Ben and Lorelei have been rockets ascending this year. It’s all I can do to keep up with them. While I had planned for a quiet, easy, laid back (no pressure!) Kindergarten year for Lorelei, she’s taken like a duck to water and wants more of a challenge. So we’ve been adding more into her day- particularly in reading (I like to use this book, plus lots and lots of letter-play games) and spelling. I’ve been using All About Spelling for the bigger guys at Lori Lynn’s suggestion as a reading program more than a spelling program, and true to form, it’s helping Lorelei with her letter formation and sounds. I had a total “well, of course!” duh-smack moment when I first started to use the program (to supplement reading, not necessarily as a spelling regimen)- if you can’t read the word- can’t really understand how the word breaks itself down? that will make it awful hard to spell. AAS does a really good job of showing the building blocks of word-building, which translates both into spelling and reading.

Isaiah is a slow and steady chugga-chugga train. After so many breakthroughs towards the beginning of the term last year, we’ve settled into a gentle rhythm of putting all of those new-found skills to use. He still struggles to read- and grows more and more frustrated that he can’t read fluently like his brother (and, increasingly, his younger sister)- but- I’m seeing the ‘slow and steady wins the race’ tactic in action. All About Spelling has probably made the biggest of the changes for us (since it is based on multi-sensory approach)- he wants to do his steps each day, and he does them faithfully and correctly. And whether he sees it or not, I see how much more active reading he’s doing, and less hesitation and more smushing going on. I am confident by the end of this year, he’s going to be a lot happier about his reading skills. I keep them intentionally short and sweet, so that he doesn’t get fried.

I think we’re both a little discouraged about his developmental delays- but still! You have to think about how very far he’s come. This stuff is just small bumps in the road now. Not insurmountable mountains. He will ‘graduate’ (be discharged from) physical therapy and occupational therapy in the next month, and that’s huge. The fact that he understands that’s he’s facing some challenges is huge- he’s taking ownership of his body and his mind. We talk about courage a lot. Courage to keep working and focusing when it is noisy. Courage to not lose his temper and get angry. Courage to commit acts of self-care- of walking away from the stimulus, of finding a safe place. Of knowing that he needs to “Think. A lot, mommy. With my Legos.” Courage to do gymnastics each week, even though “it scares the hooey out of me. It’s fun. My body feels good after.” And so far, no medication. My deepest prayer with his SPD is that he’ll never need medication. I’ll keep advocating for that as long as I think it’s wise for him.

I’m trying a new way of laying out the week- one of my own invention-and so far, I like it. It’s nice to have it all in one place and then decide how to break it down over the week- and the calendar at the bottom is super-helpful for my tired-mama-of-six-kiddos brain. I hate to admit it, particularly as a second-generation homeschooler- but- I think it’s taken me just about three years to find my groove as a homeschooling mama. My ship is more often sailing than sinking most days- and that overwhelmed feeling has faded. Road bumps aren’t so scary any more- rather, they are a chance to say ‘wheee!’ and bump a bump right over. I think that’s the beauty of our blend of Charlotte Mason-ish, Classical-ish approach–we are strong (yet flexible) branch that can bend in the wind of change and bear the weight of troubles. And- of course- homeschooling is life and goes anywhere we go- even if it’s back and forth to hospital rooms and doctors appointments. We can put our learning aside to spend time with Grandfather- precious time that won’t come again- and pick it up later. It’s beautiful. This refresher course has only made me fall a bit more in love with homeschooling. That’s hard to do- I tend to feel a bit jaded about it (being second-gen and all that). It’s lovely. Truly lovely.

If you homeschool, what are you doing differently in the Spring Term? I love hearing about other families’ journeys and challenges.

(I’m not an affiliate for any of the products mentioned. I just use ‘em and love ‘em. Over and out.)

I can’t help but think of margin these days. And ministry. Work. Good work. Not so good work. Being a Christ-follower and an employee. It’s sort of unavoidable. Mostly because I understand that I profoundly did not mind the balance between those things.

