Finding Joy in Creating

Earlier this year, I told my 9-year-old, Autumn, to “write a letter to someone who inspires you.” She had been struggling with her writing assignments and I thought this would be fun. She just finished reading A Letter to Mrs. Roosevelt, in which a young girl the same age wrote a letter to Eleanor Roosevelt asking Mrs. Roosevelt to save her family’s house during the Great Depression. 

Sitting at the kitchen counter with a blank piece of paper and a pencil, it wasn’t long before she yelled, “I just don’t know what to write!” Her cheeks were red with frustration and anger and her eyes glistened. I paused from putting dishes away, leaned over the counter, and said, “You inspire me because. Just fill in the blank. Why does she inspire you? Why did you choose Michaela dePrince?”

“I GIVE UP!” she screamed as she threw down her pencil. Tears started to fall. “I just don’t know, Mama. I don’t know what to say.”

I took a deep breath, walked around the counter, and sat in the chair next to her. Opening my computer and taking her pencil away, I said in my calmest voice, “Tell me everything about her. Tell me every reason she inspires you. I’ll write it down, and you can choose what to write in the letter, okay?

We spent the next few minutes brainstorming. I asked open-ended questions, trying to spark memories from the books she read and the documentary she saw. “Why did you choose Michaela dePrince? Why do you like her biography so much? What challenges you and inspires you?” I took lots of notes and then hit print.

“Here,” I said gently as I handed her the paper still warm from the printer. “Highlight the things you really want to say, and then leave it alone for a few days. You can finish it next week.” She walked to the table with the paper in one hand, her favorite pink highlighter in the other, and a smile on her face.

“Here it is,” she said, a week or so later, as she handed me a piece of paper folded into a tiny square. “I’m not sure if I did what you wanted me to do.”

“Did you write a letter?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell her why she inspired you?”

“Um, I think so.”

“Then you did exactly what I wanted you to do.”

I didn’t need to read the letter to know she did an excellent job. If I handed out grades, I would have given her an A+ before even opening it. Not because it’s the best writing she’s ever done, but because it’s some of the first. 

There will be time later for revising and editing. For correcting grammar and spelling and sentence structure. At that moment, I wanted her to build confidence. I wanted her to believe she could write. I didn’t want her thinking about my expectations when writing her first draft. I wanted her to forget about what people might think and simply write what’s on her mind. 

Later, we sat on the couch, the smell of cinnamon lingering as steam rose from the cup of tea in my hands, and we debriefed the writing exercise she completed. “Once I got going, I could do it,” she said. “It wasn’t really that hard. I just had to get started. And then, it was kind of fun.”

Watching her struggle with not knowing what to write, I realized I get stuck in this same rut. I often sit down at my computer and think to myself, what if I don’t write the way they want me to? The fear of what other people think creeps into my brain and paralyzes me from creating my masterpiece with words. What if they want to read more action? What if they don’t care about what my childhood was like? What if they want more drama? Less faith? What if I’m getting too political? What if I have nothing new to say?

What if … what if … what if …

But once I force myself to get started, it isn’t quite as hard as I thought it might be. If I forget about what my assignment is and just focus on writing, it ends up being kind of fun.

A few weeks ago, I was doing dishes when I heard a small voice in my head. It’s usually when I’m doing housework that God speaks to me; probably because it’s one of the rare times I’m alone. As I put sparkling clean glasses in my cabinet I heard, There’s enough room for all of us here.

I immediately stopped what I was doing and grabbed a notecard from the top drawer. As I wrote the words I heard, I realized there can never be too many stories. There can never be too many shared experiences. Just like every story I read changes me in some way, every story I tell also changes me. I fear being undiscovered, but the truth is, if I never write, I will never be discovered. Unless I write, I will never feel fulfilled. No one can tell my stories but me. 

Jane Austen is dead, yet her stories live on.

I couldn’t pick Kristin Hannah out of a lineup, but I know her characters deep in my bones. What if she never wrote the stories in her head because she was afraid of what people might think?

In January, I promised myself I would write every day. Part of that was for me—because God created me to write, and I haven’t been doing much of that since I became a Mom. But part of the promise was for my children.

I want them to see me do things I love, and mess up in big ways, and know my next creation will be better because of the mistakes I made. I want them to see me struggle when I sit down and search for words so that they know “just write” is a thing we do. I want them to watch me carve out time to write because I want them to know the act of doing the things we are created to do is good and holy, and worth the effort. 

