“‘Provoke not your children to wrath.’ Easily said; but how are we to avoid it? Strife between old and young seems inevitable. Today the world changes fast and inconceivably fast; in pastoral and agricultural times, what a man knew was of use to his son, but in the industrial age Father’s knowledge is out of date before the son is half grown up. We should be more than human if the result were not bitterness and conflict. Then too there are just too many people on this teeming and screaming earth for us to welcome a new man with whole-souled enthusiasm. Our God-given biologic nature, which rejoices in parenthood, and our fallen self-seeking nature, which hates it as the creator of responsibilities, are at war with each other; and if we cannot make peace with ourselves, how shall we make peace with our children?
The ideal solution, of course, would be to remake our jerry-built, precarious society into a sound and safe one. But, let’s admit it, we don’t know how; and if we knew, we have not the power; and if we had the power, as long as we are sinners we should lack the love. There is only one thing a man can really remake–himself–and that only with the aid of God’s grace. Laws and organizations and schools are good things, creches and social services and youth groups may be admirable things. Yet–a reminder obvious, trite, but necessary–none of them can replace the love the guidance of father and mother. Our problem then, pending reconstruction of the world, is to reconstruct our lives so that we give our children as much warmth and attention and time and teaching as the present world will allow.
At least we might give them our leisure. Let us drop the disastrous cant that persuades women, often against their own hearts, that they have a ‘duty’ to neglect their children for civic affairs, or broadening cultural activities, or even, heaven help us, for ‘realizing their creative potentialities through self-expression in a rewarding career.’ Let us drop too the curious theory that the care and teaching of children are entirely women’s work, and that their father should have as little to do with them as possible. Most of all, let us remind the innumerable Americans who don’t seem to know it that begetting and rearing a family are far more real and rewarding than making and spending money.”
– Joy Davidman, Smoke on the Mountains
Three
It was New Years of 2010, the very fresh first of the year, when I had the first hint of your arrival. You hadn’t been conceived yet, no, but God whispered to me hints that a great joy was coming to me in this year, something He couldn’t wait to give me. I had no idea it would be you, I was thinking on a much lesser scale. But in April, near Easter, I found out I was pregnant with you. We weren’t planning to be pregnant, we were beginning to long for it, but we were scared about our financial situation and just apprehensive about all the changes and uncertainties that would inevitably come with children.
But when that test read positive, I couldn’t stop jumping up and down for joy and screaming and screaming to your Daddy. We couldn’t contain our joy and excitement already. And we had NO idea how much more would be in store for us. My pregnancy with you was good and fairly easy. You were so small. You came so fast, so unexpectedly fast. It was two days before Christmas, I arrived at the hospital, had a couple of contractions, and I was ready to push. Two or three pushes later and then, there you were, all of a sudden, laying quiet on my stomach, reaching for me, blackest scowled little eyes gazing for the first time at me quizzically. I couldn’t believe you were mine. Were you even real?
And our hearts nearly burst for joy. We would never be the same. Altered, forever. Perfectly planned for and formed before the beginning of time. You had aunties and uncles and grandparents bursting at the seams to get their first glimpse of you, and no one was prepared for the way you would steal our hearts. It was the best day of my life, by far. It was the most joy I have ever tasted this side of heaven. It was perfection, if there ever could be perfection. We brought you home at nearly midnight on Christmas Eve, just as a heavy snow was beginning to fall. You slept in our bed and we slept the best sleep together. We woke up, it was Christmas, and our little world was covered in a fresh white snow. Snowed in! We didn’t have any gifts that year to open, we had been so busy preparing for you, but we had been given the greatest gift. Our hearts were full.
