I'm a Visionary (or I'm really just that far behind...)

Just a little while ago, I sent my twins to the basement to find the bucket of summer decorations.  I have all these cute little patriotic things, sea shells, and summer pictures that are normally stored in a gray bucket that is ultra-cleverly marked "Summer Decorations".

My son came back to say that he never found the ultra-clever gray bucket, but he did find the decorations.  They were strewn on the floor in front of the shelves in the mind-blowing chaos that is the basement workshop.

I suddenly realized that we had never gotten the decorations put away completely at the end of last summer.  They just got carried down to the basement and set on the floor because the bucket was otherwise occupied with something that wasn't "Summer Decorations".  (Insert a deep sigh here for the poor gray bucket that is now somewhere in my house having a year-long identity crisis.)

Yep.  I'm that far behind.  Last summer's decorations just sat out all year waiting to be properly put away.

The funny thing is that it really doesn't bother me that much.  If you know me at all, you know that normally it would bother me a lot, but not this time.  I actually think it is absolutely hilarious!

Either I'm just too tired to let it bother me, or I've finally come to grips with the reality that life happens, and the decorations aren't too high on the list of priorities.  Making dinner and teaching math trumped summer-decoration organization.  (And I'm OK with that.)

Maybe I was actually just thinking ahead instead of being that far behind. After all, look how easy it was to get out the summer decorations this year:

Step 1:  Walk down the stairs.

Step 2:  Step over other piles.

Step 3:  Pick up decorations off the floor.

Step 4:  Dust off and carry upstairs.

Step 5:  Put out around the house.

Last fall when I left them on the floor in front of the shelves, I bet I was actually thinking ahead to this summer...

Yeah, that's it.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I'm just going to think of myself as a decoration visionary.

And guess what?

If you went down into my basement right now, you would know that I'm also a Christmas decoration visionary.  Those strings of lights will be right handy come December!

1,003 Words- Puppy Playdate

Since a picture is worth 1,000 words, I'll only add three of my own:

Puppy

meets

bumblebee!

Finally-- A Moment to Breathe

Whoosh!

June has finally come, and the whirlwind of May is behind us.

It feels really good to say that!

As I started into May, there wasn't a single day on the calendar that didn't have something scheduled.  We don't usually allow the calendar to get that full, but this last month was a bit beyond our control.  Then a few more things got added to the picture, and the result was a blur of a month with very little time to blog. 

Now I sit on the other side of May (the sunny, summery side, I might add!), and I find myself exceedingly grateful for the way the Lord has sustained us through a long and difficult school year.

I haven't meant to write so little this last year, but on many days, all I could do was plod and pray, doing my best to keep a truth-filled, God-glorifying perspective.  I admit that I failed in that task on many days, but I've learned a lot through the falling and getting up again.  The summer respite couldn't come at a better time. 

Last night, something happened that hasn't happened for awhile now.  I sat at my youngest boy's baseball game, feeling the sun on my back, looking up at the blue sky, and then...

...I took a deep breath.

For the first time in months, I filled up my lungs and just breathed.

By God's grace, we made it.

We made it to the time for bucket-listing and writing, reflecting and gardening, biking and just loving on my family without a lot of other schedule commitments that usually exist during the school year.  Today I find myself thanking God for deep breaths and a chance to blow away the strain of tough months.

June is here, and God has given a grace-filled moment to breathe.

Bless the Lord, O my soul.

Surely

It is never my intention to be gone so long.  The days get away from me, and before I know it, weeks have passed since my last post.  Can it really be almost May?

We're coming down to the end of the school year now, so I was studying the May calendar this morning.  It is a full month!  We have several end-of-the-year events, my piano students have a recital (I have to learn my recital piece too! Yikes!), and we are on a fast track to finish our academics before the sunshine and springtime lure us away from the table and out into the yard.

The Lord reminded me of a verse today when I was feeling particularly overwhelmed.

"He who calls you is faithful; He will surely do it."  (I Thess. 5:24)

Surely.  Not maybe.

