Category Archives: mothering

right here: how we seek first the Kingdom

Posted on by May 8, 2024

I was sitting on the bed, journaling, and out of the corner of my eye I saw something move across the floor. Turned my head to look, and it was a huge spider.

My preferred method for dealing with spiders is to grab a book, hold it a few feet above the intruder, and drop it with a solid thump. Then I leave the book on the floor for Vin to take care of because I don’t want to see what’s underneath, and he’s a good sport about this…even when I use his books, not mine, to do the thumping.

(The only book of mine currently next to the bed is a clothbound copy of The Count of Monte Cristo and we do not, not, not use clothbound books to smash spiders, let the redeemed of the Lord say so.)

right here: how we seek first the Kingdom

So I dispatched the spider with Vin’s military history book, left it on the floor by the bed, and went back to writing:

My last post is still doing its work in me, teaching me to behold joy and win through peace and gratitude. Also, I am strategically ignoring the wind and waves – those things that feel simultaneously too much and not enough – and am continuing to focus on writing His words and stewarding our home.

This verse came up last weekend in church, and it’s long been one of my favorites:

I paused to look up Matthew 8:33 – but no, that’s about herdsman fleeing a demon-possessed man, definitely not it…tried again…ah yes, Matthew chapter six, not eight:

It’s this: But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you.

I’ve always focused on the kingdom part and not really noticed the “and His righteousness” part, until our pastor said that “His righteousness” could also be seen as “His standards” – and the verse came alive to me in a whole new way. It seems obvious from a moral standpoint, but for the first time I also related it to His order, and beauty, and functionality, in a more domestic, home-keeping, family-nurturing, homesteaderly light.

I haven’t stopped thinking on it, how all the things are added unto us when we take care of the core issues. And I was still thinking on it when another spider crossed the floor, closer to the door this time, presumably to check on the first one.

But there weren’t any other books nearby.

I looked across the room at the bookshelves, and back near the door where the spider was. There was nothing else to be done, it was too close to getting away, so I peeled the already-used book off the floor and held it by the edges, careful to not look at the smashiness stuck to its underside. Took two steps, and WOMP, dropped it on spider #2.

Then I got a tissue and bravely (I hear you laughing, stop it) looked for the smudge of grossness on the floor from spider #1, and wiped it up. Threw the tissue in the toilet. Then grabbed three books off the shelf to keep handy, because the next offender was going to get hit with How The Irish Saved Civilization.

And I thought, Huh, that’s ironic, because that’s basically what I was journaling about, and what so many conversations have centered on lately. Not the Irish, but saving civilization.

Friends and acquaintances have been talking about redirecting their focus homeward, turning from what has somehow become normal because as Dave Ramsey says, normal is broke – not just in the sense he means, but also in the sense that forty-plus hours outside the home to meet the car payment and mortgage payment and the skyrocketing price of groceries often equates to parents and kids and spouses barely knowing each other because they spend so little real time together. Hence disconnection, and disillusion, and burnout.

Normal is broken; we do need saving.

Our culture has had all kinds of misfires in its attempts to do the right thing, depending on the current consensus of what the “right thing” actually was at the moment – provide for the family, reach the lost, raise the children, attend the church functions, train and educate for the next endeavor. All good things. But in light of “seek first the Kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you,” it also makes me think of Jesus saying, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary.”

And then He defended Mary, sitting at His feet. Mary, defying cultural norms and expectations, learning with the men. Mary, coming close: her eyes on Jesus, preparing to teach others about Him, seeking first the Kingdom and His righteousness.

We fight this constant sense of obligation and “ought to” that is more often just pressure than real conviction. The accusers and distractions (sometimes external, but often in our own heads) come in like so many spiders, trying to divert us from the work at hand, but only one thing is necessary.

Sometimes we feel like we ought to be doing something else because we’re subscribing to our culture’s standards and not His standards. We are a culture that likes formulas and programs, and we will often jump through all sorts of hoops rather than do the most simple, necessary task at hand that we’ve been avoiding because it isn’t the popular answer.

