Day 39: A Convicted Heart

As I've been telling my kids (more and more bluntly as I realize how short their time is before Mom's perspective on their lives is relegated to somewhere deep in the compost pile), we speak to God through prayer and He often speaks to us though the Bible. That's why it's important to read your Bible regularly, Kids.

Last week, I read these verses from Revelation 21, which spoke to me in a new way:

⁶ He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. ⁷ Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. ⁸ But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”

 Now, I haven't spent much time in the book of Revelation since my preteen years, when I turned to the exciting dragon part on Sunday mornings when the sermon dragged on too long. (Kids: this is great way to stave off boredom during sermons without getting in trouble. No parent will give you The Look for reading your Bible! Oh wait, not sure I should be sharing that advice.) But I can tell you that these verses come almost at the very end of the whole Bible, during the most cathartic conclusion in all the world's literature. And this is a true story, no matter how symbolically you interpret Revelation to be. It's His ending, our ending, my ending. I am thirsty for His living water and eagerly anticipate taking my place in the world's only genuine Happily Ever After.

But this time, a different part of these verses jumped out at me: a sure sign that I the reader should be paying attention. Look back at the very first sin listed in verse 8. "Cowardly"??? What is "cowardly" doing among the despicable sins consigning certain sinners to the fiery lake. Is cowardliness really on par with vileness? murder? sexual immorality? idolatry? When I think cowardly, I think of the harmless lion in The Wizard of Oz, not burning sulfur. This gave me pause.

I am a convicted coward. I do not doubt my salvation or my place by Jesus' side in heaven, but cowardliness is a signature trait of my writing.Why is it so hard for me to write this blog compared to writing a work of fiction or a promotional piece for a pharmaceutical company? I was especially struck by my tendency to call my cowardliness by more innocuous or even virtuous names. Usually, it's "self consciousness" or "shyness". Sometimes, I smugly call it "modesty" or "humility". Oh, I'm not going to tell people about my cancer blog -- It wouldn't be modest to share the link. That would be self-promotion. Or pride. No, I'll just share it if someone specifically asks me about it. However, if I truly feel called to write, then writing is not an act of self-promotion but a calling. Right?

I am convicted to explore my motives and tendencies in prayer, to set them at God's feet and ask Him to blow away the chaff and leave me pure motives in keeping with His will. I will pray for boldness, the courage wield my pen without hesitation, to promote my Savior and His Kingdom, whether though my own experiences or through fiction or through some other means.

Whew, this is a big one! Lord, please help me. I don't even know where to start.

Day 38: Children Who Walk in Truth

3 John 1:4, I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.

Sometimes parenting feels like a crapshoot -- sometimes more crap, sometimes more shoot. I know several parents of strong faith whose children grew wayward as they hit their teen years. Some were outwardly rebellious but others hid behind a pious facade. I think of the pressures facing teens, the siren song of the party peers, and I think what a limited time our family has before we reach that stage.

Of course, parenting is not a crapshoot. My child's every move is within God's realm. But I often find myself fearful -- am I missing an opportunity that will make a difference in their lives? Are my own insufficiencies and sins obscuring the passing along of my beliefs or making me appear hypocritical instead of a sinner in desperate need of grace? 

I look at Huckle, who regular sighs on Sunday mornings. "Mom, church is sooo boring." Am I stifling his faith? Should we be doing something differently?  How should I respond? (Lord, give me wisdom.)

I look at Sally, who still freezes up when asked to pray aloud and does not show any curiosity about the faith. Is her heart hard, or is she just introspective? Should I sit tight and simply wait for her faith to grow? (Lord, give me wisdom.)

On friends' advice, we no longer make our children take turns praying aloud. Instead, we model prayer and a prayerful approach to life. This is working for Sally. Huckle still likes to take a turn (especially since his prayers are often shorter than Mom's, especially when he's hungry) but also likes to listen. And then I hear with pleasure his new prayers picking up phrases and concepts I used. Joy! My son is listening even if it sometimes seems as if his body never stops moving.

A few nights ago, we somehow finished our bedtime chapter of The Wizard of Oz early, giving Sally a bonus 20 minutes before bedtime. This is practically unheard of -- usually we're running late and Mom is frazzled because YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE IN BED 20 MINUTES AGO AND LOOK AT THIS MESSY ROOM! Sally and I looked at each other incredulously. Where did this extra time come from? How should she spend it? "I know!," Sally said. "I'll do my devotions." And she picked up her little pink Bible, a devotion book that has been collecting dust on her floor for a few months, and a book of children's prayers, bought in an earlier, failed attempt to give her words to pray aloud. And, without my prompting -- and almost without remembering my goodnight kiss -- Sally set to work, spending her extra 20 minutes with God. Joy! Great joy!

I pray that my children hold fast to their faith and continue to grow in wisdom and truth.

Lord, my precious children are in your hands. Please hold them tight and never let them go.

Day 37: Unexpected Blessings

Yesterday was a day of unexpected blessings from my son Huckle.

First, as I was driving down a traffic-clogged interstate on my way to a morning Bible study, my car was passed by a minivan making a strangely muffled yelling sound. I looked over and there was Huckle waving madly and trying to yell through the closed window, on his way to a class field trip. I had just been praying, as I passed his school 10 minutes earlier, for his safety -- how fun to see an answer to prayer in action! (And what a blessing that my son hasn't hit an age when seeing Mom in public is humiliating!)

Then, when the kids came home from school, Huckle had very little homework (due to the field trip). That's a big blessing -- his homework trowels a thick layer stress onto our afternoons and evenings. Huckle loves ALL his afterschool activities and has an hour of homework every night. That combination means Mom must practically sit on him to see that all is done before bedtime. Not pleasant. For any of us. Especially with Husband out of town many weekday nights -- I'm the one and only Bad Cop in this here town.

With no homework and a Mom moratorium of after-school activities for the night, Huckle was at his most pleasant and creative. Gadget-loving Huckle had had his eye on an electronic engraving tool in the basement given to us by a gadget-loving friend who moved away. So we pulled it out and set to work writing our names on the kids' stainless steel water bottles and then decorating old boards. Using an electronic tool + creating = one busy, happy boy practically floating with enthusiasm. Then -- I hope you other moms are sitting down --10-year-old Huckle REORGANIZED A KITCHEN CABINET. Is that not strange?? But he loved it and did a great job. Funny (and encouraging) that, on a night off, he would choose to work for me, that slave-driver who is always nagging him to work, work, work.

Needless to say, this experience has me rethinking his busy schedule and wondering how we can have a Happy Huckle every evening...

Day 36: Cloudsourcing

Husband now backs up my computer files via "cloudsourcing."  Here's the definition of cloudsourcing, in case you aren't a techno-geek:

Cloudsourcing is a process by which specialized cloud products and services and their deployment and maintenance is outsourced to and provided by one or more cloud service providers.

All the mystery is cleared up now, right? Your metaphorical clouds have parted and all that? Nope, I don't get it either. I also don't understand how cloudsourcing could be more secure than leaving my files quietly stewing in my private computer. Doesn't it sound as if my precious writings and all those photos of my kids are being chopped into bits and thrown into the stratosphere? I imagine a few of my words and a picture of my cat's left ear falling in someone's backyard next time it rains. However, it's good to be current, to keep up with security measures as identity thieves and hackers grow more bold and clever. I suppose keeping files only on a personal computer is the modern equivalent to keeping one's money under the mattress.

But never mind the actual definition of cloudsourcing -- what I really like is the word. It's probably a play on "crowdsourcing," which I do understand: outsourcing a task to the undefined public rather than specific people (eg, paid employees). [Appropriately enough, that definition is based on an entry from Wikipedia, a crowdsourced encyclopedia.]

I also love analogies, and I think the words "crowdsourcing"  and "cloudsourcing" make a great one.

Question: Would you rather have your joy crowdsourced or cloudsourced? 

Crowdsourced means your joy is dependent on people, that undefined public. If your happiness comes from other people's good opinion of you or from the pleasures of friends and family, then your joy will be incomplete. I'm constantly guilty of focusing on this. For example, I struggle with caring too much about other people's good opinion. I shamefully admit this: I worry about making a good impression on strangers in the grocery store. I waste time wondering how they perceive me. Do I come across as intelligent? Kind? Beautiful? What will they think when they see 4 cartons of ice cream in my cart? Do I look as stylish as that lady over there? Why, oh why didn't I change out of these ratty yoga pants before running out to buy fruit?? It ruins my day when someone honks their horn at me while driving. I get defensive. I don't like to be considered in the wrong, even if I didn't do anything wrong.

Crowdsourcing joy is ridiculous, when you really think about it. We people are fickle and imperfect and selfish and -- well -- mortal. Even if you add together every person you love -- parents, friends, spouse, children -- this crowd cannot provide unending joy. They make mistakes. They have their own interests. They need to sleep.

You know where I'm going with cloudsourcing, you clever person you! I need to cloudsource my joy. I need to shoot my needs heavenward; I need to make God my focus. That sort of joy is unending and overflowing, like a sky full of clouds heavy with rain. When my joy is in Christ, then all those little bits of me can rain down on others as blessings, turning upward-facing joy into outward-facing joy.

How does the Bible suggest one makes one's "joy complete"? It's more than just loving God. It's living in unity with one another in God's love.

Philippians 2:1-4, Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves...

John 15:10-12, If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.

