your hurt and God's glory

 by Alanna

I remember sitting out on my front porch with you in the dark last summer. I think that's maybe when we really became friends. You still make my kids laugh and hold my baby but things are different now. I see the pain in your eyes. I feel it when I hug you. That afternoon you stood in my kitchen and when I hugged you goodbye you crumpled in pain. Hurt. Again. Your mind. Your body. Your spirit. Broken. I want so much for you to know that your Creator made you for more than this. Your broken texts and your quiet words echo in my mind too much. If I could hold the feeling of immense worth and love in my hands and pass it into yours I would close your fingers around those feelings so you would never let them go. I want so much for you to believe truth. I want the lies and the fog to clear. I want you to see. I want you to be safe.

You shed tears that day. The one I will never forget when you sat at my table. The bread between and the holy moment quiet and unbroken. Where did you go? I cried so long and I pounded so hard on that door. And time passed and my heart grew numb with the hurt. I want you to know grace. To know how loved you are. To know the King of the universe and that He never expected more from you than just quiet trust. For all the unanswered questions that I never had an answer to. You changed my life in so many ways. And in the car that day when we spoke of goodbyes. And I saw in my son's eyes his heart brimful, but the tears didn't spill over when he whispered those awful words. I was so thankful that day to be able to face forward and cry and cry and he never knew. How can I give him answers to a reality that breaks me to pieces. I want you to believe.

You are precious and valuable and I wish I had spent more time in our childhood rehearsing those truths over and over to you. How to deal with the regrets now. You ran to so many things except to the one place where you would find true healing. I'm sorry I haven't loved you better. I never knew the right words to say. But my heart broke when you called me. It breaks for you still. All that pain in cycles you can't escape on your own. I see in you a reflection of where I would be if He hadn't chased me down.  Your Creator made you fearfully and wonderfully beautiful. I wish I could take your sorrow from you. I wish you could see that your Savior bled for all that hurt and sin so that you wouldn't have to. I want you to be free.

I pick up the pen to write you and it's always a complicated dance. There's so much in my heart that I want for you. So much healing and hope and peace. Deep down and rock solid. But I struggle too. I know the dark days. The clouds feel like a blanket today that suffocate me and the snow coming down just makes it that much harder to breathe. I have to fight for joy too. I want you to be whole.

In a mysterious way that I can't comprehend, you hold my heart still. The green mountains and the rocky paths. Your people's greetings in the streets. How can one small place hold so much human suffering. I'm so sorry for all my country has done to you. I'm so sorry for all of your hunger and your orphans and the occupation and the army's brutality over all these years. He promised, when the poor and needy seek water and their tongue is parched with thirst, that He would answer them. Sometimes I confess with Lecrae that He feels far away. In all the rubble and chaos. It feels jarring to me that I can sit and type these words from a safe house with a full belly and electric lights. I can't pretend to know all the hurt you hold. I want your people to be well. 

  

the days to come

 by Alanna

Tomorrow my mom will fly home, and about a week afterward my brother will go too. My husband and I will be the team that keeps on here, in this place where God has sovereignly placed us. This morning I cried for a moment because I am anxious when I look forward. How will we take on all of these responsibilities? How do I start daily caring for 6 small people age 7 and under? Homeschooling, laundry, meals, cleaning, heart shepherding, changing nappies, doctor appointments. How will my husband hold up with full time seminary, part time work, and all that he does here morning and evening and all his spare time devoted to his children and me? I fear sin conquering me in these long days to come. I fear my impatience and my temper and my murmuring and my discontentment.  The Lord knows. 

He is a God who sees. He saw Hagar and called to her, not the once but twice. And He opened her eyes too- to see the well of water that was already there. "Fear not...up! Lift up the boy, and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make him into a great nation." (Genesis 21:18)

He is a God who multiplies. Broken fragments of bread, totally insufficient. ("There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish, but what are they for so many?" John 6:9) In His hands, fragments become baskets of excess.

He is a God who is with me. "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10

He is the bread of life, the living water, the One from whom when we drink we will never thirst again. 

He is the light of the world. Those who follow Him will not walk in darkness. Those who hope in Him will never be put to shame. 

He is a promise keeper. "And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ." He is able. 

