One Tiny Crocus

We moved into our home last winter at the end of an icy, cold February. Fifteen years prior to our arrival, our home was constructed for the sole purpose of becoming a rental property, so occupants put very little effort into the home, including the landscaping. When we bought our house, we had no idea what our snow-covered yard would look like. As the winter freeze began to thaw, it revealed that the landscaping needed some tender-loving care, to say the least. The long flower-bed between the sidewalk and house was covered in tufts of brown, dingy, spring grass. Our work was definitely cut out for us. We could hardly wait for spring to fully arrive, so we could get started on the transformation. One day, just as the days became balmy, my son came running to tell me there were yellow flowers that had poked through the ground.

I quickly followed him outside to find golden crocuses smiling through the gloomy backdrop. Those tiny flowers brightened our spirits after an emotional, and exhausting winter.

Pretty pink and purple hyacinths were the next to surprise us with spring's hope, followed by a rainbow of tulips. Despite being a rental property, someone through the years cared enough to take the time to plant bulbs that would eventually produce hope-filled blooms. Unfortunately, the bulbs weren't planted intentionally, and the entangled mess of spotty grass, weeds, and bulbs would have to be removed from the flower bed to make way for something new.

We weeded, dug, hoed, sweat, raked, planned, prepped, and worked. As we made our way through the soil, we came upon at least a hundred flower bulbs. We removed them all, but felt guilty throwing them away, so we salvaged as many of the larger bulbs as we could with the intention of replanting them in the fall. We stored them in a cardboard box in the garage where they would have to wait until the right time for planting.

Last autumn on a gorgeous Indian summer day, I took the box of bulbs from the garage, and got to work. I counted and separated according to variety.

I took a handful of bulbs in amazement that these homely little things held the hope of spring's beauty beneath their onion-like layers.

IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE THAT SOMETHING SO BRIGHT, COLORFUL, AND BEAUTIFUL COULD EVER COME FROM SOMETHING SO UGLY.

I surveyed our flower-beds and the landscaped areas we created last summer, and thought about where I wanted to see flowers bloom. I decided to plant the yellow daffodil bulbs underneath the curve of the one-leaf tree.

The spring-pink blossoms of the weeping cherry tree would be a pretty contrast to daffodil-yellow. I got down on my knees and moved the mulch aside with my hands. I cut a half-circle in the weed barrier and dug a trench with a hand trowel heaping earth on each side. I evenly lined up the bulbs around the half-circle. I held the first bulb in my hand, carefully pushed it down deep into the cool earth, and my soul hushed as I realized...

THE BULB WAS IN A TOMB.

The bulb had to be planted in an earthen tomb, or it could not bloom. Last October, I designedly planted spring-hope in little tombs all across our flower beds.

SOMETIMES...

THAT'S ALL WE CAN DO. 

PLANT.

TRUST.

WALK  AWAY.

WAIT.

KEEP  TRUSTING.

The winter-wait can be long and dark. As spring approaches without marked signs of life, it can be unbearable. It's definitely been a long, dark winter here. In truth, it's been a long, dark WEEK! 

The snowy, cold weather broke last week, and I've been keenly watching for any sign that the bulbs I transplanted survived. Would they burst through their little graves and flourish? Would they break FREE from their dark tombs? 

I've been vigilant in checking the curve under the (currently) no-leaf tree for signs of life that the daffodils persevered through the winter and lived through their big replant. So far, there have been no signs of life. I investigated the hope of tulip patches and hycinth row. Nothing.

Deep in my bones...

I NEED THESE FLOWERS TO BLOOM. 

I NEED THESE FLOWERS TO LIVE. 

I feel desperate that if they don't make it, maybe we won't either. I need a SIGN that life will make it, that we will make it, that...

SOMEHOW...

SOME WAY... 

EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY!

I did my rounds yesterday checking for any evidence that my flowers lived, and I couldn't believe what I found.

I WAS SEARCHING FOR HOPE IN THE WRONG PLACE.

The flower-bed we ripped from end to end, the flower-bed where we pulled out every bulb, big and small, the flower-bed where I sifted the ground through my fingers and raked through the dirt with my hands yanking out every weed, flower, seed, sign of life, good or bad...

THE FLOWER-BED HAS A SURVIVOR!

As much as I want my other bulbs to break through their dark-ground graves and explode into rainbows of spring color, it matters little for this one tiny crocus. One tiny crocus hung on despite the odds that it shouldn't have survived. One tiny crocus burst forth with the first hope of spring. One tiny crocus, about the size of a nickel, changed EVERYTHING in my heart.

I'M GOING TO BE OKAY.

YOU'RE GOING TO BE OKAY.

KEEP TRUSTING.

WINTER WILL END.

SPRING WILL ARRIVE.

For today, I will hold on to the hope that one tiny crocus has brought, and I hope you will hold on, too.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.


