So much news.
So many families doing fabulous photo shoots.
So much happy right beside so much sad.
So much wit.
So much seriousness.
So many debates.
So much creativity.
So many needs.
So much wealth.
So much loneliness.
So much popularity.
So many trim healthy mamas.
So much to inspire.
So much to sicken.
So much music.
So much plexus.
So many cute children.
So much good sense.
So much foolishness.
So many ways to make pancakes.
I could link you to two or ten sites that demonstrate each of the above. You could link me to the sites you’ve read that denote the same. Sometimes the internet totally overwhelms me! But then I remember that I make a choice to be here. I am the only one who can click the X and back away and say, “I’ve seen enough and need to get on with living.”
Besides, I love the way it connects me to you, friends so close & friends so far away.
Today my little girls rode the 25 cent plastic horse in our small town mall. They played “See-see little playmate” (a hand game) outside in the sunshine at Co-op where we stood waiting for our ride with a cartload of groceries. They were beyond excited about the new (old) white desk I found for them on a facebook buy and sell page.
Andre and the boys next door made masking tape roads and fields all over the basement carpet. They set up their bales and their cattle and their 1,034 pieces of John Deere farm equipment. Odyssey blared on the CD player.
Mittens got soaked. I washed my cream colored pea coat that says dry clean only. I bought two DQ cakes for a birthday party at church tomorrow. Liesl turned up her pretty nose at the cabbage roll casserole I made for supper. The piano banged. Dan fixed a toilet. Er….IS FIXING a toilet. And muttering strange things under his breath. Alec hummed 32 (or so) songs in preparation for leading them tomorrow morning at church for the second time in his short life.
All kinds of normal happened.
In someone else’s world, a bomb killed their close neighbor. My blogging friend Michelle sits by her baby, all kinds of questions in her mind about seizures and EEGs and hypsarrhythmia. Our friend Kim gets cases like this at the door of her Haitian orphanage and clinic. War weary Ukraine continues to struggle.
I get frantic feelings when there’s nothing I can do but pray.
Nothing but pray and accept with gratefulness the gifts I enjoy in such profusion. Health. Peace. Food. Warmth.
Monday afternoon, November 3rd:
Sunday morning was just good. That extra hour because of time change. Sunshine. The smell of baked beans that had cooked all night to be ready for potluck at church.
I took time to notice details. Alec singing in the bathroom, Andre coming out in his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his too-tight black vest to tell me he feels like one of the Celtic Thunder guys. Natalia writing at her new white desk, happy as a little clam. Liesl’s curly long hair and her observations of Samson: “He was VERY bossy to his parents!” (when he told them to get the Philistine girl for him). She also came out wearing a black dress with big purple flowers and then chose white socks with rainbow colored polka dots on them. Bryant dressed in his black shirt and tan pants, lying on his bed reading The Hobbit. Victoria playing “For the Beauty of the Earth” so beautifully that it made my heart hurt.
I almost went and shared something enthusiastic & descriptive on facebook about how I loved my babies– but this stage of life is The Bomb. (But I didn’t because I worried about what people would think about Mennonite pastor’s wives teaching Sunday school lessons on Samson who have time to read facebook on Sunday mornings. I’ve just never struggled with worrying about what people think of me, you know.)
But enter Monday morning at 8:50. You would have found me prostrate on my bed, crying and telling God that since He promised wisdom liberally, I was DEMANDING it. Because He promised to give it generously and without reproach. The children who are The Bomb (sorry, I don’t really like that term and rarely use it, but can’t come up with something better right now) can bomb all my wonderful motherhood ideals and cozy feelings to bits sometimes.
I love them fiercely. I just need Wisdom & the Holy Spirit in copious doses right now to reach around for the range of ages 5-16 and the opinionated Peachey personalities and the stubborn Martin traits and the Baer tempers.
(Because. I need someone to blame things on, that’s why I bring in past generations! )
Yesterday at church this really kind person who doesn’t know us very well yet asked me when I’m going to write my book. To which I rolled my eyes and said, “That’s very kind and flattering of you. But I just get so frustrated with writing. I can’t bring things to a conclusion and they’re just a jumble of pointless meanderings. But I do love to write stuff down, but it just feels so pointless. Like do you know how many blog posts I started this week? At least 3! And then I read them the next day and think “What is the point?? “
Well, this really kind person said that Dan could organize and edit my stuff for a book. Dan was standing there and smiling at the discourse and somehow we got to talking about a title for the jumble and he suggested Pointless.
And boy did he score on that one! It got a whole rave of laughs.
So there you have it. Pointless Post #1 in my new series. Not that I think for a minute that life is pointless. (Well- I guess I take that back. I’ve definitely been there. Maybe as recently as this morning.)
But writing in this world of Too Much Already (see beginning of post) can feel that way.
I know. Everyone who wants to write goes through this. And don’t worry about rushing in to tell me that my voice needs to be heard. By hitting publish here, I am being brave enough to believe that someone enjoys reading jumbles. I’ve been jumbling for quite a few years now.
It’s been good to talk. Have a wonderful, wisdom-filled November.