originally written February 2007

As I sit here planning a candlelight Valentine’s dinner with my love, I think back on the conversation I had a few days ago with my single sister-in-law. Her Bible school class on marriage has given her a lot to think about.

I couldn’t tell her the teacher was wrong. I couldn’t tell her marriage was easy. It’s not. She and I both know her brother is pretty close to perfect. But he still hurts my feelings sometimes. She and I both know housekeeping isn’t easy. I often fall short of my husband’s expectations. We all know that there are emotional days when nothing goes right. Sometimes, the bowl of potato salad breaks all over the clean kitchen floor and you don’t go to the potluck.

Marriage is not easy. But life is not easy.

No marriage can be perfect. For no person can be perfect.

Such is reality, I assured my sister-in-law Marlys. Yet so is the reality that I am living my happiest dreams. Life at the side of my husband is more wonderful than I ever imagined. Merritt steadies me, balances me, completes me. I am even more emotionally stable since our marriage, he says. (And as the chief shoulder upon which I cry, I guess he should know.) Truly, we are as happy as can be.

But it’s time for Valentine’s Day once again. The day I so often mourned my solitary state. The day I was in raptures at his phone call and Valentine. The day I agreed to marry him.

So on this day of unrealistic hopes and overwhelming longings, I encourage my sister-in-law and other singles like her to enjoy February 14. Don’t ruin a perfectly good Wednesday with self-pity. Offer free babysitting so a couple can have a much needed dinner date. Pray for someone who is spending their first Valentine’s alone after the death of their beloved. Make your parents a candlelight dinner then slip away with your siblings. Bake some cookies for some special older people in your life. Be so busy giving love you won’t have time to miss it.

On this day for lovers, I smile as I think of the newly-engaged couples I know. If they were listening (ah, but they have eyes and ears only for each other), I would tell them to savor the sweetness, the fresh newness of their love and happiness together. For I know that yet another Valentine’s Day will find them reliving the memories, even more joy-filled and content than they ever imagined.

And to my love, my husband, I whisper words but few:

“Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be!”

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

Of hard-fought battles ‘almost’ won,
Of loving words I ‘almost’ said,
Of things I ‘almost’ thought to do,
Of times I ‘almost’ stood – but fled.

The mounded dust of wasted days,
The skeletons of moments past;
A life I ‘almost lived for Christ,
But found that ‘almost’ doesn’t last.

written by Joanna Lynn

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

Little Gidding, Cambridgeshire, England

The following was written by a dear friend of ours and his sending it to Philip and me was something of a New Year’s gift. I know that you’ll all be glad that he gave me permission to share it with you:

Are you a Psalm skimmer?  I confess that I am.  I often find myself skimming through a psalm until I get to one of those familiar nugget verses, land there a little bit, and then keep skimming.  This is NOT how one should read the Psalms.  Every word is to be chewed and savored.  Time must be allowed for this.  Giving the Psalms (and all of Scripture) a quick glance like one would do to a blog or email is the quickest way to divorce God’s word from God’s Spirit.  We have taken something sacred and made it common.  As a result, we no longer experience the presence of God when we read.  God will not be rushed.  He will not be treated like a Facebook friend.

Maybe this is just a symptom of the times.  “Face time” is no longer required for relationships.  We’ve actually digressed in our interpersonal skills.  Think about it.  People used to walk next door and sit down and talk with their neighbor.  With the invention of the phone we could call them and listen to their voice.  With the invention of email, we could just write.  With the invention of texting, we could reduce our relationship to short little abbreviations.  At times I feel like we are becoming the ghosts of C.S. Lewis’s Great Divorce.  There is little physical substance to our relationships.  Is this really progress?  Face time is too rare.  It is rare because it requires two things – “face” plus “time”.

I fear that this new way we now relate to one another has spilled into our relationship with God.  This is not just dangerous, it is spiritual death.   Our relationship with God requires face time.  Scripture cannot be merely scanned in order to get the gist of its meaning.  Waiting for God cannot be like opening a slow webpage – “God you’ve got a few seconds before I move on.”  God is never in a hurry and we cannot rush him.  The Psalms remind us of this.  They are full of patient waiting, worshipful meditation, and adoration.

I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the LORD more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning. – Psalm 130.

During this new year, take time to take time before the LORD.  Ask God to reveal to you the things that drown out his voice.  Ask Him to show you the things that are controlling your day.  Ask Him to show you how to change and to give you the strength to do so.  This might be occasionally turning off your phone, or leaving your computer at work, or driving without listening to the radio, or killing your TV. Is there something in your life that you cannot turn off?

Our relationship with God requires quiet moments, patience, and passionate pursuit.  He is our Rest, our Joy, and our Treasure.

In Your presence there is fullness of joy – Psalm 16.

On the cross, Jesus endured the absence of his Father, so that we might enjoy His presence.  What a gift!  Take time this year to receive it.

written by Rev. Joel Brooks,  Redeemer Community Church

photography credit, Philip Ivester

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

LET me but live my life from year to year,
With forward face and unreluctant soul;
Not hurrying to, nor turning from the goal;
Not mourning for the things that disappear
In the dim past, nor holding back in fear
From what the future veils; but with a whole
And happy heart, that pays its toll
To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer.
So let the way wind up the hill or down,
O’er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy:
Still seeking what I sought when but a boy,
New friendship, high adventure, and a crown,
My heart will keep the courage of the quest,
And hope the road’s last turn will be the best.

Henry Van Dyke, Life

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

The guys used to start out the day with a game of football in the mud and cow pies. One year, the muddy football game was replaced by inner tubing in the snow. They must have become either older or smarter, because they have shied away from those escapades in recent years. No matter the weather, however, the guys always play a game of Monopoly which lasts half the evening. We girls tried in vain to hide the game, distract them with food, or beg them to skip it, but it was all to no avail: the Monopoly game must be completed before they could participate in the rest of the evening’s festivities. Only after someone had nearly taken over the bank could we talk them into joining us in a game of Pictionary or Dutch Blitz.

There was always plenty of food. Mrs. K. brought the pies. My mom made almond roca. Melissa and I even tried to make peanut brittle a time or two. We made up the Chex mix. Chips, dip, a veggie tray, and a few traditional salads complemented the mini meat and cheese sandwiches on rolls. Then there was the perennial favorite of “banana bungalosh:” a blend of mashed frozen bananas and juice served with 7-Up.

Usually the evening was not without time spent in the living room pouring over photo albums. The gentlemen always got in a good discussion or two on theology and politics. And there were always a few good-natured fights about who would do the dishes. Once in a while we were even the recipients of a special performance, in the form of humor or monologue.

We always rounded out the evening with a good ol’ jammin’ session: Melissa on the piano or bass, Abbie on the fiddle (sometimes joined by Aunt Terri and Papa, as well), Will or James on the banjo, James on the trumpet or Will on the saxophone, LeAnn’s brother Rhett on the cello, with a few guest appearances on the guitar, and always a few of the younger guys joining LeAnn’s Grandpa Cliff on the harmonica. From patriotic songs to folk music, we called it “cousin cacophony” for a reason. But we had fun making a joyful noise. It was beautiful to sit back and listen to the blend of voices and parts as we sang all the verses of the hymns and ballads.

We kept an eye on the clock while we were jamming, though, and when it got close to midnight the guys grabbed the blackpowder guns, we girls donned coats, and we all went outside to yell and holler and make too much noise at the stroke of midnight. There were usually a few more songs—and a few more pictures—to finish before everyone went their separate ways in the wee hours of the morning.

One of our longstanding traditions was the kiss picture: all the married couples were told to smooch long enough for all the shutters to click. It was always funny to see who stopped kissing too soon, or which person was looking at the camera instead of their spouse! But as I took the pictures, I was always looking forward to the day I could be one of the married couples in the kiss picture, instead of one of the singles taking the picture.

There was one year that we met at LeAnn’s grandparents’ home instead. I remember that time specifically, as I watched with delight the sparks flying between LeAnn and my cousin Robert over a game of Guesstures. It was just a few years later that Robert and LeAnn announced their engagement in 2002, wedding the families who have been friends for more than 40 years (sometime I’ll have to get LeAnn to tell you their whole story). I remember watching that next year as Robert moved from being one of the guys shooting guns and yelling, to kissing his new bride out under the stars as the clock struck midnight. December 31, 2004, brought the special announcement that Robert and LeAnn’s first little one was on the way!

