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  • Life Gift: Wrung Out

    On Monday, November 27 th, 2006
    A note left in my inbox, from the very wise Elise of Joy in the Morning …. words I don’t want to forget, but scratch on my heart: “[Thinking on our life as gift] is so timely, as we come into a season that tends to be full of “what I want”. I try to
  • Habits and Self-Discipline

    On Tuesday, November 07 th, 2006
    Words scrawled this week on the blackboard over the oak farmtable: Consider Future Consequences Lunch time reading this week at the oak farmtable: Don’t Eat the Marshmallow Yet “A landmark Stanford University study: Children were left in a room, each with a marshmallow, and given a choice of eating it then or fifteen minutes later,
  • Poetic Parenting gone awry….

    On Wednesday, November 01 st, 2006
    And so the ‘poem’ goes….Connect… then direct….(I am not connecting well –not touching enough…. not spending enough one-on-one time) What did I say? Will you obey?(even though a yes answer may be given after reiterating the instructions, if a child isn’t following through, I need to be consistent: If you choose not to obey, then
  • Harvesting Days

    On Wednesday, October 18 th, 2006
    A jay calls this morning from the top of the burning oak down by the cedar rail fence. He welcomes autumn and the children. We congregate beneath the oak’s old boughs, bending low to comb the damp grass for piles of acorns with crooked caps. Soon Malakai wanders off to the tangled canes for the
  • The Law of the Farm

    On Tuesday, October 10 th, 2006
    “These children are the seeds my days plant, the blooms of the next generations.” ~From the archives The land never fails to speaks truth. Winter shakes off her blankets, earthy soil exposed, warm and waiting. We plow deep, working up beds. Seeds, tucked in, wait for the coming of rains, the smell of the sea.
  • Thanksgiving

    On Monday, October 09 th, 2006
    The mist is rising over the cornfields this morning. The bush crackles in flaming brilliance. Light that left that distant star eight minutes ago bathes the world in the soft gold of new day. Today is Canadian Thanksgiving Monday. And I am thankful, Lord. For the countless things You give that are unadulterated Gift. I
  • Scattering

    On Saturday, October 07 th, 2006
    The leaves are falling. I gathered seeds from the flowers yesterday. I have missed summer …. again. Malakai turns 4 next week. How? As I string words onto the screen, my days are slipping off, scattering…. lost.
  • Scriptures for Mothering: For Jenna

    On Wednesday, October 04 th, 2006
    (In honor of Jenna and the Little One God is knitting together! …Welcome to a Baby Shower from the Choosing Home Women…)“Here is a little mouth to kiss; here are two more feet to make music with their pattering about my nursery. Here is a soul to train for God, and the body in which
  • Farmer

    On Tuesday, September 26 th, 2006
    Kneeling by the picket fence next to the front porch, their two heads press close together in the morning’s autumn gold. Pausing to watch them from the kitchen window, I know their hushed pleasure; the crack of the dry pods, the rolling of hopeful brown seeds into waiting palms, banking for next year’s colors and
  • The Father of History

    On Wednesday, September 20 th, 2006
    Reading aloud about Herodotus, the “Father of History“… Hope: So then Herodotus wrote Genesis, right? Mama: No, Hope… Hope: Well, then Herodotus could NOT be the the Father of History–*GOD* is!!! Mama: Yeah, Hope…..I guess you are right!!! This is my entry to win a camera in the “Capture the Educational Moment” Contest sponsored by
  • Not Quite

    On Wednesday, September 20 th, 2006
    Conversation at dinner about the life of Billy Graham and his gospel crusades…. Josh: Mr. Graham must be very, very old —and to travel and preach like that AND still have time to invent the telephone!! Mama: The telephone??!!! Josh: Of course, Mom, didn’t you know that Billy Graham invented the telephone!?? Mama: Um, no,
  • Please?

    On Wednesday, September 13 th, 2006
    Like a little bird, she is my peeper, my “Pwees”er. Shalom, 15 months old, tweets her lilting song from dawn to dusk, her chubby hand patting her chest, signing in unison to her little plea. She points to the fridge: “Pweese?” To the bookshelf: “Pweese?” To my bracelet, an apple, a pencil: “Pweese? Pweese?” It
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