oil paint ignorance and nostalgia

My grandma was a painter and a farmer’s wife. Her name was Johnnie.

She often painted with oil paints. I have one of her paintings hanging downstairs. It’s of a big red barn and I love it. I tried to take a picture of it, but it doesn’t do it justice.

So, for my daughter’s birthday I got her some oil paints. On Saturday we tried them out. First, aprons all around.

As we squeezed the paints out on the trays, the smells brought me back. I was standing in Grandma Johnnie’s studio: a garage-like building a dozen steps from the main house, chock full of paintings and easels.

She also painted with watercolor. We did too.

There’s a lot I don’t remember about her and her paintings. But still, I was surprised at how much I could recall.

I love the faces kids make when they’re concentrating. I’m certain my kids’ concentrating faces are much more toned down than mine were.

No tongues out in this crew. I don’t know how they get anything done without their mouths open and tongues out. I find it’s the best way to focus.

One thing I do remember about Grandma’s painting was how she painted the whole canvass a base color before she started, sometimes multiple times. I remember thinking how smart that was! I guess I’m easily impressed.

I also remember how she mixed the colors to make new colors. Again, I was in awe.

And, even though I’m just their mom, not Grandma Johnnie, I do think the kids were impressed when I showed them the way they could mix the colors and get a million different shades.

As we started nearing the end of our oil painting adventure (in other words, the baby was stirring from her nap), I contemplated clean-up.

We got the watercolor stuff put away and all the paintings laid out to dry. Everyone was quite clean and there was hardly any mess at all. Just the oil paints needed to be washed out of the brushes and trays. Easy enough.

What a dope I am sometimes. Oil paints, you know, real paints, made from oil. It doesn’t just wash off, you need paint thinner, or, in my case, a whole lot of soap, elbow grease and about 40 minutes, to get it out of the brushes, etc.

So, it may not look like a lot of paint there in the bottom of my (edited to look cleaner than it was) sink, but don’t be fooled, that’s a lot of clean-up right there. That brought back another memory of my Grandma Johnnie. One of her standing at the utility sink in her mud room, cleaning out paint brushes and trays.

I’m thankful for a Saturday afternoon of standing where she stood, cleaning oil paints out of paint brushes, teaching others the little that I know, being messy, and enjoying it all.

holding Jesus close

Evangeline carried baby Jesus all around at Christmas time. And we carry Him with us everywhere we go when we are in Christ.

We hold him dear, because He is dear. We hold him close, because He is close. He cares for us in our desperate moments of need and in our happy moments of joy.

And we share Him with everyone we meet, because He cannot be kept secret.

With Jesus as our surest hope and strength, we do not fear the days to come, knowing that nothing happens that is apart from the work of His hand and His plan. He is good and He loves us!

With Jesus as our Redeemer, we do the little things, like eating lunch, cleaning up and carrying on. He redeems our days for His glory.

Fernando Ortega says it best. What solace for our souls:

“In the morning, when I rise

In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise, give me JesusGive me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus

When I am alone
When I am alone
When I am alone, give me Jesus

Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus

When I come to die
When I come to die
When I come to die, give me Jesus

Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
You can have all this world,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus”

the chubby bunny kind of life

Life has been like a game of chubby bunny in the junior high youth group. Shout out to my friend Mark D. who won that game every time we played it. For those unacquainted, you shove mini-marshmallows in your mouth and whoever can say “chubby bunny” with the most marshmallows in, (none falling out) wins.

We’ve packed a lot of figurative marshmallows into our lives in the past few weeks. But, can we still say “chubby bunny” you ask? It’s more like chu-eee un-eee, but hey, close enough! We survived!

And now, chubby bunny hits the blog. Prepare yourself for a very stuffed post.

December brought our nightly advent reading by the tree with p-jams. (And an unusually headless Elianna pictured here).

We spent a memorable night out with family enjoying the supreme cuts of meat at Fogo de Chao, followed by a rousing and just-plain-great performance of Les Mesirable at the Orpheum. Here are my bro and sis-in-law. They’re funny and photogenic.

I also enjoyed the Creme Brulee. One of my faves.

Of course there were plenty of ordinary moments as well. Lots of them squeezed in there. Like fun with counting bears. Who doesn’t like bears in a muffin tin? So many sorting possibilities.

I’m doing my best to take cool pics these days. Right-o.

There’s been lunch time excitement with chocolate chips and afternoon adulation while finishing schoolwork. Just kidding about the adulation part. I just like saying afternoon adulation for the alliteration. Amazing, as always.