The next year, I was thrilled to have Merritt fly in for the New Year’s party of December 2005, introducing him to my special friends and family. Only two years later, Merritt and I were returning to the ranch for another New Year’s party, this time with our baby girl! Last year, we got to meet Robert and LeAnn’s newest little guy, who was born into the family just weeks after his grandmother went home to Heaven.

This year, my cousin Robert has a new job that takes his family to a new town, a new church—and far away from the long-held family traditions. Merritt’s and my own growing family makes it harder to travel—and we know we probably won’t be making many more such trips on future New Year’s.

We knew it couldn’t last forever. We knew eventually we’d be pulled in too many directions, the miles separating us too much for everyone to meet back at the ranch on New Year’s Eve. In fact, LeAnn’s Grandma Marcyenne was the first to break up our party: she was singing with the angels last New Year’s Eve.

This New Year’s Eve, Merritt and I will have just returned home from celebrating in my brother’s wedding in Virginia and then spending Christmas at my childhood home (another break in tradition—growing up, nearly every Christmas was spent at Papa and Grandma’s ranch). I hear rumors that the newlyweds might be able to make the traditional New Year’s Eve party. And my cousin James has been bringing a sweet young lady to the party for a few years now. But some of the rest of us not-so-newlywed—but no less in love—couples will be far away from the ranch this year.

It’s time to start some new traditions, make some new memories. I don’t know what LeAnn’s plans are—most likely, they will include unpacking boxes! But Merritt and I hope to begin some traditions with his family, inviting people to our farm for a hymnsing and some games on New Year’s Eve.

I doubt we’ll rival the musical presentations that were done at the Brink ranch. No one can play the piano like my cousin Melissa. And no one in Merritt’s family can play the harmonica with their mouth, let alone with their nose, like some in my family have been known to do. The practicality of partying until 2 or 3 in the morning is questionable when there are little people who are ready for baths and bed much earlier. Perhaps one of our new traditions will be going to bed before midnight! Regardless of when we go to bed, we’d better choose carefully whom we invite to the parties on our farm, in case some of our children should grow to love each other through the next fifteen years of celebrating New Year’s together. All too soon, my girls will be my age, and I want their memories of times together on New Year’s to be as special as mine are of the past 15 years.

This year on New Year’s Eve, LeAnn and I won’t be with all our relatives celebrating the longtime traditions of singing hymns and shooting guns as the clock strikes midnight. We will be far from the homes we loved, and the night will be far different from the traditions in our memories. But we will be with our nearest and dearest: our husbands and our children. When the clock strikes midnight, hopefully the little ones will all be sleeping, and we’ll be welcoming in the New Year by kissing our husbands and letting them know that we wouldn’t go back, we’d rather be with them.

And it only takes a moment remembering all those New Year’s Eves without anyone to kiss to remind me that there is no where else, no one else with whom I’d rather be spending New Year’s Eve.

Wishing you a wonderful New Year’s Eve making many memories as you celebrate traditions new and old…

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

From Gretchen, Ashleigh, Chantel, Jeannie, Elisabeth and Lanier, fondest wishes to you all for the Happiest of Holidays and for all the best of God’s blessings in the New Year! We hope that you have enjoyed celebrating the birth of our Savior with families and loved ones, and that this blessed Christmas week to come would be a time of refreshment and joy as you continue to reflect on the stupendous Gift of His coming to us.

We’ll be back around New Year’s…look for a post from Gretchen! An in the meantime, click over to Boundless to enjoy the gift of two very special posts by our own talented Elisabeth that will doubtless bless your hearts as profoundly as they did mine:

Tonight in Bethlehem

Part One

Part Two

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

adapted from my journal

On Christmas Eve morning I was up at five. I wondered if any of my neighbors were astir at that hour, but all the other houses through the trees were dark. It was my own, private, precious hour with Jesus—on a day when His humanity is nearer to my heart than any other. I would not have traded it for silver and gold. It shines in my heart yet as an unspeakable gift from Him—I have no words.

When I first stepped into my dark kitchen that morning a silver tide of moonlight was pouring in from the windows above the sink. The moon itself, a tremendous and luminous sphere, was sailing calmly through an untroubled sky of velvety blue, with a single star—the star of the morning—waiting attendance upon the regal passage. It was so beautiful—the light all tangled up in the branches of the water oak outside and casting its pale glory over frost-encrusted yard and pasture and silent winter garden—that I literally caught my breath. It hurt me to look at it, and yet I could not get enough. I lighted the gas jet under the tea kettle and just stared and stared. I hated to turn on the lights in the den to banish such a radiance.

After my devotions, I fell to setting the tables, moving about as quietly as I could, yet with a growing mirth at what day the coming dawn was hailing and what happiness would soon be filling these rooms and sitting at these tables. As I worked, I was blessedly conscious of what was happening outside—the moon dropped almost reluctantly into the west, behind the great oak at the corner of the pasture by the cemetery, and from behind the woods to the east the day began to spring. The sky paled to a breathless blue, the gate of the day grew rosy, and soon a glory of another kind was spilling over treetops and lawn and setting all the frost crystals to glittering like so many diamonds. It was utterly pure and beautiful, my own special possession. And to think that I might have missed it—to think of how many other glorious dawns I have passed in the ignorance of sleep!! I always say that I love a cloudy Christmas Eve best, and a gloriously sunny Christmas Day—but I’d not send back the sweet splendours my Lord sent this year.

And so, just before ten, I got into my new red dress—finished at the characteristic eleventh hour—and dashed into the kitchen, just in time for Once in Royal David’s City, broadcast live right into my den all the way from King’s College in Cambridge. That sacred moment always makes the world seem smaller and our beloved England so much closer to us in time and space. We sat on the sofa hand in hand and listened, breathless, as the airy strains grew into a full choir and finally swelled with the organ and audience and what seemed like all the combined worshippers of ages past. I listened, as I always do, with a catch in my throat and tears in my eyes, to the Bidding Prayer, particularly at the thought of all those dear ones of my own “who rejoice with us, but upon another shore and in a greater light”. And then it was time to turn the sausage and flip on the coffee pot and check on the bacon sizzling away. And just as I was tucking the plum pudding back into its buttery mold for one last steam, the doorbell rang, and our merry old Christmas Eve party had begun…

It was my brother-in-law and his wife, but there was a whole parade of cars behind them: my family, Philip’s family and friends that are such family no ties of blood could make nearer and dearer. And soon the rooms rang with “Hello! Hello!” “Merry Christmas!” “Oooh—don’t you look pretty!” “Christmas Gif’!” and “Where can I put this?” There seemed to be children everywhere—which is fitting as this day is for them above all others at our farm-in-the-city. One of them came up and asked me if there were to be peppermint sticks in oranges this year. I smiled knowingly and replied that they should go and take a look at the coffee table in the den where two crystal bowls boasted the coveted treats—“But you’ll have to wait till after breakfast!” In the twinkling of an eye, as it were, my home was full of laughter and the snap and crackle of open fires, fragrant with cider and the pudding that was steaming away and the traditional sausages…

Philip asked the patriarchs to say the blessing and I thought that was quite fitting and sensitive of him. As I looked around the dining room, filled to capacity with the progeny of these two men, I had to smile to myself at what they would have thought when they first met at college all those years ago if they could have looked into the future and seen such a gorgeous (and enormous—35 of us!) assemblage. And I smiled, at the same time, at the sweet sounds of Ding Dong Merrily in High pouring out of my radio in that quiet moment, all the way from England…

I spent most of the breakfast bustling about, making sure everyone had tea and coffee and juice, catching a five year-old cherub who threatened to topple out of her chair at the childrens’ table, lingering to laugh at an old and loved story at the adults’ table, and sitting down in my place at the ‘kids’ table’ just about the time I needed to pop back up again and take out the pudding. But I love it, of course. Every minute of it. And when brunch had been dispensed with and the pudding slipped miraculously from its antique mold, we warmed some brandy in a skillet and Philip called all the children into the kitchen to see the great event—after igniting it I poured the blue elven flame over the pudding on its silver holly trimmed tray amid gasps and exclamations—it was quite lovely!—and Philip bore it in triumph into the dining room to a chorus of delighted voices and a spontaneous burst of applause.

