Ode to an artist

I have an artsy-ish streak, but the real artist in my family was my mother. Today, were she living, would have been her 63rd birthday.

After the age of 4, I never again lived with my mother. But she was always present in my life -- always Momma. And one of the things I remember most about her was her art. She was particularly gifted with pen and ink. Highly detailed. Jaw-droppingly impressive.

She was especially fond of science fiction, so her art often had a sci-fi appearance. It was wildly imaginative.

When I was a little girl, my mother would sit with colored markers and optical illusion coloring books (the very ones I still see today in homeschool magazines), and she would color for what seemed like hours. Her vision of those geometric designs -- well, let me just tell you, she could work magic with those markers.

Over the course of time and some extremely difficulty circumstances, most everything that once belonged to my Momma has been lost. As to her art, I have only two examples that I can think of -- a set of paperdolls she made for Emma, and a card she sent to me when I was on Summer Beach Project in 1987. I pulled the latter one down out of my little scrapbook desk, where I keep it for inspiration, and took a few photos of it. That's what you've been viewing as you read this post -- a little gift of art, from my Momma: Betty Irene Russell, October 1945-August 1997.

You can read more about my mom on last year's birthday post.

And thanks for reading. I wanted the world to see her art.

Hello, October!

"Then comes October, full of merry glee." Spenser

Ahhh ... October! My favorite month of the year. I love everything about it!

The world is so beautiful in October! October comes at the beginning of my favorite season -- Autumn -- when the world's aglow with the richest hues of red, gold, orange, and brown. Throw in deep blue and earthy green, and I could look at this color palette all day long.

Have you ever noticed the angle of the sun toward our little corner of the world in Autumn. There's a warm softeness to it. Like ambient lighting. I find it so calming.

And the air -- the air is so crisp in October. Not too cold, but oh so fresh! Makes me want to close my eyes and breathe deep.

Yes, I love everything about October.

The trees, and every individual leaf on the trees. I could collect the fallen ones all day long and bask in their variety. So many shapes, so many colors.

The calm, cool evenings, and the first crackling fire of the season.

The harvest, and all things associated with the harvest. Pumpkins and squashes in all shapes and sizes (Cottage Living has a particularly informative article on pumpkins this month); I'd buy one of every variety if I could. And beans of every color! Inspired by a friend, I have an ongoing habit (tradition) of displaying beans in little woven baskets during the months of October and November.

Little hands -- and big ones -- can't resist the urge to play in them a bit. (I still have to buy the lentils for this year -- my kids have asked me where the "green" ones are -- they are the most enticing to play with -- my kids' opinion, and mine, too.) The beans are a great inexpensive way to bring the harvest indoors. Several years ago I made several little signs to display with them; this year, I could only find this one. (Sorry for the bad photo. Couldn't seem to get the camera to focus on the words. )

Autumn -- it's so rich with the symbolism of redemption -- the harvest of all things sown (ah, joy!), and then the beginning of the cycle again -- things die, only to return to new life. (This redemptive "dying" -- it's a theme in my life right now. Watch for a post on that in a couple of days.)

Did you know that Steven asked me to marry him during the month of October -- 21 years ago. We were sitting on a large boulder atop a mountain, overlooking a valley during one of the most colorful autumns I can ever remember. It was a postcard-worthy scene. Truly.

Well, and my birthday falls on the 29th of October. These birthdays -- they're maybe a little less fun than they used to be (42 seems VERY old) -- but there's just something so satisfying about celebrating the day you were born -- the gift of life given, the memories that linger and the blessings life holds.

Blessings even as ordinary as the month of October.

In honor of Michaelmas Day ...

I'm a fan of British literature. Not just the old "classics," but even more recent literature set in England (and surrounding areas) -- books by Elizabeth Goudge from the mid-20th century, for example. Often, I've encountered references to Michaelmas -- Michaelmas Day, Michaelmas flowers, Michaelmas term -- in this literature. So I noticed, at the start of this month on a lovely little nature diary I keep in my kitchen, that today, September 29, would be Michaelmas Day. Time to put vague associations aside, I decided, and find out what this was all about.