When the schedule is full, the tension is high, and the to-do list is long, I can rest in the truth that the things God has called me to do (like mothering, homeschooling, leading a choir, and teaching piano) are also things that He will equip me to do.  What a blessing that He writes the list and then faithfully gives the resources to accomplish it.

Yes, May will be busy, but I'm not heading there alone.

I love the last part of that verse:

He will surely do it.

I hear it ring every time I think about that calendar.  Surely, not maybe.

Is there a "surely" in your May calendar?  If He has called you to do something, He will surely do it!

Hope is the Thing With Feathers

Hope     

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

                                      --Emily Dickinson

Anyone that has been around my little blog for awhile knows that I love when spring finally arrives.  The dark and dreariness of winter gives way to the blooming and blossoming of springtime, and I find such delight in watching the world come alive.

One of my favorite parts of spring is the coming of the birds.  I never loved birds like I do now, but I could sit and watch them flit around my yard all day long.  (The puppy actually does this, but I think she's more delighted at the prospect of chasing them!)

This morning I took the puppy outside and was met with the beautiful sound of many birds.  A couple of weeks ago, it was just one lone little black-capped chickadee singing his little "Hee-hoo".   Now it is a little chorus mixing all their calls and songs together.  Somehow I'm not in as much of a hurry to go back inside as I was a few weeks ago!

I think I understand what Emily Dickinson meant when she wrote that "Hope is the thing with feathers".  There is nothing that signals the welcome hope of spring like the return of the birds, and it seems fitting that she would use the metaphor of a bird to speak of hope itself.

For me, though, the birds sing an even sweeter song, because in their little calls and trills, I hear my Jesus say yet again, "Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not of more value than they?" Matthew 6:26

Are you not of more value than they?

Yes, dear Emily.  For me this morning, hope is the thing with feathers, or rather, hope is the One who made the feathers.

Standing Behind the Canvas- Day 3: Abide With Me

We were gone most of the day yesterday, so I never got a chance to sit back down to continue recounting the ways that God has been active lately.  Hence, I'm calling this Day 3!

If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know that I'm learning to play the trombone in the beginning band that we joined this year.  I sit between a 9-year-old and a 12-year-old and battle my way through each new piece the band director brings to us.  Despite the humbling nature of being a complete beginner, it has been great fun learning to play a new instrument.  I'm still not very good, but once in awhile a sound comes out that could roughly be called music.  I guess that means I'm making progress!

As we approached our most recent concert, the band director asked me to play with the intermediate band because he needed some lower instruments to fill out the sound.  I believe that the Lord providentially led him to choose the hymn "Abide With Me" as one of the pieces we played.  I have loved that hymn for many years, and the director crafted a beautiful arrangement that had a prominent trombone part in one section.

Isn't it just like the Lord to bathe my soul in the balm of a beautiful hymn as I labored to learn that trombone part?  I was the only trombone, so it needed to be mellow and clear.  The part was high and difficult for me, and I had to work incredibly hard to play some of the notes.  Consequently, I spent a good bit of time practicing that particular piece.

As I struggled to make it sound beautiful, I heard the words of the hymn over and over:

Abide with me, fast falls the even-tide.
When darkness deepens, Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fade and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

Believe it or not, the hardest notes for me were at the line, "When other helpers fade and comforts flee..."  As I played those measures over and over trying to get the notes exactly right, the Lord played that lyric over and over in my mind.  I don't think there was a single child in that band that knew the words to the song, but I did, and God brought comfort each time I played it.

"Help of the helpless, O abide with me."

As I stand behind the canvas, I see the Artist move His hand once again, still painting a picture I can't see, but all the while creating a masterpiece of His own design.  Ah, but the point is that His hand did move, and as He painted, I heard Him sing softly to me.

This time it sounded a bit like a trombone.

