Bicycling with Ava

I still don’t have my grandmother name. That is a hazard in a house full of tween to teen to grown up boys who love to torment their mama.

When the boys were little, I’d chase them up the stairs to bed saying I was going to spank their babushka – a fun name for, ahem, the gluteus maximus, or, since my boys weren’t allowed to say it but could spell it, their b-u-t-t.

One day, my daughter-in-law who had spent time ministering in Romania heard my and asked my son, “Why does she want to spank her grandmother.”

My boys think it would be a hoot for my grandmother name to be Babushka.

A grandmother I am, without a name yet, but, the other day, I got to be me being a grandmother.  Learning to be who God created me to be in all that I do – that is a big thing for me – a learning-to-be-fearlessly-me thing. I am that way about all the roles I am – at least that is what I have learned. The more I live a role, the more I allow me to be in the role. I don’t think I could do that without God in me helping me do that.

Baby girl and I played – and in the playing, I wove one of my not quite a story, not quite a poem, not yet a song – but one of my not-writings. I wove it into my previous post, but the moment was just so special, I wanted to frame it in itself, too.

It was a moment where I felt comfortable in this grandmothering, felt like maybe I could be this role gracefully.

I took sweet baby girl on a bicycle trip. Won’t you join us?

Bicycling with Ava

Let’s go on a bicycle trip, you and I
A rambling bicycle trip ,
pedal
pedal
pedaling
down a country road beside a playful stream
A stream where you climb off your bicycle
fling your toesies and feetsies in the water  and
Splash
Splash
Splashing
at minnows and tree leaf reflections

With your feet cooled,
You bicycled to town,
pedal
pedal
pedaling
around curvy roads
up hills down to the market square
where thirsty you ordered a juice smoothie
A mango and carrot juice smoothie
That turned your nose orange
Slurp
Slurp
Slurping

Surprised by the orange of your nose
you climbed back on your bicycle
pedal
pedal
pedaling
to the hat shop
to buy a hat to hide
Your orange nose
A BBBllluuuueeee hat? I asked.
Ava smiled
“A piiiinnn-k hat?” I queried.
Her brow furrowed.
“GGGrrrrreeen?”
She broke eye contact
So a blue hat we bought
B-lue
b-LU-e
bl-UE
for her bicycle ride out to the countryside

In the countryside,
pedal
pedal
pedaling
by Holstein-Friesian black and white cows
And thought how yummy in her tummy
Would a glass of creamy, whole milk be
As she drank long of her milk purchased
A cow came up behind and lowed and mooed
MMMMMmmmmmooooOOOOOO
mmmmMMMMMMMMoooooo
mmmmMMMMMOOOOOOOOO
and surprised she took off on her bicycle
pedal
pedal
pedaling
pedaling onward

The waning day grew chilled, bbbrrrrrrr
chilled enough to stop beside
a flock of sheep, to pull pull pull
some pink wool
into a sweater
shoo shoo shooing away the evening chill
Snug
Snuggle
Snuggly Warm

In her new sweater, all pink and wooly
She pedaled on, pedaled on
Sleepy and tired
Until a gaggle of geese waddled
Into the path,
Pedaling stopped
as she plucked 10 feathers
QU-ack
quAck
quaCK
And stuffed them into a pillow case
For a feathered pillow

Climbing on her bicycle,
pedal
pedal
pedaling
Home
where she rested
her head on her feather pillow,
Wrapped in a wooly pink sweater
Wearing a blue night-cap
with a tummy full
of juice mango smoothies and fresh milk
and close
close
close her eyes
to sleepytime.

Thank you for joining us in our bicycle adventure! I hope you enjoyed it as much as we did!

“And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them” (Mark 10:16)

The Blessing of the Hands

The blessing of hands, holding brooms, hoes, planting, emptying bags of dirt, tying knots for a hammock under a tree, slicing lemons, brushing damp hair on a tired head.