Then all of the children—from the smallest to the tallest—came asking for their oranges and peppermint sticks, and to look around at all those beautiful girls in their smocked dresses and handsome little men looking like pint-sized versions of their Daddys in sweater vests, intent upon a pleasure so simple as sucking the juice of an orange through a soft peppermint ‘straw’ made.

After all the excitement of the pudding and the crackers had died down and the jokes had been told and re-told and the charms passed off to admiring children who thought they were treasures indeed, I settled down in the hall with the ladies for a much-appreciated cup of coffee and a good chat while the men and children went out in the yard to play and to say ‘Hello,’ and ‘Merry Christmas!’ to the chickens. When I chanced to step out on the back porch it was a sight to warm the heart for days to come—a lovely day, as the dawn had promised, lightly overcast with clouds scudding across a wintry sky, chill enough for all the lovely velvet Christmas coats to bloom out in all the colors of jewels, and a pale December sunlight falling with a mellowing touch upon all the bright heads. They were all running around, screaming and laughing, chasing and being chased by the adults, paper crowns askew and baby dolls dangling by the arms…such a beautiful tableau of innocent happiness…I loved it. I just stood there, leaning over the rail and taking it all in. And then Philip got the idea that each one of them should have a chance at ringing the old school bell at the back of the house in honor of Christmas and a great pealing ensued which drove me from my post and down into the yard with them all to take part in the fun.

I gave everyone their favors when it was time to go—paper cones filled with fudge and caramels—and the children were so excited. How refreshing it is in this age of materialism to see children thrilled over peppermint sticks in oranges and bits of paper and tinsel crammed with homemade candy!

As the dusk fell upon our darling day and a purple and golden twilight descended, the light of the fire and the Christmas tree and my little Advent wreath in the window shone out with an ever-increasing warmth and I longed, oh so fiercely!, to make time stop for even a moment or two. We had done our favorite day homage, old traditions had been honored and new ones introduced for consideration. Children had been exalted to the guests of honor in tribute to our blessed Child-Savior and adults had celebrated the ties that He had forged. The whole day had been a Christmas gift from the Host of the feast. An invitation to the children and the childlike to enter into His joy.

A gilt-edged shadow of the happiness that lies in store for us all when faith is made sight.

Thanks be to God.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

Now Christmas isn’t so predictable.

Sometimes I’m with my family; sometimes I’m thousands of miles away.

Sometimes I have a Christmas tree. Sometimes I don’t.

And sometimes I have a carol-singing joyride to Jaffa Gate, Jerusalem, to get one – only to learn that my housemates are allergic, and gleefully give it away to friends who have none.

Sometimes it’s shirtsleeves weather, cypress wreaths, and stone houses. Sometimes it’s the real fragrance of evergreen, and a real white Christmas…

(And once, there was snow in Jerusalem, just two days after Christmas).

Sometimes it’s long on adventure and short on stuff. Like the year my stocking arrived in a tiny box at the post office – and I spent Christmas eve and Christmas morning exploring Bethlehem on foot.

Or the year we got all ten of our selves to Israel for Christmas – and not much else.

Christmas Eve was carols in Jerusalem; Christmas breakfast was pancakes, pomegranates, Swedish tea, Mexican hot chocolate – and the Nativity story.

Sometimes strings of Christmas lights help me feel Advent-wonder. Sometimes it’s Hanukkah candles.

Either way, I know it’s due to the mighty acts of God that there was a Jewish nation into which my Savior could be born.  I know it’s thanks to my stubborn, greedy grasp on my own way that He had to lay aside His glory and became the smallest, most invisible form of human life…

Be born ignominiously. Raised in obscurity.  Rejected, killed, and ALIVE.

And I know He did it all for sheer joy.

Based on my Christmases past, I know I can’t count on who I’ll have with me, where I’ll be, what I’ll receive, or how I will feel. But one thing is always certain: He is.

He is.

He is Emmanuel.

And God-with-us. Is with me.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

But then the morning came when I flipped on the outdoor light in preparation for Scott’s early morning departure for work to find that rain had faded into white, and even yet, out of the darkness snowflakes were falling and making my world a wonderful, fluffy white. (At least for a little while!) It was that day, too, that I realized that Thanksgiving was almost here again. Somehow. Surely it hadn’t been over a year since my man asked me to be his bride? Blink. Wait, how could it be just a year ago. Longer, surely much longer ago than that.

One thing was sure, though. It was snowing at last, and as I stood there, admiring the way that God turns barrenness into beauty, a parade of memories began to march, or perhaps tumble through my mind, bringing alive the “old days” now past in of some of the Christmas Classics that cannot leave off from echoing through my memory’s hall.

It really does sometimes seem like yesterday, especially as these first snows of winter fall, that I danced  around the house with my brother and sister  while we sang a bit  of “Let it Snow” in anticipation of those first Alaskan snowflakes (though I wonder now that we weren’t singing something else- such as “snow, snow go away, come again some other day”, long as those winters felt sometimes!) and then  fell down on our backs on the lawn, laughing, and trying to catch the first snowflakes on our tongues.

Though snow usually fell long before Christmas, and often long before Thanksgiving, there was something about the snows before Christmas that seemed extra special then, and now even more so.  Those fires in the fireplace in my childhood home (fueled by wood that we’d spent the few months of summer gathering from our own acreage) are now replaced with fires in the pellet stove in my new living room, and yet the warm, glowing light remind me of those cozy home fires and I hear my brother’s voice all over again, singing as only he could do, about those chestnuts we never did get to roast on our open fires (and that I still dream of doing…some Christmas season, if and when I can find some chestnuts).  Jack-frost nipping at our noses and anywhere else he could nip (ever have your eyelashes freeze shut? I have!), and dressing like Eskimos (I wore a kuspuk quite often as a child) were reality for us, but somehow it was those chestnuts we always thought about.

I  can still  hear that particular crunch of dry, powder snow  as it is trampled underfoot, and feel the icy wind  biting at my nose and cheeks again as we walked from house to house around the neighborhood- and farther- keeping that beautiful tradition of caroling alive and sharing a little of our Christmastime joy with strangers.  I hear the Drummer Boy (Johnny Manthis, once again accompanied by my brother), and remember understanding for the first time what it meant to “give my best to Him” who was born to die so that I could live.

I still feel the chills down my spine and the threat of tears every time I hear it that I felt that first time I stood and heard the Hallelujah Chorus live in an old church in Anchorage as a 9 year old. Only now I  sing along, and imagine that in Heaven, the Angels must be singing too.

But while I think of the beautiful blessings remembered last Thanksgiving to this one just past, and while I write my Christmas greetings to the people near to my heart though scattered around this old earth,  and glance out my little window at the picture of my world- a world just now turning white, unlike the world of my childhood- it is Bing Crosby whose voice floats into my mind, and memory after memory of happy, carefree childhood white winter days come with it, when the snow was already quite deep, and  the only kind of Christmas I ever knew were  always white. I’m dreaming of a White Christmas.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten,
and children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow

Happy, beautiful, white Christmases. Days  filled with family, love, rejoicing and thankfulness for the gift of God’s Son to make our hearts “whiter than snow”. These were days to give, to share, to sing and be still and know Him. To hear the snowflakes fall, and the winter birds sing. Tree tops always glistened and once or twice, we did hear the sleigh bells ringing through the cold air and the snow crunching under horse foot, fulfilling a childish desire to really go sleigh riding. These are some of my heart’s happiest memories.

Thanksgiving is past now, and the air is even more chilly than before, and there is snow on the ground- and it seems to be here to stay. Yet, still through my mind the memories, and the songs echo keeping those memories of Christmases of the past fresh, and the happiness, that real joy that comes from sharing, and the reason why I always dream of “white Christmases” is alive just as it was when I was a child.

Life changes just as the seasons come and go. This year my siblings are far away, my family scattered like autumn leaves, married, expecting little ones, unable to make the trips to all be back together again.  It won’t be just like the Christmas times I’ve known before. It’ll be my first…away from home, but at home, where I’d rather be than anywhere else, at the side of the man I love more than anyone else in this world. I’m looking forward to creating our own memories to tuck into my treasure chest in Memory’s hall.