Prepare your work outside;
get everything ready for yourself in the field, and after that build your house.

— Proverbs 24:27

We look for breakthrough and direction, but sometimes we do so while ignoring the unglamorous answers right in front of us. It has taken me a lifetime to learn that our breakthroughs don’t require us to say just the right words in just the right order, crack the code or solve the riddle, stand on your left foot for a certain number of seconds while singing the pre-determined worship song that will unlock everything once and for all.

Being asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God would come, he answered them, “The kingdom of God is not coming in ways that can be observed,nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There!’ for behold, the kingdom of God is in the midst of you.”

— Luke 17:20-21

We look all over, but the Kingdom is right here.

The mom who can’t raise her hands in worship because her arms are full of baby, of child, of other things, is no less engaged in worship than the person who stands up and sits down and claps at all the right times.

Having your arms full with your calling is also worship.

At the risk of stating the obvious (because sometimes we need to hear it): If you’re burnt out or sick, it might be because you’ve been so busy leading or serving others that you need to take a break to get yourself well. We can’t lead or serve others well if we’re not leading ourselves well.

That doesn’t mean you have to feel like you’ve arrived before you can lead or serve. It just means that it’s important to routinely draw back and strengthen our foundations, make sure our personal structures are sound before we miss the forest for the trees and try to serve our community. This is the heart of why we Sabbath, but it isn’t limited to just observing the Sabbath. (It’s also important to give grace to those who are different, or in different seasons than we are. What looks like rest to one of us looks like drudgery or torture to another.)

It also doesn’t mean you’ve got to have your act fully together before you can obey the Lord in whatever He’s called you to serve in externally. It just means there’s a necessary balance, because the first thing He’s calling us to is Himself. And if we’re not able to abide because our lives are so busy serving, serving, serving, and we’re out in our community so much that our home life is falling apart, our kids are falling apart, our marriage is falling apart, everything’s out of control, then it’s definitely time to draw back and strengthen those core areas.

A shadow runs across the path in front of us, and we look away from the work at hand. It needs to be squashed quickly so we can return to the one thing that is necessary.

Just to clarify, this isn’t a message about women needing to be solely domestic. We can blame radical feminism all we want but it does no good if we don’t recognize that radical feminism was an overcorrection in response to routine misogyny. Both sides have missed the mark in seeking first the Kingdom and His righteousness.

I shared this recently on social media:

If you feel stuck and aren’t sure what to do because the thing you want to do seems to have no openings or opportunities right now, put the weight of your focus on the things right in front of you or just ahead of you that you can do.

Strengthen those foundations and core areas. Build a strong spiritual structure, make the presence of God your permanent atmosphere.

Much will change in the coming months and you’ll be the better for not rushing into certain moves and changes right now.

But other things — the ones you feel Holy Spirit leading you in right now — need to be addressed immediately, and those are the things that will prepare you for the bigger moves in the long run that you can’t see the way forward in quite yet.

A voice cries:

“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord;
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain.
And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”

— Isaiah 40:3-5

We spent part of a recent Sabbath checking our chicken paddock fencing, closing gaps, stretching the fence back to its height where it had sagged from the weight of snow. If we don’t, the chickens will get loose and predators can get in (been there, hated that).

When we were done, walking back, we talked about how this would be a good time to look for chaga before the leaves come out. (What is chaga, you ask? It grows on birch trees, great for all kinds of health issues – here you go.)

We’ve never really hunted for it before, but lots of our friends have. We walked through the woods, looking up while also trying not to trip over the roots and fallen logs at our feet, wondering how we would get to the chaga if we found any in these tall, tall trees. Even if you do spot some, it’s not the most accessible thing in the world.

“You know what would be amazing?” I said. “If that giant birch tree the neighbors cut down last year had some on it.” We’d shared our chainsaw with them, and they had shared the wood with us, but we’d already chopped and stacked our share. We kept walking, looking up, going around the trees, looking at all sides.

