What You Should Teach Your Kids

It is Friday. You know the drill. Five minutes of writing. It is a beautiful community and I am just discovering its blessings. Join us over at Lisa-Jos. Today's word: focus.

 A mental list of faults that need to be corrected unscrolls in my mind. The list of traits I want them to have is long and it is hard teaching characteristics I have not mastered myself. Still, I try. I pick stories, heroes, prayers that emphasis fearlessness, perseverance, kindness, bravery. 

And I try more, almost will, my girls not to pick up my faults. My fears. My selfishness. I do not want them to experience the pain that holds hands with cowardliness or discouragement or doubt. 

When I focus on the list, I see the faults. I see the work there is to be done. The lessons that I want stored in their hearts. Lessons I can teach but not force to grow roots. I miss the grace of God. 

Ignoring the list and teaching them instead the wonders of God and the peace of gratitude, I can re-see their beauty, enjoy their quirks,  and wait expectantly for God to mold them. Grace returns.

When your own abilities are not enough

Oh Joy. It's 5-minute Friday day at Lisa Jo's. Link up with us and write, won't you? Today's word: Change. I went over time today. I had to finish the story!

For three years both girls went away for the day when school started. The first year, I struggled with how to spend my time. A whole seven hours without kids was luxurious and confusing. I adjusted. I loved it. 

Now we're home--to stay. Knowing how much I would sacrifice in time and friendships, I knew it wouldn't be easy. Now, learning is rich and connected and together. And the teacher, in me is loving this learning life. 

But the pressures are building. Every hole in their education, it now comes from me. Home all day means messes, all day. Figuring out how to still meet my friends, or to grocery shop, or just to steal an hour without someone needing me, touching me, or calling me. We have new habits to learn, changes to make (Can anyone be my cook for free?)

Yesterday it was too much. And small touches or too much wiggling. It all set me off. I cried at the sight of a friend at  a door. I was the extra mess yesterday. Unsure how my poor organization and introverted needs would survive the year, the tears refused my command to stop. 

Putting away some groceries in the deep freeze at 8 pm, God nudged me, "Surely I am with you always, even to the end of the age." I looked up (not at a beautiful sky but at the basement ceiling). On top of the upright freezer was one of those reusable grocery bags. It had stuff in it. Frustration filled me, as I grabbed the bag muttering about how I am the only one who picks up around here. Inside? My missing Bible, gone for for 6 months, the one I've had since my engagement-- with all my favorite verses underlined, the list of scriptures the girls and I have memorized, the dates of scriptures I've prayed. A long time friend, with leather soft from travels. I still hadn't found a comfortable replacement.

"Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you. And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age." --Matthew 28:20

When a kid refuses to play

I love Fridays and the chance to join Lisa-Jo's community to write freely for five minutes. And then to get comments, "the love language of bloggers." Won't you join us? Given the word of the day, you really should. Today's word: Join.  

My Bird was shy. Or she was pretending to be. "Go" I said. "Ask that little girl to play with you." Bird was three, sweet and wild.  Bird was my first and I was anxious for my girl to form friendships, to fill her God-given desire to join others her age in play. 

So my little Bird, she flitted over to the other toddler. And in her toddler cadence asked her to play. And I held my breath. And that other girl, with skin like dark chocolate, a child of the Sudan refugee's that settled in town, well she looked at my Bird with wide white eyes. She spun around and ran home to her mama on the apartment porch across the street. My Bird wobbled and collapsed, crying that she shouldn't have asked. 

My first-child mama's heart, it worried and fretted. What if my Bird would never ask anyone to play again? What if she didn't recover her confidence? I didn't recognize the resilience of the desire to join that God places in us. It takes multiple rejections and adult emotion coupled with bad logic to stop that joining drive. He made us to be joiners and He doesn't give us more than we can handle. And my Bird, she's made friends on every playground since then, using squirrels when other children couldn't be found.

God stretched me using hair in the drain

It's five minute Friday again. The day other word-lovers take 5 -minutes to write without overthinking about the word of the day. Visit these other fabulous writers at Lisa Jo's. Today's word: stretch

Piles of raw meat on a wagon pulled by a bicycle to the local restaurants merely amazed me. New foods and chopsticks were fun to try. Receiving one ticket a day to shower in the public showers didn't bother me. Neither did the bathroom troughs with a stream of water running underneath me as I squatted. My adjustment to Chinese culture for six weeks was fast and fairly easy. Even jet lag wasn't too bad. 

