Bigger than mine ...

I wrote this awhile back, and never posted it, but more and more I feel that this is my story and I need to embrace it, especially in this season ...

My story doesn’t begin as one of regret; few stories do, but rather it begins with a twinkle in the eye of a twenty-two year old dreamer.

I first put words to that dream as a senior in my historical research class when the professor asked each of us about our plans following graduation.  I confidently expressed that I would be going on to get my masters and PhD so that I could expertly write historical fiction or write anything, really.  When he told me that I could skip the graduate degrees and just begin writing, I decided it was another Texan male letting me know that my place wasn’t in academia or in publishing.  After all, wasn’t it the reflection of that pretty little diamond on my left ring finger creating the sparkle in my eye?  And don’t all good southern girls pine away, desiring to get married, create a home, have children?

A few weeks later when I got a letter in the mail offering my graduate school experience tuition-free, I smirked thinking, “I’ll show you, mister.”  Of course, I had to turn down the offer as my soon to be husband and I had already mutually decided that upon graduation and marriage, we would move to California to pursue his graduate studies.  Still, I longed for the day when he would graduate, get a job, and I would begin in hot pursuit of my dreams.

I got a “for now” job, preceded by several “this is all I can find and we don’t want to go into debt” retail jobs.  So I taught, because what else would a girl with an undergraduate background in English and history do?  Along the way I did the best I could, surrounded by teachers who were living their dreams.  Meanwhile, I was living between my ears, ruing the day I had given up the fast track to my dream, but knowing I would be next.

All this time, working at least two jobs, I was suffering daily pain from endometriosis, a condition which can inhibit fertility.  At twenty-four, we were told if we ever wanted to have a chance at biological children we needed to begin trying to conceive.  The doctor couldn’t promise positive results; in fact, if I were to get pregnant she predicted a six to twelve month period of trying with medical intervention to up my hormone levels. 

A little less than thirteen months later I was sitting in a hospital room holding a tiny stranger, who had made my body his home for the past nine months.  Though I loved my son, mothering did not come easy or naturally to me … it is laying down your desires, your time, your personal space moment by moment to care for a little being that is entirely dependent on you.  It is hard.

Five weeks passed and I tearfully dropped him off at his first childcare provider’s home.  One year later, I found I was pregnant with our daughter.  Returning to work after her birth, I discovered the once unfathomable – I loved being a mom.  After much discussion, I decided to teach part-time the following year.

In this is a conundrum – I love my identity as mother.  It gives my life such purpose and I would not trade the experience or my children for anything in the world, but for years I allowed underlying tension to fester in my relationship with my husband.  In moments of frustration, in the midst of complaining about his abandoned socks by our bedside or my favorite coffee cups left at his office, I would throw my disappointment in his face.  “I gave up my education and my dreams for you – for this.  To work a job I don’t love and to come home to pick up after all of you, wipe poopy bottoms, and forever smell like spit-up.”

We can feel things and never express them, but thoughts verbalized can never be taken back.  For ten years I have lived, first patiently waiting, then persistently working, now begrudgingly missing out on my dream of being a well educated, well dressed, impressive at least, admired at best author of best-selling historical fiction. 

My journey out of disappointment and toward wholeness marches on from a few days forever etched in my mind.  March 18, 2009 found me staring at two pink lines.  Anyone who has seen those lines knows that brief moment encapsulates much – surprise, joy, promise.  The evening of March twenty-first found me staring at a pool of crimson and in like fashion innumerable emotions coursed through me – fear, pain, devastation, loss.

In the months that followed, leading me from that fear-filled precipice into this journey of valleys and mountains, I came to know that my dream was holding me prisoner, deeming me incapable of truly living.  What is life if it is not spent realizing the wonder of moments all weaving their threads into the beautiful tapestry of an individual’s existence?

Since that day in 2009 I have been privileged to see those two pink likes two more times (plus a half dozen to make sure this was indeed happening) and bring home another baby boy and another baby girl.  After previously delivering naturally three times, it took having a necessary c-section last February to understand first our loss and then how amazing these four children really are. Not only do I have endometriosis on the exterior of my uterus, causing much pain, similar scar tissue has ravaged its interior.  Most women with both conditions are unable to conceive, let alone carry a pregnancy to term.

The discovery of this miracle was just one more step in my process of recovery and rediscovery.  

Sometimes the dream we are clinging to is not the dream we were destined for.

