Again I Will Say Rejoice!

Again I am late. Late to be born, late to get teeth, late to my wedding. Late.

And again I forget to start dinner early. So dinner will be late.

Again I forget to get the laundry out of the dryer so that it won't be wrinkled.

Again I knock something over because I am not looking.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice!
Philippians 4:4

Again I bow my head to pray for strength.

Again I snuggle my babies tight.

Again I stop what I am doing to make a hot breakfast for my husband who works so hard for us.

Again I look to the sky to see deep strokes of color on a blue canvas.

Again I linger with frolicking kittens to giggle.

Again I choose to hope, because all the messy agains are rushed away in the strong waters of hopeful agains.

Again I choose love.

A little writing exercise with the prompt "Again,"
joining with Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday.

 

Where to Find Joy When You are Worn and Weary

When the relentless rest-less days turn into weeks, and the weeks turn into months, all the hurry and rush can make a mama see the world through a lens of gray.

It's a worrisome place to be... feels a bit like days of old, days of depression and gloom.

The need to get out bed is more urgent than ever, but the will lacking.

Air is crisp and the bed is warm. It's a fight to make feet hit cold ground.

In the middle of the dark-inside days doesn't joy seem a flickering memory? A dream dreamed on a long ago night?

Toes touch the floor and seek soft slippers. Little comforts soften the edges.

Shuffling to the kitchen for a hot drink, a bible lies near.

It is closed.

Eyes stay focused on the floor because legos and books and marbles and cheerios make feet grumpy, even feet in soft slippers. The mess in the house feels like the mess in the mind.

In the kitchen the electric tea kettle whooooshes bubbly water, and steam winds to the ceiling. The counter has crumbs.

And this mama wonders... will I ever get there? Will I ever ever ever get it all done? And is any of it worth doing anyway?

A little rustling sound and then a tangle of small arms and warmth from behind.

Crumbs and legos and fog are forgotten as we two wrap all up for the morning snuggle, sitting right there on the kitchen floor.

Love pushes the clouds a bit and says, "Are you hungry?"

Then love gets up off the cold floor and wipes the counter. Love melts the butter and cracks the eggs. Love grinds the coffee for Papa and wakes other children.

And love makes the mama remember... it is in doing love that joy is found.

The day never gets perfect. The race against household entropy is never ending and the people are all still sinners. Every day.

That closed bible calls out and is cracked wide, and as pages are turned and the realest truest words read aloud, brains start to clean and clear.

Hope. Life. And this is the hope that does not disappoint.

Even for gloomy mamas on dreary days joy glimmers.

joy in doing love for beloveds

joy tucked in Word truth

joy in resting mind quiet on Him

The vanilla smell of a lit candle turns my face and my eyes linger on the solitary flame. Waving, straight, now fluttering again.

And when still, it always points straight up.

 

Blessed to join
imperfect prose
for the first time.

Nibbles the Wonder Goat

Our little Nibbles... 

he of the hypothermia and tub faucet nibbling... 

the re-enactor of the parable of the lost sheep...

and the blessed recipient of an adoptive mama's goat-y love...

 

 

 

...is doing just dandy, thank you very much.

The LORD is good to all, and his mercy is over all that he has made.

~ Psalm 145:9 ~ 

Experiencing the Fullness of Joy ~ Psalm 16

Of all the authors in the bible, David is my go-to guy when I am feeling down.  David had a remarkable way of pouring out his sorrow to the Lord eloquently.  He wasn’t afraid to be real.

What appeals to me about David’s writings is that no matter how miserable he was, no matter how hopeless and desperate it all seemed, he always ended up praising God. David knew where he stood with the Lord. Read more.

We're talking about the fruits of the spirit at Do Not Depart. To download this study go here.

In His Hands

© Patti Brown

Remembering today how tenderly His strong hands hold me...

Are not two sparrows sold for a cent? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.
~ Matthew 10:29 ~

I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.
~John 10:28 ~

What is YOUR alabaster jar?

Can you imagine? 

Sitting with Him. Eating with Him. Touching Him.

What would it have been like to have been with Jesus when His feet touched soil? 

Can you imagine...

“... a woman came to Him with an alabaster vial of very costly perfume, and she poured it on His head as He reclined at the table.”
Matthew 26:7

I think of this woman in her home, preparing to go to Jesus. I wonder... was she nervous? Did she question herself?