The "big" things, the ones I had prayed and worried about. Those weren't the problems. The stretching came in little things: unexpected bouts of claustrophobia in a tightly-packed, 14- hour long plane ride; embarrassing tears of frustration as I tried and could not hear the correct ways to say the Chinese words I wanted to learn; long black Asian hairs that clogged the bathroom sink and didn't get cleaned up often. In details, God reminded me I was weak and needed His strength. 

Still, ten years later, it isn't the big events where I have trouble leaning on Him and remembering who is in control. It is the little details, the ones I want to control, expect to control, where I recognize my selfishness and have to lay it all down again.

Girl Drama

Writing today with Lisa Jo and a delightful group that love to exercise their writing muscles for five short minutes on Friday and then cheer each other on.  Today's word: Connect.

First BFF in the cycle

Fourth grade girl drama. It's intense. Each girl, suddenly insecure, needs others to look at her, listen to her, laugh with her because suddenly mom and dads smiles and loves are not enough. They want friends, best-stick-together-forever friends. But they haven't learned yet that the world revolves on an axis that is unrelated to them. They can't hardly listen to each other tell stories because inside, instead of listening, they are thinking I have a story too. Who will listen? Who will connect?

And then they find that best friend--the one who giggles at jokes and shares lunch box desserts and provides an anchor in the craziness of the playground. And her world spins splendidly around the ostensible friendship axis. And mom can sleep easily. And then BAM. Someone tries to steal BFF (because friends at this age are possessions). And feelings get hurt and tears run and noses drip and moms pray. 

I watched this cycle last year--knowing that it was in slow spin moving quickly toward rapid spin in the middle school years.  Helpless, I prayed and tried to believe it would all produce character and true connections.

When a disease takes residence..

Taking a break from the creativity series today to join my blogging friends in a writing challenge at Lisa Jo's. It's 5 precious minutes of free writing on the word : Here.


It's 2 am here and I am blogging. I am not waiting for a college student to come home or cooing an infant back to sleep. My stomach, with the deep empty feeling,  woke me because I didn't take care of myself today. And now I need to wait, 15 minutes at least (enough time for this 5-minute exercise), to check my numbers again.  I had ice cream for dinner and 1/2  a peanut butter sandwich, in that order. Too much carbs and then not enough. And I never checked my numbers before I went to bed. 


Diabetes is the company I keep. She came to visit during my first pregnancy. Then again, with more flamboyance during my second. She left for a year. Then returned and apparently has set up residence. 


I remember years of anger. This disease did not belong to me. I did not invite her. I was  31-years-old, 5'6'' and under 130 pounds. Diabetes was only supposed to stay forever with people who had different stats. I felt left out. Watching others celebrate with cookies and a giant piece of chocolate cake while I took my time with my sliver was unfair. Or that is what I told my pity party coordinator. 


It's 2 am and I blog because God has answered my prayers. Contentment has replaced anger. God took this disease, not away, but from burden status. Now I am grateful we can live together, without her killing me. Not grateful that she won't go, because I would celebrate that day. Grateful that my body wakes me up when my numbers slip too low. Grateful for the pocket-size machine that needs only a small prick of blood to spit out helpful numbers. Grateful for the extra need to eat well. And grateful for the life giving insulin I inject daily. 


God must be here for I could never transform anger into gratitude. 

Beyond the dailies

Welcome to Five Minute Friday. A chance for me to exercise my writing muscles without uncertainty and then be blessed by the writings of other who love words. Join us at Lisa Jo's. Today's word: beyond.

Summer affords more opportunity to be beware of His creation . The business of school, activities, and the constant knowledge that I am not getting it all done subsides more. And I remember that this life, this mothering, this wifing, this writing, this organizing and even the loved ones who unorganize me, we are witnesses to the Creator. When we are aware of His presence we see beyond our dailies, breathe deeply, and sing praise, knowing that for that moment we are in the right place.  

Thirty minutes of silence, each curled in comfy positions, relishing a new story from the library, but all together. The sunset on Lake Huron as our feet sank in perfect sand. The more frequent times when we gather all around the table and eat what He has provided. The morning I woke, on my grandmother's couch bathed in a golden glow of rising sun and felt Him lightening the loss of her passing. Digging in the garden among the herbs and stopping to smell my hand after touching each one. 

Those moments I can see beyond are precious, encouraging, made possible by the contrasting dailies. 

Sibling fights: Tie them up

I love 5-miute Fridays but since I don't know what
I will write I don't always have the right picture. In this
story I actually tied them together, but I never took a
picture of that. 