And perhaps because the season of life we’re in, I can’t help but think about dreams, too. What does it mean- to dream? to really, truly listen to that arterial song that echoes in your soul?

When it all crashed down, my beloved and I- we had dreams. Fresh out of college, and we dreamed. Four kids at the time. We were contemplating missions work. We were hearing a heart beat half way across the world.  Dreams for life. For work. For ministry. Then, the shackles of financial slavery slapped hard against the skin, chafing. Pinning us against a wall. That’s perhaps the worst part of financial misjudgement- we trade what we think will give us instantaneous pleasure (and it doesn’t) for a future of shackled slavery to a past that didn’t satisfy.

After the dark of nearly four years, we’re finding the light again. And the links in the chains of financial bondage are falling off, one by one, faster now. There’s space to breathe again. In a few short months (hallelujah!), it’ll be over. There’s space for dreaming once again. Space for ministry. Missions. Owning a home, eventually…it’s a tangible hope.

And yet.

That precarious balance.

I’ve been studying those whom I either know personally or admire. Watching how they walk the tightrope. How they mind their dreams, the balance, their family, their responsibilities. What good work looks like. What ministry looks like. I’m realizing that it’s an art of subtraction, not one of addition. Seems counterintuitive, that. But true. When they are focused on their dreams- for themselves, for their families- it’s a constant saying no in one area so that they can say yes in the area of their dreams. Even in the financial sense- saying no to small luxuries, so that extravagant God-sized things can happen later. Whatever it is. The sacrifice of the temporary now for a God-given dream in the future-tense. Not spending a lot of extra time at social things so that she can scribble in the margins at night, fill up her shelves with words. Subtract, subtract, subtract. The mama who wipes the nose, and reads the book- again- for the dream of a child full and well grown, in wisdom and in stature. Subtract.

And it comes to me again- we must mind the balance sheet. If it’s overloaded, stuffed to the gills, we can’t move in the Spirit. We can’t! There’s no where to wiggle. Worse- there’s no quiet place to hear.

Dream with me, friends. What is calling your heart? What will it mean for the balance sheet? what will have to be subtracted? What will you have to say no to so that you can say yes?

I doubt it’ll be anytime soon.

This animation is so lush. Reminds me of the Book of Kells. Lovely, lovely!

…to him who led his people through the wilderness;
His love endures forever. (Psalm 136: 16)

We read the Psalm last night- a slow history, a repetition of a True Thing: the world goes crazy, death and birth, but (and perhaps, always)- His love endures forever.

Like a heartbeat, it pulses softly- His love endures forever. Older editions read mercy: his mercy endures forever. Hebrew: Checed. Strong’s translates it as “goodness, kindness, faithfullness”.

He is here. Isn’t that it, distilled? He was here. He will be here. He is here. He is -Emmanuel- God with us. Here. Now.

I’ve thought about that a lot. Traced the days quietly. I confessed my rush last week. I’ve near drowned in the rushing river of busy to get- where? exactly? The question faces me, shards of hard truth. I’m not sure of the answer. Crawling out on the bank, away from the rushing water- it’s a bit like waking in an alien world. In some ways, I wonder how I ever functioned. It’s taken me nigh on two weeks to finally get rested- to wake without a crushing, sickening exhaustion burning behind my eyes. And even at that, I find I must curl up and sleep much sooner than I think; that my energy fails me before I am ready to end the day. It makes me wonder.

I suddenly realize how much stress my children have felt; how interconnected their behavior is to the choices I make. I am humbled. I find myself throwing myself on His mercy, every morning, sometimes every moment. And I wonder, why isn’t this posture my normal posture? Why isn’t trusting and praying in His grace my standard operating procedure, my daily to-do? I have friends that breathe this truth, live this grace. It’s palpable. You can near touch this place between you and they, where you know glory rests, where peace is true- even when they are frustrated, sad, distraught, they speak in Grace. It’s a balm to be around any of them. And me? I feel like I speak and glass-shards go ricocheting. That I tear down, not build up. I ponder that here, in the quiet. I realize it’s a heart condition. You can believe in Christ, believe in Grace, and yet, that never translates down to arterial song. You have to drink deep the Truth, and it sets the rhythm: His love endures forever. Because~ ”For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.” (Luke 6:45)

