She wandered around looking for them, perking her ears at the sound of a car door or of young kids playing nearby. She ran to the window and whined a bit, moving from one spot in the house to another. Restless. Unsettled.

Her other “puppies” back to school. And the Papa back at the office after some days off for home projects.

I love my alone time but truth be told, it’s just awfully quiet here.

As I watch her roam the house, looking from room to room, my heart ponders the goodness of family ties that are not easily broken. The ache is a welcome one.

“Yes, sweet dog-girl. I miss them too.”

The kids started school yesterday. Dad was taking vacation time so he was home and the day began with his smoothies and his famous-amazing-stupendous egg sandwiches. The kids dressed quickly – Madison in her new outfit with the splurged-on matching purse. Both chattered with that nervous-excitement that comes with a new school year.

In record-time, they were ready. Teeth brushed, bellies full, backpacks at the ready, fresh new supplies already dropped off at school, coolest duds picked out. They were ready – physically. And, yet, one thing remained.

The heart preparation.

I sent them off to their rooms to grab Bible and journal. They needed time with the One who understands their nervous hearts and deepest longings. This preparation would be more important than fashionable knee socks or super cool skateboards or a special Dad-made breakfast.

And in that place they laid all their cares at the feet of Him who loves them with an everlasting love. All the insecurities and questions: Will it matter that some of my friends are in the other class now? What if the new girl that I sat by just isn’t interested in being friends? Will my teacher really like me? What if third grade is too hard? Will past mistakes haunt me?

Oh, to just unload those burdens and be reminded of the things that really matter. The One who really matters.

Earlier that morning, I had wrestled with the mommy version of the same questions. The questions that plague me as I evaluate the summer. Did I use our time well? Are the kids ready for a new year? How am I doing in my nurturing of these two? And what about this new year – am I involved enough at the school? Do their friends like coming here? Do their friends’ parents think we’re weird because we love Jesus so much? What if I’m not a good mom? How will I best spend my moments while they’re away?

I too had to unload those burdens and focus my attention on the One who gives me true significance and satisfies the deep places of my soul.

I need those times as much as the kids do. The day-to-day floods in and it’s just so easy to forget.

I don’t want to forget.

Having just returned from a nine-day mission trip with some folks at our church, I’ve been thinking a lot about the dynamic that happens on a trip like this one. Of course, a lot of things happen in the community where you serve. That’s the point. That’s why you go.

But, a lot of by-products happen as well.

Things happen in your own heart. God changes you in ways you never expected. Suddenly the “giver” ends up being the “receiver” and you remember that Jesus is the real giver. We’re ALL receivers.

One of the great by-products is the kinship that develops between the team members. We laugh together. We take turns using the outhouse. We scream together when we find a scorpion in the sink. We cry together (especially when women come along). We sit in a smoke-filled room with stingy eyes together. We rub each other the wrong way and figure out how to be longsuffering. We marvel together at the hand of God.

We put shoulder to the plow and we serve together. Day in and day out. And it is good.

Missions trips are a greenhouse for those things. But, it can happen here at home too. For instance, our Community Group is beginning to experience it. My sister is finding it as she serves in the nursery. Something just happens when you throw down your chips and go all in. It’s not always easy but it’s a beautiful thing.

Just this morning I found this clip from Pastor Mark Driscoll in Seattle. He expresses it well. How about you? Are you all in? Are you invested in the family of God?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ne9DzfH3Ej0]

Summer has begun in earnest at the McKee home.

Plenty of time…

 For fun in the sun…

For sweet treats…

For intimate moments…

and for cultivating the deep places…

Summer is a time to be savored.

Not just because we have more time by the pool… but for many of us with kids in school, it is a rare time to have the kids at home all day, everyday. I want to really savor the moments with them and make investments into their growing character. I want to enjoy the simplicity and the freedom that summer brings. I want to get us outside for picnics and hikes and farmer’s markets and flower finding.

Please join me over the next few days as I consider and plan to savor summer. I’ll give you peek into some of our favorite, long-standing summer activities and some new things that we’re going to try as well.

And what about you… what are you anitcipating most as you step into summer?

I’m a tad behind in my photo albums. Five years to be exact. I hate telling you that. Especially if you’re one of those caught-up people like my friend Jen.

BUT, being behind has its blessings. It gives this mamma’s heart time to pause and look back. To revel in days gone by. To savor in today before it becomes a photo in an album five years from now.