Standing Behind the Canvas- Day 2: The Amazing, Empty Ink Cartridges

I wrote yesterday that our life the last few months has been a bit like standing behind a canvas while an artist paints a picture on the front of the canvas.  You can see the artist's hand move, but you have no idea what he's painting.  In the same way, we can see God's hand moving right now, but we have no idea what the final picture will look like. At some point, He'll turn the picture around and we'll see that all the recent grays have added depth and texture to a beautiful masterpiece.

It is my hope to share a few of the ways we've seen God's hand move lately.  While we may not know what His plan is, we do know He is active.  That by itself is a great comfort.  He hasn't left us off.

So today, I start with a story of miraculous provision.  There is nothing in the world that will ever convince me that this event isn't an absolute miracle.

A couple of weeks ago, my printer ran out of ink.  It was bone dry, and the things I printed were completely blank.  For a couple of weeks, I tried to make do without any copies, but last Monday I just needed to make some copies for the kids for our school.  I haven't had the money to replace the ink cartridges, so I just stood beside the printer and asked the Lord to give me just a few copies-- enough to get through the week.

And then I started to copy.

And copy.

And copy.

At last count, I've made about 170 copies.  With empty cartridges.

I just kept copying ahead for the next few weeks figuring that the ink would run out eventually.  It hasn't yet.

The kids keep coming in and saying incredulously, "Is it still making copies?"

Over the whirr of the printer, the only words I can hear are, "Bless the Lord, O my soul."

Bless the Lord, O my soul.

And the Artist's hand moves again.

Standing Behind the Canvas- Day 1

It's been awhile since I shared anything on this little blog of mine.  I'm still here plodding away, but some days are so full of busyness and strain that I can hardly find words.  I do know that God is active, and I praise Him for giving grace to move on through each day.  I record His blessings every day in my journal, but I decided that I'm also going to spend the next week sharing a few of them here too.

The last several years have been really tough, yet we've watched the Lord do great things.  Even though we don't see the road ahead very clearly, we do know He's active.  That is a great comfort.

The only way I can describe it is this:  Our life right now is a little like standing behind a canvas instead of in front of it while a painter paints.  You see the painter's hand moving, yet you have no idea what he's painting.

So this week I'm going to try to share some of the ways I've seen the Painter move His hand recently.  I have absolutely no idea what His picture will turn out to be.  I can't even begin to imagine.

And my hope in all of this uncertainty?

I know that whatever He's painting, it will be beautiful.

Romans 15:13

Romans 15:13-- May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.

God of all hope,
Do this for me--
Fill me with joy
In uncertainty.

God of all hope,
Grant this to me--
Peace where the road
I cannot see.

In valley deep
My heart is lost,
Fearful, frail,
By harsh wind tossed.

And looking round,
The way concealed.
No path is seen,
No end revealed.

So looking up
My only trust--
Great God of hope,
See You, I must.

God, You alone
Make me abound
In hope
When there's no way around.

God of all hope,
Do this for me--
Give joy and peace
And victory.

He Giveth More Grace

The text of the following hymn has been with me for many weeks now, playing over and over in my thoughts and heart.  Somehow, the Lord lets the needle on the record player of my mind get stuck at,  "He giveth and giveth and giveth and giveth and giveth..."

Maybe that by itself is part of the giving.

He Giveth More Grace
By Annie Johnson Flint

He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase,
To added affliction He addeth His mercy,
To multiplied trials His multiplied peace.

His love has no limit; His grace has no measure.
His pow'r has no boundary known unto men.
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father's full giving is only begun.

His love has no limit; His grace has no measure.

His pow'r has no boundary known unto men.

For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,

He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!

Much to Say, Nothing to Say

I haven't meant to be gone so long.

I think about this little thinking-and-writing spot of mine so often.

Yet, on some days, I have much to say and nothing to say-- all at the same time.  Sometimes the "much to say" is uttered in breathless, care-filled prayer to the Lord-- a groaning and sighing more than a speaking.  Sometimes the "nothing to say" is because I think that there's not much excitement in writing about our little trivialities of living and learning.  These are hard, uncertain days for our family, and it seems that right now in particular, life is more just plodding than anything-- one muddy footprint following another, with few grand adventures or great epiphanies to report.  The days are cold and gray, my garden is asleep, and I am inside tending the child-garden with the tools of grammar, science, math and Chinese checkers.

