the land of milk and honey

A case of honey was dropped off on our front porch last week. Twenty cases of bees were dropped off in the apple orchard.

The bees get a great place to live in an orchard full of blossoms. We get a plethora of tiny pollinators to boost the apple yield. And a case of honey. A sweet deal for everyone.

The rich color variations come from the different orchard blossoms. Blackberry orchards produced the darkest jars of honey. So far, I can't taste the difference.

In the Bible, honey symbolizes delight.

Can you imagine, way back in Old Testament days? Food was pretty monotonous. There were not a lot of natural sweeteners lying around. Periodically someone stumbled across honey in the cleft of a rock or an animal carcass... yum. (Maybe the bees were a bit different back then?) Even so, it must have been equivalent to liquid gold.

God's people were wandering in a desert, with the dangling promise of entering the "land of milk and honey"... a land of abundance and delight.

This is a land still promised to all of God's people. Abundance and delight... if only we will follow where He leads.

Psalm 81:10, 16
"I am the Lord your God who brought you up out of Egypt.
Open wide your mouth and I will fill it... 

But you would be fed with the finest of wheat;
with honey from the rock I would satisfy you."

Oh, to be satisfied with honey from The Rock.

This year we consider the generous spoonfuls of honey we add to our tea and oatmeal a special act of worship. A way to remember the Author of delight itself.

swimming upstream

The condition of my house is overwhelming me. Some days I am constantly moving, trying to keep on top of it all. Somehow there seems to be no visible progress made. In frustration, I tell my husband I feel like I am swimming upstream.

It is the feeling I get when I realize that in the time it took me to wash and fold three loads of laundry, three more loads were generated. In the 20 minutes it took me to make dinner, the toy box exploded in the living room and someone dumped and scattered the contents of every board game we own. When I finally carved out an hour to reorganize a disastrous mess of a closet, the rest of the house fell to pieces. There appears to be no recovery.

Four other people living in this home are working against me and my single-handed attempt to keep this place livable. I am working really hard, and getting nowhere. I am swimming upstream, against a really strong current.

Whether drowning in my own home or drowning in the inevitable onslaught of life, I can't seem to get caught up. I know it isn't me alone experiencing this. I have friends who are drowning in mortgage payments or unexpected bills. Drowning in doctor appointments and the responsibilities of home treatments. Drowning in homework and meaningless assignments. Drowning in the balance between work-life and home-life. Drowning in family dysfunction. Drowning in shame over the past, a thing which can not be changed. Drowning in guilt, bitterness, anger, unhealthy thought patterns, addictions that don't help anyone.

Life doesn't need an invitation to beat us down in discouragement. Daily routines take all of the energy we have just to stay afloat. One added accident, crisis, or heartache is enough to sink us.

When I am working really hard and making no progress, I have to ask myself, what am I striving for? Am I really in this exhausted state because I want a cleaner house? Am I drained of energy because there are more tasks to be completed than minutes in the day? The answer is usually that I am striving for the wrong things. The place where I imagine the laundry is finished, the bills are all paid, the children are healthy and sleeping well, and the toys live permanently on their respective shelves, is a place of controlled peace. The problem with controlled peace is that the moment any item in the equation changes I begin to, once again, feel that I am swimming upstream.

God does not intend for us to drown in the waters of life. Actually, most Biblical references to water are intended to be life-giving.

The image of water presented in Psalm 23, one of the most well known passages in all of Scripture, is one of refreshment and restoration. Quite contrary to the image of swimming upstream, it says that God will lead us beside quiet waters. It is a picture of God leading anxious, striving people to a calm and restorative place. A place where life still happens, but we are not using our entire supply of energy to still feel needy in the end.

The quiet waters that God promises are not dependent on my circumstances, or the condition of my house, or the lack of help I am getting from the people around me. He leads me to a place where I can take a drink, and take a breath, and take a moment in the midst of it all. Following Him doesn't change the strength of the current, it changes how much I am affected by it.

Psalm 23 (The Message)
God, my shepherd!
    I don’t need a thing.
You have bedded me down in lush meadows,
    you find me quiet pools to drink from.
True to your word,
    you let me catch my breath
    and send me in the right direction. 

Even when the way goes through
    Death Valley,
I’m not afraid
    when you walk at my side.
Your trusty shepherd’s crook
    makes me feel secure. 

You serve me a six-course dinner
    right in front of my enemies.
You revive my drooping head;
    my cup brims with blessing. 

Your beauty and love chase after me
    every day of my life.
I’m back home in the house of God
for the rest of my life.

