The Importance of Making Memories Happen

My five-year-old girl, Sweet Pea, skips across the grass while her brother sails past on his bike with one flat tire. Around and around the park heads bob and smiles erupt. I glance around every once in awhile to see where they have scampered.

They enjoy the freedom to practice their childhood games. I enjoy the adult conversation.

Tears flow when we have to leave. As an afternoon of playing with her cousin at the lake etches into her heart, Sweet Pea shouts,

I’ll never forget this!

I never want to forget her response to the simple delight.

Since I like to stay home, it’s easy for me to forget how important it is to get out and explore. How important it is to create moments my children will remember. How important it is to simply be with my kids and enjoy them instead of pushing and pushing.

Yes, we need to do lessons. But what kind of mother-teacher am I? Tired, worn out, and grumpy?

Homeschooling is not just for my children. It is for me, too. It is an opportunity for me to discover the depths of my motivation. It is an opportunity to learn from the precious ones in my care.

The pressure is real. There is a weight of responsibility, but can I put the worry aside? Can I enjoy the moments so I never forget?

Pounding out words helps me remember, but capturing a memory is not the same as creating it.

An important part of my responsibility is to make memories happen for them, for us, for future generations.

What are your children remembering?

(Photos are from a Father’s Day hike in the Snake River Canyon. I neglected to take my camera to the lake.)

Becoming Available

My husband said I should go. I resisted. Ignoring the nagging in my heart, I called a friend about our homeschool co-op. Her husband, the youth pastor, interrupted with a question,

Does Renae need a ticket?

I said I’d call back.

Trying to stall, I opened the internet and stumbled across an article written by a young lady who spilled her heart in Africa.

My selfishness swelled and burst as tears spilled out of my eyes reading of her sacrifice, of her love. This single, young girl adopted 14 children. She had counted the cost and decided it was worth it.

As a young person, I told God I would go anywhere. I planned to finish Bible college then move another country.

He sent me here.

I never would have chosen this desert, but there is no doubt in my mind that I am here for such a time as this. This is my mission field. And the mission is not about the place. It is about the people.

So why was I shirking this opportunity to serve the youth in my church?

Comfort

It was an inconvenience. My plans included relaxing on the weekend. Besides, Acquire the Fire is LOUD. I’ve cranked up the sound on Michael Buble’, but that just screams old.

Insecurity

I’d gotten really used to hanging out with elementary school kids. Don’t you have to be cool to relate to teens? Surely, someone else was more qualified, more ready, more able.

Selfishness

My heart was already so full. I didn’t want to open it up any more.

I was willing to give everything decades ago. Why not for this? Was it because it didn’t look like my youthful ideal of living in a jungle?

There was no excuse for the lies holding me back.

Yes, I’m coming.

So I drove my van full of kids to a conference. It wasn’t much of a sacrifice. I slept on a cushioned bench and stopped for coffee on the way to the auditorium.

It wasn’t even really all that loud. I enjoyed the concerts and the teachings inspired. My insecurities sloughed off as I realized anew how simple it is to love. My heart stretched. My prayers for this generation renewed their blaze.

More faces filled my widening view of what if means to minister here.

Was that the purpose all along?

Behold, I say to you, lift up your eyes and look at the fields, for they are already white for harvest! (John 4:35)

Silencing the Background Noise or Why I Blog

While kids and weary husband sleep, I sit at the table and peck through chapter by chapter. I copy the author’s words to help me remember, to help me teach.

I strain for the discipline to just finish the last two chapters, but thoughts buzz. Ideas repeated here and there during the day hum for the moment they can be completed. When is that moment? It’s now, when the silence of the night gives ear to their music.

I decipher the purposeful notes and realize daily multi-tasking dulls my focus. My children too easily become part of the background noise. Walls press in, so I must press out. I need new perspectives.

