Day 9: One Finished Stocking

Laurel's stocking is finished! The hardest part was figuring out how to attach the solid colored top to the stocking. It made me realize how glad I am that I have a husband who had to take home-ec. I never had to. In fact, Ursuline didn't even offer it. I guess they figured they were educating girls for college and careers, not for sewing and cooking. Jon's the one in our family who knows not only how to change a needle on a sewing machine, but when a different sized needle might be needed.

Now I just have to finish two more for Jon and me. Luckily we aren't celebrating our little family Christmas until January 1, so I have some time.

Here's the back:

And the front:

The snow is falling in Edmonton. I am sipping a chai and eating a biscotti. I would like to stay home all day and work on the stockings. But...I have a meeting and laundry and a few more presents to wrap and packing to do and soup to make.

Day 8: A Christmas Pageant

I've always suspected that not only was Mary gentle, obedient, and reflective, but that she was also strong. I mean, she'd have to be to deal with the gossip of being unmarried and pregnant. And think of the physical strength she'd have needed to travel (by foot or on a donkey) at nine months pregnant. Yes, she must of have been strong. And tonight, if there were any doubts, I have been convinced.

Our friend Rory, who happens to be three years old, had been excited all week about his role in the Sunday School's Christmas play. He had a few short lines, which he had memorized. And. He got to play Joseph. Which means, he would get to walk around the sanctuary and then down the centre aisle with his friend Hannah, who had the role of Mary.

The Sunday School Christmas play was tonight. Rory's mom and dad had prepared a simple costume for him (a towel on his head, and a big brown t-shirt with a big belt around it). But Rory wanted nothing to do with costumes. Nothing. In fact, he wasn't so sure he wanted to be part of this crazy play at all. As his mom tried to convince him to wear the costume and play the role of Joseph, Rory's last ditch effort to get out of it was this: "Mom, funny guys don't wear costumes." And Rory is, definitely, a funny guy. He couldn't risk his funny guy reputation by wearing a costume.

No problem. Just get one of the other little boys in Sunday School to step in and play Joseph. Wrong. There are no other little boys in Sunday School. Seriously. But, there are little boys in the nursery, including Rory's little brother, Jonas, which almost sounds like Joseph. So, 1 year old Jonas, who can't really verbalize his protests against costumes, was suited up to play Joseph. Someone else read Rory's lines, but Jonas got to walk around the sanctuary, hand in hand with Hannah (age 6).

Jonas was doing great. But just as they were about to head down the centre aisle to join all the little animals and angels on the stage, Jonas got distracted and started to head in another direction. Well, Mary couldn't really have her husband desert her, not after all they'd already been through. No way, Joseph, you're in this with me! Mary did what she had to do. She picked up Joseph and carried him the rest of the way.

I can just imagine Mary thinking, "You mean carrying the Lord of the universe isn't enough? Now I've got to carry you, too?"

Day 7: An Early Christmas Dinner

Tonight I ate Christmas dinner with a wonderful group of women. Some of them are friends from church and some are part of a place called the Dream Centre. The Dream Centre women are part of a program that's helping them get their lives back on track, whether they're coming out of addictions or abusive relationships or just need a second chance in life.

We had Christmas dinner with all the fixings--turkey AND ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, sweet potato casserole, veggies, buns, and pumpkin pie. The men in our church made it all--and they did a fantastic job!

It's amazing how sharing a meal can foster community. Sitting at a table and passing platters of food takes away the "us" and "them"--there was only "us," a group of women and a few children, gathered to enjoy a meal together. Conversation and laughter filled the small room as we crowded around the table and heaped seconds onto our plates.

I don't know the stories of any of the women I met tonight. I don't know what challenges they've faced or what pain they've lived through. But I'm grateful that they let us laugh with them and ask questions about the Dream Centre and joke with their kids. I'm grateful that they let us be part of their lives for a couple of hours tonight, and that they were willing to be part of ours.

Day 6: In My Kitchen

We leave for Lethbridge on Tuesday and have a few Christmas tasks left to do before then. If my days between now and then are anything like this morning, I think we'll be okay.

It is 11:33 a.m., and it has been a very productive morning here. Let me give you the run down...