I strive to go into that grocery store unconcerned about what others think of me, because I'm content and full-up in the Lord so that His joy overflows out of me and blesses all those shoppers in line behind me. Even the one wondering how someone could allow 4 cartons of ice cream in her home.

Day 35: Anniversaries

October and November are, for me, a minefield of reminders of difficult times. For example:

• October is the month my first baby would have been born if he hadn't died in utero during pregnancy. I will never forget the pain of losing my first child.
• October is the month my first-born son spent 10 days in the NICU with a rare infant botulism infection. I will never forget the terror of seeing my 4-month-old baby helpless, paralyzed, covered with tubes and hooked to monitors. 
• November is the month my ob/gyn found a lump that turned out to be breast cancer.

In early October, I often pause and consider the upcoming anniversaries, like pressing my finger on a scar to check if it still hurts.

Here's the thing: I cannot forget, but it doesn't still hurt.

• I no longer feel acute pain from losing a child. I remember clearly the moments of learning my child had died, of waking from the D&C procedure with feelings of profound emptiness and loss, the months of crying and waiting for my body to recover. I hurt and mourn with those who suffer a miscarriage, but my scar no longer hurts when I touch it. I look forward: before me stands a joyful meeting in heaven and an eternity together -- all my children. I look backward: behind me stands a young couple facing their first major trial together -- a practice run for the full-on heart-intensiveness of parenting. I see the kind people who ministered to us. I know the healing joy of birthing my first-born the following year, the fierce mother-love of holding a precious baby-treasure, never to be taken for granted.
  God provides.
• I no longer feel terror over the botulism infection and the near loss of my first born four months after that healing birth. I remember clearly the frightening trip to the ER as our baby struggled to breathe and weakened quickly, the terror in the hospital as test after test was run to determine the correct diagnosis, the sight of my baby in a big hospital bed only eating and breathing and surviving through the workings of machines, the warnings that my child might face physical and mental challenges. But I look at my son now: Huckle is tall and strong, a 10-year-old of integrity and wit, strong-willed and intelligent. I look forward to seeing the man he will become, God willing. I look back and see the hospital staff and facilities that more than met our needs -- we never even saw a bill. Although infant botulism is rare, this hospital had seen it before and knew to test for it. Our son came through unscathed.
  God provides  
• I no longer consider myself a cancer patient. I made it through surgeries and chemotherapy and came out scarred but more aware that my body is a tent, not a permanent dwelling. I cannot find inner strength in health or self, no matter what our self-help culture suggests. I look forward to my permanent, heavenly home and my permanent, heavenly body and an eternity with the God who loves faithfully and fully. I look back and see the friends and family who ministered to me and the strength I drew from God.
  God provides.

I look back and I look forward as I press my scars and assess the damage. I don't feel damaged; I feel healed and full of joy in both directions: joy in seeing God's provisions throughout my own history -- especially my wanderings in the deserts -- and joy in knowing God will provide in my future. I know He will provide because I have learned His character through my trials.

• He is not a Precious Moments god, cute and starry-eyed and weak and whoops-you-dropped-your-ice-cream-cone-but-I-love-you-anyway.
• He is a kind and sympathetic friend who sits beside me and holds my hand and loves me. But He's much, much more. 
• God is a warrior -- huge and terrifying and awesome and fierce. He fights on my behalf, ever vigilant, ever in control. He always prevails. What joy that I am on the winning side! And so I will, as written in I Timothy 6:12, "Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses."
• Finally, I have learned firsthand that God is a "compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness" (Psalm 86:15). What a joy to be the recipient of such goodness, to try to mimic my Father in this world and to be with Him in the next.

Day 34: Joy's Source (post 2)

I'm still chipping away at John Piper's book "Desiring God." For such a joy-seeking title and pursuit, it's a dense and academic read. However, it's also thought-provoking and convicting.

A prayer for today:

Lord, 
I long to feel sufficient desire for You, 
to thirst for Your presence, 
to crave membership in the audience of Your throne room, joined with the ecstatic throngs who revel in praising You.

Yet here I sit in my daily life:
No crisis of health or finance or parenting or career. No anxieties gnawing at my heart.
The leisure to perform my duties at a less-than-frantic pace, to plan my day with a cup of tea beside me and fuzzy slippers on my feet. 
I am comfortable. 
But this is not joy.

Once again, I have settled for a cup of lukewarm tea instead of craving Your promised feast, Your Living Water. I have settled for a brief hiatus from suffering and conflict: sufficient health, sufficient happiness, sufficient peace. Temporary "okay-ness". 
Once again, I have set my sights too low.

Teach me to set my heart on You and You alone:
my Treasure, my Goal, my Feast.
Teach me to settle for nothing less than You. 
Keep me discontented with life's little pleasures to remind me of Your eternal pleasures: A life with You. Real joy.

I will run with perseverance the race marked out for me. I will fix my eyes on You, the Author of my salvation, my Prize, my Treasure.

Day 33: Tracing JOY to its Source

During the summer months, I became more and more convicted as to WHAT gives me joy. The sources of joy I typically describe in my "100 Days of Joy" experiment are the gifts, not the Giver. They are sweet gifts, often quiet and unexpected and certainly worth celebrating, but real joy will elude anyone whose only sources are temporal things/circumstances/feelings. Am I confusing joy with happiness?

This week, I began reading John Piper's book Desiring God. This excellent book (which will probably take me months to read) has even further revealed the emptiness of pursing joy from secondary sources and has reminded me to pursue the true Source of joy. Piper says,

Test yourself here. There are many professing Christians who delight in God's gifts, but not God. Would you want to go to heaven if God were not there, only His gifts?

Piper reminds us that the gift of conversion results in us, like the man in the parable of the hidden treasure, joyfully selling everything we have to buy the only treasure we really desire. That treasure is fellowship with God; the selling is not necessarily literally getting rid of our possessions but prizing fellowship with God above all other blessings.

Do I find such perfect joy in God that I don't need anything else? Not family, not health, not material possessions or success or the opinion of others? I certainly believe in God and aim every day to live a life that glorifies Him. But can I honestly say that my joy is fulfilled in knowing God? 

I am convicted. I will continue to faithfully celebrate God's blessings every day with my "100 Days" entries. But, at the same time, I will trace these little joys to their source by praying that God performs a miracle in my heart. I want a joy that is complete in simply knowing God.

Day 32: Renewed Goals

I'm back! My summer slump is over (I hope). I plan to be productive and continue practicing my writing with this blog. Even more, I want to renew my focus on finding joy in all circumstances. I've got stories to tell from the summer, and I plan to search for joy every day.

But today's goal is just to write a post, short and simple. I am thankful for renewed goals, new chances, a return to our fall schedule when I can more easily set aside writing time (without "Mom? Mom? Mom, where are you? Hey, Mooooooooooooom!").

Day 31: Unexpected Solutions

Oh, the lazy days of summer. They feel packed, even though not much happens. Does that make sense? I think the slower pace I expect makes "less happening" still feel like "too much happening."

This week I'm celebrating the joy of an unexpected -- and better -- solution to a dilemma.

I planned to tithe this week. My original plan was to spend it at church as a Vacation Bible School leader.

Well, with the lazy pace of summer, I didn't manage to sign up to help at VBS, and the requests for helpers eventually stopped coming.

Great! I thought. I'll tithe my week in a way I prefer. I'll write up those interviews I'm supposed to be doing for Intervarsity. No offense, kids, but VBS is exhausting. Exhilarating but exhausting. And ours is 9am until 2pm. Plus, if I'm going to get serious about writing, I need to get serious about making myself write every day.

As VBS got closer, I grew more excited about a whole week of writing, every day from 9am to 2pm.

Then, two Sundays ago, another call went out. The church needed a few more leaders. Would anyone out there be willing to serve?

I sighed. There goes my great plans. I thought about not responding, but knew I must. Tithing my week meant doing God's work where ever He wanted, not where ever I wanted. His week, His choice. So I emailed the VBS leader and asked if she still needed help.

Now here's the cool part: she needed someone to help with crafts on Wednesday and Thursday, the days the other leader wasn't available. How perfect! How affirming! This week, I was able to participate in the excitement of VBS on two full (exhausting) days and to write the other three days.

Well, sort of write. My stubborn heart still refuses to sit still for the hard stuff, so my writing time was also laundry time, email checking time, packing for trips time, errand time, etc. All the same, more writing was done that would have happened if the kids had been home.

This unexpected solution serves as a reminder of God's ways of answering our problems. He isn't limited to the solutions we see. He can give more than we can possibly ask or imagine.

Day 30: Well-Timed Rain

I woke up early to water my fern garden, because it's been hot and dry here for days. It was already being watered by a gentle rainshower that lasted at least 1 hour. Perfect! Instead of watering, I had a quiet hour of reading and responding to emails.

Day 29: All Sorts of Fireworks

A big town near us hosts fireworks on a Thursday night before Independence Day to save money, so we've already seen our annual pyrotechnical display, though the 4th of July is two days away.