Neither of my children may grow up to be a Writer, but I know they will each grow up to be a Creative. And I want them to know that the first step in embracing who they are is stepping out on the ledge and just doing the thing we are created to do.

The truth is, it doesn’t really matter if anyone ever sees our creation. The audience isn’t what makes our art special. It’s the act of creating that makes us an artist. 

The beauty of creating is not only in the finished product. The beauty emerges from the act of creating. The essay, the poem, the painting, the dance—whatever piece of art we are working on—that is our unique creation. The act of creating takes us to a place we’ve never gone before. It opens us up to see the world differently than we ever have before. It changes us.

Like my daughter’s writing assignment, there will always be time for critique and revisions. But we can’t get to that place if we don’t take the first step in the act of creating itself.  

This first step often feels like the hardest. The doubts and the fears start to creep in and we think there’s no way we can make something beautiful. But if we stop focusing on what we want the creation to look like and enjoy the act of creating itself, we just might find that it’s not as hard as we thought it might be. That it’s really kind of fun.

Oh Croup!

The baby is 7 months old and is finally asleep in her crib for the first time. Ever. We are in the living room watching The Voice, not sure how to use our new freedom when we hear a loud, hoarse cough on the monitor.

I jump up and run to the back bedroom, opening the door as quietly, and as quickly, as I can. It sounds like she’s choking. In a state of panic I call David to Come Quick! I pick her up from the crib, pat her back hard, and see flem bubble from her mouth. She barks a loud barking cough, sounding like a seal stranded on the shore. David quickly packs the diaper bag as I try to gain control of my emotions. I know I need to be calm in a time such as this, but my heart races with terror. I bounce the baby in my arms, trying to calm us both down. The more she cries, the more she coughs, and it looks as though she’s struggling to breathe.

We drive to the children’s hospital a few miles away. As we enter the huge parking garage, David grabs his employee ID from his wallet; it’s like a magic wand that allows us to park right by the entrance. By the time we get to the ER desk, the baby’s coughing has died down, but her head is burning up. I didn’t check her temperature, but I’m sure it’s well above normal. She appears to be breathing fine now, we tell the nurse, but we’d like someone to look at her to confirm.

We take a seat in the waiting room, the baby strapped to my chest in the Ergo, now dozing between small coughs. We’re terrified. I’ve never been to an ER in my entire life and the range of things that could be wrong with our baby girl runs through my mind.

They call us back to a room and take her vital signs. She has a fever of 103.5 but everything else looks okay. Her lungs sound a little strained but it’s nothing to worry about, the doctor says. It’s a bad case of croup, she tells us. Usually cool night air will stop the fit and that seems to be what happened tonight. They give the baby Tylenol to bring her fever down, steroids to help clear gunk from her lungs, and send us home with a prescription for antibiotics. The doctor’s final words are for us to get some sleep and I think she must not have kids of her own. What parent can sleep after a night like this?

It’s close to midnight by the time we get home, and I sit in the glider with the baby on my chest. I look over at the crib with a sense of animosity—it can stay empty forever, I think—and then I fall asleep.

***

We spent hours preparing the nursery before our first daughter was born. We painted the walls a deep dark green; a color that exuded calmness and serenity. We found a dresser that doubled as a changing table on the side of the road. David hand painted bunnies on the front doors to match the bedding we had chosen. With its delicate brown and green leaves and its tender young bunnies, it reminded me of The Tale of Peter Rabbit.

That nursery sat unused for six months, until we packed it up and moved to a different apartment. When we unloaded the nursery boxes I left them untouched for days. There was no need to unpack. The baby wouldn’t sleep in her own room anyway, no matter what we tried.

A few weeks after we moved into the new place, we unpacked the nursery boxes and painted the walls goldenrod yellow. The apartment had dismal lighting and yellow felt like a good way to brighten up the room. The changing table came with us, but we had quickly learned putting a baby on a table wasn’t the easiest way to change a diaper, so it was hardly used for more than storage.

We decided it was time to do something about our abysmal sleep. Our baby was 7 months old and all the books say sleep training is the best thing for everyone involved. Parents need sleep. Babies need to learn how to self-soothe; it’s an important skill, the experts said. It won’t take long—just a few days—and there are gentle ways to do it. We put the crib on the wall closest to the door so that if the baby did sleep in it, we could hear her midnight cries.

