Sometimes, life reminds me that I’ll never get it all right.  I focus on the wrong things, say the wrong things, do the wrong things.  Somehow, I seem able to justify wrong things pretty easily in the moment of decision.  It can be humbling to realize how easily.  And then, sometimes, I think about something I wrote years ago, that is still all-too-applicable to life today.  I wish it wasn’t.  I wish I could say I finally figured something out.  I haven’t.  All I have figured out is the same thing I had figured out then.  Luckily for me, it’s the most important thing.

I broke again today,

said things I should never say,

proved I don’t deserve Your grace,

yet, here I am, fallen on my face

crying out to You.

All these blessings You’ve given me,

so much more than I’d ever need.

Why is it so hard to see

except when I am down on my knees,

crying out to You?

Break me.

Shatter this pride that I hide behind.

Break me.

Undo this life, take all You can find.

Break me.

Refine my heart and renew my mind,

til I am gone, and all that’s left is You.

…

I see the scarred hands now

and the blood upon His brow

I’ll never really know how

it makes me clean

but I hear it loud.

It’s crying out to You.

For me, it’s crying out to You –

to heal me, to free me,

to love me, to see me

not for who I am, but who You are.

I’ll never understand why saving me

was in Your plan.

Today is Ava’s first birthday.

Wow.  Really??

It makes my heart ache just a bit.  Or a lot.

She has been such a blessing to our family in her one year…and not just in the generic, every-baby-is-a-blessing kind of way (not to knock that, though – it is itself absolutely amazing), but in a way that is unique to her.  It’s the way she can wake me up multiple times a night and still be endearing.  It’s the way she wraps her arms around my neck when I pick her up.  It’s the way she gets a huge smile on her face when she first sees her Daddy in the morning, and the way she giggles with excitement when I start reading her a book she has brought me.

It’s the way I always want to hold her for just a few more minutes when she’s asleep in my arms, and the way tears come to my eyes when I realize how fleeting these baby-days are.  It’s the way she has reminded me of the joy of being loved by my children, and the way she helps me see the difference that gentleness makes.

And along with being a blessing, there are obviously other qualities about her that are special and noteworthy.  She loves tomatoes and potatoes and chocolate and bananas.  She has been walking for almost 2 months and, unlike at least a couple of our other children, has not really given crawling a second thought since then.  She wants to be a big kid, and she never sees them crawling, so she won’t either.  She loves bathtime, but hates encountering large amounts of water in any other environment (beaches, sprinklers, pools,etc.).  She’s loud when she’s excited, and loopy when she’s tired.  She still wakes up often at night (we’re working on that) and does not like to nap.  She loves the piano and occasionally sings to herself.  There are so many quirks and personality traits that make her distinctly Ava.

She is loved lavishly and, even now, pours that love back out in her hugs and snuggles and smiles.  She is treasured, and though I might feel like these past twelve months have passed too quickly, it is nonetheless a joyful thing to be taking this day to mark the first year of life.  Happy Birthday, Ava Grace.

Six years ago today, we welcomed our fair-haired, blue-eyed little boy into our family.  He was an easy baby, cried little, and eventually, played peacefully on his own for long stretches of time.  He has always been his own person.  Rarely does he follow the crowd (the crowd, in most cases, being his older siblings).  He is the child who will turn down more dessert if he’s full, who asks to do extra math work, who volunteers to help Tim with projects.

He is very much a boy in his interests (at least, stereotypically).  He is happy to do anything physical.  He would rather weed a garden than read a book.  He can run farther and faster than his older brother and sister (and without once complaining about how tired he is).  He is fascinated by electrical and plumbing and tools and projects.  He is (sometimes impatiently) waiting for the day when he can play baseball, and has a general love for sports.  There is a bull-in-a-china-shop quality to him which, when combined with an insatiable I-wonder-what-will-happen-if… kind of curiosity, has resulted in a long string of broken or damaged objects and countless reminders about gentleness and not throwing in the house and just.don’t.touch.

On the flip side of all the masculinity, though, is an incredibly sensitive and thoughtful and attentive little boy.  From the very beginning, he has been our child who thinks long and speaks little; the one whose ability to notice details is remarkable; the one for whom every word or action sinks in deeply and is long-remembered…whether good or bad.