I imagine her as passionate and bold, never thinking twice. I imagine that she rushed from her home, clutching her gift with thoughts only of Jesus.  Her honoring, extravagant gift.

But I don’t know. 

What I do know is that she lavished it all upon Him, crowned him with her offering.

None held back.

Would I have done it?....

I'm guest posting at SomeGirl's Website again today, sharing my thoughts as I finish reading Matthew. To read the rest of What is your alabaster jar? please come over and join us there!

photo credits: feet by Patti Brown, alabaster jar by anvaha

In the quiet, we seek Him

In the darkness of early morning, in houses around the world, sleepy feet walk to the cross. Drawn by awe, we come.

kneeling, sitting
eyes open, closed
singing, whispering, silent...
we worship

In countless languages reading His word... we draw life, drink deep, convicted, constrained, conformed.

And laying ourselves down as an offering, we give thanks, lifting up needs great and small.

Steadfastly we seek His face and are transformed.

In the quiet the world is changed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do you set aside time each day to come into His presence? May I encourage you that this is the most important thing you can do for your family and for yourself? To truly grow in joy comes only from growing in Him.

If you are in need of encouragement with your morning routine, visit Inspired to Action or Good Morning Girls for inspiration and fellowship.

Painting: Lady Hamilton Praying by George Romney

Story draws on story...

The windows are black.  The house is quiet.  Little Warrior is sleeping and teeth are being brushed.

It is one of my favorite times of the day.

I sit on the couch and they come.  My nightgown clad nine year old swirls in with her twinkly eyes and jumps up next to me, all elbows and knees.  She throws her legs over mine and rests her head on my shoulder.  With slow steps her lanky teenage brother steadily approaches, eyes hidden by curls, willing to give up computer games to not miss being with us.

The Princess wiggles over, blessing her brother with the rare snuggle with his Mama.  She and I are the bread, he is the filling, as we squish our family sandwich together under wool blankets.

I reach into the spot, the treasured place where the current tale lives, pulling out a world in well-worn paper.  Laura, Aslan, Alice, Pippi, Curdie... the names are many, the worlds different, the draw the same.

Tonight we journey with Curdie.  We have already lived his adventure with girl-princess Irene in The Princess and the Goblin.  We are growing with Curdie into a young man as he is challenged in his faith.

'But if you want me to know you again ma'am, for certain sure,' said Curdie, 'could you not give me some sign, or tell me something about you that never changes - or some other way to know you, or thing to know you by?'

'No Curdie; that would be to keep you from knowing me. You must know me in quite another way from that. It would not be the least use to you or me either if I were to make you know me in that way.  It would be but to know the sign of me - not to know me myself.'

from The Princess and Curdie by George MacDonald

The chapter ends, the book closes, I wait for the oft-repeated "Already! But that was so short!"

Tonight it doesn't come, young minds so engrossed with the thread of God woven into the tale.  We begin to talk... how George MacDonald's allegory dips into our own stories, how Curdie and Peter drew strength from each other's faith... how we, our little family, do the same.

And Farmer Boy and I take turns knitting a story for The Princess, remembering.   He one needle, I the other, we take the yarn of our memories and knit for her when God revealed Himself to us both in the same way, at the same time.  The remembering blesses us all.  We draw strength from each other's faith.

Our eyes are heavy, limbs stiff, it is time for bed.  I pray for each, hands on smooth head, curly head.  We each lie down with our thoughts, our prayers, our dreams, so much to hope for... hearts content.

Tomorrow night we will meet on our couch-boat and sail the seas of story again.

So much to be thankful for, always, every day....