I got some time away to scrapbook this weekend. And, an amazing thing happened. When I finally stopped berating myself for being so far behind, I was able to just enjoy all those memories. The photos of Maddie when her hair was still really blonde and her cheeks were chubby. The antics of my Caleb as a preschooler-becoming-Kindergartner. I was reminded that I have much for which to be thankful: 

• A husband who gets down on the floor and plays with his kids. He’s in so many of the photos with them; not distant behind a newspaper but on their level and right in the thick of it. Giving hugs when the training wheels came off, congratulating a hard-earned soccer goal, holding tired kiddos, praying with them, tickling them. Loving them.
• Two kids who are full of personality and life and orneriness – even the photos capture it.
• God’s design in creating them each so differently. They live in the same house, have the same upbringing and the same last name, but they are two distinct people with dreams and gifts and desires that shaped their activities even in those earlier years.
• Several years that my extended family lived close and we were able to live life together. Mamo & Pa didn’t always live in Mississippi. For the early years they lived right here in Northeast Ohio; we could stop by unexpectedly and they were able to be at all the cousin birthdays. The kids roamed their yard and loved on their dogs and played legos in their guest room. I’m remembering big bonfires and watermelon juice dripping down all the dirt-caked cousin cheeks after a day of helping Mamo mulch. Life changes and moves happen but I’m thankful that we had those years.
• A sister’s new life. As I work through my albums, I’m seeing her in more and more family photos as Jesus grabbed hold of her heart and she starting coming around more often. Now, she’s one of my dearest friends.
• Lots of work to our fixer-upper house. Old photos reveal the tired walls and the worn-out carpet and the effort of transforming it into the place we call home today.  
• McKee cousin memories and the way those big boys dote on our little Madison – the only girl on that side of the family.
• Always enough provision to make birthdays and holidays special times together. Our photos are full of simple traditions that have shaped our family.
• The four of us together. A lot.
• Pages of Christmas card photos from friends who live all over the country. Our years with Campus Crusade allowed us to cross paths with so many precious people.

The time away was refreshing and the pause was good for my soul. I’d like to be caught-up on my photo albums. But, sometimes being behind has its own advantages. It was a good thing to look back and celebrate. To thank God now for the things I might have taken for granted back then.

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Thanks for joining me and others for Monday gratitude!

Some might think them menial. These tasks that I do. Week in and week out. This caring for our home and all that it entails.

Sometimes I believe them. Sometimes when I’m folding the last piece of laundry and I hear more clothes drop down the chute, I wonder about the futility of it all. I wonder if I’m just wasting my time. Anyone could do these jobs – scrub these toilets, dust this dresser, fold this laundry. Does it matter that I’m the one standing here doing it? Does my work make a difference?

Yes! I say Yes! It strikes me that there is a beauty and a deep satisfaction that can come in these tedious tasks. As I fight the tide toward disorder and strive to make this place an island of peace and rest and refuge for my family.

Could anyone do these tasks? Technically, yes. But not just anyone could do them for Rick, Caleb, and Madison. For the friends who will cross our threshold. For the family who will gather here in celebration. For the stranger who might pass by and need a cold glass of water.

Such vision and love as I approach my work is the difference between housekeeper and homemaker. It might seem like semantics but I am finding that it is a critical difference. God has appointed me to tend to this home.

As I tackled my pile of ironing yesterday, I was overflowing with the beauty of it. This task that I have always hated and put off and bemoaned was a becoming a precious offering of love. Right there. As I stood at the ironing board. Right in the middle of the thing, I could sense my heart embracing my task at a new level.

I found myself smiling as I ironed the napkins. These napkins that Rick has always ribbed me about because they are one small way that I fight against the wasteful, disposable mentality of our culture. I laughed as I pictured him rolling his eyes and calling me a hippie. I was filled with pleasure at the memory of the first time I made my own napkins. In the months before my wedding, in my mom’s sewing corner. Her teaching me to use the serger to finish the edges and me calling her back in again because I had gotten it tangled. I reveled in the moments at our dinner table – my messy Caleb wiping chili off his chin. (His napkin is always the sloppiest.) Our discussion and our laughter as we eat a meal prepared by my hands.

This ironing. These napkins. They are a part of all that.