Michaelmas (pronounced Mick-ul-mus) Day is a traditional celebration of the early Christian church (the church of Rome and the Church of England). Like many other holidays, it has both religious and secular associations.

Tribute to a valiant archangel
First and foremost, Michealmas Day was a celebration of the archangel Micheal, who is mentioned five times in scripture. The most well-known of these mentions, probably, is in the book of John (I think) where Micheal fought against Satan and forever earned a reputation as protector from the evil one. The British poet, Milton, eulogized the encounter in some of his most famous poetry.

Honoring a daisy-ish flower
Michaelmas Day is also associated with Michaelmas daisies, a type of aster that grows well in the coldest of weather. The flower is reported to sprout its first bloom just at Michaelmas Day, and continue blooming clear through to the next summer.

Yesterday, I went to Walmart, and I think perhaps I saw some Michealmas daisies disguised as mums -- purple, with a bright yellow center. (If I'd done even more research, which I don't have time to do, I might have learned that these mums are, in fact, a type of aster.)

Cicely Mary Barker, a favorite illustrator, was most known for her poems and illustrations of flowers posing as fairies -- the flower fairies, she called them. Here is a picture of her Michealmas Fairy.
(Cicely Mary Barker poems and illustrations are suddenly in fashion, and you can find them in books everywhere. If you love gardening, or you have a little girl, you might want to check some out from the library. Delightful, they are. She so cleverly draws these little fairies adorned in dresses and caps that resemble the flower after which the fairy is named.

End of the Harvest, Goose Day, and other folklore:
Michaelmas celebrations traditionally signaled the end of the harvest season in the British Isles.

In Ireland and northern England, it was thought that if you ate goose at Michaelmas, you would have good luck for the rest of the year. Thus, it remains a custom on the holiday (also known as Goose Day) to have goose for dinner. (Supposedly, it had something to do with a legend about Queen Elizabeth eating goose after the defeat of the Armada.)

In Ireland, finding a ring hidden in a Michaelmas pie meant that one would soon be married.

Craftsy journal project, and a mental picture of C.S. Lewis

The Journal
Thanks to inspiration from scrappy artist extraordinaire, Virginia, I altered a little antique primer (which belonged to someone in my family, though I can't remember whom), into this scrappy journal, ready for writing.


Pages in the journal are a combination of the original primer pates (complete with charming illustrations),


and two other books (to stabilize the journal, as the primer pages are fairly fragile).


I'll either paint over the text on some of the pages (and then write over the paint), or write on scrappy paper and paste it in -- haven't worked out all the details of that yet. But I've wanted to create one of these little altered books for some time now, and am happy to see the project finally done.

A Mental Picture of C.S. Lewis

As I mentioned in my previous post, I'm reading a book by a man (Vanauken) who was a friend of C.S. Lewis. At one point in the book, Vanauken describes the man Lewis. It's a first-hand account of a real man -- heretofore seemingly unreal in my mind (an ethereal presence whose name appeared as author on profoundly written publications -- but not a real, living, breathing man). I appreciated so much the human element portrayed in Vanauken's description -- it made Lewis present in my mind. Thought you might enjoy it too.

"... I got a card from [Lewis] inviting me to dine with him at Magdalen College. I had never so much as seen a photograph of him, and in reading his books and letters I had vaguely pictured him as slender, perhaps somewhat emaciated, and slightly stooped with a lean, near-sighted face. What I met, when I turned up at his rooms, was John Bull himself. Portly, jolly, a wonderful grin, a big voice, a quizzical gaze -- and no nonsense. He was as simple and unaffected as a man could be, yet never was there a man who could so swiftly cut through anything that even approached fuzzy thinking. Withal, the most friendly, the most genial of companions. ... I therefore saw and heard, both at table and in the semi-circle by the fire in the common room as the port went round, the Lewis who, in brilliance, in wit, and in incisiveness, could hold his own with any man that ever lived."

A Severe Mercy

After devoting myself to the Twilight Saga for weeks, I haven't felt as though I could devote myself to any extra-curricular reading. With school in full gear, support-raising opportunities, Bible study responsibilities, etc., reading seemed like a guilty pleasure. But I came across a book in the thrift store, read through the first page, and knew the book to be, in the words of Adria Ellis, "a gift from God" -- something I am meant to read.

