love

Love Letter Home

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Today I am thankful for mail.  It’s amazing, how the ability to communicate more easily has increased, yet the depth of communication is diminishing.  Our little black mailbox has an abundance of white envelopes with shiny plastic windows, almost automatically identifying it as “junk”.  Mail has always been important to me.  I remember sitting around the table in our Africa home, as my dad put us kids to work folding letters and licking stamps by the hundred, before mailing out our prayer letter.  It has always been a part of my life.  I remember writing my own “newsletters” as I grew older, reporting things like the weather and the status of our family pet.  Once my sister, Sherry, and I made a joint newsletter and mailed them all in handmade envelopes made from magazine pages.  This week I got busy making a stack of my own.  I almost felt like she was with me, folding them in front of the fireplace at our old house, giddy with excitement over how people would love the surprise of such a colorful envelope in their mailbox.

Matthew and I used to write to each other all the time.  Before email, before texting, I got the kind of mail that made my heart skip a beat when I saw the handwriting.  This week my heart has skipped a lot of beats.  Matthew has taken the time to write me every day and surprised me with real deal mail.  Stamp, envelope, everything.  No return address, because it would just arrive home anyway.  Each letter has blessed me in unspeakable ways.  I love my husband more than ever.  I’m so thankful for the time he takes to treasure my heart.

A Word Picture of Our Morning

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He doesn’t walk, he does backwards rolls into the kitchen.  The other boy doesn’t just walk, he  somehow makes his feet sound like elephants.  She hops on one leg, convincingly pretending that her leg is broken, because she’s always wondered what that’s like.  The other girl twirls her hair while she walks down the stairs, looking sleepy and disheveled.  The baby, unlike her siblings at that age, still doesn’t know that it’s possible to climb out of her bed, so she squawks and waits with her pink bunny and faithful fingers in her mouth.  She giggles when she’s rescued and immediately wants her shoes put on her feet.

Breakfast smells delicious.  There are perks to being low on milk, because it forces the making of chocolate chip banana bread.  The children are magnetically pulled towards the oven, then shooed back to the couch to wait ten more minutes for it to finish baking.  Their appetites are temporarily satiated by hidden pictures and books.

My cup of tea is almost finished.  The sleepy hair-twirler is on my lap, cozy pink blanket wrapped around us both.  Our morning begins, and I wonder what is being held in store for us today.

The Delivery

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Yesterday I had some unexpected splashes of color painted into my day.  Highlights of joy that I didn’t  know I needed, but as usual, my Heavenly Father knew I needed them.  After a bit of a rough start with school, things smoothed out.  Shortly after, I got a text from a friend saying she prayed for me this morning over her cup of hot tea.  I know it’s because of her prayers.  Then after a couple of hours of school, sprinkled with lots of loud exclamations from Betty (who loves highlighters and scissors and glue… oh my!) there was a flower-delivery man at my front door!  Tucked into a fall pumpkin were yellows and oranges and reds and a sweet note from a friend.  I needed that so badly!  The thoughtfulness that went into those flowers touched me so much!  I love surprises, and that fit the bill completely!  I love color & beauty, and both were hand delivered to my doorstep.  Thank you, friend, for refreshing this mama’s heart!  I’m so excited that I get to look at my flowers with a cozy sweater on (because the temperature smells of fall, even if the calendar doesn’t.)