“Sow your seed in the morning, and at evening let not your hands be idle, for you do not know which will succeed, whether this or that, or whether both will do equally well” (Ecc. 11:6)

“I want to choose,” my littlest said. “I should be able to choose if I want to work.” He said this after being given the chore of washing his dad’s car. One brother was given the chore of cleaning the garage. A third helped with completing the raised garden – that one require much muscle.

The littlest guy, he was voluntarily helping me make desserts and lemonade, having finished washing the car. As he stood at the counter, his still-little-boy hands slicing lemons and oranges we talked of big and little things.

“It’s our job to teach you how to work. Right now you don’t always have choices because we have to prepare you to be fit for usefulness in your future job,” I explained, pulling from Webster’s 1828 definition of Education (1828 Noah Webster Dictionary)

“I think I should have a choice,” he said, pushed the topic cheekily. I sighed. This desire for independence bursts out early in these boys, this desire to be in charge of their destiny.

I mentioned Jonah – and what happened to him when he tried to avoid a job he didn’t like. Jonah didn’t want that job, but God wanted Jonah to do that job.

Somehow, my little lemon slicer grabbed the story line and took off. When I tried to join in, he said, “This is my story, mom.”

We worked together, while he told me about Jonah trying to sneak away from what God wanted him to do, getting thrown into the sea by his sea-faring peers, being swallowed and eventually, when he agreed to do the job God wanted him to do, being thrown up.

“If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones” (Luke 16:10) kept whispering its way through my mind – but how do you persuade a little boy that if he does his chores really well, he will be given bigger chores? When bigger and better do really equate in terms of job size? At least in an 11 year old’s world.

My hands stirring Swiss Chard, Feta Cheese, onions and garlic. My husband’s hands cutting out heart-shaped beignets(French donuts) to deep fry for family brunch.

My hands stirring blackberry sauce, shaping scones. His hands wiping up the kitchen with me – as we prepare for family gathering.

Our hands working together, praying together in the twilight where we stood under the Oak, hands held, praying for doors to open, for revelation, for guidance – we stood there believing for His plan.

“From the fruit of his lips a man is filled with good things as surely as the work of his hands rewards him” (Proverbs 12:14)

Hands playing with sweet grandbaby girl’s feet, – and came the story, with baby feet bicycling and my hands, a grandmother’s hands playing

“Let’s go on a bicycle trip, you and I
A bicycle trip down a country road,
A country road beside a stream

A stream where you climbed off your bicycle
And splashed your feet in the water
Splash
Splash
Splash

With your feet cooled, you climbed on your bicycle
And bicycled to town, to the market square
Thirsty you ordered a juice smoothie
A mango and carrot juice smoothie
That turned your nose orange
Slurp
Slurp
Slurp

So you rode your bicycle to the hat shop
To buy a hat to hide
Your orange nose
A BBBllluuuueeee hat? She smiled
A piiiinnn-k hat? Her brow furrowed.
GGGrrrrreeen? Totally bored
So a blue hat she bought
B-lue
b-LU-e
bl-UE
for her bicycle ride out to the countryside

In the countryside, she saw some cows
And thought how yummy in her tummy
Would a glass of creamy, whole milk be
As she drank long of her milk purchased
A cow came up behind and lowed and mooed
MMMMMmmmmmooooOOOOOO
mmmmMMMMMMMMoooooo
mmmmMMMMMOOOOOOOOO
and surprised she took off on her bicycle
pedal
pedal
pedaling
pedaling onward

The waning day grew chilled, bbbrrrrrrr
chilled enough to stop her pedaling
beside a flock of sheep, to pull
some pink wool
into a sweater
to shoo off the evening chill
Snug
Snuggle
Snuggly Warm

In her new sweater, all pink and wooly
She pedaled on, pedaled on
Sleepy and tired
Until a gaggle of geese waddled
Into the path, stopping the peddaling
And she plucked 10 feathers
QU-ack
quAck
quaCK
And stuffed them into a pillow case
For a feathered pillow

Climbing on her bicycle, to
pedal
pedal
pedaling
Home
where she rested  her head on her feather pillow,
Wrapped in a wooly pink sweater
Wearing a blue night-cap
with a tummy full
of juice mango smoothies and fresh milk
and close
close
closed her eyes
to sleep.