Company is coming in 2 hours and while the house is on track to be cleaned if I keep at it, I am frustrated. At myself. Why is there so much to do just to make the house sitable? Why can't I stay on top of all these loose objects? 


Bug rushes in. "Mom, Bird just kicked me." The third tattle in 20 minutes. The tenth for the day. 
Bird peeks around the corner, eyes large, always reluctant to tattle but big on justice. 
Two stories start spilling out at once. And I can't hear either one. All I hear is the whooshing as patience disappears with my sigh and I start my "I-have-so-much-to-do why-can't-you-just-get-along"  rant. 


The girls look struck. And I recollect myself. Breathe deep and ask forgiveness. The Holy Spirit penetrates the thickness and reminds me of a book I read. If they can't get along, make them. So I find a soft rope and tie the girls together and explain that only I can untie it. When I am ready. 


I continue cleaning, lighter, because the of back round music of giggling sisters. 

Joining Lisa Jo and other souls who love to write for Five Minutes of unedited writing on the word Enough.

The gift of risk

She looks extra small up there. The board sways vertically even with her little weight. And she looks up, right at me, with tears streaming down her down. 


"Save. Me." They plead. 


The swim instructor treads water and tries to encourage her. It is just a jump. With a teacher waiting to catch her. She quakes her head back and forth which sways the board more so she tries to sit down. 


"No sitting." A lifeguard barks. Her job and my baby's emotions clash. 


Another lifeguard climbs the short ladder and begins walking toward my Bird. The movement of a full size person arcs the board precariously. The lifeguard lifts Bird and drops her in the water where the instructor catches her but not until her head goes under. It needs to be realistic. 

Year 2 of swim lessons: jumping alone but still worried. 

I am not a risk-taker. My instinct as a mother is to protect, comfort, soothe. Life won't match my instincts and the ability to meet uncertainty with the confidence of God is a gift I want to give. So we start risking small. And pray big, knowing that a life lived in pursuit of God is adventurous, daring, and brave. 


Writing today with friends over at Lisa-Jo's. Today's word: risk. Join us!

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..

Parenting is better together

Parenthood is not a path you can prepare to walk on. You can read books, buy bibs and diapers and fool yourself into preparedness by painting a nursery.  But the I-will-never-be-the-same love, the pleasure of kissing a warm cheek, and the shared pain when another rejects your little loves, those take us by surprise, everytime. And as my girls grow older, watching my own sins and faults infect my loves has added a new pain. 


I am not alone though. My partner in this journey balances my shortcomings and I-don't-know-how-to-handle-this situations. The passion of my oldest. The quick logical analysis of a situation by my youngest. Those traits aren't mine. 


And love, I express in words and hugs. He expresses in doing: building a treehouse, an inept description of this wonder from recycled materials; planning long bike rides around town with ice cream stops; and one on one trips which include the American Girl store though I know he dislikes the very idea of it; love for music and exposure to enough safe pop music that the girls can participate in conversations at school. 


When a reoccurring discipline situation has me in tears of uncertainty he assesses the situation and brings a plan and order. And when I allow their emotions to manipulate me he stops it. 


This path of parenthood is one I am thankful to not be walking alone. 

Linking up today with Gypsy Mama's 5-minute Friday writing exercise. Join us here. Today's word: Path

Soccer lessons in expectations

Writing exercise day. I love this challenge. Five minutes to write on the word: expectation. And I took my own sweet time creating a photo collage, hope you don't mind.

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..

Eager and anxious parents stand on the sidelines yelling laughably loud anytime a kid touches the ball. If you recorded the cheers only, documented the number of pictures and video taping minutes, you would never guess this was just a regular Saturday soccer game, for 4 year-olds. 

We affectionately call soccer for the little ones herd ball. The ball moves, the herd runs after it and if they catch the ball, the boldest players stand in a huddle kicking it until it escapes the herd and they can run after it again. Usually there is goalie or player on the field playing with the grass, swinging from the top of the goal. And often there is one player crying or one parent fighting anger or tears. The player because no one will share the ball. The parent because she can't understand why her daughter won't try to get the ball. 


We spend the first years of our child's life teaching them to share everything but sippy cups and diapers. Then we put them on the soccer field and ask them to steal the ball, ignore the player who fell to the ground and kick a ball directly into a goal even though another kid is in the way. Unless a child has an older sibling, expectations on the soccer field are confusing. 

