Shelter in Place

I woke up today feeling as though I live in a novel. Some historical fiction piece set in the wartorn 1940’s where people have to dive into a bomb shelter, not knowing if the world will be there when they emerged the next day. Or maybe its more akin to a sci-fi thriller where civilization survives a biological event of epic proportions when everything around them is contaminated. The truth is that neither of those two scenarios are far from the reality I woke up to today.

Today our governor shut down everything nonessential in our state and ordered everyone to stay home.

Our world is in the midst of an unprecedented crisis. Things I’ve only ever seen pictures of in history books are now my daily concern. Take the empty grocery store shelves. Basics like bread and eggs are in short supply, and I had to swallow a lump of guilt as I took the last two packages of tortillas last week. Local businesses have shut their doors, many truly worried that they may never open them again. Office buildings sit empty, all the workers sent home. Our schools are closed. Our gyms are closed. Our churches are closed.

Meanwhile people on the other side of the world are dying terrifying deaths, alone, separated from their loved ones. And they say it’s only a matter of time before we see that here too. To open everything back up–to go on with life– would mean putting countless lives at significant risk. But to shut life down means many people will never recover from the severe economic repercussions of our current reality.

And so we find ourselves in Psalm 23, a shadowed valley with mountains of ruin on either side. There is no good choice. No right way to tackle a pandemic–everything has a consequence and everyone thinks they are right.

Even though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil.

For those like myself, the irrepressible urge to help others is the worst part. I want to save every small business. I want to pray for every sick person, hand a cup of coffee to every exhausted medical worker, and make every weary trucker and grocery clerk a sandwich. Instead I slap on a smile and work hard to keep my own little people busy and entertained as we pass the time away. But deep down, my heart is breaking for the loss and hatred that is tearing our world apart.

How do we respond? What do we do when “shelter in place” is our only real option? I find myself looking to the ultimate shelter.

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD “He is my shelter and my refuge. My God in whom I trust.” Surely He will save you from the fowlers snare and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find rest. His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. Ps. 91:1-4

God does not promise that we will never suffer or live without times of dire uncertainty. He does not promise an easy, carefree existence. But He does promise life–abundant life–that no virus can take away. He provides a shelter that no state governor can match; a provision that makes a trillion dollar federal bailout look like a foolish joke. And He promises a salvation no human could ever acquire on their own.

To be fair, now is not a time for flinging Bible verses at scared or bitter people. It isn’t a time to pat friends on the back and say God’s going to make it all better.

But for those who follow Jesus, it is a time to genuinely trust–to go all in with our faith–and live in the abundance, prosperity, generosity, and healing that Jesus demonstrated to His followers. Because when God strips away every cure, every security, and every mortal attempt at hope, the only thing left to cling to is the everlasting promise that our King will return to rescue His Kingdom.

So hold fast, my friends, wherever you are. Have courage. Be kind. Shelter in Him.

Five Things that make Homeschooling Successful

When it comes to my life, I often hear the popular catchphrase “I don’t know how you do it!” Usually I get this when I’m out with my kids, and most often in reference to homeschooling. People assume I have it all together or that I’m some kind of homeschool supermom. How I project this image I will never understand. I feel like I’m running around like a madwoman most days! While I normally reserve this blog for the more philosophical or theological implications of life and motherhood, I wanted to step away from that voice and platform for a moment, and offer an honest, real look at our homeschool.

The truth is that I don’t actually feel like I’m doing it. I just seem to get up each day and go from one moment to the next, and somehow my kids have followed suit. But as I’ve pondered our educational choices, it’s become so clear to me that homeschooling does not start with a fancy curriculum or a box of books delivered to our door. It starts with our intention.