Then I went to a friend for advice. She had four kids of her own—two in their early teen years—so I knew she had walked this road before. She didn’t tell me what to do; good friends never do. If I wanted to sleep train this baby of mine, I probably wouldn’t be able to do it myself, she told me. Knowing my tender heart, she offered to do it for me. I told her I would think about it.

David and I talked and decided we’d start by just getting the baby to sleep in her crib for a few hours a night. So what if she couldn’t put herself to sleep? If she would sleep there instead of our bed, we could resume some normalcy of adult life. And here we are. The first night of success in this venture and we find ourselves in the ER, of all places. As a new mom, I couldn't help but wonder: would things have been different if we had just let her sleep in our bed?

***

She had several other bouts of croup as a very young child and we now know that croup is most commonly caused by a virus. She likely would have had the attack that night no matter where she slept. But we never did sleep train that baby. Or the one that came next. There wasn’t a sleep training method that seemed right for us. As they turned into toddlers and preschoolers, we continued to lie next to them as they fell asleep. It became sacred space. The time when we heard their last assessments of the day and answered life’s big questions that always seemed to arise right when their heads hit the pillows.

I wish we had embraced these moments as precious ones a little sooner in our parenting journey. That baby was a year old before we embraced bedtime as something we would always do together. If I had it to do over, I  wouldn’t spend time curating the perfect nursery. I wouldn’t buy fancy bedding or a crib. I wouldn’t stop and grab the changing table from the side of the road. I wouldn’t feel guilty about how my baby fell asleep. I would ignore the experts and listen to the voice inside my head saying my kids wouldn’t always need me next to them to fall asleep. That baby was a year old before we embraced bedtime as something we would always do together. 

That baby is now nine, and after we’ve read together, talked about the day, and given her hugs and kisses, she falls asleep on her own. We’ve learned to embrace our bedtime routine as one filled with sacred space and holy moments. Babies grow up to be big kids who want to do things on their own. Even falling asleep.

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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in this series "Do-Over".

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Today She Turns Nine

Today she turns nine.

             Nine!

Some days it’s hard to believe nine years have gone by. Other days it feels like she’s been with us forever. 

People told me my babies would grow up. They said it would happen before I could blink. They told me that one day, those sleepless nights would be only tiny memories in the back of my mind. They told me to push through, to treasure these days; that in a few years, I would miss those tiny fingers and toes. 

Nine years later, here we are. No more tiny fingers. No more tiny toes. Not many sleepless nights. And you know what? There’s not a day that goes by that I look back on those days and wish for them again. I mean, I loved my babies dearly. I’d do it all over again to bring them into my life, but let’s be real. There was always so much work involved. 

The truth is, I like nine. It might be my favorite so far. She gets herself ready without too much prodding. She can mostly entertain herself. She plays with her sister, and with friends, without needing supervision. Homeschooling these days feels less like I’m leading her and more like we’re learning together. I’m constantly amazed by her creativity—by her ability to create masterpieces from nothing but trash. Her craftiness far surpasses my own abilities, and sometimes I can’t help but stand in awe.

Just looking at her the last few weeks has made me a little sad. She’s changing from little girl to young lady right before my eyes. Her body shows slight changes. Her muscles more defined. Her dancing is more beautiful, more grown-up, more art. Her face looks older while keeping the same features she’s always had. I love this person she is; the young lady she’s becoming. She’s empathetic and smart. She’s the best friend anyone could ever have. She has a smile that lights up the room. When I close my eyes, I see her not as the babe she once was, but as the woman she will be. 

Don’t get me wrong. She’s still a kid. She still needs her Mom—and often her biggest needs come when I feel least willing to give. Maybe that’s what God intended when he entrusted her to me. The ultimate lesson in sacrifice and love.

The days of changing diapers, of reading endless board books, of bouncing on an exercise ball, holding her against my chest, so she would get the rest she desperately needed. The days of wondering what she’s thinking or what she needs. The days of strapping her into her carseat, of saying no to outings because of the way she hates the car. Winter days where I spent far too many minutes making her stay still, so I could put all the things on her to keep her warm when she goes outside to play. Summer days where I was afraid of leaving her alone next to an inch of water, for fear she’d drown.

Those days are finally over. And I couldn’t be more glad.

As she becomes older, I shift from constant caregiver to mentor, and that is really the core of who I am. Who I have always been. 