We finally reached the edge of the woods and a huge birch log lay next to the path – part of the neighbor’s tree that for some reason we hadn’t cut for firewood.

Right on the top of it, a choppy dark crust with some exposed orange under it. If you know, you know.

“Um, wouldn’t it be nice…” I repeated, “if there just happened to be chaga on the tree that was already cut down…like, right in front of us…”

Wouldn’t it be nice if the thing we’re seeking really is what’s closest at hand?

It wasn’t a large piece, but it was right there. No climbing, no striving required. Just right in front of us, waiting to be found.

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P.S. It’s been a while since I updated y’all on some things, so here you go:

  • Looking for more homesteaderly content? Here’s our fun new gig: short posts on sustainability in small bites, everything from chaga to chickens.
  • If you feel stuck and need someone to help you move forward in this season, I currently have one slot available for coaching and will have another open up in a couple weeks. Info here.
  • If you are local (here in the MatSu Valley, or within driving distance) and want to address some core issues – because this is how we pave the way for breakthrough and revival – we’re in the middle of a series of multi-church prayer and worship gatherings that have been focused on unity, repentance, and restoration. Info and schedule here.

joy to behold: kingdom culture for a world on fire

Posted on by April 19, 2024

There I was, texting back the speech pathologist about how to help Reagan, who speaks at about a 3-year-old level. Except I was also cooking my breakfast, and also, I had no idea how to answer the pathologist’s question, which was, “Which sounds are you looking for?”

joy to behold: kingdom culture for a world on fire

Which sounds? I thought. All of them. Where do I start? I texted out a short summary of Reagan’s ability and diagnoses, rattled through how Ls and Rs are very hard to distinguish, hard I often sounds like ah or uh unless we correct her, she does not say the y or x sounds in “excuse me” (it sounds like “eskoose me,” but if you read Risk the Ocean you know this is huge improvement over asking to be caboosed), and she does not move her mouth or tongue to make sounds properly, and –

“Why is smoke coming from the pan?” Finn asked, bringing me back to the task at hand right as the smoke alarm went off.

Oh yeah, breakfast. Whoops.

Because I cannot cook hash browns and navigate the intricate juncture of speech pathology and special needs parenting at the same time. One of them needs my urgent attention, and the other, no matter how important, needs to wait.

There are so many competing needs. It feels like everything needs to be done at once, and everything needs our attention all at the same time. But it’s just not true.

I set the phone down and let the situation simmer while I rinsed the burnt oil off the cast iron pan before starting again. We can give ourselves do-overs, just like we give our kids – we can leave the half-written text as a draft, we can mute the notifications, we can hold a boundary to those asking for information that’s none of their business. We can delete the platforms, channels, and social media outlets that feed our cortisol levels instead of feeding us.

And it’s important to remember that, because our inboxes and mailboxes and phones and screens are full of all kinds of things demanding our attention and outrage.

But just because they demand it, doesn’t mean they get it. Especially not on their terms.

We can turn the flame down when the world is on fire, and pour living water on it, instead.

For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.

– Galatians 3:27

For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.

– 2 Timothy 1:7

The world is on fire but here we are, a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, going about Kingdom business in the midst of the crossfire.

As we abide, we let the One who lives in us pour out onto the world around us, and in doing so we refuse to take the enemy’s bait, choosing instead to play it cool while a firm boundary of equanimity settles around us: This house, this family, this day is our dominion, and whatever tries to barrel its way through will feel all the more heat outside as their feet are held to the fire in contrast with the cool joy of the living water that reigns here in this place.

We overcome not by passivity or blissful ignorance, but by strategically starving the beast that feeds on fear and chaos and distraction. We create order and beauty by walking in joy, trusting God, doing both the modest and immense tasks in front of us.

So, bake bread. Hug your kids. Kiss your spouse. Drink the water. Read the books. Think before blurting out. Appreciate the friend, reach out to the quiet one. Pray for the neighbor. Make something beautiful (like hash browns).