The reason our homeschool and, by extension, our life runs as smoothly as it does is because I set it up to do that. I’ve figured out what my must-do’s are and what kind of support I need to accomplish them. I’ve also created a vision for our homeschool that directs our priorities and gives us a bigger reason for home education. And in all of this I’ve learned to be careful to account for my own personal needs and weaknesses. So here it is; a breakdown of the five things I do that make our home a place of learning without me actually being super mom to pull it off!

1) Maintain the Core Vision— Before we began homeschooling, I outlined in my own mind our reasons for homeschooling. This wasn’t about choosing an educational modality (like Classical, Unschooling, Montessori, etc.). It was more about the over-arching reasons for keeping my kids at home.

One was that we want to raise life-long, independent learners and we felt the home environment was best suited for that. We also wanted to have the flexibility to incorporate a wide variety of educational experiences into our family culture and provide an academically rigorous but also more flexible foundation for our kids than what traditional schooling options allow for.

And so every time we have a bad day and I find myself asking “why are we even doing this?” it’s helpful to go back to that core vision. It drives us forward and helps sort out many of the doubts or struggles that arise. (As an aside, even if you don’t homeschool, having a unified vision is so important for a healthy, functioning family. Mom AND Dad really need to be on the same page there.)

2) Make a Plan–Each summer I spend a lot of time thinking about what milestones I want each child to reach and how I plan to help guide them. (I should write all this down, but given that I have my hands full pretty much all of the time, I’ve become very good at operating on mental lists.) Personally, it works best for me to keep it to 3-4 broad goals per child, usually that have to do with helping my kids achieve growing levels of independence that propel us into future years.

For Ayla (5) this year, I simply wanted to 1) get her used to doing a short amount of more “formal school time” with me, one on one, each day, 2) introduce her to basic phonics, and 3) get her working with numbers and basic math on a regular basis. Everything else is a bonus, and believe me, we’ve had a LOT of bonuses! Why? Because my plan was manageable and set us up to succeed. At the end of the year what really matters most for Ayla? Those were the three things I kept coming back to. Those three things will lay the foundation for the next school year, when I will expect more from her and she will need to pick up the pace.

For Crew (8), my plan was a lot different. He’s older, has mastered all the foundations, and is ready to be challenged in other ways. But the goals I have for him function the same way; they’re always paving the way to another benchmark that leads to greater independent learning.

3) Define Priorities–Once my “plan” is in place for each kid, then I can start figuring out the ins-and-outs of how we’re actually gonna pull it off. What are my must-do’s each day? Each week? And how am I going to ensure that those things get don,? (We’re talking both school and non-school stuff here.)

Because I am a busy mom trying to homeschool two big kids with two very active little ones underfoot all day, priorities are a BIG deal. I can’t do it all, so we have to choose the right things. Priorities look different for every family, but what I have noticed over the years is that priorities are very hard to meet when you are not available to meet them. In other words, it’s really hard to homeschool when you are never home!

I’ve found it helpful to build the rhythm of our day around what’s most important. Most weeks follow a pretty strict pattern, and that usually involves me staying home to ensure that the top priorities get accomplished. For us, mornings are school time. We are early risers, and often Crew is working away at math by 7:45am. This means by lunchtime, he’s done nearly four hours of solid school work. Our afternoons are marked by nap time for the littles and quiet time for the bigs (and mom!), and then we are free to play, work, or do whatever else is left in a very unstructured afternoon. Learning happens all day, every day, and for the most part, my must-do’s get done because the rhythm of our day supports my priorities. It’s been a helpful lesson to learn and eased my stress levels when I don’t feel like I have to do “all the things.”

4) Find Support–You cannot successfully homeschool, effectively parent more than one child, and also maintain a house, a life, a spouse, a healthy diet, and your sanity without support. I’m sorry, but you just can’t. Support is paramount for moms in general, and absolutely a necessity for homeschooling moms. Moms can’t to it all!

