Hold On Loosely

 The other day, the daily reading in the church was the Transfiguration of Jesus.  Jesus took Peter, James, and John up a mountain, and while they were there, Jesus was transfigured before them - he shone brightly, and then suddenly, Moses and Elijah were there with Jesus.  

And Peter said something I've always chuckled at:  "It's good, Lord, to be here.  If you wish, I will put up three tents - one for you, one for Elijah, and one for Moses."

Ah, Peter!  This is such an amazing moment!  Let's stay here longer, forever even!  I'll build some tents, we can stay and enjoy this time together and never leave!

I've always thought it was such a tender story of Peter - it almost felt childlike of him to want to stay in the moment.  But this past week as I read the reading and then heard the daily homily about it again later that morning, it suddenly hit me -- I am just like Peter!  When times are good, I want to grab hold and stay put.  I want to build tents and stay in the moment forever!

Two of our boys are getting married in 2027 - to wonderful girls who we adore and have prayed for our boys' whole lives. Our eldest child hasn't lived at home for 8 years, and now the next two will be permanently moving out as they get married.  Our fourth is in college, leaving only one at home - our baby who is somehow starting her junior year of high school.  

AND I WANT TO HOLD ON!  I want to make some tents real quick, and preserve what I've always known and what has been so, so good. But for the last several months, amzaingly, given my very sentimental nature, I've been at peace with this moving on.  Instead of sitting in the nostalgia and being in my feels that everyting will be different, I'm instead turning my head to the joy that is to come.

The .38 Special song comes to mind - Hold On Loosely.  Though it's talking about a romantic relationship, the idea is the same.  We have to "hold on loosely, don't let go.  If you cling too tightly, you're gonna lose control". I'm not sure I'd lose control exactly, but if I hold on too tightly to the past and what I know, I'm going to miss out on what's ahead.  

Peter wanted to build tents.  I want to hold on tightly, but we all have to let go of even the good moments to make space for all that is to come - the good and the hard, because we know God works it all for our good.  So as we move into this new space, that's my goal - to hold on loosely - to be thankful for the past, the present, and to look to the future with joy and confidence that it will also be so, so good.

The Week(ish) In Pictures

 

I snapped this picture before school this week, wearing one of my favorite Christmas gifts, a sheepie sweater!  It is handmade and beautiful, and brings me so much joy!  And bonus - my PreK'ers loved it too!

I have spent the better part of the last week under the weather, and clocked some serious hours on the couch snoozing, resting, watching endless episodes of Law and Order, and reading when I was able.  And for most of that time, I had a little cuddle buddy at my feet or by my side.  He wasn't afraid of my germs. 

One of my boys gifted this to his sister for Christmas, and everyone (except perhaps Barkley) got Great Joy out of it.  His name morphed into Frogley, and it was requested multiple times that she dress the poor little puppers in it before coming over to our house.  I think he secretly liked it.

Speaking of doggos and Christmas gifts, Duke is sporting one of my favorite gifts I gave this year.  My eldest son seems to think Dukers does no wrong and has taken to calling him Certified Good Boy.  At 4 am on Dec. 23, I couldn't sleep and was looking on Amazon for last-minute stocking stuffers for said son.  I searched this phrase in Amazon's search engine, knowing it would be fruitless, and instead was rewarded with this little patch, which would arrive the next day!  I couldn't push purchase fast enough, and the Certified Good Boy has been announcing his status since Christmas Day.

And finally, this shirt was another favorite gift I gave this Christmas, again to my eldest son.  He and I have been watching 90s episodes of Law and Order, and this shirt is the best.  IYKYK.

Yoked with Jesus

A while back, I wrote the following devotion for a booklet that Lutheran High School of Indpls recently published for their 50th anniversary. Being yoked with Jesus is a gift. ❤

28 Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Matt. 11:28-30

Back on April 12, 1987, at 13 years old, I was confirmed at Trinity, Indianapolis.  I remember much of the day - my new dress, my poofy red hair, my friends alongside me, Pastor Maas bestowing our confirmation verses upon us, my extended family gathering for a post-confirmation open house. . .aaand Matthew 11:30.

And for the next 25 years or so, that verse troubled me.  As Pastor Maas confirmed each of us, he placed a stole upon our shoulders and recited Matthew 11:30. I vividly recall the stole being placed on me and hearing “My yoke is easy and my burden is light”.  And as he put what I felt was a figurative yoke on my shoulders, a years-long struggle with that verse began for me.  What on earth could that passage mean? In my mind, God’s yoke was not easy, and His burden was not light!  In fact - quite the opposite!  It’s actually incredibly hard to be a Christian in the world today, and that yoke and burden felt anything but light. 

As my life continued, post-confirmation, I ran across this passage now and then and still felt confused by it. I often felt weighed down by my sins and shortcomings.  My shoulders felt yoked all right -- by my own mistakes, regrets, and bad choices. Again, the yoke of trying to follow Christ did not feel easy or light.

Fast-forward 25ish years, and I ran across a devotion based on the writings of C.S. Lewis. Two of the lines jumped out at me and transformed how I’d been thinking of this passage for so long.  The quote went something like this: “Carrying the yoke of Jesus is far easier than carrying the burden of our sins. Or, one might say, become yoked to Jesus and you will find that He is doing the heavy lifting.”

Immediately I pictured Jesus and me – yoked together as oxen would be – and everything changed. I could see me, feeble and struggling, heavy-laden with my sin and failures. But alongside me was Jesus – strong, capable, with eyes full of love.  And suddenly the yoke was no longer overwhelming and oppressive.  Being yoked with Jesus actually alleviates our heavy load.  For His yoke is easy, and His burden is light.  

Dear Jesus, Help me to leave the burden of my sins at the foot of your cross.  Amen. 

Three Years of Duke!

 Duke. Dukers. Dukey. Duckers. Dukertonian. Sir Duke. Dukey Baby. 