She has changed my life—that kid—from the moment she was conceived. I had no idea how much life would change. How much I would struggle to find myself again. And yet in the parenting choices we’ve made, in my staying home with her every day, in my willingness to sacrifice my time over and over again—none of it has taken away my dreams. Instead, she’s helped me find myself again. 

For a few years, being just a mom was mostly enough. Because of her, I learned how to be mindful. I learned to be still. She taught me how to be present and how to listen; how to feel and how to love. Because of her, I learned to pray. She taught me how to sit in the messiness of emotions. I learned how to multitask, and how to creatively solve problems, and how to trust the still small voice that shows up in the middle of the night. She is the first-born child God knew I needed. Every single day, God uses her to teach me a little something more.

And now that we’ve hit this sweet spot that we’re in, she’s embracing my dreams as her own. She’s becoming not only my inspiration but also my best cheerleader. She lifts me up when I’m feeling down and hugs me when I need it most. She loves the entire world as fiercely as I love her and she is not at all afraid to show it.

I want to savor every moment of this last year of single-digit ages. Because like they tell me—my babies will grow up before I can blink. And this time I know I’ll look back and miss these days of nine.

📸 Adrian Curiel on Unsplash.

Then and Now #loveafterbabies

Then, we dressed up in our best outfits and went to the fanciest of restaurants for dinner, eating dishes we’d never heard of, sharing dreams and making plans.

Now, we send our kids outside to play so we can make a fancy lunch for two, sitting around our beat-up table in our comfiest clothes, sharing dreams and making plans.

Then, we stayed in bed until noon, ignoring our hunger for food and feeding our desire for one another.

Now, we stay up until midnight, when the kids are finally asleep and the house is quiet, ignoring our hunger for food and feeding our desire for one another.

Then, we had big dreams of one day changing the world. You believed in my dreams and encouraged me to live them, sometimes more than I believed in them myself.

Now, we know our small actions add up and change the world just a little bit every day. You believe in my dreams and encourage me to live them, often much more than I believe in them myself.

Then, we traveled on exotic vacations with nothing but a simple carry-on. Books, a camera, an outfit or two, and bathing suits would do. Just me and you, making memories that will last a lifetime.

Now, we travel on family vacations with a van full of gear. Books, a camera, too many outfits to count, and food to last for days. Me and you, plus two, making memories that will last a lifetime.

Then, we accidentally fell in love, despite what people warned. We ignored insults and together faced challenges, knowing our love was true and our relationship was worth fighting for.

Now, we purposely fall more in love each day, living a life grounded in family and in faith, ignoring insults, facing challenges, knowing our love runs deep and our relationship is always worth fighting for.

2021: Breathe

How about a real-life fairy tale on this rainy Saturday?

Once upon a time there was a young woman who discovered a long lost secret about herself—she loved to write. Not only did she love to write, but she was really very good at it. People would tell her how her words spoke to them, and how she really should write more often. 

One day, she found herself in a place where she loved it so much, that she gave up her entire career to focus on writing. She knew she could make a difference in the world with her words-and now was the time.

And then she got pregnant.

And she had terrible morning sickness for 42 weeks. Writing was hard, but she made time here and there to at least try.

She found a new creative stride after the baby was born, but then she got pregnant again. 

And had a miscarriage.

And got pregnant, again with terrible morning sickness for 42 weeks. This time while also caring for a toddler.

She had her second baby.

And then—just as she found her stride as a stay-at-home mama of two, her partner got a job offer and they moved across the country. 

She hated it there. Their apartment was falling apart, and the city felt too busy. There was no room for creativity here. So, in an attempt to find a place they could call home, without needing to find a new job, they moved again.

And a few months later, they moved again.

No matter how hard she tried to fall in love with this new home, she still hated it. She felt like she was dying inside. It felt like her creativity was dead. She longed to be someplace else.

So - they moved once again. And this time, for the first time in a very long time, she felt at home. At peace. Full of hope. And even a little joy.

Two years after finding this new home that brings life and love and peace, she found her stride. Her creative spark ignited once again and felt ready to be set aflame.

And then the world turned upside down.

You’ve probably guessed it by now, but I was that young woman. Had you asked me ten years ago where I’d be today, I would never tell you I’d be at home full time, homeschooling my two children, in a north shore suburb of Boston, Massachusetts. I had a much different plan. A plan to be writing full time. A plan to be widely published, in blogs, in magazines, in books. A plan to have connections near and far.

