This morning I sat sipping a mocha in Starbucks for almost three hours, reading my Bible and writing John a long letter, and repeatedly told myself that one week ago he was still home. But the thought remained in the world of surreal… it has to have been longer than that…

But no, it was only a week ago tomorrow my beloved headed off on a bus toward the Sandy Spot on the other side of the globe.

The hardest moment, by far, was seeing his camouflage-clad arm waving in the midst of a sea of hands as the buses drove away… around the corner… and were gone. The best part–getting his phone call to tell me he was safely at his base a few days later.

God’s grace is an absolutely amazing thing. It is never-ending, the supply can never be exhausted and He always gives more in accordance with our need.

For weeks–more like months–I’d been dreading that day last week. I’d been trying to imagine spending our last day together, kissing him goodbye, hearing Troy tell him bye-bye, watching him walk away and onto the bus. Many were the nights I fell asleep with tears on my pillow.

But in all my imagining, I didn’t see the grace my Jesus would supply when the time actually came. I didn’t know that He would wrap His loving arms around me when my beloved’s arms had to let go. I didn’t see the peace He’d give. I couldn’t feel His gentleness as He dried my tears. I didn’t realize the enormous amount of support He’d pour on us through dear family and precious friends.

Now I kinda wish I hadn’t spent so many hours trying to imagine a feeling I couldn’t possibly feel, having never been through it before. The imagining was truly worse than the reality has been–but only because of Jesus and His comfort.

I’m missing my husband terribly, even though he’s been gone much longer than a week before. Knowing it will be over a year makes it harder somehow. Both boys are having a hard time with the transition. Merritt, little as he is, has been extremely fussy and not wanting to nurse, and Troy has been having nightmares, crying for Daddy.

We expected it to be hard–but once again, God’s grace astounds me. Our transition into life-with-Daddy-gone-land has been nice and slow. Except for a few hours on Monday, I’ve had some member of my family here since John left. I usually talk to John’s mom at least once or twice a day. Troy is now spending a couple fun-filled days with my parents and I have some time to re-group a little, think through how to get started with “normal” life next week, and finish the blanket I’m crocheting for John–he says it is very cold over there.

So we’re hangin’ in there. It’s a rainy night here and I’m curled up under 2/3 of that partially-crocheted afghan with my lap top and a handful of peanut M&M’s. Merritt is crashed for the night. I’m re-reading the oodles upon oodles of sweet comments and emails you all sent me–your love and prayers on our behalf is completely overwhelming. I can’t tell you what it has meant to me to have my inbox fill with your words of kindness. You bloggie peeps are the greatest and I’ll be responding to each of your emails one by one.

All I have to say is that if the Lord has given us this much strength and comfort in the first week… I can’t wait to see what He’ll have done a year from now. He is good. So very good.

In England this fall, Philip and I enjoyed the blessing of meeting two of our YLCF readers in the flesh: one from California and one from the UK. For part one, click here.

In Oxford-town we made the merry acquaintance of the English-born, India-reared Rebekah from Aberdeen.

“In front of the Bodleian,” we had agreed.

For what could be more appropriate a meeting place for such avowed bookworms as the greatest library in the world? (Rebekah’s Oxford grad brother, I later learned, had looked askance at this plan, and no doubt wished us luck, as it’s, well…huge. ) But despite the fact that she was waiting patiently on Broad Street while Philip and I were rushing breathless up to the great oaken doors on Catte a quarter of an hour late, we did manage to find one another by some token of grace. And in company with my French ‘sister’ Delphine who had joined us in Oxford for the weekend, we sallied forth without further ado in conquest of lunch, it being well past one by this time.

With hot baguettes in hand, and the requisite steaming cups of tea, we settled ourselves upon the sunny steps beneath the arches of the Bodleian and fell to our repast with a relish only matched by our eager conversation. As with Jessica, so many preliminaries were dispensed with that it felt more like a resumption of an old conversation than the commencement of a new friendship, and I’m sure that to the people we later passed, weaving and traversing the busy streets, it appeared that we had known one another for years.

After lunch, Philip treated the three of us ladies to the ultimate Oxford experience: a punt down the River Cherwell! It’s no secret how keen my husband is over ‘messing about in boats’—he and I privately call each other ‘Rat’ and ‘Mole’, respectively–and after a similar expedition on a day in May that still shimmers in my memory with a haze of joy, he knew how much it would mean to me. It was a perfect autumn afternoon: just the right bit of ‘freshness’ in the air as the BBC forecaster had promised, with a pale, silvery sunlight breaking through the tearing clouds, alternately kindling and hazing the golds and bronzes of the turning leaves and laughing along the limpid water in sudden bursts that warmed one’s heart like a smile. The surface of the river was thick with the fairy-craft of fallen leaves; but for them we passed only one other boat, and that one manned with passengers wielding paddles, causing our captain to laugh at the utter indolence of his crew. (Unless the occasional shriek that accosted him each time we came within a half-dozen feet of the riverbank could be counted as doing our part. )

I admit that it is better fun to punt than to be punted, and … a desire to have all the fun is nine-tenths of the law of chivalry.

Dorothy Sayers, Gaudy Night

Punting may not be as easy at it looks, but Philip gave us a gentle and refined passage down the river, plying the waters with the long pole from his stance on the till while we lounged in our seats and chattered away. Able seaman Rebekah told us about her medical training and her residency in Aberdeen, as well as some dreams and schemes that show how serious she is about devoting these single years in passionate service to Christ. And we laughed at the advances of some cheeky ducks that were obviously quite used to being fed from the remnants of picnic hampers—one in particular that seemed to have her hopes bent on the beneficence of Delphine, nudging up and craning her neck over the side of the punt. (Was it just me, or was there something in her quacking that sounded like, “Permission to come aboard?”?)

Laughter, in fact, was the constant music that wound and wove itself through our day. And just before we passed beneath Magdalen Bridge to deposit Rebekah on the landing in time to meet her train, we erupted once more (discreetly, of course ) over the glimpse of tourists taking pictures of us from the shore. We must have looked like professional ladies of leisure by that time, with our chivalrous boatsman at the till.

We waved and blew kisses as she disembarked and hurried up to the street, disappearing immediately amid the cars and buses and the thronging spires.

As I looked after her, I couldn’t help but recall the way that C.S. Lewis had famously parted from a dear friend, waving from an Oxford street corner across the roar of passing traffic:

“Christians never say goodbye!”

If there is anything that travel has taught me, it’s just how small the world really is. Perhaps it’s a bit ingenuous of me, but I can’t quite get over the miracle of the fact that we could be dining with a Parisian friend in Oxford one night and having vegetable soup and cornbread around our own dinner table with both sets of parents in laughing attendance the next. Such a contrast—in a little over 24 hours’ time—never fails to strike me, especially when I consider the unfathomable fact that my ancestors measured the very same journey in months. They, on the other hand, would probably not have spent their first week on native soil reminding one another to drive on the right-hand side of the road or waking each morning from a jet-lagged stupor in utter bewilderment as to where on earth they were. Cornwall? Devon? Somewhere in between??

But there’s another dimension to the smallness of this spinning planet that has nothing whatever to do with the efficiency of modern travel and everything to do with the instant connection of sisters in Christ. It was our own dear Anne Shirley who first said what YLCF has reminded us of and proved over and over again:

Kindred Spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out that there are so many of them in the world.

Lucy Maud Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

And how much more splendid, not only to connect over a common bond via the internet, but to have the opportunity to meet face to face?  While traveling in England this September, Philip and I had the joy of meeting up with a couple of our very own YLCF readers and on both occasions I had the uncanny sense of reunion, instead of a first-time acquaintance. As is so often the case when meeting fellow believers, there was an immediate kinship. So much so that I discovered to my chagrin after parting with each of them that I had neglected to ask some of the most basic questions of new introductions, paddling languidly and comfortably, as it were, through the pleasant waters of ordinary conversation.

We had arranged to meet Jessica and her husband Aaron for Sung Mattins one Sunday morning in Wells, almost directly half-way between where they were staying in Worcestershire and where we were staying in Devon. I knew Wells of old, both from a previous visit and from the lively, living pages of Elizabeth Goudge’s City of Bells, and I could hardly wait to set foot on those brown cobbles once more, worn smooth by centuries of peasants and pilgrims and ordinary folk just like ourselves en route to morning worship at the great cathedral. Darling Wells! The smallest cathedral city in England, a little jewel framed by the emerald hills of Somerset, and early on a quiet Sunday morning, as old-worldly a place as can be found. A sweet place for a meeting that, in itself, could have been plucked from the pages of one of our dear Elizabeth’s own novels…

We spotted them coming out of the Quire after service and hastened to catch up with them in the cloisters. A hug took precedence over introductions (don’t you just love meetings between Christians? ), and over lunch, nestled into a quiet corner of The King’s Head, we swapped stories and talked books just as if we were friends of years and not, literally, minutes. It was good to meet with our own countrymen after being abroad for several weeks; as Philip said, “to talk American with someone”. And we confessed to them the moratorium on book-buying we were afraid we were going to have to impose on ourselves, being very much in danger of exceeding our weight limit on the voyage home.