It dawned on me over the summer as I was struggling to pull any sense of routine together after having baby #4 and moving that I simply wouldn’t be able to accomplish our vision for our homeschool unless I got more support. I knew I would end up jipping the big kids in their education and having lots of loose ends because of two demanding little ones who also need me. Bit by bit I began figuring out what support would look like and realized how much I needed to advocate for myself.

This is a tough thing for many moms to admit, and especially difficult for people-pleasing personalities like me. But behind every woman who looks like she’s got it all together is a killer support system that she has cultivated and, more than likely, had a hard time accepting.

For me in this season of life, support looks like help with my toddler. Two mornings a week he leaves the house for a few hours. He goes to a friend’s house one morning and spends the other with his grandparents. This gives me a solid and predictable chunk of time to plow through things with the older kids. On weeks when my husband isn’t traveling or too slammed with work, he also pitches in and will sometimes take the two little ones out to run errands for a bit. It’s good dad time for them, and gives me yet another block of focused time. It can be a sacrifice to make support a reality in your life but it’s super important for the longevity of your mental health and overall quality of life. It’s taken me a while to come to grips with this, but I’m getting more comfortable accepting the help I need and planning for it to happen.

5) Play Up Strengths. Know the Weaknesses.–There’s a lot of wonderful ways to homeschool and many inspiring families out there who are accomplishing those things. I am not them. I’ve got to do what works for us, no matter how awesome another family makes it look.

Reading aloud is a great example. It’s so valuable, produces great conversation, and I love doing it. But reading aloud to four kids, with four different levels of interest, attention spans, and a wiggly baby who just wants to eat the book or pull my hair–well, I’m just not in a season of life where reading aloud to the whole family can happen without causing me a mild panic attack. So I only read aloud to the big kids together, and I read separately at other times to the littles. I know admitting this is like homeschool sacrilege but when all four are together, we don’t read!

Other things that are my weaknesses: I’m not the best teacher for something like long division, I’m quick to shrug off science in favor of discussing a great book, and I know that if I don’t get a little down time each day, I will lose it and turn into Momzilla.

To combat this, we switched math curriculums to something that Crew could be much more independent with. I still do math with Ayla, but Crew can work much faster and without my help most days. When Crew told me he’d like to study chemistry and physics, I decided it was time to bring in a science tutor who works with him once a week and gives him assignments to complete between sessions. This has been a huge hit for everyone this year! He is loving it, learning a ton, and I get to sit back and be the cheerleader rather than the coach. And the quiet time? That happens every single day. I guard it like it’s Ft. Knox because if I don’t, I will totally burn out.

By knowing my weak areas, I can better plan for them and free up my energy for the things that get me excited about homeschooling. I’ve loved teaching my kids how to read, and cannot wait until they hit middle school and we can really tackle some great writing and literature analysis. I also enjoy history and social studies, and I find it easy to incorporate these things into our everyday life. So I’ve learned to play up my strengths and find creative alternatives to teach the things that I’m not good at or that simply don’t excite me.

To sum it all up, homeschooling is a wonderful privilege, but it’s also an alternative lifestyle. I spend a lot of time curating the education we’re after, and that takes effort, intention, and creativity to make it a success. I didn’t start out knowing all this and we’ve made some big sacrifices and significant life changes to make it work. But when the long day finally comes to an end and another day of school is in the books, it’s these things that have been our guide and are preparing us for where we need to go tomorrow.

The Best Part of Parenting No One is Talking About

The other day I sat down with a friend and listened to her tell me about her fears of raising kids. She is knee-deep in toddlerhood, where tantrums and choking hazards are the biggest struggles of daily life. I listened as she shared her doubts and worries, the messiness of her life at home with young kiddos. It was the standard “the days are long but the years are short” condundrum, one that any mother worth her salt will face. Through our chat she expressed to me her fears about her little people growing up and the days when there are no more toddlers or preschoolers around her home anymore. She worries about wishing these little years away and dreads the hole her children will leave when they outgrow babyhood.

