8:00 on a Sunday morning.

It’s my birthday today.

As I receive my breakfast from my husband,  (egg sandwich)

and gifts from him, (a kindle touch)

smiles from teenage boys,

hugs from little ones,

chatter from my 12 year old daughter,

I remember

just a few months ago

in the darkness of senseless depression

I wanted to give up

however………..

God has been as faithful as ever and led through the dark days

“I shall not die but declare the glory of God”

today I turn 36

and I’m touched again by the brightness of living

my children all around me

the love of my husband who said to me yesterday

“what would I do without you”

the love of friends

(I spent time with 6 of them last night)

life is a good gift

GOD is great.

Thank you for another year.

my absolute favorite hymn:

(written by fanny crosby)

For you see, each day I love you more

~Rosemonde Gerard

Hello, dear friends!  What a beautiful day it is here, at our place.  I had to go get the dog earlier (boy does he pull my arm) and while I was outside I saw a cardinal couple over in the trees by the pond.  The sound of birdsong is in the air as spring approaches, the sun is shining and the sky is the bluest blue.  Chilly; probably in the lower 40’s.  Refreshing.  I said hello to the stream and checked the ponds for ice–a very thin layer. 

I went grocery shopping this morning, we were all out of milk. 

Seth called my necklace a “neck up”.

Grace and Ethan brought home progress reports yesterday, what nice grades they are getting!  So proud.

Rich gets to go on the cooperate jet tomorrow.

I bought him a Valentine card today. 

I wore Jacob’s jacket outside when I got the dog and it smelled like a man (he wears cologne!). 

Why do teenage boys not like to wear coats or jackets? 

Caleb’s tooth was so loose that last night I pinned him to the floor and pulled it out.  David was very uncomfortable and ran downstairs so he didn’t have to watch.  Caleb said, “I can’t believe you did that!”  I laughed and hugged him, “I knew it wouldn’t hurt, that’s why I did it.” I explained.  He carried his tooth around for about an hour and then lost it someplace.

20 month old baby girls are a delight.  I made the dress (now a shirt) for her last year for Valentine’s day.  I took the pictures of her today.  She loves her blankie.  And that finger.

Happy Thursday afternoon!  xoxo

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are.  Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart.  Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow.  Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so.  One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.  ~Mary Jean Iron

Every once in a while when we’re at home, just doing ordinary things, I’ll be fussing around the house getting things prepared for the next day, or thinking about my “to-do list”, when all of a sudden, God will open my weary and distracted eyes to *the truly wonderful ordinary moments* happening around me. 

Like this one from Friday night; Dinner was over and Rich was reading to the little ones.  Davy and Caleb couldn’t resist joining them so then there were five heads close together on the big big couch.  Grace was quietly folding hundreds of socks because we’re a large family and it’s a chore she reluctantly helps me with. 

With a jolt, I realize again how extraordinary “ordinary life” really is. I see, really see, my very own family, my pretty things, my cozy home, and my heart swells in gratitude as I look for my camera to try to capture the gift of now.  I’m thankful for each day God gives me.

These are dehydrated mealworms.  The chickens love them, I give them as treats.  You should see how fast their beaks grab them up out of my palms.

The light brown chicken is shy, and I’m happy for her when she gets brave enough to come get some treats for herself.

This is Snickers.  He has pretty eyes.

This is Socks.  He has a very loud purr and sleeps at the end of our bed every night. 

This is Ethan and Grace getting off the bus this afternoon.

I didn’t get a snapshot of Jacob because he got off the bus first and was too quick for me.

Ethan brought home a shelf that he made in industrial tech.  I’m proud of him!

He put his initials on the back, why did that make me teary eyed to see? 

This is something we can hang on the wall and it will still be here in the years to come, even when Ethan is grown and gone. 

I have a little peg/key rack that Rich made when he was in shop class as a young boy, too. 

Seth woke up from his nap and came outside with us.

It’s in the mid 50’s today, a quite nice first day of February.

Seth’s third birthday is tomorrow.

Little Sarah Joy woke up from her nap.  She was scarlet,  like a fiesta disc pitcher.

(The dress used to be Grace’s!)

Caleb arrived home again, home again, jiggety jog.

And last but not least, Davy-do!

Someone at church gave Grace this beautiful coat.

David wanted to show me something that he did……”x marks the spot”.

What did you bury?

Oh, I see. 

The noise these two make as they play memory reminds me of the wild monkey-filled jungle.  Hoots and hollers, loud yells and laughing, groans, moans, goofing around, crazy singing, on and on until the rest of us yell, “Please!  Be QUIET!” 

Ethan always wins by a lot.  He has an amazing memory.

I met a friend at the library this morning for some play time with our little ones.  Her name is Kelly, and she has four grown children; she brought two of her grandchildren.  I didn’t know her very well, and I felt shy, but we had a nice visit.  She is a lady from the new church we joined. 

Rich is working late tonight so I’m not making a big dinner, maybe just some grilled cheese sandwiches.

I have this mother goose poem stuck in my head:

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig;
   Home again, home again, dancing a jig.
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog;
   Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.

How’s your day going so far, friends?

You are loved.  ((hugs)) 

“I knew an old black man, whose piety and childlike trust in God were beautiful to witness.  At fifty-three years old he joined the Baptist church.  He had a most earnest desire to learn to read.  He thought he should know how to serve God better if he could only read the Bible.  He came to me, and begged me to teach him.  He said he could not pay me, for he had no money; but he would bring me nice fruit when the season for it came.  I asked him if he didn’t know it was contrary to law; and that slaves were whipped and imprisoned for teaching each other to read.  This brought tears into his eyes.  ‘Don’t be troubled, uncle Fred,’ said I.  ‘I only told you of the law, that you might know the danger, and be on your guard.’  He thought he could plan to come three times a week without its being suspected.  I selected a quiet nook, where no intruder was likely to penetrate, and there I taught him his A, B, C.  Considering his age, his progress was astonishing.  As soon as he could spell in two syllables he wanted to spell out words in the Bible.  The happy smile that illuminated his face put joy into my heart.  After spelling out a few words, he paused, and said, ‘Honey, it ‘pears when I can read dis good book I shall be nearer to God.  White man is got all de sense.  He can larn easy.  It ain’t easy for ole black man like me.  I only wants to read dis book, dat I may know how to live; den I hab no fear ’bout dying.’
     I tried to encourage him by speaking of the rapid progress he had made.
     ‘Hab patience, child,’ he replied.  ‘I larns slow.’
     I had no need of patience.  His gratitude, and the happiness imparted, were more than a recompense for all my trouble.
     At the end of six months he had read through the New Testament, and could find any text in it.  One day, when he had recited unusually well, I said, ‘Uncle Fred, how do you manage to get your lessons so well?’
     ‘Lord bless you, chile,’ he replied.  ‘You nebber gibs me a lesson dat I don’t pray to God to help me to understan’ what I spells and what I reads.  And he does help me, chile.  Bless His holy name!'”

From Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl Written by Herself, Harriet Ann Jacobs (1813-1897)