Monday, October 31, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Surprising Blooms
A couple summers ago, a white rose bush captured my eye at a local nursery. The fragrance immediately brought me back to my Great Aunt Boo-Boo's backyard where she grew roses along her garage. I knew I had to have it and would find a spot for it. As luck would have it, it is planted beside our garage where it gets full sun. For the record, I am a novice when it come to roses. The mere fact it is still alive and offer a few blooms each year is cause for celebration. Having ignored the plant after its first round of blooms this season, we've been shocked to see it "take off" the past month. You can't walk past the roses without catching a whiff of their fragrance, and upon a closer look, you see the bush is heavy with buds and flowers...and it's October! With the cold-snap forecasted for the weekend and possible flurries tonight, I'm not sure how it will respond, so I took a few pictures to capture their beauty.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Tiger Mothers? or the Making of Velveteen Mothers
by Ann Voskamp as written in her 10.25.11 blogpost - thank you Ann!
The fifth child, he turns nine now.
The child I didn’t know I wanted.
He may or may not be the one who confused the scultping wax for playdough the other night and put it in the fridge by that can of molding spaghetti sauce.
He is the one that our doctor called The Beach Boy Baby, him with this mop of crazy curls, the son I shear like a lamb by the certain request of one Farmer.
When a well-intentioned woman in the produce section of Zehrs shakes a cucumber at our son — tells us that that little girl had the most beautiful blue eyes, the Farmer says right then, it’s shearing time.
When all his wisps fall to the floor, I don’t know how to sweep up sheer love.
More times than I can count I want to sweep that under the rug, what John Wesley said: “I learned more about Christianity from my mother than from all the theologians in England.” This is not easy, being a mother, and it is a vocation, a calling, and God’s Word, it will not return void.
Before I turn out the light in the washroom last night, I see a muddy remote control car that some boy left in the shower. I am not sure what that means. Malakai, all boy, he would tell me all about it. He would tell me with a lisp and words said far too fast and he would tell me loud. Others wouldn’t understand but I would. His mother would.
I remember him before he came, those months when he grew within and made me green, and me laying my head against a cold window in the dark of night. Telling God I just didn’t think I could, and I didn’t know how, and how does a weary mother become the dwelling place of Christ?
There are dump trucks and wagons and tractors left out by the wheat field tonight.
I sit with them awhile.
I know I don’t pass this way again many times.
Tonka yellow and how many sons and how many summers and the way a boy bends over dirt, prayers for God to make something big of his dust frame.
How many boys made men, right here, rising right up out of the ground?
I pick up a dump truck.
How can rusty, bent steel make a mama hurt for all that’s slid away?
There are Tiger Mothers and there are Dragon Mothers, but if the years can be used to make a woman only into this: a Velveteen Mother.
A Velveteen Mother — made Real by the years — the way grace can happen to you. And not all at once — but you become. And grace becomes you.
To be just a Velveteen Mother: worn and weathered down to the exquisite beauty of the frame of the Cross.
It’s the threadbare simplicity of the thing: a Velveteen mother — softened and strengthened by the years, rubbed down to the essence of Gospel — like the Lion Who sacrifices Himself as a Lamb.
And maybe that is all — a Velveteen Mother is a mother who keeps bending her worn knees with prayers that her child may walk straight paths. Never ceasing to pray for her own crooked heart.
Never forgetting — Train up a child in the way he should go and be ready to forgive him. The Way he should go is down a road named Grace.
Why do I forget that becoming Real — becoming a velveteen mother – it will hurt in a thousand ways?
The weary and the wearing away and it is the most beautiful part.
The six of them, they have made me sing and sob and they have made me know my sin. Strange, how hurting can heal. Strange, how sometimes we need what we don’t even know we want. Strange, how He makes ashes into beauty.
I have loved it here — the wonder of them.
I move slow across the lawn, into home lights.
There are Raggedy Dolls still out on the old wooden ironing board there at the back door.
There are wrinkles I’ve made that there’s no ironing out.
There is that — the wearing of all the wrinkles out with love.
And I can feel this, how I carry this in, right there in my chest — God making something big of all this dust.
