my peace

 by Alanna

Jesus is Himself our peace. I've thought about it a lot over this past summer, as things have felt more crazy than usual in north Minneapolis. I know there have been more shootings, but I didn't grieve many of them until the one right down the street from us, in broad daylight. It made me sad that I didn't know who the man was, that I'd never know if he made it in the end. And the fight made me sad too, two weeks later, from a different house. Also in the daylight, also a common occurence here. But knowing these kids- their names and faces- has grown my love and thus my capacity to weep with and for them. To weep for all the brokenness here. Jesus is Himself our peace. I had opportunity to speak as much to a few neighbors and the lady who delivered our mail that day. Just a few words, not much.  

But then burdens hit closer to home too. In my own family, my own friends. And then it feels like the dark is descending early and my own mind becomes a muddle some days. Maybe it's the long shadows or the dark mornings, maybe it's just the way the baby has shifted all these chemicals in my body. Maybe I'm just tired. Jesus is Himself my peace.

 Last weekend we went out to the forest, and I remember feeling so bad that morning and just thankful that we were getting out in nature somewhere. Trees will fix this, I think. The beautiful fall colors, moving my feet one in front of the other, holding small hands of my little people. Somewhere to be. Beauty. But then on the drive it hit me so hard. Jesus is Himself my peace. Sometimes I feel closer to Him out there, but sometimes I feel just as muddled. It's Him I long for. It's heaven. To me they are the same. The trees won't fix this. But He Himself is my peace.  

So when I cried in my bed that night I first cried out to Him in the blackness. Jesus I need you. Jesus I want you. Jesus I am nothing without you. Everything else could go and He is all I really want. He Himself is my peace.

(And then this picture arrived in my inbox, in the kind of e-mails I never open, but just tonight...)

labor

by Alanna

Another baby is growing inside of me. Found out about a month ago, now about 9 weeks old in utero. I was overjoyed when I saw those two lines on that pregnancy test. Which in some ways might seem crazy since we have 4 other kids and our oldest is 5.

Pregnancy is not my favorite. The nausea, the exhaustion, the hormone that loosens all my joints, the change in my center of balance and my lap size for book reading with the toddlers, the effect on my husband and I's love life. It's a rough nine months.  Also, there are few experiences I can imagine that are more painful than giving birth. I remember being so scared the first time, and then equally scared every time after that. It's not just the physical pain, but just the whole out-of-controlness of the whole situation. You don't get to tell your body what to do in labor. It's incredible and amazing that God designed a woman's body to take over that process and handle it so perfectly, but still....it's not my favorite.

So why am I so excited about this one? Because I've been excited for every one. Because pregnancy and labor and delivery are only the beginning of the story, and they're only a small part of it too. Perspective is everything. From the baby's perspective, the time in the womb is peaceful growth. And my baby's life right now is precious and of great worth because they are created in the image of God. So what is a little bit of nausea compared to the receiving of an eternal soul into the world? Pretty minuscule. Yes there is this struggle. One of my kids recently described it as "kind of like working for a reward mom. Being sick is the work, but the baby is the reward." We get this hard, painful waiting period but then this incredible gift of literal life. Lord willing that life is many many years. But even if it is a day? It is precious. A new human being, created in God's image with the capacity to love and be loved by their Creator. It's awe inspiring. It is worth waiting for.

The Year of Our Lord

By Mary

They say the days are long but the years are short, when it comes to raising little ones. It's true. And while unrelated to raising children (I think?), apparently  I also have very little sense of the passage of time, because I was quite shocked at how far back I had to go to find my last post on this blog.

But here I am again. A thought has been lodged firmly in the back of my mind, though it's been months probably since it first entered my head and I thought now would be as good a time as any to share it. 

I was driving alone--driving alone having become a much less rare occasion since the world went topsy turvy in the late winter months. My husband usually works half days and stays home with the kids when I shop for groceries. A friend had posted online, saying something along the lines of "be kind, no one is having a great year." Countless memes also passed through my head, ones that had entertained me with their dark humor over the train wreck the year 2020 was shaping up to be. One in particular was in my mind, something like--

3,500 B.C. Mankind invented the wheel.A.D. 1903 Mankind's first flight.A.D. 2020 Mankind learns how to wash their hands. 

A.D. 2020, I thought. What a year. 