But I’m still dreaming of a White Christmas- not just a snowy, white Christmas,  but the kind of happiness that White Christmases always have been to my heart… a Christmas as filled with love and joy and thankfulness, with sharing, with quiet moments to soak in the reality of what the world somehow has commercialized into a mere shadow of what it ought to be… and somehow I think this Christmas will be more beautiful than any I’ve ever known.

I’m looking forward to a cozy fire, to the Christmas Greetings from friends and family that make every day cheery when I see them in a little (but growing!) line on our window sill, a happy home filled with the music of the season, a few special foods, and  lots of quiet moments truly seeking to grasp the ultimate gift ever given- our Savior, and to be still in our hearts and know Him.

It isn’t the gifts, it isn’t the food, it isn’t the place or the people, or the snow that make my Christmas White- though they make it happy indeed, and the memories even more beautiful and special- it is the simple joys and the happiness that comes from inside that will always be my white Christmas, no matter where I am, and even if I am all alone.

Whether you “celebrate” Christmas, Hanukkah or neither, from our home to yours…

May your days be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white.

God bless each of you this season, exceedingly, abundantly above all that you ask, think or even imagine. Happy White Christmas, this year and always.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

I believe if I were charged with having a goal, it would be to live without fretting—to live more fully in the moment, not always huffing about as I’ve done in recent years…to live humbly—and appreciatively—with whatever God furnishes.

Jan Karon, Light from Heaven

I just love Father Tim.  He always speaks to the very essence of the matter, and with such humble sincerity that you can’t help but cherish the wisdom of his words.  And these in particular I’ve taken very much to heart this Christmas season.

This same sweet friend joins me and another in a yearly triumvirate of holiday accountability and prayer.  We three share a passionate sentiment for Christmastide and all its tender joys; we view the month of December as sacred in its entirety, and at least two of us weep when the Christmas tree finally comes down—after New Year’s, of course!  But as women of like passions we face like temptations.  As lovers of beauty and order we battle with the mockery of perfectionism.  Energetic and excited over plans we’ve been dreaming of for eleven months we are always taken aback by the onslaught of holiday possibilities.   Treasuring the birth of our Savior as the most unfathomable miracle of all time, we still confront the barrage of distraction and derailment our culture is only too willing to supply.

But the knowledge that I’m not alone—in my sweetest joys as well as in my struggles—has given me courage to keep true to the desires I have for a peaceful, Christ-centered Christmas.  The advice and encouragement passed round the table at our little pow-wow back before Thanksgiving is still refreshing my spirit with gentle nudges throughout my days.  I see their raised eyebrows in my imagination when I’m tempted to stress over non-essesentials.  Their emails and phone calls have been the Lord’s own whispers of love to me.  And the prayers of such godly women ‘avail much’.

But their greatest gift has been the silent example of their lives, which has bidden me to sit quietly at the feet of Christ each morning and savor the wonder of His coming to dwell among us.  And that single thing has already made this Christmas the best I have ever known.  Perhaps it is simply the knowing of Him that comes of such stillness, but I seem to see His beauty everywhere I look this season: in the first light of a winter’s dawn sparkling and glittering over a frost-encrusted world, the bright rays slanting through the cedars and the golden mist stealing up from the pasture; in the shining crowns of holly perched on the brows of all my pictures and the gorgeous shining tree all spangled with tinsel and fragrant with gingerbread; in the miracle of friends and relations and the miracles He’s wrought in our family just this year…

Tuesday was a day of Bustle.  It was a busy day in the midst of a busy week, and I realized at its close that the only thing that kept it from careening along in a frenzy of huffing was the slim cord of a prayer taught me by an older friend long ago: Gather my thoughts and order my steps.  From a round of crucial errands He did order my steps, providentially, by an insatiable craving for a peppermint mocha from Starbucks.  Who should I run into in the parking lot but my mother—actually I almost ran over her; she went back in with me and we sat chatting over pleasant holiday things for nearly an hour, pretending that we both didn’t have miles to go before our tea at home that afternoon.  It was a pause that refreshed, and that sent me on my way with a smile on my face.  I dashed all over town: my favorite tea shop for some Winter Garden tea for a special visit next week; an enquiry after Christmas crackers; one last gift for two dear little friends ages three and-a-half and five and-a-half.  And last of all, my wonderful farmer’s market, bright with beautiful seasonal produce—crates of clementines, fragrant pineapples, pomegranates, kumquats, lady apples, forfelle pears—and fairly glittering with imported holiday goods.  I wandered dazzled as a child among the colorful aisles, savoring the excitment of such once-a-year treats as Wensleydale cheese with dried cranberries and real English bangers and blood oranges.

Not a Christmas goes by that I don’t read or quote the third stanza of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear, which never ceases to pierce me with its poignant entreaty:

Oh ye beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low
Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow:
Look now! For glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing!
Oh rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing!

What a timely word for a tired age!

All too soon this precious holiday will join the ranks of Christmases past whose memories lie too deep for words.  And my sweet friends and I will sit together over our ‘Twelfth Night Tea’ and sigh over how sweet it was, and discuss what we’ll do differently next year, and share what precious things the Lord taught us as we celebrated His holy Advent.  And we’ll do our very best to keep all these things and ponder them in our hearts.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

Sometimes my lists are filled with obvious things. Sometimes it is filled with little things that only my heart can really know and understand. Sometimes it is filled with random bits that would make others laugh, and often I laugh too, but to me they are also glimpses into the blessings of Him who cares even for the small things in life.

Whatever the case, I call these lists my Ebenezers. They are testimonies between my heart and my God of His goodness and grace. I only wish I’d written them down in a real and true journal more often than I have, for no matter how dark and rainy of a day it may be, a little glance through the joy journal never fails to lift my heart and encourage my spirit to keep looking.

The saying that says there’s a golden side to every cloud… it is true. The sayings that say that no matter how dark the day, there’s always a glimmer. It’s true. The sayings that say that there’s something beautiful about every day. They are true, too. We just have to look for those things in places that may be quite out of the ordinary.

I like to think of it as a training project. Life is made up so much of what we look for. And what isn’t made by what we see, sometimes can be made better if we look for the best. Our minds aren’t always naturally bent to look for the good and the best and the beauty. Sometimes the heart can be painfully loaded with cares and heartaches, and the eyes so filled with tears that it seems nearly impossible to see any thing beautiful or good. That’s the time to start looking.

For me, it has been a lot of different things. Dewdrops sparkling on the grass. Clouds parting so I could see a lunar eclipse. A random tulip growing up out of what looked like a cinder-pile. A snatch of a song that unexpectedly spoke to my heart in a big way. It has been a smile. A note from someone who said just the right words- though they may never know it. It has been the wind on my face, blowing back my hair, and in my mind, blowing away the cares from my heart.

Whatever it is that brings a sparkle of joy into your heart, if you find that your eyes seem to see more bad than good in life, start your own journal to collect these little things. Make it your training this year to focus on beauty, on goodness, on blessings, and give your heart every reason- no matter what circumstances may bring- to be truly thankful. Not just in November, but every single day of the year.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

“Thou that hast given so much to me give me one thing more, a grateful heart: not thankful when it pleaseth me, as if Thy blessings had spare days, but such a heart whose pulse may be Thy praise.”

George Herbert

A Grateful Heart toward God

Lord, give me a heart whose pulse may be your praise! Gratefulness is realizing we have more than we deserve and expressing our utmost thanks to God. It is more than a mere “thank you,” it is heartfelt worship and praise to a God who has richly poured out His blessings on us.

A grateful heart is full. It is overflowing with praises for everything at all times. It is so busy worshipping God, it forgets selfish wants and wishes. Like a perfuming wafting up to the throne of God, is a thankful heart singing praises to God in the midst of trials.

“I will give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, and I will glorify your name forever. For great is your steadfast love toward me, you have delivered my soul from the depths of Sheol.” Psalm 86:12-13

A Grateful Heart toward Others

Okay. God is perfect and extremely full of blessings, but others are human. They sin. They stomp toes. They make us mad. However, despite all their errors, there are many people God has placed in our lives who deserve our thanks.