The Raggedies, the Tonkas, the one wondrous child after one — this wearing away of everything down to pure, holy love.
This all the learning that matters —
love the indwelling of all the realest real.
The fifth child, he turns nine now.
The child I didn’t know I wanted.
He may or may not be the one who confused the scultping wax for playdough the other night and put it in the fridge by that can of molding spaghetti sauce.
He is the one that our doctor called The Beach Boy Baby, him with this mop of crazy curls, the son I shear like a lamb by the certain request of one Farmer.
When a well-intentioned woman in the produce section of Zehrs shakes a cucumber at our son — tells us that that little girl had the most beautiful blue eyes, the Farmer says right then, it’s shearing time.
When all his wisps fall to the floor, I don’t know how to sweep up sheer love.
More times than I can count I want to sweep that under the rug, what John Wesley said: “I learned more about Christianity from my mother than from all the theologians in England.” This is not easy, being a mother, and it is a vocation, a calling, and God’s Word, it will not return void.
Before I turn out the light in the washroom last night, I see a muddy remote control car that some boy left in the shower. I am not sure what that means. Malakai, all boy, he would tell me all about it. He would tell me with a lisp and words said far too fast and he would tell me loud. Others wouldn’t understand but I would. His mother would.
I remember him before he came, those months when he grew within and made me green, and me laying my head against a cold window in the dark of night. Telling God I just didn’t think I could, and I didn’t know how, and how does a weary mother become the dwelling place of Christ?
There are dump trucks and wagons and tractors left out by the wheat field tonight.
I sit with them awhile.
I know I don’t pass this way again many times.
Tonka yellow and how many sons and how many summers and the way a boy bends over dirt, prayers for God to make something big of his dust frame.
How many boys made men, right here, rising right up out of the ground?
I pick up a dump truck.
How can rusty, bent steel make a mama hurt for all that’s slid away?
There are Tiger Mothers and there are Dragon Mothers, but if the years can be used to make a woman only into this: a Velveteen Mother.
A Velveteen Mother — made Real by the years — the way grace can happen to you. And not all at once — but you become. And grace becomes you.
To be just a Velveteen Mother: worn and weathered down to the exquisite beauty of the frame of the Cross.
It’s the threadbare simplicity of the thing: a Velveteen mother — softened and strengthened by the years, rubbed down to the essence of Gospel — like the Lion Who sacrifices Himself as a Lamb.
And maybe that is all — a Velveteen Mother is a mother who keeps bending her worn knees with prayers that her child may walk straight paths. Never ceasing to pray for her own crooked heart.
Never forgetting — Train up a child in the way he should go and be ready to forgive him. The Way he should go is down a road named Grace.
Why do I forget that becoming Real — becoming a velveteen mother – it will hurt in a thousand ways?
The weary and the wearing away and it is the most beautiful part.
The six of them, they have made me sing and sob and they have made me know my sin. Strange, how hurting can heal. Strange, how sometimes we need what we don’t even know we want. Strange, how He makes ashes into beauty.
I have loved it here — the wonder of them.
I move slow across the lawn, into home lights.
There are Raggedy Dolls still out on the old wooden ironing board there at the back door.
There are wrinkles I’ve made that there’s no ironing out.
There is that — the wearing of all the wrinkles out with love.
And I can feel this, how I carry this in, right there in my chest — God making something big of all this dust.
The Raggedies, the Tonkas, the one wondrous child after one — this wearing away of everything down to pure, holy love.
This all the learning that matters —
love the indwelling of all the realest real.
Falling Creek Bike Race
Thompson competed in another CYMBL-sponsored bike race this past Sunday. The final race of the season was at Falling Creek Camp in Tuxedo, NC. Thompson placed sixth in this race and we are still awaiting posting of the final series standings. We are also super proud of Anna, who by winning her race Sunday, placed 1st in her division overall for the season. Way to go girl!
Thompson is already looking forward to the 2012 season as he ages into the next bracket, which means longer, more techincal courses. I have no doubt he's ready, given that he rode 10+ miles with Bobby , Herb and Anna on Saturday!