Ah, our little wild boy Duke is celebrating his third adoptaversary today.  Three years ago today, he came careening into our lives, and we have never been quite the same since. He's chewed more pillows, socks, couches, blankets, shoes, towels, and. . .basically anything he could get his teeth on.  He's barked enough to scare away a thousand bad guys. He's had the zoomies, racing through the house and on the furniture, mowing down anyone in his way. He's vomited (on the carpet, always on the carpet) more times than we count.  He's jumped up on us, acted a fool on car rides, attempted to rip our arms out of their sockets on walks, and made every effort to eat all of our Christmas ornaments off the tree.  And the pièce de résistance was the oh-so-memorable time he literally ate the pant leg of our friend while he was over for dinner.  

Yes, Duke.  Here we are, three years later, somehow still standing.  Duke is 3.5 years old now, and maybe, just maybe, dare I say it -- growing up a little?  I can't remember the last time he ate a pillow or furniture or  swiped the dishtowel, though he is still game for a sock in the laundry basket if he's feeling frisky (which is often).  These days he mostly listens when we tell him no, and after some initial excitement over our return home or after playtime, he likes to settle onto the couch and snooze, or keep a quiet eye on us through heavy-lidded eyes.  His favorite person is my husband, and he likes to snuggle up next to him while he is doing his prayers throughout the day (my husband is doing the praying, not Duke:).  He somehow instinctively knows when my husband is going to go on a run, and whimpers pathetically while he waits to have his leash put on.  He makes the kids happy, and he cheers all of us up if we're down.  

Three years ago today I had no idea what was ahead of us in the coming months (though I might have had some inklings).  But three years later, it appears Duke is a beloved member of our family, despite all my tears in the first few weeks that suggested otherwise.  Everyone who encouraged me in those early days was right:  he would indeed (mostly) chill out and become a good boy.  

So lift your glass (or doggie treat) to Dukey Baby: May we enjoy many more years of snuggles and doggy love with Duke. 

Birthday Gratitude

Yesterday was my second child's 24th birthday.  It was a lovely afternoon. . .low key and chill, but full of one my favorite things: family time.

As I've blogged about before, sometime in early parenthood, we started a birthday dinner tradition. Unless we're out of town, we have dinner at home, and I almost always make the birthday cake/dessert.  I'm no baker or cook, but it felt important to me to be at home for birthdays (even though I loooove eating out!).  We have lots of birthday memories gathered around our dining room table.  But my favorite part of our birthday tradition is that everyone (including grandparents or visiting family, and in later years, boyfriends/girlfriends of the birthday girl/boy) takes a turn sharing a thought or two about what they love/appreciate about the person.  These have been all over the place over the years (you can read two examples here and here) -- sometimes they're funny, often they're heartfelt, especially as the kids have gotten older, but they always make the recipient feel loved and appreciated. 

Today, our two college boys weren't home, but we were able to facetime them both in so they could share their love for our oldest son.  As usual, when all three boys are "together", hilarity ensues, and today was no exception.  They were laughing and ridiculous, and though we were hours apart, we felt close as we shared this long-standing tradition together.  And as has been true especially in recent history, everyone's answers made my heart swell with gratitude.  My son is living two "bonus" years at home as he completes his grad degree nearby, and everyone mentioned how much they've loved having him home, and how their relationships with him have grown deeper due to this time together as adults/young adults.  I don't often cry during this ritual, but I did today -- having my son home this last year especially has been invaluable to me.  His heart, his faith, his spiritual maturity, and the unique way he looks at things has been such a gift to me.  

We've come a long way from "he's nice to me!" or "she plays with me!", and the like.  Sharing one's heart in front of the whole family (and often others in attendance) can sometimes be challenging, embarrassing, or nerve-wracking.  But it's proven to be one of my favorite family traditions.  Everyone in attendance benefits from it.  I am so grateful for God's gift of family.

TPIR. IYKYK

If you are a child of the 80s, maybe you can relate:  every time I stayed home from school, no matter what I had or how unwell I felt, there was always one bright spot during the day.  If memory serves, that bright spot was at 11 am, eastern time.  As I lay on our brown plaid couch with whatever ailed me, my eyes would light up as my ears heard Johnny Olson (or later, Rod Roddy), say "So-and-so!  Come on down!  You're the next contest on the The Price is Right!', and the familiar tune filled the air. Yep, The Price is Right was one of my absolute favorite shows growing up.  I loved to guess along with the contests -- What does a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese cost in the state of California?  Will the yodeler fall off the edge of the cliff? Will the Plinko disc land in the $10,000 slot?  Will the big wheel land on $1.00 in the first round, or even more exciting, on the bonus round? Will a contestant in contestants' row get to reach into Bob Barker's coveted suit jacket pocket for a $100 bill for guessing the exact price (and not a penny over, of course!)?

My memories of TPIR (as true fans refer to it) span most of my life.  Even as I grew up, I still loved to catch the show whenever possible.  As I married into my husband's family, my father-in-law discovered how much I loved the show.  I used to joke that it was my life's dream to go to a taping of it before Bob Barker retired.  

One day, when my first two children were very small, my father-in-law offered to pay for flights for my husband and me to fly to LA to watch a taping of the show. We happily accepted his generous offer, sent away for tickets, and soon after flew to Los Angeles, leaving our kids with my in-laws -- another part of their kind gift to us. 

The show taping was an all-day affair.  You had to arrive at 5 am and get in line, as there was no guarantee that you would actually get into the taping; they distributed more tickets than were actually seats in the studio.  But my husband and I were there, and if memory serves, we were third or fourth in line.  After much debate and consultation with friends at home, my husband was wearing his clerical collar.  Everyone had come to the consensus that that might get him chosen to be a contestant.  (It did not.).  We stood in the dark with 300 of our new best friends, and hours upon and hours later in the late afternoon, we finally taped the show.  It was such a surreal experience, being on the set of a show I had watched virtually my whole life.  Seeing Bob Barker so near and watching all of the games happen in front of me was an experience I will never forget.  And even though we never got called up, we were visible several times during the show, since we were seated directly behind contestants' row.  It was such fun to watch back months later when it aired.

