My days are full. Dishes, laundry, diapers, cooking, cleaning.
My arms are full. Kisses, snuggles, coos, giggles, hugs.
My life is full. Love, laughter, family, faith.
Yes, my cup isn’t just half-full—it’s full.
Full to the overflowing. With good gifts.
Thank You, Lord, for the full days, full arms, full life you’ve given me. May I never take it for granted. “Better full than empty…”
Everything I love about summer is everything that makes me long for autumn days turning to winter.
The long sunny days. The warm nights. The crickets chirping peacefully in the evenings after the little ones have gone to bed.
But the long hours of daylight mean so much work to be done in our short summer season. And the warm evenings are ones in which I sit outside, my fingers tapping away at the keyboard while my eyes scan the fields for my farmer husband, coming home from long hours of work.
Growing things. The smell of fresh-cut alfalfa hay. Tractor rides. Abundant garden produce.
But it’s too hot to cook or to can. The tractor rides mean he’s working day and night to get it all done. And each cutting of hay has us watching the clouds and praying away the rain as the pressure mounts to get it all baled in time.
Sometimes it seems the summer days fly by and it’s already dusk and we didn’t get it all done. Sometimes they are hot and sticky and endless and crawl as slowly as the turtle from the irrigation pond that the girls’ daddy brought home to show them.
Like they say of the days of motherhood, ‘tis true of summer as well: the days are long but the months are short. And soon, it will be wintertime again, with two feet of snow and ice cold and we’ll be looking forward anew to all the warmth and busyness of summer.
So I sit and I slow and I appreciate the seasons. Because even the turtle seems to pass by too quickly for those who truly appreciate it.
Every day, this mother’s heart walks around outside her body she learns a whole new definition of trust.
Every day, I think of the words of the mommy who described in aching detail the emotions of losing her son to SIDS.
Every day, I think of the 4-year-old boy who just died in a farming accident nearly identical to the one which my husband miraculously survived at the same age.
Every day, I kiss bumps and bruises which could have been so much worse.
Every day, I watch to make sure he gets to work okay.
Every day, I hear a siren and think of the ambulance that drove past me on the way to my husband without my even knowing.
Every day, I have the choice to replace fear with faith, worry with trust.
Every day with the ones I love is a gift. Every day I appreciate it more.
[This Friday morning, our little 7-week-old Daniel is having surgery to fix a hernia.
Thank you for your prayers as we trust and find the hidden gifts…]
Dearest,
Sometimes, I awake in the middle of the night from dreaming of you. I think to myself, I haven’t written Merritt in forever—or called him, or anything! I miss him! And then I remember—I’m married to you! You are sleeping right next to me!
It washes over me anew then, as I snuggle up to your sleeping, snoring frame—the wonder, the delight, the joy of being married to my best friend. It’s the wonder of our wedding day, magnified ten-fold, because I am married to you and I know how wonderful it is.
I don’t ever want to forget that feeling. We may be old married people now, celebrating five years today. But five years and three children later, I only love you more. And while some days are crazy, some days are chaotic, it’s still and always a joy being yours.
And when we share those long slow kisses in the middle of the kitchen, the crying children and the unwashed laundry and dishes fade out of the scene for a moment, and we’re newlyweds once more. When we come back to reality, it’s with the reminder that we don’t ever want to forget the way it felt that day five years ago; we don’t ever want to stop acting like newlyweds even though we might really be old married people.
I love you, handsome husband of mine. Thank you for the five best years of my life. Here’s to many more, with God’s help.
Love always,
your wife
[P.S. Five years can’t be summed up in just five minutes—but I almost did it.]
The door closes behind my husband, off to work. I take a deep breath. The day is ahead of me. Along with a table full of breakfast dishes and un-eaten food, an overflowing laundry basket, and a desk covered with unpaid bills and unwritten thank you notes.
But before I can attend to them, there’s a crying baby, a sticky 21-month-old, and a 3-year-old who needs to share.
Deep breath. In, out. And I remember, Don’t just try to survive: thrive!
The baby’s finally asleep, the girls are listening to a Curious George CD, and I hop in the shower. There’s a strong temptation to stay under the hot water all day—or at least until the hot water heater empties.
Deep breath. And again, I remember, rely on Him in anticipation, not just desperation.