Her fears have merit. Every single person I’ve ever met has told me how much I should treasure these young years and how fast they go. Anyone can get misty at the thought of a bright-eyed, beautiful baby suddenly grown up, gone from their life in a blink. But it seems to me that in sapping about over the days of cuddles and coos, we’ve missed the best part of parenting that no one is talking about. We’ve missed the quiet, gentle days of big kids.

It sneaks up on you, that phase. You don’t see it coming. And as quick as it comes it’s over, and you’re off to the precarious transition of tweens, and then into the full-blown teenage years that everyone seems to fear. But this year I realized what a beautiful season I’m in right now. For the first time in almost nine years, half of my children are big kids.

Like their little brothers, my two oldest kids are still fun and lively. Their imaginations and possibilities are limitless, and their main goal in life each day is pretty much just to have fun and discover something interesting. It takes very little to make them happy, and for the most part, a simple routine full of rich explorations satisfies them.

But unlike their baby brothers my big kids have the stamina to really go for something. They have attention spans and cognitive abilities that make conversations stimulating, even for an adult. And while not every moment is a bright one, for the most part they have enough maturity to navigate the ins-and-outs of the disappointments and thwarted plans that daily life brings.

While everyone is quick to tell me not to miss a beat with my two youngest, they never tell me about the ways in which my heart nearly bursts when I see all that my big kids have grown up to be.

Resourceful, responsible, kind. Humorous, welcoming, gentle. Creative, hard-working, useful. Empathetic, independent, self-controlled.

And then there are those moments where I truly have to pinch myself. The ones where I walk into a room and my 8 year old has dressed his little brother, taken him to the potty, brushed his teeth and hair, and generally made my morning faster by at least 15 minutes. Or when I discovered the two big kids, working together in harmony, just randomly cleaning up the kitchen. And it’s then that I realize that I won’t be a slave to little tyrants forever.

We still have a long way to go. There is still plenty of character shaping and hard parenting in front of me.

But with two littles and two bigs, I find myself resting in the beauty of the truth no one tells: big kids are just as magical as babies.

The best part of parenting isn’t the phases we look forward to or leave behind; it’s the phase we’re in. It’s those everyday moments we don’t notice that shape us and shape our children. And after a while all those moments add up and transform into something that–surprisingly–we didn’t expect to see during our time in the muddy trenches of the little years.

And so I savor the moments I have. I soak in those snuggles and the simple play with my tiniest ones. But I also bask in the awe of the two in my home who are no longer little. And I delight when one of them walks into the room and I just love them more than I ever thought I could. I will cherish them for who they are, and step into the fresh season ahead, loving every moment of being with these babies I’ve raised.

When my friend finished telling me about her fears of her toddlers growing up, I smiled. “Yes, your babies will grow up,” I said. “But do you know what happens then? You get to marvel at the big kids they’ve become. That’s the best part of kids. They grow.”

Christmas in the Tabernacle

We all sat together in the rare quiet of the morning, weaving little strips of $0.39 felt together. I cut the purple and red pieces, and showed them how to arrange them in a simple basketweave pattern before we hot glued them together. Such an easy project but so fascinating to their young minds; taking something singular and making it come into a whole.

They moulded the clay diligently, as if each piece of bread and the stone tablets were meant for something greater than their simple little purpose. I watched as my daughter meticulously painted every spec of the little dish destined to be the bronze laver. To my mother’s eyes it was a beautiful sight to watch her work so carefully, as though she took great pride in her task. The little sheep and goat figurines stood nearby, as if they were watching her, knowing the laver she was making was there to cleanse their pretend blood.

Our felt curtains done, the alter and other furniture made, the stone tablets and rod safely inside the ark, our tabernacle was finished. It was just a simple art project. But my children knew its significance. They knew how important it was to treat the whole thing with respect because the place they were making represented God’s presence among His people. His dwelling place. His home.