I had heard of this book before, in two vague sorts of contexts -- one associated with C.S. Lewis, the other with an author named Sheldon Vanauken. I wondered, in fact, if there were two books by the same title.

But now I know that there is only one book. And it is something of a memoir by Vanauken, an agnostic (or, arguably, atheist) graduate of both Yale and Oxford who became a Christian during the years when C.S. Lewis was at Oxford.

But it's not Vanauken's story alone. Titled A Severe Mercy, it's the memoir of Vanauken's (almost surreal) relationship with his wife, Davy, their joint search for truth, and the influence of Lewis in their conversion. Shortly after becoming a Christian, Davy is struck with a mysterious illness, and dies young, and Vanauken turns to Lewis for guidance and comfort. What follows is a series of 18 letters through which Lewis, in effect, pastors Vanauken through his grief.

I'm only about halfway through the book, but it is both compellingly narrative and deeply intense. The cover bills it as "A Real-Life Love Story, Full of Wonder and Hope." And Adria tells me that, while heartwrenching, it will be encouraging and challenging and I will love it (which I do).

Here are a few of my favorite quotes from the book, so far.

On beauty:
He remembered as though it were but a few days ago that winter night, himself too young even to know the meaning of beauty, when he had looked up at a delicate tracery of bare black branches against the icy glittering stars: suddenly something that was, all at once, pain and longing and adoring had welled up in him, almost choking him. He wanted to tell someone, but he had no words, inarticulate in the pain and glory. It was long afterwards that he realised that it had been his first aesthetic experience. That nameless something that had stopped his heart was Beauty.

On marriage:
The killer of love is creeping separateness. Inloveness is a gift of the gods, but then it is up to the lovers to cherish or to ruin. Taking love for granted, especially after marriage. Ceasing to do things together. Finding separate interests. "We" turning into "I." Self-regard: what I want to do. Actual selfishness only a hop away. This was the way of creeping separateness.
(note: this portion written of his thoughts before He became a believer, hence "the gods")

On faith:
I suspected that all the yearnings for I knew not what that I had ever felt -- when autumn leaves were burning in the twilight, when wild geese flew crying overhead, when I looked up at bare branches against the stars, when spring arrived on an April morning -- were in truth yearnings for him. For God.

New Website

Thanks to my absolutely brilliant hubby, we now have a new Morgan Journey website. I know you're just DYING to check it out here!

This has been an encouraging week, as we have had at least one financial supporter sign on, discussions with three local pastors (one who just recently returned from a trip to Ireland) and encouraging conversations with several other people. And Steven has a meeting with another pastor tomorrow. (Pray, please.)

I have LOTS of things to blog about, but that'll have to wait til tomorrow. Toodles, til then.

A new take on clothing tags, and wisdom from the pen of Luther

Take a look at the photo below, and tell me what you see:


If you said "clothing tags," take a look again! Those, my friend, are art supplies! And I need more of them. So as you purchase clothing for the change of seasons, for yourself or other family members, collect up those little promotional tags attached to the price tags and send them my way. I'm also in need of Scrabble pieces, by the way, so you can send those as well. (If you're one of the few people who read this blog who don't know how to contact me, leave a comment with your e-mail address and I'll send you my address!)

So enough with the craftsy stuff. Onto more serious topics:

Last week, as Steven and I met for Bible Study (via telephone) with our World Harvest friend and mentor, Meredith Elder, I mentioned to him how frustrated I get with myself over my sin. My trouble, Meredith said, is that I expect myself to be different than I actually am. I expect myself not to sin, because I don't really realize just how pervasive the sin nature is. And, hence, I don't grasp at all the pervasiveness of God's forgiveness and love toward me. I have the same ailment as a friend of Martin Luther, to whom he wrote the following in a letter:

" ... my faithful request and admonition is that you join our company and associate with us, who are real, great and hard-boiled sinners.