And thus began our journey with you, sweet Phoebe. In the three years since then, there are no words to describe the way God has used you to bless us. We have never known such deep love. We have never felt more fierce and protective and passionate about anything. We have never been more humbled, more desperate for Jesus, more aware of our brokenness and faults. Daily God teaches us more about Himself through you and the process of raising you. There are a thousand ways we feel inadequate to be your parents, to have been given the gift of a child in general, when we know so many who are so much more worthy who have not yet been given the gift of a child. And yet, we will never cease to praise our heavenly Father that He gave us YOU. That He entrusted us with such a precious, brilliant ray of light.
That’s what your name means, light.
This past year with you has been a blast. My momma’s heart aches and aches to see you growing and changing and transforming right before my very eyes. I want to hold onto these days, hard and exhausting as they can be at times. This is my favorite season of life thus far and I never want it to go! But, I know it’s impossible to hold on. Already I’ve had to let you go in a thousand small ways. And I know there will always be more to come.
This year you discovered being a little woman, a little chef in the kitchen, the “very goodest mommy” to your baby dolls, nursing them, feeding, and putting them to sleep. You discovered your independence and you’ve been struggling to figure out how to express it in a way that’s okay. You’ve learned more about obeying and respecting. You’ve overcome a fear of swimming/water and now it’s one of your very favorite things. You’re still afraid of food 🙂 and we will keep working on that in the year to come. For pete’s sake. You’re the sweetest big sister, and almost always are gentle and kind and loving to your little brother. You love birthdays, no matter whose it is, you love candles and cake. You are the most encouraging little girl, always so excited to see others (I remember taking you into the grocery store and you exclaiming loudly, “Hi, everyone!!!”) and to give hugs or pats on the backs to any children you see. You love going on “adventures” with mommy and daddy, and you wake up every morning asking me, “mommy, what are we going to do to-morning?” and at night you snuggle in bed, suck your fingers/hair and say, “mommy, what are we going to do tomorrow?” We always say, “we’re going to wake up, eat break-past, get dressed, tie our shoes, JUMP in the car, and go…… to….. (do such and such).” And in the morning you know exactly what the plan is and you can’t wait to get going. You’re really big into privacy right now, and love to come ask me, “mommy, can you give me some pribacy?”
I could go on and on. But I’ve heard pictures are worth a thousand words. So here are some of my very favoritest moments with you this past year. Your daddy and I love you forever and ever, no matter what. You’ll understand one day when you hold your first baby for the first time. We are so proud of you and we adore you, quirks, imperfections, beauties and all. Thanks for being born and making every Christmas the very best time of year for a million little reasons.
Happy 3rd birthday my little girl.
Love,
Mommy
happy first birthday
My sweet, sweet boy.
You came into our lives at just the right time. We were filled with wonder and apprehension about a little man joining our family. Phoebe would always hug my tummy and kiss it and say hello to you, and say “he’s so tiny!”
What a warm snuggly little man you were right from the start. You were all chub and pudge, just a little butterball to hold and kiss. We were so thankful for you, and awed once again by the miracle of birth.
Your mommy loves you so much. I’m so proud of you for the sweet little boy you are. And I enjoy you so much, your snuggles and kisses, your laughter and tender little spirit. Your careful ways and little sensitive nature. I love how you wake up happy and jabbering away. How you say “Hiiii!” when you hear a door open. How you laugh whenever you hear anyone laughing. How proud you are that you can clap or take a few steps. The way you race to the bathroom the second you hear the tub turn on. How you say “tractor” or “gentle” or “uh-oh.” This year has been such a fulness and a joy to have you, little man. And my heart aches a little to see it go. To know that soon you will be walking and running, soon your little words will turn into little phrases, then sentences. That you’ll be off exploring this great big wild world, keeping up with your big sister. My little baby is turning into a little boy already! Happy 1st birthday sweet boy. I pray for many, many more with you. And I love you so much, forever and ever.
Love,
Mommy
Oh, Christmas tree!