51 ~ shelves upon shelves of worlds waiting to be discovered

52 ~ true stories remembered anew for fresh ears

53 ~ letters slowly sounded out while small finger draws paths down words

54 ~ always being young enough to listen to a story read aloud

55 ~ tree felled in a storm years ago becoming the fuel that warms our hearth

56 ~ chicks lost to cold reminding of us of the blessing of the life that remains

57 ~ God's provision even of death-cleaning vultures

58 ~ crockpot that provides a ready hot meal after a day away

59 ~ songs weaving their way throughout our day and our words

60 ~ friend who hears hurt in my voice and prays from her heart

61 ~ new as-yet-unmet friends who welcome my timid writing to their blog homes

62 ~ grace to write when I feel inadequate

63 ~ husband who sees a need and becomes a washing machine repairman

64 ~ grandparents moving so close they see grandkids every few days

65 ~ time to spend in His presence, even when it seems impossible

66 ~ woolen hand-knit blankets

67 ~ building Jericho with blocks and marching and shouting and crashing

68 ~ falling asleep on the couch in the wee dark hours with my bible on my lap, chasing away anxiety-insomnia with God-laced dreams

69 ~ persistence, insistence, never-giving-up of faithful prayers for lost loved ones

70 ~ my children's father, my love, our warrior-protector


Joining the multitudes remembering their multitudes....

 

The Wise Woman Builds Her House

This joy thing.  It does not come naturally.

There I stood, hands in a sink of dirty dishes.  Grumbling.  Silent grumbling... turning over grievances, rehearsing rebuttals.

Yet knowing this grumbling is wrong.  What is it in me, Lord, that makes my brain fill with stinkin' thinkin'? 

The wise woman builds her house,
But the foolish tears it down with her own hands.

It breathed into my brain.  My grumbles paused as I tripped over something new in that well-worn passage.  She builds her house.  Not... she built her house then sat smugly back to survey her domain.  No... she builds.  She is doing.  She keeps doing.

She doesn't stop.

There it is.  The thing that makes me grumbly.  It never stops.  I don't mean the dishes (although their perpetuity elicits grumbles at times as well).

Building my house, my family, my legacy... it never stops.  Seeing my own sin... it never stops.

Having to grow, to try, to ask forgiveness... to start again... it never stops.

There is no resting on laurels.

Funny, a few months back I stumbled over the present tense in another scripture.   He makes the barren woman a joyful mother of children.  He never stops. 

Did I mention?  This joy thing.  It does not come naturally.

Grumbling yes.  But the joy?  Only grows when I give the grumbling over.  When I lay it down at His feet and give thanks.

Like a bud deep within me it waits, needing living water to grow and bloom.  And I hold the handle to the door that lets the Gardener in.

No, it does not come naturally.  It is nothing but a gift when I sense the creaking of unfolding petals.  The melting of snow.

He is making ALL things new.  And He never stops.


scriptures ~ Proverbs 14:1, Psalm 113:9, Revelation 21:5
photo credit ~ Karen Miller

Merry Christmas! Oh, you want the recipe?

guest post by The Princess (age 9) 

Merry Christmas
Makes: everyone's servings

What you need:
1 cup of joy
1 1/2 cups of dancing
1 Tb of jubilee
5 cups of Jesus

What you do:
Mix the joy with the Jesus in a large mixing bowl
Next pour the jubilee into the dancing
Then take a spoon and stir for thirty seconds
Dump your jubilee and dancing mix into the Jesus/joy mix
Serve!

What brings me joy

Not unexpectedly, this spreading joy challenge has been a tremendous blessing, and brought ME so much joy. 

It has gotten me thinking about the things that bring me joy each day.  Most of them are very small.  I decided to catalog some of this week’s joys.

• waking to long legs and arms wrapped around me... a sweet 8 year old girl come in for a morning snuggle
• drinking tea out of a beautiful mug given to me by my cousin, even more beautiful because it was one of her favorite mugs
• Little Warrior’s song “Breakfast, breakfast, here I come to eat you...”
• praying with my children with hands on The Bard before he headed out to a challenging day
• listening to Farmer Boy playing Fur Elise on the piano
• praying with Little Warrior for someone in need - his entire prayer was “thank you for...” - such faith and confidence in the work that God will do!
• practicing lines and songs for theater class with The Princess... so many characters, such fun for Mama!
• gleaning finger snapping tips from Farmer Boy
• having my hair brushed by Little Warrior
• the look on my friend’s face when I carried a cooler to her van and said “I made dinner for you”
• a conversation with a stranger where we realized that God had put the same ministry idea, the very same words, in our hearts, and that perhaps He was calling us to work together
• precious hours of earnest discussion with a dear friend across a restaurant table
• watching a gecko gobble up moths on the other side of a dark window
• crystal clear starry sky covering our heads as I kissed The Bard goodbye in the early morning
• timid new kittens running toward me for the first time, knowing I am a safe place
• an hour of prayer with my favorite prayer warrior
• the morning greeting from our rooster when I turn the lights on before sunrise
• a gleaming kitchen counter
• the smell of my house with the windows open for the first time since spring

It may be cliche, but it’s true... it’s the little things that make a life.