I’ve been offered a second chance with this; rare is the time that I can stop and reconsider, evaluate. I’ve always rushed headlong into the next thing. I am doing my best to just stay- quiet- listening. Healing. Trying not to name the things, put them in boxes, label. Just living. And listening. Listening carefully to the pulse- His love endures forever. May I never let things get so loud again that I can’t hear that. I know I will, most likely, because I am a broken sinner- but I am trying to re-order my life so that this is the first sound I hear when I wake up, and the last when my eyes close. May my arterial song be Grace…

It wasn’t the job. It was me. And I would never call into question or judge a mother who pursues employment. That is not what is at issue for me here, at this way station in seasons.

Beware desperation.

I’ve whispered of it here and there, but we’ve faced a mighty battle with debt- particularly student loans. It was precipitated by two years of unemployment. All in all, our nightmare has lasted just about three and a half years. It began not four weeks after losing our fifth child to miscarriage. I have known the darkness, the inky black night, the shadowy whispers of pain that blind.

But He promised us that He was mighty to save. And He has. And He will.  Yet- somewhere in the middle, I kept company with Sarai and Hagar, Abram and Ishmael. I lost confidence in my Lord’s will, and I thought I could fix things. And so, as Sarai sent Hagar to Abram, I sent ‘a promising email’ to my husband, a job, a work from home position. My beloved had reservations. Many. And I, in my desperation, shoved past the red flags of wisdom crying out for attention. This is not to say that some sort of employment was ahead for me, or that He had provisions waiting for us if we had trusted His timing…but I can tell you even then, we knew this job was not the wisest course of action for our family. I ignored it.

I would spend the next year and a half trying to find a balance that could not be found. I lost perspective, lost purpose- I would care for our family from dawn until dusk, and then would work from dusk near to dawn again, each precious hour of sleep and clarity slipping into the darkness, never to be retrieved. Chronic exhaustion takes its toll; depression soon became my constant handmaiden and companion.

I cannot emphasize this enough, dear friends. I don’t care what vocation you pursue, but if you sacrifice the rest our wise and gracious God has ordained for us, something is not as it should be. If it’s a constant, instead of an occasional, occurrence, check your heart-call. I have serious doubts that the Lord would call you to a task that includes such a thing. His yoke is easy. His burden is light. In Christ’s ministry, there was always a balance between rest and action. Always. If things are ridiculously hard, if you’re making decisions that are totally contrary to your heart, maybe the Lord is creating the friction to call you back to His purpose.

I speak from my life. I should have heard Him clearly when I fell so ill last year. It’s almost laughably obvious. I fell so ill quite simply because my body could not run on fumes—and yet—I would go on to work for the company for another year. A year. And I could not understand why I could not heal, why I could not get well. But I wouldn’t stop. For another year. I have paid the price. I will probably never be as healthy as I was before I began this job, unless the Lord sees fit to restore what the locusts have eaten. I will spend the rest of my life caring for my body because I nearly destroyed it in desperation.

Oh, that I were not so stubborn! The Lord needed a two by four to smack me across the back of the head, and so, late at night on a family outing to a local Christmas light show, I missed the (rather obvious) hitch point protruding from the back of my fifteen passenger van, tripped…and shattered my wrist. My right wrist, my dominant hand. I could no longer work in any capacity- I could not type. I could barely dress myself, comb my hair. And then—I finally heard Him. I submitted my resignation within days. I will always see my deformed wrist now, and think of Jacob and the angel of the Lord and Jacob’s thigh… I will bear the mark of stubbornness the rest of my days.