But I, like so many other parents once their babies arrive, put my own dreams on hold while I figured out what I wanted life to look like. I did it willingly—not begrudgingly. I always knew the time wasn’t right. There were too many things that made it too hard to say yes—and too easy to say no—and my heart just wasn’t completely in making those dreams a reality. 

2020 was supposed to be my year. I intentionally chose the word Story as my guiding light for the year. I started January off with a bang, and then the world started getting a little too crazy. By the time mid-February rolled around, Covid was a real threat in our community, and life began to be about survival more than anything else. I pushed my Story right to the back burner as I dug in to caring for my family. I put all my creative energy into making the small things extra special in this weird world we now found ourselves living in. Now that I look back on 2020, I see that Story did permeate through our family life but in a very different way than I intended.

I’m a lover of New Year’s Day. I love a clean slate. I love a chance to vision and dream and look forward with intention. But 2021 hit me by surprise. Perhaps it was because January 1, 2021 didn’t feel much different than December 31, 2021. The political climate was still divisive—and even downright scary. The virus numbers are worse than ever before, and the need to stay close to home is more prevalent now than it ever was in 2020. Although there’s some hope in the distance, it doesn’t look like 2021 will be the beacon of light that we’re all longing for. So I let the start of 2021 pass me by. It took me a good two weeks of living into the year before I became ready to set an intention for the year. And now here I am - finding myself in a place where I *think* I’m ready to do more than just think about being creative once again. 

This week, I took a big deep breath and took a plunge into the deep, sometimes dark, sometimes frigidly cold water of creativity. I inhaled, I exhaled, I inhaled, and I just went for it. This week I made a commitment to myself, to my family, and to my dreams - 2021 will be my year. 

2021 will be the year I breathe life back into the dream that’s been set aside for far too long. I hope you’ll come along with me and maybe even breathe some new life into dreams of your own.

Photo by Eddie Kopp on Unsplash.

On Giving Thanks in a Time Such As This

Yesterday I granted myself - and you - permission to grieve. Permission to feel anger and sadness. Permission to wonder all the terrible wonders that are rolling around in your head. Permission to admit that this is not normal. This is not our new normal. Don’t think of it like that … and ignore those people who do. Life will change after this, but I’m confident that the changes are going to be for the better in the long run.

So today, I’m turning the coin. I am - in true Pollyanna fashion - finding the good in the midst of this struggle. Because there’s always good. I’m looking at the ways in which our life might look different at the end of this - and giving thanks for the so many positives in my life.

I’m giving thanks for my husband’s job. A job where he can do all of his work remotely. A job that is secure and important and isn’t going anywhere in the midst of an economic downturn. A job where he is not on the frontlines. A job where he is allowed and encouraged to be safe, at home.

And because he’s not doing his usual commute, we have time every day to explore the hundreds of hiking trails around us. I’m giving so much thanks for the early Spring weather that has been gifted to us this year. Weather that’s allowing us to get outdoors and enjoy sunshine.

I’m celebrating the empty calendar. I made a list of all the things I’d do if I had no other obligations, and I’m crossing a few off each day. Yesterday I made homemade sourdough bread, preserved Meyer lemons, and Strawberry Lemon Marmalade. Today I have peach butter on the stove.

My heart is beyond full for my family - who taught me from a very early age how to store food during peak harvest seasons. My grandma and aunts taught me how to garden. My mom taught me how to can jams and jellies and peppers and salsa. I’ve been living this life of food preservation all my life - and now I know just how important it is.

I’m giving thanks for my local farms who provide good food for my family. CSAs who take such good care of us in peak harvest seasons that we have plenty of food in the freezer to get us through at least a month without buying much of anything at all. Farms who believe in the importance of serving their communities, operate year round, and are doing what they can to provide food for their people in the midst of this time of uncertainty.

I’m singing praises to God through virtual worship services and evening prayers and hymn sings in a way that I haven’t done in a really long time. I’m able to “attend” worship services at churches that are so near and dear to me - yet are hundreds of miles away - and it’s making my heart break right open into this mess of joy and sadness all at the same time. Isn’t that what faith is all about after all? Sadness for the world as it is, while at the same time this immense feeling of joy that God loves us and we belong to God. The many church communities that have sustained me throughout my almost-40-years of life are now sustaining me from afar.

I’m ever so thankful for a craft room full of yarn and sewing supplies. For a basement full of scrap wood and building tools. For an extended family who - although they are super far away - can walk me through just about any craft or building project I could ever want to attempt.

