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…

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!

Right now the trough is empty save a few handfuls of hay. The cow hovers nearby. A few sheep are on the hillside with their shepherd. In a week, it will be a different scene but for now, we wait. Waiting for Mary on her donkey and Joseph. For the starry host and the Babe.

It’s a tradition we started when Caleb was a toddler. Like so many of you, we were looking for a way to bring Christmas alive for our kids. Not the buying frenzy that Christmas has become. But, the real Christmas. The one that celebrates the mystery and glory of the God of the universe taking on flesh to live with us. And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth. – Jn. 1:14

How could we stay our hearts on that reality? How could we help our kids do the same? Afterall, the lure of gifts wrapped under the tree can be a lot more powerful in a young heart than a story about a baby born 2,000 years ago in a place we’ve never been for a reason that, while profound, can be a little hard for young minds to understand.

So we began to look for a nativity. There are some beautiful sets out there but we wanted one that they could play with. Something they could touch and interact with over and over again. (And, play they have. I’m pretty sure that Joseph and the angel did NOT have a swordfight with the shepherd’s staff in the Biblical record. But, it didn’t take our warrior-son Caleb long to figure out that it could be done in his account in our living room!)

We also decided to keep the manger empty. We wanted them to anticipate the coming. “When does Jesus come, Dadda?” “Patience. Mary and Joseph will come soon, as Christmas nears. You’ll just have to wait.”

And the waiting is good, I know. Admittedly, I’m not very good at it. I usually skip ahead about half-way through a book and read the last chapter because I can’t stand the anticipation. The not-knowing kills me. But, expectation and hunger can be a good thing. It reminds us that there is something more to come. Something left undone will finally be completed. The status quo isn’t the end-all.

Deep in our hearts, we sense that there’s more and we long for it. We wait for it.

And, so, we hope. Christmas reminds us of that. He came once 2,000 years ago. He left His throne and passed through the heavens to become a babe. A babe who would grow up to live the life that I should have lived and die the death that I deserved to die.

But, there is something more to come. He’s coming back. (I’ve read the last chapter!) The waiting isn’t over. I am still full of anticipation as I look for His return.  And I saw heaven opened; and behold, a white horse, and He who sat upon it is called Faithful and True; and in righteousness He judges… Rev. 19:11

And I heard a loud voice from the throne, saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is among men, and He shall dwell among them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself shall be among them, and He shall wipe away every tear from their eyes; and there shall no longer be any death; there shall no longer be any mourning, or crying or pain; the first things have passed away.” Rev. 21:3-4

 I still wait because the first waiting makes no sense without the second waiting.

In few days our trough will be full. Mary and Joseph will come to our creche and the kids will anticipate the arrival of our Playmobile Jesus. For now, the waiting will be over. We’ll rejoice in that birth. And, we will celebrate. It will be a great day.

But, all the while, we’ll be looking for His return. …and behold, a white horse, and He who sat upon it is called Faithful and True…

The challenge was a simple one. Find beauty this week. That was her admonition – find it even in the ugly. My new cyber friend with her wise words and tender heart. How did she know that my heart was wrestling with the ugly? Weary from it. Prone to focus on it and miss gratitude.

She was embarking on a beauty hunt and she was challenging me to do the same. Her words: “You’re warmly invited to join me in a Beauty Challenge this week, your own motley crew of bottles, your own furniture vases, your own hunt for God with slips of beauty not bought but quietly and unexpectedly uncovered. A twig may become art when attended to. Of course, not all the found beauty will fit in a vase. Some will find a perfect container in a gratitude journal. Regardless what empty place you will with beauty, it will grace you, this week, a life, with God.” Her questions: Can beauty be uncovered anywhere? Do I have eyes to see? Can I find God here? Isn’t that always the challenge?**

Wouldn’t you know that my beauty hunt brought me to the laundry room? How many hours do I spend in that room warring against the mud and the grass stain? Banishing the wrinkles? Mending the wounded buttons or scarred hemlines? So many hours and so little glamour.

And, oh, that boy of mine. He approaches life with such passion and intensity. And, it shows. On his clothes. Some people can wear their jeans for a few days before a wash. Not my guy. Not the boy who MUST dive for the football at recess. Or climb under the shed when he’s playing hide and seek. Or roll through the mud while wrestling with his buddy in the leaf-strewn back yard.

How I scrub at those jeans. Day after day. Survival has forced me to learn the tricks. Fels Naptha for the grass stains. Spray cleaner for the other stains. Scrub brush and warm water for the mud. I’ve learned to keep his church jeans separate from the rest. And, I adore Sears for their Kidvantage program, for when the holes inevitably come. They always do. He never outgrows them first. The holey knees always come first. It’s been this way as long as I can remember – ever since his toddle morphed into a run. 

But, here’s where the challenge comes full circle: Can I find beauty in those muddy jeans? Could my cringe turn into a smile when I see him round the bend all muddy at school pick-up? Instead of wondering why he’s dirtier than all the other boys, could I encourage him to keep giving it his all? Is it so bad that he likes to throw his whole body into an impossible catch or an unlikely tackle?  

What if those muddy jeans actually say something beautiful about Caleb? Something that I hadn’t noticed before. What if…

Finding beauty is a wonderful thing. Will you join us as we look for it? And then thank the One who embodies it and lavishes it on us?

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**And, please be sure to visit Ann’s original post so that you can enjoy the fullness of her words – those that spurred me to look beyond the ugly:  http://www.aholyexperience.com/2009/11/beauty-challenge-because-gods.html.

Today is NEOTA day. Honestly, I’m not sure what that means or why it constitutes a day off when school’s only been back in session for 7 weeks or so. What I do know is that my kids are home for the day.

It’s also Rick’s day off so that makes for fun times at the McKee home.

The only bummer is that it’s cold and rainy so our pumpkin patch plans are a scratch. Undaunted, we have regrouped to the classic way every kid knows is best for free days indoors: building a fort.

They have collected blankets and pillows from every bed in the house. They have raided Caleb’s closet (otherwise known as “the armory”). They have smuggled rations. And, they are now ready to defend the house against The Giant Troll Butt. (That would be Rick.)

NEOTA Day, I don’t know why you exist but thanks for giving us a fun day at home together…

Did I mention that it’s almost Noon and they’re still in their pjs? A toast to St. NEOTA…