I may lack what I need. Energy, strength, patience, love, time. But I will not lack Him. And in Him is everything. My sufficiency. His name is a strong tower. He is enough. Not just today in my quiet house while the baby sleeps, but in a month when two are fighting and three are hungry and one poops up his back and the other needs a nap. When I feel sucked dry, He will be enough. 

newborn days

 by Alanna

Our son Obadiah was born in the wee hours of the morning, one day at the end of August. My heart overflows when I think about the miracle of another life born into our family. Our 6th child, our 5th son. Feels like we had just one baby girl, I blinked. And now a house that teems with small voices, small thundering feet, little hands reaching around my neck. I love these days. Especially the first ones, when everyone comes to snuggle on my bed and has to take turns holding "our new baby." 

It's the days when I am okay with resting and I spend hours nursing this new little person. I have time, time to see the other kids and be reminded again of the unique and incredible gift that each one is to us. I marvel at the gift of my husband and the sacrifices he makes to clean the house and move along endless laundry loads and keep the other five stomachs fed. It's no small feat. And even in these long tiring days for him, he is kind to me and extends grace. Friends take the kids to the park, to their house, to play and I get hours of baby snuggles and naps. It is a time for me to marvel. A time for me to worship Jesus who gave me all these gifts. 

So thankful for my mom who comes and makes this all look too easy. Feeding littles, homeschooling, changing nappies, cleaning bathrooms, cleaning out the fridge and the microwave and the stove. Her quiet spirit is a beautiful treasure and it exhorts me to quiet mine. So thankful for the gift of my brother. Who takes out the trash quietly and doesn't complain when I used up all the eggs. Who hustles the kids out the door this morning for their nature day so I can have time to rest again. 

Thank you Jesus. I don't take this for granted. These six healthy babies, six easy labors and deliveries with no complications. This hasn't been our doing. It takes three to make a baby, and every one has been a gift from our good Father. My heart overflows with love for them. Thank you Jesus. I feel this deeply today from Samuel Rutherford- 

"Oh, if the heaven, and the heaven of heavens, were paper, 
and the sea ink,
and the multitude of mountains pens of brass,
and I able to write that paper, within and without,
 full of the praises of my fairest, my dearest,
my loveliest, my sweetest, my matchless,
and my most marrowless and marvelous Well-beloved!"

A Bountiful Harvest

 By Mary

I've always been a bit of a black thumb...I never really tried my hand at growing much when I was younger, and my first attempts as an adult were pretty pitiful (my husband will never let me live down my efforts with hydrangeas)

Somewhere along the line, I've become something of a farm girl wanna-be, and even though I know I completely idealize certain jobs like canning and bread-baking—which, of course, would always be done in perfect peace in a mess-free kitchen with sunlight streaming through the windows--the desire tends to wax rather than wane (can't I just get a cute little mini Jersey cow and some chickens in an adorable coop?)

 Unfortunately, my tendency to kill plants has always been a bit of a downer on any homesteading-esque dreams, but last year I got brave and actually planted things. Admittedly, the bravery mostly came because we were living with my mom and everything seems so much more doable if your mom is doing it with you, but at any rate, we did it. An evening of research, an afternoon building a raised bed with my brother, a trip to the garden center, a morning of nervously and prayerfully planting, and we had an actual garden! That grew! And produced fruit!

I may have been pitifully excited, but it made for a complete change in my perspective. Instead of assuming anything I touched would eventually die off, I was hopeful. Maybe I could actually be a gardener! But I had to get more informed. So this past year I've been reading books and articles, learning about soils and companion plants, planting, pruning, harvesting, composting, and fertilizing. I gathered ideas for how to foodscape and blend the productive with the ornamental. I  kept an eye on the sunlight in our new yard over the winter and tried to plan accordingly. We made a retaining wall raised bed and asked our landscaper to put in apple trees and serviceberries. My procrastination even paid off this time so that my plants were safe inside their little pots in my house when our late May snow hit. I made some soil improvements and, again, prayerfully planted. 

We'll see what happens this year, but I'm excited. And I find with this newfound interest, different parts of the Bible are impressing me in different ways. One of my favorite examples is from John 15:1-2-“I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit He takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit." 

These verses were on my mind often, pruning last season's tomatoes. When we first planted, we didn't know much about the pruning process and were just happy seeing it grow full and tall and healthy. But eventually we learned about suckers, the little branch-offs from the main branches. They looked just as nice and healthy as the rest and they even made the plant look more impressive, but they were sapping energy that should have been going towards the flowers to bear fruit. With the suckers, there would still be fruit. They weren't necessarily harmful. But pruning the suckers concentrated the plant's energy along the productive branches to bear much fruit, a more bountiful harvest than would have otherwise occurred.