The bouncy ball of joy bounced back at me!

Today as I walked through the living room, where the children were busy at their school work, The Princess looked up and smiled, "You look pretty, Mama."

I was so surprised, not only because I wasn't feeling pretty, but also because I was wearing an absolutely normal, and quite simple, outfit. I hadn't been trying to look pretty; I was just bustling from one task to the next. "Thank you!" I smiled back.

She popped up and followed me to the kitchen. With a twinkle in her eye, she told me, "Someone once told me: if you think something nice about someone, you should say it," then she gave me a big squeeze.

This made me smile even wider, because that someone was ME!

Years ago, I was sitting in church, and my dear friend Tammy was reading the scripture. I was struck by how pretty she was. She is one of the most humble people I know, and I wondered if anyone ever told her that she is pretty. Suddenly it occurred to me that if I never told her she'd never know that I was thinking it. So after the service I found her. Her reaction was much like mine (surprise!). It clearly touched her.  It was the first time this had occurred to me, and I determined to be more intentional in speaking my positive thoughts.

Unfortunately, it is a norm in our culture to give slightly true compliments at expected times... if you dress up, people will say you look nice; if you cook a meal, people will say it is delicious.  While I do appreciate these affirmations, I must confess I sometimes wonder how honest they are. 

Offering an encouraging observation or an unexpected compliment is kind of like stealth joy spreading.  It must be completely honest, one heart to another. 

We all need feedback in differing amounts, but there are few humans who don't need any at all.  It is easier to give negative feedback than positive!  But like any habit, we can cultivate the habit of speaking aloud our positive thoughts about others.

It was fun today to be on the other side of that feedback loop with my daughter.  Funny thing is, as much as I loved being told I looked pretty, the best feedback I got was that my girl had been listening and was eager to keep spreading the joy!

Joy vs Happiness part 1

For years I have tried to grasp the difference between joy and happiness.  I've always sensed a fundamental distinction, but been unable to define it.  The dictionary is no help - according to Webster's the words are essentially synonymous.  My heart told me that something was missing in the dictionary.

When I was 23, I graduated from college.  I was happy that day, yes.  Relieved!  But joyful?  No.  I was too scared to be joyful.

I spent almost 30 years looking for happiness.  I caught occasional glimpses, but disappointment lurked around every corner, waiting to envelop my hopes.  Life was hard, people were selfish, and I couldn't escape any of it.

I could force myself to seem happy.  I could convince myself I was happy.  But it felt like a coat I kept trying on that just didn't fit.  A beautiful, over-sized, falling-off-my-shoulders coat.

When our first son was born, the heavy clouds that hovered around me would occasionally break.  The sunshine of his giggle, the way he stopped fussing when I held him, the newness and possibility in his brown eyes... the darkness pushed back for a moment.

But life would still be hard, people would still be selfish, and I still couldn't escape.  Heaviness again.

I can't say exactly when joy began to overtake me.

In its inevitable way, life kept getting harder.  A second trimester miscarriage.  An unemployed husband.  A new baby.  A traveling husband, making me a part-time single mom.  A new home business.  And then a big move, first for over a year to live with my parents, and then to a farm.  And still a traveling husband.

But something was happening to me.  I was holding less tightly to my ideas of what I wanted, and looking more at the other people in my life to try to understand what they needed.  And then I was trying to do it.  I was learning to love.

And that is when the clouds stopped regrouping so quickly.

As I chose to simply obey... "Love one another"... and stopped thinking so hard about myself, joy snuck in.

A few days ago, as I sat on my couch in the early morning, the familiar pat-pat of Little Warrior's feet sounded.  He delights in sneaking into the living room, waiting for me to catch his eye, then flying into my lap.  We kiss and snuggle until we're all filled up.  As he rounded the corner that morning and our faces lit up at one another, God spoke to my heart.

Love.

Love is the difference.