I spent 30 minutes on the exercise bike, ate breakfast, showered, fed Laurel, started washing Laurel's diapers, changed the sheets on our bed.

Then the real fun began:

I baked a "Chocolate Lovers Cheesecake" for Jon's birthday celebration tonight (we're having another couple and their kids over for dinner...which evolved from having 3 couples over for dessert). It is currently cooling, waiting to have the topping made and put on.

I took the chicken breasts from the freezer to thaw for tonight's main course--chicken vera cruz.

I baked 5 potatoes so that they will be ready to "twice bake" later for dinner.

I boiled 6 eggs to contribute to a meal our church is doing for a program that helps women who need a second chance. (I don't know what the eggs are for--I was just told to bring them...and the ingredients for sweet potato casserole).

And, finally, I now have orange almond biscotti baking in the oven.

And this is all before lunch!

Still on the agenda for today:

Finish laundry

Clean bathroom

Make dinner

Order family photos

Find babysitter for Monday afternoon

Reserve rental car for Tuesday

Clear stocking project off of table so guests have someplace to sit.

In other news...guess who got her very own highchair?

That's right, solid foods are just a few days away!

I know I promised an update on the stocking project today, but I haven't had a chance to get very far on them. Soon. Maybe this afternoon? (probably not)

So, what's going on in your kitchen?

Day 5: We Wait

...continued from yesterday...

In the season of Advent, especially, we are reminded that we are waiting. We are waiting for the day when all that was accomplished in the birth and life and death and resurrection of Jesus will finally be fully realized. We are waiting for the day when our friends won’t get cancer and when people won’t be sold into slavery, for the day when relationships will be healed and the earth will be, too. We wait for the promises of Isaiah—for the time when the wilderness, barren and desolate, will burst into bloom; for the day when the eyes of the blind will be opened and the ears of the deaf will be unstopped.

We wait and we long. And in the meantime, we live. We live into that future, we live as if it were already here—because we know Christ has already done the work to make that all happen. Because, even though we don’t see it yet, the promises of Isaiah have already been fulfilled in Jesus.

Joy to the world. The Lord has come. Will we receive our King?

tomorrow: an update on the stocking project

Day 4: The LORD Is Come

continued from yesterday...

Or maybe joy is just under-realized and misunderstood.

A dictionary definition of joy goes something like this: “a very glad feeling, happiness, great pleasure, delight.”

I am not satisfied with that definition. I don’t necessarily have a better one to offer, but I think joy is deeper than a very glad feeling and it’s more grounded than happiness. It may result in feeling happy, but I wonder if that feeling isn’t a product of joy, rather than joy itself. It’s more than just being in a good mood—it’s something that resonates in our souls. Maybe joy is more of a disposition that we root ourselves in, rather than a feeling that changes as our circumstances change.

It’s really hard to be happy in the midst of trials and heartbreak. But maybe, maybe it’s possible to still be rooted in joy—it might be a quiet joy, a joy that whispers rather than shouts, but maybe joy can be present, nonetheless. Joy and pain can be found in the same moment—maybe joy that has known pain is a deeper joy.

This is true of worship—our songs of praise have more substance when they are honest, when we acknowledge the brokenness of our world and of our lives. Praises that are sung after songs of lament are praises that somehow have more depth to them.

Joy to the world can only be sung with honesty in a broken world because of the line that comes next: the Lord has come!

The Lord has come!

The Lord has come to the world that is filled with families that don’t get along and children that starve and wars that rage. The Lord has come to the world where there is brokenness and pain and tears and death. And that is exactly why we can sing Joy to the world. That is exactly why we can know joy—because the Lord has come—he didn’t wait for things to be good here—he stepped into our messiness, he walked into our pain. Joy to the world that is hurting and broken—this is the world that Christ was born into, this is the world that God so loves that he sent his only son.

The Lord has come. He was born in a dark and smelly stable—if that doesn’t remind us that we have a God who enters into our brokenness, I don’t know what does. And can you imagine, after the whispers and the sideways glances Mary received when she had first started to show, after the hard travelling that Mary and Joseph had to do to get to Bethlehem, after being told there was no place for them to sleep, after the pain of labor, can you imagine the joy that filled the hearts of these young new parents when they heard this tiny baby cry for the first time? In some ways, maybe it was like the joy that most new parents feel. But in other ways, it was probably so different—because they knew who this little baby was.