After school we had to form a search party for our dear bunny.  Toby is half-tame and half-wild and we let him roam our basement and sometimes he goes outside.  Usually he stays in our yard.  Sometimes he doesn’t.  We eventually found him under a huge pine tree in our neighbor’s yard.   Afterwards, I was able to spend the entire afternoon with just Nadine.  We went to the library, got ice-cream, then went thrift-store shopping.  For the price of one pair of sunglasses we bought books, a few outfits, two pairs of sunglasses, a few pairs of boots, and six pairs of earrings!  It was a lot of fun.  I learned that she doesn’t like to be surprised as much as she likes to be “in the know”.  She is changing into someone who wants to know ahead of time where we’re going so she can plan and think about what outfit to wear!  She’s not like her little sisters who don’t care whether they’re wearing pajamas or not before running out the door. She relished the time shopping.  This has never happened before.  I almost feel like I felt the first week she was at home.  Unsure of how to care for this little person.  In awe that this life has been entrusted to our hands.  Now, almost ten years later, I’m feeling very much like we’re in an entire new phase of life.  Not only that, but the other four will just as quickly be changing and phasing out of their childhood.  I pray to be steadied.  The other day as she was helping me clean up the kitchen, she had just finished shaking out the tablecloth outside and was putting it back on the table.  She said, “What do you really not like about tablecloths?  They’re pretty, they’re useful… I wonder who invented them?”  Her thoughts are many and varied!

So far everyone is still very eager beaver about school, and it’s almost time to start.

I’m thankful that I have five beautiful faces and some lovely flowers to look at all morning!

Eighty

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On Sunday we celebrated the 80th birthday of Matthew’s grandmom.  She is a beautiful lady, rich in history.

  

 

 
We had such a great time with our family!  Grandmom’s life is full of grace and strength.  We joked around about her many sayings, like, “Marguerite, Marguerite, wash your feet.”  She always laughs like it’s the first time she’s said or heard it.

 

 

    
As usual, there was a conglomeration of things going on.  Volleyball.   Bubbles.  Running around.  Handstands.  Climbing flagpoles.


Our family with Pop and Grandmom… missing the four in Italy!

  
We ended the night with sparklers!
  

Purple and Camo: The Perfect Blend

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This morning as we ate crepes there was much drawing going on around the table.  Robots, cats, and flaming arrows (which I innocently thought were flowers).  Elijah asked Elsie how to spell her name.  She began to clearly spell it out for him in a teacher-like voice.  Then she proceeded to tell him, “Elijah, you didn’t do it correct.  Here, let me do it for you.”  He is the type to be able to chuckle to himself at her bossiness, and we exchanged smiles about it.

This weekend there was a father-daughter dance at church.  The girls were decked out in their “wedding dresses” (dresses they wore to Matt’s brother’s wedding) all afternoon.  Yes, Elsie wore a yellow head-band.  One would never know the drama that went on with that decision.  When they came home that night Elsie told me that, “I was only dancing with my feet one time.”  The rest of the time Daddy held her while they danced.  We both realize this will not always be so, so we treasure the small beautiful girl with the high-pitched voice that we sometimes just want to be quiet.  Even though some days the tears seem to come in the quantity to fill a small ocean, we love our precious Elsie Rose who knows how to spell her name and loves everything pink.  And purple.

Then we have our oldest, who didn’t need to be held to meet Daddy’s eyes while they danced.  Her beauty is swiftly unfolding, and it’s frightening and exciting all at once to see her growing up.  When we were driving to church the other day she dramatically yelled from the back seat, “Don’t open the windows!  My earrings are dangly!”  Elijah agreed that they just might fly out.  It was pretty funny.

While the two oldest girls were away, the boys, Betty, and I stayed home.  At the moment I was taking this picture, I was not exactly happy with the mess going on here.  They made strawberry-watermelon juice with every kitchen tool imaginable and I was stepping on sticky juice all night.  Matt left me with a smile that said, “Enjoy them, they’re just being boys.”  After this picture, they hopped in the tub, Betty went to bed, and I made pizza.  Then I introduced the boys to one of my favorite shows as a kid: Knight Rider, and we ate homemade pizza and oohed and aaahed over the coolness of Kit, and there was nothing girly until the purple clad girls came home donning balloons and memories of dancing with Daddy.