He is quick to put others before himself, even when it’s a struggle.  There are times when he is visibly wrestling with the choice to be selfish or giving, and he almost always chooses to sacrifice his wants to bless someone else.  It amazes me how consistently this is the case, and each time, I am reminded anew of the precious heart God has given this little boy of mine.  I am certain that this heart is integral to God’s plan for his life and we pray often for a refining and shaping and strengthening to take place – that the love of God would be poured out through him; that he would be a willing vessel, submitted to Christ in all things.

It is a joy to be Nathanael’s mom.  I love seeing and thinking on the things that make him unique and special and wonderful.  We are blessed to be celebrating his life today.  Happy Birthday, Bug!

At lunch today, one of the younger kids spilled a cup of milk.  Even while I was struggling to control my own response, Caedmon immediately began cleaning up the mess – calmly, thoroughly, cheerfully.  It wasn’t his mess and he wasn’t told to clean it up.

At that moment I found a renewed thankfulness for my husband well up in my heart.  Yes, I was thankful for Caedmon and his servant heart and willing hands…but he’s learned primarily through the example he sees in Tim.  While I regularly flip out over such messes  (I have never quite agreed with the old saying that there’s no use crying over spilled milk) Tim always – always – stops whatever he’s doing and begins to clean it up – calmly, thoroughly, cheerfully.  Even if I start to clean it up, he will often take over for me, simply because he knows that it is a more stressful thing for me than for him.

I’m learning to insist to him that I’m okay dealing with messes when they arise, but I know that it takes restraint for him to let me.  His heart is to serve me, and our children, and really, anyone and in any way that he sees a need.  Serving, for me, is an exercise in bringing my flesh into submission to Christ…I am selfish and lazy by nature, and all too often, that is what comes out when I should choose service.

So I am thankful that I am not the only example my kids get.  I’m thankful that my husband is so faithful to lay down his life for me.  I’m thankful that Caedmon has figured out the better response to emulate.

When life doesn’t go as I expect, I don’t often respond well.  I want explanations when there are none to be had.  I hold onto hurt and easily come up with all kinds of ways in which my circumstances prove that I am a failure and unloved and unlovable.  I’m scared to be hopeful…scared that I will only be more disappointed in the long run, scared that I will let myself be deceived by impossible expectations.  I have convinced myself that I would rather just believe the worst.

This week, though – as I found myself clinging to grief that was threatening to slip away – I felt the Lord challenging me to rejoice.  There was peace and joy and hope right there – so close that I felt it pressing me, so tangible that I was forced to make a conscious choice.  I tried to find rationale that would allow me to hurt just a little longer, but I found none.  What I found, instead, was an overarching belief in God’s goodness to me, and His sovereignty in all things.  I didn’t have answers, but I realized I didn’t need them.  Knowing that my life is in His hands is all I need.  It was sort of a revelation to me.  I have a hard time willingly abdicating control of my life.  I’ve never trusted enough.  Once again, God is proving Himself faithful to continue His work in me, though.  I am so thankful.

For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, “Abba, Father.” — Romans 8:15

I took the test.  Two pink lines appeared.  One was faint, but the instructions made it clear that even a faint line was a line and the test was positive.  I took a picture to commemorate the moment, and later looked back at the picture to really make sure both lines were there.  That was Tuesday.

At 3:00 this morning, I was up nursing Ava and I felt the bleeding start.  I laid Ava down, hoping I was wrong.  But I wasn’t wrong.

It was less than four days of knowing for sure.  But it was long enough for my heart to become attached.  It was long enough for a mindset shift and for endless thoughts of what the next eight months would bring.  It was long enough to add in another little one to my prayer times.  It was long enough to think about what life would be like with six.  It was long enough for my heart to break when I realized it wouldn’t be, after all.

Somehow, though, I wasn’t entirely surprised.  Maybe it’s just because it has happened twice before and I have a hard time expecting the best when I know there’s a very real possibility of the worst.  Maybe it’s because of how much this past week reminded me of how I felt the last time when it was going to end in the worst…how it seemed like my body was desperately trying to fix something that was going horribly wrong.  Or, maybe, God was gently preparing me so that I wouldn’t be completely blindsided.  I don’t know that half-expecting it makes it any easier, though.