The other day I was putting something away in my husband's dresser and found this shirt.  I had no memory of him having it and asked him about it later.  He reminded me that we had bought it for his dad as a memento of the trip he had sent us on.  My father-in-law, slow to purge things, had kept it since 2002, and when he passed away, my husband kept it too.  

So now, as I look back on my silly "life's dream", it's pleasantly intermingled with memories of my dear father-in-law, who so lovingly sent us to California to see Bob and his renowned show.

Then and Now

Last week, a series of texts between my nursing-student college sophomore about his clinicals that day:

Son:  Clinicals were fine, starting to learn how to do an NG tube

Mom:  Oh wow!  That sure brings back memories!  I can also do an NG tube.  Or at least I used to be able to!

Son:  Well, you can't put one in a person, you can just do upkeep on one and do feedings, right?

Mom: No, Dad and I inserted one for you multiple times!

Son:  Ohhhh ok.

        That's fire!

        We are only learning how to do one through the nasal cavity right now.

Mom: long-ish explanation filled with memories, summed up like this:  Yes, we inserted one for you lots of times for the first two months you were home from the NICU.

Son:  That's kinda crazy. 

        I did not know that.

        Thanks, Mom and Dad.

        Ya'll goated fr

Then dear old mom proceeded to share lots more memories with my son about those days and months.  Over 20 years ago, it all seems like a bit of a blur and definitely surreal now.  I recall being at Riley and the NICU nurses telling us our baby might be discharged still on oxygen, apnea monitor, and with an NG tube.  And I recall immediately thinking, "Ohhhhh no thanks!! We'll just stay here until he doesn't need any of those things, thankyouverymuch!"  But, as time passed, the reality became clear that after seven weeks in the NICU, our little guy was ready to come home, still needing all three of those things I had politely declined several weeks earlier.  And miraculously, we discovered we could do hard and scary things, especially when it came to taking care of our child. 

So fast forward almost 21 years later, and our son, the little fragile baby who needed an NG tube, is now learning how to insert them on patients.  It feels like a bit of a full-circle moment to me. Nurses always played a huge part in our son's hospital stays, and he can call to mind many specific nurses who were "goated" as he would say.  During our text exchange last week, we were remembering one of them, and my final text to him about it all was this:

Mom:  Someday Isaac gonna be the goat to his patients. ❤

The Week in Pictures

Tell me you're a PreK teacher without telling me. . .This was my project last night after work.  Glue dots on flashcards for a tactile, sensory experience as my kiddos learn their letters and sounds.  Looking forward to introducing them to our literacy activities.  I gotta say it was strangely satisfying to trace each one! 

 

One of my best Christmas gifts!  A list of three of my faves for sure, although the glass of wine is in a tight race with a coke zero, but what rhymes with that?  

Ah, a Christmas Dukers.  Over break he was so good, even traveling with us to see our extended family and behaving so well.  I thought he was finally turning into a good boy!  But now that life's back to normal, he's been a little naughty again.  Sigh. I do think overall he's turning a corner. . .someday he'll get there!

I got this sweatshirt after Christmas and I love it! Ever since our trip to Ireland, I just love the sheepies and all the connections to Jesus, so when I saw this, it made me so happy.  Can't wait to wear it! 

The Best Christmas Ever

A few days before Christmas, we were at a party with a small group of friends.  Our hostess, ever full of cheer and hospitality, handed each of the 8 guests a little Christmas tag with an adjective on the back.  We were each to share a Christmas memory in line with our word.  My original word was awkward, but I swapped with my husband for "best Christmas" and tossed around several memories while I waited for my turn to share - childhood wonder and excitement, watching my children's eyes wide with Christmas joy. . .but ultimately decided on a very recent memory instead.

My best Christmas memory, I shared, started the Christmas before.  A few years ago, our December preparations were like any other year - I was excited for the Advent season, for all the kids to be home, and for the joy we have of worshiping together, giving gifts to each other, laughing together, and just being together.  But on that Christmas Eve morning, while I was at the grocery store, one of my kids texted me and told me he had a fever.  Within a few hours, that fever was confirmed covid, and everything seemed to crumble after that.  No worshiping together that night.  No family picture at the altar.  No Christmas morning at the tree (that child Facetimed us to open presents from his room).  No traveling to extended family until a couple weeks later.  And a day or two after Christmas, one of my other kids headed out of town on a pre-planned trip.  And my heart was sad.  I vividly recall taking walks every morning, tears in my eyes, but praying as I walked, thanking God for all the good in my life.  My kids were alive.  They were in my house at Christmas, even though we weren't really "together"... my prayer went on, as I tried to reframe my focus and be grateful for what God had given me, instead of focusing on all I felt I had lost and missed out on.  

As I told my story, my friends wondered "This is your best Christmas memory?!?".  "I'm getting there", I explained.  That Christmas ushered in a rough year.  Starting on Christmas Eve morning, the hits kept coming.  It was a year of loss in so many categories.  A year of hardship and heartache on so very many fronts.  And as the next Christmas loomed, I longed for the new year; a new start, to turn a new page, and put this challenging year behind us.

And that next December, I remember trying to have no expectations, no dreams of a "perfect" Christmas.  My prayer seemed simpler for this year, as I tried to keep my heart focused on the true meaning of Christmas - not my family being together, as I am so apt to idolize, but truly immersing myself in the miracle that is Christ's birth.  

And as I explained to my friends, that next Christmas was the best in my memory because it was exactly like the all others before it (excluding the year before).  Nothing spectacular happened, but instead, it was a quiet (as quiet as our family ever is, which is practically never), normal, beautiful, and joyous Christmas.  Everyone was home, no one was sick, we saw our extended family, we worshiped together, we laughed together, we were together. But in stark comparison to all the heartache from the entire year before, it was beautiful because it was normal.  And that year I appreciated it in a way that I never had before.  I was always aware of God's many blessings to me, but I think I did take some things for granted and I learned to give thanks more fully that year for all I had.  

So my best Christmas was not flashy or thrilling.  My best Christmas was quiet and humble.  But full of love and grace.  And I was so grateful for it. 