Fireworks seem a little silly to the adult in me, who knows how much those gaudy explosions cost. But the adult in me also values nostalgia and tradition -- I love that Americans publicly gather for mutual awe. It is sweet. And it really does inspire awe (once you shush the adult in you that keeps grumbling about literally burning money). Each year the display amazes with its power and color and variety. For Husband and I, we're watching for something new. This year it was fireworks that exploded in fountains and then each "drip" of the fountain blossomed into a  mini-firework partway down the sky. Last year it was fireworks that resembled cascading waterfalls. A few years ago, it was a new orange-colored firework we didn't remember seeing in earlier shows. Best, of course, is hearing your children ooh and aah. Motormouth Huckle kept a running commentary about each firework -- types he liked best; how this one compared to the last; thoughts about seeing fireworks from an airplane. I love to hear his thoughts. Sally doesn't need her ears covered any more, as she did when younger. She would sit on my lap and I would help her guard against those cannon-like booms (not against her brother's half-hour discussion). Now she has her own chair in our row and doesn't cover her ears and thinks her own thoughts, including thoughts about how much she doesn't like the loud booms.

This year, my favorite light display wasn't in the sky; or, at least, it was barely in the sky. This year, we chose not to sit with the crowd on the lawn of the local high school. Instead, we parked at the township building separated from the high school by a cornfield. The location was quiet, only a dozen other families, most quiet crowd-avoiders like us. Dusk fell. It was dark enough that the kids asked, "NOW will they start? Isn't it time? Could it be any minute now?". It was still too light for the fireworks. We faced east, looking over the cornfield toward the high school on one side and a dark line of trees on the other. There was nothing special about the cornfield, and yet I now rank it among the most amazing sights I have ever seen. Just above the knee-high stalks were more fireflies than I have ever seen all together. In the quiet of the evening, in the dusk of the day, the field sparkled, like a crop of star spangles ripe for Independence Day. The glows were not random flits in all directions, as on our lawn. Rather, the thousands of flickers were uniform in height, skimming the tops of the cornstalks as if tethered by stems, and were synchronized in direction, with each light ascending. I don't know why the fireflies only lit their ascents and not their descents, but the result was lovely. No booms, just a field where the works of fire were small and natural and more beautiful than my words can describe.

I have added this image to my mind's collection of memorable settings, like William Wordsworth describes in his poem Daffodils. It sits beside a favorite memory of the first snowfall in a redwood forest -- craning my head to see the treetops in a sky full of large, lazy snowflakes, drifting white against the still dark needles, silently filling a woods that has stood for a thousand years. When I am old and sitting in a nursing home, perhaps I'll find the words to describe these experiences.

Day 28: Library Reading Program

The first days off school were days of bickering. The kids complain during the school year of not having enough free time; then, when they hit the motherlode of free time in June, they squander it arguing.
I prayed for peace in my household.
The library reading program was the answer to my prayer. Not only do my kids love reading, they love getting rewarded for something they consider normal behavior, ie, reading. The day we signed up for the library reading program was the day Huckle and Sally switched from 3 hours per day bickering to 3 hours per day with book glued to their faces.
Peace. Quiet. In fact, sometimes it's hard to get them unstuck from their books. Both are devouring Hardy Boys mysteries. Sally started by reading the first chapter and then skipping to the end. Then, after seeing the formula long enough, she realized she can handle the inevitable kidnappings and thefts. It's all part of the genre. So now she plows straight through them., like her play-by-the-rules brother who would never peek at the ending.
A week into the reading program was enough to restore balance in their time. They are no longer racing through books to earn little bouncy balls and other toys. But they also are bickering less, as if they've remembered how to spend their lazy summers and even -- sometimes -- enjoy each other's company. This morning they started a board game and made it a full hour without fighting.
Maybe summer wouldn't be as argument-filled as it began. Joy!

Day 27: Garden O' Raspberries

This morning I picked two cups of raspberries in our garden. Joy! It's my favorite food season. It took us seven years of raspberry-patch growing to have this abundance, enough for every family member to feel sated and generous with friends and neighbors, enough to experiment with recipes rather than hoard our precious berries and eat them one by one.

I have wonderful childhood memories of standing in my family's raspberry patch, picking a bowlful for breakfast. They fast like summer mornings, scratching legs and dewy feet, a shiver in the shade of long morning shadows before the heat takes over. They taste like lazy summer days with no place to be and no goals beyond finishing a library book and hunting for another.
  

Day 26: Examples of Godly Living

Anything powerful can be used for evil, including religion. That's what outspoken atheists emphasize when they write that humanity would be better off without any religion. They blame strong Christian sentiment for wars and acts of hatred.

But Christianity does not condone violence; in fact, the Bible states that vengence is to be left to the Lord and that people are to live in peace as far as they are able in this world. Rather, violence comes from a minority of extremists who warp and misinterpret Scriptures for their own purposes, as others do with laws or rational human thought. Anything powerful can be used for evil.

When a society has forbidden Christianity or muzzled the church, has the resulting culture been more humane? I think of the atrosities of Communism's rational, ordered societies. If you remove religion, something else will be used to oppress and subdue.

I also think of all the acts of lovingkindness performed in Christian faith that fly under the radar of history or publicity or atheist thinkers. Today I think of the selflessness of my friend Dolly, who left this morning on an errand of mercy. She changed all her plans and inconvenienced herself to help a friend of a friend, someone she barely knows but who has been on her heart. This friend of a friend, named Mercy, had a setback in her cancer treatment. Dolly is driving 5 hours to stay with her and care for her.

Millions of these selfless little acts are performed every day by Christians reaching out in love, quietly obeying God's call to care for the oppressed, the "widows and orphans" of our culture. This is not a political movement; these acts are not done for show or human approval. But they affirm the church's work in the world, the role of the Christian in bringing about God's kingdom on earth, a kingdom in which evil is subdued and love reigns.

Today I pray for Mercy, that she is comforted and encouraged. I also pray for mercy, that God forgives our world and us individual Christians for our failures to follow his loving will.

Day 25: The Perfect Jog?

This morning, I might have had the perfect jog:
1. I jogged longer than I intended
2. I jogged faster than I intended
3. The temperature was neither too hot nor too cold
4. The last half-mile included a free spritzing shower

I woke up before the kids, which means I didn't have two little ducklings following me around the block (which the neighbors think is funny but takes extra energy; and, actually, Huckle keeps up quite well though I expend a fair amount of energy worrying if he's expending too much energy pushing himself to keep up with me. And then I expend energy checking on Sally).

I also woke up before my will power was awake enough to realize it was being dragged out of the house. And the heat wave of last week is over, so the morning was cool though humid. Even if my will power had been awake, it wouldn't have been able to argue that it's too hot to run.

I started around the block, not sure if it'd go the standard (and lame) 2 miles I've been doing or if I'd manage to get up to 3 miles, my old standard distance. That's when I noticed the dark clouds covering a third of the sky. I ran faster, thinking I didn't want to have done the hardest part -- the getting out of the house part -- for nothing.

I ran a mile and still no rain. The dark clouds were closer and more threatening. The air had that pre-storm stillness. Rain was inevitable and could begin at any time. I decided to get in another mile down my 3-mile course to make it worth my while. I knew I could turn back at any point. I kept a steady speed, assuming my run would be cut short. It wasn't.

I started the third mile. It felt good to let my legs stretch long in a cantering stride rather than the shuffling I often allow myself. It felt like I was racing the weather and winning. When the rain did start, I was already headed for home, having down my full course satisfactorily.

The last half mile, the thick humid air was broken by rain. It felt great. I ran even faster, enjoying the cooling drops, the long strides, the heading home to tea and breakfast. The rain was building in intensity, with the downpour setting in when I was 3 houses from home. Perfect timing to cool me down and speed me up for a sprint to the finish line.

Home by 7:30; sporting wet running clothes and a sense of accomplishment. A good start to the day.

Day 24: Summer Hours

It's been 10 days since school ended, and FINALLY Huckle and Sally have stopped waking up at 6:30am. They were rising early on purpose last week; I don't know why after all the complaining at 6:45 on school mornings. Maybe they wanted to maximize summer. Or maybe they thought exciting things happen in the 15 minutes before their usual wake-up time. Anyway, I'm glad they are taking it easy and sleeping in today. I'm sure it helps that they were swimming at a neighbor's pool party until 9pm last night.

Lazy summer mornings are a childhood treasure. Some days that translates into kids stumbling downstairs in their PJs and throwing themselves onto the couch to stare into space for an hour (sometimes I have pity and let them turn on a cartoon!). Other days, Huckle is riding his bike around the block before breakfast, loving that summer means changing up the order of our activities, like leaving the house without having filled your stomach and brushed your teeth. For me, it's a relief to not have to pack lunches first thing in the morning and keep people on schedule to leave for school.

In the summer, we sleep in, pack a picnic lunch around 10:30, and head to the pool at 11. I get to talk to friends while the kids take swimming lessons. Then we all eat lunch together on the grassy lawn under shade trees before the kids hit the pools in earnest. This is the first year that the children of our "group" are all old enough to be independent, something that impossible or light-years away when I had a baby and a toddler or a preschooler and a toddler. What a joy to be able to read a book outside or have a conversation with friends I hardly see during the school year, while our kids go from pool to pool in a pack or go their separate ways, reporting to us for a snack, a rest, a request to watch them on the high dive or swim with them. It's all good. 

Day 23: Conversation

My 100 Days of Joy have been spread thin over the last few weeks due to the end-of-the-school-year craziness and now my inability to concentrate as Huckle and Sally adjust to The Unscheduled Life. Oh, all year they long for lazy summer days, but when those days first come, it's "Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom?" until they remember all the things they wanted spare time to do. Right now Sally is buried in a Hardy Boys mystery (she reads the beginning and the end; not sure if she then skips back to hit the middle or just moves on to the next book) and Huckle is sewing a pouch. I won't be surprised if they've switched in half an hour.