“It’s nearly impossible to stop,” I lamented, as we discussed Aaron and Jessica’s next day’s destination of Hay-on-Wye, the famed ‘town of books’.

“Like an addiction,” Philip could have added.

“But we’re not going to buy anymore,” I firmly declared, all but thumping the well-lacquered table in my earnestness.

After lunch we wandered about Wells, peeking into closed shops (and ducking into a few open ones!) and reveling in the medieval architecture of the Vicars’ Close (recognizable to Goudge readers as the quarters of Henrietta in City of Bells), before turning back to the Cathedral for Evensong at three.

“What do YLCF readers do when they meet up with one another for the first time?” I quipped to Jessica as we strode along with the quarter-till bell ringing in our ears. “They go to church—two times in a row!”

We were all laughing at the idea, and at how natural it had been to suggest it, but our voices were silenced and our steps sounded hollowly, serenely, on the stone pavement of the nave as we hastened back towards the Quire, from whence the rolling music of the organ already proceeded. The lights were lit in the stalls and the great Golden Window above the altar was living with the glow of the afternoon sun as we filed silently into our seats behind where the choir would be seated. Soon the choir and clergy filed in, the boy choristers looking cherubic in their ruffled white collars and surplices, their older counterparts grave and respectful. And when they opened their mouths the very glory of Heaven seemed to break forth upon us. I spent the better part of the service with tears blurring my eyes.

We parted with Aaron and Jessca on the Green, the bishops and saints and apostles of the Western Front gazing down upon us with their solemn, centuries-old eyes and the ravens and rock doves beginning to circle homeward about the cathedral spires. It had been a beautiful day and my heart was full of God’s goodness as I hugged my new friend goodbye and the men shook hands, promising to keep in touch.

And if anyone doubts my claim that the world is as small as I’m asserting it to be, then they surely cannot dispute the dear smallness of England itself. For two days later, picnicking on the banks of the placid little River Eye in Lower Slaughter, Gloucestershire, I glanced up at a passing couple, meandering hand-in-hand along the quiet bank.

“Jessica?” I gasped, nearly choking over my baguette.

We all had a good laugh, and compared notes on the day that we had both apparently chosen to spend in the Cotswolds and asked a few questions we had forgotten to ask before–like, when their baby was due! . And then we parted again with another hug and another promise, and Philip and I smiled after them as they walked on, still holding hands. Ten years behind us and so full of beauty and promise and Christ-centered ardor. Could such newlyweds but know what a sweet fragrance they are!

A few hours later I was standing in a bookshop in Chipping Campden, my arms guiltily full, when I heard a voice behind me:

“So! I thought you weren’t going to buy any more books!”

And so another laughing reunion, a blissful half-hour perusing the shelves of an irresistible shop (yes, we added a few more volumes to our already sinking boat of overweight luggage) and a bit of a hunt for a tea shop (which proved fruitless, it being after five by this time). And then, for the third time in as many days, I said goodbye to Jessica, on the narrow sidewalk of a golden Cotswold village.

I think it bodes well for our meeting again.

With that, I’d like to announce our winner of the day planner, chosen at random from the participants and those who linked to the carnival:

Katrina Marie at Living For Jesus!

I loved reading Katrina’s day post, being the work she does in a pregnancy center has always been a dream of mine.

Congrats, Katrina! Please email us to claim your prize, being I can’t find an email address for you on your website. If we don’t hear from our winner by Friday, November 6, we’ll choose a secondary winner.

Thank you all so much sharing your lives with us!

This is you.

This is the Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. And by your participation in our A Peek Into Your Day blog carnival, you have demonstrated the beauty and complexity of the very special community we have here, not to mention the limitless creativity of God in allotting such unique places in life for each of us.

I had so much fun watching the posts come in on Wednesday—I told my husband that it was like watching lights flare and glow over a dark grid. It reminded me of the way I felt that first time I stumbled across the YLCF website so many years ago and how my heart thrilled at the knowledge of all of these precious girls and ladies out there that simply loved Jesus and wanted to live for Him to the best of their ability in a fallen world.

My eyes have burned with tears many times these past few days as I’ve read of your hope, your joy, your love for God and for those He has placed in your lives. It has been one of the most encouraging things that I can remember in quite some time simply to click through these blogs and revel in, not only the diversity, but the one single unifying factor that ties them all together into a beautiful whole: Jesus Christ.

Because, for all the differences in your individual lives and callings, one thing remained a constant. Almost every blog had a descriptive box on the right-hand side proclaiming the author to be a lover of God, a servant of Christ, an aspiring disciple. And almost every entry started out something like this:

I got up and met with the Lord. I sought Him in prayer. I went to His Word and I tried to take something away from it into my day. I tried to remember Him and what I believe and what it’s all about…

Do you girls have any idea how exciting that is? How precious it must be to the Lord? I don’t know about you, but the very thought of so many women all over the world (and the carnival, I know, is only a small slice of the whole of this precious community) getting up every day and trying to figure out how to live for God and what pleases Him and how to lend action and breath to love for Him—it gives me hope for this generation! And it makes me realize afresh just how much more brightly the Light shines against the darkness.

So, thank you all for participating, and for being so real. Thank you for loving our Jesus and for being bold to proclaim it. Thank you for shining like stars in the midst of a crooked and depraved generation. What a lovely, twinkling display it must be to the Father of Lights!

And to our own dear Ashleigh—for organizing and pulling off this blog carnival. We know and appreciate the work that you put into this, and I’m sure that all of YLCF will join me in saying thank you.

Thank you, all, for being you, the faces of YLCF. We love you, girls.

p.s. If you haven’t yet linked in to the A Peek Into Your Day carnival, it’s not too late! Links may be submitted through Sunday, November 1, 2009. The winner of the drawing will be announced Monday, November 2.

Over the course of the past few weeks, we’ve enjoyed a behind the scenes look into the real, day-to-day lives of the YLCF team members. You’ve watched us making meals, running errands, feeding animals, hurrying to softball games, writing articles, and, yes, even picking up fast food for dinner. Now it’s your turn! Join us as we visit the homes of blog friends, catching a glimpse into various lives and lifestyles.

We want to hear about your day–your real day. What does a normal, regular, ordinary, plain ol’, same ol’ day in your life look like? We hope you’ll open your virtual home to us and allow us and other readers a peek into your life. Show us that real lives aren’t lived by storybook characters, but we can still capture the fullness of the God even in the day-to-day.

To join in the fun is simple. Just post about your day on your blog, then copy and paste the URL for your individual blog post into the MckLinky below. Your link will appear in the list for others to click and view. Link back to YLCF somewhere in your post or use the blog button, copying this code:

<a href="http://ylcf.org" target="_blank"><img src="http://ylcf.org/uploaded_images/peek-into-your-day.jpg" border="0" alt="YLCF Blog Carnival"></a>

Additionally, every participant will be entered to win this pretty little blue and brown 16-month day planner! Winners will be chosen at random from the participants and announced Monday, November 2nd.

Post your link, get nosy and start blog hopping!

YLCF does not necessarily endorse every blog or lifestyle portrayed in the above links. We also reserve the right to delete any links deemed offensive or inappropriate.

A Day in the Life of the YLCF Team…

• Monday at the Farm in the City by Lanier
• Tuesday in the Writing Life by Elisabeth
• Wednesday in North Idaho by Chantel
• Thursday at the Little Pink House by Gretchen (with series introduction)
• Friday in Sunny Southern California by Ashleigh
• Saturday at Castleberry Farms by Jeannie

There’s something about crossing items off a list that not only makes them more doable, but gives an incentive to get them done.  Who hasn’t written down an already accomplished task just to be able to cross it off the list?  I’ve learned that planning my day with a prioritized to-do list helps ensure I get not just something done, but the important things done.  It also helps me feel like I’ve accomplished something and not only answers my husband’s question of “What are you going to do today?” but ensures I don’t forget something he asked me to be sure to get done.  The real reason behind my to-do list is truly that I am so scatter-brained these days that I always feel like I’m running in circles, so my list gives me direction and prevents me from forgetting what I need to do!

I learned long ago that singing improves not only my attitude, but that of those around me.  I remember helping baby-sit my cousins, and when all else failed in making them settle down, I’d start singing “Trust and Obey” and they’d all chime in and become little angels (or something close).  Later, when working in the state capitol, I learned that other people noticed the happy mood of my humming, even when I didn’t know a tune was on my lips.  And now, even though my little girls can’t repeat the words, they catch the mood of Mommy’s singing: Mary quiets her crying at the sound of my voice and Ruth sings her own wordless little songs along with me.  And naturally, if I’m singing cheerful songs I can’t help but feeling more cheerful.