I am now at stay-at-home, home-schooling mom and full time manager of this little family of six.  We are living what once I would have dubbed a bohemian dream in the heart of Los Angeles.  I will admit that every day is not pastoral and many are peppered with “what ifs” but I am striving to find little flashes of blessing within the chaos of raising, educating and loving four kids.

This journey has taught me so much about who I was and am, but more importantly it’s unraveling the mystery of dreams and becoming.  When I look back at that twenty-two year old, slightly feminist girl in a lecture hall, I want to tell her “Just try to be breezy … you really don’t have it all figured out.”

If I could talk to the twenty-four year old teacher, I would tell her “This might be your ‘for now’ job, but these teenagers are making a mark on your life more than you can imagine.  Continue to invest in them.  This is part of your story. “

Were I to visit that overwhelmed first time mom, I would say “Relax.  Savor this.  It is one of the few times in life you will ever be unconditionally loved.  Give the same to him, always.  The other stuff, you’ll learn together.”

To that mourning mother alone in the cold, sterile hospital room, I’d whisper, “You don’t have to grieve in silence.  This baby will forever be in your heart and is a part of who you’re becoming.  You will think of her often.  Allow yourself time to heal.”

And to the frightened mom who has known loss and is hesitant to be excited about the next two pregnancies, wondering/knowing something will go wrong, still dreaming about what might have been, I’d say “These babies will bring you more joy and fulfillment than you ever thought possible.  Collectively the four will cause you to re-evaluate, re-imagine and re-discover a new realm of possibility and potential.

What I’ve learned about myself is that my dreams, like my life, are fluid and that by holding on to one perspective, by using lost dreams as arguments’ ammunition, by not being present in the here-and-now, I am not dreaming or living at all. 

It is only in relishing life’s simple graces, by marking and being marked by others, in flexibility and adapting to life’s beautiful surprises that I truly dream.

"We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God: those who are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28 HCSB)

I'm Bringing Home My Baby Bumble Bee

We have a huge basil plant in front of our house.  What started as an easy means for bruschetta on a whim has turned into an unruly bush.  A bush that I have asked to be uprooted many times.  A bush that I have replaced (though Matt has yet to remove it from the yard) with a smaller, prettier variety.   If you like herbs, and I do, it smells wonderful.  If you hate bees, and I do, it can cause going out to water the plants or checking on the kids to turn to a nightmare.  The bees love the basil.  My kids love the bees.

What?

"The kids don't have a healthy fear of bees," I said to Matt the other day.

"And by healthy, do you mean they ought to run away screaming with their hands in the air every time they see a bee?" (insert sarcasm)  This from the man who once pinched multiple bees between his fingers rather than leave his bee infested deer blind, lest he frighten away the deer that never appeared that morning.  My Texan husband.

Um ... yeah.  Obviously.

I had put this conversation out of my mind until yesterday, when Lucas came into my kitchen holding a bee by the wing.  We chose the color called "sanctuary" for our kitchen walls, but in that moment I found little refuge in that room.  I shooed him out and simply requested that the bees stay outside (and by simply, I mean I frantically listed all the reasons why bees should not be inside, as he calmly listened while holding the bee).  

For the next hour, the kids played with the bees, making little habitats for them and observing them.  I was making dinner when Nicholas, my sweet two year old, came in with his hands cupped around something I assumed to be a flower, as he loves to make Mama smile.  When I asked if I could see what he was holding he proudly showed me his little friend, who had been squished between his loving hands.

I remembered that song that I sang as a little girl, laughingly, because who would ever be brave enough to actually bring home a baby bumble bee, and yet he did.  

I should mention that all three of the older children have been stung by bees in the past, but it obviously wasn't significant enough for them to give up playing with them.

I have always been a fearful person, and I do not want this to be my kids' reality.  I love their innocence.  I love their trust.  I love that other than being scared of The Cat in the Hat, they are rather fearless.  

I am learning to temper my responses to their exploration of the world around them.  It sometimes does end in an injury, but I would rather have them taste and see that the world was wondrously created; to know what their little bodies can do, even if falls happen; to feel like they can do great things, rather than be crippled by fear.

I'm learning from them.  I am learning that respect is necessary, but fear is not.  It is no wonder that as a fearful person, it is difficult for me to trust.  My trust in the Lord continually increases, because He has proven ever faithful, but I envy my children because they've never been burned ... never really even been let down.  And so they trust.