   
Find God, and you have found a quiet pool to drink from. You have found a moment to collect. Beauty and love are the only things chasing after you. And I like to imagine that when I am home in the house of God, the cooking and cleaning is somebody else's responsibility.

for the sleep-deprived mother

For the past six and a half years, since I very first became a mother, it seems that issues related to sleep have consumed our household.

A tiny fraction of my sleepless nights have been due to my own sleep issues related to pregnancy and weird nursing hormones and the odd night filled with anxiety here and there. A tiny fraction, mind you, belongs to adults in the house.

The vast majority of the sleep issues are entirely the fault of one or more children who live under this roof. The child who decides that sleep is simply not something he feels like doing at midnight, or 3am, or some number of horrid hours in between. The child who feels that crying for insane amounts of time is preferable. The child who incorrectly assumes that throwing an angry fit will give me some compassion and allow her to stay awake. Or perhaps the child who finds that coming into my bed to talk to me and poke me all night and play with my hair is a much more entertaining option.

Besides creating a general state of exhaustion, it creates a persona of self-doubt. A sentiment perpetuated by other mothers who love to talk about how well their own child is sleeping.  As if getting a baby to sleep through the night by 6-weeks, or 12-weeks, or even 20-weeks-old has somehow granted them a pass into the Excellent Mother Club.

What am I doing wrong? And why is it that other people's children are the same ones who sleep through the night AND take long 4 hour naps every afternoon? Isn't there some kind of sleep fairness rule that says if the child (and mother) doesn't get enough sleep at night that he should make up for it during the day?

Let me tell you that I have read a LOT of books on getting children to sleep and I have tried a lot of different methods. I have even gone to such desperate measures as climbing into my child's crib to get him to go back to sleep. You might think that is part of the problem, and you might be right. But when everything else has been tried to no avail then climbing into the crib actually seems like a great option. I will spare you the trial, however, because it doesn't work either.

Whether the problem is middle of the night wakings, or dreadfully short naps, or a child who loves dawn patrol, my children have never been great sleepers. In issues related to parenting, I have probably cried out to God more times asking for sleep than I have for anything else. Lord please let the baby sleep for more than 45 minutes this time! I don't think I will make it through my day if I don't get some rest!

He rarely answers the way I want Him to.

In one of my sleep-desperate days, I stumbled upon Psalm 127 which says:

In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat - 

for the Lord grants sleep to those He loves. 
Psalm 127:2

To whom will He grant sleep? 
To those He loves. Me. You. Sleep-deprived mothers everywhere. Especially the ones who have been awake at odd hours of the night caring for the precious children that have been entrusted to them.

He will grant sleep to the mother who spent the majority of the night rocking a sick baby. The mother who held her daughter's hair back while she vomited over and over again until the virus passed. The mother who can't bear to let her child "cry-it-out". The mother who is so consumed with love for her child that she must arise to check on him. The mother who returns throughout the night to quell a cough, or a fever, or a simple lonely cry. The mother who knows she is the earthly caretaker of this little love and puts his needs above her own.

The Lord grants sleep to those He loves. When I cry out to God for the gift of sleep, He often answers me not with more hours of rest, but with more ounces of strength.

I have learned that God made women incredibly capable. Somehow all of that laboring children into the world and spending months of sleepless nights with newborns only makes us stronger. As we lean on Him, we are stronger still.

In that, comes the knowledge that He will always give us the strength to do what He asks us to do.

He asked me to raise three children who have some kind of terrible sleeping gene. In turn, He gives me the strength to do it.

The strength is given one tiny miracle at a time. Sometimes the miracle is in the minutes of sleep. Sometimes it is in the husband who says "Go take a nap while I watch them." Sometimes the miracle is a show on television.

I will always feel that this psalm was written specifically for the generations of mothers plagued by sleep issues. The next verse says it all:

In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat -
for the Lord grants sleep to those He loves.

Children are a heritage from the Lord, 

offspring a reward from Him.

Psalm 127:2,3

Besides being an ever-present source of enervation, children are a heritage, a reward, a gift.  In sleeplessness, we are challenged to depend more upon God for our strength.  All of the ways that we grow to be a little more Christ-like end up being part of the reward.

Take heart, exhausted friend! You are not alone in this journey. The Lord knows exactly what you need to make it through today. Indeed, He grants sleep to those He loves.

love and adventure

Yosemite National Park must be one of my very favorite places on earth.