So, assuming that time with the Lord is the “given”, the #1 item on your priority list, what are the things (under your control) that help your day go better?

I’d like to say our Fridays are anything but typical, but in reality, though the actual activities change, they do end up quite similar in that they’re always a full of a bit of The Crazy. But then again, my life is always filled with a bit of The Crazy.

Friday, September 18th begins as usual at 5:00am with John’s alarm startling us out of our slumber. We both tend to believe there is not a sound on earth quite so jarring as an alarm clock’s buzz. I think it could qualify, if needed, as some form of torture.

So, we hit snooze. Quickly.

In all honesty, we kinda prefer to set the alarm just a little earlier than necessary, just for the luxury of a few half-awake minutes to become accustomed to the day, slowly gaining enough consciousness for whispered words and a morning kiss.

At 5:15, the buzzing starts again just as we hear another common morning sound, that of, “Daddy! Mommy! Daddy! Up! Up!” coming from the boys’ room. Merritt, our little 22 month old boy (known around YLCF as “the little Merritt“) is bright eyed and bushy tailed much earlier than normal! John hops up to get him from his crib, bringing the little boy, his white silky blankie and his beloved Pooh Bear all back to our room. Merritt curls up in my arms under the covers, of course showing no signs of falling back to sleep. While Daddy starts getting ready for work, we’re left to our customary morning snuggle full of Eskimo kisses and sleepy giggles.

With three year old Troy still dozing in his toddler bed, Merritt and I head downstairs and turn on a light. There isn’t much more perfect to my mind than a warm yellow light gently filling a dark downstairs. We gather up my Bible, journal and various books and curl up in the corner of our old couch with a blanket. John makes his way downstairs to the kitchen table, picking up his own Bible and books on the way. He makes us each a cup of coffee–mine served with a smile and a kiss in my favorite “Marine Wife and Proud of It!” mug. We talk softly, for fear of waking Troy, about the day ahead, our weekend plans, the work we plan to do on his classic car that afternoon. We settle into our morning places and quietness falls.

“I will love You, O Lord, my Strength…”

These words from Psalm 18 have spoken much truth and challenge and comfort to me over the years, and I read them, fresh and new again, this morning.

Around 6:00AM, John slides his Bible back into its place on the bookshelf and brings in his bike from the garage. He’s an avid cyclist and forgoes the engine and steering wheel on workdays in favor of two spoked tires and a set of handlebars. Merritt and I give him kisses and send him off.

Just as I was closing my journal, I hear stirring upstairs. Troy is awake and peeking down from our overlooking staircase. At my bidding, he hurries his little pajama-clad self down the stairs and into my lap alongside his brother. He asks if Daddy left already, we talk about his dreams, the boys wiggle and laugh. They both rest their still-sleepy heads on my shoulders, just the right height for breathing in the scent of their hair. In the dawn light and the stillness of early morning, I close my eyes, laying my cheek on one boy’s head, and speak to my Heavenly Father.

Stillness never lasts long with two little boys, so it’s only a few minutes before the chorus of, “Ee-eat!” and “Breakfast time yet, Mama, please?” begins. They climb into their seats, Troy spreading place mats while I pour cereal. Their favorite breakfast is Barbara’s Bakery’s Shredded Spoonfuls with sliced banana chunks, so they think this is a treat. We’re cleaning up breakfast dishes–Troy clears the table and Merritt “helps” put silverware in the dishwasher–when the phone rings. John forgot his salad for lunch and is turning around to get it. Can we meet him outside?

Our house here in the city–a suburb of San Diego, our current Marine Corps ordered place of residence–is in a gated community and we stand on the patch of grass in our “front yard” watching the gate. We wait to see John’s bike rolling in, Troy thrilled that he gets to see Daddy this morning after all. The gate begins to open and the boys start to argue over who is going to give the salad to Daddy, dropping the closed container in the process. I stomp out the little fire of toddler rage, then smirk at John as he stops in our driveway. Ah, such is life, and toddler hood, and motherhood.

7:45 now, and we head back inside, salad safely in John’s pack. I tell the boys to go upstairs and take off their jammies while I open my computer for an email check. My laptop customarily sits atop the coffee table during the day, and is stashed in a nook beside the couch at night–or when company’s stopping in and I don’t want to look like a complete computer-addict. I read my emails, check a few things for YLCF and its email account, relieved to see that nothing on any front needs urgent attention.

A friend is stopping by at 8:30am so we can load up our strollers and go walking through our hill-filled neighborhood, so I hurry upstairs to get myself and the boys dressed and ready. The next few minutes are a flurry of activity as we do the usual morning things–making beds, brushing teeth, putting a load of diapers in the washer to soak, filling water bottles, tying shoe laces. At promptly 8:30, my friends knocks on the door. My two boys and her one (only a few days older than Merritt) are all abundantly, exuberantly, ridiculously excited to see each other. We can barely get them in the strollers. We settle on putting Merritt and his little friend in my double jogger and Troy in the single jogger, which seems to work well until Merritt decides that something–who knows what–is not exactly to his liking and cries in the stroller for five minutes. Troy won’t stop talking to my friend, trying to make her laugh. He succeeded, but probably not in the way he’d hoped. Again, such is life.

We chat as we push our strollers and our heart rates higher, pumping our way up and down sidewalk and pavement, moving out of the way of the dog-walkers, landscapers and other moms.

It’s already 10:45am by the time we make it home, being we stopped for a while at a nearby park. The boys need exercise too! Or maybe we just need tired boys?

The single jogger is moving from our house to my friend’s house, being that we won’t have use for it for a good many years, if ever, so she and I load it up in her vehicle and say goodbye. The boys have been inside getting more water; the day turned out to be much hotter than we expected, even for SoCal.

Midday catch up time: put the diapers on the spin cycle, check emails and such again, and start lunch. I make the boys sandwiches using leftover pork chop meat and cut up some pears and carrots. I make myself a salad, intending to eat it… but never quite getting that far. The boys are done eating before I take a bite, so I grab a cloth to wipe hands and faces. We didn’t get to read our “lunchtime book,” so we pile onto the couch to read a paragraph of the long, not-so-many-pictures book, followed up with a few other favorites: I Love You Through and Through and Trusty.

It’s Merritt’s nap time, so with a hug and a kiss and a Pooh Bear and a blankie, he’s out like a light in his room. I’m glad, being he’s been having a hard time falling asleep lately and has been known to whimper in his bed for a little while. Troy has been downstairs pulling out a stack, and I mean a STACK of books to read on the living room floor. It’s a tower a mile high. He peruses two, and then promptly decides playing with cars looks like more fun.

I finally sit down to eat that salad and sip another large glass of water. I suffer from some severe migraines that seem to be triggered by even the slightest exercise, raised heart rate or heat. I love and believe in exercise too much to stop, but sometimes drinking excessive amounts of water keeps them at bay. This one is in its beginning stages and I’d prefer not to spend the rest of my day in a dark room!

Troy and I like to take a day or two a week and work through some fun little workbooks we found at a dollar store recently. Today we spend about half an hour counting, tracing numbers, discussing colors, learning letter sounds. He isn’t too certain about the lower case letters, being that, as he put it, “I really just like the medium letters, because small letters are just too littleish.”

After “school time” and cleaning up those 187,643 books, he grabs his “baby doggie” and lays down on our bed, the place for his naps. After five minutes, his head is again peeking through the stair rail, telling me he forgot to go potty. That accomplished, he’s back in bed, while I spend some time crossing items off my to-do list for the day. Phone calls, more emails, working on a YLCF post, planning a toddler field trip with friends, wrapping up a blog post of my own.

John calls at 2:00pm and says he’s on his way home. Fridays are usually an early-to-home day for him, being he has an Officer in the Marine Corps who sees it as a way to make life a little easier on the guys when they’re not deployed. The guys are separated from their families enough already, so why not give them a couple extra hours? Yes, fellow military wives, our family is a bit spoiled.

After about an hour of rest, it doesn’t appear Troy is going to nap. We’re in a transition phase with him–I don’t think we’re going to get many more nap times. John arrives at the door just as Troy is coming down the stairs, so Troy holds it open for him and I greet my beloved with a kiss.

We fill the rest of Merritt’s nap time with various sundries… checking the mail, discovering that my wedding ring has returned from the jeweler’s where it had to be repaired (happy day!) and the new license plates for John’s collector’s car have arrived. John gets cleaned up from his ride, reads Troy a book, watches as the little man shows off his newest letter writing skills.

