One Quiet Life

You have put more joy in my heart than they have when their grain and wine abound. ~Psalm 4:7 I close my day and the second full month since leaving my girl in a strange room. Her eyes danced in a mix of nerves and excitment. Mine were steely blue, unaware that tears would come a few days later. They still come at the strangest times. It's been two months in this new normal. It's been more difficult than I imagined, in ways different than I expected. I'm realizing how much of my identity - even, maybe especially, in our home - has been tied to being a mother. The daily demands of motherhood no longer clamor for my attention, a truth that saddens more than it relieves. Treading this foreign territory frequently requires more balance than I've been able to muster, though I am learning. Learning to find joy, because there is much joy to be found. Phone calls and text messages from my girl. Library books that whisk me away to England, France,...

A school bus passed by my house Friday afternoon. A sure sign that Autumn is on its way. Despite my dreams of cooler weather and pumpkin muffins, summer still burns down hot. It refuses to go without a fight. As I wait for the seasons to wrestle it out, I am doing some wrestling of my own. Finding this phase of my life a little uncomfortable. Stepping through each day gingerly, learning how to settle in. It will take time. In the meanwhile I'm adjusting to fewer loads of laundry and dishes, more time for reading and thinking. I'm also cleaning out some clutter, enjoying my library's digital audiobook service, loading up our Netflix and Amazon Prime queues, and looking for a good Bible study. Adjusting to a household of two will take time. And grace. And I'm thankful for each day that the Lord gives me both.

Nearly 18 years ago we brought our girl home from the hospital. She disrupted our comfortable life in every way possible. When she leaves for college next week, she'll do so again. It's written all over her face: she's ready! I have waxed poetic about how quickly the time has passed . It's true these are the days of bittersweet. Watching my girl chomping at the bit, so excited about what this next part of her life will hold is incredibly sweet. Understanding that this part of parenting is over and how far I missed the mark is bitter indeed. Syler Thomas writes , Raising children must be more about growing them as disciples than about our experience as their parents. His words cause me to examine the past 18 years. I cannot keep count of the moments that raising my daughter was about me - my expectations, my plans, my image, my happiness. How often did I earnestly seek God's expectations, God's plans, God's image, God's happiness? I squand...

I lost her infant and toddler years. They are a blur of diapers and sleepless nights. A terminally ill father-in-law. Balancing home and work. All bear equal blame. I would tiptoe into her room at night - oh, so careful not to wake her - and peer into the crib, determined to memorize every sweet line in her face. I knew I would never forget. I was wrong. I lost her preschool years. On-going health issues and a number of surgeries stole them from me. I was so focused on building a new home that her first day of kindergarten sprung upon me like a jack-in-the-box. I heard the music and I knew it was coming, but I was still startled by its appearance.   I lost her elementary school years. They are hidden among the ball practices and dance classes, homework, and church activities. We lived in 4-week increments of shift rotation - planning "girl time", trying our best not to wake Daddy, and looking forward to that one precious weekend each month when all three of ...

...doesn't enjoy the spotlight. She doesn't like to draw attention to herself. In a world of selfies and oversharing, I treasure that about her. The most important person in her life has always been her Daddy. They are peas in a pod, my Frick-and-Frack. One of the most joyous sounds I've ever known is their harmonious laughter. They look alike and they think alike. Not far behind her Daddy is mine. He is the only grandfather she remembers and she adores him wholeheartedly. She has a remarkable, understated wit. She doesn't try to be funny. She just is. Her deep blue eyes - the only trait I could claim as mine - are morphing into a stunning green. No matter their color, I have loved seeing the world through them: big, exciting, full of possibilities and challenges. She volunteers with the elderly, but her heart is with children. She wants to devote her life to making them well. The Lord has gifted her with a depth of compassion and mercy that I often envy an...

The white robe is tucked away in her closet. The mortar board is hiding in the guest room. The announcements have been put in the mail box. Each evening my girl gives the countdown. There's no need. A mother is well aware of how quickly her little girl is vanishing before her very eyes. This week she receives the cord, the golden tassel, and the stoles that mark her years of hard work. Next week she'll march the final steps of her childhood. And through the tears, I will be cheering her on: sad that this part of her life is ending, and thankful that the Lord has allowed me to be a part of it.

Every year a mama bird builds her nest atop one of our porch pillars. Newborns tweet the morning alarm, perched high above the reach of the stray cats that inevitably come. Stealthily they prowl about, hoping one of the babies will test its wings too soon and breakfast will be served. Mama returns with food and a soothing lullaby. She nurtures and strengthens her young, preparing them for the future. Meanwhile, the enemy lurks below. Most of the babies stay put, nestled away in a fortress of twigs and leaves. But every once in a while, one will grow restless. Mama doesn't return before hunger overtakes sense. Shaky, immature wings are no match for gravity. The enemy pounces, struts away in victory. I've watched the ritual each Spring. This year it moves me to tears. It's nearly 18 years since I became a Mama. By God's grace, I've nurtured and protected. The enemy has come close, but my baby has been shielded atop the pillar of God's truth. Her dad and I ha...

In this first, quiet month I am: ~ enjoying reading at a much slower pace ~seeing how much my Bible study, daily Bible reading, and other reading are fitting together. Some difficult, but necessary lessons. ~planning to share what I'm learning soon. At least portions of it. ~reconciling myself to the fact that I can't stop high school graduation or the ensuing departure for college. I might have cried when reading college acceptance letters. ~watching the Lord unfurl my girl's wings in preparation for her flight from the nest. ~curious to know what the empty nest will feel like, and trying hard not to think about it. ~happy for seasonable weather, at long last! ~savoring the empty spaces left behind by Christmas decorations tucked away again. ~revamping my homekeeping schedule, marveling at how much better it works for me, and wondering why it's taken me so long.  ~learning the importance of balance in all things. ~accepting the necessary place qu...