So many tiny, tiny, little things feel so insignificant in light of current events. The enemy goes around, the unholy attention seeker, tossing lit matches in varying degrees of proximity to us, hoping we will lose focus and run frantic, sloshing water out of ourselves in attempt to put out one fire while two others start raging.

But when we face the Living Water, soak, and refill, we can point in prayer and direct a fire hose without leaving His presence.

Last year in one of our intercessors meetings, one of our pastors gave us a double-sided page of notes and said, “Our battle is to abide in peace.” My Gen X summary of his notes is, Keep your cool. Persist stubbornly in joy. Biblical hope is not like the world’s version of wishful thinking; it is the expectation of God’s answers and movement. The joy of the Lord is our strength.

Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it.

— 1 Thessalonians 5:23-24

And then not long after that in another meeting, he read this passage:

Because you did not serve the Lord your God with joyfulness and gladness of heart, because of the abundance of all things, therefore you shall serve your enemies whom the Lord will send against you, in hunger and thirst, in nakedness, and lacking everything. And he will put a yoke of iron on your neck until he has destroyed you.

— Deuteronomy 28:47-48

And we noticed the first part: Because you did not serve the Lord with joyfulness and gladness…Have you thought about how joy is both worship and warfare?

So we choose joy. We choose gratitude. We choose to play it cool, not giving the enemy more attention than he deserves, and we put our eyes on what God is doing. And as we do that, He shows us more and more of what He is up to. Our focus on Him protects us from what is not of Him, and the enemy is disarmed by our worship.

If I had known this lesson years ago, our hardest season might not have been so dark. Maybe though, really, that was the beginning of me learning this lesson of how to play it cool and survive with a smile when everything looks to be falling apart. But I’m learning it even more now, and when we know better, we do better.

We are fighting (and winning!) the battle of the day every time we pursue the particular “whatever is good, whatever is lovely” God has called us to in this moment.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness [gentleness] be known to everyone.

The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

— Philippians 4:4-8

When the enemy attacks and tries to get you to look at the wrong thing, he’s saying, “Look at this, look at this, look at this!” trying to get your gaze off what the Lord has said, trying to get you to put the weight of your gaze on the other thing, on the wrong thing, and lift it off of God’s promise. The enemy wants to magnify the wrong thing and diminish hope, to shrink your trust in the Lord’s provision and ability, to inflate the discouragement and deception and lies, and to make the problem — which may be very real — seem more than it is, so as to steal the even greater reality and truth and hope of the provision and bright future the Lord has for you.

The Lord sees and knows. He knew it when you felt that gut punch, when you heard the bad news, the snide remark, the lie from the enemy that said you won’t make it. He speaks a better word and His blood is covering you, and He will have the final say. You won’t have to wait too long for it. He is preparing a place for you in the presence of your enemies, and they will watch as He vindicates and delivers you.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

— Psalm 23:4-6

So when the enemy comes at you with, “Look at this, look at this!” and jabs his ugly finger at the sore spot that has been hurting and draws your attention to it by bad news or someone’s careless remark or their disbelief that you could be doing something that they just can’t fathom, we must not fall for it. It’s a ploy from the enemy.

He wants to distract you with the lie so you don’t believe in the truth. He wants to distract you with the accusation so you forget your real identity. He wants to damage your vision.

He knows the time is short. He knows how close your promise is, so he’s desperate to make you disbelieve it.

But the promise is near, and God is present, as close as your breath. Do not take your eyes off Him, because He is your salvation, your very near and present help.

We are cultivating Kingdom culture with every tiny move of faithfulness.

Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful.

– Colossians 3:12-15

So this is me preaching to myself, and any of you who need it, too:

Yes, the world is crazy intense right now. But you still need to have fun. Do not let the enemy steal your joy. Do not let him strip away the things you love, or make you send a message to those you love that life is just too scary right now. Because God’s cool; He’s got this. He’s speaking to His people, including you, and telling you what to do and when to do it.