Our house is full of the mixture of flowers and flounce, camo and guns.  Gaudy necklaces and hair ties that don’t match, bicycles that make loud noises and robot drawings.  Pretty tea parties and scary bike ramps.  Perfume and stinky feet.  Hello Kitty bandaids covering a scratch and bruised and bloody knees that deflect the stick of  a bandaid.  Once in awhile these two worlds collide, and I catch moments of gentle love between them.  True gentlemen can put aside their macho muscles to gently hug their sisters and tell them how pretty they look.  Strong women can hang on to their femininity while scaling daunting heights and playing in the mud.  When boys and girls live together there are clashes, yes, but there is also a perfect blending of beauty and brawn, sweet and salty, tenderness and toughness.  Sometimes I don’t always appreciate their differences and honestly I sometimes define different as wrong.  Don’t we all?  But having five little personalities surrounding me every day all day long, I realize and must embrace their differences and not try to compare them with others or change them.  They each fill a void that would otherwise be in this world, and together they are the perfect blend.

Sweet Six

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Jack Attack turned six last weekend.

We had a relaxed family day at Grandma Weldon’s.  While the rain poured outside, we enjoyed chocolate cupcakes and a warm fire.

A new game of Perfection made us laugh, with its power to startle every single time it exploded.

Betty loves to give kisses, and who is better to love than Daddy?

So now we have a six-year-old in the house.  Even though he’s still patiently waiting for his first tooth to fall out, he’s growing up.  He’s my own personal body guard and he’s my sweet little boy.    I do hope he always dreams big, like his walls that are covered in taped up wishes and dreams.  Pages of lego magazines and cars and toys.  Drawings he has made.  Cockeyed static stickers.  He has so many dreams of being a man.  One day he will be just that, and I pray that his heart will always be tender towards others.  I know that one day he won’t have playing cards duct-taped to his bicycle wheels to make it sounds like a motorbike.  He won’t always wear his shirts backwards or forget to put on his underwear.   He will no longer have a shelf full of shiny rocks, bottle caps, lego men, old keys, and special memories.  Or, maybe he will.

Exceptional Reminiscence

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This weekend goes down in history as one of my favorites in a long time.  I knew it would be fun, but an hour after arriving in Syracuse, my sides were already aching from laughter.  It was great to be with my blood sisters and African sisters.

My sister, Sherry, graciously hosted all of us in her home.  She is an artist, with touches of beauty all throughout her house.  We spent most of our time around her kitchen table, looking at these sweet things her son picked for her.

Mugs of tea and coffee warmed our hands as we told story after story after story.  We finally unglued ourselves from the table to enjoy a gorgeous day at Green Lakes State Park.

We took a leisurely 3-mile walk around the uniquely green-colored lakes, with the backdrop of tree blossoms just about to pop, all around us.  Our photographers included strangers pulled from their own walks.

Also, a handy log and camera self-timer make for a good shot!  I almost got impaled by a branch running over to the group for this one:

There were more funny things that happened or were said than there are legs on a centipede.

More even than the amounts of time a bumble-bee can buzz in its entire life.

Sisters, indeed, are the best.

After our lovely walk, we pampered our toes with some beauty and whimsy.  Bonnie skillfully painted flowers, designs, and filigree on our toenails.  Can you tell which ones are mine?

Saturday night we made an African meal, complimented by more stories.  On Sunday, before we left, we took a series of photos.  I gave my camera to my nephew, Nathanael.  When I told him he could take as many as he wanted, a small chuckle escaped his throat, and we heard a constant stream of “click, click, click,” coming from his direction.  I deleted over 50 shots, kept quite a few, and am sharing my favorite four.

When Ruthie and I first met, we were more like friend-emies… a mixture between best friends and enemies.  For over twenty years now we’ve visited back and forth, been in eachother’s weddings, marveled at eachother’s children, laughed, cried and prayed for one another.  What a blessing friendships grown with time are.  Like the most delightful wine.  Aged to perfection.

I love how this picture captures the fact that, no matter how many years have passed, we’re really still just kids deep inside.

I will relish these memories for the rest of my life.  I treasure these friendships even more.