You must by no means make Christ to seem paltry and trifling to us, as though He could be our Helper only when we want to be rid from imaginary, nominal and childish sins. No, no! That would not be good for us.

He must rather be a saviour and Redeemer from real, great, grievous and damnable transgressions and iniquities, yea, from the very greatest and most shocking sins; to be brief, from all sins added together in a grand total....

[Luther, quoting another]
Aha! you want to be a painted sinner and, accordingly, expect to have in Christ a painted Savior. You will have to get used to the belief that Christ is a real Savior and you a real sinner. For God is neither jesting nor dealing in imaginary affairs, but He was greatly and most assuredly in earnest when He sent His own Son into the world and sacrificed Him for our sakes."

O, that I might know more fully both the depth of my need and the depth of his love. May I kneel in awe and wonder at this very Real Jesus, who lived, died and reigns for this very Real Sinner.

How I spent my afternoon with (almost) no kids in the house

Can it really have been five days since I posted? I thought a day or two, perhaps, but not five!

All children except Eli were out of the house yesterday, and I had planned to write a post and work on an e-mail we send to our prayer/financial supporters ... but, alas, the Internet was down all afternoon. I was forced instead to clean out my scrapbooking/crafting desk, which has been an untouched wreck for six months at least. I'm itching to work on some projects, and organizing the materials was a necessary first step. (Let's be realistic, if I can't even see the top of the desk, how in the world am I going to use the top of the desk?)

Much to my dismay, I opened the drawers only to discover -- prepare yourself -- mouse poop in every drawer. Aaaacccchhhh! Eeeeeeekkkkk!

We noticed the little critter several weeks ago living under the desk. So Steven, being the humane hub that he is (and at the prodding at the tender-hearted scientific type, Aden) purchased a live trap, put some peanut butter in it, and nabbed the unwanted guest. The children were all amazed to look at the "cute" little mouse, and we put trap-and-all on the porch until Steven could get home and take it town to the woods by the lake to release it. Drove the cat absolutely CRAZY!

Ah, but I digress.

Never occurred to me that said mousling had been living not only under the desk, but in it as well! Not a welcome discovery. So I spent the afternoon taking everything out of every drawer, then vacuuming (and, needless to say, washing my hands about 10 times at various intervals because we were out of the gloves I buy for cleaning toilets).

Now, the desk is all clean and organized, but I did discover five clear letter stamps missing -- don't know if that's the result of some craft-loving rodent (you have read/seen The Borrowers haven't you) or, more likely, a craft-loving six-year-old (Isabella, of course). Probably the latter, don't you think?

Except for the loss of those stamps, I'm ready to go. I'm going to work on the aforementioned e-mail first, then allow myself the reward of working on a little craft project. Some certain friend -- she knows who she is -- ordered a decorated initial from me last November (I hate even admitting that), so today's craft time belongs to her. I'll be filling the order before the weekend is out!

Must get to the e-mail first, though. Pray for our support-raising activity, ok?

This young man, my son

A photo of Eli smiling -- rare treat indeed. (He seems to think smiling in photos isn't cool.) Melissa Holmes nabbed the shot while Eli was at the beach with them this summer, and (being the thoughtful -- and organized friend -- she is) forwarded a copy along to me. I was stunned when I saw the picture. He is so grown!

Happy Place

This home we live in -- this place I spend my days teaching and crying and laughing and praying and dreaming and hoping and loving and entertaining -- this place has soothing little spots which seem to reach out to me and draw me close.

Places like my kitchen window ...


... where I bring a bit of the outdoors in. Visually. And literally. I think the "look" of the window soothes me because the "do" of the window soothes me: those stolen moments of time, when I slip away into the garden to snip the cuttings and then tenderly arrange them, those moments are sweet and nourishing ... and I feel the "doing" of it anew with every look.

The zinnias (oh, perfect cutting flowers) delight me ...

... with their reds, yellows, oranges, pinks and fuschias. Have you ever noticed the little yellow stamen at their center. Delicate, detailed. I love them.

I also love the rosemary, earthy and fragrant. The aroma lingers.