I hear Merritt stirring around 3:30pm, as I’m running the mop over the last few pieces of tile on our floor. He’s energetic and ready to move, so all three of my boys head out into the backyard for a while, which gives me the opportunity to get the diapers rinsed and ready to dry before we begin on the next installment of our current big project of getting that classic car drivable again.

It’s a baby blue 1968 AMC Javelin, and holds a special place in both of our hearts. I’m not sure who loves this car more–John or me. It’s given us more than enough trouble in the six years since John and I have known each other, but it’s been a fixture throughout, and we love it. I have even been known to plant a kiss right on the end of it’s shiny blue hood. Yes, I have.

Once the house is in good condition for the craziness that awaits us in the weekend, all four of us head into the garage, open the big door and set to work on our little beauty. Today’s piece to tackle is the inside, so I hop in the back seat armed with several big cloths, glass cleaner and a bottle of shine spray. John is working on some paint “issues” on the driver’s side door and the boys pretend to drive.

Then the phone rings, and I answer it. (Enter Problem #1.) It is someone calling about an upcoming event. Discussing said event causes me to open my day planner and try to figure out how exactly said event is going to actually… happen. (Enter Problem #2.) I hang up the phone, glance through the next three months of plans and begin to have a mild panic attack.

Okay, not really, but pretty close. Enough that when I walk back into the garage and proceed to tell John about all the overlapping things “supposed to be” going on in the coming weeks, he stops fixing the paint, sits me down, and looks through my day planner with me. He tells me to breeeaaaaathe. I do. And I’m better.

So engrossed are we in this life planning and calming of the nerves, we don’t even realize it is getting later until Merritt comes over, patting my leg and asking, “Ee-eat, Mommy? Please, ee-eat?” Oh, yes, dinner. For my family. Might be a helpful thing.

And here, my dear friends, is where I get really, really honest. This is the point at which I nearly scratch the whole idea of the day-in-my-life post. At least on this Friday. Because the honest to goodness truth is that usually, on Fridays, we find something that needs doing while John’s home for an extra afternoon. Usually, we’re wrapped up in that something and plan to simply go get tacos for dinner from a local Mexican restaurant. But. BUT. This was the day I’m going to be writing about for YLCF, and frankly, I don’t want to admit that we eat tacos and/or burritos on Fridays. Tacos that are, in fact, prepared in an establishment that may or may not be employing any sort of “healthy” philosophy. So I had planned to make sweet and sour chicken instead. Only, when I looked at the recipe in the morning, it said the chicken needed to marinate 12-24 hours, rather than the 4-6 hours I’d thought it said. That option gone, I decided I’d make a different chicken dish. But now it was 5:30pm on Friday night and my family was wondering why we weren’t just getting tacos, as per normal.

So we do.

We eat tacos for dinner. Well, John and I do. The boys have burritos.

I’m a big fan of Being Real.

After the Great Taco Pride Fiasco, we go back out to put the finishing touches on the car for the night. We have done most of the inside, and now it just needs washing. A good washing. While Troy sprayed the sides of the car with garden hose, a few little neighbor children gather in our yard and driveaway, all eager to either grab a sudsy, soapy sponge and do some washing, or else begging to be catch some of the water spray. They all laugh and hop and dance through the falling droplets.

It’s getting late… almost 8:30… before we finish up outside. The boys are filthy from playing in the water and running in our culdesac barefoot. We say goodbye to the little neighbors and whisk the boys upstairs for a very quick bath before devotion time downstairs. We read a few favorites from Eloise Wilkin’s Poem book and John helps the boys through their memory verses.

More kisses. More hugs. Footie jammies. Stuffed animals. Tucking in blankets and sheets.

It’s 9:30… crazy late for the boys who usually are in bed two hours earlier. But they aren’t the only ones who are tired. John and I don our own sleepwear and climb into bed, weary from a long day. We snuggle close, each reading our own book–his, a Lamplighter, mine, Lasting Love–for about an hour, until our eyes are too heavy to continue.

And then…

we fall…

asleep.

The rest of the week…

• Monday at the Farm in the City by Lanier
• Tuesday in the Writing Life by Elisabeth
• Wednesday in North Idaho by Chantel
• Thursday at the Little Pink House by Gretchen (with series introduction)
• Saturday at Castleberry Farms by Jeannie
• A Peek Into Your Day by YOU – Wednesday, October 28, right here at YLCF! Plan to be there!

The past year or two has seen a shift in focus here at YLCF, as one after another of our board and team members have married. We’ve enjoyed some wonderful posts from our sisters in their single years, and the response has indicated to us that such posts are reaching a deep need. But many, if not the majority, of our posts have reflected our individual stages. For many of us, that means we’re writing about our wonderful and beautiful marriages.

We understand–having all been there ourselves!–that it can be discouraging for an unmarried young woman to read post after post about married life. Our intention has been to share our hearts, as well as give our beloved friends a vision and a goal; to remind them that a fulfilling, Christ-centered marriage and the joy of children is something worth waiting for. But a few “little birds” have told us that it can be a bit much for a heart striving to be content. While we do believe it important to set one’s own boundaries in one’s spiritual journey (for example, if reading love stories causes discontentment or pain, we’d suggest not clicking on the Courtship Stories page for a new story every day!) and we certainly won’t ever stop writing from our perspective of wives and mothers, we would like to incorporate a bit more from the single years.

We’re not necessarily asking for posts about singleness (though they are certainly appreciated and needed). We’d like to know what you are doing with your single years. We’d like to catch a glimpse of your heart. We recently talked about making our lives count for Christ, no matter our marital status, and we’d like to hear more about how you are accomplishing that. If you are single, if you have wisdom to share… share it.

Along the same lines, we’d all love–LOVE–to hear from women who are in the next phase of life, past the first years of marriage or raising toddlers. The women who have a few more years of wisdom in their hearts and can offer a perspective most of us on the Team can’t pretend to grasp. We do understand, however, that time for such writing may be a slightly more limited!

This post isn’t borne out of desperation or a lack of posts or writers, but simply because we love interaction with all the ladies of YLCF. After all, the “F” in our name is for “fellowship” because it’s what we love most. Keeping in mind our Values and Writing Guidelines, get those fingers flying and let us hear from you!

As another means of promoting the fellowship and interaction (Gretchen already gave a little teaser to this) we’re going to ask for yet more participation from our dear readers. You’ve all had a chance to be privy to a day in each of the Team members’ lives–my own, the final installment, is coming on Friday–and now we’d like to get a peek into a day in your lives.

Next Wednesday, October 28, we’re going to host the “A Peek Into YOUR Day” blog carnival, right here at YLCF. This means you will have a chance to post about a real, normal day in your life on your own blog and then link to it here, giving all the readers of YLCF a chance to visit you and your day. The emphasis here is on being real. We don’t want idealized versions of what you wish your life were like, or what might fit a mold, but the real, day-to-day workings of your world. Whatever season you are in, whatever your life is like, we’d like to hear about it. If it isn’t real… don’t post it.

To participate, pick a day this next week to chronicle and come back next Wednesday ready to link up. My little nosy self is already excited! If you’d like to spread the word, grab this blog button and put it in your sidebar, tweet it, Facebook it, or post about it:

Copy this code:

<a href="http://ylcf.org" target="_blank"><img src="http://ylcf.org/uploaded_images/peek-into-your-day.jpg" border="0" alt="YLCF Blog Carnival"></a>

Every participant will be entered in the giveaway for this little 16-month day planner–along with a pretty pen, not shown, being that I still have to… obtain it. I don’t know about you, but I always fall hard and fast for anything with blue and brown! Along with adding your link to the carnival on Wednesday, comment and tell us if you add the button to your sidebar, tweet or write a blog post about the carnival before Wednesday for additional chances to win.

Official YLCF Giveaway Entry Rules:

• To enter the drawing, please participate in the carnival or leave a comment on this post with the link to the place you’ve “talked” about the carnival.
• Don’t forget to include your name and email address in the space provided on the comment form (your email address will not be published, but we need a way to contact you if you win!).
• This drawing open to readers with U.S. mailing addresses only, please.
• YLCF Team Members, their families, and recent YLCF giveaway winners ineligible for entry.
• Drawing ends Sunday, November 1, 2009.
• Winner(s) will be chosen randomly and notified by email Monday, November 2, 2009.

We can’t wait to hear from you!

But the fact is, I was afraid of the dark growing up. Not physical darkness, but the darkness that obstructed the future.

It seemed like just about everyone knew exactly what they were doing with their life, while I was busy today with little things and responsibilities, but my future life stretched out before me like a blank and empty canvass with no clues as what the picture was suppose to be, let alone how to paint it.