My childhood was packed with memories in this special place... climbing to the top of Half Dome... getting lost while rafting down the Merced River... staring at the shadow of a bear on my tent while I listened to him eat a pineapple upside down cake inches away from me... spending life-changing weeks at summer camp in Wawona... hiking and walking and bike riding and star gazing and rock climbing... adventure. A God-carved, awe-inspiring glimpse of heaven on earth.

On Valentine's weekend I visited with all the loves of my life. These people have been my Valentines for anywhere between 1 and 13 years!

The littlest loves began the weekend's childhood adventures with a wade in the snow-melt.

It was a uniquely warm February day. Apparently all of California was similarly inspired to visit Yosemite for the special weekend. This translated to parking our car really far away from every destination, which meant a lot of walking. In our family, a lot of walking also means a lot of carrying children. I filled my exercise quota for the week. It led to some necessary ice cream breaks to keep the smiles coming.

We were joined by members of my family for a wonderful weekend all around. All my loves in a lovely place. A set of grandparents and some extra adults around is an excellent idea when traveling anywhere with three young kids.

Annike, my mother, Sommer, my sister, and myself. All of the ladies in the family.

Karsten and my mother on the Wawona covered bridge.

Sommer fishing for the first time with my dad.

pinterest fail

It's the second week of February and I am having nightmares of last year's Valentine's Day when I got a crazy notion that I should send a snack into the kindergarten Valentine's party that was both healthy AND cute. Yes, I do know that no child willingly chooses a healthy option at a class party. Still, we have our motherly ambitions.

Enter Pinterest, with its eye candy photos and links to the unimaginable. Pinterest and its simple inspirations for every occasion. HA! I settled on yogurt parfaits with blueberry and strawberry toppings in a waffle cone. The picture was adorable. All of the ingredients were readied the night before and I woke up early on the day of the party to be sure I had enough time to assemble the treats.

Friends, Pinterest is not mother-tested. I knew we were in trouble as my husband was carrying the parfaits out the front door in my clever egg carton carrying case. It was too late. We were already committed. I tried to ignore the wavering waffle cones, slightly losing their shape as the moisture began to soak through. I wanted to hope for the best. Let's just push them lower down into the carrier, I suggested as I ushered my husband out the door with the treats and my daughter, Can't be late for school drop-off on a special day like today!

After the ten minute car ride only half of the waffle cones looked edible. By the time the party rolled around mid-day, the entire tray of soggy mess had to be tossed. My contribution to the class festivities went directly into the trash can. Nowhere, I repeat NOWHERE, did the Pinterest-popular recipe mention that these treats must be eaten within 5 minutes of assembly lest they collapse and taste like a leftover bowl of cereal. That kind of information is apparently not Pinterest-worthy.

I had a similar experience making cake pops for my daughter's birthday. I will spare you the details, but if you want to know what happened just try making your own cake pops. If I ever want cake pops again, I WILL BUY THEM. They are worth every penny. (In defense of the cake pops, they at least still tasted good after falling apart.)

All this striving to impress 5 and 6-year-olds. The same 5 and 6-year-olds who have glue dripping off of every project and who don't always feel like coloring in the lines. The ones who are still learning to make their letters all the same size. The ones who think that when it comes to glitter or sprinkles, more is always better. Or was it really to impress them?

The worst part of these experiences was the way the word "failure" played on repeat in my head. There was the failure to create what I intended to create. There was also the failure to create the perception of perfection.

Pinterest gets a lot of slack for causing feelings of inadequacy in those of us who are less-than-perfect. For example, me. Pinterest itself is not doing anything inherently wrong. Pinterest only represents the ideology of women in my generation:  appear creative, original, trendy, or a perfect blend of healthy and cute, in order to give the illusion that we have it all together.

I am here to tell you that the perfect blend of healthy and cute does not exist. I do not, and will never, have it all together. I am admittedly far less-than-perfect. As proof, I will stand proudly behind my Pinterest failures and hope it sparks change in the ideology women subscribe to. There should be no more sleep lost or wrinkles gained over achieving an illusion. Failed crafts and projects do not define me, and neither do successful ones. I would much rather be known at school as the mother who would never judge others for their lack of presentation. The mother who would laugh at and learn from mistakes made, full of grace for all, especially herself.

For Valentine's Day this year, instead of Pinterest-perfect try something tested by time... like candy hearts and a paper Valentine. It just might be the most original thing the kids at school have ever seen.

13 months

The wall of 13-month olds. One of the finished results of my summer framing project.
(Can you tell I am proud of my one accomplished project for the year?)