I continue to be amazed at how we ended up in this place we now call home and just how much it fills us up. We’re surrounded by woods and trails and it just feels like a safe haven in the middle of a storm. We can climb trees, explore nature, lay in the hammock, swing in the swing, plant a garden, or just bring a blanket and read a book outside. The vast space that belongs to us is not lost on me in this time of “staying at home.”

I’m grateful for the hard work I’ve done over the last two years in really understanding what a good homeschool life looks like for us. We have a library full of books right in our own home. We have puzzles and games and toys to spark creativity and imagination. We have an entire room of craft and art supplies. We have thousands of ideas that we’ve been too busy to work on, and now we actually have time to dig in to some of those things. I know that my kids are learning even when we aren’t doing “lessons” and I’m not afraid of days full of free play.

These are just a few of the things I’m giving thanks for today. The list goes on and on, and as I write this, my privilege is not lost on me. But just as yesterday was for feeling sad, today is for giving thanks. For filling up my cup with praise and thanksgiving so that I can look forward to how I can use these gifts that I’m given - this privilege that I’m living - to help those people around me that aren’t in the same place.

Tell me …. what are you giving thanks for today?

Photo by Rajiv Bajaj on Unsplash.

Permission to Wonder

This isn’t normal this time we’re living in. Read that again … This isn’t normal.

I’m giving so much thanks that we homeschool in a time such as this. Our routine doesn’t have to shift too much. Our extracurriculars have been cancelled, our playdates postponed, our libraries closed, our vacations on hold. But our day-to-day life doesn’t have to change much. We’re used to being home all day. We’re used to preparing three meals at home every day. Going on hikes. Playing outside. My girls are amazing at playing independently - and together. They are just used to it. Creativity abounds. I mean, if I’m really honest with myself, I’m a tiny bit grateful that I have an excuse to just stay home and say no to all the requests that come my way. I’ve been longing for an extended time of rest and Sabbath.

But let’s be real …. when that rest and Sabbath is forced on you, it doesn’t have the same effect. I find myself feeling anxious every morning as I wake. I feel my creativity lacking. My motivation has tanked. We are doing the bare minimum when it comes to lessons each day. That desire I originally had to just plow through the rest of our year has now dissipated, as I now wonder if our summer plans will be cancelled as well.

I wonder if the oldest will get to perform in the dance competitions she’s been preparing for since Fall.

I wonder if the youngest will ever go back to gymnastics.

I wonder how I will continue to be the Pollyanna in the family.

I wonder if we’ll be told we can’t even go to our favorite parks to hike.

I wonder if the beaches will be closed.

I wonder if my favorite local businesses will survive this mess.

I wonder what life will look like in 2 weeks. In 4 weeks. In 2 months.

I wonder what my CSA pickups will look like come June. Will we be able to pick our own veggies from boxes touched by others, or will we still be living in a time where fear of germs prevails?

I wonder if our government will put us on a “total lockdown” even though the U.S. is founded upon principles of liberty and freedom. It’s hard to not trust your government to look out for your best interests, you know?

I wonder if someone I know and love will fall ill because of this virus. Will they die? If they do, will we be able to celebrate their life?

I wonder how we’ll celebrate Holy Week, if we can’t celebrate The Last Supper with our church family.

I wonder how we’ll celebrate the risen Christ. BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING, COVID-19. NOT EVEN YOU CAN KEEP JESUS IN THE TOMB!

And as I wonder all of these things, I begin to feel guilty for the trivialness of my worries. And then I feel gratitude that these are the things I’m worried about. I’m not worried about whether or not we’ll keep our house. I’m not worried about whether or not we’ll have enough food to eat. I’m not worried about whether we’ll get bored. I’m not worried about how we’ll pay our bills, or if we’ll lose the one source of income we have.

If your worries are like mine, I want you to hear me say that your worries matter. Today I’m granting you permission to feel sad. To feel mournful over the things that don’t feel normal. To give yourself some space to just process what’s happening. Allow yourself to just BE. Take some time to play with your kids. Make a list of all the things you’ve been wanting to do, and just pick one to throw yourself into. Find a good audiobook to listen to. Stories make us all feel better.

Regardless of what you see on social media, it’s OKAY to not force yourself - or your kids - into a new routine at home right away. It’s okay to give them a week or two of unstructured play. It’s okay for them - and you - to feel bored. It’s okay to not rush into this new virtual-schooling/working life that is being thrust upon you.