All this "Mom? Mom? Mom?" disrupts the solitude on which a big chunk of my joy is built, and so I am seeking other forms of joy. Today it's conversation with Huckle and Sally. Their conversation styles and topics differ tremendously. It gives me joy to interact with each in their own way.

Seven-year-old Sally is a quiet one. She thinks long and hard before bringing up a topic on her own. She is more likely to disappears into her room to play stuffed animals or quietly work on a craft at her desk than to seek me out for a talk. She's a solitude-seeker, like me. But when Sally does open up -- on her own time and on her own topic -- I love to hear her thoughts. She has studied her friends and classmates to know what they like and how they think. She has opinions about playground rules and kids who tease. She has a strong sense of justice and she often goes against the flow to do the kind thing. She knows who she plans to marry and has been certain since the day she met him two years ago. Sally is an easy companion. (Although she is also a complainer, especially when tired and hungry. We're working on that.)

Huckle is the none-stop motor mouth in our family. Since the day he learned to talk, it sometimes seems as if he hasn't taken a breath. He keeps a running commentary of his every thought, every sight. He is a wonderer. Even when he was two years old, I would stop him now and then and tell him "Mommy's ears need a rest" -- he is that relentless of a talker. At one point Huckle went through a phase when most conversations began with "What would you do if I..." followed by some little kid fantasy about finding a diamond mine in our backyard Digging Spot or inventing a car that ran on grass clippings or flying a plane around the world. Huckle would spend a good 5 or 10 minutes describing his invention or accomplishment and then pursue an answer: he needs a response. And so Husband and I developed a standard answer: "We'd call this newspaper." If that didn't satisfy Huckle, we would go over to the phone, pick it up, pretend to dial, and say, "Hello, newspaper? We just saw the most amazing thing. Our son just..." Huckle would watch us proudly. Afterwards, he would ask, "Did you really call?" We would answer, "No. But if it really happens, you can be sure we'll really call."

Huckle is our talker. Most of our conversations with him are 90% listening, but he doesn't only want us to listen. He needs a response. His love language is engaged conversation. And I appreciate that. I also appreciate knowing what he thinks. Huckle has no secrets -- I know his thoughts on God, on sin, on his own sin. I know his fears and joys. These days, my ears still often need a rest, but I find great joy in Huckle's conversation too, as he grows older. We go deep into controversy and science, politics and religion. Huckle's conversation is tempered with a great curiosity about the world, so he asks good questions and gives thoughtful responses. There is great joy in sharing your worldview with your child.

Huckle also has an incredible memory, which adds to the richness of his conversation. His school practices "narration" the retelling of a story or information. The teacher reads a paragraph and then the students tell back what they heard. Every one of Huckle's teachers has commented on his incredible gift of narration. He doesn't just tell them the gist of the paragraph; he repeats back word-for-word what they said. I didn't think much about it until I came across one of his papers last week on which the teacher had asked the children to write their narration instead of give it orally. He filled the whole page with a word-for-word regurgitation of the text (something informative, like how to make friends) with a few underlined blanks toward the bottom where he couldn't recall a word or two. 

I was thinking about conversation while transporting Huckle's classmates to our house for his birthday party last week. In earlier years, the boys have shrieked or made gross noises or any other noisiness when all together in my car. When we reach home (only 10 minutes away), I need an ibuoprofen. But this year, now that they are "mature" ten year olds, they actually had a conversation! It was fun to listen in as they told cat stories, each relating a cat their family once owned, what made that cat interesting, how it was found and how it died. They each were eager to tell their story and yet they took turns and listened to one another. I was impressed! Where were the fart noises? Would we make it home without me needing an ibuprofen? Ah, my son is growing up. There's still Sally's classmates to count on for the noise and headaches.

Day 22: Distractions

A busy week can be a wonderful distraction from sadness. This week, two of my dearest friends are moving: one permanently and one for the summer. If I thought about it, I would feel vulnerable and sad. Both friends have been tremendous gifts to me in their kindness and gentleness and words of encouragement and faith. They have been strong supports through rough times. Both have taught me how a close friendship means hurting with one another -- how that pain is a privilege to share,  not a burden. If I dwelt on these thoughts, my friends' moves would devastate me.

But I haven't had time to dwell on these thoughts. It's the busy end-of-the-school-year time, and all thinking time has been redistributed into doing time. I've hosted a brunch, given a science lecture and demo, performed many class parent duties, co-chaired Field Day, hosted a birthday party, plus all the usual keep-the-family-running-smoothly duties.

These duties were pleasures, none of which I would have traded in. But I now also see them as important distractions that kept me from focusing on my sense of loss. There was sufficient time for goodbye meals and many ways to assist with packing and childcare; there were wasn't sufficient time to sit on the couch and mope.

Today the diversions continue. Today is the 8th grade graduation, a happy-sad time that gets me weepy for the way life goes on and kids grow up and our sweet 8th graders will be facing the big world. But I won't be teary-eyed on the sidelines today, because I'm giving the invocation. (Well, at least I won't be teary-eyed at the beginning -- I'll be nervous!) I'm grateful for duties that keep me from dwelling on sadness.

Day 21: Huckle

Last night my sweet Huckle sprouted an extra digit in his age. Suddenly, he’s one decade old! And he's five feet tall! I look at him stretched out in his bed fast asleep, and I am in awe. He seems to go on for miles. I can still picture the little armful of wonder he was ten years ago. I still remember feeling awed by that little life, the responsibility of its care and keeping, the fact that he was my own progeny and shared half of my chromosomes. Life and its continuity and its growth are incredible!

Huckle's birth opened my eyes to a mother's capacity for pain -- a long labor, with drugs given too little and too late; an prolapsed uterus from pushing for 4 hours; pain so excruciating that I fainted between contractions (and everyone thought I was sleeping so nicely...). It was nothing like I had pictured -- me sweaty but triumphant, cuddling a sweet little bundle in my arms, feeling a life-bond connection with him from the second my eyes finally saw him; whisper-singing the happy birthday song to him and then inviting the delivery staff in for a birthday toast.  Instead, I was given a quick look at him before he was carted away so the doctors could put me back together. And, in that quick moment when I first saw him, no bonds were formed. He looked unfamiliar and red and sticky. I lay there, hearing the panic in my doctor's voice as she called her colleagues into my room. I was only there physically; my mind was following that cart, hoping to catch another glimpse, hoping that baby would look more familiar on further consideration.

A day later, I was home,  physically a wreck and emotionally a victim of post-traumatic stress. I did my mommy duties and grew in love for my boy. But I also cried for weeks, remembering the pain and the helplessness, the memory of being trapped in those endless cycles of contractions, pain beyond what I had known existed outside hell. Though I loved him, Baby Huckle seemed like an alien creature with alien needs like nursing, which was hard and painful. Chaffing, mastitis. We worked at nursing for weeks: 10 minutes left + 10 minutes right + 10 minutes left + 10 minutes right; repeat every 3-4 hours. That was another picture shattered -- that a mother and her infant would need to work at something that was supposed to be so natural and beautiful.

Then came the colic: Huckle shrieked piercingly and endlessly from age 1 month to age 4 months. Every afternoon through evening (the "bewitching hours"), we wore ourselves out, walking his scream-racked little body through the house and around the yard, through the house and around the yard, through the house and around the yard, wearing a path over the carpet and lawn, rubbing him and patting him and hugging him and bouncing him and snuggling him and wanting nothing more than for him to be comfortable and happy. And quiet. We were exhausted and at our wits end and convinced we were failing as parents.

Huckle did stop screaming at age 4 months. In fact, he stopped everything: he stopped moving, he stopped eating, he stopped breathing. Huckle was diagnosed with infant botulism, a rare and terrifying experience, a near loss except through God's providence of a good hospital and our parenting instinct, which thankfully we followed despite feeling like failures at that point. Huckle remained in the hospital for 10 dark days with this paralyzing infection, a tiny 4-month-old in the middle of a huge hospital bed. Even the nurses cried to see such a helpless and tiny body hooked up to to many machines, for breathing, for eating, for monitoring.

 Looking back, it seems we were thrown into the deep end of the parenting pool. Looking back, I see our strength instead of our weakness, our endurance instead of our helplessness, our love for Huckle instead of our fears, God's providence instead of our confusion.

I didn't just learn a mother's capacity for pain through Huckle. I also learned a mother's capacity for delight. No personal accomplishment could bring as much pleasure as the accomplishment of one's child. No personal strength or talent or gift can bring as much satisfaction or joy as those of one's child. My dear Huckle. I love him so dearly. I am amazed by God's gifting of him and look forward to seeing how he will serve in this world.

• Huckle is a boy of integrity -- he is honest; loving what is right and loving to do what is right. His conscience is razor sharp and he heeds it faithfully. 
• Huckle is a boy of zeal -- his enthusiasm knows no limits and infects those around him, whether about paper airplanes or calligraphy or a particular book or electronics or Legos or palindromes or cats or God. 
• Huckle has an inquisitive mind overflowing with questions and wonderment and suggestions and inventions and possibilities. He is a whirlwind of brain energy who questions his PhD parents until we must admit ignorance! His mind is nimble and tenacious.
• Huckle has an indomitable spirit. Huckle does not give in to injustice and does not give up. He loves to compete and improve. He is up for any challenge.