I thought I knew, of course, what I’d like to do. I had dreams of studying languages, of taking a double major- Nursing and History, perhaps. I supposed I would marry someday, perhaps have my own family, and maybe go overseas as a missionary. But more than anything else, I wanted to be and to do His will- the will of My Father, and while all my hopes and dreams were good ones, they lacked just one thing: I didn’t know that this was my appointed path or just the one I was choosing for myself.

I knew that He would make His will known to me. The Bible promises it, He has for others, and I knew and I believed it with all of my heart, that so He would do for me.  The future seemed far away, and I almost forgot for a while that I would ever grow up, that there would ever be a time when that distant darkness would become present reality. I thought it’d be figured out long before I ever really got there, but suddenly, reality hit.

I turned 17. I had less than six months before I would finish my “homeschool career”, and all of my ideas were beginning to look like goals that could never be achieved, but I put my whole heart in to preparing myself for nursing. Up until now, I had always worked hard and gotten top grades. I loved to study and enjoyed the challenge of learning something new. I was accepted into a wonderful school in the south. My family was looking to move down to the area. I had scholarships. The door seemed to be cracking open, and yet, I was strangely without rest.

I walked out of the public education building with a diploma in hand. I’d gotten excellent grades, and I had tried to fit into many different molds over the months leading up to this point, only to find in my exhaustion and in the stress, that I couldn’t make myself into something I wasn’t meant to be. And now, here I was, ready to take the next step, but if it wasn’t nursing…if it wasn’t going overseas as a missionary…if it wasn’t working in the publishing field… what was it? I had no idea. And then that darkness of not knowing was very real and I felt afraid.

I spent many hours and shed many tears seeking His will, but in the quietness I could only seem to hear: “Wait”.

Perhaps, it wasn’t the dark so much that I was afraid of as what was in that darkness that I couldn’t see. I didn’t mind waiting for a reason- but not knowing why I was waiting was incredibly hard sometimes, but I had to believe that somehow, someway this season was my training ground, and looking back I know now what I repeated to myself over and over again: God’s way is perfect, and so is His timing.

In the end, it was waiting in the darkness that made the sunrise so beautiful. It was not knowing that made the answers so precious. It was the lessons of trust that I learned when I was afraid of the dark that were more valuable to me than following my dream of studying History.

In the darkness, I learned to see that God’s plan isn’t always revealed to us as the big picture that it is. He doesn’t choose to give all of us our callings in the same way.  Sometimes, He just wants us to wait on Him, and to take up the little work that is right in front of us today, and not worry about what might be in the darkness that night or in the days to come.

I never became a nurse, and I never studied history or languages. I never went abroad as a missionary. They were all good plans, and God called some of my friends to those things, but He called me to be content to stay home and do small things. I might never see much of the results behind the small things. Perhaps I’ll never know if the little efforts have made a difference, and sometimes the future still looks rather dark with unknowns. But I’m learning that darkness and light are both alike to Him-and to me. As long as I keep seeking to walk in that perfect way however humble it may appear, I’ve got nothing to be afraid of.

7 am: The radio alarm clock goes off in the girls’ bedroom. I share a room with my sisters and can’t imagine it any other way, but mornings are a little funny. For some reason, none of us speak to each other as we get up and prepare for the day. Silence reigns until we get downstairs, and if anyone happens to say something, she is met with incredulous looks. One would think we had taken a vow of silence.

But I digress. We love our radio alarm because we wake up to something different each morning. Today was “Motions” by Matthew West, and the words keep going through my head as I go downstairs to read my Bible:

“I don’t want to go through the motions
I don’t want to go one more day
Without Your all-consuming
Passion inside of me…”

It’s a good song to have in your mind. I’m reading through the New Testament right now, and today’s chapter is I Corinthians 8. While it can be a challenge to be awake enough to really grasp what I’m reading, I’ve found that unless I make my Bible reading the first thing I do in the morning, I tend to forget to read at all. The day just gets busy so fast. I treasure this time in God’s word as the day begins.

We generally do our barn chores before breakfast. Today Betsy and I are on milking duty while Katie prepares scrambled eggs, homemade sausage, and hot chocolate for breakfast. I love going to the barn in the morning and working with the animals — I’m such a country girl! Sunshine, our lovely Jersey cow, is giving lots of milk this year (5-6 gallons per day), so we’ve been making a lot of cheese and butter. The boys take care of the meat chickens, beef cattle,  and laying hens. When the chores are done we gather for breakfast with good appetites.

Summer means church league softball around here, and this particular Saturday is the end of softball season: tournaments! Since it’s threatening rain, only the older boys head into town (30 minutes away) for the 9:00 game.  We girls stay home and pick second-crop peas. The garden has been a real challenge this summer — it’s been both cool and dry, so our yields are definitely lower than usual. We’re thankful for whatever we get, though. The guys call while we’re shelling peas. The opposing team didn’t show up, so we won by default. Next game will be at 1:30, so they are coming home for lunch.

Since we knew we’d be attending the tournaments today, we did our house cleaning yesterday. We divide the work into three main jobs — bathrooms, dusting, and floors (we love a dry Swiffer® for the hardwood floors!), then each girl takes one job. I must confess I don’t much care for the bathroom cleaning job, but it’s something that can be done to the glory of God if I have the right attitude.

So, with the housecleaning out of the way, the peas done, and a little extra time before lunch, what would most busy farm girls do? Get a little high-speed exercise! Okay, maybe not most.  But this summer my sisters and I have been running about three times a week. We aren’t marathoners, and we only run about 2.5 to 3 miles (usually around the hayfield — told you we are farm girls!), but we’ve really enjoyed it. We run at the same time, but often in different directions or on different trails, and we listen to music as we run. It is a real worship time for me. My favorite running music is Third Day’s Wherever You Are CD. It’s full of upbeat and energetic songs, which is important for keeping me motivated while running!

After running (and showers), we join the family for lunch. We typically have leftovers or sandwiches at our noon meal. Today we’re hurried, trying to finish the dishes and noon barn chores before it’s time to head to the tournaments.  There’s a special surprise for the softball team that we made last night — a cake in the team colors that says “Lakeside Softball: Great Year!” It has been a good year, fun to watch and fun for the guys who went into the tournaments at the top of our division.

We don’t do as well in the tournaments as in the rest of the season, unfortunately, but it’s still fun to watch our friends, neighbors, and brothers play. The wind picks up, blowing in some pretty dark clouds and occasional rain shower. Good thing we brought umbrellas! We win one game and lose two, ending our season on a bit of a sad note, but thankfully we serve the cake right after the winning game.

Dad brings pizza for us and the other fans (this is definitely not typical, but just as definitely appreciated!), so that takes care of supper.  It’s time to head home and do the barn chores one more time. Sunshine the cow is waiting to be milked, the chickens need to be secured in the safe barn for the night (yes, there are many predators who would like nothing better than a tasty chicken dinner!), and the cows are nearly out of water.

Regardless of the busyness of the day, we always end it the same way: the whole family gathers in the living room and together we read a chapter of Scripture aloud. We practice a few memory verses. We share prayer requests. And then we “come boldly unto the throne of grace” and let our “requests be made known unto God.”

And that…is one Saturday at Castleberry Farms. Come join us sometime!

The rest of the week…

• Monday at the Farm in the City by Lanier
• Tuesday in the Writing Life by Elisabeth
• Wednesday in North Idaho by Chantel
• Thursday at the Little Pink House by Gretchen (with series introduction)
• Friday in Sunny Southern California by Ashleigh
• A Peek into Your Day by YLCF Readers

I cannot tell you the number of times people have told me, “I’ve always wanted to write a book.” My response is always, “You should,” but I find what they really mean to say is the idea is a bit overwhelming.

It seems we often have an image of an inspired writer sitting down and, in a feverish pace, pounding out a story without distraction until a work of literary art is produced. Naturally this is unreasonable, not to mention unrealistic.

Writing fiction is not an insurmountable mountain. Furthermore, in the sea of junk literature we live in, stories that inspire believers and reach out to people who might never think to pick up a non-fiction Christian book are important.

But when faced with a blank Word document on the computer screen the question, “Where do I start?” can be very intimidating.

So why not start with an outline?

Try putting down a plot outline, no longer than a paragraph, which simply states the primary storyline.

Next, decide on your characters; a hero and/or heroine, antagonist, villain, sympathizer, and a sprinkling of minor characters.

Then give your characters life. They’ll need a name, age, physical characteristics, likes, dislikes, hopes, relationships, and a past. The best stories are built on good characters.

Try to pinpoint a location for you story. Do you want it to take place in a small town, big city, or several places?

Subplots are vital to creating a rich story, but this is not as difficult as it might sound. A subplot can be as simple as a relationship with a family member, the trials of dealing with a new surrounding, or a struggle with faith.

