Homeschool snow day!

The snow really is quite beautiful as it falls.

At least 12" of heavy, wet snow. A friend in a tractor kept the shoveling down to a minimum.

So they had time to play king of the mountain.

And cuddle up to watch movies and eat popcorn.

She washed it down with some fresh, cold snow.

The snow has been fun. But I think we've all had our fill. Spring is more than welcome to pop in any day now!

I know the mice would appreciate it. One went from door to door here on our porch looking for someplace warm to spend the night. Can you see the tiny footprints?

A walk through the cemetery

As I watched the kids run off through the cemetery to the hill in back, I cringed a little. The juxtaposition of life over death was startling, and I hoped it wasn't disrespectful. I comforted myself with the thought that most of the people who had been buried there would approve, had they been aware.

Cemeteries are a thoughtful place. I walked a bit to read the names and dates on each headstone, and couldn't help but wonder what the stories were behind the names. Must be my age, with 40 just around the bend, causing my mind to wonder about my own end, the end of those I love. I confess it has caused occasional panic. Not that I'm afraid of death, mind you. It's the dying part that scares me a bit. And the unknown of when. And if, at the end of my life, it will be good enough to say that I loved God, loved my husband, loved my children, loved my neighbor....and then her headstone. Her name was Ann. She died in 1873. She was 16 years, 6 months and 18 days old. They counted her every last day. Like they all mattered. As if to honor every moment that she lived. Which includes the days she swept the floors or cared for younger siblings or milked the cow or washed the laundry or studied her algebra. Epiphany! Every day counts, every day should be counted as an opportunity to be remembered. And so I record and number the gifts- the great Love Dare-and try to be a gift to those around me. Loving God, loving my neighbor. And I think in the end that will be enough, perhaps warranting a "well done". Because honestly, my life is full with laundry and making milk and shepherding children and sweeping floors, and it all can seem a bit pointless. No trips round the world for me these days. No greatness beyond a cup of cold water for the least of these. But if every day matters, is worthy of being counted, then these days matter. And somehow that makes everything seem easier. These days are not to be gotten through so real life can begin. This is the real life! My kids ask me each morning, "What are we doing today?" And most days I laugh and say, "We're doing it!" There it is. I'm doing it. Life. And it matters, and will hopefully be worthy of counting each day when I'm gone.

About 100 years from now.

;0)

Sweet moments

Some moments are sweet like this...

lazy and cuddly and everyone getting along.

Meaningful conversations

and hearts unfolding happen in the unhurried. When I sit long enough in one spot, they gather round and I listen...and talk..and listen....

Connections are made, though there be 16 years between birth-days.

Time. Loving one another. Getting and staying connected. Smiling. Laughing. Focusing on what we like about each other.

Some moments are like this.

February's hush

The hushed quiet of February's fields blanketed in white draws me out, and in. I am thankful for the children and the liveliness with which they live life, but there are days, moments, when I crave some quiet. Time to think, pray, be.....

As I venture into knee deep white, I reflect on the seeds newly sprouting in my heart, in my soul.

An awakening.

Something new stirring, promising joy I've not known in the things this world has to offer. I'm thanking God for the moments, the gifts, He offers to those whose eyes are disciplined to see. A challenge to count to 1000, and beyond, has me with pen in hand. Gratitude is what I named this new year, and in many ways God confirms to me that, Yes, it is his voice I've heard through friends, through His word, through the words of others.

I am thankful for these blankets of snow, and the hush that settles with flakes where they fall.

My soul is quieted.

My eyes are open.

I turn the knob, and step back in.