{Things Unseen}

If you've followed my blog for a while, you are likely aware of the fact that I have a tendency to avoid spending money on things that seem trivial. Such as pot holders. Or towels. I let the old ones wear away to shreds before finally replacing them. I like to call it frugality.

I recently realized that I do the same thing with socks -- my athletic sock supply gradually began to dwindle and thin over the (ahem) years, and I finally faced the fact that I should probably do something about it. So last Monday while Drew was at drums, I hopped on over to Tuesday Morning to see if I could find a yummy deal. I did, and it was such fun to wash them up, fold the plush things and stack them neatly cram them in my sock drawer.

Yes, I took a picture of them.

It was also such fun to wear them. The following afternoon, as per my routine, I hit the neighborhood walking during the kids' lunch hour. My goodness, but my feet were happy. They were soft. They were fluffy. And they actually made a difference in my walk.

Imagine that.

I found myself wondering why I hadn't bought some sooner. Why had I put up with the archaic, thin, nubby things for so long? And then I told myself exactly why: "I'd much rather spend my money on things I can see!" And my mind wandered to the cute top or earrings that I could have gotten instead.

And then my mind kept wandering as my feet kept walking and the Holy Spirit seized the opportunity to whisper to my heart. How much of my energy is spent only on things I can see? How much time? How much money?

What if I was to pour that same energy, that same time, that same money into things . . . unseen?

I bet it would actually make a difference in my walk. 

Imagine that.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, 

since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 

 2 Corinthians 4:18

{If You Were a Book}

The other evening around the dinner table we got to talking about books. Specifically, I was curious to find out which books most represented each person. So I said to the kids, "If you could recommend one book for me to read, what would it be?" Their answers, although not terribly surprising, were fun.

Drew voted for the Harry Potter series. He's read and re-read them so many times that I had his choice figured out in a heartbeat. Bethie suggested the Nancy Drew books. You know what? I've never read one. Isn't that odd? She suggested the second one because it was so scary it made her fall off of her chair. Oh, goody. Aidan was recently very impressed by My Side of the Mountain, so he suggested that I read that one. Little Miss hemmed and hawed, trying to figure out which Ramona Quimby book to recommend. We finally landed on Ramona and Her Mother. Appropriate, no?

Jamie has been encouraging me to read To Kill a Mockingbird for months. Actually, it would be a re-read for me since I read it in high school. But my retention skills are . . . lacking. I plan to jump in soon. (In exchange, he will read A Tale of Two Cities. One of the finer stories every written. Also, it seemed nicer than forcing him to read Jane Eyre.) My mom is breathing down my neck to finally dive into Les Miserables already. Of course I'm looking forward to it, but it's one of those books that takes commitment. I have to pick the right time, you know? And my Dad. I'm guessing he'd suggest a Zane Grey or Louis L'Amour. Or maybe The Scarlet Pimpernel.

Land sakes, my book list is growing. How exciting.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, the book that I would recommend is Little Women. It's very me. Are you shocked?

So what's your book? 

{Toilet Paper, Dreams and Rotten Eggs}

When I was growing up, we had family friends that we often visited. One of our long-standing traditions was to sneak into their bathrooms and flip all the toilet paper rolls around. They always insisted on putting the rolls on the bar the wrong way, and my sister and I felt that it was our duty to lead them to the path of truth. (The paper rolls over the top, my friends. Over the top. Amen.)

Well, Little Miss never got the T.P. memo. The other day she frantically ran into the master bath and, seeing that she had used up the roll, she kindly replaced it with another. The problem was this: she put it on the wrong way. Later, in an OCD fit, I was about to whip it around when I caught myself. There was nothing really wrong here. In fact, everything was right. She had responsibly replaced the roll and the only difference was . . . her trademark. I left it.

Of course my mind developed all sorts of metaphors about how my inclination was to change my child's behavior rather than to allow her to express herself. (Lately this has also manifest itself in some fabulous outfits and hair-dos. Oh, the way I quietly wrung my hands as she prepared for church this morning. But I held my tongue, folks! I did it!) But really, how often do I try to change something not because it's wrong but simply because it's different? There the roll remained, and I now use it as a reminder to pray for my Little Miss.

