One Man's Trash

Doesn't the saying go, "One man's trash is another man's treasure"? Well, in this neck of the woods, when you own nurseries, dandelions are a nuisance and an ugly yellow misfortune in haphazard sprinkles on your lawn. However, for the Nursery Man's children, they're nothing short of wonderful, lovely, spectacular, golden treasures. And a whole entire field of them? Priceless.

(across the road from Auntie Julie's house)

Mary Had A Little Goat

Or in this case, Brookie had a little goat :) Popping in at my sister's farm means we always drive away with a little piece of country life coursing through our veins and... a little bit of hay in our hair.

795. for Pudding , the goat

796. the way she treats her goat like a little dog, tricks and all

797. homemade farm equipment

798. small, prickly muzzles pushed through bars, searching for attention
799. how she warms the clutch

800. beautiful, smoothly shaped eggs--miracles!

801. learning where our breakfast comes from

802. examining--first science

803. wanting baby chicks instead of breakfast :) 804. kittens in abundance, always kittens

805. loving little balls of fluff we don't have to take home... but REALLY want to

806. picking a favourite

807. recess fun for girls

809. a niece who inspires my children to be brave and innovative

810. for gratitude that blankets me after a difficult week

811. the light of Jesus after the storm

812. for all of you who saw me through it

Receiving Freedom

The rain is falling hard and my head is pounding. It's been several days of rain here and as it trickles or pours, it puddles and drains, puddles and drains. I squeeze my eyes tight and open. The burning from countless tears today blurs my vision as I write. So much to ponder and yet I read today, don't be so introspective that you get lost in your own self-made despair. You see, the enemy had me convinced again that I am a failure, that I'll never measure up and be the mother these babes need, let alone the wife I should be. I counsel friends who drift down the same deceptive path. I warn them it's laden with lies and that they must lean on God's truths. But I find myself slipping ever so slowly... until I land hard at the bottom of the pit of low self-worth.

I called my sister, weeping and could barely get the words out--that I felt like the worst mother. She tried to decipher my squeaks and when she finally grasped my words she said, "Oh, thank goodness that's all! I thought something terrible was going on!"

I sobbed, "What could be more terrible than being a bad mother?"

The usual joy-filled conversation with my sister took an ugly turn and I couldn't get a hold of myself. She began to speak words of life over me and fill my heart and mind with the truth once again.

"But God has to fix me!" I groaned, hating the sound of my voice uttering something I knew was foolish.

Minutes passed as she lavished me with her baby-sister-wisdom and although I initially fought against the simplistic beauty of her encouragement, I began to open myself to receive what she was offering. She said, "What if He already has? What if it's done and He's telling you to go with the wisdom He's granted to use for your daily living?"

I held my breath for a moment. Then Holy Spirit flooded in and I saw Jesus emerging from that tomb and oh what His resurrection affords! After a week of sharing with friends, giving similar advice, and teaching Bible Study with these very keys, I sank into my chair and into the Father's arms of love. I had been busy--busy sharing Him without sitting with Him. I had been open to attack and it came on sudden and strong. But with His rising from the dead, freedom comes from that and whom the Son sets free is free indeed!

Tonight I type words and deal with stinging eyes and swollenness that come after the crazy sobs and I breathe deeply. The peace that passes all understanding has settled in me and I feel each muscle relax. I post photos of my babes and soak up each detail of their preciousness. I speak aloud, "You have made me their mother and I am worthy because I am Yours. You are moving me in Your timing and I yield to Your will and Your way, Lord. Only You can make me who You want me to be. I don't want to be any more or any less."