This boy is a gift, a joy, a blessing. I thank God for the privilege of being Huckle's mother, and I humbly pray for strength and wisdom as I continue to parent him.

Day 20: Church Bells

It's Sunday morning, and I'm skipping Sunday school. I'll join my family in an hour for the church service, but this season I'm using Sunday school time for my own quiet devotional time.

In spring, it's easy to see Sunday morning as set apart, holy. The ambient temperature permits open windows, lazy air drifting in and out and smelling of honeysuckle. This is my incense. The ambiance of spring birdsong, the depth of nature exhibited by the nearness and distance of calls and answers. This is my call to prayer. The hummingbird at the gladiolas juxtaposed against the dark pine beyond, fragile against immense, flashy against staid, frenetic against still. This is my cathedral.

And then the church bells ring. Across the meadow behind our house, over the treetops of our tiny town. The little white church with the red door that I know so well from the years we attended it. The still air ripples with the sound, like a pebble slipping into a quiet pond. Another juxtaposition, this one sound against silence. This is the sound of holiness.

I love the beckon the church bells on Sunday morning. I love the ancient practice of calling worshipers to come, that the secular world rings with a call to quiet itself because God's people have gathered to worship Him. May God is praised in the hearts of His people around the world each Sunday morning.

Day 19: Cancer-Free Anniversary

Several days ago was the one-year anniversary of my last chemotherapy infusion. My doctors counted my surgery as my cancer-free day, but the chemotherapy that followed surgery was a miserable experience. So I didn't count myself as through fighting that round with cancer until the chemo was finished.

It's a joy to be able to go a week or two without any doctor appointments. It's a joy to be regrowing my hair and feeling that my energy level has been restored.

I've been through a fire. I am joyful to be on the other side.

Day 18: Variety in Food

Yesterday I brought a meal to an acquaintance who had a mastectomy last week. Providing meals is a big stretch for me: I am not a confident or organized cook. I often begin meal planning at 5:05pm, throwing together a salad and some sort of pasta main course. But the month of meals that were provided to me after my surgery gave me tremendous gratitude for meal providers, and I aspire to be more flexible and generous in this area.

The meal coordinator for this family provided instructions about dietary restrictions of this woman's husband. Before planning the meal, I took a quick look. Oy! Providing a meal was going to be harder that I expected. The husband has such severe restrictions that any meal I considered included something from the long list of forbidden ingredients. I finally settled on bean soup and bread. Oh wait, he can't have wheat or yeast. Okay, bean soup and salad. Oh wait, he can't have lettuce. (Can you imagine??) Right then. Bean soup and fruit salad with a rice and broccoli dish on the side. The next challenge was finding something interesting to do with rice and broccoli that didn't involve cheese. And then I realized my bean soup recipe has celery, another no-no.

In the frustration of preparing this meal, I discovered a joy I take for granted: eating food in great variety. I love trying new foods, and I am grateful to have no food allergies. I can go into any restaurant and order any dish without asking what's in it. I can travel without worrying about finding something safe. I can enjoy tastes and textures and the joys of starting a new summer season of eating: strawberries this week!

Next week, I'll be giving my son's fourth grade class a special lesson on the science behind taste. Our senses are incredible in their sensitivity and their ability to differentiate subtle differences. And, interestingly, taste is one of our weakest senses. But taste does more than balance our nutritional needs and aid us in differentiating safe versus unsafe foods. Taste can help recall memories, can give a rush of comfort or pleasure, and can promote community.

Day 17: Testimonies

I've reached the 17th day in my "100 Days of Joy". Not the 17th consecutive day (alas!), but still worthwhile. As I said before, this exercise is about searching for and celebrating the joys in life rather than just going through the motion of living and getting through the day.

This exercise was inspired by, among other things, this article on the ancient practice of "examen", reflecting on our daily lives to see God's hand at work and to draw closer to Him.

Today, I am thinking about the joy of having a testimony of God's faithfulness in my life. My Bible study is examining the book of Daniel, and this week is the fourth chapter. That's the crazy one in which God disciplines Nebuchadnezzar for his pride by causing him to act like a beast for seven years. One of the most interesting things about this chapter is that the author is Nebuchadnezzar himself, writing to his amazing testimony as a sort of memo to "the peoples, nations and men of every language, who live in all the world". Another interesting detail: he writes "it is my pleasure to tell you" this story, of his pride and humiliation. The pleasure he feels is the joy of a powerful testimony.

That joy is mine too. I am glad I can look back on the difficult times in my life and see God's hand. I can see His providence, often the most amazing stories were during my darkest times. If my dark times were like a labyrinth, His grace usually didn't offer a trapdoor that removed me completely from the twisting passages. Rather, He sometimes provided a ball of string, like Theseus used in the story of the Minotaur. In these cases, I only need to doggedly follow. My bout with breast cancer was that sort of labyrinth. Other times, I had no ball of string to guide me. When I reached a blind alley and felt that there could be no way out, a way would appear: my eyes would adjust to see a hidden passage, or the walls would shift to reveal a new way. It is a joy to be able to look back and see.

This joy also reminds me of how far God still needs to take me in my learning. While I am able to look back and see His hand, I continue to pray for peace during the hardest of trials: the ones in which I do not fall through the trapdoor or receive the ball of string. I think about a recent flight in which the airplane flew through turbulent air. Due to a terrifying airplane experience many years ago, turbulence gives me severe anxiety. My heartbeat races, my palms sweat, I nearly pass out in fear. On this recent trip, I had no reason to fear for my life. But I sank in my seat, limp against the headrest in the dark, as soon as the turbulence began. As I lay there willing myself not to faint, I prayed desperately for a sense of peace, for a sense of God beside me. I don't want to be fearful. I want to be strong in all circumstances. When I die, I want to go calmly, knowing that I'm headed into my loving Savior's arms. I crave that degree of trust in God.

Lord, I know You are very real and very here. I know you are beside me, and I praise you for my testimony, the many times I have seen your work in my life. I pray that you will give me Your strength "in the moment" when I am fearful. Help me to trust You that much.

Day 16: Fireflies

Last night we saw the first fireflies of the season. Joy!

My firefly memories go back to age 4, living for one year in the suburbs of Philadelphia. The fireflies were plentiful in our yard, magical to a little girl. They danced in the shadows under the lilac bush and fruit trees, then emerged for a glowlight party as darkness deepened across the lawn. So many! If you lost sight of one, another would light up right beside you. I caught them in my hands, running barefoot across the lawn in my nightgown just before bedtime. My sister and I kept those magical creatures in jars beside our beds, natural nightlights. I was so disappointed that they were all dead by morning.

Then we moved to Wisconsin, where I saw an occasional firefly but rarely more than one or two at once. Being sparse and harder to catch, each individual firefly was charged with more magic and mystery, more like the mythical will-o-the-wisps that lured travelers astray than like the thronging multitude of my Philly memories. The older I grew, the more my memories seemed unreal, impossible. Could there really have been as many fireflies as I imagined? Could I really have caught those elusive insects myself at that young age?

My husband and I moved to New Jersey as young professionals. That first June, when the fireflies came out, I knew it was true: they really did exist in the grand galaxies I remembered as a little girl. They really were easy enough to catch that even a four year old can gather a constellation of her own. When I told my mother about the fireflies, she said she always thought God made them just for children: amazing to see and slow enough to catch. I agree with her.

These days, I find great joy in sharing fireflies with my children. I love how excited they get, like last night, when we see the first one. I love how excited they will get later when I let them stay up late and catch fireflies. I remember last year, Huckle running across the lawn, yelling, "There's another! I've got it! Mom, I've got 14 fireflies now!" And Sally busily and quietly tracking her own jarful in competition with her brother.

I love the science built into the firefly's light. I love that the firefly's light is the most efficient light known: 100% of its energy is turned to light, rather than being lost as heat, as in our manufactured bulbs. We have yet to learn how to make something already nearly perfect in nature. I love that the chemicals taste terrible, so the conspicuousness of the firefly also protects it. And I love that, as a scientist, I had the honor of using those chemicals (the enzyme luciferase) to track gene expression under the microscope. The only things cooler than cells are glowing cells!

I also love the peace of fireflies once my little chasers are in bed. I look out the window and see the flickering lights in the silence of the night. Fireflies are the Christmas lights of summertime, the fairy lights that decorate our patio and yard. They are the lowest and warmest level of the night sky: belong the stars with their awe-inspiring height and the moon with its benevolent glow are the friendly fireflies, right here among us.

Day 15: Thunderstorms

Thunderstorms might terrify Sally, but they make me feel cozy. That distant rumble, the pelleting rain on the roof, it brings me joy. I often assumed this was because I was safely indoors, but this weekend I found joy in a thunderstorm during our camping trip. We were outdoors, though granted we were under a big tarp. So I'm sure a feeling of safety still factors into my thunderstorm joy.

But another joy of being outdoors in a thunderstorm is seeing its power. You hear the thunder unmuffled by walls and roofs; you are right there with it. You see the lightning and can track the storm across the sky as different portions of the sky light up.

And Sally gets cuddly when it thunders. That brings me joy too. I feel as powerful as lightning and as safe as a house when my daughter seeks protection in my arms.

Day 14: Opportunities to Learn

As soon as Husband left the house with Huckle and Sally at 7:45 this morning, I sat down on the couch with a mug of tea and my Bible study. I can't begin to tell you how much joy that gives me.