And like the soccer field, all things parenting require clear expectations. Part of our job in training our kids is to teach expectations for different areas of life. Shoes don't go on the table. No running in the street. Put clothes away when you are done with them. No kissing boys until you are 25. Really parenting is a game of handling and communicating expectations. Because not knowing the expectations creates tension and sometimes tears and laughable moments. 

Another lesson from subbing

Linking up today with those who love writing and who enjoy a 5-minute writing exercise and then encourage each other with comments. Such fun. Join us at Gypsy Mama. No qualifications needed! Today's word: See

I spent the morning subbing for a teacher's aide in a middle school special ed room. Substitute aides don't have enough responsibility to fill the time. I record observations and write in my head to stay awake. The teacher was a short, stout lady with a gray pony tail and and a habit of excuse making for things not being the way she thought they should. As I listened I learned she would retire after more than 30-years in 7 short days. 


She was trying to guide students through a story problem about probablity. Math is not my strong subject but I knew she wasn't doing the problem correctly, so did one other student. Her technique and answer were wrong. And when confronted, she insisted. The student refused to acknowledge her way as correct, she exploded. I pointed out I had gotten the same answer as the student. It was too much. 


She went on a soapbox about respect and read a thank you letter from a former student about how awesome she was and how she was the only teacher who cared and taught the letter-writer anything in middle school. Then she said she was going to skip probability problems and she didn't want to talk about it. 


I read a few posts on SEE this morning, and had the idea of seeing with His eyes in my head. This small women, I wanted to shake and say, stop it, you've gone the wrong direction. But I sat silently, mouthed, "it's okay" to the student who knew the right answer and prayed for her. How much disrespect had this tired teacher endured? What health issues prompted retirement? Her grandchildren were coming to visit that afternoon she proudly said, but there wasn't a wedding ring on her finger. What pain had this woman endured? 


Lord help me to see. Help me see with your eyes before I react with my own brand  of indignation at injustice. I am guilty too. 


(Time is up but you need to know that this teacher returned to the classroom after a brief absence later in the morning. She had checked with a math teacher and she apologized for misteaching the problem. Then acknowledged her student's correctness and retaught the problem.) 


image credit: www.freedigitalphotos.net

The Opportunities We Give Our Kids

I get up earlier most Fridays to flex my writing  muscles with Gypsy Mama and her five minute Friday prompt. It's the one kind of exercise I truly embrace. Join us as we write for five minutes without rewriting and without overthinking. Today's prompt: opportunity


Parents throw this word opportunity around like it defines their success. I want to give them opportunitiies I never had they tell me. To learn French. To play tennis. To see big cities and national parks. To have the best education. 


Somehow we believe that if our kids don't experience it all and experience it early we are denying them. But really, so much of it is a marketing scheme. Have you ever watched 3-year-olds play soccer? You paid for that? And I know 2-year-old art class is fun. You could embrace the joy of toddlers painting at home with friends, a sunny day, a porch, and a hose (double fun!)True parenting opportunity is more about time and connections than activities. 

But sometimes we want to create opportunities for our kids to see the world through Jesus's eyes. And personally, we wondered if our girls could understand the state of this world and His heart in the abundance of this country. So early on we prayed to find an orphange in another part of the world that we could love, probably forever. A place we could visit, support monetarily, and pray for. We had criteria for this opportunity we wanted to create. 

The cost of going there had to be reasonable because we were brining all 4 of us. We didn't want the cost to be so extravagant that the money we spent to arrive would have been a bigger blessing than our presence. The philosophy of the orphanage needed to match God's word. They had to welcome visitors. 

We settled on Central America. We found Casa Cielo in near La Ceiba Honduras online. A couple, working for the Lord, without organizational support. Fourteen kids at the time (praying for a permanent home). There are 28 now.  And one summer day we flew away, all six us (grandma and grandpa too), to this opportunity in Honduras that we found online. I was sure we were crazy but the peace was strong and the excitement stronger. 

And we've been back. Grandpa more than a dozen times, dear hubby three time, and the girls and I twice. We will go again. We will pray, support and try to find more opportunities locally and internationally to love like Jesus. 

Long Road Trip or Practicing Thanks

If you have five minutes, we double dog dare you to spend it writing here 

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments.

OK, are you ready? The Gypsy Mama Facebook late night crew is my new muse come 10pm Thursday night, so please give me your best five minutes on : Perspective

Mom called on Sunday. It must be bad. She doesn't ask me to drive 14 hours just because she wants to see me. Grandma was in the hospital with pneumonia. 