"And now, God, do it again—
bring rains to our drought-stricken lives, so those who planted their crops in despair will shout hurrahs at the harvest, so those who went off with heavy hearts will come home laughing with armloads of blessing." (Psalm 125:4-6 MSG)


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All is grace,

October

OCTOBER.

Leaves change from lush green to fire brights and deep hues. Beauty fragile designed to fall away so roots and trunks and limbs can slip into bare sleep.

Orange, gold, red, copper, amber.

Color that assaults us with its royalty. Color that evokes emotion.

COLOR FLEETING. 

The cycle of things must continue on and submit...

TO STILL...

TO QUIET...

TO REST...

There is purpose in all things, dear ones.

AUTUMN REMINDS US THAT WE MUST PAUSE.

The freeze of winter is coming, but spring will come, too.

IT WON'T ALWAYS BE THIS WAY.

I PROMISE.

Soon the ice of winter will thaw and the trees will be bursting with life green and blossoms fragrant.

Right now.

October.

It may appear to be death as leaves fall away, but...

THINGS ARE RARELY AS THEY SEEM. 

OCTOBER TREES ARE FULLY ALIVE.

Make no mistake.

They are simply being prepared to bear fruit after their rest, and perhaps...

SO ARE YOU. 


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All is grace,

Kindness

A couple of weeks ago, I needed to make a few important phone calls while my children happened to be present. After I finished, all four of my kids, aged nineteen down to nine, wasted no time to tell me that I sounded like an entirely different person on the phone than I do at home. And by different I mean...kind, courteous, polite, gracious, chipper. UGH! They mocked me and ribbed me, all in good fun, but something stung in my soul trenches as I tried to laugh it off... THE TRUTH.

My kids were right. For a few days after the phone reprimand incident, I jokingly spoke to my children as if I were making professional phone calls to them. Honestly, it annoyed them, but the sting still lingered. I was more kind to strangers and acquaintances than I was to my own family, my children, my supposed-to-be-most-treasured possessions. Sigh.

Laying bare the ugly parts of my mothering (and beyond), I transparently confess that a few days later I was in a tizzy about something. I was carrying on like an angry dragon, and my nine-year-old son calmly said, "Mom, this is not a situation for yelling." UGH!!! Sting. Sting. Sting. 

SOMETHING NEEDS TO CHANGE, AND IT NEEDS TO CHANGE NOW!

ME.

I, SIMPLY, HAVE TO GET IT TOGETHER!

I could come up with a hundred legitimate excuses about why this is a struggle for me, but the fact of the matter is, it doesn't matter.

THERE ARE NO EXCUSES. 

THERE IS NO ONE TO BLAME. 

I, ALONE, AM RESPONSIBLE. 

I am responsible for managing the temperature, tone, and atmosphere in my home, and I am failing to do that in a way I feel confident, peace-filled, and proud. I have thoughtfully and prayerfully considered what I might do to change my disturbing habits, and one question kept coming to me over and over.

WERE YOU KIND TODAY?

Let it sink in.

Let it simmer.

WERE YOU KIND TODAY?

It didn't take long for me to dash to my chalkboard and write it out smack-dab-in-the-center of all of my comings and goings in our home.

WERE YOU KIND TODAY?

I printed off words and images from my computer and taped them in doorways, onto mirrors, onto windows, and even onto my coffee maker.

BE KIND.

KINDNESS MATTERS.

CHOOSE KINDNESS.

I want reminders EVERYWHERE. I don't want this soul-sting to be wasted. I don't want to have anymore regrets than I already do about my parenting, teaching, loving, and character-modeling in our home. This is too important to miss, and I sense a definite shift.

Am I going to fail? Absolutely. I failed as early as this morning when water went flying (accidentally) across the room and ruined a precious heirloom. It's important to know that we are human, and there is grace. ALWAYS GRACE. But at the end of the day, I want to know and be aware that I did my broken-best to be gentle, gracious, and kind. I want peace to fill my soul when I snap out the lights at the close of the day, wander past my chalkboard, and ask myself...

WERE YOU KIND TODAY?


"Be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you."  (Ephesians 4:32 NLT)


ALWAYS GRACE,
 

 









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Quick update:

It's been several weeks...errr months... since I've been able to blog. If you have found your way to my little corner of the internet apart from Facebook, I want to update you that the home we have been living in, that we waited nearly six months for the short sale to be approved, is our home!   

WE ARE HOME! 

WE ARE GRATEFUL! 

GRATEFUL! 

GRATEFUL!

One of the first things I bought was a welcome mat.

IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BE HOME! 

Nursing a Weed?