“And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them” (Mark 10:16)

The blessing of the hands. Simple, everyday living, turning my hands to the work, to the living God has given me. Some days, my hands bless. Some days they fall short.

My hands, though, they don’t reach their potential.

Jesus laid hands on the leper
And he was cleansed (Matt 8:2-4)

Jesus laid hands on an infirm, bowed-over woman
And she was made straight (Luke 13:13)

Jesus laid hands on the blind man,
And the blind man saw (Mark 8:23)

“When the sun was setting, all those who had any that were sick with various diseases brought them to Him; and He laid His hands on every one of them and healed them” (Luke 4:40)
Oh, yes, the work of my hands fall short of what God enabled them to do. They can only do jobs the size of my faith. I pray that my faith grow, that God-in-Me work its way out through my hands to touch lives in the way God made me to touch lives. If he has called the heart of these hands to heal, to cleanse, to make straight, to open eyes for truth – all physically and spiritually, I pray that whatever binds them from being what He empowered them to do is loosened.

For now, the blessing of my hands comes from the cutting of the chard, the playing with baby feet, the tending of my garden, and the laying on of hands in a call to prayer.

“Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might,” (Ecc. 9:10)

10 blessings listed above

435. a 7 a.m. Saturday morning date to watch squirrels
436. orange carrots, fresh chard, tomatoes and delicious-smelling onions at the Farmer’s Market
437. in my hammock, looking up through the trees, looking at all the “Y”s – thanks to Jennifer at Getting Down with Jesus, I saw Yahweh everywhere! It makes sense that the trees praise Yahweh when every branch is laden with reminders of Yahweh!
438. spotting my teen in the hammock on a Holiday afternoon
439. The teen, swinging in the hammock now a senior
440. a pontoon ride, on a lake, reminding me, all that water, of the Holy Spirit
441. For sweet friends, breaking bread over lunch.
442. my oldest son, at the family gathering, loving my Swiss Chard dish
443. Empty plates once filled with scones, beignets, chard, asperagus with Hollandaise sauce
444. My raised garden bed, built by my husband filled with plants, seeds, hope and faith
445. babygirl falling asleep in the shawl I knit, that matched her outfit
446. this job that I go to from 8 to 4:30, some days from 6 or 7 a.m. to 4:30 to catch up, that has helped me use my time more richly
447. Hope in the sun creeping through my window sill every morning!
448. Green buddings on our transplanted hydrangea!

Unconditional Love: Rule # 19

A year ago when I wrote this post, a son went from cap-and-gown to boots-and-uniforms. the  My prayers went where I could not. They still do. Parenting is a faith journey. Sometimes it is a hard faith journey – but a year later, looking back, a years worth of journey has seen prayers answered and good changes that do a mother’s heart glad. A year later is sometimes an encouraging place to be. Please enjoy with me a post about unconditional love in the journey.

Unconditional Love recognizes that there are roads loved ones must travel alone.

Maybe  over 100 years ago, people understood those kinds of journeys much better, the literal journey helping to better understand the figurative journey. When you stepped out the family door to start a journey, communication and physical contact was like disappearing into thin air. Parents did not consider it lack of love from their off-spring or even rebellion battling for independence. It was just life in a revolutionary country known for pushing the boundaries of existence.

Meriwether Lewis was only 26 years old when he was commissioned for the Lewis and Clark expedition. It was a journey his mother didn’t take with him.  Or Benjamin Bonneville who, according to a list of notable West Point graduates, “explored and mapped the Great Salt Lake and the Green, Snake, Salmon and Yellowstone Rivers.”  Then, there is Davey Crockett who ran away from home at age 13 before returning at age 16. All left home, going into places where communication with parents was minimal or non-existent. Unless communication occurred via letters, contact over long periods of time was practically non-existent.