This month is so full and busy for us. There’s more celebration packed into it than we hardly know what to do with, BUT it is wild joy. Both of our babies were born near Christmas, two years and three days apart. So we have birthday festivities amongst all the Christmas festivities. Between holiday parties, family gatherings, parades, gingerbread house making, extra church celebrations, etc., we find ourselves having to be pretty intentional about how to slow down and savor this month and all it holds! We can get overworked, exhausted and irritable in a hurry if we aren’t careful.
With every weekend packed for the whole month of December, we headed out into the freezing cold on November 30th to chop down our Christmas tree. If it didn’t happen then, it just wouldn’t have happened. Both babies were pretty sick so we were in and out as quick as could be.
A little tree farm we just love.
^ Setting off to find our tree… ^
^ showing me her ribbon to tie on the tree ^
^ can you tell I love this red barn?? ^
^ so sick and yet smiling, as usual ^
^ found the one ^
^ and busy right away with decorating ^
A tree inside all covered in lights and color and memories makes us all so happy!
When you don’t want Jesus
What if at the bottom of it all, at my deepest core, I don’t really care about Jesus. I don’t really want Jesus.
What is wrong in my heart that the greatest gift could become of so little consequence in my estimation? What is wrong in my heart that some new clothes, books, or a device are more appealing to me than Jesus? What is wrong that I could be more excited over birthday and holiday parties to come, over planning for events and chopping down a Christmas tree and decorating the house, over Christmas cards and music, than Christ Himself? What could have caused such a shift that what is priceless and perfection and the answer for my every longing would be lost under the pile of material things? (Things supposedly done in the name of celebration over the Savior’s birth.) That when the words “He is the greatest gift“ are whispered to my soul, my soul isn’t satisfied? Or exhilarated? That I don’t feel much of anything. Maybe it’s just me.
This is why I need Advent this Christmas. This is why I need the journey, the slow and steady and deliberate plodding from the Garden to the Manger to the Cross and the empty Tomb. Because my heart is bent away from God. Because lesser things continually come in and slowly, quietly, choke out the good things. Because I want to see Him again, anew, as the greatest gift, as the best and highest and most precious thing this Christmas season. Because I don’t want to miss Him and I don’t want a Christmas I can buy. Because I want my heart at its core to want Jesus. Because “the greatest gift we can give our great God is to let His love make us glad” (Voskamp, The Greatest Gift).
May He be found anew and treasured more highly than all else!
“We must be sure of the infinite good that is done to us by our Lord Jesus Christ, in order that we may be ravished in love with our God and inflamed with a right affection to obey Him, and keep ourselves strictly in awe of Him.” -John Calvin
we gave thanks
Because Christ is in us, the hope of glory {Col.1:27}.
Because He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together {Col.1:17}.
Because He is our praise {Deut.10:21} and our very life {Col.3:4}.
Ten thousand reasons for our hearts to sing. We gathered… we brought our harvest… we did the work of hands and the work of hearts and the work of love. We feasted and laughed and just enjoyed the simplicity of each other.
^^^arriving at my parent’s house.^^^
^^^^ my beautiful momma & her cranberry relish^^^
^^^^ these precious kids, playing & waiting to feast^^^^
^^^^ dad’s rolls {thanksgiving essential}^^^^
^^^^ dancing with grandpa ^^^^
^^^^ homemade cranberry sauce = the best cranberry sauce ^^^^
^^^^ waiting & lounging & playing. I love how Noah sits like this, little feet tucked. ^^^^
^^^^ the finished cranberry sauce ^^^^
^^^^ cherry pie, for brandon ^^^^
^^^^ Phoebe & her auntie AllieMarie watching grandpa get ready to carve up the turkey ^^^^
^^^^ this scripture, ringing through my mind all day.. (find this print for free here) ^^^^
^^^^ commencing feast ^^^^
^^^^ my precious girl & I ^^^^
^
^^^^ the essential post-feast walk {but we actually did one before & after this time around with energetic kiddos} and my beautiful parents with my two little lambs ^^^^
^^^^ the lights in their neighborhood at night ^^^^
It has been a year with so much to be thankful for, and our hearts are full. That’s the crazy thing about Jesus. He can make even a broken heart full. He can make joy in the midst of sorrow. We are so thankful for family to gather together with and a family we share in Christ with, as imperfect as we all may be. Hope your Thanksgiving was lovely!