• The peace and quiet after the hustle of kid waking, cereal pouring, fruit cutting, hair brushing, shirt buttoning, backpack packing, lunch making, bicker halting, kid rushing
• The comfort of the couch, my fuzzy robe and slippers
• The atmosphere set by a sleepy cat beside me (napping already!), no sounds except a ticking clock and the house wren guarding its nest outside our patio door.
• The terrific Bible study that I look forward to each morning. 

But that restful scene isn't the joy that struck me at 8:25 as I finished my Bible study: not only was the rest of the day still ahead of me, but by 8:25 I had already learned something significant, something that changed the way I think.

I'll share:
The expression "the apple of my eye" is well known. When I hear it, I imagine a father doting on his   little girl who is all dressed up in a frilly, flouncy, ribbony dress. She's twirling or dancing on the lawn, confident in her Daddy's adoring love. He's standing there with his arms crossed, thinking, "That's my girl!"

What I didn't realize is that this expression comes from the Bible.

• Deuteronomy 32:10, Moses' song, after giving the law to the people (which forms them into a nation), reminds them that God watched over Jacob [figurative for the Israelites] in the desert and "guarded him as the apple of his eye"
• Psalm 17:8, the Psalmist pleads with God to hear his prayer and protect him from enemies; he pleads that God would "Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings from the wicked who assail me"
• Zechariah 2:8, An angel tells the exiled people of Israel that God will punish the nations who plundered them "for whoever touches you touches the apple of his eye"

Here's what I learned: the expression "the apple of my eye" refers to the pupil of the eye. I never thought of that! It gives me so much to think about, so much that I will mull over this morning as I go about my responsibilities. Here are some beginnings to thoughts.

• The image is not of God's love for us (though he loves us dearly!) or of us as cute children that Daddy pets and pampers. Rather, the image is of us as a working and important part of God. This ties into the New Testament image of the church as the body of Christ. God sees us as that close to Him, that essential to Him! As God's eye, does this mean He uses us to see His world, to interact with it and perhaps color his impressions of it? Does he use us in that important of a role? If so, it's shocking and intimidating -- it changes how I need to view the world. I need Him to cover me with a contact lens that helps me see the world through His love and grace! 
• Also, all these verses are about protecting and guarding. The pupil of the eye is not only essential but delicate. It needs to be preserved to allow vision. Also, the pupil cannot be injured without its owner being fully aware or without its owner being seriously impacted. Likewise, God is fully aware of anything injurious to us. And He is impacted by our troubles. Do you see the difference? He's not the daddy proud of his little girl but perhaps distracted from watching her by a phone call or his own needs. Imagine that she gets stung by a bee: no matter how much her daddy sympathizes, he doesn't actually feel her pain. If we are the pupil of God's eye, He is not turned away from us by a distraction -- we are always in His vision. And He doesn't just sympathize with our pain -- He feels our pain.

What a joy to have a fresh perspective on an old saying so crusted over with cliche that it's origins and full meaning have been lost to me. I'll be mulling this over all day.

Day 13: A Full Life

I'm falling behind in my posts, but I will not be anxious about this. I already see the value of my "100-days" experiment: I am purposefully seeking the joy in my day, every day. I see something in the yard or think something as I drive and say to myself, "Yes! This brings me joy!" The only missing step is recording my joys on e-paper (ie, this blog).

This morning, I am thankful for the fullness of life that often prevents me from sitting at my computer. I am grateful that right now I must type for all I'm worth rather than carefully consider each word -- that's one of the smaller values of my 100-days experiment. I look at my to-do list, scribbled on an envelope and pouring onto its backside with nothing yet crossed off, and I realize that my list is a list of joys, not a source of anxiety.

Examples from today's to-do list:

Finish the poster showing all the fourth grader's spring service projects. What a joy that these 14 children each found a way to serve their God and community. As I tape their photos and written descriptions of their projects to the poster board, I see their personalities in their choices of projects and their words describing the experience. What a joy that my children attend a school that encourages them to engage in the world in a way that furthers the Kingdom of God!

Pack for camping trip. This seems like a daunting chore, since it involves armloads of gear in the basement, clothing in the bedrooms, food from the grocery store, and -- oddly enough -- I can't even remember the name of this year's campground destination, so I need to figure out where we're going! But, despite the work of packing, camping is a joy. Our family loves campfires and hiking and cooking with a Coleman stove. We love this long-standing tradition of camping over Memorial Day weekend with this group of neighborhood friends. It is a joy to catch up with them and spend a leisurely weekend with them.

Pick up our farm-share early. We have belonged to a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) farm since Sally was a baby. Every Saturday from May until November, we go to the CSA to pick up our fresh veggies. Some are waiting at the farmstand, others must be picked in the fields. Some weeks, it's a big job that takes more than an hour. But we love so many things about our farmshare. We love visiting the farm. We love that the kids see their food source and are actively involved in gathering dinner ingredients. When Sally was little, she would plunk herself down among the rows of green beans, barely visible through the leaves, and eat a whole meal's worth of legumes -- it gives me joy to imagine all those greenie little vitamins finding their way into my picky eater! We love the farm as a family activity; and Husband and I enjoy the challenge of finding uses for kale and collards and bok choy. We have amassed all sorts of favorite recipes for cooking veggies that we didn't even know existed when we were children. The farmshare has also taught me the joys of fresh flowers. By August, we have vases of cosmos and snapdragons and many flowers I can't even name, all lovely and colorful and day-brightening.

Day 12: Psalms

Long before iPhone's "there's an app for that" slogan, there were the Psalms. And, believe me, there's a Psalm for that, "that" being just about any human condition. The Psalms are amazing because they show God's acknowledgement and approval of the whole range of human emotion. The Psalms are about us reacting to God, to His attributes and His actions. Through them, we can learn about Him, worship Him, or cry out to Him in all our humanness.

If you read straight through the Psalms, you could find a Psalm that expresses any human emotion and feeling. In facing trials, they range from assured hope to deadly despair. Joy comes in more than 31 flavors: from the raw, ecstatic joy -- that reminds me of David dancing like a madman when the Ark of the Covenant was returned to Jerusalem --  to a hopeful, peaceful joy. Even limiting yourself to the letter "A", you'll find anger, awe, anxiety, apathy, anticipation, and anguish all described in the Psalms.
 
Awe:
"For the Lord is the great God, the great Kind above all gods. In his hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to him." (95:3-4)
"The Lord reigns, let the nations tremble; he sits enthroned between the cherubim, let the earth shake." (99:1)

Anticipation:
"come quickly to me, O God. You are my help and my deliverer; O Lord, do not delay." (70:5).
"My soul yearns, even faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God (84:2)

Anguish: "Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I call to you all day long." (86:3)

But reading through the Psalms to see the range of emotion misses something important. The Psalms are full of hidden treasure revealed only an "as  needed" basis: the same way manna was given long ago; the same way grace is given today; the same way the birthday presents and "just because" presents hidden in my closet are given to two certain children. You can read a Psalm of anguish many times; but when you are in anguish, the extra treasure is opened to you. If you feel bitterness or shame, the Psalms expressing these feelings suddenly jump out at you, giving words to your base emotions, helping you express yourself to God. The meaning is revealed and the heartfelt emotion resonates between you and the Psalmist to the glory of God and to the comfort of you. The Psalms can be STAT care for the hurting heart, emotional ER.

When you feel God's protective hand upon you, a Psalm can express your joy and gratitude in ways that lift your heart to soaring glory. They can be the box of confetti to throw at your homecoming party, the fireworks to celebrate His faithfulness, the morning prayer when you hear the spring song of birds and feel the quiet joy of a new day.

No matter what emotions are expressed, the Psalms almost always return to quiet assurance and praising God. And that's a beautiful reminder that our human emotions are God pleasing but that our call is to faith and worship.

Day 11: Wedding Weather

The couple who moved to our street several months ago were married yesterday in their backyard. I've never met these people, but I love a wedding. My guilty pleasure -- when Husband is out-of-town and the house grows too quiet at night --  is wedding reality shows, in which soon-to-be brides "say yes to the dress" or receive assistance from a professional wedding planner to turn their half-baked ideas into something more tasteful.

So, though we joked with other neighbors about jointly turning on our chainsaws at 5pm or allowing the children to try out water balloon launchers, the whole neighborhood was hushed and still at 5pm. A wedding feels sacred, even when it's not in a church or officiated by a minister, even when you don't know the bride and groom. It's a vow-of-a-lifetime, a commitment of great worth to be entered with serious conviction.

The weather was perfect yesterday at 5pm, I realized with satisfaction. I wanted these not-yet-known neighbors to have a beautiful start to their married life. And 76 degrees with bright sunshine is just about as perfect as you can find around here. The rhododendrums and irises were in resplendent bloom, and the grass was lush and thick. Wedding weather.

I was reminded of my own wedding weather. A naive 22-year-old, I planned our reception outdoors in the middle of August. Oh, I knew how hot and humid and buggy mid-August could be, but the romantic in me, planning the wedding during a cold, dark Michigan winter, pictured the ideal summer day, with clean, happy children blowing bubbles in the grass, a string quartet playing beside the punch bowl, me in my white dress standing beside my handsome groom and surrounded by the people we love. The backdrop, so essential that I took it for granted, was a sunny summer day, not too hot and not too cold.