Then I got to Rick’s shirts. I pictured him in those shirts day after day. Loving people – praying with them, counseling them in their brokenness, telling them about Jesus, rejoicing in their triumphs, visiting them in the hospital. Leading us in worship on Sunday morning – opening the Word to us, praying for us, crying over us. Serving communion, dedicating babies and young families, marrying couples.

He is doing significant work in our church and in our community. And, in this small way, I am there with him, as I lovingly launder and iron his shirts. My man will slide his strong arms into these shirts. He will hold babies and hug people in these shirts. He will speak truth and intercede for others – in these shirts. This ironing. These shirts. They play a part.

And, so I asked myself again. Could anyone do this job? Sure. But, not like this. Not for these people. Not with this heart. That is my domain alone.

My ironing will never be the same…

Mondays come fast – sometimes taking me by surprise. And the gift list has been neglected.

The simple, purposeful recording of life’s goodnesses.

I know I can be thankful without the list. There’s nothing magical about a list. It’s not the list that makes me grateful. It’s a heart tuned to the bounty all around, eyes searching to see, and hands open to receive.

And, yet, the list helps me to pause. To remember.

I forget so quickly. I move to the next thing on the horizon and sometimes fail to embrace the beauty of the thing right in front of me.  

And, so today I am back to the list. My record of the goodnesses. A testimony to God’s grace and a place for me to remember.

•  Valentine reminders of love – kid style.

• Sleeping next to my beloved and the sound of his breathing as he drifts off.
• Anonymous card sweetly delivered to remind us that we’re loved.
• Brotherly concern over little sister’s fevered brow.
• Minestrone and bread to chase away the winter chills.
• Snowy piles of boots, gloves, scarves and the like. Evidence of fun times and backyard snow forts.

• Sunday afternoon naps.
• Reading 39 Clues with the kids each night. Our read-aloud time is one of my favorite parts of the day.
• Our school and the little squeals of “Hi Mrs. McKee” as I drop off the kids. How I bask in all those hugs and greetings!
• Sunrise came a few minutes earlier this morning. The days are getting longer again!

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Joining with other bloggers to remember the bounty…

Dinner is one of our favorite family times together. Living in typical American suburbia as we do, we have to work pretty hard to protect it from the busyness of life. Sometimes we say “no” to good activities so that we can  keep this a special family time. And, even then, we don’t get to eat together EVERY night. Sometimes worthy exceptions need to be made. And, I know there will probably come a day (as they enter middle and high school) when the kids’ activities will make it hard for all of us to sit down together most nights. But, for now, it’s precious to us.

For us it is more than physical sustenance. Our dinner time  is nourishment in every way: physical, relational, mental, and spiritual. It is full bellies – well-thought menus made with wholesome ingredients lovingly prepared by a momma’s hands.

It is caring about each other –  a time to listen and share highlights from four different days. It is pause for the heart – a candle lit and soft music in the background to calm and speak “you’re home now”. 

It is soul food – opening the Word together to talk of God’s eternal food and His living waters.

But lest you think that it’s always a picture-perfect sort of night, let me assure you that it’s not. The peaceful tone can be commandeered by the antics of the Pappa… and the children happily follow.

I roll my eyes at them all. But my heart rejoices. I suppose laughter is its own kind of nourishment.

But, the evening ends with this…

… and this. So, I’ll take it!!

Happy weekend, my friends. May you and yours find true nourishment together!

What a month it had been. Our strong-willed warrior-son had been pushing at the boundaries. Trying day after day to find the edge. How far could he push us? Mrs. Y? God?

I think in some ways he was also testing his own heart. Did he even want to obey? What kind of character did he really want to pursue? What does it mean (really) to be under another’s authority?

It was an exhausting time for all us. Then came the final most difficult hurdle of all (for that season, anyway).

“If you get another warning at school this week, you won’t be allowed to go to Dalton’s sleepover.” Solemn words from father to son. Caleb knew he was serious.

Two days creeped by and there were no warnings from Mrs. Y. We rejoiced with him, relieved to have a break from the struggle.

“One more day, Buddy.” High fives on a Friday morning. Words of strength and honor uttered between them as Dad sent him off to tackle his day and his choices.

