“…he set my feet upon a rock, and gave me a firm place to stand…”
~Psalm 40:2~

Last year my word for the year was “secure”. I liked that word and found it helpful for reiterating things I’d been learning in the prior year regarding establishing a “secure” connection not only within one’s self, but also with others, with our primary relationship being the one we have with God. I’ve been trying to think of a new word for the year, and originally thought this year’s word would be “balance”.

Normally when I hear this word it’s in the context of speaking of “finding balance”, applying proper proportions to the required occurrences in your life. For example, someone might speak of wanting to find balance between their work and home life. As a wife, mom, or member of a family, there is the balance of encouraging yourself and others towards growth, while also maintaining realistic expectations.

I’ve often envisioned with balance the act of walking a tight rope. With such a narrow object to walk on, the potential to fall or become off-balance is high. You have to be careful. You have to make sure you’re not leaning too far in either direction. On a narrow strip your arms are held out to the sides, assisting you in keeping your body upright. Balance in this way requires persistence in concentration.

But the balance I was thinking of when I thought of that word didn’t include that more careful kind of balance. It was not the horizontal type of balance that you would see with a seesaw, parallel to the ground holding two equal weights. It was a vertical balance between the heavens and the depths, with a way that wasn’t narrow, but open and wide, and firm beneath my feet. It was the balance of walking on solid ground.

It was the balance of two feet firmly planted on the earth, the place that we were given where we might live and walk with God. It is here he brings us down from all impaired and skewed visions, the opinions of ourselves that were sickeningly lofty. And it is also here where he raises up, bringing correction to assessments that were far too low. So as I don’t have a word, I have a verse, a new song I can learn.

The kids and I spent some time cleaning this morning. Dad had a board meeting he needed to prepare for, and the oldest had a pre-season baseball practice. The schoolroom is still getting put back together from Christmas, but earlier when I went down there it looked pretty good. The boys straightened the mudroom and my daughter dusted and decluttered the piano.

All of us worked on the living room. I dusted and straightened the book shelf and brought some order to my numerous piles that live beside the couch. There were things to throw away including articles I no longer needed and homeschool workbooks I decided I could part with. I cleared an entire shelf of homeschool books and had the boys take them to the shelves downstairs.

This gave me a place to put some of my school books and tidy up my corner. When life allows, January does seem to be a good month for reordering. I set a January goal for 5,000 steps a day, if I feel good. Most days I’ve felt good and have gotten the steps in, either by walking outside or stopping by the Y after dropping off the boys. I prefer the combination of both methods.

Today on my walk my mind meandered to a January prior. Halfway through the month I thought I was starting to feel better until again I was worse. Josh brought me something to eat and I tried to eat and couldn’t stomach whatever it was. I was in the bed downstairs, wondering how on earth I could feel so bad and not having to be in the hospital. I was impaired beyond knowing.

But I’d worked in hospitals and knew what they were like. Unless there was some kind of acute malfunction they were treating, there wouldn’t be anything they could do for me there. But even someone to monitor, to be aware of what was happening. In the hospital you encourage your post-op and able patients to move, to sit up in a chair, to walk down the hall even if it is hard.

“I have to sit up in a chair”, I thought, and arranged myself in a chair on the deck where the sun could work to stabilize my serotonin or do something to help me. The act of doing that was so difficult, with my chest feeling like it was being pushed into the chair. Though outwardly calm, inwardly I was so upset that I had let myself come to this, that I couldn’t even sit up in a chair anymore.

I called my parents, asking them to come get me. I spent my time there in my sister’s room. I slept in her bed and she slept on an air mattress. When I slept I slept to sounds of rain. One night I woke her up and asked if she could play some music. I called her while I was out for my walk. She was at my sister’s house. They were face-timing last summer’s foreign exchange student from France.

Today was cloudy and grey outside, but yesterday was nice. The younger boys and I went on a walk to the beach. We walked a small part of the beach trail toward the pine forests. Across the lake there are three official property pine forests: Pine Forest I, Pine Forest II, and Pine Forest III. Their existence is owed to (besides God creating and sustaining them daily) a man from southern Illinois who led a boy scout project to plant them.

We turned around before the bridge. We found a new fallen tree that had been recently visited by a beaver. I don’t like walking on the trail by myself anymore, hindered by fears and uncertainties of if I couldn’t get back. It’s not as bad as it used to be, but for a while it seemed camp was a place that anybody just came to. People just drive on by the office and house, find a place to park, then disappear to fish and go for hikes.

Dad and the boys came home just about the time I was setting pickles on their plates. I’d made grilled ham and cheese for lunch, pausing an online lecture at noon to make sure I had enough time. They walked in saying how they’d been talking on the way home wondering what food I’d made this time. It made me happy, as it does when I have gifted toward joy. I wondered if this is what it was like to be restored to your first love.

