The glow of the mist blanketing the rays. I turned around and walked back ginger-like and stiff-legged, afraid to slip and nervous I’d forget.

Kids in the car, grocery list, snacks made and woodstove fed full, we melted out of our driveway and off to school. She was excited. To see her friends, to sing and giggle, to learn notes that she sometimes can’t remember but belts out with confidence in her voice that her momma loves to hear. I dropped her off at the door and drove the circle to park and scooped her brother and had plans to meet her in the building because I spent too much time snapping morning-glory moments a while before. But she met me on the tar.

Head down and blue eyes blue.

“Oh, Momma, there’s no music today.”

And my heart said I know.

And we came home after errands and library and a lollipop and she settled in to her studies and I hung laundry and answered messages and thought about dinner and sat down up-ended and down-right hardened and tired and I listened, but I couldn’t hear it either.

And my eyes filled and my lashes fluttered wet and I finished dishes and got ready for the next thing, but I looked around for something to dance to.

Because I know it’s there.

I just can’t breathe it in right now.

I hear it when they laugh and it echoes smiling in this heart of mine. I see it when I pick up my camera and capture the way a petal falls folded on the stem. I read it when David unabashedly praises the One who made him. I feel it when a lovely momma I know spoke deep encouragement in my ear.

I know it’s there.

Somewhere.

The melodies that wrap me snug to Him and secure in faith and keep these two left feet waltzing.

But I can’t seem to touch it right now.

But I know it’s there.

And I will trust that. That it’s there.

While it’s quiet.

I will trust Him.

While it’s silent.

Today.Tomorrow.

I will wait.

For the music.

Be merciful to me O God,  for in You my soul takes refuge… I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfills His purpose for me… my heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast! I will sing and make melody… Awake O harp and lyre… I will sing praises to You for Your steadfast love is great to the heavens, Your faithfulness to the clouds… Psalm 57

all things new

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Ice came coating, preserving and fast and unrelenting to wintry new beginnings.

Sapping light and energy. 

Stuck in December over here in January.

Stiff and creaking slow into

now.

Not giving and not yielding.

This ice fell fierce and release seems asleep.

A static state of deep freeze on slumbering branches and unique flakes falling beautiful suspended:: glacier cinched.

When beneath, there is breathing::: still.

Life sap still rallying::: still glaze-covered but

still quietly percolating

heartwood warm

when new births seem daunting for favoring the age- old,

and the sparkle of the sun sweet- dripping sequins on fresh, spotless snowblankets traded for the tight- gripping familiar

appreciating the beauty of the storm,

and softening to a hope- flowing burgeoning spring.

Be joyful in hope…      ::: Romans 12:12

 

 

 

 

 

 

His nearness; my good.

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He was flying with open arms jetting around the island.

The kitchen island, zoom, zooming.

On little legs spinning fast and teasing his sister and chasing the dog tail and singing songs made up and laughing on full throttle.

‘Til

He fell.

Hard.

A pinky toe caught a glaring corner and the giggles turned to sobs unexpected.

I picked him up with Oh, baby, you are ok and wiped away the stubbing scratch.

Setting him down as fast as I had scooped him.

No! He wailed again. I’m not ready he wept.

Not ready? What do you mean, not ready?

I need you, Mama, hold me.

I looked at him puzzled for just a moment. He was fine. His toe was scraped, but my dragon-slaying, bulldozer-driving little one doesn’t let this stuff get him down.

Checking again, I examined his foot. Did something else happen? Did he stub so hard it’s broken?

No. All good.

Mama, hold me.

Ok, honey, I say, privileged, and forgetting the chores and remembering who I am for him.089

And so I cuddled and nestled and sang and prayed and pulled up close a cozy blanket and stroked his curls amiss and he found his peace and found my love on our limp and stammering day slipping by quickly.

{and I want to grab tight the space in time that this sunlight dances and stands still just this moment for us.}

He fluttered lashes at me from the crook of my arm and I marveled at how he has crept close to this heart of mine and how he finds refuge in my mothering and how life- things can trip us up and fell us and scrape hard and rough and how we stand up and brush off and move on and how sometimes we

Just.

Can’t pick up so fast.

And how we say:

Lord, I’m just weary today and I just stumble and falter and I need more of You.

Can I stay a bit longer? Can I snuggle in Your truth and move close to Your sheltering… just a bit more? Just a bit longer? Can I just stop quietly and take this breath forgiveness- full with You? Will You draw me close and keep me upright and love me in mercy and move me in peace and warm me in grace?

And He says My child, you’re mine, My beloved, My own and He bundles us warm quilt-familiar close and we have this refuge- real and this Father-forever and this love-tent covering and this hideaway- harboring and this shield- safekeeping… and He says

Always.

… and we can heal from our blundering and rest from our floundering and find Him, there, peace-filled protecting… where He always is…

waiting to gather us up again and again and again.