All these men left home and by leaving home became men strong enough to carry the burdens of great responsibility.

Lewis and Bonneville left home out of logical design. Much smoother. Much friendlier. Probably leaving hearts warmed with pride and eyes threatening tears at a son going out into the world – to continue life’s journey.

Crockett left out of passion. Probably leaving a mother’s heart frantic, filled with despair, and maybe a little broken-ness inside. He returned 3 years later, to fulfill his obligations, making things right – and went on to become a national hero.

Yes, even today sometimes, we have to let loved ones travel alone, without that mama contact, without the safety-net, without help or words of love and encouragement that are bursting from a father or mother’s heart; sometimes without closure. Sometimes those journeys are fraught with mortal and spiritual danger. Sometimes it takes that kind of journey for them to finally recognize and embrace the person they were designed to become. Unconditional Love lets go like that.

We are spoiled today with instant communication. Everything is at our fingertips. However, growing into maturity is not an instant thing. At times like this, when our loved ones are on unreachable journeys, prayer can reach them, touch them, love them for us – when our words and our arms cannot. When we cannot sustain relationship, prayer still loves.

“So I sought for a man among them who would make a wall, and stand in the gap before Me on behalf of the land, that I should not destroy it; but I found no one.” (Ezekiel 22:30)

Our children, regardless of age, need us to “stand in the gap” before our Father, even when they are adults and in charge of their own spiritual health – we need to encourage them through prayer.

²¹ Leaving that place, Jesus withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. ²²A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is demon-possessed and suffering terribly.”

 ²³Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.”

 ²⁴He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”

 ²⁵The woman came and knelt before him. “Lord, help me!” she said.

 ²⁶He replied, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

 ²⁷“Yes it is, Lord,” she said. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

 ²⁸ Then Jesus said to her, “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed at that moment.(Matt 15:21-28)

A  mother interceding for her children through prayer. Touching their lives more effectively through prayer than with a hug or with words. Prayer can go places you cannot. Prayer allows a mother or father to connect when a child’s journey does not allow connection.

Letting go is a growing thing: a faith thing: a prayer thing – sometimes a necessary thing.

Butterfly Bush Hopes

In March, we transplanted one butterfly bush that turned into two, one beautiful blue hydrangea, a knock-out rose bush – not to mention a trunk full of thinned out gifts from my aunt: yellow, white, purple, yellow with purple irises, yellow evening primroses, some little red/pink ground cover, bergamot and a rain tree from my cousin.

Every evening, I water and walk, checking on my 15 baby burning bush root-balls. For the longest time, 3 didn’t look like they were going to make it. Two of those 3 finally have green spouts. I’m not giving up hope for that last one, though.

Around the first of May, the knock out rose bush finally sprouted a few green leaves – and, oh, my how those green leaves are multiplying and growing.

The butterfly bushes and hydrangea, though, didn’t seem to be responding to my vigilance, my hope and my determination – the planting, the watering.

Until, one morning before work, as I was snapping off dead branches of one butterfly bush, I saw an itty, bitty spot of green. One spot of green made all the difference to my heart.

Hope blooming! Dancing in my backyard at 7 a.m.? Well, only the cardinals, neighborhood birds and I know the truth there!

How that hope fired up my day.

The other two bushes? The other butterfly bush in the shade. My husband says to wait. It needs more time.

The hydrangea that brought me such joy with its blue but had outgrown the little spot it lived – the garden specialist at my very favorite garden store told me if it didn’t do anything by the June 1, then it was probably lost.

Tonight, though, we found bits of hydrangea green in places unexpected, not quite where we’d planted. The root system had reached elsewhere by about 12 inches. Not where we expected. Not where we’d planned. But it is growing, growing to the sun.

All around me are messages to not give up hope.

