Our Bug is nine today.  But, don’t tell him I called him that publicly.  Apparently, he’s not a fan of his nickname anymore (cue tears).  I haven’t really heeded his preference, though, but thankfully, I seem to get a pass.  Everyone else gets a scowl.

He’s definitely moving out of little boy territory.  This tough  kid who has always been a little on the huskier side and snuggly and sweet, is now tall and lanky, and not as interested in sitting close, and not so quick to tell me I’m beautiful…among other things.

This has been a rough year for this sensitive son of mine, and it shows – tears come to my eyes just thinking about it – and I think his defense is to internalize and push away and just not notice much of the good around him.  I wish I could say that I’ve figured out how to make everything better for him, but I haven’t.  It’s a process, I guess.

In the meantime, he is still our goofball, who tries so hard to make jokes out of everything.  He is our athlete – the only one of our kids who comes close to beating me in a sprint (okay, I know that beating me doesn’t necessarily make him an “athlete”, but you know, comparatively).  He’s great at math and great with tools.  He’s still observant and still tenderhearted.  He can make waffles and scrambled eggs like a pro, and will eat whatever he’s given without hesitation, even though he would “rather not eat” most foods.

So, we’re here at his ninth birthday and I’m thankful it’s only nine and not nineteen.  I’m thankful for a another nine years (at least) of opportunity to remind him of how precious he is, of how capable he is, of how God sees him, and of how he should see himself.  I’m thankful that there’s refining happening in him even now and that we get to help him through these things, and to teach him to run to God for help, and to give him big bear hugs even when he pretends to not want them.  I’m just so, so thankful for Nathanael today.  I treasure this boy, and the privilege it is to be his mom.

We started school today.

I know it’s a little early, but we’re taking a week off in September and I didn’t want to start on Nathanael’s birthday (one week from today).  Plus, I’m tired of the endless quandaries of what can I do???.  And I want to feel like summer might actually be wrapping up.  And I want my hopes of finishing up the school year by the end of May to have a possibility of not being in vain.  So we started today, bumps and roadblocks and bad attitudes, and all.

I want to make excuses for why this summer hasn’t been “productive” by most people’s standards.  I cringe at the list of projects that never got touched.  I feel a bit hopeless that some of them will ever get done.  But what I’ve been realizing these past couple months is that I don’t have to live up to someone else’s standard – and that the standard we have set for ourselves and our families doesn’t give project completion high priority.

So, our house projects are mostly untouched…except for Tim making a large dent in framing and drywalling an area in the attic for kids to have as a rec-room.  Instead, we decided to get pigs, because our twelve-year old wanted to buy one and raise it for meat.  So while Caedmon researched and made phone calls about piglet prices and breeds, feed costs and pasture needs, Tim researched and planned how to keep 2 pigs on our property a few miles down the road that had a well, but little else.  So shed-building and fence-building and solar panel-installing and electricity converting and feed-hopper building all took precedence for weeks – so that we could help Caedmon pursue this small dream of his, which we chose to prioritize over house projects.

And there were other things.  A gymnastics camp for Bethany, and VBS.  A visit from my sister and her family, and a visit from my parents and another sister.  A trip to an amusement park and a night at the drive-in.  Swimming lessons and weed-pulling and ice-cream eating (which can consume quite a lot of time when the summer is as hot as this one’s been).  DIY car repairs and a ton of curriculum researching.

I know it doesn’t necessarily sound like much, but in truth, I’m not cut out for hyper-productivity.  Most times, it comes with a cost that is just too high.  So this summer has also been moments of purposing to pull my littlest girl close with a stack of books.  It has been kneeling on the floor doing puzzles with my Ava Grace.  It has been saying yes to making funnel cakes and running around in the rain (what little we’ve had).  It has been trying harder to inspect chores.  It has just been trying desperately to not let the little things fall to the wayside.

And here we are.  Not where I’d thought we would be at the start of the new school year, but that’s okay.

Some days, I still feel the tightness in my throat, the weight in my heart, and the tears that threaten to spill over into an otherwise ordinary day.

I’ve never been good at forgiving and forgetting.  I’ve never been good at really loving people.  I’ve known this for a long time.  It’s even on a list in front of my Bible – things I pray for myself – in all caps, flanked by stars…to LOVE PEOPLE, because I know I don’t have it figured out.

And this is where God has been pressing me these many months.

Because, sometimes, I want to forgive, to love, to move on.  But sometimes I really don’t.  When someone purposely and without repentance hurts my family, hurts me, I’m convinced to the depths of my being that I should never, ever love or forgive them again.

Except I’m wrong.  I do know that.

When Jesus hung on the cross, surrounded by all sorts of people who, at best, had no idea what He was doing, and at worst, felt He deserved all that was coming to Him, His heart toward them was forgiveness.  He loved those people who drove the nails into Him.  He loved those disciples who never really got it.  He loved the accusers and the mockers and the ones who had no greater concern than whether they could walk away with some dead man’s clothes.

And I’m supposed to be like Jesus…or at least try to be.

But I don’t know how.  I just really don’t know how.

So, when these days come when the hurt feels moments old instead of months old, I sometimes give voice to all the worst feelings that still plague my soul.  And my husband gently rebukes me and reminds me of what my heart should be, even as I insist it’s impossible.  Then, slowly through the hours, the Holy Spirit works and softens the hard places again, and adjusts my perspective – even if only in seemingly small measure – to the point where grace can permeate my thoughts and I get just a glimpse of God’s heart.

It’s been a season of two steps forward and one step back…or maybe closer to almost two steps back, if I’m being honest…but God is faithfully digging deeper wells in my heart in this and other areas.  He is stretching my faith and reminding me more that this life of mine is completely and only for Him and His glory, and I don’t get to decide what that looks like.  Only He does.