People like thankful hearts. There is a sweet perfume that a grateful person leaves behind them. Besides smelling good though, it is necessary to have a thankful heart toward others.

Parents, teachers, pastors, leaders, godly men and women, and others all have invested in our lives some way. A complaining, unthankful spirit leaves those who invested in us feel as though they wasted their time, energy, and efforts. It is our duty to express our gratitude to them.

When we sacrifice our comfort to bless and encourage those who have benefited us, we show them our thankfulness. Showing gratefulness is more than lauding a person’s praises for a throng. It is whispering our gratitude in the tempest or standing by them in their time of trial. True gratefulness acts more than it speaks.

“When we choose the pathway of worship and giving thanks…there is a fragrance, a radiance that issues forth out of our lives to bless the Lord and others.”

Nancy Leigh DeMoss

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

Our first Thanksgiving together, 2005

The old adage that “you don’t just marry a person, you marry a family” is never more evident than during the holiday season. Even if you don’t literally go “over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house”, the months of November and December are almost always filled with lots of family visits.

I remember the first Thanksgiving I spent here on the farm with Merritt’s family. We’d been officially courting for nearly ten months, and it was my first holiday spent alone with the family I hoped to join. It snowed lots and lots. There were snowball fights. A turkey that someone put in the freezer instead of the refrigerator. Lots of card games. And lots of family.

Merritt’s two older sisters had come back to visit with their husbands and children. Even though I already knew them all well, thanks to the nine years of friendship between our families, it was different to be there on a holiday, without the rest of my family. That weekend I developed a new appreciation for my future brothers-in-law, Reed and Tom, who had already married into the Acheson family. I had, in fact, known the Achesons longer than either of them had—but regardless, there were some family jokes, some family arguments, of which we were not part. Yes, we’d heard the tale recounted time and again: but we weren’t there. And despite the years we’d spent in the company of this family, we three were still relatively new to the family holiday traditions, and still had the tendency to take the family’s teasing too personally. Except, I hadn’t married into the family yet, so I was even more of an outsider.

I took a long walk in the snow and thought about what it would be like to spend every Thanksgiving in the midst of this family. What it would be like to raise my children with the other little people running around there. Whether I could ever feel like I belonged to and was a part of the Acheson family, and wasn’t just someone who married in to the Acheson family.

The Acheson Clan, 2008

Four years later, I am counting my blessings on the same farm, with the same family—except, now I share their last name and even more of their inside jokes. That next year there was another turkey mishap that included a dropped pan, a burnt foot, a floor that had to be mopped of turkey fat, and no gravy—but I was thankful to still have my husband, thankful he was walking without crutches. Then, another Thanksgiving brought a tiny little bundle that has been such a big blessing in our lives: Ruth Ann was born the day before Thanksgiving two years ago. My in-laws stopped by the hospital to meet Ruth on the way home from picking up their oven at the repair shop–their oven (which has since had to be replaced!) had a habit of breaking on holidays, but that year it got fixed just in time for the turkey to be ready to eat when we got home with our day-old baby girl. Last year, Merritt braved Thanksgiving with my family, learning some of our traditions—like oyster dressing and playing pool after the big meal.

This year, we’re here on the farm once again. With two different Thanksgiving meals, in order to celebrate with family who can’t be here on Thursday because of work. Two different turkeys we’re hoping get to the table without them being frozen, dropped, or burnt.  Two little girls who are looking forward to playing with their cousins.

And this year, just as I have the past three years, I’m counting my in-laws when I count my blessings. Not only do I have godly in-laws who have been married almost 38 years and are a living example of commitment and patience in marriage, but my two daughters have grandparents living practically next door who dote on them and are always ready to babysit.

Now it’s my sister-in-law’s boyfriend who gets to feel the outsider when he walks into the room thick with inside jokes, surrounded by eyes that are sizing up his worthiness to marry Marlys. But it’s good for him. Nothing like a crazy family to make sure you really love the person enough to marry into it. Nothing like a crazy family to make you thankful to be a part of it.

P.S. Click here for a Thanksgiving post card from The Little Pink House and see our two little Pumpkins who are growing up so quickly!

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

But as much as my homemaker’s heart adores all the sweet trappings of preparation, I know just how easy it is to get so caught up in getting ready for the holiday that I forget—even momentarily—what it’s all about. What specifically I have to give thanks for this year. And to Whom I owe it.

It’s for that reason I’m pausing by the fire this morning, while the sweet potatoes are cooling and the sauce is turned low on the back of the stove, to take stock of the year’s mercies. I’d love for you all to join me, to pour out a cup of tea or a mug of cider, and muse over our blessings.

I’ll start:

~I am so thankful for cold dog noses and warm, purring cats. For a barn-full of friendly beasts and for fresh eggs and soft wool and even for Margot the rooster who hates my guts. I’m thankful for the beauty and the joy that all of these animals bring to our lives. I’m grateful for the supreme compliment of their affection and trust. They are truly ambassadors of their Creator and ours.

~I’m thankful this year for my friends. The longer we have walked together, the more tears we have dried and the more laughter we have shared, the more humbled I am by their steadfast love. The friends that bought my groceries and tidied my house when I had surgery. That did my laundry when I sprained my ankle. That will housesit for a month together and never so much as cross my threshold empty-handed. The beloved companions with whom there is never enough time, no matter how late we stay talking by my fire. The ones a dear older friend once called ‘Jesus with skin on’. The hands and the feet and the loving, tender heart of our Lord. I could try for the rest of my life and never adequately express my love and thanks.

~I am grateful for the lovely autumn light that slants low through the pines from the west and fills my rooms with the gilding of an old masters painting. For sudden violets in the grass on a November day and for scarlet berries ripening on the hollies. For diamond-shot dawns and cedar trees materializing out of the mist and the delicate shadows of leaf patterns on the wall. For prickly chestnuts and fat brown acorns and the chattering squirrels that love them. For winging birds and ‘wooly bears’ and apricot skies and the hand of the Artist everywhere I look.

~I am grateful for my husband. I can’t even begin to say how much—both to him and to God, who for some reason chose to bless me with him. I am thankful for the way that he supports me in my dreams, and dreams them right alongside me, alternately affirming me and picking me up out of the mire where I’ve face-planted with “I can’t”, as the situation might require. Life with him is a beautiful adventure, an Open Road. For God’s gift, that put my best dreams to shame.

Well, now that I’ve begun, I could literally go on all day. But that conserve won’t make itself. We’d love to hear from y’all, though . Leave a comment over the weekend, if you wish, and let us know what you are thanking God for this year.

And from all of us at YLCF, may the Lord bless each one of you with a Very Happy Thanksgiving!!

Now thank we all our God,
with heart and hands and voices,
who wondrous things hath done,
in whom his world rejoices;
who from our mother’s arms
hath blessed us on our way
with countless gifts of love,
and still is ours today.

Martin Rinkhart, 1586-1649

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

While nearly everything in my world is different than it was five years ago when my brother moved out on his own (ultimately to Tennessee) and we made the great trek from my childhood home state of Alaska to the unknown world of Colorado. Lots of happy things have happened. Lots of sad things have happened, and deep in my heart I know that the traditions that represent many happy, wonderful years won’t ever be the same again. Life changes sometimes mean that even cherished traditions must change, too. And it isn’t even necessarily a bad thing!

I’ll miss the Thanksgivings and Christmas times I have always known. I’ll miss having my whole family together. I’ll miss standing around the table and singing “Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow”, sharing our biggest and littlest blessings, dressing up in outfits for the day, and sharing our “traditional meal”, complete with sparkling juice, cranberry sauce and lots of love. I’ll miss the laughter that is present at every family occasion. Most of all I miss the sister who made these times as happy as they were.

It isn’t always easy to close the old chapters, and open new ones, as happy and wonderful as those new ones are. Sometimes the twinge of pain carries on a little into the new one, and I doubt I’ll ever not feel the empty spot in my heart, but the new chapter is filled with happy, wonderful, beautiful things and abundant blessings and I find that these joys make the past pains not so sharp as they once were.