Oswald Chambers says, "Discipleship is built entirely on the supernatural grace of God...We do not need the grace of God to withstand crises-- human nature and pride are sufficient for us to face the stress and strain magnificently.  But it does require the supernatural grace of God to live twenty-four hours of every day as a saint, going through drudgery, and living and ordinary, unnoticed, and ignored existence as a disciple of Jesus.  It is ingrained in us that we have to do exceptional things for God-- but we do not.  We have to be exceptional in the ordinary things of life, and holy on the ordinary streets, among ordinary people-- and this is not learned in five minutes."

I love that quote.  I drink deep from it often and am reminded that being sanctified is a life-long process, not a quick sprint.

That line of muddy footprints... they're mine.

By His grace, we'll keep plodding.

Back to the Blog

It's been a few weeks since I've had the chance to add to this little blog of mine.  Between Christmas concerts, Christmas preparation, finishing up school, church activities, family activities, and a trip to Minnesota to see my sister and her family, I haven't had a lot of sit-down time to think out loud and write about life.  Today we finally started getting back into a regular routine.  I feel like the theme of my day is "back to school, back to schedules, and back to the blog"!

So here I sit, almost a month after my last post, reflecting on the busy weeks and the work of God in the life of our family.  Exactly a year ago today I brought Paul home from the hospital after the surgery in which the doctors removed a perforated portion of his colon.  What a life-changing start to 2012.  I am overwhelmed with thanksgiving to ponder the grace that has been poured out on our family this last year as God has healed his body, provided for us, and brought us past those terrible digestive episodes that were such a part of our daily existence for more than 2 1/2 years before the surgery.  Praise be to God for His healing of my husband and His miraculous provision for our family.  The last year was a time of immeasurable growth in all of us, but sometimes it was so raw that it was hard to find the right words to express it here.

As we move into 2013, I plan to be here at my blog as often as possible, reflecting on the things God is teaching me and the ways that God continues to be active in this family with whom I share my days.  I never want to portray our life as picture perfect, because it's far from it, but instead I want to be honest through the work in progress-- each of us falling on the grace of God at every turn for help as we venture through this life.  We are a real family with real messes, real dust, real laundry piles, real days where we just want to give up, real fears, real joys, real blessings, and above all, a real God who carries us on this journey heavenward.  We don't plod alone, and along the way, I'm learning a bit about finding the sweetness, even on hard days.  I hope you'll join me as we adventure on through the months ahead!

My Concert Debut

Today I make my concert debut on the trombone.  I will get up there and play "Jingle Bells" and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" with the Beginning Band and hope that the 9-year-old trombone player next to me doesn't laugh too much.  It is amazing the number of sounds that can come out of the end of a trombone!

I'm now totally convinced that every adult needs to try something completely new for the following two reasons:

First, it keeps us from taking ourselves too seriously.  I am seriously bad on the trombone, but in the midst of all the homeschooling and ministries and other heavy responsibilities, I am having a grand time learning to play it!

Second, for the sake of the little people in our lives, it helps us remember what a hard thing it is to learn something new.  When you can sit down at a piano and play a Chopin waltz "just because",  it is quite a humbling eye-opener to discover that "Jingle Bells" is such a difficult song.

I'll let you know how it goes and post some pictures in the next few days.  This should be good hilarious!

Silly Saturday: Road Trip Bliss

Over Thanksgiving, we drove to South Carolina to spend the holiday with Paul's parents and siblings.  The kids are great travelers, but this was our first time traveling with the puppy.  We were pleasantly surprised to find that she is a pretty good traveler too!  She was in heaven on her little bed cozied up to the kids in the back seat.

The picture below is one I snapped at some point during the drive.  I guess next time I need to get her some headphones so she doesn't feel left out...

