a road that leads to somewhere.

Dear Mud Puddle,

I wasn't a child that chose to splash and jump in you or at least I don't remember being one.  I think I was the one that avoided you altogether.  I didn't go out on rainy days unless I had to, and I honestly don't recall having to ... ever.

Life's different now.

As an adult who sees beautiful images of people - young and old - dancing and twirling, and even jumping in and through puddles, I can't help but wonder what was wrong with me.  Why did I not see the joy in the storm?  Why did I choose watching from a window rather than grabbing an umbrella?  How did I not own a pair of rain boots?

I'm on a different road now.  One that has all sorts of puddles and potholes for water to collect in, stomp through, and jump over.  A road that sometimes feels like the road to nowhere, but always ends up being the road to somewhere.

Somewhere beautiful.

Somewhere steep.

A place where trees turn beautiful colors and the sky is a shade of blue that isn't found anywhere else.

Somewhere that has stories of long ago and manages to offer stories still today.

A place where pavement turns to gravel and cow-pies are scattered like stepping stones.

Somewhere that makes you grin from ear to ear - anticipating the adventure that is to come - trusting you're headed the right direction.

A place where you can yell and scream, dance if you want, and let your imagination soar.

Somewhere you've found yourself ... being the person you always wanted to be.

I tip my head to you mud puddle - in admiration of what you are in my life.

A reflection and reminder of this journey to somewhere.

With both feet wet,

Lindsay

beauty in the eye of the beholder.

Dear fall 2012,

There is something to be said about your beauty.  The colors you radiate, the light you shine, the freshness of a season that is usually the calm before the storm - it's truly something I've grown to love.

I posted these pictures several weeks ago with the intention of writing about this morning spent soaking in all you had to offer, but life happened.  Time went by, more bales were fed, more twine was cut, and somehow this day was forgotten.  Forgotten until now.

You see, life has a way of happening so fast sometimes, that the ordinary days are often overlooked because they fall into place one right after another.  One feeding after the next, and the next, and the next.  One sunrise after another, followed by the starry, moon lit skies.  Life happens and suddenly it's a new season and you almost forget what you were taking pictures of a month ago.  Almost, but not quite.

They say that looking at people's pictures tell a lot about their heart and soul.  It gives a glimpse into what they hold nearest to their being, and it also portrays that which they feel is worthy of sharing.

I don't sort through my pictures much - posting only the good is almost as bad as telling a lie in my world.  What you see is what life is around here - very full, very busy, very diverse, and very us.  This life is what we hold near, even though in reality, it is temporary.

I've never been one to mask what is really happening.  If you see a frown, it's because it's there.  If you see a smile, it's because I'm a die-hard promoter of turning frowns upside down ... even when it's easier not to.  If you see something that leads you to believe that we're the "wonder family" ... that's God at work - not our own strength fooling you.

This day not so long ago, was typical.  It was full of color, a bit of wind, cows, creative minds, and some frustration too.  There was some death, and there was a whole lot of life.  It was real.  Nothing was made up or disguised.  There were no capes or superhero masks.

And as ridiculous as it may sound, it was ordinary - but ordinary life is just as important as extraordinary around here.  Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.  Especially not me.

It's what you do with the ordinary that changes and transforms it into extraordinary.  It's the choices you make each hour, each minute, each second to say:  "I want to live this one life well."  {ann voskamp} It's the determination to seek Him in the midst of the struggle.  It's stooping down and crying out.

It's looking for and sharing the sparkling eyes, the snotty noses, the dirty stocking caps and tattered phone books.

It's holding onto the blue & orange twine, the beloved hats, and the flakes of hay that make our life ours.

I wish each of our friends and family members could come spend the day with us - just to see that we're really tired, we're totally human, and we're completely overwhelmed almost every day of the year. I know it would make them feel better about their own lives and see our life in a whole new light as well.

We're just like the rest of the "herd" ...waiting for the next paycheck to arrive, battling homework, digging through the fridge trying to put something decent together for dinner, raising our voices, and often rolling our eyes as we attempt to load and unload the dishwasher and washing machine.

I wonder if cows have anything similar going on in their lives?  My guess is 'not really.'  But maybe.

So, as the birds fly south and the geese honk their way through our world, we're going to keep on keepin' on right into the next hour, next day, and even the next season.

Knowing that we will probably find ourselves on our backs more than once asking ourselves:  "what just happened?"  But at the same time, looking for the joy found in the the journey.

Growing tall against the odds, thriving with color & life, and soaking in the Light that only God can offer.

So until next year sweet fall, know that you were good to us.  You were full, you were busy, and you were an opportunity to see God around every corner, through every pasture, and in every set of eyes we found ourselves looking at.

The key is not necessarily knowing where to look, but how to look.  How to look, and at the same time - truly SEE.

One of your biggest fans,

Lindsay

me.

just so I don't forget what I looked like in November 2012.

scarf wearing, camera hauling, short-haired, hazel-eyed, wife of a cattleman, mom of 2 boys, teacher of many, writer, dreamer, believer.

self portrait in the pick-up mirror # 263.

peaks and valleys ... and Birch.

Dear Birch Creek pasture & holding pens,

I've seen a lot of you lately.  And by a lot I mean several hours of looking, pushing, shooing, and driving all around you.  You're beautiful - truly you are... even if my body language doesn't always show it.

You're steep too.  And I'm going to be really honest and tell you that steep is not my favorite thing.  I like flat, "see where you're going" kind of places.  Places that have a horizon at the same level as you and not high above.  But here's the thing:  I also love the view from really high points.  Points that you have to "climb" to get to.