…He will care for His flock, gathering the lambs in His arms, hugging them as He carries them… leading… to good pasture… Isaiah 40 MSG

Listen up, Busy.

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Oh, Busy.

You clamor at me like golden gong winces in my ear.

Bang. Clang.

You chatter at me like squirrel stores away oak treasure.

Drop. Find.

You boast at me like new king proud in plush velvet robe.

Gone. Quick.

You pursue me like frothing lion clad in shadow.

Dark. Pounce.

You bait me like ganache dripping long with raspberries.

Bliss. Wink.

You serenade me like salt waves soft on moon soaked nights.

Sweet. Blur.

You overwhelm me like hurricane blows merciless.

Beat. Thrown.

Oh, but, Busy:

You are not so nectarous and alluring after all.

Oh, and this, too, Busy:

You are not so strong and forcible, either.

Oh, and one last thing, Busy:

The truth is I liked you once upon a time.

Because,

You rescued me when I walked wandering.

You blinded me when hurt arrived knocking.

You played me when I thought my good was your doing.

You tricked me when I thought my worth was your producing.

You lured me when I said false my family was not at your beckoning.

Lies.

Ha.

But the truth is not a lie, Busy.

This is Splitsville.

Day by day, thought by thought, moment by moment.

I will choose more than what you offer, Busy.

I’m choosing now what you tell me I’m missing.

And truth,

Truth brings freedom, Busy.

And the truth is:

I’m not gonna miss a thing.

Don’t waste your time on useless work, mere busywork… wake up from your sleep… make the most of every chance you get…

+Ephesians 5, The Message

Choices

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1-058How do you fall down at the feet of God?

::::::::::::::::::::::: before all is completed in Glory?

::::::::::::::::::::: while we are still on Earth?

Truly fall down at His feet, with our hair cascading and our eyes full of thanks and faith and our most-precious oil spilling?

:::::::::::::::::::::: in our limited knowledge and ability?

Fall down:

in complete adoration?

in overwhelming reverence?

in sweeping humility?

in unabbreviated thanksgiving?

in the world swirling feral and you really only see Him?

And the super- love He has for you?

*************************************

What is one thing He dreams for us more than some other things?

When is it that the peace comes all- encompassing…

the peace higher and elevated and lofted up above all understanding…

And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding…. +Philippians 4

When is it that this peace…

becomes this tangible entity that dangles from our fingertips and trills from our mouths and shines in our eyes and beats in our human hearts and bursts this untamed, lovely grace-filled laugh that echoes into eternity?

When is it that we taste His peace and savor it the most and want more of it dancing wild in our day and settling glistening on our skin and holding it soft and light and balancing delicious on our palm….

… since now, it seems, for the first time, we know we cannot lose it?

And we awake sudden, and peace is just there?

And we did not quite notice at first?

delicate and easy and caressing?

This peace –evident satiating our being:::

not even a thing we need to grip-hold-fast-tight-pray-it-doesn’t-leave when we feel it….

…anymore???

And it does not feel white-knuckled sweating and fist-aching-arthritic squeezing,

We looked for peace, but no good came… +Jeremiah 8

When is it that the thing that is gripping-tight is actually His peace-grasp on us?

and this, this cradling-sway of warmth wrapped deep around us, like He has found us and secured us anchor-safe to Himself and we can just…

… be?

with Him?

…that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way… +1 Timothy 2

That He is in us, and we are cleaved to Him and He has all pieces of us and we can just…

…. be

with Him.

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… seek peace and pursue it… +Psalm 34

I think the thing that He craves from us, if the Lord does crave, in His love for us, is our true

obedience.

The kind of obedience that can only equal peace.

… for obedience to Jesus Christ… may grace and peace be multiplied to you. +1 Peter 1

I think that in the unfolding of the day, when it is dew-wet and sun-birthing, that when our eyes flutter light, that He waits for our choice.

I think that when we grab our bibles and whisper our praise- prayers and fumble with throwing off blankets, he waits for our choice.

I think that when we stumble hair-mussed and unclean to the coffee pot, that He waits for our choice.

I think that when we breath deep first and look at the phone and read the appointments and sigh-frown at the schedule and lock our door and peer to the left and the right, He waits for our choice.

I think that when we talk to her and see him and run that real-quick errand and finish that distracting project waiting, He waits for our choice.

I think that when we munch routinely that snack and pour that cup and lift that heavy weight and close that open door and find the key that works, He waits for our choice.

I think that when we sip on dusk falling down on a day and read that book and kiss those kids and hug that husband and slip into bed with that wife, He waits for our choice.

Each step, each breath:::: commanding a choice.

Will we choose Him in all things?

Each step…

the ones that are tiny and timid…

the ones that are scared and scarred…

the ones that are large and looming…

the ones that are…

easy?