The Lord Is My Shepherd

The Scene:  Jesus time in my PreK classroom

The characters:  My 4/5-year-old students and me

The sitch: Me, introducing the story of young David as a shepherd and basically loving every minute of it and finding this to be one of my absolute favorite bible stories to teach

Sigh. You might know, dear reader, that I can get teary and emotional and overwhelmed with joy and beauty.  This is indeed what happened on Monday morning.  Typically in PreK we only teach the story of David and Goliath, but this year we also decided to teach David, The Singing Shepherd.  And it was so meaningful to me (and hopefully to my dear little ones!), that I shall henceforth teach it every year.

If you read my summer vacation blogpost here, you might remember that while on the trip of a lifetime to Ireland, I became interested obsessed with sheep.  Watching the sheep listen to their shepherd's voice, aided by the most amazing sheepdogs, was literally one of the best parts of the trip for me.  We saw sheep everywhere on the trip, and one day we happened upon a flock being moved from one pasture to the next by their shepherd and sheepdogs.  The shepherd called out, the dogs obeyed, and the sheep followed.  And I cried.  It was so magnificent to me on its own - that God created these animals to be so drawn to, trusting of, and loyal to their master, and that their master would care for them so lovingly, to the point of putting his own body in between his flock and danger. But even more, that God would use the relationship between sheep and their shepherd as an analogy of our relationship with Him.

And so on the drive to school on Monday, my mind was mulling over teaching David as shepherd, and suddenly all the Ireland sheepies were front and center.  By 8:10, when I began teaching Jesus Time, the connections between David and his sheep and humanity and God were zinging through my mind.  I told the students how silly the sheep were (can't tell 4/5 year-olds that sheep are stupid!), and how they rely on the shepherd for literally everything (food, keeping them from falling off a cliff, protecting them from wolves).  The children pretended to be sheep, crawling about and baaing, and I was the shepherd.  I stood quietly while they meandered, and after a few moments, I called the sheep back to me.  The children came back, baaing all the way, and sat expectantly in front of me.  And as I explained that we are like the sheep, sometimes so silly and forgetful and in danger, and that Jesus is the shepherd, protecting us and giving us everything we need, my little ones took it all in.  We need to listen to Jesus, He takes care of us!  He wants only the best for us!  He will literally lay down His life to save us (quick moment at the classroom crucifix).

So as I said, it was basically the best day ever. I could talk about this topic the rest of the year, though I'll move on to our next Bible story next week.  But maybe I'll keep reminding the students to listen to our Good Shepherd - He loves us so much He laid down His very life to save us.  

One of the many sheep items I own.  This picture is now in my classroom, to be used as a frequent reminder of how we rely on Jesus to lead and care for us.

The Week In Pictures

I offer a few visuals from the last week(ish):

This pillow resides on our bed and I look at it every morning and evening and a few times in between.  Sometimes I don't really read it and other times I do, and smile.  But this weekend, I had everyone in my house for a few hours, and afterward, as I moved the pillow, I felt its message deeply.  I know every mother thinks this (and what a beautiful thing that is!), but I am unbelievably thankful that God gave us our kids.  We have grown kids and almost-grown kids and teenagers, and they're all just amazing people.  I love laughing with them (I just told a couple kids tonight that they should live with me forever because I laugh so much when we're together), I love worshiping with them, I love singing with them, and I love doing life with them as they grow up.  They're the best! 

Dukey!  We bought a dog grooming set in an effort to not go broke with groomer bills, and we're slowly getting the hang of it.  Our first effort was. . .interesting, and the kids made a lot of fun of our abilities. But he's a dog and he's goofy and he doesn't care what he looks like.  But I gotta say he's more tolerable when he's cute, so I'm glad we're getting better at it. 

Where the letter sign started -- a beautiful and inspiring quote from Anne. . .

And where it ended -- a modification by a nameless child one night after I had gone to bed.  You'll be glad to know that after I laughed at it for a few days, I returned it to its original sweet state. 

Excuse my ancient ratty pan, but I offer here our family's favorite chocolate chip cookies.  40ish years ago, my mom saw a recipe in the paper for Mrs. Cleaver's chocolate cookies, and they've lived in infamy in our family ever since.  I don't wear heels and a pencil skirt and call out for the Beav while I make them, but I can imagine that I am the consummate housewife that June was.  A girl can dream. 

And this, a fave of mine when fall rolls around.  Even though I apparently am barely a redhead anymore, I still think I am, and the fall colors are my favorite.  I can walk around in an outfit that channels my inner 1970s kitchen, all while coordinating with my hair and the season.  Win!

 

A Family Reunion

Family reunions. 

If you know me at all, you know that I love family reunions. From the small scale of our seven family members coming together for dinner, a holiday, or a vacation, (you can read here how I feel about my circles being stacked up), to get-togethers and vacations with all of the grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins, to extended family reunions every summer - they are all important to me and a priority.

This weekend, we had a guest preacher, one in a series of guest preachers we have had this year to celebrate our church's 150th anniversary.  Among his thoughts in the sermon, he used the phrase "family reunion" to describe what we experience each Sunday when we come together as the body of Christ. It really resonated with me as I looked at the people around me — the faces of those I have loved for many years, who are truly family.

On this particular Sunday, two days ago, I had the privilege of singing with the choir and being the Cantor. The choir sang a childhood favorite of mine, John Rutter’s For the Beauty of the Earth. And as I sang it, I was overwhelmed. I was moved by the beauty of the piece, melodic and rich in lyrics, and steeped in nostalgia and memories for me. And the words of our guest preacher echoed in my mind — a family reunion. 

Rewind back to circa 1981. A little third-grade version of me, with long dark red hair and a shy grin, joined the Carol Choir at our Lutheran school. The director, Mr. B., was a dear family friend, and I imagine I was excited to be a part of his choir — he was funny; a jokester and quick to laugh, but he was also a loving teacher and an excellent and talented musician and choir director. In two years, I shed the short white robe of the carol choir and donned the long choral robe of the school choir. And dare I say this? Joining the choir impacted my entire life. 