But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.  Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it. (Luke 18:16-17)

And as I watch my children trust, this makes sense to me.  As they trust that the bees are worthy playmates, so they trust that Jesus is who He said He was.  

In the same way, I never had to earn my kids' trust.  From the moment they were born, I was comforter, nourisher, safe place.  When I think of how much I love my children and how much they trust me, I wonder at how great the Father's love is for me ... how He is for me, and no matter what circumstances I find myself in, I can trust Him.

School of Grace

So we're in a new season over at the Price place, and instead of embracing the change as I would love to, I've been bemoaning what sometimes seems a huge loss. See, we decided last Spring that we would take over management of the education of our children. I began researching different schooling methods and approaches to home learning lessons, so that I could un-school the kids in order to capture their hearts and begin filling their minds with wholesome literature, promises, virtues and knowing them better than a class room teacher ever could, approach their learning of the classic subjects in ways that would be tailored to their own styles of grasping and retention.

 No small feat, but being the romantic I am and having taught for eight years, I just knew that this would be a panacea for all things that had spiraled out of control in our family. 

Perfect, I thought.

 Crazy, I discovered.

And in this discovery of craziness, I have come to know and expect that we will have a good day, followed by a bad day, a great day, followed by a horrible day and then a pretty good day. Even though, in the four weeks we've been schooling I've noticed this trend, those bad days shock me every time and really get me down.

Today started as a bad day. I slept in, and for a former teacher and a bit of a time warden (ok, a HUGE time warden) this can throw me for a loop. Lucas had a bad attitude. Bethany was talking with a baby voice. Nicholas only wanted toast with nutella instead of the eggs that the toast was merely a compliment to. Mary Elena woke up early. My hands were full, my own attitude which should set the tone for the day was plummeting. But when I looked out the window I noticed it was overcast.

I love the Fall. I love the rain. The former is redefined by living in Southern California. The latter rarely happens where we live. So to have a taste of both on this September morning was like a breath of fresh air.

God knows me so well. And God, in His sovereignty can redeem anything.  ANYTHING.

He redeemed my attitude, which enabled me to let the toast thing roll off my shoulders. Allowed me to speak with soft words to the boy with the 'tude and draw his sweetness out. Helped me remember that the older girl is only five, and sometimes it's okay to let her be my baby girl again. Made it possible for me to cuddle my Mary-girl while helping with Math.

Because He is the Redeemer, I can look on the fact that I'm still in my pajamas as a blessing of comfort on this dreary day, instead of a side effect of being an overworked stay-at-home mom. And just like that, without me even asking or expecting it, He redeems my perspective.

The romantic notions are only somewhat mangled. They are just different.

This home stuff isn't easy. I will not always get it right. The "it" may not always meet my lofty expectations, but it was no accident I felt prompted to call this experiment School of Grace. Instead of learning from their mistakes by being reprimanded, they are learning that there are no wrong answers, just moments to learn by.  Instead of punishing them for wrong behavior, I am creating space for them to learn right behavior.

When I, one of them, or all of us have a bad attitude and say hurtful things, they are learning about regret, repentance, humility and grace as I lead by example. I cannot hold my high expectations over them when so often I get it so wrong. First time obedience is not what the Lord has expected of me. His grace is much greater than that, and through the leading, teaching and molding of these little lives, He is leading, teaching and molding this bigger life that still has so much to learn.

I am so grateful for the promise that I wear around my neck along with the names of my precious children. The promise that encapsulates his redeeming grace in my own life and in this experiment. The promise that reminds me of His gentle way with me, so that I can be gentle with them.

"He gently leads those that have their young." Isaiah 40:11

Eggless Banana Bread, Curdled Cheese Sauce and Shattered Windows

In preparation for becoming a mother of four, I went to a mom's conference just three weeks before our little one arrived. It was a great time of relaxation for me, as through different circumstances I ended up having my own room. When I left I felt renewed in my calling as mother, refreshed by the time I spent debriefing with other moms, and I was grappling with a call to reconciliation with my family and my preconceived ideas of what it means to parent, especially what it means to be mom.

In the weeks leading up to Mary Elena's birth, I cleaned constantly as if my striving would ensure the perfectly organized and sanitized environment to bring my baby girl home to. I cooked as often as I cleaned, and we ate and I froze meals ... sure that once my help left at the end of March, I would have a couple week's worth of meals to make my transition to doing "it all" easier. I wanted my baby girl to meet the best version of myself, not the messy one I oftentimes am.