Then came 3:15 p.m. My hopeful expectation turned to sorrow as I watched him round the corner in a cloud. There would be no high fives this time. Only defeat. Eyes downcast. Shoulders slumped. “Mom, I got a warning today. Could you talk to Dad? Please don’t take away the sleepover…”

The walk home was an agonizing one. My heart teetered back and forth. Were we too harsh to tie it to the sleepover? His four best buddies would be there. They were to sleep in the backyard. It was to be his first non-family sleepover. Ahhh, but no. I knew that we had to follow-thru. He needed to feel the weight of his own choices. It was truly better for him this way.

By the time we arrived home, I knew what would have to be done. But, oh, how I wanted to give in and just let him go. Had it been up to me alone, I probably would have gone against my better judgment and given in.

Mostly out of ease. I knew it was going to be a long, hard night. The weight of it hadn’t hit him yet because he was still hoping we would reconsider. But, when the final word came down, I knew he would be distraught. The pit in my stomach revealed my angst. I really just wanted to avoid the whole, big ordeal.

But, thankfully, it wasn’t up to me alone. Rick and I were in it together. He would lead our family well, with vision for the bigger picture. And, I would be his helper, coming alongside to encourage.

Later that evening, when I came to sit with my sobbing son (it had been hours of all this emotion), I looked at him and said simply “Son, we’re following through on this because we love you. I just want you to remember that.” He looked up, unconvinced. In his mind, the most loving thing would have been to sweep it under the rug and let him go to Dalton’s. He had no idea how hard it was for us to love him beyond that to the deeper places of his developing character.  

Every mother wants her children to be happy. A lot of times the best stuff does bring them happiness. But, sometimes the best stuff is the hard stuff. It’s making them drink milk when they’d rather have soda. It’s encouraging them to read when they’d like to watch TV. It’s following through in discipline when they’d rather receive leniency. It’s looking down the road into their future when they’d rather be gratified today.

Jesus’ love is like that sometimes. Sometimes we ask for things that aren’t really best for us. Sometimes He says “no” when we’re pleading for Him to say “yes.” He reminds us that He loves us and that His way is for our best. We look up, often unconvinced.

Of course, loving like Jesus means that the truth is always coupled with grace. Sweet, unmerited favor. Even in the saddest, most disappointing of places, there is grace.

Eventually our Caleb was able receive that grace. Later that night we laughed together some and had a family night. He was still sad whenever he thought about his friends all there together and him here at home. But, he wrestled through it in the context of our love and grace (albeit imperfect love).

And, would you believe, the discipline began to bear fruit. Something was born in his growing character that weekend. Oh, he still gets warnings from time to time. But, they are fewer are farther in between now.

That exhausting season had finally come to a close.

I know this won’t be the last bout with a rebellious attitude. But, I pray that this mother’s heart will keep learning to love like Jesus: full of grace and truth. Even when the answer has to be “no.”

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Reflecting on loving like Jesus with other bloggers in Ann’s quiet corner of the internet…

“It was a hard day, Momma. I just missed you all day. I kept thinking about you and missing you.”

And then, as if to clarify the depth of it… “I even cried.”

It had been one of those days…

Turns out she missed one on her spelling test. “It was a word I knew. I don’t even know how I missed it.” Oh, sweet Madison. Sometimes we do that. We miss one even though we know better.

And, she only made it to the letter C in her jumproping. Other kids have made it all the way to Z. “I’ve been working and working on it. I even practice during recess. But I only made it to C, Mom.” Yes, darling, I know. Only to C. Sometimes the other kids pass us up and it can be so frustrating to bump into our limitations.

And, Ms. M was a little firmer today. “I was just talking. I shouldn’t have been *big sigh* but why’d she have to say it mean?” Oh dear one, it’s hard to get in trouble sometimes. It always feels mean just then, I think.

She was having one of those days when nothing seems to go right… right down to having a Clementine in her lunch AGAIN. (For the umpteenth day in a row. “Could I just have something else tomorrow? Please Mom?”)

It was the kind of day that even makes you, well, cry.

In those moments we just want to feel safe. When you’re 8-years-old, that’s what Momma does. So we had hot cocoa, snuggled on the couch in silence for a long while and then talked to our Jehovah-Rapha, the Lord who heals. The One who mends the broken heart and salvages the sad day. He who already knew and cared about this little girl with her pile of disappointments. He who has the power to infuse joy into the hopeless places.

It only took half-an-hour. But it changed the rest of her day. Me and my Madison in the quiet of mid-day.

Snowy winds blew outside but she was safe now. And it made all the difference.