Watching a demolition crew tear up a sidewalk outside my window at work, digging holes and dumping dirt on the bushes outside my window that had been pruned back, those bushes that gave me so much joy with the living things that came by. Then one morning, the destruction crew pulled my bushes out, huge rootballs and all, shaking the dirt from their root system – leaving nothing.

A squirrel happened by later, looking bewildered, probably chattering mad about what they’d done to his nuts in all their hiding places.

But someone dared to ask, dared to ask about those bushes.

“They have a plan,” came the answer. Probably for the bush with the huge root system and for the emptiness left behind – the plan wills probably start with bits of green.

All around, are these messages – to not give up. There’s a plan, both original and contingency plans.

I saw it this week in the lives of my teens – little bits of growth. I knew the root systems were there. It’s just the waiting, the waiting for the bits of growth to reveal itself.

A Facebook message from a son thanking God for something nice that happened to him.  That’s one of those green specks on the root of his soul.

Another son realizing a wrong and taking the initiative to make it right – that’s a green speck on a soul root!

Watching someone you love build a dream – a branch snapped off – but those little specks of green keep showing up. That’s hope. That’s a message from God to not give up!

And, so I danced in joy at hope revealed in words, actions and bits of green.

As I danced with joy over the green, I considered a soul, a soul many thought empty, no growth and no one cared to hope.

I considered a soul people walked by, excluded because there was no godliness to detect, nothing beautiful to ooohhh and aaahhhh about, nothing redeemable seen.

How like my butterfly bush was this soul – and so many other souls.

Given up on by so many people.

“Later when Jesus was eating supper at Matthew’s house with his close followers, a lot of disreputable characters came and joined them. When the Pharisees saw him keeping this kind of company, they had a fit, and lit into Jesus’ followers. “What kind of example is this from your Teacher, acting cozy with crooks and riffraff?”

Jesus, overhearing, shot back, “Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? Go figure out what this Scripture means: ‘I’m after mercy, not religion.’ I’m here to invite outsiders, not coddle insiders” (Matthew 9: 10-13)

We are called to pour Holy Spirit water on the seemingly dead souls like butterfly bushes transplanted and struggling for survival.

We are called to continually walk beside the seemingly dead souls like butterfly bushes, ministering hope and faith for God’s plan for life.

We are called to unconditionally love on those who do not live like we live, make choices like we make, who cannot grasp for some reason a Hope and Faith God because one  day some green specks of life might just sprout.

A Hope and Faith people should believe green things will grow from a seemingly worthless soul, like a butterfly bush thought dead.

“Who do you think Paul is, anyway? Or Apollos, for that matter? Servants, both of us—servants who waited on you as you gradually learned to entrust your lives to our mutual Master. We each carried out our servant assignment. I planted the seed, Apollos watered the plants, but God made you grow. It’s not the one who plants or the one who waters who is at the center of this process but God, who makes things grow. Planting and watering are menial servant jobs at minimum wages. What makes them worth doing is the God we are serving. You happen to be God’s field in which we are working” (1 Cor 3:6, The Message)

The above post includes 400-406 Vintaged Blessings.

407. Weeding my new garden with my husband. Sitting on my garden stool, pulling too hard, I tipped backwards, falling
408. and we laughed,
409. laughed through him grabbing my hands to heft me up out of the garden dirt
410. showing my sons sweet friend how to make my garlic bread from biscuit dough, butter, garlic and salt
411. laughing as my littlest one came outside with a biscuit in his mouth, talking about how his brother’s sweet friend made tastier biscuits than I did
412. yellow flowers on green tomato plants
413. high school soccer on May evenings
414. hanging out with my oldest on and his friend before a soccer game
415. family roots in a community that saw your children grow up, graduate and come back to see a sibling on the same soccer field they played on. Good roots are a blessing
416. sitting outside with my husband in the evenings, listening to him make dove bird calls – and listening to them answer.
417. the joy in a school year ending
418. hot and spice chinese soup for a son with a cold, along with eggs rolls and hot mustard sauce
419. knowing that even when I feel lost in the current of life, unsure of where I am going, knowing that God has the plan. I like that!
420. orange mango, papaya and carrot juice smoothies
421. green celery and green grapes in chicken salad
422. green broccoli salad with crunchy bacon and brown raisins seasons just right
423. GaPow to go on Friday night along with 2 pizzas and bread sticks
424. Home on a Friday night
425. God with me, every day, every minute, every breath and in every prayer this past week, during the laughter, the challenges and my soldier son’s stitches