So the question of the girls began. Should I take them? My grandma hadn't seen them in over a year. It would lift her spirits. But how long would I be gone? School still had over a month left. Dear hubby had a week without classes between winter and spring semesters. Leave them. Too much about this trip was unknown. 

Driving the fourteen hours alone was scary. I never go anywhere alone. Not in three years. And never for more than a weekend. My youngest, she  cried and cried she wanted to go. And we-just-don't-know-what-to-expect isn't a reason to a child. And driving through Chicago, in the rain, my fingers were tight from gripping the wheel. I was lonely. Maybe I had made a mistake. 

A dear friend called near Rockford. To make sure I was awake. Doing okay. To offer support. I tell her I wish I had brought at least one one kid. She, who has more kids, and a toddler still at home says, I would pay a million dollars to drive for fourteen hours alone. And everything changed. The daily practice of thanksgiving I was learning turned back on and the whole trip changed. 

Fake robbers

Just five minutes. Unscripted. Unedited. Real. Your words. This shared feast.

If you have five minutes, we have a writing challenge <—click to tweet this!

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments.

It's been so long and I have missed this discipline of wringing out thoughts and sharing with friends. More on the last two weeks later. Today's prompt: identity. 

There are robbers of identity that don't take credit card numbers. They take pride and appearance and mental sharpness. And while young mothers think the teenage years are when kids search for identity, I 've watched the other end, where age and illness force grandmas to grab their identity tightly in clenched fists.  

Sweet. Endlessly patient. Indecisive. My mom is brave. The worst part of illness is the leisure at which it steals. Mom can't stand before a crowd to greet the mourners who file by at grandma's funeral without swaying. And, those face muscles, they don't move to show the appreciation she feels for kind words. But she keeps moving, mingling with the familiar history and the I've-heard-about-you-many-times-friends. 

Illness and death are fake robbers. Their loot isn't our identity. They act more like a sieve, removing the false places we use to measure our worth. We are children of God. And heirs of Christ. And no matter the circumstances, we are mothers and daughters. Always. 

I love you mom. Your bravery defies description. 

Give your Man Time For Friends

It's Friday. Time for my favorite writing exercise of the week. Want to play Five Minute Friday? It’s easy! 

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Meet & encourage someone who linked up before you.
OK, are you ready? Give us your best five minutes on: Community.

Raising kids shoves out our need for community. Staying home, focusing on family, drives women together. And women, given time, will push toward vulnerability after the first one takes the risk because women love to see real.

Every Friday my husband meets with friends at Tim Hortons ( a northern fast food joint known for coffee and doughnuts). They stay for hours when schedules allow, talking forcefully and fast. They would offend me if I was present for I don't enjoy the art of powerful opinion defending. They come with agendas, this is going on in my life, does this scripture apply? They bluntly point out each other's sins and laugh from the belly and probably scare some customers to their cars. This community of men is so different from the one I share with women, but life giving all the same.

I know staying home with kids is crazy good and crazy hard. And the need to have another adult around is strong. God made us all for community. It should be a defining feature of our Christian walk. But over the years I've noticed wives striving for community and men not having as much, whether they are tired from working or feel guilty about leaving the family again or just don't know where to find it. So wives, give your husband a blessing to leave the family, push him out the door with a kiss. Encourage him to find a community of men, because we need both communities: family and friends.

Note: After my 5-minutes was up, I went looking for photos of men hanging out. On the different image sites I use, I couldn't find one, except for men at a business lunch in ties! 

Broken Families

It's Friday. Time for my favorite writing exercise of the week. Want to play Five Minute Friday? It’s easy! 

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Meet & encourage someone who linked up before you.
OK, are you ready? Give us your best five minutes on: Together.

Barricades are up. A scribbled sign, “No boys allowed” is taped to the treehouse door. And little eyes and noses peer from the window sills. Giggle explosives are the secret weapon to keep that boy, the only one in the neighborhood, away.

Sometimes I feel like that boy, watching others with unbroken families do everything from meals to vacations together, wishing I could be part of the together. Then one day I sneak into their treehouse and peer in the windows. A lone club member has stopped giggling, hurt and abandoned by a new kind of club erected barricade. Another time, I watch as a club member, who doesn't like a new rule, leaves with stomps. She reappears three days later. The rule is changed.

The tree house club reminds me that even the whole and unbroken families, they have seasons with pain, seasons without together. Sin has infected the whole world. For all families, together is a word we must pray for. 