Eat chocolate much? No. Why no. Of course not. What would give you that idea?

Spelling is so sweet in the sunlight. (I’m sorry. I can’t stop.)

 We were all pleased with the particularly proficient piano party. Eliza performed perfectly. (I promise to stop now. I’m pathetic.)

Next came the dance recital. The girls have only been in dance for two months. They’ve loved every minute of it. Therefore, I’ve loved it too.

Phew. Lots happenin’! It’s always helpful to make lists at such a busy time. I’ve got a few list makers under my roof.

Don’t forget to make cookies! That’s a must. And some stockings too.

Next come the gifts. Oh, the gifts! We’re thankful for the many gifts this Christmas!

And there’s nothing like an exhilarating game of don’t-let-the-balloon-touch-the-floor after the gifts have been opened!

And who could guess, but more creme brulee! If ever there’s an opportunity to use a torch of any size, kitchen or otherwise, I take it. And I teach my children to do the same.

And more presents and more fun and more family and more food! And my nephew turned 16. Knock me over.

And more gifts! Crazy, I know!

If I looked this cute with Hello Kitty fashion stickers stuck to my face, you can be sure I’d have them on everywhere I went. You won’t be seeing them on me anytime soon.

And another day, another celebration, another birthday, and guess what else? More cookies! Cookies with helping hands to arrange and touch each one before they are taken to the table. As it should be.

In the midst of it all, we must make time for pretty painted nails and puppet shows!

Oh and wait! Another birthday with, wait for it, more food. Who needs a birthday cake when there’s a tower of scotch eggs to be consumed?

What’s better than ending the night with Dad’s Famous Hot Fudge made with Heavy Whipping Cream, naturally. Is there any other way?

And with NO SNOW to frolic in, we end the month by slipping and sliding on the ice in the dark with the family. Treacherous? Nah. The ice is about the same slippery in the light as it is in the dark.

About the same fall factor, I’d say. And the same fun factor.

I guess that about wraps it up. Chubby bunny, indeed.

Thanks Lord for a chubby bunny kind of life. And thanks for always making room for one more marshmallow, one more blessing, one more chaotic day, one more lesson in love.

the Bill Cosby sweater stocking project

It’s the last days before Christmas and I decided to go on a hunt for Bill Cosby sweaters.

Why? Well, we needed new Christmas stockings. I’d looked online and looked in stores and I just wasn’t excited about my options. I knew I wanted to make something, but didn’t feel like I had the time. The past few years I’ve tried to talk myself into knitting some great stockings for us, buuut.. I.. can’t.  I just can’t. I’m not sure why, because I like to knit.

I think it’s because when I realize I need to knit us some stockings (the day after Thanksgiving when the Christmas decor goes up), there isn’t enough time to get it done. So, then I’m faced with starting the stockings without the gratification of finishing them before Christmas OR starting them after Christmas. And let’s face it, after Christmas there’s just no way.

So, I saw this idea on pinterest. You take a sweater and make a stocking out of it! Perfect! So I did. Here’s my tutorial.

Start with a sweater. The more Bill Cosby-ish the better. You know you know someone with these kinds of sweaters. Gently tell them it’s time to say goodbye to the 80′s. And their sweaters. (This one is not a Bill Cosby sweater, obviously. I forgot to take pics of my best ones. Figures.)

Turn it inside out and use an old stocking as a pattern. Or free hand one. Then, trace it on the sweater.

Next, pin around your trace. Then get your machine out and sew on your line. Sew first, cut second, in order to keep it from coming unraveled, especially with a knit sweater (which was all of what I did, except this one).

Get your scissors and cut the thing out.

Turn it right side out. And viola. Presto. Stocking almost complete.

All you need is the loop at the top to hook it up with. Take a strip of sweater, fold it and sew it.

Then, sew it to the top of the stocking. Either by hand or with the machine, whatever you feel like and whatever your machine can manage, since some of the best sweater stockings are wool and really really thick. I opted by hand this time round.

Here are all the stockings I made in the eleventh hour. Finished on Christmas Eve Eve, as we say.

And here are my family’s new stockings. Hung with care and properly stuffed.

My mom says that I can “trick them out” more each year. Wha?? Hi Mom, I’m Abigail, nice to meet you. We’re from Iowa, in case you forgot, and “trick them out” isn’t in our vocab. Oh well.