It’s okay for you to wonder. It’s okay for you to feel sad. It’s okay for you to feel a twinge of happiness that you have an excuse to say no to all the demands that were wearing you out just two weeks ago. It’s okay for you to simultaneously love and hate all the virtual meeting opportunities that are coming your way.

This time we are living in. It is NOT normal. Let’s not pretend like it is.

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash.

Diving in to Homeschooling

When we first decided to Homeschool, I had no idea what it would look like for us. When we did Homeschool Preschool, I bought a curriculum that I only sort of liked. I never loved it - it never felt like it had much flow to it - and I always felt disjointed and off base. I didn't decide to homeschool because of some deep educational philosophy - I decided to homeschool because it simply felt like that's what God was calling us to. I had read many books over the very early years of parenting, and traditional school just didn't seem to jive with the kind of parents we had been striving to be. I can't really put words around it in any other way - it was something that had been on my heart for years, and was a feeling I just couldn't shake. When I told a dear friend that, she said Then Crystal, I think you have to listen to that.

Now I understand how that argument can be challenging for some. I guess it's all too often that parents use "But God called me to it" as a reason for homeschooling - when really what they want is to keep their children from the world. There are too many cases of child abuse and neglected disguised as "God called me to." But I do believe God calls some of us to a life of homeschooling - and I had come to a place where I felt like I should really start listening.

I started questioning friends who homeschool on how they knew it was the right decision for them. As I heard their answers, I felt this deep gut truth ... that homeschool was the life God was calling us to. It probably helped that Kindergarten at our local public school costs $400/month in our new town - and that's $400 that we don't really have. So I informed my husband that I wanted to homeschool for Kindergarten and see how it went. He agreed that it was the right choice for now - and that we would reassess for First Grade.

And then we moved. And God gave me this amazing group of women who homeschool based on the educational philosophy of an old British lady named Charlotte Mason. I had never heard of Charlotte Mason until I met these ladies - but when they invited me to be part of their study group, I eagerly said "YES!" I was probably 5 pages into the book we were studying when I said to my husband, "I found it! These are all the reasons I want to homeschool! She put words around it all ... here it is!!! It's right here! This is what I've been feeling for so long!"

After a significant amount of reading, podcast-listening, and researching, we've decided that homeschooling based on Charlotte Mason's philosophies are the perfect fit for us as a family - not only for Kindergarten, but for the early years of education. Her educational philosophy meshes quite well with the pace of life we have tried to live for several years now, and it has been a breath of fresh air to find other homeschooling families with similar philosophies and lifestyles.

Charlotte Mason believed that formal lessons shouldn't start until a child was 6. The months of October - December consisted a lot of re-orienting ourselves to a new town and yet another new life, so it was easy for me to do "School Lite." A is just Kindergarten-age, and no formal schooling is required in the state of Massachusetts until first grade, so I embraced living into our transition. We used Five in a Row - and we all enjoyed it - but it never felt like enough for my  incredibly bright, extremely inquisitive 5 1/2 year old. 

Since A turns 6 in February, we decided to use the New Year as our launching date for formal lessons. I made book lists, requested books from libraries, ordered math and handwriting curriculum, and started to put a plan down on paper for a Charlotte Mason inspired Kindergarten Winter Term. D gave me some quiet time last weekend to get everything together, and A started getting really excited to "start real school."

With Day One in the books, I'm feeling so good about the direction we're taking. We had such a peaceful morning - who knew that was even possible?! We had tea together, we read books, asked questions, sang songs, talked about life, played with numbers, and began our introduction to cursive. A loved every minute of it - and I have to admit - so did I.

Stay tuned for more about why we chose Charlotte Mason and how we're structuring the rest of our "Kindergarten" year. 

On Starting Kindergarten ... and Riding the Bus

My sweet Autumn Grace,

You are starting Kindergarten today! I can hardly believe we are already at this place ... and yet at the same time I'm not sure I ever thought today would come. I'm not even sure you starting Kindergarten is what I'm so emotional over today ... I think it's the fact that you rode the bus.

I knew sending you to Kindergarten would be hard - but I thought I'd still be in control of getting you to school. I thought I'd be able to take you myself. Give you a hug. Pass you off to your teacher. Say goodbye and get in my car to drive back home. But that's not what you wanted. You wanted to ride the bus. You were SO excited to ride the bus ... and man - I wasn't prepared for that.