This past weekend, IronMan and I decided to do something about the weed infested flower bed in front of our house. I know it isn't officially our house yet (you can read that story HERE), but we are trusting and hoping and believing that it will be soon. Truth be told, no matter the outcome of the house, we couldn't live with those weeds staring at us for one more day. So we bought a shovel, hoe, and rake, fifteen bags of mulch, two rolls of weed barrier, and we got to work.

There were a few tulips, hyacinths, and daffodils planted by one of the previous residents, so we carefully dug up their bulbs and stored them to plant next fall.

THERE'S SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL ABOUT SAVING LIFE THAT IS ALREADY PRESENT.

IronMan and I started digging, ripping, hoeing, and pulling grass, dandelions, clover, nettle (OUCH!), and whatever else was growing green and tall and strong. This flower bed was a mess, but then I came across a plant that caused me to pause.

My gut told me to stop! I don't think this is a weed. I quickly snapped a picture and texted it to a friend that is far more plant savvy than me. "Is this a weed? I think it's a plant. What do you think?" I did some research on the internet (thank God for Google). My highest hope... could it be, might it be, will it be a Black-eyed Susan? I have this thing about BLACK-EYED SUSANS, and this plant looked familiar...like in a Black-eyed Susan sort of way. I emailed another friend. "Is there any chance this might be a Black-eyed Susan? What do you think it is? Maybe it's a weed?" With the expert advice from my two gracious horticulture friends, I decided to replant this life and see what happens. All three of us were in agreement that we didn't believe it was a weed, but it is impossible to know what it is until...

UNTIL IT BLOOMS.

The poor plant drooped for two days to the point of looking near death. I watered it, I worried over it, but it wasn't happy. Thankfully, the rains came and the sun warmed its leaves. It perked up!

I planted a pretty purple friend next to it. All I can do is wait and see what this mystery plant will be. I researched every kind of Black-eyed Susan variety to see if the leaves match. Some look the same and some look different. There is no way of knowing what it will be...  until it blooms.

SOMETIMES YOU DON'T KNOW HOW BEAUTIFUL SOMETHING WILL BE UNTIL YOU PATIENTLY AND LOVINGLY GIVE IT CARE, GIVE IT ITS BEST CHANCE, AND WAIT TO SEE IT BLOOM.

I got to thinking. This plant is a little bit like us, isn't it? We don't really know what we are or who we will be until we bloom, either. But all of our life experiences, tenderness and care from those around us...from God, rainy times, sunny times, droughts, and famine, they all make us who we are. Sometimes, I think we bloom over and over again, as I expect this plant will do, and each passing year, we will have stronger roots and more blossoms. Growing, progressing beauty.

I don't know for certain if this plant will be a Black-eyed Susan or not, but I'm attached to it now. I don't think my flower bed would be complete without it. Whatever it will reveal itself to be will be perfect.

THERE IS SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL ABOUT SAVING LIFE THAT IS PRESENT, INDEED.


All is grace,

Home... or not?

Our realtor called.

"I have to advise you not to make any improvements on the house," she warned.

We already have. Sigh.

"If the seller's short sale isn't approved, you could potentially lose the home," she informed. "If it moves into foreclosure, you will have seven months to find another house."

Seven months? If the worst happens, we will have to be gone before Christmas.

I collapsed into IronMan's arms, weeping.

I don't want another house. I want this house. This house is HOME. This house is perfect for our family, for ministry, and for IronMan's growing business. But here we are, again, in this seemingly endless swirl of feeling homeless. My soul is in angst.

***********

On February 14th, we heard from the seller that our offer was accepted on this house, and I shared on Facebook to announce this amazing news.

When this "Mary Bailey" was a little girl, she threw a "rock" in the Ol' Granville House window, and **THIS** is what she wished for. Today, Valentine's Day 2015, my childhood dreams are coming true!! This is my "Granville House" and we are going to fill it with family, friends, memories, and love. It's been a very long journey, but we are coming HOME!!! Thank you, God!!! This is a miraculous **GRACE**

 
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I, honestly, feel like we have been naive and foolish, but I replay our circumstances over and over in my mind. We didn't know this was going to be a short sale at the time, and I don't think we would have or could have done anything differently. Our house was set to close on Friday, February 27th, the day the first moving truck was going to pull out of my parents' Colorado driveway. We had tons of help lined up for Saturday, February 28th to clean the house (a monstrous task!) and unload the truck (another monstrous task!). We received word on Thursday, February 26th (the moving truck was already loaded) that the house wasn't going to close until Monday, March 2nd, but the seller graciously understood our circumstances and invited us to move in on Saturday, anyway. In good faith, we trekked in a Budget rental truck from Colorado to Indiana, 1,100 miles, 21 hours of brutal straight driving. IronMan flew back to Colorado, packed a second truck full to the brim with the remainder of our belongings and his entire business, and drove another 21 hours straight to Indiana exactly one week later.