As her due date approached and I became more uncomfortable I continued in all my preparations and added walking miles uphill to my list of things to do, just hoping she would position herself, and I would have the natural labor I'd become accustomed to. A week before her anticipated arrival, we discovered that the baby was measuring big ... according to the new ultrasound machine, right around ten pounds. Because of a difficult and traumatic delivery with Nicholas who was just under nine pounds, in which my rose colored picture of natural delivery was colored with him getting stuck, nurses jumping on me, pushing down on my pelvis, trying to widen that ring of fire to ensure my boy would have full mobility in his arms, and him emerging, flailing, blue, with burst blood vessels in his eyes, my doctor highly recommended we opt for a c-section for this birth.

The idea had never crossed my mind. If there's one thing I thought I was good at, made for even, it is naturally delivering my babies with as little intervention as possible. But there is another part of me. The one that becomes crippled with fear. The part that would protect my children, without regard for myself. The one that was exhausted and worried about the outcome of this my fifth and final pregnancy.

We set a date for three days later, and I continued preparing for sweet Mary Elena Leigh to join our family.

That Friday morning, I dropped my older kids at school, dropped the baby off at a friend's house, and made last minute lists and phone calls to those who would be caring for my kids during my four and a half day stay in the hospital. Wiping down the counters one last time, putting the last load of laundry in dressers and closets, and removing three meals from the freezer for my family, I left for the hospital.

Other than wondering about the unknown, I was calm, and I knew our little girl would enter the world without a hitch, and she did at 1:03 on the afternoon of February 24th. She was and is, absolutely perfect. Her name, Mary Elena Leigh means "cherished light, sheltered from the storm."

Well, my help has returned to Texas and after four wonderful weeks of help from my mother-in-law where we began to discover the reality of being a family of six, I am mostly on my own. Because of the unforeseen cesarean, and the longer recovery and the busy-ness of having four kids six and under, we used all the meals I had prepared and frozen before mom left. And she left and I felt and continue to feel inept, inadequate, overwhelmed. And instead of responding to those feelings with the grace I prayed I'd have, with patience for the other four people in my home who are also adjusting to their new roles, I've found myself demanding perfection from myself, from them.

"Do you ever feel you've become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora's box of all the secret, hateful parts -- your arrogance, your spite, your condescension -- has sprung open? Someone upsets you and instead of smiling and moving on, you zing them. Hello, it's Mr. Nasty." Unfortunately, as lofty as my expectations and goals are as a mother, I am human. Often as a wife, parent and friend I feel what Tom Hanks says in "You've Got Mail" to be true of me. And no matter how much I try, I will always be inept, inadequate and overwhelmed unless I ground myself in something more than my own ability.

As I struggle to find enough hours in the day to clean, do laundry, cuddle, do homework, cook, do dishes, reassure, and gently redirect, I am rediscovering that in order for restoration to occur in me, in order to be the best version of myself, I need to be constantly in prayer, to spend time in the Word each day, and to give and receive the grace provided to us through His sacrifice.

It is no mistake that in my limited time, I just "happened" to begin reading through the Proverbs again.

Day after day I read, and it seems repetitive, but then I realize that all of my good intentions to do what is right and to be what I need to be, are futile and in my humanity, God knows that like my children, I will need to be redirected continually. And so I am reminded daily:

"Teach a youth about the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it" (22:6). It is a constant thing to mold the hearts of my children, but oh the eternal reward if I make it my priority.

"Better to live in a wilderness than with a nagging and hot-tempered wife" (21:19). Whether or not he does the things I think he ought, regardless of him making life for me easier or having needs that I must respond to, I am called by One greater than myself to be that "good thing" of which Solomon speaks for my husband (18:22).

"Life and death are in the power of the tongue ..." and "The intelligent person restrains his words, and one who keeps a cool head is a man of understanding" (18:21,17:27). In this regard, I require much maturation.

The interesting thing about Mary's name is that while it means "cherished" it has an underlying meaning of "bitterness." This week, in moments when I've lost it, when I haven't allowed myself to be admonished by the above truths, when I've been the messy version of me, I have begun to realize that whether Mary understands herself as a cherished light or allows bitterness to take root in her heart is very much on my shoulders. The way I react, when the lid blows off that Pandora's box, when my children and my husband receive my spite instead of grace, I plant the seed.

