As a mother to a son who shares the same birth defect as Alison Davis, I cannot encourage you enough to read this woman's story.  

More Daybook entries at Peggy's

For Today…

Outside my window… rain. Glorious, always welcome rain which we see so little of most of the year. 

I am thinking… about love.  Specifically I am thinking about the three kinds of love Fr. discussed on Sunday. He explained that there is eros, a self-seeking love.  Always taking.  There is filio, (or filios or whatever it was) a give and take, relationship based love.  Here you give your love and affection to family, friends, neighbors etc and you hope for a return on your investment by way of loyalty, companionship, gratitude, romance and so on. Then there is agape love.  As he so well described it, love with no hope of return. Not the desperate, unrequited love of tragic novels but rather truly selfless giving with no thought to "results".   

I would guess most functional Christian people move past the first.  Still,I suspect that many of us stall out at the second.  How often do we love with no hope of the same being returned to us?  How steadfast is our service or our prayers when we don't see 'progress'?  How readily do we "preserve ourselves in forgetfulness" (ie eyes on our own behavior ONLY) and give ourselves wholeheartedly and equally enthusiastically to both the warm and sweet and also to the cold and bitter?  Do we love the latter the way Christ did?

From the learning rooms… math and reading mostly as we move into summer schedules, piano practice 

I am thankful for… growing with my husband – growing up, growing closer, and yes growing older

From the kitchen… scrambled eggs, peaches, and natural sausage for breakfast.  Homemade turkey vegetable soup from the crockpot for lunch.  Dinner?  Hmmm.  Roast beef I think. 

I am wearing… jeans, rose colored Old Navy tee, brown clogs and socks, mother of pearl drop earrings. And a rain coat. : )  Heading to the barn momentarily to meet the farrier. 

I am reading… Anne (The Life of Ven. Anne de Guigne)  It isn't often a biography of a child grabs hold of me like this book has.  This girl missed no opportunity to give to God without reserve and without grumbling in her short life. It shames me to think of of many such opportunities I have wasted. Today is a new day however right? 

I am hoping… to waste no more.  Also, hoping beyond hope that the puppy (and the two year old for that matter ; )) are someday potty trained. 

I am creating… more summer skirts.  A new cross stitch project.  Although cross stitch is now universally declared 'not cool' I decided I don't give a flying fig about that. The colors come together so richly and the learning curve is next to nil.  Moreover I want to weave my faith into all I do.  There is a plethora of truly lovely cross stitch patterns available.  Sadly most of the "cool" crafting projects cannot boast the same. 

I am praying… for a friend's intention, safe travel for my husband, for holiness. 

Around the house…  We have  finished the first Clean Heart, Clean Home task – the vehicle. Took a LONG time!  Who knew we ate so much trail mix…..   In other news, we spent all afternoon yesterday cleaning the barn, weeding around the house, and sinking railroad ties as borders.  I am very pleased both with the end result and with how earnestly and willingly the children participated.  Go Kids!  A sorry metal shed has been torn down finally. We are making final plans for the first leg of a major remodel job. 

One of my favorite things… walking in the rain.

A few plans for the rest of the week…  piano recital

Here is a picture thought I am sharing with you…

It has been quite a day. I wonder if a "month of Sundays" can be inversed?  As in "a Sunday that seemed like months"?   Today Kieran made his First Holy Communion.  That's the very good news.  In fact it overshadows the rest by far.  For months he has been preparing with the Sisters and at home. Today was the big day. I believe he was ready.  His mother – not so much.  That would be the less good news. 

"What a character test adversity is. It can either destroy or build up, depending on our chosen response. Pain can either make us better or bitter. 

(visit Peggy's for more Daybook entries)

For Today…

Outside my window…   Hens scratching in the paddock.  White blossoms peeking out of the pasture grass.  A pair of doves visited this week. 

I am thinking… about surrender. I think it's all about surrender. This line is running through my head this week:

This whole being responsible thing takes a lot of time, let me tell ya. <g>  We had a whirlwind first week of Allen home last week.  We are working hard to tighten up routines and schedules which got a little loose over the last two months.  It is a necessity if we hope to get in all the hiking and camping we have planned and still stay on top of school and chores and home repairs.  

Charlotte Mason would have smiled to have seen our kids sloshing around the creek at the caravan complete with galoshes and nets and then later braving the windy shore of Lake Erie.  Though no one uttered "nature study" to them they were certainly doing just that.  They thrilled to find sea glass and shells and even an animal tooth during these treks.  It always makes me happy to see them so enthralled with their world but even more to be able to explore a new place with people who know it well.  

Rebecca's Annie:

creekside:

Kieran:

I have never seen a tree man til I looked out Rebecca's kitchen window.  I am told they are not all that uncommon but it was another 'wonder'-full thing to me. I think I must have one.  Maybe one on every tree lol!  No doubt the caravan children were puzzled over the crazy lady taking pictures of their trees but I had to get a picture of him:

Aidan

tomorrow – the shore…..

It has been many years since I visited the Midwest in the springtime.  This year, as always, there were blooms spilling over the walkways and weighing down tree boughs everyplace we stopped.  The grass was insanely green. You forget how green green can be.  You also forget that children raised in totally different region have completely different ideas of what spring looks like.  

I read an essay in a magazine the other day where the author was sharing the story of going back to her childhood town with her children.  She was met by riotous flowering shrubs and heavily perfumed air. She was overcome with memories prompted by the surroundings, memories which her children did not share having lived in a very different place all their lives. They did not share the same nature cues, she said. 

I have thought about that a great deal.  For all my growing up years spring came drizzling in with cool, damp days and muddy footprints at the door.   The lawn was spongey, filled to capacity and then some with the snow turned rain.  The sky was often gray but the ground was green – and red and purple and yellow, for there were the bulbs tucked into every corner.  I knew the names of them all – the crocus which came first, the hyacinths, tulips, and daffodils.  Finally the irises which marked the end of spring and beginning of summer in my mind.  

For my children spring bursts onto the scene unexpectedly. One day there is blowing snow and the next the sun beats down and coats are shed.  It all happens with little warning.   The grass turns from deep gold to a pale green seemingly overnight.  They sky is blue. The last of the tumbleweeds blow from the fencelines.  In the fields that line the roadsides, calves appear by their mother's sides.  The pronghorn are on the move.  The meadow larks take up their nests again in the few large trees out front. They chatter and swoop low when we walk underneath to the mailbox. The ground squirrels dart across the road, tempting fate. This is springtime in the West, which they know so well.  These are the rhythms buried deep into their psyche's and what will come back to them in sudden snatches when they are grown. 

So the sometimes soggy, always exuberant, Midwest springtime meant something different to them than it did to us no doubt. They thought it was beautiful, if a little foreign.  It did not trigger any long forgotten memories for them however. Lovely as it was, it was not home for them.  I enjoyed sharing it with them but it was wonderful coming home again and seeing them slip eagerly into their routine once more. Be it ever so humble… : ) 

Tess, once again proving that the ninth child does not in fact get photographed less than first child lol!