Finally, write a summary. This does not have to be too detailed, but it will be helpful to have a basic timeline of events when you sit down to write your story.

An important thing to remember through of all of this is you do not have to do it all in one day, week, or even a year. Just put down thoughts when they come. If you only have fifteen minutes on occasion take them.

Never allow yourself to think this is impossible or unimportant. I’ve known people who credit a novel as their first step towards their faith in Jesus. If you have a story in your heart, take the first step and start writing.

Emily Ann Benedict is a California native and homeschool graduate inspired to write by a love of reading and a desire share her faith. You can find her at emilyannbenedict.com.

This is not to say, exactly, that John and I are both devouring a new marriage book every day, nor that my primary reading is necessarily books on marriage, but every few months we remind each other how much better our already strong union seems to become when each day we’re both reading a chapter or even just a few pages of a good, solid, scripture-filled discussion on the topic the most important earthly relationship we’ll ever have.

It would stand to reason, then, that I’ve worked my way through a good number of such books and developed an affinity for certain re-readables. Give me a solid foundation! Give me strong basics! Give me practicality! Drown me in the applicable and correctly used words of the Author of marriage!  Please don’t give me watered-down talks of feelings and sparks and how to make everyone happy and comfortable–be assured I can think up all of that on my own, which is precisely why I need a good marriage book! After breezing through a particularly weak specimen, I find myself having to pull one of these favorites from the shelf to redeem the one I’ve just finished.

My current pick? Lasting Love: How To Avoid Marital Failure written by Alistair Begg.

Having listened to Alistair Begg on the radio off and on since girlhood, I knew I had acquired a gem when I found this in a very large stack of books recently given to me, a fact certainly true. But one of the things I’m most excited about in this particular book isn’t even the excellent marital teaching.

It’s the third chapter. On singleness, to be exact. Soon my 18 year old brother going off to his Bible institute, my as-of-yet-unmarried bestest girlfriend and my “little sister” in Alabama will all be taking a good thorough trip through this chapter… even if they don’t exactly, you know, know it yet.

We’ve all known a number of young women (and young men) who are rushing into marriage as soon as possible with other people who haven’t necessarily grasped the concept of wholly living for the Lord individually, simply because they think marriage to be the ultimate goal. In doing so, they’ve equated being focused on the Lord with being focused on marriage, not realizing that the two are both inclusive as well as exclusive–a marriage can never be complete without being founded on Christ, but a relationship with Christ and life of complete service to Him SHOULD be complete without a marriage.

The beginning of Lasting Love’s second chapter emphasizes this:

When we think about relationships, we should be very clear that our relationship to God must come first. We may well have to pause immediately and ask ourselves just where we stand when it comes to this aspect of our lives. Have we entered through the narrow gate, taken up our cross, and begun to follow Jesus? Or are we simply being kept afloat by the faith of our family? Are we seeking first the kingdom of God and endeavoring to do the right thing, or are we just living to please ourselves? Until we settle this matter, we are unprepared to make the right decision about other relationships.

Marriage is not an “end all” goal and, while certainly a high and holy state established by God, cannot be viewed as the beginning of our real life.

We must also recognize that our significance and fulfillment in life is not to be determined by whether or not we have a relationship with someone of the opposite sex. You will know of sad stories involving friends who rushed into relationships driven by fear of what others would say about them if they were not “dating” or “involved.” Settle the matter right now. There is no good thing which the Lord will withhold from those whose walk is blameless. There is no need for panic. It is He who makes everything beautiful in His time.

The chapter moves forward, simply overflowing with golden nuggets of biblical wisdom on the topic of getting married. Begg outlines the qualities and characteristics important to find in a potential spouse–even suggesting it right and good to put oneself in places where such a (godly) person might be found!

I’m drinking up the following chapters on marriage itself, but I’ve been particularly thrilled to find this excellent bit on purposeful singlehood. It’s not often, in my experience, that we find a solid, balanced view of the topic.

This last quote sums up much of my own (and, might I say, the rest of the YLCF Team’s) thoughts and goals for all of us, married or single.

Wisdom comes from God (James 1:5). Don’t leave a decision about whether or not to get married to instinct and logic. Be sure to see what God has to say about the matter. He may want to use you as a single person. . . or He may want to use you as a married person. Regardless of your marital state, you can be sure He wants to lead you through life and achieve all the potential with which He has gifted you.

Read your own copy of Lasting Love: How To Avoid Marital Failure. Married or single, you won’t regret it.

And tell us, what are you favorite books on marriage and/or singleness?

“Summer’s loss seems little, dear, on days like these.”
-Ernest Dowson

“It snowed on the hills around us last night.”  The phrase from one of the letters Merritt wrote me during our years of friendship always comes to mind this time of year.  As in his letter (a particular favorite, which I carried around in my Bible), it snowed on the hills around us last night.  And this is the third autumn that these hills have been our hills, around us. The sight out my windows, with snow-frosted trees topping the gentle hills, is breathtaking—and it is home.

We’ve had our first few fires in the wood stove, our first winter squash.  I’m thinking about apple pies and being able to cook pots of beans and soup on the wood stove.  I’m looking forward to long candle-lit evenings reading with my husband and our girls.  And when I glance out my kitchen window, I see the red maple we bought and planted during our first few months of marriage.  The leaves have turned a deep red, signaling that yes, indeed, autumn has arrived.

“Here Comes Autumn!  A whiff of wood smoke on the wind, the first chill in the air, the woods just edged in gold, and without looking at the calendar, we know we’ve turned the page and it is September.  Time to put the ‘sweet’ in ‘Home Sweet Home.’”
-Susan Stewart Branch

I rather think that the giants I see might not be the same ones you see, but they are giants just the same, and I’m afraid that I have run away from the ones I’ve met more than once, instead of standing my ground bravely like I ought to have.

Most people would never guess it, but I am afraid of a lot of things. New things that take me too far out of “comfort zone” might as well be a smoke signal to  Giants 12 feet tall or more to come after me, and while they come in different shapes and forms, they all have the same name. It’s “Fear”.

Fear has kept me from doing things I’ve always wanted to do. He’s kept me from doing things I should have done, and I’ve even done some things that I wish I wouldn’t have just because I saw Fear looking at me and I thought it’d be better to do anything than face him again in a battle.

What I don’t always remember is that Fear is really just a paper giant. He is no stronger than how much I let him control me, and that is the way it is with every giant we meet in life. Giants can’t get their darts through the Shield of Faith or the Helmet of Salvation, and they don’t hold up to “all-prayer” and the Sword of the Spirit. In fact, Trust in God and Faith are two things that they themselves fear, and prayer to God makes even the greatest giants to tremble.  It’s just that with no armor for our backs, it’s a sure victory for the giants when we turn to run.

God’s word gives us battle plans straight from the Greatest General to conquer every giant we might face in this life and Fear in all his different forms is as good as dead if I study the plans and act upon them.  As He promised, “Perfect Love casts out Fear”. And those who keep their minds stayed on Him will have perfect peace, no matter what kind of Fear- or any other Giant- is staring them down.

It can be wearying, fighting of the Giant Fear all the time, but “ they that wait on the LORD shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as eagles. They shall run and not be weary. They shall walk and not faint.” “God is our refuge and strength a very present help in trouble. Therefore shall not we fear though the earth be removed...”

It isn’t a “maybe” or a “might”, it’s all “shall”, and “will”. There’s no uncertainty that there’ll be victory- as long as we trust.

I may indeed be “Much-Afraid” of many things in life. I may have crooked feet that stumble on the mountains sometimes when I try to climb, but “Who is God save our God, and who is a rock, save our Rock? He maketh my feet like hind’s feet, and setteth me upon my high places.”

It’s true. No giant’s too big, no feet too stumbling. Just take His Word for it- the One who has by His death conquered all Fear, and given us the tools for Victory over all the Giants in our lives.

Having been induced for toxemia symptoms a little over two weeks before Ruth’s due date, I wasn’t sure what to expect, waiting for labor to start on its own. But it all went relatively quickly and smoothly (just not easily, as my husband was kind to clarify!), and earlier than expected. After a month of random, mild contractions, I awoke at 2 o’clock Sunday morning, with steadily intensifying contractions that came every five minutes (and it is impossible to sleep in those intervening minutes!). I waited until I’d watched the sunrise from our hammock outside (unfortunately not as relaxing as it sounds, when one is in labor!) before awakening my husband and calling my parents. They obviously started praying (again—I’d had false labor the previous Monday) that the baby wouldn’t arrive before they did, because labor slowed to a near standstill until the middle of the afternoon. Contractions came back in full force just about the time my family had finally been able to hit the road (I’m not sure how much of that was psychological and how much was supernatural!), and we were only at the hospital an hour and a half before Mary Kate was born at 7:43 p.m. My parents and younger sister and brother were there to hold her by the time she was just a few hours old. And when they brought Ruth Ann in the next morning, we had one very excited (though slightly overwhelmed) big sister!