“…for they shall inherit the earth.”
~Matthew 5:5~

Everybody is back to school now. Yesterday was my first night returning after a much needed and very much enjoyed break from obligations and assignments of the academic kind. All in all I loved last semester, but I was also tired by the end. I am currently not at all looking forward to continuing with the online board posts and responses. I have one more semester long online class and then I am done with those. The rest continue to be the 8-week quarter classes. I like having the quarters.

Tonight again we watched the latest episode of The Chosen. So far I’ve still been liking the show. It can feel risky giving opinions on things because you never know how certain shows are going to develop. It does start to feel a little much at times with the way the livestreams or social media accounts emphasize the emotional responses of the viewers. To highlight the emotion takes away from the scene or the story that produced it.

Yet we do this at times. I do think, at times, it rightly human to do so. To say, “I cried five different times”, or “this brought me to tears” is to offer up evidence in the most accurate, intimate, and verifiable way. The tears are proof that something inside us has happened. What the show continues to do very well is portray the fallen human condition in an accurate, intimate, and still pitiable way, so that in some sense we are given “eyes”, a glimpse into the heart of God himself.

For the past almost two years I’ve been listening to the piano music of Dan Musselman daily. The first album I started with is called Healing: Two Hours of Instrumental Worship. When I no longer listened to it at night before bed, I played sections throughout the day, over and over. Last year he came out with an album called Calm which I also have listened to almost daily and continue to play as my day to day background music. His music has been a blessing to me.

Recently on his Instagram he announced a new album called Peaceful Piano Worship. He says it is based on the music he listened to from Spotify’s Peaceful Piano playlist. Inspired by his post I searched for a peaceful piano worship playlist on Spotify. Since then I have enjoyed the hearing again of so many worship songs from the period of time when I was in high school, when worship music was a regular part of my life. I remembered songs I hadn’t heard in years.

Sometimes worship music gets made fun of and put down. I understand the concerns about it. I’ve also been one who loves to sing these kinds of songs, and I’ve been trying to figure out what it is about them that feels like your soul is being freed to speak the words we’ve been created to sing and speak for the entirety of our lives. There are songs you sing about God, and there are songs you sing to God, directly to him. The best ones are the ones you sing straight to him.

“This mystery is that the Gentiles are fellow heirs, members of the same body, and partakers of the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel.”
~Ephesians 3:6~

The error of Persia has ceased
For the stargazers, kings of the East,
Bring gifts to Christ the King of all at His birth:
Gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
Bless Him, O children, and praise Him, O priests,
Exalt Him, O people, throughout the ages…

The Magi, kings of Persia,
Knew that You, the Heavenly King,
Were truly born on earth.
They came to Bethlehem
Led by the light of a star,
And offered their chosen gifts:
Gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
Falling before You they worshipped,
For they saw You who are timeless
Lying as a babe in the cave.

Earth spreads out its wide spaces
And receives the Creator,
As He receives glory from angels
And the star from the heavens
Gifts from the Magi
And recognition from the whole world.

(From The Winter Pascha: Readings for the Christmas-Epiphany Season, by Thomas Hopko)

Dad and the big kids were back to school today. I was feeling a bit nostalgic after such a wonderful Christmas break so that when they left I gave them hugs and thanked them. I made the boys French toast for breakfast, then suggested they play a game together in the boys’ upstairs bedroom, next to ours. I wanted them close, quiet, and not on technology. They played nicely while I started on straightening our room after weeks of neglect.

When I came out to get a garbage bag the boys were out at the dining room table poking at the bread dough I’d laid out that morning. I still wanted to make the poppy seed bread. I had a bag of already ground up poppy seed from my husband’s Aunt Cyndy that had been patiently waiting in the refrigerator to be used. The boys floured the table and rolled out the dough while I mixed up the filling. I sent a picture of smiles to my brother.

We finished the loaves so they could be set in their pans to rise. One of the boys said something like, “See mom? Don’t you miss having us home like this?” I told them I do miss it, and I do. If I’d have had the energy to keep going with them, I gladly would’ve done so. Being with children, even your own, for prolonged periods of time requires tremendous amounts of patience. I don’t mean to imply I always had it, but what I had I abided in.

The mud room needed cleaning again. It’s amazing to me how quickly a room can go from orderly to completely disheveled. As I was digging through the game chest, making a pile for goodwill donations, I found two mini-photo albums that had come from my grandmother’s things in Florida. One was of me as an infant and toddler. The other was from our wedding, and of our first apartment in Seward when my family had come to visit.

I noticed in the background that our apartment was clean. Our dining room table was set with placemats I’d received as a wedding gift. Our bedroom shelf had the James Dobson couple’s devotional that we read. Every surface was clutter-free, except for the things that I had intentionally placed there. Most of the things we don’t have anymore, as I have gone through many phases and cycles of decluttering, downsizing, giving away.

Everyone can have two pairs of shoes in the entryway. The rest need to go into the shoe bins in your room. They all need reminders. Some will argue their case on why they need three. Shoes stored downstairs are incredibly inconvenient. This pair of tennis shoes is for taking out the garbage because they can be slipped on easily. This one is for when I need a better pair of shoes for something outside. The boots also need to stay.