…

When I woke up this morning, Caedmon was all ready for the day, and had gotten Elijah bathed and dressed, too.  They both hugged me, which was kind of unusual.  They had no idea; we hadn’t told them – or anyone – about the baby that was on the way.  It reminded me that God can make grace abound in the hardest moments.

…

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, And lean not on your own understanding;  In all your ways acknowledge Him, And He shall direct your paths. — Proverbs 3:5-6

Tomorrow, Ava will be 11 months old.  11 months.  It went so fast.  Yet, it is clear that she is well past her newborn days.  She’s walking.  She tries talking – mamamama, dadadada, gogogogo (when cheering for Daddy at softball), hi, gone, and lots of very animated babbling.  She loves food.  Her Daddy is her favorite playmate.  She puts everything in her mouth (much like her older sister did before her) but I think her foot finds its way there more than anything else.  She crawls up stairs and loves bathtime.  She wakes up many times a night (ironically, very unlike her newborn days) and naps little.  It is easy tell when she is tired because she [almost literally] starts bouncing off the walls.  She is mischievous and charming and loud and stubborn and beautiful.

I love her.

I’ve sort of refrained from writing about my garden this year, fearing I could end up sounding like a broken record from years past.  Nevertheless, it does consume a fair amount of my thought and attention these days, so here are some random snippets about my garden.

:: Japanese beetles.  Ick.  They did a small amount of damage last year, but didn’t actually ruin anything, so I left them alone when I first saw them a couple months ago.  That was a mistake.  My cabbage plants have been decimated, and the beetles are attacking my summer squash and zucchini with swarms of their larva.  Gross.  I hate bugs.  They’re gonna have to go.

:: Septoria leaf spot (I think) on my tomatoes.  Probably due to a combination of the rain, and my procrastination that has led to only one plant being staked up so far.  So I’ve had to prune every few days to get rid of the affected branches.  I’m not actually sure that it is entirely pointful, but it helps my peace of mind to not see wilting leaves on my tomato plants.

:: Weeds.  They’re everywhere.  Always.  Whenever I am pulling weeds, my thoughts inevitably turn to the many parallels between sin and weeds and necessity of being vigilant with bringing both into submission, lest they prevent good fruit from growing.  I could go into much greater depth of comparison, but I will spare you my analysis.  It’s nothing novel, I’m sure.

:: Eating vegetables.  I am not a vegetable lover by nature, which, oddly, I’m only just now fully realizing.  There are a few that I love…tomatoes, bell peppers, broccoli, corn, beets (weird, right?) and [my new favorite] sugar snap peas…but pretty much everything else falls into the ‘I should eat this because it’s good for me’ category.  Cabbage, carrots, lettuce, spinach, kale (okay, any leafy green), all squash, cauliflower, turnips, beans – they’re all acquired tastes, at best, and using up all that we have (which seems like a lot, between our garden and the CSA) can be difficult when, sometimes, I just want a cheeseburger.

:: Harvesting strawberries.  Well, not any more…but we did.  About a gallon, total.  We had some pest eat a bunch of them, and we left the runners on, which supposedly sacrifices fruit volume, but will hopefully result in more plants next year.  This was really exciting for me, and the berries were so good.  Some things in my garden just make me feel spoiled.  Strawberries are one of those things.

:: Time alone.  One of the unexpected joys of my garden this year is the opportunity it occasionally affords me of being able to head outside while little ones nap and big ones read to just be by myself – pulling weeds, harvesting veggies, or pruning tomato plants.  I can sing, or pray, or just think, for sometimes an hour or more, without interruption.  I can’t describe how much this has blessed me on days when my attitude has needed adjusting, or my heart has been heavy, or I’ve just been tired and in need of a break.  I’m thankful for the way God can take a not-so-pleasant-task, and pour out grace to me in the midst of it.