I’m looking forward to spending Thanksgiving with the biggest blessing I’ve ever received– Scott. I’m looking forward to holding and getting to know our little Thanksgiving “gift” of our new little nephew this year. I’m looking forward to sharing some of my traditions with my new family- especially my youngest brother in law.

I’m not sure how the traditions I cherished will fit into this new life, but I’ll always keep the happiness they represent wrapped up with my costumes, with my memories, close to my heart this Thanksgiving. I will take the happiness I grew up with and learn to use old traditions to create new, better ones.

I don’t know how this new Thanksgiving will look…but I know it will be a Happy Thanksgiving, nevertheless.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

I’d like to say our Fridays are anything but typical, but in reality, though the actual activities change, they do end up quite similar in that they’re always a full of a bit of The Crazy. But then again, my life is always filled with a bit of The Crazy.

Friday, September 18th begins as usual at 5:00am with John’s alarm startling us out of our slumber. We both tend to believe there is not a sound on earth quite so jarring as an alarm clock’s buzz. I think it could qualify, if needed, as some form of torture.

So, we hit snooze. Quickly.

In all honesty, we kinda prefer to set the alarm just a little earlier than necessary, just for the luxury of a few half-awake minutes to become accustomed to the day, slowly gaining enough consciousness for whispered words and a morning kiss.

At 5:15, the buzzing starts again just as we hear another common morning sound, that of, “Daddy! Mommy! Daddy! Up! Up!” coming from the boys’ room. Merritt, our little 22 month old boy (known around YLCF as “the little Merritt“) is bright eyed and bushy tailed much earlier than normal! John hops up to get him from his crib, bringing the little boy, his white silky blankie and his beloved Pooh Bear all back to our room. Merritt curls up in my arms under the covers, of course showing no signs of falling back to sleep. While Daddy starts getting ready for work, we’re left to our customary morning snuggle full of Eskimo kisses and sleepy giggles.

With three year old Troy still dozing in his toddler bed, Merritt and I head downstairs and turn on a light. There isn’t much more perfect to my mind than a warm yellow light gently filling a dark downstairs. We gather up my Bible, journal and various books and curl up in the corner of our old couch with a blanket. John makes his way downstairs to the kitchen table, picking up his own Bible and books on the way. He makes us each a cup of coffee–mine served with a smile and a kiss in my favorite “Marine Wife and Proud of It!” mug. We talk softly, for fear of waking Troy, about the day ahead, our weekend plans, the work we plan to do on his classic car that afternoon. We settle into our morning places and quietness falls.

“I will love You, O Lord, my Strength…”

These words from Psalm 18 have spoken much truth and challenge and comfort to me over the years, and I read them, fresh and new again, this morning.

Around 6:00AM, John slides his Bible back into its place on the bookshelf and brings in his bike from the garage. He’s an avid cyclist and forgoes the engine and steering wheel on workdays in favor of two spoked tires and a set of handlebars. Merritt and I give him kisses and send him off.

Just as I was closing my journal, I hear stirring upstairs. Troy is awake and peeking down from our overlooking staircase. At my bidding, he hurries his little pajama-clad self down the stairs and into my lap alongside his brother. He asks if Daddy left already, we talk about his dreams, the boys wiggle and laugh. They both rest their still-sleepy heads on my shoulders, just the right height for breathing in the scent of their hair. In the dawn light and the stillness of early morning, I close my eyes, laying my cheek on one boy’s head, and speak to my Heavenly Father.

Stillness never lasts long with two little boys, so it’s only a few minutes before the chorus of, “Ee-eat!” and “Breakfast time yet, Mama, please?” begins. They climb into their seats, Troy spreading place mats while I pour cereal. Their favorite breakfast is Barbara’s Bakery’s Shredded Spoonfuls with sliced banana chunks, so they think this is a treat. We’re cleaning up breakfast dishes–Troy clears the table and Merritt “helps” put silverware in the dishwasher–when the phone rings. John forgot his salad for lunch and is turning around to get it. Can we meet him outside?

Our house here in the city–a suburb of San Diego, our current Marine Corps ordered place of residence–is in a gated community and we stand on the patch of grass in our “front yard” watching the gate. We wait to see John’s bike rolling in, Troy thrilled that he gets to see Daddy this morning after all. The gate begins to open and the boys start to argue over who is going to give the salad to Daddy, dropping the closed container in the process. I stomp out the little fire of toddler rage, then smirk at John as he stops in our driveway. Ah, such is life, and toddler hood, and motherhood.

7:45 now, and we head back inside, salad safely in John’s pack. I tell the boys to go upstairs and take off their jammies while I open my computer for an email check. My laptop customarily sits atop the coffee table during the day, and is stashed in a nook beside the couch at night–or when company’s stopping in and I don’t want to look like a complete computer-addict. I read my emails, check a few things for YLCF and its email account, relieved to see that nothing on any front needs urgent attention.

A friend is stopping by at 8:30am so we can load up our strollers and go walking through our hill-filled neighborhood, so I hurry upstairs to get myself and the boys dressed and ready. The next few minutes are a flurry of activity as we do the usual morning things–making beds, brushing teeth, putting a load of diapers in the washer to soak, filling water bottles, tying shoe laces. At promptly 8:30, my friends knocks on the door. My two boys and her one (only a few days older than Merritt) are all abundantly, exuberantly, ridiculously excited to see each other. We can barely get them in the strollers. We settle on putting Merritt and his little friend in my double jogger and Troy in the single jogger, which seems to work well until Merritt decides that something–who knows what–is not exactly to his liking and cries in the stroller for five minutes. Troy won’t stop talking to my friend, trying to make her laugh. He succeeded, but probably not in the way he’d hoped. Again, such is life.

We chat as we push our strollers and our heart rates higher, pumping our way up and down sidewalk and pavement, moving out of the way of the dog-walkers, landscapers and other moms.

It’s already 10:45am by the time we make it home, being we stopped for a while at a nearby park. The boys need exercise too! Or maybe we just need tired boys?

The single jogger is moving from our house to my friend’s house, being that we won’t have use for it for a good many years, if ever, so she and I load it up in her vehicle and say goodbye. The boys have been inside getting more water; the day turned out to be much hotter than we expected, even for SoCal.

Midday catch up time: put the diapers on the spin cycle, check emails and such again, and start lunch. I make the boys sandwiches using leftover pork chop meat and cut up some pears and carrots. I make myself a salad, intending to eat it… but never quite getting that far. The boys are done eating before I take a bite, so I grab a cloth to wipe hands and faces. We didn’t get to read our “lunchtime book,” so we pile onto the couch to read a paragraph of the long, not-so-many-pictures book, followed up with a few other favorites: I Love You Through and Through and Trusty.

It’s Merritt’s nap time, so with a hug and a kiss and a Pooh Bear and a blankie, he’s out like a light in his room. I’m glad, being he’s been having a hard time falling asleep lately and has been known to whimper in his bed for a little while. Troy has been downstairs pulling out a stack, and I mean a STACK of books to read on the living room floor. It’s a tower a mile high. He peruses two, and then promptly decides playing with cars looks like more fun.

I finally sit down to eat that salad and sip another large glass of water. I suffer from some severe migraines that seem to be triggered by even the slightest exercise, raised heart rate or heat. I love and believe in exercise too much to stop, but sometimes drinking excessive amounts of water keeps them at bay. This one is in its beginning stages and I’d prefer not to spend the rest of my day in a dark room!

Troy and I like to take a day or two a week and work through some fun little workbooks we found at a dollar store recently. Today we spend about half an hour counting, tracing numbers, discussing colors, learning letter sounds. He isn’t too certain about the lower case letters, being that, as he put it, “I really just like the medium letters, because small letters are just too littleish.”

After “school time” and cleaning up those 187,643 books, he grabs his “baby doggie” and lays down on our bed, the place for his naps. After five minutes, his head is again peeking through the stair rail, telling me he forgot to go potty. That accomplished, he’s back in bed, while I spend some time crossing items off my to-do list for the day. Phone calls, more emails, working on a YLCF post, planning a toddler field trip with friends, wrapping up a blog post of my own.