"The One who calls you is faithful and He will do it." I Thessalonians 5:24

Strolling Through Mother's Day

783. quiet strolls in our greenhouses
784. how she knows the right angles for photos so I'm not the only one preserving memories :)

785. wisteria

786. how he adores driving around the peaceful fields at our farms

787. how I don't have to be concerned about them playfully running around this place on a Sunday

788. rows upon rows of new growth

789. how she can get lost in her own world

790. how dandelions trump beautiful and expensive flowers :)

791. Mother's Day... my way... here

792. colour--everywhere you look

793. the way she wrapped her arm around my daughter's shoulders as she talked with her lady friends after the service
794. how I can always count on her--always

794. my favourite mommas

The Mothers Of These Children

The mothers of these children are best friends--and sisters. They laugh till they cry and they phone with exciting news. They share deep history and can quote all of The Rescuers and the lyrics to a thousand songs that shaped their childhood. They love to be together and don't miss a chance to plan an outing or class trip for all ten homeschooled babes. But these moms, they question their ability to be good moms--whatever that means. They cry as they rise again with a sick child and just don't have what it takes anymore. They complain about the messy state of their homes. They lay their heads down with guilt at the end of the day when they've been too hard on their little ones.But there's one thing the mothers of these children know... there is grace... and forgiveness... and wisdom, in abundance, if requested by the Creator of motherhood. These moms are learning to extend mercy to their children and in return, they're receiving mercy. Like that already-scraped-up one who falls out of the tree after being told not to climb again, these moms clamour to figure it out for themselves and read all the books when He's continually told them to lean on Him. They're slowly getting it. The mothers of these children fail but get back up again because they've seen how the other two have already walked wisely through that minefield (not necessarily the oldest first) They get to share and explain and lead each other to Jesus. The mothers of these children celebrated this day that is kept to honour mothers everywhere, but these ones have the same mom who rocked them, taught them, prayed over them and continues to guide them. Three very blessed mothers spent time together today and each became a little wiser just by the presence of the other two.

Happy Mother's Day to all of the women who have children and to all of the single women and others who love and mentor children who don't belong to them. I honour you and thank you!

Trading Insecurity

(photo by Meghan)

All my insecurities are daily being laid at the feet of the only One who can bind up the wounded and set the captives free. And, you, my husband, help me trust Him with the way your words assure and the way your kiss seals all that love in tight. I'm trading it all in and the reward is worth the hard swallow and the open, shaking arms that are offering it up.

Counting The Years

She shakes a flowered sock full of coins in my face and tells how she's saved her money for a poop-scoop for her bunny. We've been using the one from the cat's litter but she wants her own, and because we're already out for a doctor's appointment, I agree to getting one today.

I pull up to the door of the dollar store and she and her big sister jump out and listen wide-eyed to my instructions, how I'll be parked right here at the window watching them. It's several minutes before I catch them emerging from the aisle to the cash counter and I sit a little higher to view their purchasing. Customers quickly gather and form a line behind them as my big girl counts out the handful of small coins that should make $1.13. It's not that this part is difficult, just independent. She counts it out and I count the years that have flown.

Memories flood and I'm back in "So-Low-Sales" with my sisters, buying penny candy and counting out our own precious money, sneaked into our dress pockets by Grampie. We'd dash around the corner from his house holding hands and drool over all of the colourful options. I always picked Bazooka gum with the tiny comic tucked inside that I never quite found funny. My sisters picked Black Babies, and I felt scared and grown-up all at once as we stepped toward the "lady". I always silently prayed I had added correctly. Ashamed, many times I hadn't.

My eyes focus on my girls again as the eldest places each bit of change down while the smaller one peers on, just a head above the counter. Suddenly, coins spill all over and my heart pumps harder and the mother in me wants to run in and rescue, but I laugh in spite of myself. Still, tears rise as my own little girl embarrassment is close enough to feel again. They gather the fallen money and complete the transaction without wincing and I know in my heart that my girls are braver than I ever was. Seconds later they're in the van and showing off the new purchase. My little boy begs for the receipt, because that's what they love to have--he beats his sister to it this time. I tell my girls I'm proud of them and that I witnessed every minute of their bravery.

(We don't live close enough to corner stores to have had this experience any earlier but I'm thankful the growing up is taking it's time.)

(photo: just the age I feel that they are when I watch them attempt new endeavours :)