Best Friend (Eighteen Month Anniversary)

A best friend doesn't come as quickly as a favorite sunset. A best friend doesn't declare their arrival like an exciting package found on the doorstep.

A best friend is discovered with time, like a patch of wildflowers that starts as a field of grassy stems and gradually, slowly, unfolds to to reveal color, depth and breath-taking beauty.

And so, I look back, having just celebrated our eighteen-month anniversary, and find myself awestruck at the beauty of life that has grown up around me. Eighteen months ago seems like awkward grassy stems; today seems like wonderfully rich and overwhelming goodness.

How could it be any better?

Little Accomplishments That Make Me Happy

I think it's the first time in our married life that our medicine cabinet is finally organized!

Favorite Things

40. Unpredictable Kansas weather, which recently went from warm to bitter cold and drove me to the comfort of cozy chairs, big blankets and hot mint tea.

39. Down comforters.

38. A beautiful warm January day and a walk along the Arkansas River with my mother-in-law.

37. Trendy coffee houses.

36. The feeling of accomplishment after a long to-do-list is finally completed.

35. Cream of Wheat with brown sugar.

34. My husband arranging for the trunk latch on my car to be fixed after years of not working.

33. New blinds for the kitchen windows that give the room a lift.

A Safe Home

As I contemplate the meaning of home, these are some words that have been on my mind:

The only home which is safe for anyone to be born into is the home that is ready to welcome someone who does not belong there by right of kinship, but belongs there in virtue of hospitality.

-James T. Burtchaell

Looking Back, Looking Ahead

There was a time in my life where I thought I had the whole "becoming-a-mom" thing perfectly figured out. It was sometime between age thirteen and fourteen when my littlest sibling had just been born.

I had mastered the art of getting pins, tri-folds and rubber pants to stay on a baby's bottom, I could walk the dog and still keep a baby contented on my back, I could grocery shop with the baby on the cart (yes, that's true!), I could do the laundry, rock the baby to bed while I read, make dinner for ten and even cure jaundice with sunbaths. This was my life and I loved it and I felt so ready to really be a mom.

Fifteen years later, 1400 miles away from the place of my childhood, I sit down and I feel our little one somersaulting on the inside, and laugh that there was ever a point in my life where I felt like I had figured out how to parent a child. More than any other change that life has brought my way - learning to drive, flying across the country to attend college, getting my first apartment, teaching in my own classroom, getting married, moving to Kansas - anticipating motherhood is by far the most intimidating responsibility and change.

There are so many pieces of intimidation.

One of them is realizing that my example of lived life, far and above any words I will ever say to this little child, will influence her the most. Already this prompts me to look at my ingratitude, my selfishness and my desire for comfort in a different light. Motherhood is forcing me, in a different way than ever before, to recognize that the world does not revolve around me. That's intimidating.

Additionally, I am already overwhelmed by my mother-bear tendency to want to protect, to shelter and to isolate my child from being hurt. But I am challenged, even now, to work and to labor in my mothering, not for isolation from the world, but for missional engagement with it.

So I think, as much as I realize my need to surrender to the call of self-sacrifice of motherhood, I don't want to turn that inward to only create an isolated cozy and happy world for my baby and me, but somehow to also turn that outward and embrace my neighbors and my city and all the brokenness and hurt that comes along with it.

I want to live and work in such a way that my children can see that the good news of the Kingdom of God isn't just for those who are well, but it is powerful healing and blessing for those who really hurt.

And somehow this part seems way harder than changing diapers and curing jaundice.

God places the lonely in families; he sets the prisoners free and gives them joy. - Psalm 68:6

The View out the Window (Bentley Farm)

Favorite Things

32. A brother-in-law who is really handy and helpful.

31. Remembering that life is not a sum total of my possessions ( a remembrance that comes after some of your possessions are stolen.)

30. An awesome book my mom found for me for Christmas, Loving the Little Years.

29. Celebrating the new year with lots of junior highers at Friends Student Conference.

28. Opening Christmas presents for Eliana.

27. Feeling (on the outside) Eliana kick for the first time on Christmas Day.

26. A name for our daughter, Eliana Beth.

25. Sheep grazing in the sunset.

24. Bentley Farm, every part of it, but especially the high hill overlooking the Catskills.

23. Walking through New York City and taking in all the Christmas storefronts, lights and ice-skating.

22. Resting with family, and enjoying Christmas past-times, puzzles, carols, family games, food, laughter, excitement and good-will.