Beginning in fifth grade, our school choir sang challenging and complicated pieces, we went to workshops, and sang for pastor's conventions. We sang with various instruments at worship twice a month, and at concerts and festival services throughout the year. We laughed with our director, but we also learned proper breathing techniques, the difference between head voice and chest voice, and how to sing vowels by watching a rubber band stretch in different directions. In the school choir, we often sang for funerals at our church, offering up our voices with Children of the Heavenly Father, which we kept in our folders for such occasions.  Though we were in middle school, we often sang with the church choir, which I later joined in high school, singing difficult pieces such as the Messiah. Mr. B. often charted our progress as the Christmas concert approached, with detailed graphs on the chalkboard behind the risers.   My time in the choirs at my childhood church spanned about 10 years, and participating in that ministry shaped who I am:  the people I sang alongside, the biblical texts of so many pieces, and overarchingly, ever pointing me to my Savior.

So what does all this waxing nostalgic about choir have to do with family reunions?  Maybe nothing to anyone else, but to me, it all connects.  This past Sunday, as I sang the Rutter piece with all my heart, we sang the phrase "friends on earth, and friends above". I looked out from the choir loft with love at all the faces around me, thinking of them, and all of the faces before with a fierce love. This family reunion — the communion of saints — reaches far beyond my love of earthly family reunions.   As I sang the words so embedded in my heart, as many hymns are, I thanked God for His gift of the Church. From 1981 to present day, and before that and forevermore, God gives us each other - this fellowship of believers, which spans distance and time. 

Each Sunday, as we commune with the body of believers, we get a little taste of what is to come. And one day, we will sing and rejoice in the ultimate family reunion — with our sainted loved ones and all those who knew Christ — as we spend eternity in the presence of our Savior. 

A family reunion indeed. 

Post Vacation Thoughts, Irish Style

Late last evening, we returned home from vacation (almost 24 hours later than scheduled!).  Our family vacation looked a little different this year - no pop-up, no camping, no United States!  Due to an incredible travel fund gift our family received last year for my husband's 25th ordination anniversary, all seven of us went to the Wild Atlantic Way of Ireland.  We spent 10 days traveling up and down the western coast of Ireland and it was absolutely amazing.  We have almost 900 photos and 30+ videos and countless memories.  I'll never be able to sum it all up, but here are a few of my thoughts on this amazing gift we received:

• Beauty!  Literally everywhere we looked, we saw beauty.  Mountains, green pastures and farmland,  cliffs, ocean views, beaches, sheep (more on them later!), castles, churches, Irish homes, Irish towns.  .  .the list goes on.  We saw places we'd heard about - The Cliffs of Moher, The Skellig Islands (where some of Star Wars was filmed!) the Dingle Peninsula, the Ring of Kerry, Blasket Island, the Aran Islands, Limerick, Galway, and a zillion other places we'd never heard of, but turned out to be gorgeous.  I just kept saying "This is amazing" and felt lame for my uninspired vocabulary, but I just had trouble summing it up into words. Ireland is a beautiful place, in every way.
• History! I was never a fan of history in school, but being in historical places has always fascinated me and Ireland didn't disappoint.  We saw so many old castles/forts/homesteads (some in ruins, some somewhat restored), and learned so many things about how the people lived in them (a murder hole over the front door! ancient toilets!).  Walking those old grounds/castles felt so surreal to me, knowing a tiny bit of what might have taken place where I was standing.  We also saw more "modern" homes - Victorian mansions and gardens and grounds.  Still so old by American standards, but not so old over there!  The first Airbnb we stayed in was 300 years old and had been in the owner's family since it was built.  It was quirky and awesome. And finally, we saw some beautiful churches and abbeys and cemeteries, some restored, some not, but all breathtaking in their own way.  
• Family history!  While we didn't choose to go to Ireland for this reason, I realized after we'd made our plans that some of my ancestors had been born in one of the towns on our route.  We took a car ferry to the town of Kilrush, and we were able to go to the parish where I believe some of my ancestors attended/were baptized.  The experience of being where my family had lived in the early 1800s was pretty overwhelming to me and so incredibly amazing. 
• Driving! Before we left for the trip, I was pretty anxious about driving in Ireland - on the wrong side of the car and the wrong side of the road.  My husband drove a manual, but we paid a little more for me to have an automatic (no one wants me to dust off my rusty 30+ year-old stick-shift knowledge AND shift with my left hand!).  We decided my eldest daughter would be my husband's navigator, and our eldest son would be mine, and the other three kids switched back and forth between the cars.  My son was a rockstar as he helped me navigate the streets of Ireland.  And shockingly, aside from the first few minutes behind the wheel,  I was remarkably calm about the driving.  But lemme tell you some things about driving in Ireland - first, the streets are all "2 lane", as in cars can be driving in both directions, but aside from highways, practically none of the streets are wide enough.  At best they're all about 1.5 lanes, and at worst, they're 1 lane.  And every single street in the whole country is winding, and both sides of the roads have stone walls or high brush immediately next the road (shoulders are non-existent in this country).  My son was so calm and patient, as he watched his life pass before him many times as I continually drove on the far left side of the road and he saw stone walls dangerously close to him as we zipped along.  He quietly waved his left hand to the right the entire trip, saying "stay right, Shellerton", as we listened to the only music I had downloaded on my phone on constant repeat for 10 days -- songs I had purchased or added circa 15 years ago.  Overall driving, while never a relaxing experience, wasn't as bad as I had feared, and we turned in both cars with "no new damage noted".  WIN!
• Homes!  Literally EVERY house in Ireland has a border - a fence at a minimum, but most with a hedgerow or stone wall.  Once I noticed this fact, I started looking for one without a border and I never saw one.  All the houses are built in the same style too - all the homes, new and old were cohesive. I desperately wanted to watch all the houses as we drove, but due to the teeny, tiny, curving roads, I had to miss some of them. 
• Irish!  Before the trip, I didn't realize how many people speak Irish in Ireland.  All signage is in both languages, and we heard lots of people speaking Irish.  I loved their accents when they spoke English as well - so lilting and lovely.  I tried hard to pick up the accent, as I often do in a different place,  but I never quite succeeded. Many of their unique phrases also made us smile - it was just so fun to listen to the people speak. 
• Wildlife!  My family can attest to the fact that while we did see some cattle, goats, and horses (we also had a near-hysterical puffin sighting), the real "wildlife" that I was obsessed with was the sheep.  After the first day or two I fell in love with the sheep that we saw in the fields everywhere we went.  We listened to them baaing and they brought me such joy.  On one of our walks into an old castle area, we saw a sheep farmer and his sheepdogs herding the sheep.  It was absolutely beautiful to me.  The sheep followed the dogs and farmer so well.  It was so incredible to see them running as the farmer and dogs herded them around the corners and into their pen.  I tried to take a video and failed, much to my later sorrow.  The whole thing was so moving to me, I actually cried!  The sheep in Ireland will be one of my best memories (so much so that I bought several sheep and sheep related little items and will be decorating a TTTT with them in the near future.  I have been made fun of for this.  I DO NOT CARE.  Me likey the sheepies.).
• Family!  As always, the best part of any vacation to me is the time together -laughing, appreciating our surroundings, and just spending time together.  I cherish that we could spend so many days in such an unbelievable place.  Many times during the trip I said to our family how thankful I was that our congregation gifted this fund to us - it provided a once in a lifetime opportunity for the seven of us.  I am so grateful. ♥