All of us captured at the same age.
All black and white and smiles.
All chubs and tow-heads.
All family.

Just in case you were wondering, we are related.

From top to bottom, oldest to youngest: Christian, Ashley, Annike, Sommer, then Karsten.

invite them in

I have been challenged recently to invite people into my home even when it doesn't seem easy or convenient.

There are a number of reasons that I, personally, feel reluctant to invite people into my home. Most of them boil down to insecurities about how clean the bathroom is (or is not) and how much energy it will take to get my house into a presentable state. Some of the reasons are related to food, considering that I am not an outstanding cook and since having three kids often find my cupboards bare. I simply can not get to the grocery store between naps and school drop-off. It also takes time and motivation to be involved in preparation for a guest, neither of which I have in excess. Then there is the juggling of the ability to enjoy the guest's company while remaining responsible for all of my regular charges, namely those 6 and under.

We have had some last minute opportunities to open up our home, and our barn, and our space to others. There is always an internal struggle I face with feelings of inadequacy for the task of having people over. I don't feel gifted as a hostess. I don't want to spend my preparation time as a stress case. I don't want to work harder than I am already working in order to be responsible for more people. I feel pressure for those invited to have a good time. These inadequacies conflict with the conviction that God wants our family to share the space that He has given us.

An invitation is a gift to someone. God calls us to give gifts out our own abundance. In my case, my abundance is a warm home to live in and a wide open outdoor space for children to run freely in. God calls me to share what I have been given, not to focus on what I wish I had to offer but do not. What I sometimes want to give is a the gift of a perfectly clean house with pinterest-perfect food and no chaos running around me, but that is not my abundance.

Inviting someone in, means inviting them into the mess. I have to be okay with crumbs on the floor and dustballs under the furniture and that sticky spot on the couch that I keep meaning to wipe. Because as long as there are young children living in my house, there will also be toys scattered indiscriminately. As long as there are healthy people eating and being fed, there will also be dirty dishes. As long as there are little people with creative minds, there will also be "collections" of strange objects in odd places. And as long as we live on a farm, there will be piles of dirt by the front door. I will never be able to invite someone into the perfection of my space, because that reality does not exist.

This isn't to say that I don't spend the 20 minutes prior to someone's arrival running around like a mad woman throwing toys into baskets and wiping down countertops and other surfaces. I have some company priorities, like a cleared kitchen table at which guests can sit, and a no-clothes-on-the-floor policy because no one likes to step on someone else's dirty underwear. I attempt to keep my house at a general standard of cleanliness on a day to day (okay, week to week) basis, but there is always more to be done.

In those last minute panic attacks, it helps me to remember what an old friend once told me about her own mother who turned into a stress case shouting orders at everyone before company arrived. She told me that all of her siblings hated having guests over. They felt afraid of the person their mother turned into and associated horror in their home with the arrival of company. In the stress of last minute attempts at straightening I must remember that the lessons I teach my children before guests arrive are far more important than the appearance of my home. I am training them up to be the next generation of hosts and hostesses. My heart in those final 20 minutes matters most.

I have another friend with four children who lives in a tiny house. The first time she invited me over she told me, "Come! Just know that it will be messy!" Of course it was messy. She has four small kids and lives in a small house and her husband works all day. There are piles of laundry and toys everywhere. Something exploded in her microwave a long time ago and she has never had a moment to scrub it. If she does have that moment, I am sure scrubbing the microwave is way down on the priority list. I am blessed every time I visit her. She is present with me. My kids have a blast and I don't worry about what kind of mischief they are getting into. We have deep conversation in the midst of the chaos. It restores my soul and I am thankful for the gift that she gives.

There is a vulnerability that comes as a natural partner to inviting someone into the imperfection. Perhaps when other see my messy living room they feel less need for pretension themselves. If we are truth-tellers in words, then why not be truth-tellers in appearance?

When I think about it, I don't actually get invited into someone else's home all that often. Maybe there are a lot of reasons. Maybe life is quite busy. Maybe others live in cramped spaces. Maybe it is because I always have three children in tow. I sure hope it isn't because women are afraid of how I might judge their space. What I really think though, is that people don't do a lot of inviting.

We have to change our view of invitations. They are less about me, and more about the great gift that is given to someone else - the gift of showing interest and concern in another human being.

An invitation is a simple way of saying, "Let's be friends! I will accept your imperfections if you will accept mine. Let's be imperfect together."

And just maybe, the world will be a more loving, less judging place because of it.