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Showing posts from January, 2018


Caption from Instagram: I tend to be afraid to ask for help - but sometimes people are the answer to prayers, and they not only watch your kids while you fetch the car in the rain, but also lend you their umbrella // I proclaimed a fast by the Ahava River, so that we might humble ourselves before God and ask Him for a safe journey for us, our dependents, and all our possessions. I did this because I was ashamed to ask the king for infantry and cavalry to protect us from our enemies during the journey, since we had told him, "The hand of our God is gracious to all who seek Him, but His fierce anger is against all who abandon Him." So we fasted and pleaded with our God about this, and He was receptive to our prayer // Ezra 8:21-23
Last summer, while walking around our house and praying, I told God that I was tired of reading His Word like it was just another book, and I wanted a way to see it as "living and active." He told me to do a photography project of Ezra and …

Knit Together

I pray not only for these, but also for those who believe in me through their word. May they all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I am in you. May they be in us, so that the world may believe you sent me. I have given them the glory you have given me, so that they may be one as we are one. I am in them and you are in me, so that they may be made completely one, that the world may know you have sent me and have loved them as you have loved me. [John 17:20-23]
Mankind, He has told each of you what is good and what it is the Lord requires of you:  to act justly,  to love faithfulness,  and to walk humbly with your God. [Micah 6:8]

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As a general rule, I am an apparently disorganized person (I say "apparently" because my husband often despairs of the small stacks I leave in my wake, but I can always find what I'm looking for). But, paradoxically, I function best with a schedule. Not necessarily a "bossy list," but having repetitive routines that I can fall into without thinking, for the days when I'm out of thoughts and spoons and energy.
Structure simplifies my life. One of the "sanity rules" that I established while Adam was gone was that there were certain days for certain things, and only one thing per day - art on Mondays, museum or library on Wednesdays, groceries on Fridays, and so on. Everyone knew and had an expectation for each day, so I didn't have to spend every morning rejecting spontaneous outing suggestions, or come up with something myself. This is not to say that we didn't do unplanned things - just that the planned things were there to fall back on.


As part of preparing to welcome another baby Burch sometime in June, I've been trying to make our home a place that I won't mind being at a lot for awhile - I already told Adam that for the duration of his paternity leave, I'm planning on staying in the bedroom with the baby, where I will be willing to occasionally receive visitors and will expect to be fed regularly and well, not to mention wanting to avoid taking three tiny people anywhere for as long as possible.

So as part of those preparations, I've been organizing, cleaning, and redecorating a little. I did pretty well not staring at my phone while nursing Tobin, but failed catastrophically with Brooklyn. I'd like to lay some of the blame on postpartum depression, but I also didn't have any sort of plan in place for not doing that. So, preemptively this time, I'm putting up lots of pretty art to look at, and also trying to collect easy knitting projects and good books with soft covers (thank goodness…


In order to change your knitting, you must first change yourself. I've lost track of how many times I've said that, or how many people I've said it to. Frustrated new knitters wondering why their work is loose or tight or uneven or really anything less than perfect. But something I love about knitting is that it's a record of your inner dialogue. That swatch knit at the yarn store table with a cozy cup of coffee and a helpful (and more experienced) knitter nearby is going to be a lot more relaxed than the sweater begun a week later while sitting next to a hospital bed - just like the knitter.

Unfortunately, this also applies to my own knitting. For years, I was apparently unaffected by the shifts and turmoils in my own life, so I assumed that I was exempt from the rule - when the reality was, in fact, that I wasn't really experiencing any of those on anything deeper than a surface level because everything was deadened by depression. When I finally started to really…

Trees and Poetry

For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared ahead of time for us to do. [Ephesians 2:10]
I saw a hilltop, green and grassy and unmarred by path or mark of any kind. It sloped down into a deep valley, where a river ran, swift and cold, and it was surrounded by a tall, toothed mountain range. And on top of the hill stood an oak tree - broad and strong and ancient, the sort Druids might have gathered under for a temple.
The mental picture returned to me again and again. I pondered it, fixating on the absence of a path (I'm all about paths and maps and compasses). I explored it from every angle, wondering where I was in this space, and concluded that I stood as an observer and therefore couldn't see myself.
Finally, over a year later, when it arose yet again, I snapped. I've seen this! I know! Why do You keep showing me this?! And the answer came back, clear and kind and with a tinge of patient annoyance, You're the tree.


A few years ago, I was introduced to the concept of replacing the traditional list of resolutions with a single word. It appealed to me - I am not a big list person, but I love language and words and meanings and etymology and metaphor and... ahem. Ennyhoo. I liked the idea.
I've never chosen the word. It's always presented itself to me - and last year was no different. Pacific was very insistent, even though I tried to argue with it. Pacific? What does that even mean? What am I supposed to do with that?
But I accepted it, and I'm glad I did. I learned about depth and calm, about storm and nurture, about faith and adventure - and about the unstoppable ocean of God's grace, that overwhelms to fill and cleanse and bring blessings unasked.
So I'm bidding pacific a very fond farewell, and welcoming spark and whatever lessons it would like to bring. I invited it in with a copper wire punctuated with tiny lights and wrapped around my mood board, and I've got an empt…