A Running Collection

Being pregnant is a terrific terrible beauty. Losing a child is a tragedy -- it is the death of a human already loved but never known and then there is a type of never ending wait for eternity -- a chance to meet that soul. Life comes again and to walk believing in life and not in death is a mental battle fought only by deep trust and by the will to offer joy and peace to the life that is alive and growing. Meanwhile, I'm making room for bodily changes. Changes that shake and swell and shift limbs and lungs and lines. Sleep changes, eating changes, routine changes, feelings change. The wait is the same. Boy? Girl? Calm? Energetic? Awake? Asleep? Alive? It is impossible not to question that one. It is only grace and mercy and prayer to concentrate on the present. Meals. Laundry. A child with a stuffed tiger named Lucy that is spitting up to much so she requires a great deal of care. And another child with a flashlight that has incredible powers and a husband with a new style of pla...

In the middle of a school lesson, a tea party emerged and with a few directions and some brief instruction on tea party etiquette, we had the grandest moment of the day. If it would not have been so spontaneous, I might have invited the Queen!

A rainy day. We are at home building tractors from cardboard boxes, playing with our 3 month old friend Knox, creating eggs and nests from clay, feeding chickens in the pouring down rain, eating pigs in a blanket and learning that they are not necessarily nutritious but that is why we save them for a rainy day. There is something luxurious in the halt. It is rich to be in pajamas after lunch and to never say "hurry". Even Knox knows and peacefully sleeps. We've moved to the Legos now . . . and away we go!

The winter wind bites today. The sun is sly. It is a ploy. There is no warmth. Inside the children are nestled in their beds for an afternoon nap. George to, after a long week, rests with a book of poetry. The dryer tumbles clothes around and the smell of a smoked pork (finishing in the over) permeates the house. It is beautiful. It is perfectly Saturday. Our co-op met here this week. It was perfectly as it should have been. Chaotic, energetic, fun, and colorful. Monday, I didn't even think of taking pictures, but on Friday I got some great ones. Here are a few . . .

December 26, 2010 And the snow came. A white blanket has laid to rest the rusty leaves and brown grass. For a moment the world is new like spring and the children are bursting through the door ready to dance and play in the fresh powder. And this is the icing on the cake. Really. Christmas morning we woke up in the cabin and cuddled and ate eggs and bacon and sang Happy Birthday to Jesus. The children talked and ate and loved the crisp air. It took them awhile to remember their presents and that while was the perfect Christmas morning. We spent the afternoon at Jessica's getting ready for dinner with the family. My sweet grandparents came. Old and frail. My grandpa doesn't really know us. He loves the dog and the good food and the warm fire and the carols. He loves the children's games and antics. He is like a child. My grandmother is there to. Resting in her wheelchair, eyes wide as we place a plate full of Christmas treats in front of her. The cousins open gifts but they ...

The birds sing the sweet song of the passing rain. Red, yellow, and orange leaves peak out of the grass. The air is warm. The last remaining warmth as we wave goodbye to October and welcome November. And the children nap -- nap heavily after riding bikes and snacking on pomegranate (in an attempt to kick the first seasonal cold). And there is a moment to reflect. I ran yesterday. A half marathon. And yes, I do feel God's pleasure when I run. I'm flying and forgetting and remembering and thinking. Forgetting the grind of the past weeks, remembering my dear friend Karen who ran into the arms of our sweet Savior Thursday morning, and thinking about why I'm running. It is freedom. It is presence. It is a gift not to be left or abused. It is the way, that since I could run, I've found peace with what is and isn't. And there is air, wind, flesh, and movement. Even when my muscles ache and I can't find enough air, I know deep down it is there and I'll find it if I...

It is Tuesday. Tuesday. Not a new week or a new month, just another day. Enough of a day to pick collards from the garden, collect four eggs from the hens, play with friends, meet with my ladies at Redeemer, ride down the hill on old toys with wheels, walk to the church on the corner so the children can climb on the railing while I sit on the steps and soak in a bit of warm air, and to eat a soulful meal of butter beans, collards, beer bread, and squash. I can't not mention the bottle of homemade wine. There is nothing new, nothing profound, but there is life and laughter and tackle games before bed. And the morning will come quickly along with tutoring, coffee, the letter "N", research, hungry chicks, and a run to test how much oxygen I can fit into my lungs in 6 minutes and 30 seconds. That is it for Tuesday. Goodnight.