Sunshine in the House

Occasionally moms go just a little wild coming up with things for the little ones to do day after day, year after year. Especially those late afternoon hours when everyone is tired and cranky and occasionally bored.

That is when moms look around and spy pumpkins that dads brought home from the farmer's market for $2 each.

And Mom decides it is time to cut one up and cook it for pumpkin pies.

The little ones scoop seeds out of the middle into the pail for steers and goats and chickens.

And there is a bit of golden sunshine in the house while the dusk sets in, an hour earlier now that Daylight Savings time has ebbed.

 

Another glimmer of sunshine.

Danny finds a little brown egg out in the barn.

Growing up, my family called deviled eggs "sunshine" eggs. No reason to call such bright, sunny eggs deviled. 

A chilly day outdoors, when a friend arrived with a big load of hay for us to store until Sammy could help him sell it.

On top of the world!

Nothing like sitting on a big stack of hay.

We reflect on God's goodness, even when the election results did not turn out as we hoped.

We watched, heartsick, as we see only change for the worse.

That night Jonathan and I both lost a lot of sleep--between election results and mice scritching around in the attic directly above our bed.

Mice--like the silly little pesty things that really are so little--

and yet drive us nuts--

compared to the big things that are so big we cannot possibly carry them ourselves--

like election results--

because the load is too heavy.

In hours like that night, some precious thoughts from one of my favorite blogs held me steady.

"What you think you cannot handle--

might actually be God handing you a gift." 

This election, Lord. A gift?

And then another quote from Ann Voskamp's blog: "What is beyond the redemption of God?"

The next day, someone down south called and wanted the whole load of hay. Our boys spent the afternoon and evening helping our friend deliver the hay. The sun still shone. God was still alive. He was taking care of us.  He is watching the president; the Congress; the local officials; the common, ordinary working people like you and me; the mouse that scritched and scratched in the attic;  the sparrow that falls.

Nothing escapes His notice.

"His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches" what is happening in America, what is happening in our home; what is happening in our lives.

He knows when we are losing sleep, when we spend Sunday School hour in the van because of pain; when our days slog along; when we wake up with something out of place,

and there is so much pain again, you can hardly stand up straight at the stove.

Is life just all pain?

And then we realize it is not something out of place. It is kidney pain.

NOT ANOTHER KIDNEY STONE AGAIN!

A trip to the grocery store for lemons and olive oil.

 

And mix the tart and oily brew and gulp it down.

"What you think you cannot handle--might actually be God handing you a gift."
Time to rest? Time to read a book while trying to forget the sickness and pain?
Time to blog? A sense of sympathy for all those in pain?
A chance to stop doing, accomplishing, working.
A chance to just suffer, and pace the floor, and drink horrible brews.

But then the relief; and being able to take a walk without pain; able to lift others to God in prayer; and blog a little from your heart.
It's easy to sound spiritual on a blog.
Not so easy when you are gagging and gasping with the kidney stone brew that tastes horrible but works.
Not so easy when your daughter accidentally deletes the one picture off the camera that you especially wanted to put on the blog, and you gasp things you regret.
And then you have to realize that momentarily you made the blog more important than your daughter's feelings, and you must admit your mistake and apologize to her. It doesn't feel spiritual to admit mistakes, to have to say, "My blog was more important to me than your feelings. I'm sorry."  But sometimes it is the most spiritual thing we can do.
It sure helps heal wounded feelings.
The sour, lemon-oil brew of sincere apology--and the pain is relieved and the tears change to a smile, and a mother and daughter--minus two pictures meant just for the blog-- continue to love each other.