He won’t always tell you to do something huge and profound. He will also lead you in small, steady, beautiful things, and you will aggravate the enemy with your joy. You will disarm him with your bold, unshrinking confidence in the Lord.

We are creating the culture, and we declare it will be one of joy and peace. Our hearts are unshaken. Great days are ahead.

Then he said to them, “Go your way. Eat the fat and drink sweet wine and send portions to anyone who has nothing ready, for this day is holy to our Lord. And do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”

— Nehemiah 8:10

Lord, guide our words and our walking today, our driving and our doing, our thinking and our talking. Help us to be mature, encouraging, life giving, and truth sharing.

We don’t have to be the loudest to be heard. Protect us from talking too much or any other form of striving. We trust You to lead us and use us, so we will move out of Your way and let You do the directing.

We declare peace, joy, and truth are winning the day today in our hearts and in our communities.

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him.

In love he predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved.

— Ephesians 1:2-6

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related:

choose your battles: resisting our default by taking thoughts captive

dominance: praying revival into a world on fire

Are You Feeling Excellent Today?

how the colors come together: grieving & celebrating the emptying nest

Posted on by March 8, 2024

The fog left its mark in hoarfrost on the trees along the Parks Highway, and we drove home from church with all eight of us in the vehicle. It was the last time I would sit crammed between two 6-foot-something men in the front seat of the Stagecoach; one of them has moved out and is on his own now.

how the colors come together: grieving & celebrating the emptying nest

I gave him the quilt I’d been working on for months, often right in front of him while he was oblivious because almost-18-year-old boys don’t pay attention to their mother’s crafty shenanigans. Two nights before, Iree and I spent several hours finishing it and the seams had “significant wonk,” meaning they veered and shifted in ways I didn’t intend them to because I’m still new at this and don’t know what I’m doing and it is hard to wrestle these giant things through a small short-armed machine.

As soon as Afton’s room was empty, Cham moved into it. We’ve started to fill her vacated area – which was his space not long ago, before last year’s rearrangement – with a table for spring seedlings and about 200 books that he didn’t want to take with him. There’s still room for the sewing machine, and once the space is filled and echo-less, I’ll be recording audio in there, too. So we have plans, just like he does, and plans are good.

I spent one evening shelving all the books in the new space and sorting through what to keep and what to get rid of: Nineteen books by Patrick F. McManus. Also, the ones on blacksmithing and leatherworking from those phases, and the manuals on knifemaking from that phase. And the first copy of the bread book he learned artisan bakery from – the one we have two copies of, because he used the original until the spine broke and pages fell out from his blissfully long but sadly abandoned passion for breadmaking, when we all learned terms like poolish, pan de mie, and bâtard.

On the day he moved I was fine until that night, making dinner in the kitchen, and suddenly felt the gentle wrench of his absence. Some of his things were missing because he’d taken them, and others of his were still there, discarded because he didn’t want them anymore. I searched the cabinet for a jar and found his collection of cheesecloth from the cheesemaking phase.

He won’t be back for dinner tonight, I realized. Not that he’s been eating with us; he’s been raiding the kitchen late at night when he gets home from work. He’d ask, “What’d you guys have for dinner?” and, depending on whether or not he liked the answer, he’d respond with “Is there any left?” or bored dismissal, and make his own thing.

And that song was playing again – the same one Iree played all last year before she moved, the anthem of the hatch. But this time it wasn’t her, it was the station playing Einaudi like it knows the soundtrack of our home.

I thought to myself that day, Oh, this is easy, I must’ve done all my grieving last summer when he left for fish camp, because I didn’t even feel like crying, all day I was fine. But then it was dinnertime in the kitchen that was so often his wheelhouse, and I still wasn’t crying, but now I knew for sure it would come later.

The song was finishing and I sat on the couch and filled three scraps of paper with grief, tearing sheets from the pad as I went, surprised at how many words and feelings were still pouring out.