John calls at 2:00pm and says he’s on his way home. Fridays are usually an early-to-home day for him, being he has an Officer in the Marine Corps who sees it as a way to make life a little easier on the guys when they’re not deployed. The guys are separated from their families enough already, so why not give them a couple extra hours? Yes, fellow military wives, our family is a bit spoiled.

After about an hour of rest, it doesn’t appear Troy is going to nap. We’re in a transition phase with him–I don’t think we’re going to get many more nap times. John arrives at the door just as Troy is coming down the stairs, so Troy holds it open for him and I greet my beloved with a kiss.

We fill the rest of Merritt’s nap time with various sundries… checking the mail, discovering that my wedding ring has returned from the jeweler’s where it had to be repaired (happy day!) and the new license plates for John’s collector’s car have arrived. John gets cleaned up from his ride, reads Troy a book, watches as the little man shows off his newest letter writing skills.

I hear Merritt stirring around 3:30pm, as I’m running the mop over the last few pieces of tile on our floor. He’s energetic and ready to move, so all three of my boys head out into the backyard for a while, which gives me the opportunity to get the diapers rinsed and ready to dry before we begin on the next installment of our current big project of getting that classic car drivable again.

It’s a baby blue 1968 AMC Javelin, and holds a special place in both of our hearts. I’m not sure who loves this car more–John or me. It’s given us more than enough trouble in the six years since John and I have known each other, but it’s been a fixture throughout, and we love it. I have even been known to plant a kiss right on the end of it’s shiny blue hood. Yes, I have.

Once the house is in good condition for the craziness that awaits us in the weekend, all four of us head into the garage, open the big door and set to work on our little beauty. Today’s piece to tackle is the inside, so I hop in the back seat armed with several big cloths, glass cleaner and a bottle of shine spray. John is working on some paint “issues” on the driver’s side door and the boys pretend to drive.

Then the phone rings, and I answer it. (Enter Problem #1.) It is someone calling about an upcoming event. Discussing said event causes me to open my day planner and try to figure out how exactly said event is going to actually… happen. (Enter Problem #2.) I hang up the phone, glance through the next three months of plans and begin to have a mild panic attack.

Okay, not really, but pretty close. Enough that when I walk back into the garage and proceed to tell John about all the overlapping things “supposed to be” going on in the coming weeks, he stops fixing the paint, sits me down, and looks through my day planner with me. He tells me to breeeaaaaathe. I do. And I’m better.

So engrossed are we in this life planning and calming of the nerves, we don’t even realize it is getting later until Merritt comes over, patting my leg and asking, “Ee-eat, Mommy? Please, ee-eat?” Oh, yes, dinner. For my family. Might be a helpful thing.

And here, my dear friends, is where I get really, really honest. This is the point at which I nearly scratch the whole idea of the day-in-my-life post. At least on this Friday. Because the honest to goodness truth is that usually, on Fridays, we find something that needs doing while John’s home for an extra afternoon. Usually, we’re wrapped up in that something and plan to simply go get tacos for dinner from a local Mexican restaurant. But. BUT. This was the day I’m going to be writing about for YLCF, and frankly, I don’t want to admit that we eat tacos and/or burritos on Fridays. Tacos that are, in fact, prepared in an establishment that may or may not be employing any sort of “healthy” philosophy. So I had planned to make sweet and sour chicken instead. Only, when I looked at the recipe in the morning, it said the chicken needed to marinate 12-24 hours, rather than the 4-6 hours I’d thought it said. That option gone, I decided I’d make a different chicken dish. But now it was 5:30pm on Friday night and my family was wondering why we weren’t just getting tacos, as per normal.

So we do.

We eat tacos for dinner. Well, John and I do. The boys have burritos.

I’m a big fan of Being Real.

After the Great Taco Pride Fiasco, we go back out to put the finishing touches on the car for the night. We have done most of the inside, and now it just needs washing. A good washing. While Troy sprayed the sides of the car with garden hose, a few little neighbor children gather in our yard and driveaway, all eager to either grab a sudsy, soapy sponge and do some washing, or else begging to be catch some of the water spray. They all laugh and hop and dance through the falling droplets.

It’s getting late… almost 8:30… before we finish up outside. The boys are filthy from playing in the water and running in our culdesac barefoot. We say goodbye to the little neighbors and whisk the boys upstairs for a very quick bath before devotion time downstairs. We read a few favorites from Eloise Wilkin’s Poem book and John helps the boys through their memory verses.

More kisses. More hugs. Footie jammies. Stuffed animals. Tucking in blankets and sheets.

It’s 9:30… crazy late for the boys who usually are in bed two hours earlier. But they aren’t the only ones who are tired. John and I don our own sleepwear and climb into bed, weary from a long day. We snuggle close, each reading our own book–his, a Lamplighter, mine, Lasting Love–for about an hour, until our eyes are too heavy to continue.

And then…

we fall…

asleep.

The rest of the week…

• Monday at the Farm in the City by Lanier
• Tuesday in the Writing Life by Elisabeth
• Wednesday in North Idaho by Chantel
• Thursday at the Little Pink House by Gretchen (with series introduction)
• Saturday at Castleberry Farms by Jeannie
• A Peek Into Your Day by YOU – Wednesday, October 28, right here at YLCF! Plan to be there!

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

7 am: The radio alarm clock goes off in the girls’ bedroom. I share a room with my sisters and can’t imagine it any other way, but mornings are a little funny. For some reason, none of us speak to each other as we get up and prepare for the day. Silence reigns until we get downstairs, and if anyone happens to say something, she is met with incredulous looks. One would think we had taken a vow of silence.

But I digress. We love our radio alarm because we wake up to something different each morning. Today was “Motions” by Matthew West, and the words keep going through my head as I go downstairs to read my Bible:

“I don’t want to go through the motions
I don’t want to go one more day
Without Your all-consuming
Passion inside of me…”

It’s a good song to have in your mind. I’m reading through the New Testament right now, and today’s chapter is I Corinthians 8. While it can be a challenge to be awake enough to really grasp what I’m reading, I’ve found that unless I make my Bible reading the first thing I do in the morning, I tend to forget to read at all. The day just gets busy so fast. I treasure this time in God’s word as the day begins.

We generally do our barn chores before breakfast. Today Betsy and I are on milking duty while Katie prepares scrambled eggs, homemade sausage, and hot chocolate for breakfast. I love going to the barn in the morning and working with the animals — I’m such a country girl! Sunshine, our lovely Jersey cow, is giving lots of milk this year (5-6 gallons per day), so we’ve been making a lot of cheese and butter. The boys take care of the meat chickens, beef cattle,  and laying hens. When the chores are done we gather for breakfast with good appetites.

Summer means church league softball around here, and this particular Saturday is the end of softball season: tournaments! Since it’s threatening rain, only the older boys head into town (30 minutes away) for the 9:00 game.  We girls stay home and pick second-crop peas. The garden has been a real challenge this summer — it’s been both cool and dry, so our yields are definitely lower than usual. We’re thankful for whatever we get, though. The guys call while we’re shelling peas. The opposing team didn’t show up, so we won by default. Next game will be at 1:30, so they are coming home for lunch.

Since we knew we’d be attending the tournaments today, we did our house cleaning yesterday. We divide the work into three main jobs — bathrooms, dusting, and floors (we love a dry Swiffer® for the hardwood floors!), then each girl takes one job. I must confess I don’t much care for the bathroom cleaning job, but it’s something that can be done to the glory of God if I have the right attitude.

So, with the housecleaning out of the way, the peas done, and a little extra time before lunch, what would most busy farm girls do? Get a little high-speed exercise! Okay, maybe not most.  But this summer my sisters and I have been running about three times a week. We aren’t marathoners, and we only run about 2.5 to 3 miles (usually around the hayfield — told you we are farm girls!), but we’ve really enjoyed it. We run at the same time, but often in different directions or on different trails, and we listen to music as we run. It is a real worship time for me. My favorite running music is Third Day’s Wherever You Are CD. It’s full of upbeat and energetic songs, which is important for keeping me motivated while running!

After running (and showers), we join the family for lunch. We typically have leftovers or sandwiches at our noon meal. Today we’re hurried, trying to finish the dishes and noon barn chores before it’s time to head to the tournaments.  There’s a special surprise for the softball team that we made last night — a cake in the team colors that says “Lakeside Softball: Great Year!” It has been a good year, fun to watch and fun for the guys who went into the tournaments at the top of our division.

