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Tuesday, December 4, 2012

To be lived in

The moment we first walked into the house we now live in, I was love struck.
I took myself up the stairs to explore while Billy talked with our agent in the kitchen, and every inch of the place enchanted me.  By the time I descended, I just knew.
There were other people looking to buy in the neighborhood, walking through houses just like we were, and Billy had to command me not to stand in the front yard telling them that no, they may not look inside this house because it was going to be ours.

Sometimes, I still can't believe that I live here.  It's not grand, but it offers all I could ask (and more) from a home.
It offers quiet comfort for a recovering momma's cold during nap time over a cup of coffee and leftover homemade honey wheat bread.

There's a corner of our downstairs that lends just enough space to let a little boy explore and make messes and drag a dancing sock monkey across the living room just to give me a quick hug before, well, making more messes.

Our kitchen table just last night sat between my little family and our friends while we shared a crock pot meal and chocolate chip cookies and other little/big things like hugs and stories and life.  This morning it still boasts of the people that came, as if we ever need any thanks for the blessing of our home being full of life-sharing.

This is my living room unedited, tissue box and comfy blanket ready for me to rest and recover, and pillow cover that still needs to be hand sewn shut. 
Morning light softly seeps in through the windows higher on the wall, and it's that sweet kind of silent while my baby rests.

There are moments of living in this house when I wish I could keep it perfectly polished and picked up, but those thoughts are quick and fleeting.  
This home, it's so very lived in.  There are scratches and bruises that are merely the markings of real life, and I love it all the more for them.

The house and the home and the stuff, it's all lovely.  But it's really the living that it offers that I'm proud of, that I'm thankful for.  It's the way God's shown Himself faithful, the way He's emptied us out and filled us up with the opportunity to just live life with each other that makes me over-full of pure gratitude.

This house was meant to be lived in, and it is, and that's all I could've asked of it.

Monday, December 3, 2012

That time I worked out my Abs.

I've never had a killer six-pack, but I used to have, ahem, less around the middle.
You know, when you grow to the size of an elephant while you're carrying a child, things change.

So the other night, in a fit of "Let's get that flat tummy back," I had Billy help me with some abdominal exercises.  Just a few.
I'm still suffering the repercussions.  I'm sore.

I've added another exercise to my life of late.

Each morning, I've been trying to spend the first few minutes just listening to the voice of my Maker.

These moments have been sweet, balm-to-my-soul, let's-start-the-day-right kind of moments.
I feel prepared, connected to the Creator of the Universe.
So far, every single morning, I've felt God asking one thing of me:

Let me tell you something.

I. am. sore.

I generally am aware of my need for contentment in Christ, and I usually can keep a steady handle on when I'm becoming discontent or frustrated.
This last week, however, as I've been making an effort to specifically choose joy throughout my day, I've had major difficulties.
I've been sick.
I've been extra tired.
I've been irritable.

So that's where I'm at.  Sore abs and sore brain/heart.
Because when you work at something, there's usually opposition.
And when God asks something of us, whether it's to move across the world, or adopt a child, or give something away, or just be joyful, there's always another choice that will make itself clear and appealing.

I'm thankful today for a God who gives me grace each time I'm grumpy, which, lately, has been more often than I would like to admit.
I'm thankful and amazed that He renews His love for me each moment.
I'm thankful for a daily reminder each morning that my joy is important to my God.

It's the start of another week, and I'll be working out my joy muscles again.  I'll probably get sore, again, too.

I make no such promises about working on that six-pack.  Don't judge.