A Promise Kept

Mar 312010
 

I’ve already written more than a few book reviews over at ylcf.org for the March of Books this month, but I couldn’t resist sharing a few more favorites here.  And, my first ever book giveaway is coming here to the Little Pink House next Monday, so stay tuned!

A Promise Kept.  Such a simple phrase.  In a short little book.  With a lifetime of meaning.

My husband’s grandfather already had Alzheimer’s when I met him.  I only saw Grandpa twice.  I only saw a shadow of the personality that was his.  But Grandpa’s military photo from the 1940’s?  That smile is the same as the one I see every day on my husband’s face. I often wonder how like his grandpa he is.

When I vowed to love my husband “in sickness and in health,” I was thinking of things like Alzheimer’s and old age.  I didn’t know that “sickness” would come in the form of a welding explosion and a broken leg just two months after we were married.  Or how clearly I would see my husband’s love and commitment displayed to me throughout the months of morning sickness and exhaustion of pregnancy.  But God gave strength for each day.

A Promise Kept is a beautiful story of love and commitment that you have to read to fully appreciate.  It is the true story of J. Robertson McQuilkin, a man who gave up all the achievements he’d made in the world just for the simple joy of keeping his promise to love and cherish his wife in sickness and in health.

A Promise Kept.  “A Vow to Cherish.”  Stories about Alzheimer’s still tug extra-hard at my heartstrings.  There’s always the thought in the back of my mind that it is something we might face someday. 

But I can rest in the knowledge that God gives grace for A Promise Kept.

Yes, I read about it in a little book by that title.  But I’ve seen A Promise Kept in the lives of people I know and love.

Continue reading »

“Touch my toes”

Mar 262010
 

I stumbled through the kitchen.  Bleary-eyed from a night in which I was up with one girl or another more times than I could even remember to count.

My husband and daughter were getting breakfast on the table.  I surveyed their progress, stretching as I stood there.

“I stwetch, too, Mommy!”  My two-year-old raised her hands above her head imitating my every move. 

“Do ex-cises, Mommy?  I touch my toes!” 

She bent towards the floor.  Just like Winnie the Pooh does his stoutness exercises.

“No, sweetheart.  Mommy’s not ready to do her exercises yet.  She’s just waking up.  Later.” 

But somehow, later never happens.  There’s always something more urgent than establishing good habits, more pressing than my need for strength training.

When bedtime rolls around and I realize I still haven’t done nary a push-up, I’m too tired to actually push myself.  I go through the motions without the motions doing me any good.

I’ve learned that if I don’t do my exercises first thing, they probably won’t happen. 

Just like my time in God’s Word.

I’ve learned that if I don’t have a big mug of cold, clear water readily available, I won’t drink it.

Just like my Bible.

I’ve learned that if the actions don’t hurt a little, they won’t stretch me. 

Just like life.

My daughter’s imitations show me that she thinks exercising always starts with, and consists mostly of, being face-down on the floor with hands folded and eyes closed.

And I think she just might be right.

The Evolution of Our Bookshelves

Mar 242010
 

The photos I shared in the March of Books bookshelves photo gallery over at ylcf.org were realistic—they showed the bookshelves of our little pink house as they appear right now.  But I was thinking back to all the different ways we’ve arranged our books through the past four years, and had to share a few more photos.  I just wish I’d taken a picture of those first cardboard box shelves—and the bookshelf topped with blocks proclaiming the name of the child who got to read them all!

photo by bethanytissphotography.com

I don’t believe in evolution.  Except when it comes to things like our collection of books, and their arrangement on our bookshelves.

When Merritt and I got married, it was not just two people becoming one—it was two libraries becoming one!  My 14 boxes of books merged with his already rather large collection made for over 1,000 titles.  On our honeymoon, we bought even more books—children’s books—adding to our as-yet-unpacked collection.

In the weeks following our honeymoon, we painted the walls and organized kitchen cupboards.  We put our quilt on the bed and planned where we’d hang pictures on the walls.  But our home didn’t feel complete with all our books hiding in the stack of cardboard boxes.  We just hadn’t found enough bookshelves yet! Continue reading »

The sounds, sights, and smells of spring

Mar 232010
 

The windows open all afternoon.  Spring breezes freshening up the rooms that winter kept stuffy too long.