I beg you, dear friends, to trust in the Lord and lean on His understanding, and acknowledge Him in all your ways. Don’t ever get to the point of desperation that you feel that you must trade your heart and body. Debt is awful, but it is never worth that. It’s never worth running ahead of God. But- if you have found yourself right-tangled, as I have, know that He is might to save, and He will not forsake you. Confess, repent, and trust. The storm will still rage, perhaps even for a long time- but He will be with you.

Here I stack these stones, mark an Ebenezer. May the Lord in His grace lead me away from this place of sorrow.

~ Emily, Chatting at the Sky, Jan. 19, 2012

I’ve been dwelling in a quiet place. My last day of work ended Friday, and with it came a wicked twenty-four-hour stomach bug. I left with a whimper, barely finishing my last tasks, instead of with a bang, but what of that? It’s over now.

The days that followed meant rest; sleep. Full eight hour, ten hour full stops. No spinning mind, no waking with a mad to-do list ricochet-pow! around my brain. Just rest. As the Sabbath dawned, I attended church, fully there. No spinning madness, tilt-a-whirl round about the liturgy–you forgot to do this, you failed at that whispering through. Just the Word. The body. The bread. The cup. I felt dizzy in the hushed.

Noon and lunch followed, children down for naps, and I wandered my house. Rediscovery. I read. I clumsily knit a few rows. (What good therapy I shall have for my wrist, no?) I scribbled poetry. I sat in the quiet. I felt dizzy in the hushed.

Three more turns of clay, light and dark, have passed, and the dizziness is passing. I greet the quiet, slip her folds about me. I feel spring. I have lived winter long enough. There is no word to name this year, but more, a feeling: an abiding. A dwelling. A healing. I wandered our backyard, and discovered I had forgotten seasons. I walk, discovering feet. My body greets the subtle pain of use with gladness. I will weave the days, re-weave the threads that have fallen while I chased mad after desperation.

I keep coming back to relationship. It the story of Him. It’s the story of us-my family. It’s the story of us- universal. It’s where we’ve been and where we’re going, and the Home we are journeying towards. This has been making the rounds on Facebook like wildfire, but it’s worth a watch if you have a second.

I keep thinking about grace…I think we talk to ourselves intellectually that we would let Jesus in should He knock at our front door—but the thing is? Would we let our own selves in? How can we extend grace to others if we’ve never learned how to truly forgive our own failings? If we’re so busy questioning someone else’s lives, choices, salvation? Do we really, really, really believe in the scandalous grace of Christ?

I watched my husband last night, leaned over an ER bed with an extremely sick little boy- our fourth son, Josiah. Everything is all right now. But it was a scary night…a night where we paced the floors…where a daddy looked over at his not-so-baby boy with all the love written plain across his face, his lips whispering quiet prayer. And all I can think about tonight—my husband. He’s just a man, just trying to do his best, a daddy. And my God calls himself Abba. Daddy. And if my husband, broken sinner that he is- loves his son like that….maybe, just maybe…my Abba Father God is looking down at me, broken and sick sinner, and praying over me too.

7. Favorite 10. Childhood (See those toofies peekin’s out?)

4. LetterboxYes, I realize it isn’t a real mailbox, but this little number has been a solid part of my life for a year and a half. I wanted to capture that piece of history as I look forward.

5. Something You WoreMy beloved got me these slippers in early winter- actually booties- and my, if they aren’t already well (worn) loved. With wood fire being our main heat, the wood floors can get so cold, especially in the morning. Woe betide you if you step out upon them in the wee hours unshod. You will wake right up. Yes siree.

6. Makes You SmileMy little art studio space, tucked now into the master bedroom, where the best natural light is in the whole house. (This is the view from our bed.) The sheer irony of breaking my wrist is tempting me beyond measure to do stuff I really shouldn’t without hurting my arm. I was so excited to move into this space, and now, I test my patience and self control. The beautiful print of roses is from my dear friend and uber-talented photographer, Kelly Sauer.

Here’s Day 1- 3:

1. You

2. Breakfast (Steel Cut Oats)

3. Something you adore [of course, knitting will be postpone until this lovely purple cast is gone (see #1. It's peeking just above my other arm).]