The Lord has come. And nothing will ever be the same again. Our joy is rooted in this—that God is present and active in our world, that God created and is re-creating our world. Our joy is rooted in the fact that Jesus showed up and proved that death does not win, that evil does not get the final word. No more let sin and sorrow grow, or thorns infest the ground—that line in the song gets me every time I sing it—he comes to make his blessings flow far as the curse is found.

to be continued...

Day Three: Joy To The World

Here is part of the reflection I gave on Sunday night at church:

Joy and loss can be so intermingled during the Christmas season. When the decorations come out of the attic, for some of us, so does the pain—loss and heartache and depression are often felt much more poignantly during the holidays—somehow the pain feels so much bigger, so much more penetrating. There are some of us who would much rather fall asleep on December 1 and wake up on January 1, skipping Advent and Christmas altogether.

For some, talk about joy sounds trite or distant, elusive and other. And yet, this week, we lit the Advent candle of joy. Why should joy be more of a focus at this time of year? Does it have any more substance than the shiny tinsel on the tree? Where is joy for those who are hurting or lonely or busy with a long list of parties to attend, presents to buy, a house to clean and decorate, and an extended family to try to contend with? Is joy just another empty word we toss around?

Joy to the world.

Joy to a world where families will fight this Christmas and daughters will use all of the strength they have to sit through dinner with their mothers?

Joy to a world where 13 year olds will open piles of gifts and still feel like they need more stuff?

Joy to a world where homeless shelters will be filled to capacity on Christmas eve?

Joy to a world where wars are raging?

Joy to a world where every five seconds, a child dies of hunger related causes?

Joy to a world people are sold as possessions?

Joy to a world that is polluted?

Joy to a world where churches split, leaving hurt and damaged people in their wake?

Joy to a world where bullies and gossips seem to win?

Joy to a world where our friends get cancer?

Maybe joy is overrated.

to be continued...

Day Two: Stockings

Jon and I tend to be last minute gift people. We are those people who spend the time between a wedding and the reception buying and wrapping the gift. In fact, I've wrapped at least two gifts on the hood of my car while standing in the shopping center parking lot. When it comes to Christmas, we are no different. Because we are never home for Christmas, we usually celebrate our own Christmas sometime after December 25. Which means, in our world, that we also shop after December 25. Once we have gifts for each other, we usually discover that we have no wrapping paper (because, let's be honest, to wrap our gifts for our extended family, we bummed wrapping paper off whoever we spent Christmas with). We have given a number of gifts to each other wrapped in newspaper (which is often hard to find at our house, since we don't subscribe to a paper) or "wrapped" in the bag the gift came in or "wrapped" in a gift bag that we received a wedding gift in. When we do have wrapping paper, it is not unusual to discover that we don't have tape. And if we do have tape and wrapping paper, you can bet we don't have any bows or ribbons. That's just the way we roll.

Until this year.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Jon and Julianne Gilchrist are finally growing up. This past weekend we crossed all but one gift off of our list for our extended families. And I even bought some of Jon's stocking stuffer gifts. AND a birthday present for Jon--a whole 5 days before his birthday.

But bigger than that is this: we have, at our house, this very moment...wrapping paper, ribbon, and tape. True story. And I have already begun wrapping gifts.

Here's proof....

But the real point of this post is this:

While we were shopping, we went to a fabric store. And I bought fun Christmas fabric to make us each our own stocking! Jon was ever so patient and didn't even balk when he heard the total at the register (if these work, they will be more pricey than our current dollar store stockings...if they don't work...well...we've paid for me to develop a hobby?). So now, I am beginning the project of making quilted stockings for the three of us. Without a pattern. I know what I want them to look like. And I have made a quilt before. But I have never had to deal with anything that wasn't square...so we'll see if they end up looking more like an "L" than a stocking. I will keep you posted as I progress. So far, the fabric has been washed. Step one is done!

12 Days of Christmas...Day 1

Well, faithful blog readers, I am beginning a bit of a blog project. For the next 12 days, I'm going to blog every day about Christmas. I'll share either a Christmas memory, thoughts about Advent, or some Christmas project I'm working on. 12 days will take me to Christmas Eve...and if I finish this venture, it will be the most consistent blogging I've done in some time. So, here we go...

