Lunchtime - Sweetness of Days

I stand at the counter, cutting peanut butter sandwiches into wedges and oranges into rings, and I remember a day, almost two years ago…

I’d sat, sun pressing my shoulders, and looked at my boy. The grass was August-crisp under us, and we shared lunch outside, like we had a thousand times before. So much was the same. His green eyes. The blue sky. Ham sandwiches and fresh fruit and cookies gone melty and soft from the sun.

But that day was different. We’d purchased sack lunches from a cafeteria, and Lonny and I were about to leave our son at college for the very first time.

I wonder, as I stand and make lunch at home today, why that memory is so strong. The window above my sink holds the gray of cold, spring rain. I can hear the wind whispering under the porch door. The day is nothing like that hard, hot, August afternoon.

But maybe…

Maybe it’s because there are three little blond boys sitting in the dining room, waiting for their lunches. Maybe because I look through the arched doorway and see their small frames, and I hear their childish voices. Maybe because one chair is empty, mine, and soon we’ll be praying and talking and laughing and sharing.

Maybe it’s because I know how fast time goes, how quickly children grow, and I want to cherish these days, the simple pleasures wrapped in everyday-nothingness.

The sweet days, everyday-days that mean the most to me.

Thank you, God for the quiet blessing of ordinary days…

Inspired

Everything is blooming. Budding. Changing.

I'm inspired.

Feels like it's time for fresh, sweet life in the blog, too.

So I'll take some time, a week, I think, and bloom and bud and grow.

Small changes. Fresh life...

See you next Monday!

So  grateful you're here.

With love,

Shawnelle

Sacrificial Love - Sister Support

The e-mail moved me.

My friend.

Her life is as full as mine. Her household bustles. She probably hasn't had Together Time with her husband for a hundred years.

But this is what it said:

"We'd love to take the boys tonight. We'll have pizza and play. You spend some time with your man. Blow out the candle on the piano.
And set a fire in your hearts."

Sacrificial love.

The sisterly kind.

What a beautiful example of carrying each other's burdens, reaching into someone's life, and serving one another in love.

Thank you, friend....

Lord, what a precious gift ~ this friend of mine. Thank you for those who are supportive of my marriage and my life. Please help me to be sensitive and others' focused, too.

Creating Time and Priority - The Marriage Candle

It's happening.

The week is spinning too fast. Commitments press into one another. It's impossible to tell if we're coming or going. Lonny and I are giving one another scraps.

And we're dangerously on the verge of being child-centered again.

We try. We really do. But this week it's a science fair. And Awana. And a dozen other very-good-for-the-boys things.

Our desire is to hold our priorities. God first. Marriage next. Then the kids. But we're on a wild track and the pace is steady and hard. We need to step off.

And I decide to share this revelation while the van is stacked with kids.

"Do you remember," I ask,"when Marilyn shared about the marriage candle?"

Lonny glances at me. The interstate is loaded with semis and our vehicle is loaded with noise. We haven't talked about our friend Marilyn for a decade and he obviously has no recollection of a marriage candle. But he wonders what he's in for and he looks at me like I've gone half mad.

"The marriage candle," I say. "She and her husband had one. It was on the mantle. One of them would light it when their marriage needed time."


"Okay," he says. "I can understand that. Needing some time."


 He's willing and I'm determined.


So when we get home I pull a candle from the closet. It's deep and red and heavy in my hands. I place it on the piano. Strike a match. The wick flickers. Then the candle holds a steady flame.

The marriage candle is lit.


A secret whisper.

It's time to restructure.


Time to make time for us.

Lord, help us hold our priorities when our world has gone wild. Especially when our world has gone wild. Amen.

Blog Break

Hello Dear Friends,


I'll be on a blog break until Monday, pulling back from other things, too...

needing to find and soak in some quiet, still times.

I want to thank you for your checking in, for your frienship, for sharing life with us.

Have the sweetest sort of weekend. May it be filled with rich blessing!

In His Grace,

Shawnelle

Gifts from the Heart

My friend's van pulls up and her passenger door flies open before I'm even out of mine.

"Here, Mrs. Eliasen. This is for you," says my friend's son, a sweet playmate of Sam's. "I made it."

And he hands me a water bottle. It's beautiful. There are flower petals inside. Pinks and purples and the deepest shade of lovely that is somewhere in between. The petals float in water. And from the cap comes a delicate white flower, a whisper of orange around its frilled edge.

I step from my van, take the bottle, and bend to hug my little friend. He smiles and my own heart swells.

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it. Deep.

The bottle now sits on our piano. I'm blessed each time it catches my eye. I think of our friend.

Did he know how he'd spoken love?

Gifts from the heart settle on the heart.

Gifts like flowers.

Friendship.

And love.

Glory Revealed

Zay and I are in the schoolroom and we’re talking about the octopus, of all things, and how God ‘s glory is revealed in the depths of the sea

“How many are your works, O Lord! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. There is the sea, vast and spacious, teeming with creatures beyond number – living things both big and small.” Psalm 104:24-25

and suddenly he wants to write his own name.

“But Isaiah, we’re learning about sea creatures. About how, through creation, they bring glory to God.”

“But I want to write my name. I really want to try.”

I look at his wide green eyes and he tilts his head in a way that makes my heart go soft. I know that he’s wrestled with the “s” and it always brings frustration when he tries to write his name and I don’t want frustration now. I want to look at the books I’ve gathered. I want to learn about the octopus and the sea that rolls and churns, deep with God-glory life.

But instead I hand him a crayon and a clean, white sheet. The crayon disappears as he curls his little hand and his head dips low and his pink tongue presses hard against the side of his mouth.

And he nails the letters. One by one.                                                                                                                 

Even the “s”.

Isaiah looks up with a smile that stretches far and eyes that brim with satisfaction and the proof is on the paper in strokes of solid red.

And I think about God and creation and I know that right here, right now, His glory has been revealed.