The containers are simple, undistracting -- a sturdy sqaurish bottle which once housed who knows what (olive oil, maybe), and simple antique medicine bottles. But the large one is adorned with a tag, beautifully scripted (not by me), which reminds -- twice over -- Celebrate. Celebrate.

And so celebrate, I do. Life. Love. Redemption.

Even kitchen windows.

Thoughts on God's glory

Tonight in Maja's Wednesday night class, we talked about God's glory. It reminded me of this excerpt from a Frederick Buechner book.

Glory
Glory is to God what style is to an artist. A painting by Vermeer, a sonnet by Donne, a Mozart aria -- each is so rich with the style of the one who made it that to the connoisseur it couldn't have been made by anybody else, and the effect is staggering. The style of an artist brings you as close to the sound of his voice and the light in his eye as it is possible to get this side of actually shaking hands with him.

God's glory. Uniquely His. Staggering. As close to the sound of Him, as close to the appearance of Him as I can be this side of actually embracing Him.

The analogy falls short, of course, but there's something I love about it. To "see" God as supremely all things -- supremely loving, supremely holy, supremely faithful, supremely gentle, supremely grace-lavishing, supremely forgiving, supremely sacrificing, supremely good, supremely wise, supremely understanding, supremely protective, supremely compassionate, supremely supreme -- makes His intangibility tangible to me. What I'm saying is, it enables me to see that I will never be able to grasp just how infinitely glorious He is. And so, in his glorious intangibility, he becomes breathtaking.

Unique. Staggering. Breathtaking. Like a Van Gogh painting or a John Donne sonnet.

Only infinitely exponentially moreso.

I bought a book with the sole purpose of ruining It

There's a part of me that yearns to be an artist. To make something beautiful, imaginative, unique. So I've decided to unleash my creativity. I bought this book:

Here's a photo of the title page:


Inside, the pages offer simple instructions.
Tame ones, such as:
* Add your own page numbers,
* Poke holes in this page using a pencil,
* Draw fat lines and thin,
* Press leaves and other found things, and
* Do some rubbings with a pencil.
And wilder ones, such as:
* Burn this page, and
* Eat some colorful candy and lick this page (um, excuse me, not so sure).

I'm not sure I ever could have allowed myself to buy this book, if not for the love (a.k.a. Amazon gift card) of a friend. And I still worry that it's a frivolous way to spend my time. (Responsibilities, you know.) But the longing to create is powerful and compelling.

So I remind myself that the Ultimate Creator made me in His very own image, and my creating can bring Him honor, if only in its representation of his Nature. So I'm allowing myself a few minutes every day to, ahem, WRECK this journal.

My hope is that I'll begin to see the world -- His world -- in new ways. And that somehow, that will translate itself into artistic abandon.

I'll keep you posted.

God woos

I wish I could say I live this life of faith heroically. I don't.

Often, the struggle far outweighs the faith. I wrestle with God.

Usually, it's when I'm at this hard place, in the midst of the fight, that He offers the strongest glimpses of Himself.

Grace, that's what it is. Grace, that He would love me enough to woo me back into His presence.

Last Friday, I did some wrestling with God. Angry, bitter and confused. The boil of unbelief was festering into a wretched, sickening wound. And I was weeping and wailing and (yes) wrestling. Until I walked outside and saw this:

And this:

And this:

The world all around had a golden cast. It was glowing.

The sky was positively radiant. It was breathtaking.

And I was stunned. Awed by a glimpse, given by grace.

The heavens declare the glory of God, the skies proclaim the works of His hands. Psalm 19: 1

New favorite quote

"Call it romantic nonsense if you will,

but there are epiphany moments, in which new revelations

seem to summon us from a contentment with who we are

to new spiritual adventures.

These epiphanies enable us to cast off our dull

religious comforts

in favor of a riskier pilgrimage."

Calvin Miller, The Path of Celtic Prayer

Praise God for epiphany moments.

Philadelphia Museum of Art: photos, trivia and a question for you

Finally, I've taken time to add images of the fabuloso paintings we saw up close and in person when we went to Philadelphia. Over the past several years, I've taught homeschooled junior-high and high-school students who attended my Art Infatuation class about every artist represented here (with the exception of the unknown one at the end). And in most cases, we studied these exact paintings! Joy!