… for the ways of the Lord are right… +Hosea 14

I think He urges us to obey, pursues us so we walk in His way, beseeches us to straighten our path, entreats us to remember Him in all things…

and above all that, as if there is one last love-move to reach over the valley of flesh and find His own…

He…

…gives His obedient Son to bleed on the cross…

so that we…

can have…

His peace.

Oh, the brilliant, beautiful, undeserved love of our sovereign, all-knowing God.

His Son. His obedience. Our peace.

If you obey the commandments of the Lord your God…

by loving the Lord your God,

by walking in His ways,

and by keeping… his rules,

then you shall live…

and the Lord your God will bless you in the land…

Deuteronomy 30

life learning

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School starts for us here, in our little corner, next week.

Homeschool.

Home ::: School.

School at Home.

I love the sound of that.

It seems the most natural thing to this momma’s ears and heart and I have not yet even

:::::begun.

This new thing revolving deep around our family::::

The way the home is weaving into the schooling weaving into the work weaving into the family weaving into this adventure He has planned for us.

….flowing with no lines and all blurred::: organic and primal and enticing::: like the way it was meant to be lived.

Homegrown.

::::::::::But then there’s me.

…a public school teacher once upon a time, seemingly eons…

…. or a little more than a year ago.

And now, homeschooling?

I understand the test scores and the extra-curriculars and the school bus and the pressure and the reading programs and the feeling spent and the math bandwagon- changes and the vacations and the pouring yourself out for them and the mustering of patience and the pure joy when the light turns on and that smile appears on a young face and the standards to meet and the collegial discussion and the underappreciated beauty of a new textbook cracking open for the first time… I loved it.

And now there is THIS.

This new teaching for me.

This one that flutters about in my gut more than the first day fourteen years ago when I stepped into that brick school and into that yellow classroom with all of those deep, hungry, waiting to be satiated child eyes that I grew to adore and called my kids.

This is different.

This IS my kid.

::::::WHOA.

This is my baby that has her Daddy’s nose and my chuckle::: leaning full throttle into me and unknowingly depending on me to faithfully and consistently breath and speak knowledge into her so she can exhale some good words and calculate some numbers and repeat and apply the scientific method and figure an analogy and draw world history on a timeline and…. maybe even teach her a bit of this thing called life.

And that is where I stop up quick. Tall order.

But that is it.

There it is.

The reason we chose to homeschool.

LIFE.

Life that brings birth and the birth that spills need and the need that begets searching and the searching that leads to curiosity and the curiosity that commands learning and the learning that beckons knowledge and the knowledge that breeds giving and the giving that manifests love.

That’s why we are homeschooling. We want her to know LIFE like that.

Ultimately, in the teaching, in my utmost, to show her love like this.

:::: Love like His.

I want her to know that life is not built always into compartments and departments and boxes piled up and in a row.

She doesn’t have to only learn here and only dance there and think that this is just the way you do this life-thing that can huff down our necks and chase us to the next activity and slobber media and comparison all over us while we sweat deadlines and status and world-conforming notions that never bring us closer to::::

:::::love.

Uninterrupted.

Unfettered and Unfurled.

:::::the love and life that rises and falls with Him.

I want love-learning to be real and fluid::: no ending and no beginning::::

::::: Resonating.

True. In the everyday and daily.

In the learning at the grocery line and in the umpteen-million questions in the car and in the chorus- singing at bedtime and in the world-weary faces of people she meets and a sweet prayer at lunch and in the chattering woods at noontime and in the catnap and the quiet orange of dawn and in the bustle of the city on a random Monday afternoon and in the book reading on the couch and the making of a proper place setting to host a tea and the up and down emotions that plague a day…

and how in all of these things:::::

:::: All these things…

:::: He is the Creator, the Comforter, the Redeemer, the Savior, the Friend, the Father:::

The LORD.

Over all of it.

This life.

This learning.

He reigns over it all in His love.

And I am driven by that.

Because He has called me to this.

::::::And that is that.That.is.enough.for.me.

There is this love-life-learning in all things.

All things.

And I desire her to learn life through the lens of His love. To know that all things point to Him.

The mundane and the starry-eyed. The low and the abounding. The light and the dark.

In all of my imperfections, joy, weaknesses, certainty, shallow thoughts, jumpin’ up and down, tired moments, can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this-homeschool-thing, excitement, uncertainty, smiles, frustration, hugs, throwin’ my hands up in the air and in my contentment…

I want her to see Him in it all.

And what do I want her to learn?

How He loved us so much, He gave His life to give us life.

And how all that we do, our learning, our waking up and our settling down, our breathing in and our exhaling out reverberates with that kind of enduring, unfathomable mercy- love that ends and begins in life…

bound by, given by and grown by grace.

Next week, in our little corner of this world, we start homeschool.

I simply cannot wait to see what He is going to teach us.

And these words… shall be on your heart… you shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. +Deuteronomy 6

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