Spread it around

Sometimes I feel like a little kid with a jar of strawberry jam. The thicker I spread the jam on the bread, the more it drips on my shirt, my fingers {lick lick}, my cheeks, my skirt...

Like strawberry jam, the more I spread joy, the more I become saturated in it.  Random acts of kindness bring me such satisfaction!

The crazy thing is, spreading joy is SO EASY. A card sent for a birthday. A surprise stop at the bakery with the kids. A note in The Bard’s lunch. A compassionate word to an overworked checkout clerk. A game played with Farmer Boy, or a ribbon for The Princess' hair. Even just a short email checking on a friend who has been down.

And it’s the simple kindnesses shown to me that make my heart swell. A grubby little hand offering me a weedy flower. A bed made without being reminded. A book sent by a friend who thought of me when she read it. A desk in my room because The Bard once heard me mention I might like one some day.

"Give and it shall be given to you" ~ Luke 6:38

Slap some sweet sticky joy on the lives around you today and lick those fingers! Yum!

He makes

This morning I was reflecting on Psalm 113:9, the verse in my blog header: “He makes the barren woman a joyful mother of children.” For some reason the word “makes” caught my attention in a new way.

When I set out to make something I usually start with raw materials. In fact, I generally prefer to create, especially food, as much from scratch as possible.

I enjoy baking our family’s daily bread. Occasionally I will make our bread starting with the wheat berries, which one of us grinds into flour. After adding yeast, milk, oil, honey and salt, I knead and bake the dough. Doesn’t that seem like bread from scratch? It really isn’t. I don’t grow the wheat, press the oil, harvest the honey, gather the salt or milk the cow (although that I DO hope to do some day).

God, on the other hand, is the original scratch baker. His raw ingredients are so raw He made them himself.

Take me for example.

The creation of me - and you - was not just a one time event at our conception. That was the beginning. We are works in progress, being molded and shaped by God - if we will allow Him.

When I think about God making me a joyful mother, as it says in Psalm 113:9, I realize two things.

First, it is He who does it, not me. He makes the joyful mother. I have to choose to allow Him, and it is not through my own effort.

Second, it is ongoing. He is doing it now and will continue to... He makes. It doesn’t say “He made the barren mother joyful once and it lasted forever.” It's in the present tense.

Happy is she who submits to God’s ongoing molding. The promised result, according to God's word, is joy!

Loving the moment = joy

Have you ever taken a photo with your mind?

Today I was lying on the couch singing with Little Warrior (age 4). Now that he's "big" he "does school" like his siblings, and singing nursery rhymes is part of his new routine. But today I was running on just a few hours of sleep, and by the time we got around to singing, I was one tired mama.

Little Warrior and I lay side by side on the couch. He chose the songs that he felt we could comfortably sing in a prone position. We sang "Itsy Bitsy Spider". We sang "The Alphabet Song". We sang "The Wheels on the Bus" (with all our custom verses, including giggling sisters and knitting grandmas). We sang and sang and sang.

At one point I turned to look at him, and he took my face in his hands, leaning his forehead against mine and singing.

{snap!} went the camera of my mind, catching the close-up of green eyes and curly golden halo. {save!} whirred my heart as I felt those soft little hands and the vibrations of his wobbly song against my face.

Present in the moment... joy.

Beginning

Years ago I opened a small online store. God had tugged and nagged at me for months, and I met Him at every nudge with protest:

"But Lord, I am tired!"

"Have you noticed the 5 year old and 5 month old?"

"Don't forget about homeschooling!"

"You know my husband travels for weeks at a time!"

"But my life is sooo hard already!"

"Wahhhh!"

I finally gave in. For reasons I still don't fully understand, I opened that business, and gave it the name that it seemed meant to have: "The Joyful Mama."

It was the name I felt led to use, but I remember at the time laughingly telling someone that it must have been meant prophetically because I sure wasn't feeling very joyful. I felt tired, overwhelmed and grumpy.

What I wanted from God in those early days was courage to walk through life and its endless turns with some tiny glimmer of hope.

What I found was joy.

There is no denying that this life of ours is fraught with pain and suffering. I still struggle. And yet everywhere I turn I see glimpses of beauty, and deep inside, I feel a joy that gurgles and bubbles, just waiting to overflow out my heart.

Jesus was just waiting for me to ask Him to unstop the cork.