But that little "A.D." tacked on at the beginning really captured my thoughts...anno Domini, in the year of our Lord.

It's still His year. No matter what's happening or isn't happening, it's in His hands, accomplishing His purpose and drawing us ever closer to the Day of the Lord.

"Since all these things are thus to be dissolved, what sort of people ought you to be in lives of holiness and godliness, waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be set on fire and dissolved, and the heavenly bodies will melt as they burn! But according to His promise we are waiting for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells." 2 Peter 3:11-13

Let us be found living a life of holiness and godliness. Hasten the day!

a day of penguins

by Alanna

Dear Emmanuel,

Happy Birthday! Today you are three years old, and still a delight to us all. You love baby penguins, puppies, and anything else that is a baby. You love to pretend to be a puppy, maybe because as my most middle child you are seeking my attention. But darling, as I often remind you, you have my love always and when you need a mama snuggle you have only to ask.

Because of your love for penguins, we tried to make our first "specialty" cake. I baked and made the frosting, your Papa decorated it. It turned out a little bluer than anticipated, but you and your siblings loved it. They helped you decorated the table and fan in penguins too, and I impulsively bought you a baby penguin stuffed animal at the grocery store. You didn't even notice the lack of a special date or the lack of balloons. You had your special pizza and your cake and your little "Pingu" and you were so happy.

You still love music, and do the most adorable head bobbing finger snapping dance the moment you hear the first notes of "The Fox" by Nickel Creek. It is currently your favorite song, although you are enjoying the silly songs with Larry that I've recently introduced to your world. You also like Fatoumata Diawara, Playing for Change, and anything else that moves you. You feel the beat inside of you, like your dad. I love watching you when the music turns on.

You are starting to love your little brother more, although getting along with him is still a struggle. I noticed you two dancing with your stuffed animals and laughing together yesterday. You love to make each other laugh. You also want to keep up with the "older" kids and are already a pro at riding the scooter (left footed of course). You like to play outside and collect treasures in your coat pocket. You still don't like coloring, but on your birthday I saw you enjoy it for the first time when we handed you a baby penguin to color.

You have always brought people so much joy. You say the most hilarious things all the time. Confident statements that are both ridiculous and adorable. You make everybody laugh. You love to give and receive kisses. Recently we were talking a little about heaven, and you said "Mom, I really want to be with Jesus." I pray that you will be someday. That little seed of desire in you would grow and became a mighty force bent toward heaven. I pray that you would love Jesus and that He'd be your greatest joy. I know that He could shine through you in such an incredible way to the world around you.  We love you, always and forever. I'm so thankful that you are my son.


 

the truth

by Alanna

Minnesota is where we live.

It's cloudy and cold here but the sun still keeps us alive.

And some days are sunny.

Everything is a brilliant green in the summer.

God gave us our house right where He wanted it to be.

Hurting people live all around us.

We have the hope of Jesus in us.

We can offer it to them.

I have an incredible husband.

His love for me amazes me every day. 

I have four beautiful children.

I will never get over the depth I find in their eyes. 

An artistic, compassionate daughter who is a leader.

Who cries for the hurting and the lost.

Who loves to care for others.

With a tender conscience.

Who wants to believe in Jesus but isn't quite sure yet.

A strong willed, smart, scientific, and athletic son.

Who at four still loves to curl up on the rocking chair with me.

Who is nearly always willing to share and welcome others in.

Who loves to learn all things, but especially numbers. 

Another son who has always been the one to spread joy to all.

Who loves to pretend to be a puppy.

Who is always seeking and giving affection to me.

Who feels music in his bones and his soul the way his papa does.

And my littlest boy who is pure delight.

Who is literary and never tires of book reading.

Who learns so quickly and talks so much.

Who quickly learns to love and welcome each new person in his life.

And one precious child of my heart who lives across the ocean.

Whom God has so miraculously kept and grown.

My children are lost too.

I can share Jesus with them.

Every day I have the chance to love.

I get to make our house a beautiful place.

We get to be hospitable.

I get to love on my own littles.

My brother lives with us.

And he is a blessing words can't express.

I have friends here.

And friends far away.

I have parents who love Jesus.

I get to love my husband every day.

Investing in marriage matters.

Investing in my children matters.