The Best of Friends

From the time my husband and I got engaged, we talked about having a big family. Interestingly enough, we always thought we'd have five kids, which we later went on to actually do!  I don't know if we actually envisioned what life with lots of kids would look like, but we each came from a family of two children and were very close to our siblings.  I think we really loved the idea of a loud, fun house, full of kids playing, laughing, and loving each other.

What we didn't envision was all the fighting!  While my husband and his brother had their moments growing up, and my sister and I sometimes bickered, I don't think we could have pictured what a house full of kids who didn't always see eye to eye would look like. As our family grew in number and the children grew in years, so did the arguing.  And the complaining.  And the constant "Mom!  Tell him to ______!!!!"

And oh. my. goodness.  There were so many moments when dear old mom was at the end of her rope.  Moments where I thought if I heard so much as one more whine and fuss about a sibling, so help me, everyone was going to regret it.  Not my finest hour(s), but it was reality.  Will they ever get along?  I lamented to myself, to my husband, to God. I had serious concerns.  After all, I knew lots of adult siblings who were not particularly close at best and actually estranged at worst.  I wasn't living in lala land where my kids might fight all their childhood but then suddenly emerge as adults who were the best of pals.  I knew their childhood years were critical in shaping their relationships with each other as adults.

And so I reminded them often, usually during a disagreement or squabble, or after an unkind word or uncharitable action:  "Please be kind to your brother (or sister).  He (or she) will be your friend for life!  You won't know anyone as long as you will know your siblings!  God gave you such a gift in your brothers and sisters!"

Repeat, over and over again, and then wait. Wait for years. Wait and pray, and continue to guide and encourage and offer opportunities for sibling bonding.  

And then, after all of those years, I have had the joy of seeing those prayers and pleas being answered. As my kids have grown into adults and older teenagers, what I thought might never happened has indeed happened:  they are friends.  

With joy, I have watched them laugh together, turn to a sibling for advice during a hard time, celebrate each other's victories,  and cry with each other during struggles.  They often choose to be together, look to each other for answers, and stand up for each other when needed.  Sure, they also gang up together to make fun of mom and dad,  but we can take it because "look, honey!  The kids are getting along so well while they mock us!" They have a separate group chat of just the kids where I'm sure they say all sorts of ridiculous things, but maybe also build each other up.  

No one will understand their growing-up years quite like their siblings do.  They can laugh about a funny video they watched when they were little, or how excited they were on Christmas morning, or how they used to play "crazy church".  While my husband and I were there, our perspective was different, and they could only turn to each other to fully reminisce about their memories. 

So if you're a young mom reading this, take heart. Keep encouraging and offering opportunities for your kids to grow closer.  And keep praying.  And then wait.  And in a few years, you'll see those fledgling friendships you've been watching grow truly blossoming.  And it will be beautiful. 

A Suffering Vine Makes Fine Wine

 My husband shared that quippy line last week in his homily.  I think he saw it when he was at a winery last year.  It fit with the reading for the day from John 15:5 "I am the vine; you are the branches.  If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."

Between the sermon and our small group, we explored lots from that verse, including discerning God's will for lives, but as I've pondered it all this week, the idea of the suffering vine has stuck with me.  Because -- and maybe I'm not alone here -- I don't like to suffer. I prefer goodness and happiness and all-is-well, thankyouverymuch.  I'm not interested in pain or sorrow, I don't even watch movies that make me cry (which I will say takes a lot of movies off the table for me, as I cry about practically everything).  I want my life to be smooth, for my husband and kids not to experience heartache or tragedy, or hardship. I'm not a helicopter or lawnmower or snowplow parent, because I know that challenges are good for all of us, but I can't say I welcome real and true hardships for anyone in my family.  A little hiccup now and then is good for a person, but true tribulation?  No thanks.

And yet.  

Years ago I ran across this quote from St. Julian of Norwich:  "He said not, 'Thou shall not be tempested, thou shall not be travailed, though shall not be diseased', but He said 'Thou shall not be overcome'".  I remember jotting it down as soon as I heard it.  We're not promised to be without challenges, but we are promised that we shall not be overcome.  We often feel like we're in the fire of struggle, and it hurts.  But God tells us to remain in Him and the fire won't destroy us.  And even more, the fire will refine us.  Strengthen us.  Cause us to grow.  Help us bear fruit for Him.

I was once at a weeklong Theology of the Body conference, and at the closing worship, a gal sitting in the row with me knelt down low and held her cupped hands above her head.  She was sobbing, and her entire posture and emotion were so moving to me - I can see her vividly even now, many years later.  It was clear she was suffering deeply, and yet she held her hands up to Jesus, offering her suffering up to Him.  Since that day, I have often knelt low beside my bed during times of trial or sorrow, with my hands open above my head, offering my suffering up just as I saw her do.  There is something about the posture of the body that moves the posture of the heart.  Physically offering my struggles up to Christ turns my sinful heart toward Him in a way I can palpably feel.  