Gardens and Grace: The Tree in That Other Yard

A few weeks ago, I took a morning walk with the puppy before anyone else had gotten out of bed.  The air was crisp and clear, and the streets were still moist with dew.  It was an absolutely lovely fall morning to walk around my neighborhood.

The last couple of months have been busy, so I haven't walked as much.  Somewhere along the line, summer melted into fall, and the world came alive with color.  I was thoroughly enjoying the beauty of all the hues and textures in the neighborhood landscaping until I rounded the corner and saw it-- a glorious red tree in the front yard of a house on the next block.

Tall, stately, majestic and beautiful-- this grand, flaming-red tree.

In the midst of my admiration-- in the midst of my praise of a Creator who had the paintbrush and creativity to give us good gifts like crimson trees-- where did my fickle, weak heart want to run?

"I wish I had a red tree like that in my yard."

There it is.  I'm ashamed to admit it, but that discontentment had reared its ugly head yet again.

I thought about this all the way home.  How is it that my heart jumps so quickly to comparison, discontentment, and longing instead of thankfulness?  I've been given so much.

A few minutes later, I rounded the corner to my street and was struck by the colors in my own yard.  No, I didn't have a red tree, but the burning bushes and burgundy mums were vibrant and beautiful.

  Some white mums had actually taken on a lovely lavender tinge.

Some of the big trees had already lost their leaves, but plenty of gold remained on the other ones.  Gazing down the block, all of the colors jumped out in their glory-- one long continuous stream of fall beauty.

How is it that I see the gifts in other people's lives so much more quickly than I notice the ones in my own?  As I come to the end of the month of Thanksgiving, I'm struck again by the need to be thankful in all circumstances-- to be content with the things I have.  The Bible says that godliness with contentment is great gain, and I'm learning that the key to contentment is a spirit of thankfulness.

It's not even remotely productive to compare myself, my house, my yard, my children, my possessions, my husband, or my talents with the gifts God has given to others.  It is a tool of the enemy to get me to take my eyes of Christ and put them squarely on myself-- which usually just ends in disappointment and sinful attitudes.

As I pass into December-- the month of Advent and reflection on Immanuel-- I have a renewed desire to count my blessings-- to gaze intently at Christ as the first and best gift, and then be thankful for each good gift that God has given me beyond that.

The yard is now put to sleep, the lawn bags have been loaded on the truck for their composting adventure, and the time for listening in my garden has grown short, but the grace poured down continues.  Spring will come again, but for now, the winter provides time for listening in a different way.  Will I have the ears to hear?  I pray so.

Parent-Teacher Conferences

In the last few days, I've talked to several friends whose kids had a couple of days off last week due to parent-teacher conferences.  Oh, how I remember those days from when I was teaching in a traditional classroom.  They are fun for the kids, but not so much fun for the parents and teachers.

Now, when you homeschool and you're the parent and the teacher, there's really no need for a conference, right?  I mean-- I already know everything the teacher would want to say to me as a parent.  (I also know exactly what the teacher is thinking at any given moment-- which I guess could either be really helpful or really not.)

I do like the idea of the days off though.  Maybe I should schedule some parent-teacher conferences.  I can hear it now--

"Hey kids, I'll be in the family room talking to myself!"

While I'm at it, I wouldn't mind scheduling a conference with the principal when he gets home from work.  I think he's awfully nice.

And smart.

And hardworking.

And handsome.

"Hey kids, I'll be in the family room kissing the principal!"

Silly Saturday: Brown-and-Serve Rolls

This last week, our local grocery store had brown-and-serve rolls for buy one, get one free, so I bought several packages.  These rolls come 12 to a package, so with a family of six, that means 2 rolls per person at dinner.

Apparently, though, that wasn't enough one night, and the kids begged me to make some more.  I guess there's just something wonderful about a warm dinner roll on a cold night.

They were so earnest, that I finally decided to make another package.  The kids were literally standing in front of the oven counting down with the timer.  When the timer went off, Isaac, my 7-year-old, started jumping around the kitchen yelling,  "They're done.  They're done.  Let the roll-eating commence!!"