No hug sobs

It's Friday. Time for my favorite writing exercise of the week. Want to play Five Minute Friday? It’s easy peasy! 

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Meet & encourage someone who linked up before you.
OK, are you ready? Give us your best five minutes on: Good-Bye.

We moved to Montana in January. Fourteen hours from our nearest family or friend. January. February. March. April. Winter is long in Montana. Potential friends hide inside unaware of your presence when there is snow on the ground.

 In May we started regular trips to the playground. When snow was on the ground, desperate for an outing, we'd visited, but no one joined us. Spring meant light jackets and more kids. Bird could see a family had already arrived. She propelled her 3 year-old feet forward so fast I was sure she would fall face first. Her grin matched the width of the Montana sky and she laughed as she ran. 

For five minutes our time with that other family overlapped. And Bird was instantly smitten, sure she found her new BFF. And then the mother apologized, but they had to go. 

Bird looked at her new BFF. She reached out to hug her. And that BFF? Well, she wasn't the hugging type. Despite prodding from her mom, the new BFF only hid behind her mother's legs. And Bird, stood strong. For 5 seconds. Then began to wail. The other mom, horrified, apologized and shrugged at the same time. They just met, she thought, that girl is out of control. The loud, embarrassing wailing eventually led to a  to a command to get into the stroller for the long 3 block walk home. Playground time would only be 5 minutes that day. But the wailing walk? 10 minutes. 

Over and over that spring, Bird made instant friends, wanted hugs good bye and broke into loud sobs if the new friend would not comply. Her love was instant and deep. She hadn't yet learned to hold back some of herself to protect her heart. Perhaps we should all love that way? 

No More Bunny

I can't find the connection. Bunnies, eggs, candy...Easter? Sometimes Satan lures us away from with entertainment for our kids. Still, I worried they would feel left out. Even though I know such feelings, when monitored and allowed to run their course, usually strengthen faith.

We've never had visits by the bunny. I didn't want to confuse the kids. How could a small child think about Christ when a magic bunny would be leaving candy? It was too much to ask. As an adult, I couldn't even plan the bunny's baskets and still focus.

My oldest has lived a decade without the bunny. But this year, we add a tradition (I hope). A Christian Passover meal. Because the the connections between the freedom of Christ's resurrection and the freedom the lamb's blood brought to the Israelites floors me. And it is here, that I want to bring my family to pause. Sin. Blood. Death. Freedom. A different path to freedom than the one taught in our country's history, so much bigger, so perfect.

Dear reader, thanks for encouraging me daily in this place. I pray that this weekend, your hearts and minds will mourn and sing as you contemplate the light of the world.

A gift for you because I love to see your faces dear readers: a 3-year-old Easter picture of my family, the only one I could find! Happy Easter. 

And that silly "left out" worry from the first paragraph? On Monday I will go to the store, buy discounted candy and the following weekend, we will have a Spring egg hunt (still no bunny, the girls know who hides the eggs). Because the connection between eggs and spring. That I get. And after Easter, that's the perfect time to celebrate the new creations of spring.

Have a glorious weekend.
Laura

Want to play Five Minute Friday? It’s easy peasy! 

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Meet & encourage someone who linked up before you.
OK, are you ready? Give us your best five minutes on: LIGHT. 

Love the snake

Want to play Five Minute Friday? It’s easy peasy! 

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Meet & encourage someone who linked up before you.
OK, are you ready? Give us your best five minutes on: GIFT. 

His gifts are unpredictable. The girls have learned this. And so they anticipate his gifts anxiously, with giggles and caution. 

There was the cake made of flowers and the Kindle. There was the giant rubber snake that was hiding in his coat while she opened the empty box and then screaming and laughing and relief followed. There were the plates and cups and silverware--a much loved gift even for the 4 and 6 year-old because it reminded them of the stories he weaves, the one about the princess who didn't get the dresses she wanted but instead got things she could share with others. There was the remote control tarantula that jumped out of the box. . 

The grin tells you how delightful this snake was.
 When I give gifts, I am so ordinary. "What do you want?" I ask and then I try to fulfill. And if the gift is out of reach, I ask again or I observe and I find the things they forgotten they eye for every time they go to the store. There is not less love in my gifts and the girls know this but still. I am grateful for the lessons my husband's gifts teach. 

They are children and they love all gifts. But their dad, he's taught them silently that giving is about the thinking and the fun, not the actual item in the box.