We're not told we won't suffer.  But we are told we won't be consumed by our sufferings, and in fact, our sufferings will produce beauty and growth.  Jesus will never leave us - He is the vine and we are the branches - He is literally attached to us.

Offer up your suffering to Jesus.  He'll do something with it.

Do Not Be Afraid

A friend and I were recently talking about fear.  She is a couple of years younger than me, but she was reflecting on the fact that it seems as if she is getting more fearful as she ages.  Not doubting God or losing faith, but simply worrying over what might happen -- in this case to one of her children.  I commiserated with her -- I know these feelings of fear all too well.

But the more I thought about it, it seems there are two sides of the coin for me.  On the one hand, as I have gotten older, I do notice myself batting worry over "what could happen".  As my friend and I were talking, we attributed that to the fact that the older we get, the more we have seen.  The more loss and heartache we have experienced.  Like many people, when I was young, I felt invincible - the world was wide open, and I thankfully hadn't experienced too much loss or tragedy.  But as we all get older, we start to experience those challenges personally and see and feel those in our loved ones' lives as well.  So, maybe the fear comes due to simply an awareness of what could happen that we didn't fully have when we were younger.  

But on the other hand, with age I have noticed comes a deeper peace in God's good will for us.  Might bad things happen?  Yes.  But is He with us throughout the journey? Yes.  Many times as I have gotten older, I have asked God for the desires of my heart, but with a greater understanding of His will.  I pray now, as I always have, that God's will be done in my life and the lives of those around me.  As we all know, that can be a challenging prayer to pray.  God's will might not look like my will at all.  The things I think I want so badly might not be good for me (or my loved ones), and my little finite mind just can't see that.  But if we truly pray for God's will in our lives, there can be no room for fear.   He will give us just what we need.  It might not be easy or the path we would have chosen, but it is for our good nonetheless. 

This past Sunday's homily was in part about fear, and my friend and I were discussing how timely it felt to her about a concern she was having.  It felt timely to me also, but perhaps because it would be timely for me any Sunday.  In the homily, our pastor said "Fear suffocates faith.  Fear is never from the Lord.  The Lord brings you faith."  I have often quoted "Get behind me, Satan!" -- sometimes with a laugh or a smile, maybe when I am reaching for a dessert I know I shouldn't be eating or something trivial like that.  But there have been other times too, when I know that Satan truly is at work, casting doubt and fear into my heart, causing me to lose focus on what I know is true.  Those moments of fear are Satan, trying his hardest to rip things apart as he always does.

So maybe with age can also come a renewed zeal in truly praying for God's will in my life.  For putting fear behind me and praying for His peace, the peace which passes all understanding.  In my quiet moments of prayer and reflection, I can hear Jesus say "Do not be afraid.  Peace be with you."

Fear is not from God.  God gives us peace.

. . .for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.

2 Timothy 1:7

On the End of an Era

Twenty-one years ago this month, I got a packet in the mail.  I was absolutely thrilled to receive it - our almost three-year-old daughter was going to start preschool in the fall at our Lutheran school.  I was equal parts excited and shocked that my little baby was old enough for school.  It felt like a moment - her preschool enrollment was to begin our family's journey in the Lutheran elementary school years.  

Fast forward.  Tomorrow is re-enrollment day again.  But this year, I won't take my form to the office, enrolling 1,2,3,4, or 5 kiddos in our school  Tomorrow will be a regular day for me.

It's a bit surreal to know that next year I will walk in the doors for work by myself.  I won't have anyone tagging along, helping me take down chairs, waiting for me to get done after school, or popping down to my classroom midday for a hug or a visit with my littles.  It feels like the end of an era.

Let's pretend I'm a swiftie - we'll call it our Lutheran School Era (I never said I was a creative swiftie!).

 In this era, we've:

• gone to 11+ Christmas/Mother's Day/Thanksgiving programs per child (though many overlapped between kids), so maybe roughly 35, but who's counting?
• listened to/helped with more memory work passages than I can try to count, all of these moments being good for my own faith as I memorized Bible verses and sections of the catechism 
• participated in 21 National Lutheran Schools' Weeks, complete with special dress days, which are not my strong suit, but luckily Daddy is creative
• thanked God for our children's teachers, for our church and school, and for the steadfast mission they have always had to give their students Jesus 
• cried through 21 Blessing Chapels, and thus far 4 graduations, soon-to-be five (I fear some ugly crying might show up)
• helped our children work through countless struggles, hopefully teaching them valuable skills along the way
• attended about a zillion volleyball, soccer, basketball, and games, and many eternal track meets, washing stinky uniforms many nights
• watched the kids participate in spelling bees, geography bees, math competitions, music concerts, and talent shows
• prayed, and prayed and prayed

Lots of things in the list above will carry on into high school  - we still have two kids at home after all.  But this May will be the end of a very long era in our house, and it stings just a bit.  I'm excited for my youngest daughter to join her big brother in high school, but I also long for those little-kid days with part of my heart.  The height of our Lutheran School Era was craaazy - there was so much to help the kids keep track of in those days.  But I look back on it all so fondly.  

I'm grateful for everything that has brought us to this point. Our Lutheran School Era is finally an adult - a full-fledged 21-year-old.  It's time for our next era now, and we're ready for it. 

Silent Night

Silent Night.

Flickering candles.

Beautiful harmonies.

Cherished faces.

Family. 

A newborn Baby.

Love.

Those phrases sum up the end of worship last week on Christmas Eve.  As the church reverently lit their candles and passed the flame down each pew, the organist softly playing the beginning strains of Silent Night, I looked down at my hands, holding a lone candle. 

And suddenly my hands seemed to change before my eyes. . .instead of hands showing their 50 years, I saw young hands holding the candle.  And the candle didn't have a fancy plastic holder, it had a flimsy paper one that sometimes dripped hot wax onto my fingers.  