A Birthday Prayer for my Son

A repost with something new added!

For 3 years, we prayed for another child. And then you came – God’s answer to our prayer.

“Who Me?” you probably ask when we tell you that.

“I don’t know if I want to be an answer to anybody’s prayer,” you probably think.

But God Elohim, mighty and strong, created and preserves you

Almighty God El Shaddai is all-sufficient to ALL your needs

He is Adonai, master over your destiny

who as Jehovah-Jireh foresees every challenge you will face, every choice, whether good or bad, and provides a way back home

where as Jehovah-Rophe He will welcome you, wrap you in both his arms and heal your wounds, both self-inflicted and inflicted by others

and as you heal in the shadow of His presence

Jehovah-M’Kaddesh will sanctify you, make you pure and whole in His sight

until, finally, you find peace in the presence of Jehovah-Shalom

the answer to a prayer fulfilled, made whole, perfected

you with the mighty strength He put within you

with agile swiftness

A heart for the hurting or downtrodden

and all else he put within you

loyalty, faithfulness, nobleness

will be used by God to answer many prayers

We will just know that God used you to answer our prayer first

I am so proud of my son. He is a walking, talking testimony of the power of prayer, of seed-time-and-harvest, faith and hope. I remember when he was a little boy, soaking beneath a tub of bubbles, and we were talking about bloom-time.

“I know, Mom. I know. I’m not blooming yet,” he sighed.

Today, I want to tell my son,

“You are so blooming,
a good-man kind of blooming”

Happy Birthday!

Guest-Posting on The Importance of Early Job Experience for Boys

What made boys turn into men like Henry Ford, John D Rockerfeller, Thomas Edison, Andrew Carnegie and Audie Murphy?

Are child-labor laws that discourage most companies from under-18 hiring partially to blame? Think about it – if young men can’t start working until 18, it makes sense that they won’t leave the nest until 25. If they start working at 14, how many young men would be better equipped to make a fairly graceful leap out of the nest at high school graduation?

Yes, there is something to be said for giving our children what we didnt’ have . I don’t think being unprepared for independence at 18 is one of those things we meant to give.

“Young men have an in-born passion to take control of the reins of their destiny. They need to earn their money, balance their own spread-sheet of expenditures, learn to make choices – before they are sent off to college, responsible for a $10,000+ investment. Too many young men fail because of responsibility in-experience” – (Delayed Childhood Devastates Our Sons).

I was invited to guest post with Delayed Adulthood Devastates our Sons at Living Better at 50+: for women with Spirit. Please stop by for the complete article.

Goose Chasing

“Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather’d creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay;

Learning how to balance the multi-tasking roles God put inside us challenges me. I learn a lot through my failings, my gracelessness, my inability to do it all. That feather’d creature  Shakespeare talks about could be my dreams, my dinner menu, needing to attend to child one’s needs whether it is class work, heart work, discipline-work while another’s need may need to wait 20 more minutes. Being a mother is often graceless like goose chasing.

Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizing her poor infant’s discontent;

My littlest guy, he’s hit the blues. He’s accused me of “not prizing”  his discontent, leaving him feeling unloved. Saying no for the right reasons is a tough act to play to a tween to teen audience.There is no more critical reviewer of a mother’s job. I don’t think they’ll  ever realize how I made it my goal from day one to know the condition of their hearts, to provide security, to keep away the night terrors, to listen to every word, to never let them feel unloved or unwanted, to help them believe they can achieve whatever they want, to introduce them to the most important relationship they will ever have, the Father.