The sound of the chainsaw, as my husband cuts brush along the ditch.

The smell of sawdust and chainsaw oil brings back memories—my husband smells just the way my logger daddy always did when he came home from work.

My farmer on the tractor, picking up the brush he just cut—farmer playing logger, my beloved jack of all trades is master of so many.

The clank of my trowel against the gravel in my driveway-side “flower ditch.” 

Spindly daffodils, tiny grape hyacinth bulbs, dug from the rich dark dirt of my childhood yard—now buried in the clay soil of my own yard, my own home.

The hollow pounding of plastic trowels against plastic bucket—the little shadow that follows me.

“I bowwowh Momma’s gwoves ah minhute,” my 2-year-old daughter says as I discard my gloves to feed the baby. 

The front door left open, I can keep an eye on one daughter while feeding the other.  No screen door back up yet.  But we don’t need it today because the flies aren’t back out yet, either.

A favorite winter squash recipe is warm in the oven.  But it’s one of the last winter squash for the year.  Spring is in the air.  We won’t be eating winter squash much longer.

What are the sounds of spring you’re hearing around your house?  Does it smell like spring through your open windows?  Or is it only the sight of green things poking through the snow that tells you spring is coming still?

Back on the (exercise) wagon

Mar 192010
 

“I never thought I would see the day when my wife would actually exercise.” 

My husband and I have been friends for over half our lives.  Never in those thirteen years has he ever known me to exercise on purpose.  Lively games of badminton (making eyes at each other across the net) and long walks together (holding hands or wishing we were) have been the closest I’ve come.  I’ve made my disdain of exercise something of a personal fashion statement. 

Sports-loving athletic girl I am not.  The care-free country girl with the naturally slender figure is much more me.  It’s just that the naturally slender figure doesn’t come care-free any more.

I’m not sure if there was more pride or genuine disbelief in my husband’s voice when he made that statement two weeks into the “Losing It” contest.  But I took the disbelief as a challenge, the pride as an encouragement.

Only, I sorta kinda fell off the (exercise) wagon for a little while there.  We made our last visit to my parents’ before the busyness of spring strikes the farm.  I had grand plans of taking walks in the field—like we had time for in yesteryear.  I could even picture myself doing my push-ups along with my little sister.

Somehow, none of that happened during our two weeks at my parents’.  All that extra time I used to have for long walks was taken up with baths and bedtime routines.  And I wasn’t exactly excited about doing my push-ups and Russian twists there on the living room floor in front of my 12-year-old brother who could do, like, umpteen more repetitions than I could. 

I did, however, maintain the same weight—perhaps even dropping a pound or two from what I was when I left.  I’ve found that I don’t snack at other people’s houses like I do when I’m home.  Maybe it’s because my mom still keeps the chocolate chips just out of my arms’ reach?  Or maybe it’s just that it would seem impolite to be mindlessly snacking between meals (even though I did it when I was growing up there!).  Regardless, I ate better for the past two weeks.  Even if my little sister and I were putting into practice the motto “feed a cold, starve a fever” as soon as we caught colds.  Even if I didn’t exactly exercise. 

I went out to coffee exactly three times (hey, I had old friends to catch up with, and what better way than over coffee?).  But other than that, I drank only one cup of coffee—the rest of the time it was tea, and lots and lots of that good fresh well water I grew up on.  (I have well water here at home, too, it just has a bit more taste—or more accurately, smell—to it.)

We’re back home on the farm now.  It feels like spring.  It feels like the weather for a long brisk walk.  It feels like the perfect temperature to dig in the dirt and stir up my compost.  It feels like time for exercise in the great outdoors as well as those Mommy-style push-ups and Russian twists inside. 

I’m prioritizing.  And you can be sure that exercise is making it on my priority list. 

Especially since that magazine my brother-in-law gave me with the Russian twist exercises in it emphasized that you should take a break from exercising every few days, but you should never, ever skip more than one day of exercises.  Ahem.  Yes.  It’s a good thing rules are made to be broken.  But I’m back on the exercise wagon.  And I’m losing it!

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