A bit of trivia:

The Toulousse-Lautrec was the first one I saw that I recognized when we entered the galleries.

A print of the Renoir has hung in my bedroom for the last 15 years. It can't begin to compare with the original!

I was most surprised by the Rousseau. Strikingly beautiful.

I hyperventilated when I walked around a corner and came upon Picasso's Three Musicians. How many times have I exposed students to this painting, and I never knew how LARGE it was (not as big as the Cezanne, but almost).

The Leger made me think of Connie Skellie.

Every painting by Degas was hung in a dark room. Hence, no photos.

There were many Cassatts, but the colors were stunning in the one featured here.

I still don't understand the popularity of Mondrian. (I'm sure it had SOMETHING to do with the art climate of the time -- contemporary, cutting-edge, graphic art-ish, etc.)

I do undertand the popularity of the Rothko. Plain, but captivating.

A bit of a challenge:

In the movie Notting Hill, Julia Roberts gave Hugh Grant a painting by one of the artists featured in this slideshow. Any guess which artist? (Come on now -- no cheating!! Don't look it up on the Internet. If you remember off the top of your head, I'll be SOOOO impressed!)

Awe, and surrender

Awe
Look among the nations, and see;
wonder and be astounded.
For I am doing a work in your days
that you would not believe if told.

(Habakkuk 1:5)

And Surrender
Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
GOD, the Lord, is my strength;
he makes my feet like the deer's;
he makes me tread on my high places.

(Habakkuk 3:17-19)

Thanks, Debbie Landry, for hugs and Habakkuk.

The Gospel, the call, and a plea

Isaiah 6:1-8
Holiness
1 In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple. 2 Above him stood the seraphim. Each had six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. 3 And one called to another and said:

"Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!"

Sinfulness
4 And the foundations of the thresholds shook at the voice of him who called, and the house was filled with smoke. 5 And I said: "Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!"

Cleansing
6 Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. 7 And he touched my mouth and said: "Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for."

A Call
8 And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" Then I said, "Here am I! Send me."

And a Plea
Precious friends, I can tell this is going to be a long process, this journey to Ireland. I believe, and I fail to believe. Please pray that my heart will trust God in the midst of discouragements, and that I might be the aroma of Christ to the world.

Happy 13th Birthday, Eli

Eli wasn't supposed to be born on this day. But he was. And the story of his birth is one of my favorites, because it so well illustrates God's ability, His tendency, to take our best-laid plans, turn them upside-down (despite our groanings and lamentings), and delight us with something better.

Eli was supposed to be born on Aug. 2. Having delivered his older sister by c-section two years earlier, the doctors were watching me closely. I'm a small woman, and they could tell this was going to be a big baby. I wanted to deliver vaginally, not by another c-section, and the doctors were a little concerned by the baby's size. "Need to induce," said my hero-doctor Bill McKenzie, "not let this baby get any bigger." So plans were set in motion: Hospital pre-admitted me, and family scheduled the day off of work. For more than a week, we knew our baby would be born on Aug. 2.

I worked my final pre-natal day of work on Aug. 1, and arrived at my mother-in-law's home late that afternoon to pick up Emma, then 2. And that's where we received the call. At 4:30 p.m. the day before I was supposed to have this baby, my insurance company blocked my induction. Too late to appeal. We would not need to be at the hospital at 5:30 a.m. the next day; we would not be having a baby that day.

For three days we fought the insurance company. I begged them to let me talk with their doctors (they refused); my doctor pleaded my case (large baby, small woman, VBAC); BellSouth's vice president of benefits (who oversaw my communications department as well) even got involved. Finally, late Friday afternoon (three days later), Dr. Mc's office called. Now past my Aug. 4 due date, the insurance company had approved an induction for first thing Monday morning. I was to be at the hospital at 5 a.m. on Aug. 7.

Our plan had been to take Emma to my in-laws' house the night before, so we took her over on Sunday evening, dressed in her little pink pajamas, with her baby stroller and baby doll in hand. We returned home, got our things in order for the next morning, and went to bed. And can you guess what happened next? Just after midnight, I awoke, not experiencing contractions, but feeling rather funny. And then the contractions came. And God gave me the moment I had truly longed for, the moment of gently nudging my husband awake to tell him it was time.