Commence. (Where do little guys get big words like that?)

Grown-up Girls and Picture Books

A grown-up girl went by herself to the library last night.  Books needed turned in, and the young ones sent a list of items they wanted her to check out.

As the girl walked through the doors into the land of children's books, a lump formed in her throat.  All those books.  Hundreds of books.  So little time. So very little time.

And there was a catch in her breath and her heart.  Picture books aren't on that list any more.  There are still hundreds of picture books left to read, even though hundreds have been read, but the requested books are now long chapter books.

"How can we be so quickly done with picture books?  How can a simple trip to the library be such a stark reminder of how quickly the time goes by?  How can these dear ones grow up so fast?  The time and days and years are flying at breakneck speed as these four tumble and stumble through the lessons that need to be taught and learned.   The children look a little less like children every day.  How does this grown-up girl redeem the time-- and redeem it without becoming overwhelmed at the enormity of the task and the flying minutes?"

Then the truth broke through the musings.

"She redeems it one book at a time, one folded shirt at a time, one dirty plate at a time, one math lesson at a time, one snuggle of a sick girl at a time, one band-aid on a boy's knee at a time, one catechism question at a time, and one "dropping-to-the-knees-to-plead-for-help" at a time.  She redeems it with a never-ending, early-morning, relentless search to find what the Great Author of Time says about numbering our days to gain a heart of wisdom as we live in a time-restricted world."

So as this grown-up girl walked past the stacks and stacks of picture books toward the stacks and stacks of chapter books, she heard her heart say, "Curious George and Pooh, stay awhile longer.  Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys will scoot down and make room.  The kids may seem to be finished with picture books for now, but none of us are ever done with good stories."

Then as she approached the first line of shelves, she remembered yet again that the innate longing for a good book and a good story is a actually a great gift from the Author of the Greatest Story of all...

...the one in which the grown-up girl is the daughter of a King whose Son died to save her life.

Of All the Funny Things...

Sometimes things happen that just make you laugh...

My kids joined a homeschool music association this year, and our oldest three are in beginning band.  I have played piano since I was a little girl, but I've never learned to play a band or orchestra instrument.  During the time I've been sitting in the band room over the last eight weeks, I have been fascinated to learn about all the different instruments.  I'm also so impressed with the fact that the band director knows how to play every single instrument!

This particular music association allows parents to take the classes for free, so I had decided that next year I would join the beginning band class and learn an instrument.  I hadn't picked an instrument yet, but I figured I would just spend the next several years in the beginning band and learn a new instrument each year-- just for the fun of it!

I was talking with the band director this last Tuesday, telling him how much I appreciate what my kids are learning.  I mentioned that I wanted to be in his band next year, and to my surprise, he said I could join now if I could find an instrument!  When I asked if he had a suggestion, he suggested trombone!

I have never pictured myself with a trombone.  French horn maybe, but trombone?

The more I thought about it, the more I thought it would be so fun to learn any instrument, including trombone.  I wrote to a friend that has played the trombone for many years to see if she had any suggestions or knew of any that I might borrow for a time.  As it turns out, she has one that I can use for awhile!

So I guess that now, for better or for worse, I'm going to learn the trombone!!  I just have to laugh.  This is going to be great fun!

Now instead of family practice sessions with a baritone, flute, and percussion (as well as the harmonica my parents sent to my youngest so he didn't feel left out), we will now have practice sessions with baritone, flute, percussion, harmonica, and trombone!

Oh, the noise and the joys!!!

I'll let you know how it goes.  This could be hilarious.

At any rate, it is another adventure for this piano teacher who is constantly preaching to her students to be life-long learners.

I guess it's time to take my own advice.

Heidi playing a trombone.  Of all the funny things!

Dusting or Resting

My coffee cup sits steaming on the kitchen table in front of me, reheated in the microwave for the third time since 9 a.m.  I lean in close to hear a seven-year-old read the part of the story where the Boxcar Children are reunited with their Grandfather.  His monotone, slightly-halting cadence is soft and steady, but he stumbles on fewer words these days.  He's learning fast.