Today three of us lingered at the window. Flocks of birds visited our feeder. We watched the juncos bounce around nibbling spilled seeds. Their black suit coats contrasted with the white snow. Finches of gold and purple brightened the dead lilac bush.

The fourth person here, my son, glanced out, flipped through books, and started asking:

Can we make a suet feeder? Can I make a bird bath? What about a brush cover?

My active, imaginative son always wants to do. I want to bundle up and hibernate until spring. Instead, I make the effort to listen and gather supplies.

Then I pause, before sleep, to capture a moment to help me remember, to help me teach.

What helps you be a better mother and teacher? What do you do to stay focused?

Inexcusable

I should know better by now. The hint of an upcoming article haunts me. Series take me so long to complete, they can’t be called sequential at all. A better explanation is that eventually my ideas find a way of escape.

My intentions are the best. In fact, they are so good they get sketched out again and again like a draftsman crafting a castle. I know it’s hard to believe, but I am a bit obsessive.

For instance, my homework assignment for the past three weeks has been to compile a notebook on Carry On, Mr. Bowditch. I’m supposed to take notes on the five elements of literature in each chapter: setting, characterization, plot, style, and theme. Simple enough. Unless you’re me.

I took six pages of notes on one chapter! This book is for upper elementary grades. Would my twelve-year-old son write that many notes on one chapter? No way!

Needless to say, I’ve realized the error of my ways. Homework for this week was much easier and less time consuming. See, I can relax. Really, I can.

When our computer dubbed, somewhat affectionately, Frankenmachine died, I took deep breaths to calm my heart rate. And as soon the twitching stops, I will be fine.

Our antique laptop dubbed, somewhat affectionately, What is that! is just what I need to slow me down. Because it would be inexcusable if I had the chance to overwhelm you with all my ideas at once.

The House God Gave Us: It’s Paid For!

While we were at camp, I asked a friend if $40,000 houses ever came on the market. He laughed. So did I, but someone told us they were praying for that very thing. I admit I sort of laughed at him, too. It was outside the realm of normal. I never expected such a thing to happen to us twice.

Instead of driving around with Dylan hunting  for our next home, I could only scan the internet. My dream house faded as the desire to be with my husband expanded. Two weeks after Dylan left for Idaho, I begged him to come back, but he announced a new job.

I made it two more weeks before I lost it again. By that time, Dylan had put in an offer on a foreclosure. A bidding war ensued, so we thought we were out of the running. Before my plea was finished, Dylan announced our winning bid of $39,900!

Stunned, I tried to mesh my emotions into what was about to be reality. How could we fit 5 people into 888 sq. ft.? I convinced myself space was overrated anyway. I just wanted to be with my love.

A few days later, the ring of the telephone ripped apart my new revised plans.

We can’t get a loan, because I’m employed through a temporary agency.

No way around it. No alternatives. We decided to wait and see if one of the people tramping through our finally finished Texas house would buy it. I was just getting ready to lower the price, when an offer came. A full price offer! If the deal went through, we would have enough to pay CASH for our ugly, tiny foreclosure.

Closing dates overlapped by one week, so we asked for an extension. I held my breath until I saw Dylan at the airport. Then nothing else mattered. Tears rattled my composure as I collapsed in his arms. Little ones crowded around our legs giggling hysterically.

It was all an act of faith. We didn’t know until hours before closing whether the deal would go through. We finished packing the moving truck in the rain. The phone was shut off, power was next, and still we waited. The buyer came for the final walk through. She almost skipped it, because of her frustration.

Our suitcases were the only thing left in the empty, echoing house. Dear friends came to help, but there wasn’t much left to do except try to avoid the depressing thought of how far away Idaho was from Texas.

When we pulled out, I noticed mud smeared on the front of the house. The kids must have put it there while playing. I wanted to jump out and clean it off, but there wasn’t time.

We were on our way to Idaho, a caravan of Deckards who were already home because we were together.

Next in this series: How does a family of 5 fit in here?