I am not a lover of dirt or bugs or sweat, and even less a lover of those things in combination.  But I love my garden in spite of all of that.  I love to see God’s provision and creative power.  I love to see fruit borne in the midst of imperfection.  I love knowing that, at the end of the day, no matter how much I weed, water and prune, it isn’t my effort that makes something grow, it’s His.  Even if I never got to benefit from my garden’s bounty, that reminder alone would be enough of a reason to love it.

After dinner tonight, I loaded all five kids into the van and set off to pick blueberries while Tim was busy soldering copper pipe.  I’d never done berry picking of any kind before, and the thought of doing something new, on my own, with little ones in tow was, honestly, a bit intimidating.  But, I wanted berries and picking our own was going to be a much better deal, so I was determined that, somehow, it would happen.  I was prepared for a sweaty, buggy, arguing-and-complaining-children-the-whole-time couple of hours.

What I got was simply God’s lavish grace.

The weather was perfect…70 degrees, no bugs, a cool breeze.  My children were unbelievably well behaved.  One even exclaimed, “this is the most fun I have ever had in my entire life!”.  They were having fun…and not in a wild, disobedient, loud kind of way, but in a productive, conscientious, calm kind of way.  I never once wanted to scream or pull my hair out.  In fact, when we had finished our first eight quarts, we were all game for getting another four quarts picked before closing time.  Everyone worked hard…even Ava sat [mostly] contentedly in her stroller for 2 hours (!).  I had a few moments of wondering when my luck was going to run out, but more than a few moments of being overwhelmed with thankfulness.

I need reminders sometimes, you know?  Reminders that things can go even better than expected.  Reminders that my kids really are blessings.  Reminders that God cares enough to bless me at times when I don’t deserve it, but need it most.  I miss the good in a lot of things.  It is rare for me to come away from any situation without seeing something that could have gone better.  But driving home tonight, all I could see was the goodness of God poured out to me.  Words can’t express my amazement at even this finite glimpse I get of all that He is.  He is glorious and gracious and loving and so much more and better than I could ever hope to describe.

And I get to spend eternity with Him.

The sermon in church yesterday was about being a pro-life people.  It was a welcome reminder about God’s design and love for each life.  And it made me think about not just those lost to abortion, but to those mothers (and fathers) who made such a devastating choice for their child.  While I know that there are those who, sadly, have never felt remorse or regret for their decision, my guess (and what others have said to be so) is that many are left with tremendous guilt.

I was thinking about this in light of the gospel.  I thought about how, as good as the news of God’s grace and forgiveness is, it can be so hard to receive and really walk in on a daily basis.  I wondered how someone gets past the grief of having participated in the death of an innocent child, to find the freedom that is promised in Christ.

As I prayed and thought about it, I was reminded of King David – his adultery with Bathsheba, her pregnancy, the murder of Uriah, and the judgment God brought on them in the death of their son.  While not exactly the same scenario, it is a story of sin and consequence.  David did things that were abhorrent in the eyes of the Lord.  Two innocent people died.  David and Bathsheba suffered a very real and deeply painful repercussion in the loss of their son.

But, there was repentance and forgiveness.

The relationship between David and the Lord was not lost.  And the biggest thing I saw as I thought about this story is that God used it for good…for Israel, and for all of humanity.  This adultery, this pregnancy, this murder of Uriah, led to David taking Bathsheba as his wife.  She later bore him Solomon, whom the Bible says was wiser than any who came before or after him, who built the temple for the Lord, who was a blessing to the nation of Israel.  And generations later, from the lineage of Solomon, Jesus was born.  The sin-soaked story was turned to one of purpose and redemption and hope.

The child, lost to his parents, was, nevertheless, used by God.

It is an amazing picture of God’s love and faithfulness to David, even in the face of David’s failings.  It is God proving Himself and His purposes greater than our sin.  It is a glimpse at God’s heart to restore and redeem and bring something beautiful from the ugliest of circumstances.  I pray that this grace -that goes beyond even the freedom from sin’s consequence, that establishes destiny in the midst of failure – would sink deep into the hearts of those who have felt the tormenting sting and condemnation that comes with the choice to end a life.  In this grace – in this God – is abundant life, peace that passes knowledge and joy unspeakable.  His goodness is beyond comprehension.