We don’t do as well in the tournaments as in the rest of the season, unfortunately, but it’s still fun to watch our friends, neighbors, and brothers play. The wind picks up, blowing in some pretty dark clouds and occasional rain shower. Good thing we brought umbrellas! We win one game and lose two, ending our season on a bit of a sad note, but thankfully we serve the cake right after the winning game.

Dad brings pizza for us and the other fans (this is definitely not typical, but just as definitely appreciated!), so that takes care of supper.  It’s time to head home and do the barn chores one more time. Sunshine the cow is waiting to be milked, the chickens need to be secured in the safe barn for the night (yes, there are many predators who would like nothing better than a tasty chicken dinner!), and the cows are nearly out of water.

Regardless of the busyness of the day, we always end it the same way: the whole family gathers in the living room and together we read a chapter of Scripture aloud. We practice a few memory verses. We share prayer requests. And then we “come boldly unto the throne of grace” and let our “requests be made known unto God.”

And that…is one Saturday at Castleberry Farms. Come join us sometime!

The rest of the week…

• Monday at the Farm in the City by Lanier
• Tuesday in the Writing Life by Elisabeth
• Wednesday in North Idaho by Chantel
• Thursday at the Little Pink House by Gretchen (with series introduction)
• Friday in Sunny Southern California by Ashleigh
• A Peek into Your Day by YLCF Readers

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

“Summer’s loss seems little, dear, on days like these.”
-Ernest Dowson

“It snowed on the hills around us last night.”  The phrase from one of the letters Merritt wrote me during our years of friendship always comes to mind this time of year.  As in his letter (a particular favorite, which I carried around in my Bible), it snowed on the hills around us last night.  And this is the third autumn that these hills have been our hills, around us. The sight out my windows, with snow-frosted trees topping the gentle hills, is breathtaking—and it is home.

We’ve had our first few fires in the wood stove, our first winter squash.  I’m thinking about apple pies and being able to cook pots of beans and soup on the wood stove.  I’m looking forward to long candle-lit evenings reading with my husband and our girls.  And when I glance out my kitchen window, I see the red maple we bought and planted during our first few months of marriage.  The leaves have turned a deep red, signaling that yes, indeed, autumn has arrived.

“Here Comes Autumn!  A whiff of wood smoke on the wind, the first chill in the air, the woods just edged in gold, and without looking at the calendar, we know we’ve turned the page and it is September.  Time to put the ‘sweet’ in ‘Home Sweet Home.’”
-Susan Stewart Branch

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

I’m thankful, Lord, for the  joys
You’ve given through this year.
They’ve brightened every moment
And brought me so much cheer.They’ve given me a picture
Of your great, deep love
And your tender watch care
From Heaven up above.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

After several months in Israel this spring, I’m back in the US for the time being, where I’m enjoying my time with family and friends. I’m also writing more regularly than I ever have before. What does it look like to be a freelance writer? Since it’s all new to me, I’m just as curious about it as you are…

So far, a writerly life is very unpredictable. Last week, I had major writer’s block, but I got a lot done around the house. This week, I’m writing a lot, and my house, well, it just has to get by. (Thankfully, I’m living with several very accommodating siblings).

It’s Tuesday, July 21st.  I tend to wake up anxious when I have a lot to do, and today is no exception. So I spend a few minutes talking God about it, before making  myself a bowl of oatmeal and sitting down with my Bible.  I’m using a chronological reading plan this year, and it’s fascinating to see the books of Kings and Chronicles woven in with Isaiah, the minor prophets, and even the Psalms. It also gives me a better feel for the flow of Biblical history.

Today I find a verse that’s perfect for me, and sister #1, who is about to begin three weeks of teaching English in Korea:

Thou whom I have taken hold of from the ends of the earth, and called from the corners thereof and said unto thee, “Thou art my servant, I have chosen thee, and not cast thee away;” fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God; I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.

Sometimes I jump start my work day with house-cleaning or free-writing for a few minutes, but today I don’t have to make up my mind. Seeing that my article has just been published on Boundless, I hop over to my blog and put the finishing touches on a companion post.

Then I have a few minutes to write a note to my sister in Korea before it’s time for Tuesday morning prayer meeting. This is a bit of a luxury for a working girl, but it’s right next door, so how can I resist? After an already busy morning, it’s especially hard for me to concentrate, but I’m glad to be praying for the young adults in our community, and for the American soldier who has been kidnapped in Afghanistan. It’s more challenging to trust God over the issue of taxpayer-funded abortions, but even though we don’t know when, or how He will act, “We will not fear, for God has willed His truth to triumph…”

Soon, I’m back at my computer with a cup of tea, updating the courtship stories page here at YLCF. With the details already saved in a draft, it’s usually a quick job, but this time the layout is a bit more complex. I know just enough HTML to be dangerous, but somehow I muddle through, and at last all the centered paragraphs obey my commands and line up to the left like good soldiers.

Meanwhile, the rain has kept sister #2 home from her gardening job, and she’s gotten inspired to make soup for lunch. I’m in and out of the kitchen, brainstorming a hypothetical future Passover meal with her, updating the YLCF RSS feed and Twitter account, and helping a friend in Israel with her homework assignment.

I take a moment to run out to the garden and pick fresh oregano and rosemary for the soup, and even the flourishing weeds can’t dampen my enjoyment of misty rain and luxuriant green. I guess a corner of me is still used to dry, barren Israeli summers.

I’m not so delighted with technology. When it comes to sending off a business fax, it takes me more than an hour to hunt down a printer that works, and wrestle the fax machine into submission.

But lunch, which comes in the middle of all this,  is lovely: hearty vegetable soup with squash, spinach, green and white beans, and a creamy broth that’s been thickened with…pureed toast, amazingly enough. I’m liking my sister’s Test Kitchen cookbook more and more.  (Its challah bread recipe is another favorite, and the scones I found in the companion international cookbook helped relieve the craving brought on by reading a couple of D.E. Stevenson’s relaxing British novels).

After lunch, I write an email to a fellow writer whom a friend has just introduced to me. I’m looking forward to swapping ideas and experiences with her. I also hunt up the email addresses of several friends whom I’d like to interview for an upcoming article, and chat a little with my mom.

By now, sister #4 has arrived home from work, and she invites me to go shopping with her and sister #3. I feel like I’m on a roll with writing, but don’t want to miss their company, so I hop in the car with my laptop in tow. It stays in hibernation while we chatter up a storm, and stop at a consignment store. Then, while my sisters do the grocery shopping (yes, I am spoiled), I sit in the car and work. I had a new article idea the other night while I was supposed to be going to sleep, and I want to run it by my editor. I compose a note to him, and draft a message to my potential interviewees. Often I think most clearly about an article when I’m explaining it to other folks this way, and I’ll even refer back to my original email while I’m writing it.

Then I open up my current article, and thank the Lord, the creative juices begin to flow!  I have learned to be as grateful for writing progress as I am for rain in Israel, since neither comes by accident, but in answer to heartfelt prayer.

We sisters return home to discover that our younger brother has brought jalapeno poppers for our evening meal. Along with this unorthodox but welcome addition, my youngest sister fixes leftover beans and a fresh salad, and we sit down together for a late dinner. Now there are four of us around the table!

We clean up together, and then they decide to watch a DVD. I’ve seen it before, and I’ve already spent a while reading some favorite blogs, so I begin writing this post.

After about an hour, I’m still going strong, but it’s now well after 9:00, and I need to begin winding down, or I’ll have trouble sleeping tonight. I head downstairs to my grandma’s apartment, where we play a couple games of Skipbo. My grandma is one of the spunkiest people I know, and she’s also one of my best friends.

By the time we’re done, I’m very sleepy indeed. Feeling so grateful for God’s help today, I fall asleep to the music of a thunderstorm.

The rest of the week…

• Monday at the Farm in the City by Lanier
• Wednesday in North Idaho by Chantel
• Thursday at the Little Pink House by Gretchen (with series introduction)
• Friday in Sunny Southern California by Ashleigh
• Saturday at Castleberry Farms by Jeannie
• A Peek into Your Day by YLCF Readers

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.