snow day
we woke up to the welcomed surprise of ice & snow! up on this mountain, it means we are staying in, and that means daddy is staying home! the kids didn’t waste a minute:
and as quickly as we could, we bundled up, snotty noses and all, for a walk in the dusting of snow before it all melted away (which it did, pretty much by the end of our walk).
happy girl in the littlest bit of snow!
our hearts are full and thankful even for the simple joy of being all together today and seeing snow falling. i hope everyone has a lovely thanksgiving tomorrow!
On Confession
“At the root of our lives, we are ‘bent’ away from God.
We admit, perhaps with tears, that we love the things of self
and yawn in the awesome presence of God.
We acknowledge that we obsess about our whims
and recoil from self-sacrifice.”
Timothy Jones : The Art of Prayer
groaning
If you listen close, if you listen patient, you could hear it. The way the tree’s fingers reach for heaven, the way they scrape through dirt and up to sky, hands raised to Him. Their speaking is bound to time, to the rhythm of the seasons, and in this season they let go of their leaves, the million little hands that cup the warm sun and drink it down to the roots. They close up and keep warm for the long cold months and they nourish the ground with what falls. It’s a death of sorts. A death that gives way to the next years’ life.
Do they get tired of this rhythm like I get tired of it? The bondage of corruption. The work of living.. producing, growing, feeding, transporting, competing, protecting. And all the small deaths before the final death.
Can you hear the groaning? In the way they winter, can you hear their cry for redemption soon?
“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now.” {Rom. 8:18-23}
And how back in that good Garden, where futility and thorn began (Gen.3), the creation’s eye was trained on mankind and on the story of redemption playing out.
The star that bore witness (Matt.2:9-10) and the rocks that held their tongues in worship (Lk. 19:40). And then, when the Redeemer held arms wide and let breath go, creation couldn’t hold back any longer. The Son, in whom was all light and life, had darkened, and so the Sun could no longer shine (Lk. 23:45). The earth gave a violent shudder and the rocks broke open, maybe from horror, maybe from worship they could no longer silence (Matt. 27:51). How could Life itself die? How could the creation open up her cold ground to bury the Creator?
Though redemption was secured that day, creation still groans and labors toward the consummation. These waiting trees, bound in time and curse, they are still waiting and watching as the Story of redemption continues to unfurl. And I can’t help but wonder if they don’t glory over redemption’s victory every time. One more life redeemed, one more reminder of the redemption they too will one day receive, when all things can return to full obedience to God’s intended design.
This past weekend, my extended family gathered to sing and to feast and to rejoice over the life and death of one of our own beloved ones. Yes, mourning too, but oh, how the grave is swallowed up in victory! The mourning doesn’t stand out to me, the piercing joy is what I remember. And as we gathered yet another time to sing together, these words ran through my mind. My sweet loved one, he lived a lot of life far from God and from his family. But in his last years, he came near and he found his Redeemer. And the wasted years were swallowed up in joy and in victory and blessed assurance.
*photo credit: Catie Councell
My loved one, they said he smiled as he died. That his mouth hung open in a small smile as he breathed his last; but two hours later, his mouth closed in a full-on grin.
He went out of this world in JOY and the Father saw fit to lead Him out in peace. The very mountains and hills broke forth into singing before the One who carried him to glory, and the trees of the fields clapped their hands with a raucous, fist-pumping roar of praise (Isa.55:12). The very creation can’t help but rejoice in God’s acts of redemption. The beauty of the Gospel… there’s nothing like it! You can almost hear it, if you listen. The heart hears the testimony, because there is no language where the voice is not heard (Ps.19:1-4). The heavens declare the glory of God, and day to day pours forth speech. “For since the beginning of the world, His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse” (Rom.1:20).