Day One: A Teapot and A Surprise

It was the first Christmas that Jon and I spent together. We weren't yet engaged, although we would be in a little over a week. We travelled from Vancouver to Lethbridge, Alberta to spend Christmas with his family. It was Christmas Eve and the stockings were hung by the chimney and all that jazz. The kids somehow convinced the adults that they should get to open, not one, but all of their gifts that night. (My strong opinions about waiting until Christmas morning to open gifts is a whole other story). So, the kids opened their gifts...they weren't allowed to play with them though because they had to go to bed. (Does anyone else think that's worse than just making them wait until the next morning to open the gifts?). The kids were nestled into bed with visions of sugarplums and the toys they couldn't yet play with. And then it was time for the adults to open their gifts.

I had been so privileged as to be allowed to participate in the family gift exchange. Jon's brother-in-law had my name. When it was my turn to open my gift, I unwrapped a teapot. Just what I had asked for. Perfect. I was happy. I said my thank you's and placed it on the floor in front of me.

And Jon's sisters quickly chided me for not looking inside the teapot. I felt such shame that I hadn't properly admired the gift--maybe they would think I didn't like it. So, I quickly picked the teapot back up and took off the lid.

Tucked inside were three dainty pairs of..well...there's no other way to say this...three dainty pairs of panties. And, of course, Jon's sisters made me hold them up for the family to see.

That was my induction into the family. And that is likely the last time that Sid asked Jenn to do his Christmas shopping for him.

I think this is also the Christmas when most of the family got the stomach flu....which meant that Owen (Jon's brother-in-law...and mine, now, too) suddenly had a strong aversion to shrimp after getting the stomach flu the night we ate a pasta dish with shrimp in it. And of course, that meant that a few days later Jenn made pancakes for us for breakfast...and made a special shrimp pancake for Owen...he ate the whole thing before realizing there was something fishy about it.

And that was only the beginning of that Christmas...because a few days after the shrimp pancake episode, Jon and I flew to France. More on that later. Maybe.

Christmas is Coming!

The ground is covered with crazy amounts of snow and more is falling. The temperature has dipped ridiculously low (especially when you add windchill). No, it's not the horrible month of February (and, really, February in Edmonton, really is horrible). It's December--and Christmas is coming. (And just to prove it, the H1N1 vaccination clinic at the mall near our house has closed because Santa needed a place to get his picture taken with an assortment of lil' ones (who, hopefully, have already been vaccinated)).

We braved the weather two nights ago to get our Christmas tree. We didn't have to trudge through any fields or scale any mountains to bring home our tree--we just had to drive to our local Home Depot. Maybe trudging and scaling would have been a better option because once we got the tree in our house and started decorating it, we discovered that the top half is pretty much already dead. Well, better luck next year, I suppose.

I love this time of year. I love the lights, I love the decorations, I love love LOVE the music. (I do not, at all, love the malls). I hope to write some reflections on Advent and Christmas in the coming weeks (and hopefully one on "Joy" before this Sunday when I have to preach it). But for now, here are a few photos of our half-dead tree....and Laurel in her snowsuit!

A Few New Shots

drumming

We are wrapping up a visit with Jon's sisters and their families, which reminded me of the first time Laurel met her Auntie Pam and Uncle Owen. Here is a glimpse of that first visit, when Laurel was about 2 months old.

Laughter

One of the best sounds I've heard lately is Laurel's laughter. She just started laughing a few weeks ago, and no one can make her laugh like her dad. And when she laughs, we can't help but laugh, too! As I type this, she's just laughing away in the next room! Here's a short clip.

The Work of My Hands

Here are a few things I've done lately...now I just have to open the cards, write in them, and get them mailed!

And here is a toque that I finally finished last night...

Photo Shoot

It's Monday afternoon.  The laundry is well underway.  The dishwasher has been run.  The bed is made.  Laurel and I were wondering what we should do next.  And then we thought, "Let's do a photo shoot."  So, we did, complete with wardrobe changes.  Here are some pics from that little adventure.  Captions are below the pictures...