Before we even got home from the hospital, my dad was breaking ground for our remodel project. Our little home now has more than one room! We are in the process of adding on two bedrooms—a project which Ruth has been incredibly excited about. Not only is she Chief Inspector, she’s her daddy’s biggest incentive to get it done: if he tells her he’s going to work on the wall when he gets home from work, she’s over peering at the wall an hour before he arrives, and takes him to it immediately upon his arrival. When they took off some of the siding to cut into the wall, I smiled at the sight which met my eyes: our house is still pink underneath! I told Merritt we might have to paint the house blue if we want any boys.

But oh how we love our girls. Sometimes I still feel rather in a daze—I’m the mommy of two little girls? Other times, it feels like I’ve been a mommy all my days. And every second of the day and night it’s Mommyness that occupies my time. Even when I sit down to blog in a few spare quiet moments, it’s about my girls I’m writing! But the most special hours of the day for us girls is when the most important person in this house comes home: the girls’ Daddy. It’s rare that Merritt and I can even hug each other without someone hugging our knees, but it’s a special, special season in life, and we wouldn’t trade it for anything.

We were delighted to have my family visiting for two weeks—during which time my dad was an amazing help on our remodel project, and my mom and sister did everything else around here! I’d been far from having all the baby things out and ready. But my mom has the gift of organization and soon had not only Mary’s clothes clean and organized, but Ruth’s clothes and toys as well! When my family left I had to remind myself that laundry doesn’t automatically wash itself, nor do meals usually just appear on the table, or dishes land in the dish drainer sparkling clean by themselves. But we miss them for more than just their help! It’s so neat to watch my parents as grandparents—they’re awfully proud. My 14-year-old sister Jessica just adores her nieces, and my 11-year-old brother will even wash his hands and put on a clean shirt to hold his new niece (Ruth is now attempting to whistle, too, thanks to Caleb’s influence). My big little brother Will is quite anxious to meet his new niece, as well—he’s going to have quite the collection of nieces when he gains three more (including twins two weeks older than Mary) by marriage come December. And of course, Merritt’s family is so glad to have another little person close-by—especially since, with all the John Deere attire our girls own, they are sure to learn to drive the tractor just like their Daddy does.

It’s been precious to watch Ruth with her sister. After a few days of the initial adjustments—including lots of hand motions where Ruth showed us she understood that the baby that was in Mommy’s tummy was now little sister Mary—she’s been the epitome of helpfulness and a doting big sister. It’s her job to get out a wipe every time I change Mary’s diaper (and I think it should be her job to potty train her sister, too, since she has been so accomplished in that area!). I frequently find her with her toy pink cell phone “taking pictures” of her sister sleeping in her cradle. And whenever Ruth climbs up on the couch and pats her lap, it’s a sure sign that the proud big sister’s arms are waiting to hold little sister again.

Mary Kate is the picture of her big sister Ruth Ann—and yet her own unique little person. We named Mary for two of her great grandmothers, Mary Louise Glaser and Mary Elizabeth Mann. (And though I can’t replicate the lilting Irish, whenever I say her name, in my mind it sounds just like they say “Mary Kate Danaher” in “The Quiet Man.”) While Ruth was born with dark hair and eyes, Mary was a redhead from the start, with lighter blue eyes–and not quite so laid back as big sister. We think Mary will take more after my coloring, while Ruth obviously has her daddy’s complexion (and smile).

Seeing how they look so alike and yet so different, it reminds me of how even though we have two girls, we don’t want to raise Mary to be a carbon copy of her big sister (as proud as we are of Ruth), nor of us her parents: we want each of them to grow up to be individual young women who love and serve the Lord. And what a sobering task! It helped me to re-read my posts about our goals and plans in raising Ruth, giving me hope on those first few sleepless nights, reminding me of things I wished I’d focused on more (like practicing sitting still for church), or of things I’d do differently (like teaching more sign language earlier, since so far Ruth has a repertoire of only a few words, despite understanding every word we say!).

But sitting here looking at my two girls, one just a month old, the other almost two years old, I am overwhelmed at the blessing and the responsibility God has given us. Sometimes, when both are crying, toys are strewn all over the floor, dinner is far from ready, and their daddy is due home any minute, I wonder how I’ll ever get the hang of managing it all—and training them meanwhile (as I catch myself telling my daughter to wait, while using a very impatient voice myself)! I remember Ashleigh telling me once, “there will come times when ‘I Need Thee Every Hour’ is your mommy-heart’s constant prayer”—though at that point of the day I’m thinking that it could also have something to do with needing more hours in my day, or maybe my night! But a glance at the poem my cousin Jennifer cross-stitched for me puts it all into perspective:

Cleaning and scrubbing can wait ‘til tomorrow,
For babies grow up, we’ve learned to our sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

I may be exhausted, overwhelmed, and have more to do than I have hours in my day and free hands to do it with, but when I’m being a mommy, time is of the essence, for what I’m doing has eternal significance.

If you were to come visit our home these days, chances are you’d see dust from our remodel settled on all the flat surfaces—but in the dust, you’d see little handprints. My laundry might not all be folded—there’s no way it all gets done on Mondays any more (there are at least two loads every other day, if not every day!). Hopefully the dishes would be done, though, because that is something that makes my husband feel cared for (so does having the house dusted and laundry done—but clean dishes are on the top of his list). My daughters might not be perfectly behaved while you were visiting our little home, but hopefully you’d see that they are learning and loved.

On the Sunday a week after Mary’s birth, the opening song at our church was “Great Is Thy Faithfulness”—a hymn which has in many ways become the theme for our lives, and was sung at our wedding. And upon seeing our little Mary Kate arrive for her first Sunday at church, the pianist changed the closing song to “Because He Lives”. My cheeks were wet with tears by the time we were through the verse about “how sweet to hold a newborn baby”. Two of my favorite hymns blended together to remind me of all that was true about life and parenting: it is because of God’s great faithfulness that these precious daughters of mine can face the uncertain days ahead. But in between, in these days of motherhood, Lord I need Thee every hour…

P.S. As I hold my two little girls, and remember how recently I was experiencing all the joy and fear and anticipation of being an expectant mom, my cousin Brian and his wife Jordyn are constantly on my heart and mind. They are facing so many obstacles as they continue to choose and pray for life for their first little one. Please join us in praying for a safe and healthy delivery for little Davis and his mommy: click here to read the story and progress report.

We often speak of things such as being a wife or mother as God’s calling. “This is my highest and noblest calling,” we might declare. I beg to differ. God’s calling to a life is the thing that will never, under any circumstance, change in that life. Throughout scripture we see His call of salvation, His call into service to Him, His call to righteousness. These are universal to all believers. But we don’t find Him calling people into motherhood, the medical field, a teaching career.  He does, however, put us in specific seasons in which we, individually, can fulfill those basic callings of service, of righteousness, of  love for others, of showing forth His salvation. We are called to be filled with Jesus and be wholly His own.

Marriage and motherhood are amazing blessings to be highly exalted and revered. They are high and noble seasons He gives to some of us, and when we’re in them (which, for marriage, is until death or circumstances beyond the Christian’s control separates the two) they are our highest priority, most certainly, and should be the thing into which we pour our whole selves for the glory of God. But to say marriage and motherhood (which, obviously, typically go hand in hand in our young dreams for the future) are the highest calling for a woman is to say that the woman who doesn’t ever marry or who isn’t able to conceive has somehow missed God’s original plan for her life. Both wifehood and motherhood are noble, if that’s the way God shows Himself through you, but they don’t at all lessen the height and nobility of the season in which He sets another one of us–perhaps the one to whom He’s given the season and priority of being on the mission field, obtaining a Master’s degree, serving as a nurse to people who need care, writing books and speaking to young women, teaching children, or any number of things God’s given the ability to do.

I’d not be so self-confident as to proclaim it easy to find the balance between preparing for what becomes the main occupation for the majority of young women at some point in their lives and not allowing it to become the sole focus. Nor would I say that I, as one who married young myself, have the answers for singlehood. Most noteable, I must be honest and say that I entered my own marriage yet holding some of the views I’m currently refuting. But I do know that even for me, as a wife and mother right now, God is showing me the truth of His calling on my life to follow Him wherever He leads being encompassed in the current priorities He’s given me of husband and children. But for single girls, their priorities are completely different. Even for some who are married, these eventually change. Spouses outlive each other, children grow and have families of their own. We’ve all heard the saying, “Nothing is unchangeable but change itself.” God’s ways are so much higher and more complete than ours–none of us knows what tomorrow holds. There are no guarantees–at all–outside of our unchanging Savior. Limiting a life to a man-made plan for the single years completely negates God Himself and His wisdom that reaches far above our own.