Monday, October 24, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
'sert
After finishing his dinner, William asked "may I be scuzed" and began playing in the living room. Thompson finished shortly thereafter and asked is he could have dessert. William overheard us talking about dessert and came running (only to return for his step stool) saying "sert. sert. sert." When asked if he wanted dessert, he gave us his open-mouth surprised face so as if to say "absolutely!". I then asked what he wanted for dessert. His quick response "emmies" (aka M&M's).
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Wine Country and San Francisco Trip
We are back from our extended weekend in California without the boys. With a wedding in Wine Country, we decided to add a few days to the trip to celebrate our 10th anniversary. We had an awesome time and simply enjoyed being together, traveling, taking in new sights, relaxing and not having to be anywhere at any specific time (other than the wedding).We arrived in San Francisco late Thursday evening. Through one of Graham's friends, we were able to stay in a private residence in the financial district. Not a bad view, huh?
Friday morning, after finding a Starbucks, we walked to Pier 1 and worked our way along the waterfront, taking in the sights and sounds, to Pier 39 and Fisherman's Wharf. We caught great views of Alcatraz Island, the Golden Gate bridge, the sea lions and downtown.
Upon arriving at the Maritime Museum, spectators were setting up to watch the Blue Angles and other aircraft practice in preparation for their air show Saturday afternoon. So we stayed...and it was incredible!
Afterwards, we walked pat Ghiradelli Square, up the hill only to find we had arrived at Lombard Street. So, we did what you'd expect...walked down the curvy road! We eventually made it back to the residence, got the car and headed to the west side of the city to enjoy dinner with Huslina and Andrew Paulsen and their twin boys Alex and Skyler who are the same age as Thompson. (Huslina is a dear friend of the Harrelsons, having known Avery since she was 10!)
Saturday morning we cruised through the Presidio before heading northeast for Wine Country. We drove into Sonoma to find our hotel and then headed north to Calistoga for lunch at Solbar. Dining outside under the palm trees and umbrellas remind us a lot of our time in La Quinta. This was, by far, one of our best meals!
After lunch, we returned to Sonoma for Johnny and Kristina's wedding, which was located on a mountain top at the Kunde Estate. (Johnny is a childhood friend of Bobby's and was his Best Man at our wedding.)
Sunday we traveled east over the ridge to Napa where we found a great breakfast spot downtown. Afterwards, we drove north, through Yountville, St. Helena and Calistoga as we worked our way to Healdsburg in the Russian River Valley. We visited three wineries - J Winery, Robert Strong and Limerick Lane. After a few wine tastings, we drove into downtown Healdsburg and walked around the square before returning to Sonoma for the evening, where we had dinner at Hot Box Grill.
Monday morning we awoke to rain, so after breakfast at Big 3 Diner, we headed back to San Francisco. We had originally planned to spend the day in Golden Gate Park, but with the inclement weather, we opted to cruise through the park instead and then drive Highway 1 down the coast. A great decision!...and although the weather was cloudy, we managed to capture some awesome views of the coastline and Pacific Ocean. We stopped in Half Moon Bay for lunch and found a quaint cafe downtown. Afterwards, we took a different route over the mountains to get us back to San Francisco. We ended up going to the movies, returning our rental car, cruising the airport, grabbing dinner from one of their pre-security dining options and then taking the hotel shuttle back to the hotel.
Monday morning we awoke to rain, so after breakfast at Big 3 Diner, we headed back to San Francisco. We had originally planned to spend the day in Golden Gate Park, but with the inclement weather, we opted to cruise through the park instead and then drive Highway 1 down the coast. A great decision!...and although the weather was cloudy, we managed to capture some awesome views of the coastline and Pacific Ocean. We stopped in Half Moon Bay for lunch and found a quaint cafe downtown. Afterwards, we took a different route over the mountains to get us back to San Francisco. We ended up going to the movies, returning our rental car, cruising the airport, grabbing dinner from one of their pre-security dining options and then taking the hotel shuttle back to the hotel.
4:00 am definitely came early the following morning. Nevertheless, we had a great time, and likewise, are glad to be back home with our boys!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