So when I forget to put the eggs in the banana bread and realize it the minute before the timer goes off -- or when I am required by my occupation to redirect hearts and I forget about what I'm cooking and my cheese sauce overheats and curdles -- when juice spills on my newly mopped floor -- or my son knocks so hard on the window that it busts on a night when it is bound to rain, I must lock the box and "... be transformed by the renewing of [my] mind, so that [I] may discern what is the good, pleasing, and perfect will of God" (Romans 12:2).

The work of a mother is tiring, non-stop, challenging, but rewarding.




You are changing the world
one little heartbeat at a time
Making history with every touch and every smile
Oh you, you may not see it now,
but I believe that time will tell
How you, you were changing the world
One little heartbeat at a time.
-- Steven Curtis Chapman

They called it House of Grace ...

Many have lived here before. I like that history. They called it House of Grace. I love that name. I am struggling today to find that grace ... that favor that we don't deserve, but we come to expect from the God who so graciously holds us in his hands. Yet it is there. Isn't it?

I have always known that life is cyclical. When I taught, I'd have a year filled with stellar students, great curriculum and good faculty relationships followed by year with more discipline and frustration than teaching. As a parent, I experience months of cooperation, working and developing consciences, and much cuddling followed by months of strict discipline, redirection, sleepless nights, and mom and children teary eyed. We experience joy and pain, solidarity and floundering, security and fear. And through it all, whether my mind believes it or not, my heart knows He is sovereign.

For me, this is a season of great loss. If it were one thing, I might not be searching for the grace quite so desperately, but it has come in one deafening wave. My closest friend moved away. I am so happy for her, but more than I thought, I find myself wishing we were closer.

Our house was broken into while on vacation and all my jewelry, great-aunts silver, our computer with all our kids' pictures, and a handful of other things are gone. I tell myself those are just things, but attached to things are great sentimental memories from parents, grandparents already gone, and so many gifts of love from my husband. And they are things, and our treasure is not in this world, but I have to constantly remind myself of where my heart must be. Though they are things, when I walk by where something used to be, I feel that loss of security. I feel fear. I must push it aside constantly so that my children never need know there was a reason to fear. I must create the safe place for them that I find when I run to my Father's arms.

With the loss of the computer goes several outlets I took for granted. Right or wrong, the internet has really become a place of socialization, especially for someone who has spent much of their life moving, friends scattered across states and countries. I can only write on my blog, should my husband bring home his computer to work. And it's hard, and it's been a very lonely three and a half weeks home.

And with the seasons come unexpected changes in income and re-budgeting to remain a stay-at-home mom in Los Angeles and expected changes in the kids' schedules as they return to school and I find myself with more time, but to do what?

Today I find myself holding my swelling belly and pondering, what next? What next must I lose, and if I lose it will I still be able to practice gratitude or will I find myself continually comparing my circumstances with others around me? It is easy to give thanks in the easy times and today, as I search for his grace, I give thanks in the midst of loss, because sometimes there is pain in praise, but it always magnifies the giver of all good things. As I magnify Him, the loss must needs become smaller. As I thank, I allow Him to take his rightful place, and all things that could become idols, become shadows in His light. So for a few things lost, I am thankful for the associated memories.

83. Two young twenty-somethings in New York on their honeymoon, searching for just the right symbol of their love, wandering through Tiffany's and finding a silver pendant that looked like two hearts melted together as one. I am thankful for over 11 years of love with that man that God answered my deepest prayers with.

84. A small silver and turquoise ring that a Dad bought his daughter when she was twelve on a road trip in the middle of 7th grade. The destination, another home, another church, another school. I am thankful for a father who always provided love, shelter, and security in the midst of great change.

85. A silver cross given to a bride as a way of welcoming her into their family, the day before she became a Price. I am grateful for the acceptance I've always felt from Matt's family.

86. An amber cross, amber butterfly and silver chain bought for a girl on her thirtieth birthday in Krakow, Poland. I am thankful for a husband that always finds a way to make what seems like a huge deal for me, a wonderful memory.