Never in the Bible do we read of women, single or married, spending idle days waiting for Prince Charming to arrive at their doorstep. Think of Rebekah, Ruth, Deborah, Esther, Anna, Lois, and so many others. Every woman mentioned, single or married, is found working, serving the Lord in industrious pursuits suitable to her season in life.

We can’t expect God to bless our efforts when they are ones of idly waiting or of simply taking matters into our own hands because we think we know what will make us happy. The true calling of active service on the path He sets before us is a command that extends beyond the boundaries and context of marriage and motherhood.  Single and married women alike need not be afraid of following God’s calling for them, individually–realizing that fulfilling His purpose for their lives is the only end goal worth pursuing and is something that can be accomplished now by living fully and vitally for Him, wherever that path leads… even if that path looks differently than we expect or desire it or even completely different from all of our friends.

Cooking is good. Cleaning, decorating and caring for a home are valuable skills. Children are a wonderful gift from our Father. Marriage is… wow. Learning more about all of these things is helpful (though there is a time to perfect and refine those skills, and it’s usually when they are actually your own priorities).

But also admirable is the unmarried girl who is teaching a room full of eager young minds who need guidance. Or trekking through a third world country and telling natives of a Savior who loves them enough to die for them. Perhaps it’s writing a dissertation. Answering phones and filing paperwork in an office building. Speaking to young women about pursuing Jesus. Traveling around the country and world as a photographer for missions trips and organizations. Meeting a word count goal for the book you’re writing. Serving teens and families at a Christian camp. Leading kayaking tours down a raging river. Being a chef in a fancy restaurant.

Go. Do. Follow Jesus. Be Busy. Embrace your true highest calling.

But marriage is not the end goal of life.

Knowing personally and loving wholly the precious Savior IS the first and foremost goal of life. While such things as marriage and motherhood are, for many, the outworking of this goal, marriage in and of itself doesn’t make a life complete. It doesn’t signal the beginning of “real life.” It is simply a way God has ordained for some–I’d even venture to say most, but certainly not all–to better glorify Himself. Personal fulfillment, joy and happiness aren’t obtained solely through the finding of a life partner. If this is the only thing one is hoping for, waiting idly for, or even preparing solely for, something is severely wrong. Nowhere in scripture does God command or even suggest that marriage is the “IT” thing in the life of anyone–not even young women. In fact, the verses speaking specifically to unmarried women say the opposite–single women should be concerned wholly and completely with learning of, loving and serving their Heavenly Father, not waiting expectantly for life to truly begin with the appearance of Prince Charming.

It seems there is a rash among Christian young women to see their lives as being in a holding pattern until they get married. I know many–far too many–young ladies who prepare in every way and form they can think of, expecting to get married right after high school, because, well, isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Some of us grow up often thinking that all we want to do in life is be a wife and mother… so why think of or plan for anything else? We do a good thing in learning basic and sometimes advanced housekeeping skills as we get older, and often, for Christian young women raised (rightly so) to revere and respect the position of wife and mother, this is the thing into which we pour our whole selves while we wait.

Sometimes, though, the waiting is longer than we thought it would be when we were 16. We reach the end of high school and our knight in shining armour hasn’t yet arrived on his white steed, so we wait another year or so, knowing he’ll drop from the sky soon… right? Two years pass… and three… and five… and… before you know it,  some have been single for much longer than they expected. They’ve been waiting at home doing everything they can to prepare for marriage–learning to cook, care for children, keep a home. They far surpass the basic housekeeping skills and have become a homemaker any young man would be blessed to have loving him and keeping his home. But some of them are beginning to wonder–what do I do with these single years as a whole? Have I possibly spent these past years waiting for something never meant to complete me in the first place?

We think we’re living for the Lord by preparing for marriage and marriage alone and might even feel a bit puffed up about our “holy focus” instead of doing the so-called “worldly” thing of pursuing a busy life of college, missions, service or anything that doesn’t center on preparation for marriage. We don’t realize we’re actually guilty of doing the very thing we’re accusing the rest of the “world” of doing. We’re living for our own pleasure–we believe we know what will make us happiest and most fulfilled in this life and so, as with someone wishing to enter any other field, we pursue nothing else. Is it worth considering that in some of these situations, perhaps we’re actually being blinded by our own desires? Are our own preconceived notions keeping us from what God actually has for us for this particular season?

Stay tuned for Part Two…

I wanted to share some of the poetry that has inspired, encouraged and strengthened my heart over the years, through some of the most painful and the most sorrowful moments of life to some of the happiest and best. This one brings tears to my eyes even yet.

It is only a tiny rosebud,
A flower of God’s design,
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.

The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I,
The flower God opens so sweetly,
In my hands would fade and die.

If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of God’s design,
Then how can I have wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?

So I’ll trust Him for His leading
Each moment of every day
And I’ll look to Him for His guidance
Each step of the pilgrim way.

For the pathway that lies before me
My heavenly Father knows
I’ll trust Him to unfold the moments
Just as He unfolds the rose.

~Anonymous.

Girls, let Him unfold the petals of your rose, and you can be sure that the fragrance and the beauty will be greater than you can dream. Even if you have a few wilted petals from mistakenly trying to force open a petal veiling the next unknown from your view, He still can make your flower beautiful and sweet. Just as He unfolds the roses…one petal at a time.

[Pictured rose from my mother-in-law's beautiful rose bushes last autumn.]

]]> http://ylcf.org/2009/09/just-as-he-unfolds-the-rose/feed/ 14 http://ylcf.org/2009/09/just-as-he-unfolds-the-rose/ http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ylcf/~3/ZPy-midUmnw/ http://ylcf.org/2009/09/the-magic-word/#comments Mon, 21 Sep 2009 07:00:24 +0000 YLCF http://ylcf.org/?p=4292 It’s not a checklist.

It’s not a to-do list.

It’s not a game with hidden rules.

Though sometimes it feels like all of those combined.

Being single is not something I like to talk about. Because there are days, if you want me to be honest [and I think you do], being single feels like a curse.

A punishment.

A loss.

And if only I could find the magic key, pray the magic prayer, or do the right amount of things on the list, it could all be over.

And good Christian girls aren’t supposed to hurt if they are single. They are supposed to love it and endure it and think that being single is a glorious gift.

I don’t always think that. And I am a Christian. I promise.

On the other hand, it doesn’t hurt everyday. Many days, I totally love my life and I am super grateful for all the wonderful things God is doing.

It just seems like one day, I’ll unknowingly pray the magic word and POOF, my husband-to-be will appear, we will get engaged, and all my married friends will sit around and laugh at the memory of my singleness and how they are so glad they don’t have to keep the secret from me any longer.

Or what if I could solve it myself? Like one day, I say, “Oh, I’m single because I haven’t done enough hours of community service? Well, I’m really going to get right on that.” If, somehow, we had the power to orchestrate life to look the way we think is right.

The problem: Being single is a punishment that I have brought upon myself.

The solution: Do something about it.

But that is not the case.

A funny thing just happened. As I’m sitting here typing this post at the beach, my friend yells to me, “Come look, there’s a wedding!” I immediately jump up, roll my eyes, and with a hint of a smile say, “God, You would do that to me.”

Here I am writing about the confusion and concern and worry that come from the heart of a 29-year old single girl, and just down the beach, someone has solved the puzzle. In her white dress, she practically floats across the sand right into her answered prayer.

I almost yelled, “WHAT’S THE MAGIC WORD??!”

But that might have been awkward.

I stood there and watched the entire wedding, from the bride entering to the couple taking pictures on the sand. And as evening came and the sunshine melted away, so did my sad heart. In its place, God filled me with a renewed hope.

Not hope that my husband is on the next train into Annie-ville. [Though I wouldn’t mind that.]

But hope in the truth that this is out of my control. A hope in HIM. A hope that only comes from knowing that there is no real checklist, there is no certain amount of community service hours, and there is no puzzle to be solved.

In Romans 12:12, it says to be joyful in hope. And when I think about the truth, that God knows better than me, that His plans are always good, and that singleness is just part of that good plan, then I can choose joy.

Choose joy. Choose to live the abundant life that He has already given me.

The hope I have is in knowing that He knows. I can have days when I whine and am disappointed and feel hurt. But He knows my heart, He knows my desires, and He knows, in the end, that I love Him more than anything.

There is no puzzle. There is no checklist.

There is just a loving God who knows my heart and loves me anyways.



Annie Downs tells stories for a living as a freelance writer in Nashville, Tennessee. Flawed but funny, Annie uses her writing to highlight the everyday goodness of a real and present God. You can read more from her (but probably not about being single) at annieblogs.com.

Also read Symbol of Hope, another excellent post by Annie at (In)Courage.