Investing in this neighborhood matters.

Investing in our church plant matters.

Investing in North Minneapolis matters.

Investing in friends matters.

I am blessed beyond measure.

God is here.

And there's nowhere better to be than where He is.

He is trustworthy.

And worthy of praise.

Even today.

honesty

by Alanna

  Today is my thirtieth birthday. I am 30 years old. There. I've said it. Ever since I turned 22 I've been unwilling to say goodbye to 21. Some of it has to do with immaturity, a silly desire to not want to grow up or grow old. I'd still like to climb around on playgrounds if my hip would let me. 30 feels like definitely, undeniably an adult. It feels rather in the middle of life. You'd think with four kids I would have felt like an adult long ago. But lots of days I still just wish someone would tell me what to do, or that I could curl up in some giant lap and cry there safe and secure. Maybe I'm just immature.

  But there's something more. I recently rediscovered this long note I wrote in my journal when I was fourteen. In part of it I wrote about wanting marriage, but then "right now, more than that, more than anything, I want to be in an orphanage. I want to be taking care of Your little ones who aren't loved by anyone else. I think I would give up just about anything to be overseas right now. Christy wants to come with me in the summer of 2008, but it's so far away from now. And, Lord, I have so little patience...." For twenty years this desire has grown in me. This weight of the suffering. This knowledge of the hurting. This awareness of just how much hope Jesus has to offer, and just how badly I want to join with what He is offering to the world. God hasn't told me to stop hoping for a life in a poorer country. But He has definitely held me here. I think, I hope, that He wants our family to be in a place where this is little gospel. Where we can sit with the suffering, though God knows we will never be in their place. 

  So here's honesty. The waiting is hard. And part of what makes me not to want to acknowledge birthdays is that I don't want to think about the years passing by. What am I doing with my life? Why are we here if we both want to be there? Why does God put dreams in our hearts long before their fruition? So today feels hard.

 I'm learning to let myself feel. Asking God to let me cry more. It's scary but not as terrifying as apathy and sleep. Thankfully He's answering that and I've cried a little every day the past few. Sometimes I just miss the sun. But today I just sit and give Him my heart and tell Him that the waiting is hard. That sometimes I wonder what He's doing and why.

"If I am ever going to do what is on my heart (and Yours too I hope), I will have to trust You and rely on You completely." -Me at fourteen. I guess I never realized how hard that would be.

bringing you through that door

by Alanna

There's this door in my heart. Most the time I keep it shut and locked. I've even let the vines grow over it so some days I hardly notice that it's there. Behind it lies the suffering of millions. A bloody holocaust in the country I call my own. The cries of all the Djemys in the world who are separated from their parents for a chance at survival. The senseless deaths of so many from diseases that are easily preventable, easily treatable. The mommas who can't feed the babies they pushed out of their own frail bodies. The man who stands on the corner with a sign looking for what? For hope? And that small broken country just a two hour flight south from our prosperity. Those five letters that put together and spoken aloud make me cry every time. And those starving for truth. All over the whole world.

The reason I keep that door locked is because I can't fix those things. I can't even hop on a plane and go sit with them in their suffering. I can't mail them my life savings. And I can't just lay in bed and cry for them all day. To weep with those who weep could be debilitating when so much of the world is weeping, so many of these twenty four hours. I also don't know what to do when I feel cold water flow over my hands from the tap in my kitchen, every day. On and on it could come. And I feel so acutely that I don't deserve this, and that all is grace but how do I give some of mine to them?

Anyway, since the door got opened recently I've been thinking that maybe the solution isn't always to keep it shut and locked. Maybe there's something more I can do than just pray and cry. Maybe I should give my children a glimpse inside. Not into the horrors, no. They are too young and innocent. But maybe I should crack their vision just a little bit, to realize that the world is big. That we have been given what we have been given for a purpose. That maybe, just maybe, we could give our box of granola bars to the man on the corner. That we could pray together for the kids who are hurting in a country that's not ours. And choose to believe that those prayers matter because God made all these promises to be the defender of the fatherless. That we could share everything, however we can, and and claim nothing our own. I don't know what that could look like. And the not knowing makes me too afraid to try. But tonight I don't want to fear anymore. I want to try to crack that door. And trust the King with that flood of sorrow, come what may. Maybe I'm not meant to keep the door closed. Maybe I'm meant to bring others through it.