I know what you're thinking.  She's hard to please.  Well, I guess I am, but what I'm learning through all of this is that the "flat" places in life are nice, but life isn't flat and easy.  At least mine's not.  And more often than not you're a "picture" of my life whether I like it or not.

Steep, beautiful, filled with the things that others thrive from, trying to protect yourself from being destroyed by wind and weather, and simply surviving.  Yep.  That's pretty much life in a nutshell.

Mine is filled with valleys, and also a lot of mountain tops, and every once in a while it's flat, but not often.  Maybe that's why I like it so much - because really it doesn't happen often, and it's treasured when it's there. God's good like that - teaching us to treasure the little things, the small things, in the midst of the hard and steep things because eventually they will flatten out.

You are home to our cows and calves for several months of the year, and during the majority of those months you're just something beautiful off in the distance.  We don't see much of the beauty you have to offer during the summer because the cattle are roaming and we're on a vacation of sorts.  We're off enjoying the "flat."  But school starts, calves are weaned, and the valleys and mountain tops appear again.  There is a schedule to follow, a pace to keep up with, and a whole bunch of pushing and shoving of deadlines, bills, and stress.  The never-ending climb is what it really feels like.

The part I find most interesting about all of this, is that I'm not alone.  I watch the cows and calves we bring home each fall and early winter, and I imagine they're feeling the same way just opposite of me.  Their "flat" is really my "steep ... and my "steep" is their "flat."  Thank goodness we're not at the same places at the same time.  I think that would be just about as horrible as horrible could get.
 

Whitey & crew will soon be home.  Home to flatter ground, hay to eat, and a calf {or two} to give birth to.  She and the others will be cared for, watched after, and loved. Their only job will be to eat, nurse, and eat some more.  Life on flatter ground.  Life well lived in anticipation of what is to come.

I have mixed feelings about the "ups and downs" of life, but one thing I know for sure is that God has strategically planned out every peak and every valley in our lives.  He's writing an amazing story about each and every one of us, putting the perfect characters in our stories - some people, and some animals.  The setting is right where we're supposed to be & all the problems have amazing solutions.

What more could one ask for really?!  A life made perfectly & uniquely just for me.  That sounds magical, unreal, and even untrue ... but it's not.

It's what faith is all about.  Trusting in the unseen in hopes of the gifts that are to come.

We are done hauling pairs for the season.  You won't see us for awhile - but know that you are appreciated, admired, and even though your "cussed" at times, we are thankful for the setting you give a piece of our story.

Without a setting, there really isn't a story, and without Jesus {the author and perfecter of our faith}, well ... I think you know that answer to that.

Proud to a character in your setting & learning to embrace my role,

Lindsay

what it really means to be clean.

Dear Kenmore,

Thank you for making some the best made appliances around.  I don't know what I'd do without the washing machine that greets almost all who enter our home.  I'm certain I can't put a price on your worth.

I used to wish that the washing machine was not the first thing a person would see when they walked into our home, but I quickly gave up on that.  The {mess} that surrounds our life is no secret.  No door can be closed so that others won't see.  When you enter our home - that first step in - you see everything.  {well, not everything, but close}

You see dirt.  You see mismatched tools, old spotlights, unmatched socks waiting to be found, boots, toy guns, laundry, and dust.  You see a big part of our story.

There are catalogs where appliances shimmer and shine.  I usually drool over those.  In fact the Home Depot add last week had a shiny LG washer that I almost taped up next to you.  Almost, but didn't.  You are enough right now.  You work & you hold a giant part of our story.  Oh the stories you could tell of the things you've smelled, felt, and seen.  You make us look good.

There are also catalogs that give a person ideas that what they have isn't quite good enough - filled with pictures of perfect rooms with just the right amount of {stuff}... and somehow, that {stuff} is matching and spotless.

Life isn't spotless.

Life isn't without storms and mud & a bunch of stink.  Don't let the catalogs fool you.

Don't think what someone else has is better or that it makes life {clean}.  It doesn't.

We all have stories of mud, and grime, and piles of stink.  But we also have a story of a Savior that washes us as white as snow.  The dirty brown and black is made fresh and new.  He gets rid of all that a you want to hide.  Oh it's still there as part of your story, but it's been wiped clean.

In fact, our Savior a lot like a washing machine.  Worth everything, but often used without recognition of what He can really do.  Used, wanted, desired, but often forgotten until He's the only thing left.

It's  grace pulled on like a boot.

It's forgiveness covering us like a hood.

It's mercy, it's hope, and it's love.

And it's just like a washing machine.

What was once unrecognizable and filled with filth is restored. Made new.  Brought back to life.

Ask and you shall receive.  Knock and the door shall be opened.  Put your filth in, and let the stink be covered with a fresh, desirable God.  Don't let the catalogs fool you that you don't need Him.

You do.  We all do.

The mud, the wet, the cold, the piles of mismatched life... our stories.  They are what He's given us.  Our stories, our history are really {HIS-story}.

Thank you Kenmore for being the first thing people see when they step into our story.  Thank you for being the living proof that the things we often want to hide aren't worth hiding.  Thank you for not being Pottery Barn or Crate & Barrel. Thank you for doing your job day in and day out.  Steady & strong, you are just like Jesus.

I'm never going to look at you in the same way ever again.

My eyes will only see what you can do & the promise you hold. They won't worry about the stuff that isn't catalog worthy.

They can't see God in the flesh, but they can see Him through you, and well ... I can't think of anything or anyone better to remind me that I'm forgiven, washed clean, and new!

Here's to a lot more mud, a lot more stories, and a lot more opportunities for others to step into our lives and see YOU first.

In appreciation for the work you do - every, single day ~

Lindsay