Cardboard and glitter glue were just the vehicle. Eventually they’ll end up sitting out on the curb in the recycle bin. But the process of making the tabernacle will continue. I wonder how many times they will stand before the alters in their own lives, dying to themselves and offering themselves up. How often will they stand before the golden table and pray for manna, enough just to get them through a day? Will they remember the beautiful menorahs and how they lit up the dark? Will they smell the frankincense and say a prayer of thanksgiving? And how often will they go behind that veil torn in two and visit with their Maker? How much time will they spend on their knees, humbling themselves in His glorious presence? And when they leave, will their faces radiate like Moses?

For us in our home, Christmas is a season for celebrating light and God’s generous presence among us. Two trees of light bathe our home in a glow; one Christmas tree lighting up our tradition and one menorah shining light on our adoption. Like the two trees of light in the tabernacle, these symbols remind us to praise Yahweh for tabernacling in our midst, revealing that He is the life and the wisdom we seek.

For many in my faith community, this year has not been one of certainty or praise. It has been a long haul through a barren and chaotic wilderness. It has been a time of brothers bickering, grumbling, and slandering each other. A time of mistrust and doubt, and I’m certain some have questioned if leaving Egypt was really worth it. Broken people leading broken people in a very broken world, the enemy in hot pursuit waiting to devour us outside the door. And we wonder who is there to step in and stop it all? What happens when we have lost sight of the fire before us? Where is the mighty leader–the promised prophet–to stand in the gap in intercede on our behalf when we have failed?

As we gather around our nativity sets and our Christmas trees, as we light candles in our windows and homes and sanctuaries, may we come to see the reality of the good news proclaimed to the shepherds. When we fail, we when break the promises we made, when our friends, family, or leaders who we trusted let us down and deceive us, when we fail to be a blessing, when we fail to live out the good news and deceive ourselves, when we fall so incredibly short, Yahweh comes and stands in the gap Himself.

He comes to our wilderness, and shows us a little blueprint for making Eden in our hearts, and fills us with His glory.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory…full of grace and truth. John 1:14

We are so unworthy of the gift that we celebrate at Christmas, and recognizing that is what brings the great joy.

The tabernacle was just a symbol of God’s presence with us. But the lesson it teaches is far reaching. Because the tabernacle is not out in the wilderness anymore; it’s right here. Right in the heart of all who call upon the Name of the God of Israel. His Spirit dwells in us, ready to make us new. And so as I teach my children about this mysterious ancient temple, I pray over them. I pray that the symbols of the tabernacle find their way into the makeup of my children. I pray they seek their Father, that they look to the old paths and find rest for their souls.

By the light of the two trees in our home right now we play with our humble little cereal box. We rehearse the rituals, arrange the furniture, and take turns descending the sparkly felt that represents the glory cloud. And I show my children how our nativity set means the exact same thing. Eden here. Yahweh bringing salvation. “Come!” I say. “Come and see what God has done.”

Immanuel, God with us. Here in this tent in our wilderness, providing for us, standing in the gap of our failures. Both blessing us and waiting to bless us with His presence and ready to remake us in His image.

Butterflies in October

Yellow and orange pieces of felt littered my kitchen counter. A black outline, symmetrically decorated with pops of bright, cheery colors, began to take shape as I measured and glued. Sewing, cutting, glueing–three of my very least favorite things to do, but it’s October and I’m a mom. Sitting in your kitchen on a Sunday afternoon stressing over a costume for your 2 year old is part of the job.

He could have chosen a fireman or a construction builder; a train conductor, Batman, or a football player. Something boyish and fun or exciting and fast. What little boy doesn’t dream of driving a big, noisy machine or saving the day with a stick and a cape? But true to his character, my little sweetheart jumped up and down and cheerfully declared, “My be a butterfly, mama!”

After a few attempts to coerce him into a more gender-appropriate get-up, I finally gave up and decided that I’d have to make him a costume. And as I pondered a design, I began to doubt. A butterfly is not the most manly thing in the world.