87. A silver chest of silverware given by a great-aunt from her hope chest, though she never married. I am grateful for my family and for the heritage of faith and

88. That I was given the gift of marriage.

89. A computer that was well used and filled with thousands of pictures, videos, budgets, etc. I am thankful for the memories those pictures represent and that I was given a mind that allows me to relive those moments whether I have pictures or not and

90. That no matter how flawless I think my budget is, that it is He who supplies all my needs.

91. A silver cross and necklace. I am thankful that my husband and I share the same faith and that so much of what he gives me reminds me of where my hope is.

92. A gold and pearl ring given from a grandmother to her granddaughter as she entered her teens. I am thankful not only for such a gift and for great grandparents, but also that my sister replaced one of the missing pearls on my first mother's day, a month after my grandmother went home.

93. A Nicholas charm and a spring flower charm. I am thankful for my relationship with my mother-in-law who has year after year added to a charm bracelet she started for me, and made me always feel more special than I can begin to express. I might as well, just say it ... she's the best mother-in-law ever.

94. For the wood flower necklace with a picture of a precious five year old, glitter pasted to the middle of it, brought to me while in labor with my second son. It reminded me through the whole grueling experience the amazing good that comes out of such pain and got me through. I am thankful for my sweet kiddos and that I was able to communicate to Lucas how much that gift meant to me by keeping it in my jewelry box.

95. For the beautiful jewelry box that was my gift from Matt this past Christmas. I am thankful for the vivid memory of watching the kids' faces as I opened it and hearing them exclaim that they picked it out and

96. For a husband who searches for things that are things I would never think to need or ask for, but are so special and

97. For the memories of Nicholas organizing my jewelry early in the mornings.

98. For a church staff that made sure the house was put together enough when we returned home that the kids have never known anything to be amiss

99. For the security measures taken by the same staff and my husband to ensure that we are safe.

100. For the time we enjoyed in Texas with family in spite of what happened at home.

101. For the memories yet to be made and pictures still to be taken.

102. For this life that grows within me and that in all things, God is good and in control.

103. For a husband who understands what I feel and speaks the languages or reason and love simultaneously.

104. For visits from family.

105. For double date nights with brother and sister-in-law and yummy food.

106. That my mom and dad are coming to visit

107. That when I was at my lowest in the realization of the loss, my Matt gave me an anniversary ring to begin our 10th year of marriage and took me away to a quiet cabin, in the woods in Texas and reminded me of so many of the reasons why I love him.

108. That I can hold to this promise ...
Do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be afraid, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you; I will help you;
I will hold on to you with My righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41:10, HCSB)

109. That His grace is here, when my mind argues with what my heart knows.

Blessings in Disguise

Well, hello blog. I cannot believe how long it has been since I've written, even though it was a conscious decision to have a little hiatus, but this week is going to be a slow one for me so I thought there is no better time to start up again.

So how can life be slow with three kids? I dropped my oldest two at the airport with my mother-in-law this morning and said a teary good-bye, and so my life is much quieter for the next nine days as I hang out with sweet Nicholas and pray that Lucas and Bethany behave and have a wonderful time in the tenacious Texas temperatures.

As I left them at the security check-in this morning, I noticed a marked change in me. If I had written this post two years ago, it would have been more panicked, as I'd wonder if they were actually going to land, if I'd really hold them in my arms in just over a week. As I've begun to live in thanksgiving and notice the miracles in mundane moments, my faith and trust and hope have been renewed and restored. Sure I checked their flight progress and was happy to hear that they had landed, but I never believed for a moment they wouldn't. That, for me, is HUGE!

This Summer has been filled with the ups and downs of parenting three children ... tantrums, arguments, discipline, redirection, frustration, joy, laughter, spontaneous play dates, sprinkler fun and victories at swim lessons. In the midst of it all, we were blindsided by the discovery that we are expecting an unexpected fourth miracle.

For a perfectionist planner who had just agreed that the third "completed" our little family, that my arms were full, that I was just finally figuring out after a year to hold down the fort with three in tow, this was quite a shock. Not to mention that for weeks it didn't seem real to Matt, while it was all very real to me as I begun to hit walls of exhaustion and never ceasing morning sickness.

And for a girl who has had a miscarriage, pregnancy is of course wonderful and thrilling, but can be filled with fear, terror and loneliness. So we held off telling people at least until our suspicions were confirmed at the doctor.

I've been asked if I'm excited and my response has been "I'm getting there." It's not that I'm not excited, it's that this is an uncertain season for me and there have already been scares along the way, but every fear has been answered fully in the reassurance of his peace. If I've learned nothing else in the last two years, I have learned that in all things He is good and in every situation there is grace.