we're missing a three year old

by Alanna

 dear Samuel,

Happy Birthday! You turned 4 last Friday, leaving an absence in our family of a 3 year old presence. (At least for the next 2 months until your brother claims that spot). For your birthday celebration you had three clear wishes, which you had been quietly but consistently making known for the past several weeks. Pizza, a birthday cake, and building a snowman. Last week new sticky snow fell and it warmed up enough to go out, so we made two snowmen together the day before your birthday. And on Friday you got your wish for pizza and a chocolate birthday cake, plus a lunch date with your papa to Chipotle, and a sledding trip with our whole family. Even Uncle Isaac came along. Your Baboushka helped decorate the dining room for dinner so it felt like a real party, and everyone spoke words of life to you; ways we thank God for you. 

We call you the scientist, because you love to figure out how things work. You like to ask questions about things, but also to express the discoveries you've made on your own. Last week you announced to me during snack time that two groups of five blueberries makes ten. I think you learn a lot of things like this, on your own, through experimentation. Sometimes this experimentation combines with your impulsivity and grows my patience. But mostly I love watching you figure things out. You are not doing any official school, but you like learning things with Isabella and on Mondays we do some letter work together. You know enough to have written HPBRD and an S by yourself on the whiteboard for your birthday celebration.

You still like doing puzzles, but legos even more. You are still so athletic and I'm sure by now your hand-eye coordination has surpassed mine when it comes to whacking balls out of the air with any stick-like object. You like to kick balls around and jump on the trampoline and mattress downstairs, but you still fall asleep on the couch with me most afternoons. You still love to read books and to snuggle with your mama and your grey owl blanket. And you love the outdoors! It is never too cold for you to want to go out and climb "Mt. Baldy"- the pile of snow that buries our back fence every winter. 

You are shy and anxious around strangers and unfamiliar situations. But you are very attached to your family, especially Isabella. You and her play well together for hours every day. You are learning to assert yourself a little more when she tries to boss you around, which is good for both of you. We are praying for you these days to love your closest brother more, knowing he is the hardest one for you to get along with lately.  I love hearing you two laugh together though. You are so gentle and kind to Nehemiah. You chase him around and make him laugh, then let him climb into your bed and snuggle with you. I pray that God grows your heart more and more in that kind of gentle strength.

We are so thankful to God that He created you and put you into our family.  I can see so many ways that He has grown you in this past year. I pray that you hear His voice at a young age and don't fear to follow Him, no matter the cost. I love you my precious son. To the moon and back. For ever and always.

the true story

by Alanna

I don't know that I generally like to write on my dark days. I guess I'd call this one of them, although it started out pretty well. Happy, but with dark lurking at the corners of my mind. Whispering the inevitability of it. I'd had so many happy days in a row, where I felt sane and well and excited to do life. I guess my mind felt I deserved a bad one. Of course I know, deep down, it doesn't work that way. Joy begets joy, not sorrow. Maybe I just didn't fight it the way I should have this morning. Maybe I didn't fight it at all. I've been doing all the right things. Lots of Vitamin D, exercising, the sun lamp, time in the Bible, praying, having people over.  But truth is, sometimes all the right things happen and I still find myself standing in the kitchen staring blankly at the countertops. Because the truth is, we have so much less power than we think we do over our own stories. Not in a fatalistic sort of way. I believe in the fight. Just in a trusting that God knows best kind of way. Taking deep breaths when it feels hard to breathe. Whispering thanks to Him. Choosing good, but acknowledging too the brokenness of this world. The brokenness of me. It didn't help that I failed as a mom today, in so many ways. The feelings I have when I yell at my kids or treat them meanly, they are not conducive to climbing out of the pit. But thank God I have a Savior. There's this Ginny Owens song that's been running through my head tonight. True Story. That God knows all of our mess ups, sees behind every mask. He does truly know the ugliness in me. More than even my kids, more than my spouse. Those I sin against the most.  And He knows the good He created in me too. Even when I can't see it. Jesus took responsibility and the blame for all of my failures. And so He loves me. My Father loves me. Tonight, no matter how my heart feels, my soul will tell my mind to rest. To sleep in peace and not to cry too long. Because my soul is well. And His mercies are new every morning.