things about a Sunday.

I'm a counter.

I count cows going through a gate, contrails in the clear blue sky, phone poles in the fog, minutes until cookies are out of the oven, hours in a day ... you get the picture.

I'm also a counter of good things, hard things, real-life things, and after reading from the heart of Ann Voskamp, I have counted thousands of these small, but meaningful moments in time as gifts.

It's how I've survived some of the longest seasons of my life and how I plan on continuing to push forward as another calving season has just begun.

Some might say it's silly.  Others may think it's too much work.  I say it's worth your life if you think your life is worthwhile.  And I've never known a life to not be of worth.  Never.

It's January - the start of new for many, but more importantly, the chance to see those things in your life that might otherwise be missed as gifts.

It's not a fad.  It's not just what the "cool" kids do.  It's life saving, mind altering, heart pounding, tears flowing, God whispering - I'm here. 

1.5.14

Something you're reading, making, seeing.

There is this beautiful thing about January, which is also the hardest thing too.  Funny how hard can be beautiful.  I think God intended it to be seen that way as a source of hope.  Hope in something other than ourselves to give a sense of peace about what's to come.

I'm not very good at "reading" heifers that are ready to calve.  Not very good at all. But Sunday was different. I watched her walk away from the group up to the other side of the small pasture right below our house - also known as Heiferland, but not to be confused with Disneyland. Watching a cow calve is like reading a book.  Each step is a new chapter, each push is a new page, and the whole time you're watching, you're just praying there's a happy ending.  

She saw me "reading" her from the distance and her eyes focused on each step I took.  I wanted so badly to be just a little bit closer, but from experience (and a husband yelling at me to put the damn camera away and get back) I walked backward until I was out of her sight.  It was beautiful.  She stood up, circled for the last time, laid down, and then pushed. I whispered soft cheers as I watched her gain more strength with each push from behind the tree, praying that the new life inside her would be alive.  Minutes passed, and then just like that it a calf was on the ground, she was on her feet, and new life said hello to our hillside with soft moos and grunts.

I'd say she was the best read I had all break.

Mason's been gone all of break.  It's been weird and wonderful all at the same time.  Mack has loved the quiet evenings at home with just us, the chance to drive the feed truck whenever he wants, and his choice of movies at the redbox day after day.  The quiet is about to end, but I think we're all ready for him to be home.
The making of this sign was one of the greatest gifts for us and him.  I wish I had a picture of the headlights from the car when they drove in at 9:00 and a recording of his giggles in the car.

Welcome home Mason.  Welcome home.

This has been one of the greatest breaks from normal my life has ever seen.  It's been filled with mornings of feeding with Ian, a snuggle bug called Mack, cups of hot chocolate whenever I feel like it, beautiful sunrises, and the most gorgeous sunsets.

Thank you Sunday for offering this sky and this kind of quiet day after day after day, but especially on this evening that is whispering goodbye to some