A butterfly is a creature of gentleness and joy, fluttering about in the sun, stopping at each flower to take in its goodness. As a young caterpillar, it will grow and morph into a new form, ready for flight and exploration. Aside from camouflage, the butterfly has no real way to protect itself. No biting weapon or deadly sting. It seems simply at peace with everything around it.

No, the butterfly is not a manly choice. But for Asher strength and beauty, fun and function, rest and activity–there is no difference in his mind. Life is only full of all good things, including the happy little butterflies that filled his backyard this summer.

But adults are quick to pick up the armor. We grab the sword, protect ourselves or our clan. For us it’s important to look tough, think fast, be witty, aluring, and sharp. We know our odds of survival are better with a weapon in our back pocket. And so we may enjoy the occasional butterfly, but given a choice, we wouldn’t select it as our identity. Wouldn’t want to disguise ourselves as a creature so innocent and helpless.

My son has chosen what I could not, and has left me ashamed and exposed in the process. In the face of power or strength or flashy, applaudable options, somehow he has chosen the divine. A creature with a nature that transcends our human reality, aligning itself with life and blessing rather than rebellion and corruption that marks our condition.

Watching this little boy is such a fascinating lesson to me. He is the eternal optimist; the chronically happy child. Each day I am in awe of how perfect his name fits him, meaning “happy, fortunate, blessed,” and amazed that of all the colors his favorite is, of course, yellow. Asher seems to embrace joy and peace more than any other person I know. It should come as no surprise to me that he would asked me to help him to embody one of the most positive, mild, and beautiful things on God’s good earth. He seeks to be the very thing that he already is, fluttering into our lives and floating on streams of sunshine.

And so I glue the felt and sew the straps and fashion antenna out of pipe cleaners. I praise my little one for seeking first the Kingdom, for seeing God’s handiwork where I could not. And as he flutters about in his homemade wings, I pray over the little heart that asked for them. May he always find shelter in the wings of his Creator and always know the happiness that comes from dwelling in peace in the garden of delight.

Lessons from the Little Bear

Dusky blue shadows hang in the space between us. The last rays of the sun have gone to sleep, and twilight looms, a lazy, late-summer night. We sit in the quiet, just looking at each other. I hum a lullaby over you and study all your sweet features. Soft, dark hair combed over to the side of your white forehead, roll poly arms, a blocky face with a perfect little, round nose and pointed chin. Your eyes stare back at mine, as if you’re begging me to tell you the story.

Because there’s a story in you, Little Bear. Did you know that? We all have one. It’s yours–beautiful and rich with all the light that makes you human. I may not know just quite how it goes yet, but it’s there inside you, waiting to be read.

Rocking back and forth in the familiar chair I hold you in my arms. What a sweet lump you are. Soft, warm, with that baby smell I would exchange oxygen for if I could. I try to decide what I love most about you, but hopelessly give up because there is just too much goodness in you to choose.

Goodness. Your story starts with that, Little Bear. So much goodness. Very goodness, in fact. And that is the best part.

Snuggling you, breathing you in, kissing your forehead and hold your hand…it’s intoxicating because it’s full of so much goodness. Your little life unmarred by the world, full of potential and creative power. And even though you don’t know it yet, all you have ever known is love. Perhaps that is the best part; the wholesome and unattached love with which you see me. Love and joy simply because I am your momma. Simply because you love my face. My voice. My fingers intertwined with yours.

Sitting here in the shadows of the night, you stare at the tired woman who carried you in aches and bore you in quite a labor, and somehow you just know to delight in me because you came from me. With you, I don’t have to pretend away my feelings. Don’t have to deny my own desires or hopes or wishes. I can feel my needs because you can’t reject me. You can’t unlove me.