"This is our winter line.  Notice my hat matches my sweater."

"I've got lots to think about."

"Don't you have anything more challenging?  I'm kind of a modeling pro, you know."

"Okay, mom, this is a little much.  Can I lose the hat?"

"I'm pretty much the cutest."

"Are we done?"

Blitz Blog

Okay, so I know it's been forever since I've written.  And the five of you who sometimes read this blog have probably given up even checking it.  It's not that I haven't had anything to say--it's that I've had too much to say and haven't taken the time to sit down and say it.  So, here is a blitz of the last month....

1. We went to Chinook, Montana so that I could baptize little Ezra Arntzen.  It made me reflect on what the Parable of the Sower has in common with infant baptism--the grace that is lavished on us, though we have done nothing to deserve it, even before we are capable to respond to it.

2. Laurel went on her first plane ride all the way to Ohio.  She was a star traveller--she even slept during take off and landing.  

3. From Ohio, we travelled to Danville, Kentucky where I got to see four of my college friends.  There was all kinds of laughter as we remembered our Centre days.  Those were great days and great friends...even if we were dressed in hiking boots and flannel shirts.

4. My friend Annie Parsons drove from Nashville to Cincinnati to see us!  And I got to be one of the first to buy her new cd!  I highly recommend it.  And I recommend her blog.

5. Laurel experienced her first Halloween.  

6. We flew back to Edmonton.  And Laurel was great, yet again.

7. Since being back, I am trying to discern the line between cautious and paranoid when it comes to the whole H1N1 scene.  I am eligible to get vaccinated on Tuesday...so I just keep thinking I just have to make it to Tuesday (and then the two weeks it takes for the vaccine to kick in) and then we'll be good.  Laurel is too little for the vaccine, so I figure her best defense is for me to stay healthy.  But am I being paranoid or just cautious if I don't want to go out in public at all?

8. Laurel got her four month shots.  Yes, she's that old already.  These were harder than the two month shots because she was all smiles, thinking everything was okay, and then BAM she gets stuck with 3 needles...at two months she wasn't really smiling yet, so somehow I didn't feel like I was betraying her trust quite so much.

That's the blitz blog.  I will try to write more often and more reflectively in the near future!

Days and Weeks and Months

We have moved from counting time with Laurel in weeks to counting time in months.  She is already three months old.  I don't even know how many weeks she is any more.  Three months means that I have cleaned out the little onesies that no longer fit her from her drawers.  She is now fitting into things that once looked so big for her.  Three months also means that she is grabbing ahold of the toys that hang above her on her play mat.  She went from waving her arms and accidently bumping into the toys to intentionally grasping them.  And three months means lots of smiles.  I love it when she smiles--her whole face lights up.

I remember visits to a friend who was a mom of young kids when I would be home in Ohio.  I would tell her of all my recent adventures, but when I asked her what was new in her life, she never seemed to have much to share.  I feel like I am there, now.  My days are filled with meaning.  But it's not meaning that makes for great conversation (unless you are as obsessed with Laurel as I am).  My adventures have to do with moving from a diaper service to washing our own cloth diapers (today's that day) and trying to figure out how to keep her hands warm at night and making a slow simmering spaghetti sauce and being reminded that time sensitive things are harder with a baby (like yesterday when I was ready to knead our bread dough right when Laurel woke up and needed to be fed).  My adventures involve bussing to the grocery store and seeing how many groceries will fit in the little storage space under the stroller.  Or trying to get my cereal out of the cupboard without finding a dead mouse or setting off the mouse trap.  These are my days.  And I love them.  Even if they are melting too quickly into weeks, which are melting too quickly into months.

My friend Jen is measuring her baby boy's hours and hoping that they pile into days and weeks and months.  Henry was born just over a week ago and immediately faced all kinds of complications.  And so he is in the NICU.  Maybe because it was just three months ago that Laurel was born or maybe it's because it makes me recognize how vulnerable our children are at this age or maybe because I care about Jen and want good things for her and her family or maybe because of all of these things and more, I find them on my heart often throughout the day.  And, along with those who know and love Jen and Nate, I dare to pray big prayers.  Jen has asked that we not be afraid to pray for miracles.  Will you join me in praying for them?  Will you join me in asking God to lavish his grace on this family in such a way that they have heaps of days and weeks and months and years of time together?  Will you join me in asking God to bring little Henry through this without long term effects?  We have a big God who can do big things.