As the day came closer, I realized just how rare these perfect days were. The real possibilities of rain and mosquitoes and a wedding dress drenched in sweat kept me awake at night. I reserved the dark basement of the chapel as a back-up reception area, but the place depressed me. A dismal basement without natural light did not fit my dreamy picture of a wedding reception, that once-in-a-lifetime party. And so I prayed, sheepishly, for wedding weather. The God I serve is majestic and holy; I felt frivolous asking Him for a special favor. At the time, I did not see myself as the King's daughter who could approach her Daddy's throne for anything, even a stick of candy. And so I pleaded with Him with a sense of shame at my selfishness. I thought about farmers in need of rain and starving children in Africa and all the world of bigger, more important requests. Feeling I had already sunk low in making with my selfishness, I decided I might as well stoop even lower. "Dear God," I prayed. "I'll make a bargain with You: if You will give me perfect wedding weather on August 14  just this once, I PROMISE I will never again make a weather-related prayer request." I knew God could do it, but I felt bad asking.

The weather on August 14 was perfect. It was sunny and warm. Not too warm. Not too humid. Not mosquito-filled. Our wedding reception was held outdoors on a perfect green lawn with a string quartet and little sisters and cousins blowing bubbles. The cake didn't melt. Neither did the bride. And she was more aware than ever of an answered prayer and perfect wedding weather.

As far as I can recall, I have kept my promise to never again pray for good weather. When I wonder if the weather will be agreeable for a beach trip or vacation, I return in gratitude to my wedding weather prayer and am again reminded of answered prayers. I see that God could use that answer to teach me that He is powerful enough to control the weather, yet gentle enough to care about the little things. His domain is over all.

Although I have been grateful for this wedding gift for 18 years, I know it wasn't God's biggest gift that day: I was blessed by the presence of people who surrounded us in love; I was blessed by my choice in Husband. I recognize that this choice was more the result of God's goodness and grace than of my good decision-making skills: I was as naive about the possibility of stormy marriages as I was about stormy wedding days. But God has blessed my marriage. It hasn't been all sunny days, but it has been many sunny days and the strength of endurance through the stormy ones. His providence covers that too. Joy!

Day 10: Homemade Ice Cream

Late last summer, Husband found himself a new hobby, one that the whole family appreciates. He makes ice cream. He doesn't just make chocolate and vanilla (although he does, and they are delicious), he makes fancy flavors, like watermelon/lemonade sorbet or banana with carmelized white chocolate. I just finished a bowl full of the banana/white chocolate. A mouth full of joy!

Husband's ice cream is more than a delicious dessert -- it's a bond within our family or with our friends. The whole family gets involved in choosing and rating the flavors or suggesting ingredients to add (Sally prefers M&Ms). The kids help mix ingredients and, of course, sample not-quite-frozen batches. We like to share our ice cream with guests and bring it to friends. In fact, Husband made a flavor specifically for sharing with people ill with colds or flu. But the flavor wasn't that good, so we didn't burden any sick friends with it. However, guests who have tried the good, sharable flavors shared our ice cream and our joy. Although I didn't make it, I feel a pride in how delicious it tastes and how wonderful it is to share something we love.

I love how humans have always bonded over food. That's where great events take place and strong connections are forged. Every culture has its prescribed food-related manners and traditions. That's a grandiose thought compared to our homemade ice cream. But the concept is the same: it brings us together and creates a commonality.

Days 8 and 9: Christian Friends

I'm doing 2 days at once because (1) I realized I'm one day behind and (2) this is a big one that I've been joyful about for a long time.

Christian friends: I'm not just talking about friends who happen to be Christians, just people you met at church or Christian school. I'm talking about friends who, in the course of your time together, mentor and minister to you, and you to them. These are friends whose joys and sorrows become your joys and sorrows, until you can't even remember what's really yours and what's theirs -- because they aren't yours and theirs, they are shared the way God intended. Sharing among friends has some remarkable qualities. Have you noticed the incongruities? A shared burden shrinks; a shared joy grows. What a lovely thing! And what a godly thing. Over and over again, the book of Romans talks about one-anothering:

• Be devoted to one another in love (Romans 12:10)
• Honor one another above yourselves (12:10)
• Live in harmony with one another (12:16)
• Love one another (13:8)
• Stop passing judgement on one another (14:13)
• Accept one another (15:7)
• Instruct one another (15:14)
• Greet one another with a holy kiss (16:16)

And that's just Romans. There's still more one-anotherings in Paul's letters, such as serve, be kind and compassionate to, submit to, forgive, and encourage. The point is that God loves His people as individuals and as a community, and He wants us to benefit from community. He knows it makes us stronger as individuals and as a group. It's not always an easy calling -- it means dealing with other people's problems, even people you don't particularly like or with whom you have little in common. But learning to live in community refines you and pleases God.

I am in a season of my life in which I have been very, very blessed by one-anothering types of Christian friendships. At other times in life, I have felt isolated. For example, in graduate school, I knew only one other Christian woman in my university (and, in God's typical manner, He sat her down right next to me!), and she needed me as mentor. For many years, I prayed for a Christan mentor of my own: a mature Christian woman who I could model and whose advice and counsel I could seek. That prayer request has been answered in God's typical cup-overflowing method -- He has provided in such an abundance I could never have envisioned. Even the friends of my friends are women of God -- when I meet them, I often think, "this person and I could be great friends." I am grateful. I am joyful.

Day 7: Family Reading Time

When it comes to books, the only thing that brings me more joy than a good read is sharing a good read with my family.

Sometimes this sharing just means handing each other a favorite book or discussing our readings at the dinner table or perusing the library shelves with one of the kids in mind. But one of my favorite family traditions is "family book time" each night before Sally and Huckle go to bed.

For awhile, Husband and I alternated: he would read to the kids one night and I the next. If it was a book we both knew well (like when Sally asked for E.B. White's Trumpet of the Swan three times in a row), we alternated in the same book. Other times, we alternated books. For example, Husband really wanted to share the Chronicles of Narnia with the kids, so he read them solo. On my reading nights, I chose a different book, such as Meindert De Jong's sweet children's tales, which Husband had never read.

Lately, Husband has been traveling often enough that he has chosen to read to the kids every night that he manages to be home. The kids love this -- they love every second with their dad. Right now, he is reading them Tolkien's The Hobbit (again), and they look forward to each new installment with great pleasure. When Husband reads downstairs, I enjoy listening as I tidy the kitchen or check email. When he reads upstairs, I enjoy a little post-dinner/homework/music practice/clean-up quiet time. But, I also love my turns to read aloud. Whether they snuggle up beside me or wander as we read (Huckle is an inveterate pacer, especially during the exciting passages), it's a joy to get lost in a story together -- to laugh, to wonder, to tense, to follow each word and scene as the story unfolds.

Recently, it was the Great Brain books by J.D. Fitzgerald. When we finished those, I was determined to try Mark Twain's Tom Sawyer again. Last fall, it didn't hold the kids' interest. I realized it was my inability to read it with interest, not the book's lack of interest. So now we are listening to the recorded book, read with accents and panache. It's truly a joy. Now that my eyes are not buried in the page, I can watch Sally and Huckle for their reactions. We can exchange a smirk at Tom's doings or at the actor's funny voice impressions. Now that my hands are not holding a book, I can pull Sally into a hug or pet her arm the way she likes. I can see Huckle closely following the story even though his body never stops moving. I can grab him as he passes and give him a kiss before sending him back on his way.

Day 6: Time for Worms

Yesterday I babysat a friend's son for almost 5 hours while she cared for her mother-in-law (who just had a mastectomy). I haven't had a toddler to myself for that long in many moons. As expected, not much was accomplished around the house or in my writing. However, I had time for worms and that is a joy.

Yesterday was a rainy day. My friend had packed her son's raincoat, and the little guy really wanted to play ball. "Play football. Outside," he insisted. How can anyone resist a cutie? Despite the soppiness of the day, we bundled into our raincoats and out we went. Little Guy brought the football, but the closest we came to playing was him passing it to me so he could concentrate on getting down our steps. Once outside, the wet world held far more interest than football: drips on a raincoat sleeve, puddles, and -- most of all -- a long, skinny worm worming his way across the driveway.

I've always loved worms. As a girl, I spent rainy days rescuing them off the sidewalk, picking up their ungratefully squiggly bodies and tossing them into the safety of grass. It was a matter of conscience and a matter of loving animals of any shape and size.

But part of growing up is no longer taking the time to rescue worms. It still bothers my conscience when I'm out jogging and step over or around a worm -- a big chunk of me wants to stop and rescue it. However, exercise time would be compromised by worm rescues (it wouldn't be fair to only rescue one) and so I let nature take its course as I run mine.

Little Guy might be only two years old, but he is clearly a thoughtful, quiet, gentle soul. He hugged the football and spent a full 5 minutes crouched over a worm I pointed out. "Big worm," I said. "Big worm," Little Guy repeated. (He's at that darling stage where he repeats every word.) We watched the worm's strange method of locomotion, the pointy front ("head"??) noses about and then pulls forward in the chose direction; the pull then ripples and flows down the body, inching the front of the worm forward in little sections. The last segment ("tail"??) then gets dragged forward and -- behold! -- all that motion has propelled the worm half an inch.

Little Guy giggled after a few minutes of watching. I was impressed that he had the patience to watch the slow progress, and that he could even see the humor in worm movement. For me, I loved that life had slowed down to worm time. The fascinating movement that I had taken time to observe as a child (between rescues) maintained its  fascination. Why do I continue to live by my to-do list? Why don't I take more time for worms? Or ants? Joy is in the little details of life, an appreciation of day-to-day miracles.