This may be our biggest milestone yet. You were so brave getting on that bus this morning. I saw the nervousness in your eyes, but you stepped right up like you've been doing it all your life. You - my sweet baby that wouldn't even go to the nursery at church - you rode the bus. You are teaching me so much about being brave when you're scared. About just putting one foot in front of the other to do the things you know you need to do. About letting your excitement fuel you when you're feeling nervous and scared. About having faith that you will be taken care of. And about knowing how to speak up for yourself when you need to.

And when you weren't even on the bus 5 minutes, you told the bus driver to make sure not to hit your daddy who was riding his bike to the train station. You are only 5 ... and yet you are such a leader. 

I'm so very proud of you my sweet girl. So proud of the independent little lady you are becoming. The independent little lady you already are.

Your Daddy and I have tried to live our lives in such a way that we give you two gifts as you grow up ... one is roots and the other is wings. Today was a good indication that we're doing a good job.

But I can't say I was quite ready for you to use those wings to fly.

My heart swells with pride and love for you my sweet Autumn Grace. We've come a long way from bouncing on an exercise ball at naptime ...

What's Church Got to Do With It?

What's church got to do with it?

That's the question we've been wrestling with at church this Lent. And I have to be perfectly honest - I haven't been blown away by any of the possible answers.

For so long we have been searching for a church where we experience true community. A community of believers who really live life together - in every sense of the word. But I'm starting to believe that's an old-fashioned sense of what church is. That as much as I would like my close-knit community of people to be people I go to church with, it's just not going to happen.

So we've been struggling with church these last few months. Struggling with where to worship on Sunday mornings. Struggling with what we find to be most important when we attend a worship service. Struggling to find a balance between our deep longing for Christian community and knowing that no church really has it. At least not a church that we've been able to find in all of our searching.

Anyone who knows me well knows how frustrated I am with "church." Frustrated that we can't find a place that has good music, good community, and good theology all at the same time. In an honest attempt to let go and find where God is calling us, we've visited several churches over the last couple of months - all with different denominational backgrounds. And every single time we leave feeling like something is missing. Like that's just not the right place for us. Most often it's because they don't baptize babies or they don't have communion.

But this week - something happened that brought that Lenten study question to the forefront of my thoughts. The answer finally clicked in my head. Before I tell you what happened, let me give you a tiny bit of background. 

We bring our two-year old to worship with us. She's not always quiet - in fact, she's usually not - but it's important for us to worship as a family. She doesn't ever go to the nursery - and although we'll take her out for a cookie every once in a while to regroup, we never leave worship simply because she's rambunctious. 

Is it a lot of work? You bet. Do we worship the way we used to? Absolutely not. Do we sometimes get nasty looks when she's noisy. Yup. But we wouldn't have it any other way.

This past Sunday, as we got ready for church, she kept asking for "com-mune" (communion). In fact, she was so excited for communion she refused to eat breakfast - AND we were 30 minutes early. We reminded her that we have to sing some songs, say some prayers, and listen to some stories before we get communion. And like every other Sunday, she sang her heart out during the sermon, couldn't wait to kneel when it was time to pray, and asked for "more" when she was done eating her communion wafer. Every time it happens, D & I both tear up. Sunday, we looked at each other and said,

We can't leave this place. She loves it here.

And today, as we were listening to Pandora, David Crowder's How He Loves came on. She looked at me with her excited face and started singing ... How he loves! Oh he loves us! Then she proceeded to get on one knee, then the other, then both knees, saying,

One knee, other knee, two knees ... Like at church!

She went on to talk about praying and about communion and about cookies ... and I about lost it as I was folding the laundry. I just looked at her and said,

 That's right! That's what we do at church. We pray, we sing songs, and we get communion.

 This week, my precious toddler has answered that question for me.

 What's church got to do with it?

Church is where we go to pray as a body of Christ. Sure - we can pray in other places - but there's just something so holy about getting on your knees in that sacred place with so many other people. And perhaps most importantly for that toddler of mine - and for my husband and I - Church is where we go to receive Holy Communion. It's the place we go when we need to be physically fed with Christ.

In time, we may discover the kind of community we're longing for at church. Or, we may never find it at church. But we will most definitely receive the living Christ. And by receiving the living Christ each and every week, we are fulfilled and empowered to go create that community in the world around us.

This post was originally published during Lent in 2014. While many things in our life are different now, many of the things expressed in this post remain true for us today.