We moved on to the Christmas tree and the kids took down the ornaments. I’m fine with the tree staying longer, but the reds and randomness of the ornaments needed toning down for me. The stockings and any remaining Christmas decorations are now in a pile to be returned to the Christmas bin whenever that happens. It was enough for me to have the tree cleared. I took an afternoon nap before heading out to the store.

My son came with me. A couple of days ago I typed out weekly meal plans with a corresponding shopping list as well as cookbook titles and page numbers for any questionable recipes. The idea is to rotate them through the winter, with the thinking work already done for whoever shops or makes supper. When we pulled into Aldi and parked I remembered my debit card expired Dec 22. I dug through my purse knowing I didn’t have any cash.

I called Josh and asked if he had any ideas of what I could do that did not include me having to drive all the way back to camp. He said he could meet me somewhere and bring me his card. We met at the church, which was about a 12 minute drive for him. Once I had money my son and I went back to the store. I remembered our pastor in Hoyleton telling us that you never go to Aldi on the first day of the month. This was the second day, but close.

The next stop was County Market. This is the store you go to for the obscure grocery items that Aldi doesn’t have. It wasn’t nearly as busy there, and always feels neater. Eggs were much more expensive than I ever remember them being. When we were done with our list I asked my son if he wanted to pick out a snack. He chose Pizza Pringles. While at the register I realized sadly that I hadn’t brought in my purse. He ran out and got it.

“Mild he lays his glory by,
born that man no more may die.”
~Charles Wesley~

The boys have been making a fire every night in the school room, falling asleep to its crackles. When Christmas break began, they rearranged the couches and made a sleeping area in front of the fire place. My oldest even moved out there for a few nights around Christmas. All five of them used to sleep together downstairs on Christmas Eve and in the nights leading up to Christmas.

I don’t spend as much time with my kids as I used to, at least not directly. There have been many times throughout this time period where I have wondered whether or not this is God preparing my family to go on without me. All of the adjusting and getting used to me being unable to operate was just his way of lessening the blow. The Lord has no qualms about taking home young people.

And if that is is his will, then there’s nothing I can do about it. Earlier in the month we heard that a family friend from one of our former home churches had lost her battle with cancer and gone to be with the Lord. We had known her from the period of her life while she was still single. She was a vibrant, joyful person who was also a talented piano player and teacher. After continuing teaching in her earlier married years, she gave up teaching to be home full-time with her children.

Besides the shock and sadness of yet another person dying, I felt an odd sense of contempt toward the idea of a woman giving up her talents in order to dedicate her life to her kids. Forgive me as these are not righteous thoughts. Who were these kids and what made them so special? What makes anyone that deserving to have another person love them that much, that deeply?

They always talked about how Satan hates motherhood. The devil this. The devil that. The devil hates marriages. The devil hates families. If there was one way to rile me up, all you had to do was tell me that the devil didn’t like something, and there was my life’s direction and purpose. In some strange way the devil becomes the taskmaster, determining what I will and will not do.

There is a Christ-love in mothering, I cannot deny this. And I suppose anytime the Lord’s lovingkindness and tender workings are involved, the devil isn’t going to appreciate it much. There is a battle that exists between the children of God and the father of lies, but it is a battle the devil has already lost, a victory our Lord generously shares with us, his co-heirs: “For we know that since Christ was raised from the dead, he cannot die again; death no longer has dominion over him.”

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.”
~Ephesians 2:8-9~

The past two days have been dedicated to Christmas recovery time. I spent half of yesterday resting, reading, sleeping, and catching up on the phone with my aunt and my parents. After blessedly sleeping through the night I came out into the living room with a pillow, blanket, and pile of my stuff. My Bible, my books, my journal, a computer. I still do not have a morning routine.

At least not one I could define and say, “Here is exactly what I do everyday…” This morning I did a 30 minute stretching video by a woman who’s been a dancer since childhood. This particular one focused on hip flexors and hamstrings. It was one of my goals by the time I turned 40 to be in the best shape I’d ever been in my life. That seems laughable to me now, in the most extreme way.

I really am just glad to be functioning, to have felt generally good through these busier days. I don’t know how it shows up in men, but there sure seems to be a repeatedly real phenomenon where women reach this point where their health breaks down in a life-altering way. Your life must be reorganized. There is no choice and change isn’t optional. The old way of life can no longer go on.

I know that isn’t every woman’s experience, but I’d seen it enough times that I tried to prevent it. I thought I was taking care of myself. Doing the self-care, getting alone time, eating decently and exercising my body. But it was not enough to counteract the negative, the destructive patterns in my life. Part of my needed changes included bringing others into what I couldn’t do alone.

It is very hard to change, whether we choose it ourselves or the circumstances of life inevitably force change upon us. Sometimes I feel we try too soon to find spiritual meanings in our afflictions, whether it’s Christian people or unbelievers. And yet testimony after testimony reports a God who works everything together for our good, his word agrees clearly. By his grace I can accept that.