Yes, your story starts with goodness. The shadows, aches, pains, and weariness are all apart of the process. Nothing in life is perfect. But you, Little Bear, you are a glimpse of the perfect human. The one who lives to love and be loved. The one I hope to someday become.

Four Precious Stones

Four precious stones. Four. Each one different and full of the things that make them unique. Most who look at them would see the rough edges and deep pits still so clearly drawn in their varying hues. But not me. To me they are pure specimens of beauty and potential.

Each day I carry them to the River’s edge and emmerse them in the lapping waves and He takes over from there. Shaves away at the callouses. Rolls them over and over again in the truth that polishes all the goodness He placed within them long ago. I stand on the shore, watching the glittering and horrifying process of children becoming adults. And at the day’s end, I pick them up and carry them home. Once again, they feel a little smoother in my hand.

When I began this journal four years ago, I named it for the two precious stones that defined my days. And now I find myself writing again, marveling at the change and clawing for the meaning, with four precious stones in my hands.

No doubt the load is heavier. Each day my arms get stronger and my life more weathered by the vocation of mothering small hearts. I have one who rushes into the River each day, eager to meet it and dive beneath the waves to see what treasures the depths hold.

 

 

 

He is my Emerald, full of life and all things new, deeply interested in ideals and causes. It’s through his curiosity that he organizes his world, and he has a strong connection to his Maker already. But sometimes he swims too far. The currents pull him to places I’m not yet ready to rescue him from, and I worry maybe I will lose him in the places where it gets too deep. But those are the places that refine him most, and I cannot hold him back from where the River takes him. I can only be there when he comes up for air.

Over in the shallows my warrior princess wades, splashes, and cartwheels through her own journey. A July Ruby, she is the one where the vibrant summer sun shines with the most passion and brilliance: creative, determined, spirited, imaginative. Her own instincts took her deep into the murky waters of toddlerhood but now she is emerging into clearer pools of youthfulness. The hard work of her little years has paid off, and I am more able to rest as I watch her knowing she will come around to things in her own time as long as I stay vigilant and attentive to the subtle needs of her complex nature. Love her through the rapids.

And then there is the Amethyst, a royal blessing in the midst of winter. He pokes at me with a smile and his warm, sugary disposition lights up my world no matter how awful the chaos he is causing may be. While he is not yet ready to jump full in, the River calls to him already and each day I find it harder to keep him content playing with the waves that lap at his feet on the shore. He is searching for more. Some days he finds it; the perfect tidepool with just enough newness to keep him happy and safe. But some days he goes looking for it on his own and wanders into dangerous waters, places he cannot yet navigate by himself. And so it’s up to me to pull him back and teach him while I stand stranded on the shore, arms full of our newest little stone, a frosted, springtime Diamond. He is too little for the mighty River and all it’s lessons. All he needs right now is the safety of his family and to hear the promises of the Mighty One redeeming his heart one day. He needs the truth sung over him and tenderness to his changing newborn ways.

Four precious stones. Lately the task is daunting, and my life is like a game of Twister, each of my hands and feet bent on top of a different color. Except my children aren’t a game and falling down isn’t an option. I worry about losing track of one while I linger too long with another. I worry about the pounding they endure on the hard days when a storm rolls in and everything rages in the torrents. I worry that I might be too tired to carry us all home at the end of the day.

But when I stare down at their faces I see my own journey looking me square in the eye. While I am quick to notice the changes in my children’s lives, I often overlook the glory that has come in my own: a mind that is sharper, hands that have memorized the mundane tasks of motherhood, a heart more in tune towards the needs of others, a posture more inclined on the things of the Kingdom, and endurance that carries us all farther.

I remind myself of this when the long and demanding day begins. And when the sunset comes, I stoop down to study their four little faces. These tiny hearts in my hands just a little smoother, glowing a little brighter. The mosaic of their lives resembling more of the image He’s making them to be. We lay down to rest from our day and I listen to the story their hearts tell me.

Because through my four precious stones the River is shaping me too.