Putting on My Big Girl Pants

It's 1 a.m.  I am wide awake.  Why?  Because my car alarm just woke me up.  And when I went to shut it off, I noticed the passenger side door was open.  Did someone just honestly try to steal my car?  My 11 year old car?  Seriously?  The thought that runs through my head isn't about the potential of losing the car, but the potential of losing the stroller that's in the trunk.  And now I'm wondering if I left something valuable in the front seat...because if they were trying to steal the car, why would they open the passenger side door and not the driver's side door?  I am hoping that there was nothing there to steal.  But now I am freaked out...and therefore wide awake.

And.  Of course.  Jon is out of town.  Because why would something like this happen when he's here?  

That.   And I'm sick.  I mean, not full out can't move sick.  But not feeling well.  And, truth be told, when I don't feel well, I just want my mom.  33 years old and I still call my mom when I don't feel well.  Sigh.  

But now I'm a mom.  With a wee little one to care for, whether I feel okay or not.  I guess it's time to put on my big girl pants.

****

And now, at 9 a.m....I have found a dead mouse in the mouse trap by the cereal.  Seriously?  That mouse couldn't have been caught 48 hours ago when Jon was home to deal with it?  For Pete's Sake.

Circle

We journeyed to Banff last weekend and spent some time in the hot springs.  The last time I went to the Banff hot springs was almost 30 years ago.  I remember being there at the ripe age of 4...but, as with most things, the springs were much bigger back then.  

I spent a chunk of our visit in the locker room nursing Laurel.  As I sat feeding her, I watched an elderly lady make her way towards us.  She was hunched over and very unsteady on her feet.  I feared that she was going to fall, so I played out in my mind what I would do when it happened.  But she made it safely to our bench and sat down next to us after getting her things out of her locker.  As I continued to feed Laurel, she slowly and. perhaps, painfully, changed her clothes and we chatted here and there.    Looking down at this new baby girl who has so much ahead of her.  And then looking over at this old woman who has so much behind her.  I was struck by the circle of life, by the beauty of a new baby and the beauty of a woman who has lived and loved and learned and laughed.  

Good Baby?

I have discovered that there are common questions that are asked during pregnancy:

"How are you feeling?"

(I was usually feeling great)

"When are you due?"

(June 16...only no one told Laurel, so she came when she wanted to)

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

(No, we didn't...but, of course, we do now)

And there seem to be common questions asked of new parents:

"Is she sleeping through the night?" or "Are you getting much sleep"

(Since you asked, yes, she has started sleeping through the night...which means we are getting sleep, too).

"Is she a good baby?"

Okay, this one I take issue with.  What does that actually mean?  What defines a good baby?  Is a good baby one that doesn't cry?  (and therefore doesn't communicate her needs?)  Or does it mean that she doesn't lie, steal, and cheat?  Is the opposite of a good baby, a bad baby? And does it matter if she's good?  She's our baby and we love her--that's what matters.  Why are you so concerned about if she's good or not?  

And, yes, she is a good baby!

Overheard

Today Laurel and I rode the bus to and from her appointment to get her two month shots.  On the ride home, Laurel was nestled into her sling, happily asleep, and I was sipping my vanilla latte.  Two elderly women sat behind us.  Here is what I heard them say...

"That woman has a baby."

(Are they talking about me?)

"Well, she's married--she has a wedding ring on."

"That's her right hand."

(they're not talking about me)

"Well, some men like big women."

"Yeah, especially Italians.  They like them big and dirty.  They like really smelly women."

****

Really?  They said that out loud?  I take no responsibility for the content of those statements!  