I started this quilt not knowing what I was doing, just following the process, just trying to make something beautiful out of the materials on hand. Some of the fabric was good and new, some was old and recycled – pieces of one of Vin’s shirts, some old sheets, other scraps salvaged from an abandoned project. I was just running the machine, just doing the next thing I knew to do to patch things together, snipping ends and threads that stuck out in the wrong places, making pieces line up, and when they went wonky, I’d go back and seam rip and make them square again.

I got so frustrated with all the ironing because it felt like it was such an interruption to forward momentum – stop what you’re doing, iron these panels. Stop again and iron these other pieces. It wasn’t just to smooth things over, though; I realized at the end when I flipped the whole thing over that when you iron seams open, it covers a multitude of wonkiness and uneven lines. The areas I thought might go astray and slant off to an angle looked fine.

I was afraid it would be ruined, or ugly, or a disaster, but it was fine. Beautiful, even.

He smiled when I gave it to him and seemed to know what kind of gift it was.

Here, I made this for you. I hope you like it. I hope you don’t notice or mind all the flaws; I know it’s not perfect. I worked hard on it, but could have done better. I wonder if you’ll look at it more closely later and recognize some of these pieces, and realize where they came from.

We leave our marks on each other just by proximity and relation, and sometimes they are uneven lines and empty spaces we don’t know what to do with. Sometimes when we move away we do whatever we can to rub those marks out for a while, as though they’ve taken up space without our permission and we want to see what’s underneath without their influence.

Here, this is part of me, take it – and we pluck the feathers from ourselves, and thrust them onto our young men and women as they take their own flights, hoping they won’t cast our affection to the wind.

I paused, tore another sheet from the notepad, looked at all the words. Folded the papers in half, stared at the highway traffic out the dark window, the headlights going north and south.

Unfolded the paper, flipped it over, and kept going.

We miss their presence when they leave. But also, as they’ve been longing to leave – which we remember and relate to and rejoice in with them – we realize that we’ve already been missing them because part of them has been gone for a long time. They’ve changed and emotionally moved on already in many ways. The grief has been sneaking up on us, slipping in and surprising us at random intervals for over a year now.

This is not summer camp, or youth overnight, or fish camp. This is launching. And he’ll be back, I know he will; there will be dinners and barbecues and birthdays and it will be better. We’ve done this twice before and we know there’s a stretching distance for a while before the elastic springs back and things reach a new equilibrium. And it will be good. Really, really good.

But it won’t be the same. And that’s the thing we grieve most: It will never be the same. We cannot get that time back. The binding is on, the quilt is finished, there’s no time left for seam ripping and rearranging colors and redoing those panels.

Jesus redeems and leads and saves, and Holy Spirit continues doing the work we can’t, couldn’t, or didn’t. But still, we want to do better and wish we had done better — and I think this is the sign of a good parent, rather than one who’s perfectly satisfied with every aspect of their parenting and confident they’ve made no mistakes — and I’m grateful to still have little and younger ones to keep doing better with.

But it’s not over with the older ones, because we have new time that’s different from before. This time looks like broad, new conversations, and tentative efforts to bring buried things into the open, and a willingness to let spaces stay empty that aren’t ready to be filled. It looks like hilarious confessions and new levels of respect in both directions, and inside jokes filled with a vocabulary that only our family knows. It looks like mutual appreciation and recognition and repentance, and a whole different level of starting again.

Here, this is yours. I love the way some of these colors come together, and I regret not trying harder to make even lines in some of these places. But I hope you love it. I hope it keeps you warm, I hope you remember your mother and your family and your childhood and where you came from…with warmth, and fondness, and gratitude. I hope you know you are so loved.

It might be a while before they realize they didn’t notice all the things we did right in front of them, trying to make something beautiful out of the materials we had on hand.

It was so imperfect. There was significant wonk and things veered and shifted in ways we didn’t intend them to because we were learning and didn’t always know what we were doing. It is hard to wrestle these giant, complex souls to adulthood and keep our lines even.

But it was good, and warm, and filled with pieces of ourselves as the colors came together, and that is even better.

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