To my right in the family room, a young percussionist is practicing pages 9 and 10 from his band book on the xylophone-like bells.  His audience is the ever-attentive puppy, who is sitting in her crate gnawing on a rawhide bone with little puppy teeth.  I hear the boy keeping time under his breath as his head bobs up and down and his hands tap with the green-tipped mallets.

"One, two, three, four, rest, rest, rest, rest."

Behind me in the dining room-- an altogether different sound.  A beginning baritone player is trying to figure out how much air needs to go down the mouthpiece in order to get an F instead of a B flat.  Warbled notes and multiple tones are slowly beginning to give way to sounds that are more musical, and he's doing his best to work his way through pages 9 and 10 too.

"Boom, boom, (warbly) boom, boom, rest, rest, rest, rest."

Upstairs I can hear a girl on a flute, probably sitting on the toy chest at the end of her bed with a music stand in front of her.  She's fluting away on a B flat scale and trying to hold a note for ten counts today, because yesterday she could hold it for nine.  One more count a day is her goal.  Last week she could only hold it for four, but the band director knows a girl that can hold it for twenty-one, so the blowing and breathing and practice continues.

"Toot, toot, toot, toot, rest, rest, rest, rest."

This indoor cacophany-- this blowing and tooting and tapping and huffing and puffing and reading-- all melds together as I gaze out the window on a gorgeous fall day.  The leaves are blazing gold and red, fluttering their way to the ground in the sunshine, making their own kind of music.

"Flutter, flutter, flutter, flutter, rest, rest, rest, rest."

But then this melody of sound and movement and practicing and resting goes quickly out of tune as I gaze around the kitchen.  Every pot I own is in the sink, waiting to be washed.  Library books, school books, and shoes clutter my view.  The couch is covered with laundry waiting to be folded.  Up on my bed, there is a pile of unmatched socks.  Did I even make the bed this morning?  An epic battle of Axis and Allies between dad and boys is ongoing on the dining room table, waiting for dad to get home from work.  A little bag of popcorn from last night's snack sits on the counter, along with the mail and the ads and the last couple of jalapenos from our garden.  And the dust.  All that dust.  Isn't company coming today?  And piano students? How do I get that dusting done?  What about the bathrooms, and the mopping, and the laundry, and the academics?"

And the cadence of my heart is very different now.  How do I ever keep up with all of these things?

"Teach, cook, wash, clean, stressed, stressed, stressed, stressed."

The booming and puffing and tapping and reading continue, and in my heart there is this banging and clanging and dissonance.

Next to me, I hear the next sentence, read by a small boy oblivious to all of the other noise.

Ah, but then the Conductor of the universe breaks through the noise in my heart and reminds me again of the words that brought life and melody out of the chaos just this morning.

"For He knows our frame.  He remembers that we are dust." Ps. 103: 14

The Composer of life and music and golden leaves doesn't just know I'm dust.  He remembers.  Knowing and remembering are two altogether different things.  Knowing is important, but remembering is active and conscious and gives way to life and grace and help.

And I suppose that if Almighty God, maker of Heaven and Earth has dust, maybe it's ok that I have some too.  Maybe the never-ending dust glorifies God by reminding me that I am just dust too-- that I am so dependent on Him for everything, and that I can't do this mammoth job of mothering without His help.

Oh, but He knows.  He remembers.  He remembers that I am just weak and frail with a heart easily stressed.  He tells me that His power is made perfect in my weakness.  That promise changes everything, doesn't it?

My gaze falls back on my steaming coffee cup.  I look around at my children, engaged in their little lives and activities, happily making noise and messes, mistakes and music.  And God lovingly gazes down on His daughter, engaged in life and activities, making noise and messes, mistakes and music.

The minor melody in my heart a few minutes ago has given way to an altogether different tune.

"He knows, He remembers, He knows, He remembers....

Rest, rest, rest, rest."