Willow’s Day

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Life is so beautiful.  Today I had the privilege of going to the smallest funeral I have ever attended.  The baby was in a tiny wooden box, about the size of a man’s hand.  Inside, a life that just one day ago was warm and cozy inside her mother’s womb, lay still, but spoke volumes to our hearts.  Sixteen weeks old, her hand barely covered half of her mama’s fingernail.  Her feet, about the height of a penny, never touched earthly soil, but now they skip and play on golden streets.  The beauty of the spring sunshine and barely green willow trees framed the morning perfectly.  We all gathered under the weeping willow tree which marks her earthly tie.  Friends and family who mourn, stand, hope, and love.  There is courage on her parents’ faces, as they trust in the Maker of life who gave and took away.  On the faces of her two brothers and two sisters, there is pride in their baby sister, who made it to Heaven first.  We’re told to mourn with those who mourn, and my heart aches with these amazingly special friends.  Yet, what joy and comfort we have, knowing she is being kept safe in Heaven for you.

Two Mothers

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Two mothers.  The first sits up for six nights with her daughter.  Sickness crowds the hospital room, pushing out all feeling of normalcy or cheer.  An unknown sickness plagues the little girl and her mother’s heart is wounded.  Helpless, she sits by her bed and smooths her knotted blonde hair and holds her weak hands.  The girl’s eyes, usually bright, are hollow and full of exhaustion.  The mother’s love is strong.  It keeps her by her side as the hours tick by and the world marches on without stopping.

The second mother lies in bed.  Pillows surround her growing belly.  Boredom crowds out any sense of normalcy and adventure in her life.  Another heart besides her own beats inside of her, and she lies still, day after day.  Her baby’s life is cradled in her womb.  It is like a safe-house inside her body; a body which mysteriously isn’t safe anymore.  The mother’s love is strong.  It keeps her on her side as the hours tick by and world marches on without stopping.

The first mother receives the gift of healing, but life will never be the same.  The second mother must wait for her deliverance, along with the promise that her life will never be the same.

This week, as I observed these two mothers, I was struck with the depth of love they have.  Love which bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  I am reminded once again how beautiful life is– life made more beautiful by all the waiting, believing, hoping, and enduring.

The First Decade

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The white dress hung on my closet door, its thick satin hem hugging the floor.  The layers of tulle under its skirt made me feel like a princess before I even wore it.  There were no shoes waiting for me to slip on Cinderella-style… I was going African-style, barefoot and fancy-free.  I closed my eyes for the last time as a single woman and woke up ready to marry the man of my dreams.  Ten years ago. I was wrapping flowers in ribbons, and reading over my vows with nervous excitement.  I was so ready to embark on this awesome thing called marriage.  

When the time came to walk down the green carpet that I pretended was grass on my bare feet, my dad had tug my arm back a bit to keep me from running down the aisle towards Matthew.  The ceremony was so beautiful, and so long, and so short, all at once.  Our lips had never touched and I just couldn’t wait to seal our commitment with a kiss never to be forgotten.  His face was so young.  We never know how we will change.  Ten years ago.

We vowed that we would never leave each other until death separated us.  We vowed before God and many witnesses.  We vowed that we would love one another through sickness and health, good times and bad, in rich times and in poor.  We’ve experienced so much in ten years, and we still say “I do”.  

When we fell asleep side by side for the first time, it was the most thrilling thing I have ever experienced.  It is still my favorite thing about being married.  It is pure, holy, and excellent.  The greatest theft from our marriage are those few nights when we have been unable to resolve something before falling asleep, and the closeness of our bed turns from being a blessing into a curse.  The foothold that the devil can steal from under us is so great during those times.  The flip-side is that when we repent and forgive, the depth of ground regained is even greater than that stolen in the first place.  Making up is a beautiful thing.

Ten years of loving, giving, taking, repenting, crying, forgiving, communicating, laughing, babies, toddlers, kids, traveling, trusting, growing, and changing… it has been the best decade of my life.  Matthew, let’s get married again!