In three weeks, we had every box unpacked (two moving trucks full!), our homeschool set up, and IronMan's business organized and ready to go.

I have no idea how we went from the offer being accepted on the house to being in the house, unpacked, and set up for living in five short weeks. We were all utterly exhausted and bone-crunching weary. It seemed worth the deep sacrifice, because we were finally HOME.

...or not?

***********

We are now 46 days past the original closing date. Other set closing dates have come and gone. It seems there is very little information for us, the buyers, in this circumstance. For the most part, this feels like a silent, excruciating wait.

EXCRUCIATING.

***********

A couple of years ago, my mom overheard Sunshine Girl talking to the neighbor children. She wasn't sure what the context of the conversation was, but she saw Sunshine Girl put her head down and hesitantly say, "We don't have a house."

For the last two years, our son has asked for a house for every birthday, every Christmas, and every holiday in-between. I found this picture in his school notebook not long after we moved here.

He is so glad to have a house and be HOME.

I see it in all four of my kids. They are in their own space. They are relaxed. They are free.

FREE.

This spring, hyacinths poked up through the thawing spring ground. They whispered to me that there is life waiting here in this house for us. Inside this house, my family is that life.

We have been doing just that. Life. Living.

We have taken home-baked cookies to our neighbors, and my kids are getting acquainted with the neighbor children. We have had meals, games, and learning surround our family table...our FAMILY TABLE!

Lives have intersected inside the walls of this house as our life-space has been filled with dear friends. We have broken bread together, sipped coffee, shared meals, shared hearts, worshiped, and prayed together.

BEAUTIFUL.

My chair is tucked in my favorite corner of this house next to the window and fireplace. I love when the afternoon sunbeams pour warm light in through the window. Sometimes, I come back to my chair at night after I've kissed all of my kids goodnight in their rooms, and soak in the peaceful quiet. It's a haven.

I can tell you, unequivocally, if we have to move from here, we will all be devastated. I'm worried what it would do to my kids' hearts. I'm worried what it will do to ours. We have each other. We have what truly matters, but after a very long line of lousy things happening to us over and over again across two decades, at some level it really does matter what happens here...with this...with what is supposed to be our home. We are having a difficult time believing that anything good can happen to us. Our faith has been riding on an angry ocean for far too long. We thought this house was a gift. I want desperately to believe that it still is.

***********

We have been through SO MUCH leading up to now, and it's very difficult for me to receive encouragement or truth from someone else if I don't know that they have been through war like we have. It's not arrogant, it's about being authentic, and trusting that someone else is authentic, too. I share on my blog, transparently, so you know that what I share is not just words, but backed by experience. I want you to know you are not alone, because I also know what alone feels like. I want to share drops of encouragement, too, as one who has been tested in many fires.

Yesterday, I came to my blog, heavy-hearted, to write for the first time since November (it's been a long hard winter). I wanted to somehow share what we've been walking through. I've been wanting to write with EXCITEMENT that we have moved back to Indiana and we finally have a HOME, but I couldn't because of this senseless circumstance we are in. We are reserved in our elation, because there is a real chance that we won't get to stay here. Until we know how this is going to turn out, we are in limbo.

If you've never known what it's like to feel that your living place isn't secure, it might be hard for you to understand why we feel such a deep ache. That's okay. I'm truly happy for you if HOME has never been threatened. We haven't owned a home for fourteen years. Our sense of home has been displaced for a very long time, and our three youngest children have never experienced it at all.

I have been praying and crying out to God. I told Him, honestly, that if I knew what His plan was, maybe I could have some measure of peace. Maybe I could go to bed and not cry myself to sleep. If I just knew. Sigh. Obviously, I want to know that this is going to be okay, and the best thing I could hear is that we are here and we are home.

Should I let this go? Or can I plant my heart?

My heart is burdened for my whole family. I am longing for this to be resolved. I am longing for some sign that this will be okay.

When I signed into my blog yesterday (REMEMBER...THE FIRST TIME SINCE NOVEMBER...WITH THIS HEAVINESS IN MY HEART), it took me to the blog navigation page. The first thing that showed up on my blog, right in the middle of the page, was a link from a fellow blogger that I follow. There was ONE picture on the entire page. It was a chalkboard with three words on it. THREE LITTLE WORDS. The words?

YOU. ARE. HOME.

I immediately went to my own chalkboard, tears streaming down my cheeks, and wrote the three words.

YOU ARE HOME.

Can it be?

Has God heard my heart's cry? Is this the answer?

I wrote it on the chalkboard, and on the chalkboard this is going to stay until this is fully resolved. This chalkboard is going to be my encouragement, my reminder when days are hard and doubt and dread press in.

HOME... or NOT?

I have to choose to BELIEVE this is HOME, until I know otherwise. God, please move and answer on our behalf, and answer quickly. Amen.


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Always grace,