Day 5: Solitude

Yesterday I kayaked down the river behind my house. It was lovely. Tall trees arching over the water, tangles of spring-green bushes, the slow path of the river, solitude. Just the sound of my paddle dipping and dripping on the surface of the water. It was hard to believe I could feel so alone in the middle of NJ.

Yes, it was Mother's Day, and I love being a mother. I loved the greetings upon waking, the pancake breakfast together, time as a family. But solitude is essential to my mental health. That was the hardest part of having a baby and a toddler six years ago -- alone-time was rare when the kids were so dependent, especially when my work and Husband's travels were factored into our days.

Now my kids are older, and I see that they need their solitude as much as I do. Both tend to disappear on their own, either in the house or in the yard. Sally comes home cranky after a long day of school -- she feels better after a snack and some quiet playtime, perhaps drawing a picture or making a craft or finding her way up to her room to play with her stuffed animals. Huckle disappears into the basement to take apart electronics or to pound nails in some construction project. Or he loses himself in a book.

I'm glad my kids and I share a need for solitude. I helps me feel less guilty find joy in quiet Monday mornings, the end of a busy, noisy weekend. And it helps us all relate to each other and respect one another's need for solitude.

Day 4:Gifts From My Kids

My kids bring me joy. On Mother's Day, their gifts remind me of qualities I love in my kids.

Huckle, almost 10 years old, has always been a saver. He collects anything, can throw away nothing, and loves to earn money for the sake of having it, saving it, perhaps even hoarding it. Huckle is the kind of kid that still has Christmas candy at Easter, Easter candy at Halloween, and Halloween candy at Christmas.

Huckle bought me an orange begonia for Mother's Day. The sweetness is that my dear boy parted with his hard-earned money for me. That's love.

Sally, age 7 and missing her two front teeth, is a spender. Money falls through her fingers as fast as she earns it. Her Christmas, Easter, and Halloween candy disappear within days. But Sally is generous. She showers her friends and parents with homemade gifts. If she has two of anything, she gives one to her brother. Or one to her brother and one to a friend. What Sally does not give freely is hugs and kisses. She only demonstrates her love on her own terms.

Sally gave me a coupon book for Mother's Day that included a coupon for a free hug.
I used it right away.
"This is great!" I told her. "Is the coupon re-usable?"
She thought about it. "Yes. Except for the ones about taking out the trash and about doing the dishes."
The sweetness is that my dear girl parted with her control of physical affection for Mother's Day. That's love.

Sun

We are so familiar with the sun. It's that bright, happy ball that gives us light and warmth. We know life could not exist without it and that the earth orbits around it. That's our daily reality, so part of our normal existence that it's easy to take the sun for granted. That's earth-centric thinking.

The other reality is the stuff of science class: the gee-whiz numbers that are hard to fathom and fill us with wonder. That sweet happy ball of sun is really an explosive gaseous sphere that is more than a million times larger than the earth. It's performing millions of tons of nuclear fusion every second and its core reaches temperatures above 6 million °C.

To me, this is an interesting analogy for our relationship with God. On the daily level, He's familiar and goodness and light and love. We know life could not exist without Him. Our world is centered on His creative force and upholding power. It's easy to take this for granted. It's also easy to limit God to "us thinking", to picture Him only as the Being Who created us and upholds us day to day and saved us by the death of His son and has prepared a home for us in heaven. But that's earth- or human-centric thinking.

God is much grander than the scope of our understandings and dealings with Him. Although even His love for us is hard to fathom, there is so much more beyond our brain capacity. He does not only deal with humans. To think so is to limit Him. Just as the sun has all those "millions of" statistics, so God has qualities beyond our comprehension, a greatness beyond human fathomings and dealings.

When we meet Him face to face, which will overwhelm us more: the power of His love for us measily little humans or the awesome power He has beyond our scope of understanding?

Day 3: Brunch

Brunch. Even the word gives me joy. It speaks of a sprawling spread on a relaxed weekend morning with people I love. Brunch might be my favorite meal, though life rarely allows time for it. Or is it that I rarely allow time for it?

Brunch is a simple luxury, like a vase of flowers and a fragrant soap. My idea of a good vacation is sleeping in (joy!) and then eating brunch (joy!) with a big pot of my favorite tea (joy!). After that, the vacation day can hold anything, from reading in a beach chair to a strenuous hike  -- after brunch, I'm up for anything. We have a favorite hotel in Mexico where the restaurant patio lies four steps up from the beach. I can eat my brunch with my family, and then the kids -- always impatient for the beach -- can play in the sand while I watch indulgently from the patio. We're all happy.

I just returned from a Mother's Day brunch at the home of a church friend. It had no beach, no family, no pot of favorite tea. But it was just right too: good friends, new faces, scads of food. Ah, brunch!

Day 2: Bluebird of Happiness

The bluebird couple that return to our yard every year bring me joy. I know, I know: the bluebird of happiness. But it's true that seeing them brings me a rush of joy. Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of that brilliant blue as the male dives from a tree onto the lawn; sometimes I see the male and female sitting near one another on posts. The birds are lovely in their dedication to their family, their continuity in returning to our yard year after year, and of course they are lovely in color.

A friend of mine said that having bluebirds raise their young in your yard is the ultimate compliment to a gardener. I cannot take the credit. The bluebird couple has been returning to our yard since the previous owner, a woman named Gloria whom we knew from church, lived in this house. In fact, every year I wait, hardly daring to hope, for the bluebirds to return despite the non-ideal state of our yard. They arrive early, while it's still cold and wintery, and I worry that the bluebird house is worse for the wear of another year of neglect. I kick myself for all those cold and empty months when I could have stopped by the birdhouse to check its condition. I wonder if I should check it now or stay away to avoid worrying them about human intruders. Then the bluebirds seem to disappear for weeks. I am convinced they have finally given up on us and our less-than-perfect conditions. The birdhouse was probably stuffed with the messy sticks of a house wren, used to fool other birds into thinking a house is occupied. But spring bursts into the neighborhood and, with it, our bluebirds reappear. They sit on tree branches or posts and then suddenly swoop to the ground for insect food. Their orange chests and blue bodies are as striking and delightful as the male cardinal's bold red, which brought me joy all winter long.

Our first summer in the house was the summer we watched in awe as the bluebirds -- now OUR bluebirds! -- raised 3 sweet nestlings 50 feet from our kitchen window. That was the summer I fell in love with them. I was pregnant with my second child, and extra-susceptible to nesting and babies and such.

The next summer was a messy one with construction between our former kitchen window and the bluebird house. I was busy with my own nestlings -- a nursing baby and a busy toddler -- and with the building on our nest. My view was obstructed by an excavator and then the raising of a new kitchen and family room. How miraculous that the bluebirds returned despite the noise and activity -- the most unpeaceful of settings for their little family. Nail guns, pounding hammers, power saws, shouting, even one workman who loved to sing random bits of songs at a volume that matched his power tools. He was our birdsong that crazy summer, since anything more delicate was drowned out.

I awaited the next bluebird season eagerly: now I could sit 20 feet closer and watch the birdhouse from an enormous picture window in my new family room. I had a front row seat! The birds didn't disappoint: our bluebirds returned to their house and their activity bespoke eggs and then nestlings.

However, tragedy struck: one afternoon as I cautiously weeded the little flowerbed surrounding the bluebird house, I found three dead little baby birds. Their throats were slit. It was grotesque, horrifying. It made me feel nauseous for days. A house wren, a mini-bird with a sweet trill but murderous jealousy, had killed the baby birds to limit competition for resources in our yard. Nature is not all loveliness but is fallen and made ill with sin. The bluebirds disappeared, and the house wren filled the nest box with coarse sticks to prevent further competition.

 I didn't expect the bluebirds to return after that. Our yard was not a safe nesting ground anymore. But there they were the next spring, just as before. I was reminded of hope and grace, how God never gives up on us, no matter how grotesque and horrifying our sin. I as like a third bluebird parent, hovering anxiously near our back window, unsure how to combat mini-murderers.

I saw it happen. I saw the house wren take over and chase away the bluebirds. I ran out again and again to shoo it away, but there was nothing I could do. In the course of one day, all that remained were beautiful eggs with gashing holes poked in each, bluebird lives snuffed out. The house wren moved into the bluebird house and raised some darling-but-murderous progeny, and there was nothing I could do. House wrens, like other native songbirds, are protected by law, as are their eggs.

That winter, I replaced the bluebird house. It had grown shabby, and there was already a good chance we wouldn't see bluebirds the next year. We did see them though. They appeared early, as always but did not nest in our box. I would see flashes of them in the field behind the house. I mournfully wondered whose yard they had adopted in place of ours.

This year, my husband fixed up and erected a purple martin house that my grandfather built many years ago. I had stood for years in my parents' yard, filled with birds but never purple martins. Spring came and I saw the bluebirds again in our yard and sitting on the bluebird house. For two days, it seemed as if they had moved in. They were busy going in and out. But then they disappeared and a chickadee moved in. Within 3 days, I saw three delicate babies. I have no idea how they arrived so quickly! I was thrilled for the chickadee but still missed our bluebirds nesting nearby. Then I began to see them often. They still stood on our tree branches and swooped into the lawn. It took me several weeks to realize it, but they had nested in our newly-remodeled purple martin house. How wonderful -- a birdhouse passed down through my family now a blessing to theirs. Joy!