This thought of pruning is both a challenge and a comfort to me. A challenge to consider, am I investing in things in my life that are detracting from what will bear fruit? On a daily basis, am I guided more by the Spirit or by my to-do list? Am I open to pruning off vacuuming for the day to make room for a more fruitful conversation? And a comfort to consider that, however much I esteemed a thing, however attached I may have been, if God is pruning it away, a more bountiful harvest is ahead.

 

identity and my safe place

 by Alanna

The day after my son overturns my heart in the kitchen, I am driving past our pond and suddenly it comes to my heart out of nowhere. Who is my safe place? 

 People come and people go. A lot of both lately, but two people so close to us are leaving in the next 10 days. One we likely will never speak to again. One has become such a kindred spirit and I am not sure what I will do without her. Thankfully God does. In all these things I hurt.  I long for a safe place. Someone to hold me and whom I can find rest in.  I fight so hard for approval from people, fickle and sinful. Beautiful but marred. Long for a sign that my kids love me back, that any of all this investing has a payoff somewhere. But what am I fighting for really? Who am I? This morning I cried so hard because letting people close to you means letting them hurt you. It means forgiveness and crying in the shower and into your pillow, swallowing all that pain but really just surrendering it. Remembering that on the cross Jesus bore all of our sins and all of our sorrows.

People come and people go. Like me, broken. I love them but I can't find myself in them. Jesus is my Redeemer, brother, friend. He is my safe place.  

fear and your safe place

 by Alanna

It was one of those afternoons. 5 p.m. The house a wreck. Raw meat in the fridge, snack dishes still in the sink. Baby crying because he didn't nap well earlier and doesn't seem inclined to nap now. The backyard isn't picked up again. Me feeling like a failure. I start rehearsing those lines in my head before I even know what is happening. You suck at life. But this time I stop, reign it in. Pray. I remember the feeling of soil on my hands, because 20 minutes ago I was digging in it with eight little hands helping mine. We planted lettuce, flowers, collard greens, and something with pink stems that I can't remember the name of. Not because I think they will survive but because someone gave them to me for free and I so long for my kids to learn to grow things in the earth even if their mama can't. I give them til tomorrow before the rabbits and squirrels eat them. But it was so fun.

My kind husband takes four of the kids so I can have just one with me in the kitchen. My true middle child. He loves being here. He would be my kitchen assistant every day if he could, but Tuesdays are his day so he revels in them. Today he sits up on the counter and we start mixing spices for meatballs. I ask him why he likes being my kitchen assistant so much. Because he likes cooking? Or he likes hanging out with me? "Well, mm, I do like, mm, cooking pasta." Sometimes his constant pauses and backtracks annoy me but in this moment they are so beautiful.  "But I also like, mm, spending time with you. Because when I'm with you, mm, I think about you, and not about anything scary. So that's why I like it." I stop with my hand in the meat, look into his eyes. It hits me so weighty. I am his safe place. And this feels heavy in a way that lightens my heart of so many loads. So many things don't matter anymore. The long list of things I never seem to accomplish. The bathroom trash overflowing. The sticky spots under the table. I realize all at once in this moment that my kids don't care about any of this. And it's not what they will remember when they grow up. They will remember that I was their safe place. And in this one way maybe I am not failing them. Even when I feel so lost and lacking.  Praise the Lord.  

Need a Little Christmas (The Light of the World)

By Mary

The holidays are long over, the new year already speeding along. Still Christmas lights shine from many a house as I walk with my husband and our dog along the darkened streets at night. They all seemed to be brought out early too. "All bets are off this year,” I heard people say, “We all just need some extra comfort and cheer.” I sang snippets of the familiar song in my head as all the lights showed up long before Christmas—We need a little Christmas, right this very minute…And the truth hidden within them struck me. It might not be candles and carols that we’re in need of, but how we need Christmas! How we need Christ and His entering into our world to redeem us! How we need His comfort and hope and light.

 Whether it was the heaviness of the past year or talk of a long, dark winter stretching out in front of us, Jesus as the Light was constantly on my mind at the closing of the year. And whether or not Jesus was actually born in December, I love the beauty of celebrating the Light of the World at the darkest time of the year, the lights sprinkled through neighborhoods and inside our homes becoming a reminder that He is our Light and Life—on the grayest, gloomiest of days, and the deepest darkness in our spirits.

 “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.”