Remember those cute little eggs we decorated for Easter? In my mind it made sense to keep them out for a nice long time. They were pretty and festive and provided a lovely addition to our spring centerpiece. The other day as I was wiping down the dining room table, my nose was met with the most horrific odor I have ever encountered. (This from a woman who has changed 2,367,986,563,291 diapers.) I leaned toward the centerpiece and beheld a crack in one of the dear eggs. Oh, friends.

If you've read or seen Charlotte's Web, you will likely remember the part about Templeton's rotten egg. It disgusts everyone, but the readers or viewers can't really experience it unless they've . . . experienced it. Because in illustrations and animation a foul odor is usually represented by wavy lines. There were no wavy lines in my kitchen, dear friends. But it was enough to make me understand that it must be a very, very terrible thing to realize the ramifications of the childhood chant, "the last one there."

Speaking of eggs, let's consider another event which had us in tears this afternoon. Gathered around our Sunday brunch (that's actually the only part that has to do with eggs), the children were talking about anything and everything under the sun. Eventually the conversation worked its way toward dreams, and they began to share the "really weird dreams" they had had last night.

Aidan wove his tale, and we listened to the quaint narrative with eager attentiveness. Well, most of us did. Little Miss was not as amused. As soon as he finished his tale she leveled him. "I make up dreams sometimes, and you look like the kind of person who would make up dreams. It sounds like you're having trouble while you're telling your dream. So I don't believe you. Liar!"

Our faces turned red. We stifled the laughter, but the tears streamed. I blindly fetched the Kleenex to wipe off the mascara that was trailing down my cheeks. We attempted to compose ourselves while explaining that we shouldn't call brother a liar, but it didn't really work. And I'm not even sure what happened next. I'm still crying.

{Inspired}

This afternoon we closed the books, hopped in the van and headed down to Fort Vancouver.

The sun was warm and a light breeze danced across the hazy blue as we enjoyed a frolic through the 1840s. Drew and a friend were busy capturing video footage of the Fort for a Washington State History project, so we let them do their thing while we enjoyed a pleasant saunter through the various shops and surrounding gardens.

The Fort is not without its modern touches; the QR code threw me for a time-traveling loop.

Can you spy three little people in the center window?

The blacksmith shop (left) and Indian trade shop/hospital/doctor's office/residence. (Very efficient use of space.)

The carpenter's shop proved to be most entertaining (although Little Miss does look like she's in pain).

Our guide, Lee, knew his stuff, and the kids came home bubbling with new thoughts and ideas. There was a whirlwind of conversation at the dinner table tonight as everyone tried to share with Daddy (simultaneously) what they had learned in the shop.

But I think some of my favorite moments on days like today are those in which new thoughts take root . . .

 . . . and inspire.

{Opportunity}

A few months ago I had the privilege of interviewing a few young women in our community for an article which was featured in our local Vancouver Family Magazine:

(You can read the full article here.)

I was impressed by the number of individuals and businesses who have jumped on board to help the founder, Emily Gorchels, in an effort to provide new and gently used nursing bras to mothers in our community who otherwise might not be able to afford them.

Since then, I've been in touch with Emily to see how I might band together with some local moms to contribute a care package to her organization, Bras2Moms. She sent me a list of practical items that she would love to be able to offer to the women who come to her for help.

Mary Cassatt

I've started to collect some items on my own, such as protein bars and a few board books for toddler siblings who might be tagging along. I would love to have your help! If you're interested in adding to the package, I know it would bless the organization and the many women who walk through their doors. Here are a few items they could use:

washable nursing pads
non-perishable, healthy snacks
bottled water

Of course if you have any other ideas that would bless a nursing mama (lotions, burp cloths, board books . . .), I know they would love it! Let me know if you're on board, and we'll get this thing rolling.

Thanks so much, friends, and have a lovely May day!