I'm not sure when I've been so happy to turn the calendar page. October was suddenly and unexpectedly difficult this year. Grieving with friends through tragedy. Marking my girl's final birthday at home. Senior year expenses that I'm quite sure will never end. Walking with my girl through the stress of college essays and applications. A painful truth that I didn't want to acknowledge, but can no longer ignore. Though even in these trials the Lord has been good, knowing that hasn't erased the hard of it all. There were days when I wanted nothing more than to crawl under my covers and weep. October is gone and I am relieved. I am thankful . In this month of gratitude, I am: ~Just finished with a book that was so beautifully written , it took my breath away at times ~Thrilled that the college applications have nearly all been submitted ~Anxiously awaiting to see where the Lord will place my girl next year ~Planning ways to make this holid...

Darkness falls earlier while temperatures fall lower. The air is filled with sounds of tractors humming and smells of earth turned over. A few brave leaves sever their ties and waft to the ground. The farmers market is ablaze in deep greens and oranges. Autumn is upon us. In these early days of the new season, I am: Reading more books. Using the tea kettle more frequently. Savoring my girl's final year of high school. Celebrating her birthday. Cleaning out cabinets and closets. Enjoying clean spaces. Anticipating bonfires. Thanking God for the gift of this quiet life.

Last week I wrote about my need to declutter physical stuff. As I've been doing that, I've come up with the Rule of Two. First of all, the Rule of Two implies that I have no more than two of anything. Of course there are obvious exceptions such as clothing, books, shoes, etc. And while I need more than two dinner plates, do I really need more than two Christmas platters? Yes I need more than two coffee mugs, but what about two water pitchers? Asking myself these questions has given me the freedom to let some things go, and enough cabinet space to clean off the kitchen counters. Sometimes  two is the perfect number. Sets of sheets, for example. Usually laundered sheets go back on the beds, but there are days when it's so much easier to make a bed with the second set and do the laundry later. My need for the occasional convenience outweighs the need for the storage space occupied by the extra sets. Sometimes two is too many. Why have two small baskets on a counter,...

Last time I mentioned that I had an inkling of what this space will be. I've been giving it quite a bit of thought - much more than I've given this blog in quite some time. I do have a plan, one that I hope will inspire me to write and create this spot of peace and rest. The changes here are being wrought from changes at home. I've been overwhelmed for far too long. I need space to stretch out, to breathe - spiritually, physically, and emotionally. I'm learning once again to simplify. Spiritually . I've been back and forth about Bible reading plans. Every time I try to start one, I fail. Yes, I believe that reading the Bible in its entirety is important, but putting a time frame on it is overwhelming to me because I also like deep study. However, deep study itself can also be overwhelming. There have been times I've spent a week studying 2 verses. I need to simplify. I'm blessed to have a pastor who preaches expositionally (which means we just spent 18...

We can put down our tools. We can close our computers. We can forbid those thoughts about that next meeting or those emails waiting for a reply or how the numbers aren’t as high as we’d like. We can stop and trust him who justifies the ungodly. We can trust that when Jesus died in our place on the cross, he died to destroy all the anxieties of our lack, to still our ceaseless striving, to hush the winds of our self-justifying labor, to irrevocably connect us to the abundance of his grace we possess by his work, not ours. We can trust the Lord of Rest who came to give us rest, and say, because of who he is: Stop making bricks — you can stop. Jonathan Parnell's words  strike a chord in my heart. For some time now blogging has seemed like work. Not that it's a work I've been good at. 10 posts in 2015 hardly qualifies as blogging. I haven't done much more at Out of the Ordinary . I'm not sure where my interest in writing has gone, but it has most definitely v...

This space has remained quiet for a long time. Perhaps too long. Sometimes I wonder if I should brush away the cobwebs, start writing here again. I look at the list of half-written draft posts and ask myself if I'll ever finish them. Then there's the question of who's still reading, and if I'm writing for you few or for myself. Every time I think of blogging again, I inevitably ask myself what I want this blog to be.  It seems paradoxical to talk too much, given my blog title. I live a quiet life, filled with ordinary days. Nothing particularly noteworthy to share. The things that mean the most to me are the simple moments that make up my days. Long conversations with my daughter about today, tomorrow, and the dreams of her life. Sitting on the front porch with my husband, talking about subjects both serious and not-so-serious and watching blue birds dart through the evening sky. Getting lost in a good book. Nurturing relationships outside of a compute...

The morning fog testifies to the cool night that has passed. Peanuts, at long last unearthed, lie on the ground in wait. Pumpkin spices fill the air. Autumn is slowly creeping in. As the days grow shorter, I am: ~ Preparing to celebrate my daughter's 16th birthday and wondering how we got here this quickly. ~ Enjoying the final weeks of field hockey season. ~ Purging closets and drawers. ~ Relishing the feeling of accomplishment an orderly and simple home gives me. ~ Hoping for energy to tackle the attic. ~ Delighting in my nightly visit to Mitford. I'm reading the first book, At Home in Mitford . Yes, I know I'm woefully behind the times! I've decided to crawl out from under my rock. ~ Studying The Word of the Lord: Seeing Jesus in the Prophets by Nancy Guthrie. ~ Having a blast teaching children's Sunday School with my husband. ~ Whittling my blog reading list. The taunts of the unread posts in my reader were entirely too much to h...