Broken

A few weeks ago I knocked this ceramic cat nightlight off the dresser and it crashed to the floor.  It had been mine when I was little, and it was being passed on to Laurel, to light up her room at night, to create a glow of warmth and remind her that she is safe and cared for and protected.  As I swept up the pieces I grieved a little for the loss of an heirloom.  And I also grieved for  the brokenness it represents—the hurts that we can’t fix, the pieces we can’t glue back together.  Today we let a friend cut Laurel’s fingernails.  It’s a task that’s dreaded by most parents,  and here was an offer from someone we trust.  But things went badly and Laurel ended up with five bloody fingers.  She cried that heartbreaking cry—the one where you know she means things are not okay, not even close to being okay.  And I had to work hard to not join her.  Jon and I felt sick to our stomachs, knowing that we had handed her over to pain, knowing that we didn’t protect her.  We know she’ll be okay.  We know that most parents have stories of the time they cut their baby’s fingers.  We know that there are much, much worse things that can happen to a baby.  We know that we haven’t yet experienced what it really means to watch your child suffer.

But we still feel horrible that she has been hurt and there is nothing we can do about it.  

Someone said the hurts just get bigger from here.  How true those words are.  There will be bee stings and scraped knees, broken arms and chicken pox.  There will be disappointments at not making the team or not getting invited to the party.  There will be failed tests, hurt feelings, broken hearts.  And we will try to protect her.  On some days we will succeed.  But on others we will fail.  Because part of life involves getting hurt, no matter how hard we try to avoid it.   And in the midst of getting hurt, she will grow.  And we will grow.  And we will, as long as she will let us, be there to walk with her in the midst of it, to give extra hugs and words of hope, to help her put the pieces back together if we can.

Jasper

We took Laurel on her first trip to the mountains this weekend!  She did great--she slept most of the way in the car.  

She even got to go on her first boat ride...

Hanging out with Dad in the grass by the lake...

 

On a walk...

We arrived back home on Sunday night, tired, but thankful for some time in the mountains!  

A Few Pics..

Our little peanut...thanks to Jane for the cute onesie and hat!

She made it five weeks without a soother...but then we caved. 

All dressed up!

She loves her bath time!

Showing off her shades at her baby shower!

Slow

It's hard to believe that Laurel is five weeks old.  At the same time, it's hard to believe that we have only known her for five weeks.  One thing I've noticed in my journey with Laurel so far is that having a baby slows you down.  It changes the pace, creates a different rhythm.  The to-do list becomes less important, while sitting and watching her discover the mobile above her head becomes a high priority.  The quiet moments of the 3 am feed are more precious than the sleep I'm giving up.  A walk through the neighborhood reveals new observations as I walk not to get somewhere, but simply to enjoy my time with her.  I discovered a wading pool not far from our house that I'd never known existed.  And I've interacted with more people on the street than I had before, simply because of Laurel.  I like this pace.  I like that I don't have to rush to accomplish something--I simply have to be present and love those around me.  Thanks, Laurel, for giving me this gift of slow.  

Her First Month

How Does Your Garden Grow?

It was Friday night when this whole thing got started. Actually, it was Thursday night. We were leaving the country for two weeks on Saturday, and felt that if my dream of having a garden was going to come true, we'd have to get things planted before we left. So, on Thursday night we built a garden box and bought seeds. On Friday night we filled it with soil and planted 10 different types of vegetables.
I have never planted a garden before. Ever. Once I tried to plant flowers in a flower bed, but they all died. So, all of this is incredibly new to me. And I am fascinated.
The seeds are tiny. Tiny. And it's hard to believe that they will turn into the picture on the envelope. I felt like it was an act of faith--putting these tiny things into the ground, covering them with soil, hoping something comes of it. I suddenly had new insight into the parable of the sower...it really is ridiculous that a farmer would scatter seeds on areas where they won't grow--how wasteful...how scandalously generous.

We left town, hoping our little garden box would be okay with out us.

And we returned to green leaves and shoots standing proudly above the soil. Just like that. Have you ever seen a bean plant grow? Two days ago, there was nothing there, and then, all of the sudden, here is this sprout that has pushed its way up. Beans aren't subtle; they don't gently creep through the soil. No, they burst out of the ground, leaving clumps of broken earth around them.

We might be those odd people the neighbors talk about. When we arrived home from our trip at 1:30 in the morning, we dropped our bags inside and went straight to the backyard to check on our garden. And since then, we've probably checked on it 3-4 times a day.

In gardening, we learn to trust and to let go, to celebrate and to hope. And probably, sometimes, we learn to be disappointed.