I step out of the shower to be greeted by….quiet? I pour my tea, grab my Bible, and settle on the couch as someone starts to cry.
Deep breath. I can read my Bible and drink my tea while I nurse. I need the Word like he needs my milk.
And so begins another day of taking deep breaths—not just surviving the stress but thriving through thanks.
Baby’s crying, five minutes are up.
Deep breath…
Motherhood should come with an hourglass. Today was the day I thought I was due with my third little one. But as of last night, he is already three weeks old. Where did the time go? How can he already be so big—even developing a double chin—when he hadn’t yet figured out how to nurse three weeks ago?
Motherhood does come with an hourglass. But though sometimes we can see how quickly the sand is sifting through it, we don’t know how much sand is left. That’s what makes it so precious. Yet too often, that’s also what makes us take it for granted.
I don’t know how long I will have any of my three little ones to hold. I have no guarantees that I’ll see next Mother’s Day, let alone this one.
Sometimes, that knowledge leaves me fearful, holding my children tight in my own grasp. Sometimes, that knowledge makes me more patient, as I tenderly hug my children tight.
Motherhood does come with an hourglass. But only my Father in Heaven knows what that hourglass looks like.
Today, I just want to remember that the hourglass is there. I don’t want to live in fear; but I don’t want any regrets.
I want to cherish every moment. Because motherhood does come with an hour glass. And it’s sifting…
This post was written for Lisa-Jo’s Five Minute Friday—in two times five minutes, because I am (happily) sleep-deprived. And besides, I’ve missed a few weeks of Five Minute Fridays, so why not take ten today? 
Ann Voskamp’s book is the kind to have in your purse when you go to the doctor.
One Thousand Gifts is the kind of book to keep open in your lap in the hospital waiting room.
Even when you can’t absorb it all, the words of truth, of hope, of thankfulness keep jumping out at you.
Even when you don’t understand what God is doing, you are reminded that He does.
Even when the doctor finds the beginning signs of toxemia and you are afraid your fears of going down the road of bedrest and induction once again are being realized.
…stress stands in direct opposition to what He directly, tenderly commands: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me.” …Trust, it’s the antithesis of stress. (One Thousand Gifts, pg. 146)
Even when the ultrasound tech says the baby’s lungs need at least another week and you know if your own symptoms get worse you might have to be induced sooner.
Stress and anxiety seem easier. Easier to let the mind run wild with the worry than to exercise discipline, to reign her in, slip the blinders on and train her to walk steady in certain assurance, not spooked by the specters looming ahead. Are stress and worry evidences of a soul too lazy, too undisciplined, to keep gaze fixed on God? …Stress brings no joy. (147)
Even when you realize that helicopter you just saw is taking a newborn baby to a bigger hospital and the fear grips your heart knowing how easily it could be your own.
Every time fear freezes and worry writhes, every time I surrender to stress, aren’t I advertising the unreliability of God? That I really don’t believe? (151)
Even when the contractions are so strong you are sure you’ll never get another good night’s sleep.
Count blessings and discover Who can be counted on. (151)
So in the dark late at night, I count. In the endless minutes and hours in the waiting rooms and during non-stress tests, I read.
And it redirects my gaze from the monitors and the calculations and the tests, focuses my gaze on Him.
I remember Who sees the sparrow fall. I concentrate on trusting in the One Who formed this little one within me.
And I laugh at the irony that worry only brings stress which only makes my blood pressure go even higher. So if I were really worried enough, wouldn’t I stop worrying and start trusting?
…if I’m grateful to the Bridge Builder for the crossing of a million strong bridges, thankful for a million faithful moments, my life speaks my beliefs and I trust Him again… (151)
159. An otherwise empty waiting room meaning I can turn off the TV without apology.
160. Such an active little one that kicks the monitors off my tummy.
161. Watching the baby’s heart rate go up and down just like it’s supposed to with activity.
162. An opening within hours for an ultrasound so I don’t have to come back another day.
163. $5 footlongs at Subway.
164. Cold, clear water—even 24 ounces of it in half an hour.
165. Seeing my little one kicking on the screen.
166. Being told I am having a “Very Active Child.”
167. Finding out that the baby’s growth is showing it to be further along than I thought.
168. A new ultrasound profile picture to add to our collection.
169. Long naps.
170. Giving the girls lessons on feeding their dollies with bottles and burping them (pat the head or the back? it gets a little confusing).