And that concludes my Bill-Cosby-Sweater-Stocking-Project-of-Christmas-Eve-Eve-2011. See you next year.

the final wait

We have entered the last week of advent. We remember the wait for the birth of baby Jesus.

We remember the waiting that has already been consummated. It has been completed: Jesus did come. Yet we remember and reenact it. But we do not wonder what it’s like to really wait, as though it’s a reenacting apart from our present circumstance that we merely remember. We have our own waiting to do.

For ours is the final wait. We wait for the end, the returning, the perfecting, the new heavens and new earth. Or we wait for our own end that will take us to an early glory. Yes, we are familiar with waiting. Perhaps we are less familiar with the arriving. The actual completion of things waited for. So, we practice the completion at Christmas. We remember that the Messiah, long awaited for, finally did come. And so, we take heart in ours, the final wait.

“8 But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. 9 The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” 2 Peter 3:8,9

Thank you, Lord, for the waiting.

the twilight of fall

C.S. Lewis has famously called spring the waiting room of the world.

And how much longing there is in those months of March, April and May when every glance toward a tree is straining to see a centimeter of green budding on the tips. Every morning is hopeful for white turned to brown, turned to growth. We wait and wait and wait in spring.

But fall is another matter entirely. Fall is that rare wonder of blessing that is granted practically upon our first inclination to want it.

Our eyes are suddenly catching glimpses of orange, red and yellow. Everything is crisp and crunchy. And how we love it. We love it so much we can hardly imagine that we ever  wished it to be any other way. Summer is scorned in the long shadow of autumn’s glory.

Yet as soon as it is at its very prime–the peak has come–it is already hinting at its departure. The air is too crisp, it freezes in our nose. The leaves are all crunch and no color.

The blessing of fall comes while we yet enjoy the lingering warmth of summer and it slips away long before we’re ready. If spring is the waiting room, fall is the final arrival and last goodbye. It is the sweet hymn that carries us to death. It is the twilight before all the lights go out.

Was ever dying so beautiful as it is in fall? Fall shows us the beauty that dying ought to be. Dying may be the most beautiful, painful part of living. Jesus died on a cross. All pain and horror, yet beautiful forgiveness was won.

Then three days of darkest winter and spring came again.

So, yes, fall is the twilight that leads to death. And death is that stingless, victory-less gateway to life. So white and cold it will have no taste in my mouth. It is the blink that brings us to eternity.

my love affair with the North Shore

I have a love affair with Minnesota’s North Shore.

My love for it is still in the new, passionate stage. I know there are many who have a tried and true relationship with the North Shore. Theirs is the kind of love that knows every nook and cranny, every beautiful spot and tourist attraction. They know the secret places.

I’m not there yet. My love is young and passionate. It’s still in the discovery stage.

I’ve been to the North Shore a total of 7 times. Twice were day trips.

The first time I went Tom and I had been married just 4 months. He worked hard to talk me into tent camping up at a place I’d never heard of called the North Shore. Lutsen, to be specific. Ok, I thought. Are there showers? Yes? Alright, I’ll go.

It was October and the forecast looked chilly. It snowed. I was unimpressed and cold. Too cold to even look around and notice my surroundings. The showers were in an unheated 32 degree bathroom. When can we go home?

The next time we talked about going up North I had some input. One non-negotiable piece of input to be exact: No camping. And Tom, being the good sport he is, (and secretly happy that I hadn’t sworn it off altogether after the snowy-camping-night-of-freezing-torture experience) said, “No problem!”

That being the case, I have no idea how we ended up tent camping again on our next trip after the brrrrr, when-can-I-go-home trip. I must have been having a really really good day to go for that. Not to mention that this time we were camping with three kids ages 4, 2, and 1. Nevertheless, we had the best time.

And I suppose the rest is history. We’ve gone back each year since (not camping). We usually spend almost a week in Lutsen (not camping) and the kids beg to stay there forever. That idea sounds pretty good to me too (not camping).

There is something so captivating about Lake Superior. It’s not like any other lake. Nor is it like the ocean. It’s the best of both, but somehow completely unique. I just stare and stare and stare at it.

When we drive around I’m always trying to catch a glimpse of it: a new view, a different look. They’re all beautiful.

The hikes are like something out of Middle Earth, not Lothlorien, no, they aren’t that dramatic. But more of a combination of The Shire and Rivendell, only they go by the names of Cascade and Temperance.

To describe the North Shore in a word is: magic.  The food tastes better there (especially The World’s Best Doughnuts). The sky is brighter. The water is more like water ought to be. It’s like stepping out of the wadrobe and into Narnia. Only the wadrobe is the big fog-horn city of Duluth. And it leads you to a different MN world.

