Soaring and Stillness: Life with the Chickadees

We've had a summer of full. Five weeks away, two weeks home and countless moments in between. Moments that have caught us by surprise, taken our breath away, and made us pause. Full. Thankful . All I can think about is how we grow when we're poured into. When love and interest and time mix and fill us up. When we pursue life and chase it and live big. If we all just poured more and took less, what would our world look like? I think I'll try it and find out...

Fall with the chicks is in full swing. Geometry followed by arabesques...our life moving full throttle. We wouldn't have it any other way . It's a season of solos being prepared for competition and a new duet partnership formed. The girls? They are in full flight. I'm on a slight autopilot, moving from place to place with a sewing basket, costumes, computer and lesson plans in hand. I know it will go all too quickly, so I'm working to cherish the conversations from the backseat and the bedtime cuddles in the midst of doing dinner planning a week in advance with fingers wrapped in band aids from one too many needle attacks. As I write, Little Bit sits next to me sipping a slush and reading the novel she's soon to finish. The Grace Girl's math book lies between us, from when she jumped out of the car to head into class after her younger sister's finished. The iPod plays and traffic from the highway near us causes white noise in the distance. Parked unde...

One year. "Five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes, Five hundred twenty-five thousand Moments so dear. Five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes How do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights In cups of coffee In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife. In five hundred twenty-five thousand Six hundred minutes How do you measure A year in the life?"                                           -Rent Soundtrack A year Sara has been in heaven and we've continued here on earth without her. Some days measured in moments, others in miles travelled without her. Not one of those without noticing the lack of her here . Gratitude pours out for the way she lived...for the way she died. For the story she shared along the way.  Like most who loved Sara, we've spent the better part of the last twelve months learning to ...

Confession: I started this post on Thursday. It us now Tuesday eve and i am sitting here in the car at dance (with a pup on my lap) attempting to finish it from the iPad. It's how most of the last few weeks has gone...so I'm rolling with it. . . . . . My voice has been silent for the better part of the last few hours. (Insert wide eyes and gaping mouth expression here) In the whirlwind of the drop offs and pick ups and more drop offs and pick ups I've chosen silence. It has been glorious The chicks have been busy with end-of the-year rehearsals and performances and even a competition for the Grace Girl. I've been sewing costumes and pointe shoes and putting hundreds of miles on the vehicle. The professor? He's been illin' with pneumonia. A quarantine was issued and much cleaning done. After eleven days and an antibiotic he's finally at 50%. We've missed him. With a compromised immune system and two lives who depend on my cape-wearing anti...

An unknown author once wrote, "You can't wrap a hug in a box, but you can wrap a person in your arms." A statement which was proven false just a few weeks ago. A package arrived, ferried over seas, over islands, thousands of miles from it's origin. Destination? A southern front porch.  Sender? One sweet friend and her adorable daughter. In favorite hues it came, with love exploding...delicate practice embroidery done by a hand that not long ago learned to form letters. Pastels abounded. Gifts fit for princesses. The chicks were floored, in awe. As was I, working to control the tears that this box brought to my throat; whelmed with the pure generosity of it all. As it always goes, the Mama was last into the box. There, I found nestled gently, a beautiful note, tied with ribbon and specific instructions... Always one to obey, I promptly did as instructed by my heart-filled friend. Handing the camera to the eldest,  I un...

It's 10:24 p.m. and my right hand is gently dusting the shelving as my left gingerly picks things up and places them down again . I pray, "Dear Lord, please, please, don't let me drop something precious with this throbbing, swollen grip ." I'm bone tired. The professor is at a conference receiving an award and I'm here playing zone defense. I prefer man-to-man coverage.  There's been more zone than I like lately...but I work on choosing the gratitude and finding the joy. I listen to Ann's voice fill up the quiet of the car and pump loud over the thumping of the washing machine. The girls rush down from the dance room to see if we have a visitor who speaks over helicopters. I laugh, thinking that Ann Voskamp probably never raises her voice to that level. She finds the gifts .  Tonight, I'm seeing only crumpled up wrapping paper. Still, I listen... I have read the words more times than I can count on one hand. I'm hoping that hearing them...

Today is glorious. Blue skies with no hint of clouds. The rain of yesterday shows no trace, no puddles remain. Sun kisses my head and my just-toweled hair blows in the breeze created when windows of the vehicle are open wide. Heart filling sunshine. In working on an attitude adjustment as I flew out of the house to take the girls to piano so I could elliptical at the same time  and then on to six dance classes which don't end until 9 tonight, my outlook was stormy.  So was my attitude. I didn't like me. I'm sure the chicks we're being kind in their tolerance. Then, the warmth of the car urged me to open the windows. The open windows created a breeze. The wind made my eyes turn heavenward.  In that moment? So did my heart. In the moments of silence which is how I ride in the those brief moments the girls aren't accompanying me  a song filled my ears. Old, treasured, sung note-for-note as I would've decades ago in choir... For the Be...

"The secret to joy is to keep seeking God when we struggle to see where He is." -Ann Voskamp Sometimes, the easy thing to do is give up. ...to stop trying. ....to stop caring. ...to stop doing . We struggle to find Him in the places that are shadowy. We don't look closely; we merely glance,  then sigh in frustration at our seeming night blindness. In the dark, we shut our eyes, squinting them tightly against any light that may peek under the lids.  A bright that desires to come in, that steals under cracks and corners and shows as a sliver and reflection in places where we try to hide from it. Light that warms, heals, brings rest to the weary soul. It's in the struggle that we find out who we are, what we're made of, who He's making of us in the glorious mess we've made of ourselves.  In the struggle we find that it's not as much about seeing Him as it is the knowing Him.   It's about finding lig...

" We give thanks not because of how we feel ...but because of Who He is..." -Ann Voskamp This is a week of thanksgiving, in word, in deed, in practice. A week where we pause and count our blessings, give our thanks. A week to remember... strength growth sorrows laughter upheaval  peace joy There is gratitude in the remembrance; allowing ourselves to visit the year with fresh eyes and an open heart, seeing what we may have missed in the hurried of the day. Giving thanks in all things, because His purpose is present even in the shadows. They shape us, define us, allow us to find a strength within that could only come from Him. In the dark, we are hallowed out and space is shaped for Him to come in.  Our invitation, most often, is when we are in the dark places. The thanksgiving? It is a response of gratitude. Of joy. It is an acknowledgement of the One who gives us all good things in His time. ...