So runn’st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind;

If something flies from me, doesn’t that mean it isn’t mine? Maybe it is not the right time to be goose chasing. Or maybe, just maybe, it is all part of the balancing act of the responsibilities of our different roles – and this is a lesson of the compassion we need to exhibit when others let us down. I cannot make everybody happy at the same time. During Shakespeare’s time, that goose leading her a frustrating chase could have been a weeks worth of food during the winter season that helped keep her family’s tummies filled. Maybe, just maybe it is crucially important that we exhibit compassion and forgiveness because goose chasing is sometimes as graceless as it is necessary.

But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother’s part, kiss me, be kind;
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy ‘Will,’
If thou turn back and my loud crying still.”
(Sonnet 143, Shakespeare)

Children are a forgiving lot. I remember feeling that way with my dad, who never met my children. I remember despite the hurt, his goose chasing, if he would “just turn back” – the grief of my heart would have evaporated. Sometimes I wonder if my children are less forgiving because they have really never been set down while we chased our geese, are less generous with their cheerleading about our hopes to catch.

My hope? That I always play the mother’s part with affection, kindness, making them feel valued, can always find a way to still their hurts either through action, words or prayer and that when I miss it, when I goose chase gracelessly, that I can make it right and receive forgiveness.

378. Shakespeare’s Sonnet 143, my favorite Shakespeare work that I read many years ago, many children ago.
379. I loved my weekend. My boys helped me sparkle-up my and install the screens in our windows. The cool-front blowing through my windows is sweet respite, at least until the summer heat creeps in.
380. My husband, he built me a raised garden Saturday, too.
381. Sitting with my husband Saturday night before the rains came, listening to him make dove calls – and listening to the answering call.
382. Making scones early Sunday morning for Mother’s Day
383. String, eye-screws and determination to finally complete the installation of the blue toile Roman Shades my Mom made me for Christmas.
384. Finished piecing together my very first quilt. It’s not perfect – a lot like me, but I learned a lot. My next quilt is a twin-size for grandbaby girl – and then regular-sized quilts for my boys. I’m working my way up in size.
385. Coffee at the end of dinner Sunday, as we sat around the table, 4 of 5 sons, my daughter-in-law and grandbaby girl. A cup of coffee is the exclamation point to family dinners.
386. Walking around the yard in the evenings with my husband, checking the progress of our transplanted butterfly bushes, knock out roses, hydrangea. Not sure the butterfly bushes and hydrangea are going to survive the move from one spot to anther. 13 out of 15 burning bush root-bulbs we planted grow, grOW and GROW.
387. Yellow Papaya with Carrot Juice in a homemade smoothie for work.
388. Left-overs
389. My boys cutting up strawberries and adding 1/4 cup of sugar for my Mother’s Day Scones.
390. My sons bravery during allergy testing.
391. God allowing me to feel like evenings are much longer, filled with hours that last longer since I started my job in February. Only God can make time do that.
392. “Greater is He that’s in me than He that is in the World” (1 John 4:4). This scripture got me through quite a bit of out-of-the-box challenges this week.
393. Old friends in grocery store aisles
394. Tiki lights from my boys to keep the bugs away when we sit outside at night.
395. Rain. Lots of rain. Nourishing the outside, cooling the inside – and the beautiful sound of it’s coming.
396. Gapow from the Thai restaurant in a very frustrating week – that God let’s me find goodness in things totally unrelated to the challenges.
397. All the different ways my sons slipped, “Happy Mother’s Day” into my ears. Unasked for on this day I find very awkward.
398. Laughter in the neighborhood.
399. “God is the unmoved Prime Mover of all movements, the First Cause of all Causes, and the Designer of all the design seen in the world” – St. Thomas Aquinas, in 50 Ways Italian Genius Shaped the World.