The Gospel is the story creation labors to tell, season in and season out. Redemption is what makes creation sing, for she knows her full release from corruption is coming. What a mercy that every day God puts the Gospel visibly on display in the created order for all our senses to experience, to the praise of His glorious grace.
Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body. For we were saved in this hope. {Rom.8:24}
for jennie
I watch my two play together, hear the way they belly laugh together over their own secret unspoken joke, and I think of you. That from my earliest memories, you were always there. And I always admired you so. Those two realities shaped my existence.
This morning I looked back on pictures of us in those early shaping years. I remember always wanting to be like you. You were always confident and joyful and wild and strong. You gave me courage to try new things and taught me things that became my own, things that shaped my soul and altered my future. God and His word. Guitar. Snowboarding. Running. Reading good books.
Those early years are all bits and pieces, but you were a leader from the beginning, as any firstborn must be, and we followed you gladly. Plays and productions that we put on in Canada with cousins, in our playroom at Martindale, in the white brick-walled basement where we had meeting. Always we were roommates, Susan Ashton and Twila Paris singing us to sleep at night.
I remember the teenage years, watching you run hard and wild, making your own way in the world. I remember being afraid for you, seeing the anger in you. I remember finding out the reason for some of that anger, for the pain you were holding close and tight. I kept the secret too. And yes, these coming-of-age years are hard years on sisters, lots of fighting over clothes, rivaling one another, all the expected things that accompany two similar but different souls fighting their way to adulthood.
Then the Colorado years, and new beginnings. The loneliness of our family, the brokenness and devastation. The slow finding of our way again. The quiet healing.
I still remember that morning, you and I alone at the house on Oswego, sitting in the kitchen eating pancakes, morning sun spilling in the windows. And talking for hours, sharing hearts. And you struggling so much to protect a knowledge that you were under the weight of, and telling me there was something I didn’t know that you couldn’t share.. and that moment when I looked at you and said, I know. I already know it. And how we cried and cried and found company at last in the knowing and the pain.
Then we lost our way in the snow. Together in that white winter all around us. Huddled in the dark and in the cold. Baring hearts. Sharing whatever we might want to share, not know if these moments would be our earthly last. And how you even then, as only the oldest sibling can, took the lead and took care of me, laying down and lifting me up off the icy ground. Then screaming with delight when rescue came and screaming praise to Jesus. How I admired you then!
And then those years, our last years, though we didn’t know it, when we lived together in Breckenridge. We worked together, cooked together, worshipped together, struggled to pay bills together, climbed mountains together and snowboarded together. Shared a white subaru and the bills that it brought. That Christmas when we couldn’t afford to get home, and we opened our couple of gifts under the tree and then lay on the floor and cried because we missed everyone.
Then the time came for us to go our own ways. Off I went to college, and you to the work world, to Whistler. And we grew apart a little then. But engagements and weddings drew us home together. And you did my flowers, my decorations, my makeup, my hair. You walked the aisle by me, and a few months later, I walked with you.
It’s been years since then.. and who can know what the future holds, if we will live side by and side and share the daily’s like we once did. I will always hold out hope and look to the One who knows and who made us to long for these things.
Life presses us and crushes us and reshapes us, and we forget who we are. And sometimes your family can remember for you, can help you remember who you always were, who you still are way down beneath it all.
I treasure you. You have always been a glue of sorts in our family. Where the rest of us were awkward, you loved easy. In almost every picture you have arms stretched wide pulling everyone in close. So much love and laughter and steadfast support of us all. Always our fierce champion.
You are special, stunningly beautiful, strong, gifted in so many ways. I am thankful for it all, all the memories and the way that a relationship between two people holds secrets and treasures only the two can know.
Happy birthday, Jennie! I love you always and forever.
everything He gives 