171. Going to church on Sunday—even if I had to go to the nursery to rest my head and feet.
172. My 19-month-old constantly wanting to pull up my shirt so she can talk to Baby.
173. A man who does all the dishes without ever complaining.
174. Really dark chocolate (my only caffeine at the moment).
175. Seeing the girls’ renewed interest in dollies now that we’re going to have a new baby.
176. Watching my girls watch the “Signing Time” DVD’s and mimicking every sign.
177. A bowl of Haagen Daz ice cream finally stopping the contractions so I could get a good night’s sleep.
178. A husband who drives me to doctor’s appointments when he can tell I need him along.
179. A Monday morning doctor’s appointment revealing lower blood pressure and normal test results from all that blood work, meaning no toxemia or induction yet!
180. One Thousand Gifts to convict and redefine my definitions of worry and trust. (And was it any accident I was on chapter 8?)
Trust is the bridge from yesterday to tomorrow, built with planks of thanks. Remembering frames up gratitude. Gratitude lays out the planks of trust. I can walk the planks—from known to unknown—and know: He holds. (152)
P.S. Thank you all so much for your prayers! I’m taking it easy and watching spring arrive outside my windows. I’m relishing the rest and the quiet. I’m watching my girls at play instead of looking at the dust. I’m resisting the urge to schedule posts ahead, so if it goes quiet around here, perhaps you’ll keep us at the Little Pink House a bit extra in your prayers? I’ll do my best to post any important updates on Twitter. For now, I’m focusing on resting and letting this baby grow as big as it needs to be—and so very grateful that, at this point, we can just wait for it to come of its own accord.
(Just found another giveaway for Ann’s book One Thousand Gifts—be sure to enter if you don’t already own it!)
It’s been several weeks of little internet and lots of traveling, little down time but lots of good times. Between the March of Books and using scheduled posts, I’ve missed posting several Mondays worth of gifts. And truth be told, I’ve missed writing them down. I even tucked a spiral bound sunflower notebook in my book bag on the trip. But I’m not sure why I take book bags along when I travel because I rarely open them except to stuff more in!
I suppose these past few weeks have been spent reveling in the gifts rather than recording them. And sometimes, that’s okay, too, I think—to just live life and live the thankfulness rather than writing it all down.
But now I’m back home and plowing through the piles on my desk while peering through glasses that were broken and now sit askew, muddling my vision and forcing me to remember that everything (even broken glasses and bills to be paid) is a gift from His hand… So it seemed like a good time to think back over the weeks I’ve been away and write down a few of the gifts that come to mind.
Meanwhile, it’s the last day to enter YLCF’s giveaway of two copies of Ann Voskamp’s book One Thousand Gifts! Read Jessica’s review and enter the giveaway—and if you missed it, here’s my review, too.
Now, back to counting each thing as a gift…
103 red rubber balls.
104 $2 maternity pants.
105 my chauffeur (my husband).
106 French fries and ice cream at a favorite childhood stop.
107 my cousins.
108 watching a beautiful celebration of true love.
109 rain staying away a day for a lovely, mud-free wedding.
110 the antics of flower girls and ring bearers.
111 grandparents who live lives of faith and love.
112 catching up with dear ones.
113 spending time with those who have known you since childhood and love you anyway.
114 90% cocoa Lindt chocolate from my grama.
115 a card from Erin.
116 sleeping in one’s own comfy bed (home sweet home).
117 sunshine and green grass.
118 corned beef, cabbage & mashed potatoes for dinner in celebration of “John Deere Day” (as this farmer’s girl has long called it).
119 an 18-month-old who tries to be such a big helper (even if she breaks Mommy’s glasses meanwhile).
120 being back with our church family again.
121 a lady at the optometrist’s who reminds you that children are a blessing and a miracle (she should know—she had seven pregnancies, but only two of her children lived).
122 an email from Sarah.
123 matching new hair cuts for my daughter and myself.
124 getting paid.
125 a direct message from someone I respect.
126 pictures and memories.
127 a really handsome date to a really beautiful Western-style wedding.
128 so many friends due with so many babies in these next few weeks and months.
129 two fun new movie series for the rare, quiet movie nights.
130 a husband who takes care of me.