So we are excited to announce that our fourth child will make his/her appearance sometime in late February when our family will be complete.

As I think back on all my plans and the way many have come to fruition and many have been outdone by His plans for us, I begin to realize that while there is nothing wrong with planning, sometimes the things that shock or surprise us, the times when we can't seem to get a handle on life, the seasons where plans fall apart are the very moments when God chooses to step in and say "Just step back and let me handle this one. Wait and see what I can do!" After all, "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:9, NIV)

As I struggle to take care of the cooking, cleaning and child rearing in the midst of intense nausea, I am reminded with every glimpse of their little faces that this is all worth it. Sometimes the difficult seasons and the sweet surprises of life are blessings in disguise. I'm joyfully anticipating this blessing!

"Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the sons born in one's youth. Happy is the man who has filled his quiver with them. Such men will never be put to shame ..."
(Ps. 127:4-5)

In all things ...

I have been on a journey of gratitude and it creates a deep and very real and abiding joy. As I'm scrubbing down the kitchen, ironing Matt's shirt for church, or sipping a cup of coffee, I've begun to give thanks in short, breath prayers. As I breathe out thanks, out goes the worry and the cares for the day and in enters more of His Spirit, and the joy overflows.

But how quick I am to forget that in all things He is good, whether that means all is peace and patience or I have come to the end of myself and just can't make it on my own.

I turned 32 last week. I am no longer thirty, nor one year past. I am, I feel, in my thirties and that seems daunting, because isn't a person in their thirties truly an adult? So often, I look around my home at scattered toys, folded or unfolded laundry, and three sets of eyes and smiles looking up at me and I wonder how I got here.

Was it really eleven years ago that Matt and I started dating? Time sure flies. I started out last week wanting to write thirty-two thanks for graces, but life happens and it didn't.

Right before we walked out the door for my birthday date on Tuesday, Bethany threw up all over the kitchen floor. I cleaned it up and mopped and was assured that I shouldn't worry about going out anyhow.

Wednesday morning, Lucas said his milk tasted funny and we discovered that the refrigerator (only a year and a half old) was no longer cooling. We later found out that the repair man couldn't come until Thursday. Of course the one part not covered in the warranty was the computer and what else would our fridge need repaired? Nothing. It just needs a new computer. Because the part wasn't covered in the warranty, the nearly four-hundred dollars worth of food loss would not be covered either.

The part had to be ordered and was not put in until this afternoon.

Friday afternoon Lucas was picked up from school, limping. Just by lifting his pant leg and seeing an ankle three times its normal size, we knew we had to go to the hospital. Three hours and a temporary cast later, we left to wait for Monday to arrive with more appointments and hopefully some answers.

I am thinking about bills and injuries and a huge grocery shopping trip to replace food and I want to panic, but worry and joy have no relationship and I must choose joy.

In times like these I understand that praise can be a sacrifice, and here I am and all I want to do is give thanks. So nearly a week late, thirty-two thanks.

51. summer squash growing in the garden
52. Nikki's beautiful smile and sweet spirit
53. the use of Robin's freezer to preserve some of our frozen meat
54. Nicholas' sweaty head when he's sound asleep
55. coupons!
56. Grace's yummy bbq and baked beans
57. hanging plants
58. the smell of jasmine
59. a house that has been clean for a week and a half (that is huge for me with these tiny little mess makers)
60. my black and pink flannel pajamas
61. two yummy meals from Robin when I couldn't cook
62. the way it seems our money was multiplied when we had to eat out several times over the past six days
63. watching Matt enjoy a documentary about Cajun women and the way they iron
64. listening to Matt's impersonation of said Cajun women
65. clean sheets
66. pedicures
67. answered prayers
68. friendships birthed in prayer
69. Starbucks gift cards
70. differentiation and growing up
71. kissing Bethany's cushy cheeks
72. Nicholas' BIG blue eyes
73. Lucas' tiny top lip
74. the way my nose fits perfectly in Matt's ear
75. Allison's cinnamon chocolate chip coffee cake
76. raspberries
77. my kids' wonderful pediatrician
78. Jessica and how much my kids' (and we) love her
79. tiny Japanese eggplants hanging all over my plant
80. anticipating a big rhubarb harvest next year
81. bread rising
82. God's graces never ending