twelve years

Twelve years ago on the twelfth we walked an aisle, shared vows, listened to the singing of dear friends, and said "I do" to a life together.

It feels like it should be a momentous occasion to celebrate with the man who has walked beside me for the past twelve years. I have learned, however, not to let my expectations run wild on me. With three small children there are inevitable surprises and unpredictability. Celebrations will rarely live up to my expectations. I refuse to wallow in disappointment over the absence of Pomp and Circumstance for the day.
 
This anniversary arrives at the end of a very long week. A week that will be branded into my memory as one of the very most intense of my entire life. Full of emotion and friendships and company and studying for certifications and spring break and paperwork and endless cleaning and fun and stress, and thankfully no sickness. If there had been sickness it would have put me over the edge. We have had a week of Open Houses and realtors, and I have so much more to write about this as soon we will be selling our farm and home where we have lived these past 6 years. It has been a week of sadness and joy. 

And today, no, today could not be about me.

My daughter sat at the breakfast table looking at old wedding photos this morning, identifying familiar faces of friends and family among the guests, and told me, "Momma, I wish you still looked young like that!" 
 
You and me both, honey. The face I am wearing now is what 12 years of marriage with 3 children inducing 6 years of sleepless nights do to someone. It is a face with more wrinkles, now peppered with age spots, and a body with more rolls. 
 
It is also a heart filled with more love. 
It is arms filled with more hugs.
It is cheeks filled with more kisses.
It is a lap never empty.
It is bedtime full of more stories.
It is a brain invited to ever be creative.
It is a set of lungs filled with more laughter.
It is eyes that have shed more tears for the people I love.
It is more people to love, who fill my life and fill my heart.
It is death to selfishness in a way I was never capable of without this marriage, without this family.
 
Today's face sees youth passing, but you know, I wouldn't have it any other way.

P.S. We have a date set to officially celebrate our 12th anniversary later in the week. I want to make sure that no one leaves this post feeling sorry for me as I do not come anywhere close to living a deprived life. Sometimes we need to alter our perspective to get a million dollar view of all the blessings.

eggs and bunnies {repost}

The following is an Easter re-post from way back in 2010, when my first baby was one and half, and my other babies didn't exist. The connection between eggs and the resurrection story is still a little fuzzy in my head. I went hunting for this post in the archives to remember what I once knew:

The challenge as a mother is to make our holiday traditions meaningful to little children. I find that much easier at Christmas then at Easter. At least Santa was originally a saint who gave unselfishly of himself to others. What did the Easter bunny ever do for humanity, aside from gorging them with chocolate? Where do eggs fit into the Resurrection story? 

It is well-known that bunnies and eggs are a result of the merge of our Christian holiday and the pagan celebration of spring and fertility. All new life was believed to come from the egg. And rabbits, apparently, were prolific egg-layers.

I was skeptical that any legitimate link could be made between eggs and Christ. Upon researching this, however, it seems that the church made a valiant attempt at making the connection: 

• The hard shell of the egg represents the sealed Tomb of Christ.
• Cracking the eggs symbolizes Christ breaking open the Tomb, being resurrected from the dead.
• The hard-boiled egg inside of the shell is perfect, just like Christ was perfect when He exited the Tomb. (He did have scars from His piercings, so I think we can forgive ourselves if we knick the egg while trying to crack it open.)
• The egg, as mentioned above, represents new life. This life is truly found in Christ.
• The egg was a symbol of the rebirth of the earth in celebrations of spring. In the Biblical world, this translates easily as a symbol of the resurrection of Jesus.
• Traditionally, Easter eggs were dyed red to represent the blood of Christ. 

I have to say that I was surprised to realize all of the connections, because I have never been able to come up with any on my own. I find nothing wrong with the historical church attempting to be culturally relevant by using familiar symbols to teach people about what Jesus Christ did for us on the first Easter so long ago. 

My one-and-a-half year old won't understand any of this yet, so we made the connection between eggs and Jesus a different way:

Our eggs were decorated with secret messages (in white crayon) about God's love for us... things like:   

            "Jesus loves you!"   

                          "He rose again!" 

                                       "God loves Annike!"

We even got a cracked egg to say "the curtain of the temple tore in two."

Ultimately, I have decided that traditions are what we make of them. As for bunnies, I think they just come with the territory, kind of like Santa's reindeer.

Doesn't she look just like Karsten does at this age? Same shaggy white hair and blue eyes. All except for the fact that she is wearing pink. And I distinctly remember that she sat on the floor and peeled hard-boiled eggs with me for an hour. I can picture this day going very differently with Karsten: in a 60 second span my son would throw the eggs around the room and then pitch a tantrum when I took them away.

Happy Easter! He is Risen, indeed!