Which is why I have a love affair with the North Shore. It’s like stepping into the best story. A story I want to revisit as often as I can. I want to keep dipping my toes in.

And hopefully in 10 or 20 years my love affair will be more of that tried and true kind of love. The kind that knows every nook and cranny. But I’m not hurried to get there. I just want to enjoy discovering and uncovering the places that will be my secret spots.

Have you been to the North Shore? What’s your favorite place?

PS. A post about my love affair with the North Shore would be incomplete if I didn’t mention the Alpine Slide, which is two and a half minutes of sheer high speed enjoyment.

Ah, North Shore, when will I see you again?

adventures in the little things

How do you keep the main thing the main thing, when the main thing is a million little things?

That’s what mothering is. It’s having a heart for the million little things in a day. Especially the little things known as children.

Things like a daughter wanting to create a doll out of my swiffer duster. She calls it the dusting dolly.

Or, things like creative snack times, that let my kids know I’m about more than just getting the food in their stomach and off my to-do list. I have time to delight with them in apple smiles.

Or, little things like agreeing to take a picture of the kids’ food art after dinner.

Or, little things like laughing at Evangeline’s blue crayon debacle of 2011. Boy was that fun on the other end.

It isn’t about catering to our children’s every whim of want. But it is delighting in the direction and duties of the day.

Rachel Jankovic has another wonderful article at Desiring God. Here’s a taste:

“Do we believe that we want children because there is some biological urge, or the phantom “baby itch”? Are we really in this because of cute little clothes and photo opportunities? Is motherhood a rock-bottom job for those who can’t do more, or those who are satisfied with drudgery? If so, what were we thinking?

Motherhood is not a hobby, it is a calling. You do not collect children because you find them cuter than stamps. It is not something to do if you can squeeze the time in. It is what God gave you time for.”

How I need these reminders. Lord, give me the strength to love my children with Gospel sacrifice in the little things.

on lavish blessings: a best friend

There are some things in life that are pure gifts. They are lavish blessings. There are more of these in my life than I often realize, so many that I take for granted.

Here’s one that I’m not taking for granted: it’s my best friend, Lynette. And yesterday was her birthday.

Over 20 years ago, on a swing set in my yard, not too long after I’d first met Lynette, she asked me if I’d be her best friend. At 9 years old, I was taken aback. What on earth does that mean? Yet, I didn’t hesitate, “Yes.”

I’ve spent many years since then discovering what it means to be Lynette’s best friend. Here is some of what I’ve unearthed:

-It means uncontrollable laughter at the most inconvenient times.

-It means going through every stage of awkwardness with someone who’s oblivious to awkwardness.

-It means being willing to check her shoes and socks for spiders.

-It means a million adventures to unknown places and silly car games and airplane rides.

-It means being the oldest, but the shortest.

-It means getting to go everywhere with someone who’s determined to make everything wonderful.

-It means having someone who’s willing to receive difficult counsel and willing to give it.

-It means uncovering treasures beyond our fathoming in the Word of God, and sharing each new gem with delight together.

-It means feeling a deep resonance with David and Jonathan and being certain that it was God and God alone who could establish such a friendship.

-It means having the most loyal and devoted person pray for me.

-It means learning a thousand things about godliness and faithfulness through the experiences that she’s borne and allowed me to walk through with her.

-It means having a friend who doesn’t compete with other friendships. The presence of her secure friendship enhances every other friendship I have. I’m sure I wouldn’t have many friends at all had I not learned how to be a friend with Lynette. Other friendships are deeper and richer because of this one.

-It means having a friend who makes my burdens her own. She bears them fully. And she makes my delights hers too.

There is so much more I could write.

All I know is when God gave me Lynette for a friend, He was being lavish in a way that I could not then understand. I’m sure I still don’t. But, I know enough to know that I love Jesus and God’s Word more for having such a friend. What greater thing could a friend do than to point me faithfully to Christ and His Word and allow me to do the same for her.

Happy Birthday Lynette. Here’s to 20 more years of friendship.

it’s the dad life

In honor of Father’s Day, for all the dads I know who wear khakis on a regular basis, drive the mini-van without shame, and have a secret love of rap, which they break into on occasion with the hopes of impressing their children and wife: jury’s out on how effective that is. Especially for the dad of my children and my own dad, who has been known to sport socks and sandals every so often.

This one’s for you, dads.