We were at the hospital by about 2 a.m., and I received my epidural right about the time I'd been scheduled to arrive at the hospital for the induction. Eli came three hours later, just after 8 a.m.

My chronically ill mother, the only one who had arrived at the hospital for what she thought was to be a 5:30 a.m. induction, was alone in the waiting room. She joined us just minutes after Eli's birth, the first family member to see him. And she saw the nurse measure and bathe and swaddle him. And it was the delight of her life.

We named Eli after my grandfather (Elliott) and after Steven (Gerald), but we called him the name we'd come to love because of a song sung by our favorite musical artist, Rich Mullins. Here's a link to the song. (Click on Play Song in the window where my link takes you.)

Happy birthday, son! I pray that the eyes of your heart shine bright with the hope to which you're called, And may you know with all the saints the height, the depth, the width, and the length of the love of God for you.

Milestones

Weeks go by. Always, they're busy. But often, also rather ordinary -- the routine playing-out of an existence where I can so easily be immune to the "otherworldness" of my days.

Not so right now. This week, I'm keenly aware of the passage of time. The need to LIVE each moment in "otherworldness" -- with a view toward the sacredness of it -- is penetratingly sharp to me.

Maybe that's because this week is so full of milestones for the Morgan family. I'll warn you; they're making me a little weepy.

Isabella Mae turned 6 on Friday. My baby. Six years old. I remember the day that happened to Maja; Annika celebrated her sixth birthday, and the realization that all of my dear friend's children were GROWING UP was etched in my memory forever. Now, I am that woman. All of my children are growing up. And the paradoxical reality is that even as the days DRAG ON sometimes, they are simultaneously speeding by. And there are only so many moments to love the children. Only so many moments to nurture and talk and cry and laugh. Only so many moments to point them to "the True Otherworldness."

Ah, Jesus. The one whom we seek to introduce to the world on this journey we make toward Ireland. Last night, we made our first "formal" support-raising presentation. We were with sweet friends -- church family who encouraged us not only to share our story and vision with them, but to treat them as guinea pigs for our formal presentation. It was too long. I fear we bored them. But we can now officially say that we're raising support to go to Ireland. I'm ecstatic. But also overwhelmed by the immensity of the venture.

Sandwiched between these events (Bella's birthday and the official start of support-raising), Bella started school. Not at home. Away. And she has a teacher. And her teacher's name is not "Mommy." Truly, there's a part of me that's sad about that. But I'm surprised (though I shouldn't be) and grateful at the grace God has given as we've taken this step. I didn't cry when I took her to school on Monday. I didn't even feel like crying. I prayed. I prayed for her. I prayed for her teacher (Mrs. Jennifer). And, praise God, I trusted that Valley View is the perfect place in God's perfect plan for Bella. An exciting milestone -- in her life and in our journey toward Ireland -- and one which, like the others this week, makes me keenly aware of the passage of time.

Did I tell you, Eli officially turns 13 tomorrow. Two teens in our home. (More of your Spirit, Lord. More of your Spirit.) I can understand now why tradition graduates 12-year-old males from a title of "master" to one of "mister." Eli has changed SO MUCH in the last year. He looks more like a man, sounds more like a man, and has strength more like a man. Again, keenly aware of the passage of time.

And keenly aware of my own inadequacy. I'm not sufficient to love, nurture, talk, cry and laugh enough. I'm not sufficient to point my children, or the world, to Jesus. I'm not sufficient to let go of life as I've known it. I'm not sufficient to parent two teens. Or AJ. Or Bella. Much less all four.

In the "Otherworldness" paradigm, though, in my place of weakness is exactly where I'm meant -- and privileged -- to be. Because that's where Jesus will be most real to me, and therefore most beautiful to my children and most captivating to the world.

"And He has said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.' Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may dwell in me." 2 Cor. 12:9

Sugar and Spice

Happy, happy birthday, my beautiful six-year-old Bella Girl.