I recalled my childhood Christmases, earnestly holding the candle my parents entrusted me with.  I remembered singing in the aisle with the school choir members, and later with the adult choir.  I thought of our early years of marriage in differing states and our last 25 years at Trinity, juggling wiggly children with their own lit candles that I cautiously let them hold onto, their faces rapt with joy. 

And I realized, with a great amount of reverence, that every Christmas Eve of my life (except for two due to sick children), I was in church, holding a candle, singing Silent Night, surrounded by family.  Very quickly, the beauty of that realization hit me, and my eyes welled up.   For 50 years, I have been blessed to celebrate Christ's birth in this way - quietly, reverently, beautifully, and with family.

So many things change in life, and change is not my fave.  I prefer continuity and constancy and sure bets and steadfastness.  

But this.  This moment, though each year looks a little different, remains at its core the same.  The family surrounding me has changed over the years - some people are sainted with Jesus, some are far away, and some have been born to us.  The church family is different as the years pass too. But every year, I stand with my candle in my hand and my family filling the sanctuary with me.

What a gift.  To have had parents who raised me in the church, week in and week out, including so many Christmas Eves (and mornings!), to have married a man who values the faith and dedicates his life to it, and to have children who hold their faith dear and are themselves so deeply affected by the birth of their Savior.  

As I stood there, last week, with my candle in my hand, singing by heart the song I've sung on December 24th every year of my life, I looked around at the faces both in my pew and in the rest of the church, and I thanked God for His generosity to us.  That He sent His son, in such a lowly way, to save all of us.  That He gifted us all with each other - brothers and sisters in Christ - to encourage one another on our walk.  

That one silent night, so long ago, changed everything.  And because of that silent night, we have everything. 

 

150 Years of Love

Dear parents of my PreKindergarteners —

I love your child fiercely. I love her when she gives me hugs, when his face lights up with understanding during a lesson, when she is selfless during center time, and when he sings his heart out during Jesus time. I love your child when he is frustrated and gets upset, and when she has big feelings that are hard to navigate through. I love your child when he says silly things that make me laugh, and when she asks questions about Jesus and shares her faith with her friends, saying joyfully -  “Jesus is in my heart!”.  I love your child fiercely.  

As each school year starts and I begin to form a bond with my students, I am always taken aback a bit by my love for your children. This love comes on quickly and strongly as we get to know each other and become a class family.  This morning I was praying for your children before I got up for church, and the following thoughts came to mind:

This morning was the kickoff service of Trinity’s 150th year. For 150 years, Trinity Lutheran Church and School has shared Jesus with those in our community.  Pastors and teachers have shared the gospel and God’s word has taken root in people’s hearts. And this morning my heart was filled with joy at the privilege it is be a tiny part in that timeline. I already often think about the gift it is to be surrounded by so many selfless teachers who pour themselves out for their students — teachers who work tirelessly to help their students learn academically, but more importantly, grow in their faith.  I  also often think about all the other Lutheran and parochial teachers across the world who are doing the same things in their little corners of the world. 

But this morning as I thought about our 150th celebration worship today, I realized I don’t remember quite as often those who went before us and did all these same things. They also got tired, and discouraged, and felt insignificant, perhaps thinking - does anything I’m doing really matter??

And as we look back, oh how we could answer them — YES!! What you are doing MATTERS.  I think of my own Lutheran school education and the incredible foundation it gave me for literally every piece of my life.  And I think of my mother, who also received a Lutheran education and feels the same way, and her father before her.  The names of all those teachers and pastors won't all be remembered, but what they did has an eternal impact.

For 150 years, God’s servants have walked into whatever building housed Trinity at that time and shared Jesus with their students. For 150 years, they have had the same feelings I have about my little ones. And it’s kind of an overwhelming feeling, knowing how God can take so many ordinary people and use them to share His love. 

So dear PreK parents, I started this letter sharing my love for your children, and I’ll end it just the same. As I carry on, day in and day out, teaching your children their letters and numbers and working on fine and gross motor skills and how to be a kind and loving friend, I’ll also be reminded of this:  God is using me, like He is using everyone at Trinity now, and all those who taught before me and those who will be called here in the future, to be His hands and His feet. So even when that task might feel daunting, instead I’ll be reminded that God loves your children more than I do, more than you do, and He, like He has for eternity, equips us all with what we need for the task.  I am grateful to have the chance to love your children this 150th year of Trinity. 

Love, Mrs. M

 

Duke Strikes Again

 My dear friends, you may remember Duke, our beloved precious good tolerated puppy.  He's adorable, but so very full of super naughty behavior.  While he is slowly improving (with age and the help of a very special collar), he still has a loooooong way to go, as evidenced by what you're about to read.  

Duke, deceivingly cute

The other night, my husband had several men from church over for dinner and drinks.  The men were all in the dining room and I was next door in the kitchen, working.  The men were having a great time, with so much laughter.  I wasn't really listening to what they were saying, but I was so enjoying their constant laughter.  And bonus!  They all seemed to truly enjoy Duke and not mind at all that he was nearby as they ate dinner and had a drink afterward. 

And then the laughter really intensified.  The men were howling with laughter and I began to wonder just what was going on in the dining room.  Before long, my husband called out to me, "Honey!  We owe him a new pair of pants!!".

With great trepidation, I went into the dining room to find that dear old Duke, friend to fun-loving guys in the dining room, had, over the course of several minutes, chewed/consumed/destroyed the pant leg of one of the men's jeans. So sneaky and quiet was this naughty boy that our friend didn't even realize it was happening!  This was the carnage:

Duke has ruined so many things in our house since we got him almost a year ago, but never has he eaten the clothes off of someone while they were wearing them. We've reached new lows.  

I was laughing and crying so hard I could hardly stand up.  Our friend was an amazingly good sport and was so generous to us in our state of horror. I hugged him as he tried to make me feel better for owning such a wretched animal.  

Seriously.  Is there a more poorly behaved dog in all of the land?  If so, please share your stories with me so I feel a glimmer of hope.

In the meantime, you can find me tirelessly guarding all important items in our house and hoping these days will soon be behind us.