so much grace...

 by Alanna

Thank you Jesus for this gift. For this baby snuggled against me now. For all the time you gave him to grow inside of me. For forming perfectly every part of him. 

Thank you Jesus for his birth. For an easy labor, an easy delivery. For medicine and midwives and a beautiful place for him to enter the world. For my supportive husband and his hand to hold. For music to help my heart worship you in the midst. 

Thank you for a vehicle to bring him home in. For a carseat to keep him safer. For roads to drive on and for a country not at war. Thank you for a house to carry him into. For heat and walls and windows to let in the light. 

Thank you Jesus for his siblings. All six of them eager to welcome him, eager to hold and love. Thank you for his grandparents, who love you and will pray and sing blessings over him in the coming weeks as they give selflessly of themselves to love us.

Thank you for his father, a man I can point him to as a servant leader who loves you and wants your glory. A man who treats us all well and is ever patient with me. A man who will take on more responsibility gladly with the coming of this new one. 

Thank you for forgiving me my doubts, my anxiety. When I failed to trust you, you proved yourself again.

Thank you for giving us another child at the exact time that you did.   

Thank you for entrusting us with another son. I feel keenly how little qualified I am for this tremendous task. My failures replay before me, all the ways I have let them down. But you have cast my sins into the depths of the sea. And the ocean of your grace never casts them back up to reproach me. You are all good. Merciful and abounding in steadfast love to me. 

the golden forest

 by Alanna

I recently breathed in the air of my favorite place on earth. There is something so deeply mysterious about those woods. In the distance they were misty at the ground level, but where we walked just a beautiful clear view through an endless forest of gold. The trunks dark, the leaves shimmered. It's ancient, that place. It takes my breath away every time, but I think this time was like none before for me. It made me want to cry and laugh, sing and dance, fall on my knees and worship. Everyone worships something. I'm just so thankful that I get to worship the Creator of this forest. The Maker of the whole incredible place we get to live in. This beauty leaves me speechless, and I know that it's just a tiny taste of His glory. My little song of praise, my small whisper of "Thank you Jesus", is swallowed up in this vast place.  All creation shouts His praise. I needed these reminders here. That God is powerful. Creative. Immense. Full of wonder and awe, mystery and beauty. Eternal. Unchanging. Beautiful. Glorious. And that He loves us enough to give us this incredible gift. Kept my heart beating through the night. Opened my eyes today. Gave me two legs to walk through this forest and two eyes to see. Made all these colors to delight me. Blessed me with this husband and these children to walk with. Their laughter. Their faces. Their delight. This day is a gift. This forest is a whisper of His love to me and I feel wrapped up in His presence. Reassured of the reality of His bottomless goodness and generosity and grace. 

celebrating life

 by Alanna

We found out this summer that we are expecting our seventh child. Similar tides of emotion always wash over my ankles on this sort of discovery. This time the initial moments felt more like a wave threatening to take me under. But always too the beauty of the shoreline and the crisp air taking my breath away. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above. Sometimes it takes a little time to process; then I learn also to think less about how we will homeschool come February and more about the grace given me in this moment. Today. I am gifted to be the bearer of life. I get to be this door through which a human soul is to enter the world. I get to experience in my own body something fearful and wonderful being knit together. To house another human heartbeat. To be the first to whisper God's love to them. I get to sacrifice convenience and ease for a house full of laughter. It's counter cultural, this having children thing. In the world yes, and sometimes this unbridled reckless trust feels lonely even in the church. But God is the creator of life. It was His idea, His delight. Behold children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.  I never fully feel the emotional and spiritual weight of shepherding the baby until I see them on the 20-week ultrasound. Tonight was that night. Tonight we found out we are having another son. One daughter and six sons. Lord willing, my oldest son will turn eight just a few weeks before this baby arrives. What a trust we have been given. I stagger under the weight of it but I know my Savior upholds me. Raising sons in our age feels like a meaningful mission. To teach young men how to love well, how to be strong defenders and leaders with servant's hearts. To battle sin, to think clearly, to find dependence on the Lord to be their strength and not a fault. 

Strangers always comment on how I must be a saint or how they could never do it or how I am such a good mom, as if having so many kids so quickly automatically translates to me loving them well. Truth is most days the word that would most readily come to mind to describe myself is inadequate. Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, but our sufficiency is from God. But despite all I feel, I love this. I love being a mom, I love teaching them, I love being with them. I love the work that God has given me to do. To display to the world the truth that life is beautiful and precious and that every individual is a gift to be celebrated. Made in God's image, fearfully and wonderfully.

your hurt and God's glory part 2

 by Alanna

God help. Bring safety. Bring belief. Bring freedom. Bring provision. Bring shalom. My faith is so small and the darkness feels so big.

When the servant of the man of God rose early in the morning and went out, behold, an army with horses and chariots was all around the city. And the servant said, "Alas, my master! What shall we do?" He said, "Do not be afraid, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them." Then Elisha prayed and said, "O LORD, please open his eyes that he may see." So the LORD opened the eyes of the young man, and he saw, and behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.

I think I've been seeing myself as a necessary medium between God and those I love. If I don't remind Him maybe He will forget. If I don't worry and strategize and plan and wear myself out than maybe nothing will change. But no. Jesus stands at God's right hand interceding for me. He knows. He sees. He has not forgotten and I truly believe in the depths of my being that He has a plan and that it is good. 

The reminder I held on to from today was that we need to look not so much at the overwhelming needs as at God's absolutely glory and ability. His glory fills us. We have all we need. He already knows that we are broken and weak tools and He is not surprised at my inability to save anyone. He is the Savior. He is the rescuer. The redeemer. The protector. The champion. The provider.

I know all these things but tonight my faith feels so small. LORD. I am yours. Help. 

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.”

 

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.