the shadows of home.

I had to walk. It had been a long weekend and I needed the cold air to brush up against me and the breeze to blow over me - maybe even through me. I needed the first-calf heifers to watch me make my way down the road from home to them. I needed to see the view from a different angle. Don't we all need to see the view from a different perspective at least once a day?!

They were at one of my favorite places. The place that I can stand and see the river, the train tracks, the foothills covered with a blanket of snow, and when I remember to turn around, home. Home being the highest point and often the place I can't see past.

This is feed ground that gives me a different perspective. The place I can go and forget about my floors that need to be mopped, or the piles of sweatshirts and jeans that need to b be washed. The space that my heart usually needs on the days where the to-do list doesn't seem to get shorter, but increases with each tick of the second hand.

And so I walk. I keep my distance. I watch the protective mamas guard their babies with every ounce of strength they have. They watch me and I watch them - with this appreciation and admiration of sorts for all that it takes to be that mama that we all want to be. The brave one. The careful one. The one that is enough.
I sit down in the brush on a flat rock and watch ... and as the shadows grow longer and the temperatures drop a bit, my soul quietly waits.

My feet push against the dirt. They climb through the barbed wire. They head toward home.

Yes, when the shadows lengthen to the point that shadows are all there are, I head for home. I make my way back to my calling. The place I'm needed most and the place I need most as well.

The fresh air and different angles did their job. The sun sets, and I step back into my role as mom, wife, housekeeper extraordinaire with a refreshed spirit.

I'm made for this.

There's no doubt about it.

and just a two snow days later ...

The sky changes slowly, but quickly at the same time. I often wonder how life can be quick and slow at the same time, but that's what each day is really. Slow in some ways and quick in others, and then before you know it, the day is over and you're hoping for another one to come either in the same way or completely opposite. 

The turn of the wheel, the unloading of several bales, the calf that won't come, the cow that won't go to the barn, the temperatures that drop, and the four-wheeler that maneuvers perfectly in the deep, powdery snow.  All of it makes up the moments we call "today." Slowly and quickly God reveals these life-changing/life giving instances that shout "I've got this" when we're not sure which way to look.

So when the sunshine leaves, and the temperatures drop, and the beautiful blue turns to a cold and dreary gray, we choose to trust that He really does have this day, these moments, and all the quick, yet thought out decisions that need to be made.

And just as we trust the God that makes all of this possible, the cows and their new calves trust that Ian will be there.  They know that he will show up to give them feed, that he will check their babies and be the "husband" they don't have beside them as their new babies enter this world when the temperatures drop and more snow comes. They know and trust that not much will go unnoticed when it comes to their welfare and survival, and I believe deep down, they're so very thankful.

He shakes his head and then covers his face with his hands. He's frustrated. You can see it from a mile away. There is a dead one - frozen in the tracks made from the feed truck yesterday. He was too late, and the mama wasn't quick enough.

That mother  - that won't have anything to do with him. She runs away - circling back to her baby, avoiding the care he has to offer. The care that will help her survive. The care that is similar to the care we run from as humans. The care that says "I promise to help YOU ... trust me."

He tries all that he knows and pleads her to follow his lead. I watch him and see myself. I see my stubbornness in thinking I've got this all on my own. I watch her friends in the distance. I wonder what they think and if they're shaking their heads just like I am as I hear myself whisper, "Just go!" ... "Go where He's taking you." ... "Say yes, even if you don't think you're cut out for this." ... "He knows best!"

I'm talking to her, but really, I should have been talking to myself.  How many times have I been just like her? How many times have I ran the other way or even circled back to that which I need to leave behind?  How many more times will I fight against that which is probably best?

This gray afternoon in February was harder than most. Not just because of the death and new life minutes apart just feet from each other, but because I saw myself in that mama - pushing hard against the best, thinking I knew better and that I didn't need any help.

Thank you stubborn, grieving mama - for reminding me to accept that which I can't change and trust that sun will come out tomorrow when I follow His lead. Fighting the hard doesn't make the hard go away, it just makes the hard harder.

Lessons learned.

Life fought for.

Another "snow day" in the books.

the snow day I don't want to forget.

The phone rang early. It was an automated call saying that school was canceled. I stared up at the ceiling as I rested my weary head back into the pile of pillows on our bed, breathing a sigh of relief, but also praying that the day about to begin would not be too much to handle. It was still dark and I knew the day would bring various amounts of hard - even if it was a day off - but hopefully some sunshine would show up with it too. Yes, I thought to myself, sunshine would make it better, even if it was hard.

Snow days were beautiful and a whole lot of "easy" when I lived in town. I remember them as a child. The ones where dad would make pancakes, we would gear up for a sledding adventure on the hill to the south of our home, and my sister and I would drink more hot chocolate than necessary. The only work that might have been required was the shoveling of the sidewalk & driveway, and dad always did that in little time. The work that had to be done was not an all-day chore, and fun was at the top of the to-do list. Living in town changed everything about snow days really, and especially because my dad was a teacher.

In town, there were no cows to feed. There were no troughs to break ice in. There were no calves to warm up or barn stalls to muck out. But here, 20+ years later, on a ranch in Eastern Oregon far from town and the nearest neighbor, I've found myself appreciating (but more often cursing) snow days for different reasons.

Thankfully, the appreciation almost always outweighs the cursing - especially when the sun is shining. And although there is little time for movie watching, cookie baking, or pancake making, it's the most beautiful kind of hard anyone could ever want to live.

On this particular day in February, the sun glistened in ways that one dreams about or maybe only sees in the movies.  There were sparkles and glittering light bouncing off the soft, white blanketed hillsides in all directions, and the blue sky seemed to be as clear as the prettiest of marbles and the deepest of lakes.
It was cold, but yet a warmth covered us like a wool hat - one that whispered to our souls to stand and soak in the beauty that we're so fortunate to call ours.

After the chores around the barn had been done and before it was time to feed, the boys gathered up their sleds and chased each other up and down the hillside below our home. The hillside that changes with each and every season was now a playground. A playground with rocks to dodge and trails to make, and a beauty all of it's own.

The hour we spent climbing, sailing, rolling, and soaring through the powdery snow was perfect in every sort of way. Perfect in that we took the time to enjoy the gift of sleds, gloves, and respite from the hard. The hard that was still there waiting for us. There were calves in the house later that day with frozen ears, and the barn was full before the end of the day. It is a  kind of hard that is your lifestyle - built around work and survival.

The thing I hope my boys remember from now until forever is that even when it's hard, there is still time for fun. Taking time for fun is always worth the seconds that might seem wasted.  Yes, even when it doesn't seem like there is any time to spare, there always is. I'm learning that with each season God makes time in our days when we're supposed to count and see the gifts of the mundane, and even the precious. The moments that make up our days are gifts that are begging to be counted.

To work well on the difficult, dark, and dreary days, I think it's essential that one rests and plays and has fun when the opportunity arises on the most beautiful of days. Hard days and beautiful days can coexist. In fact, I think they're meant to. The bouts of laughter, and spurts of joy, and reflection of sunshine that come with fresh powder seem to always reflect goodness when we let it. Jesus - reflected all around us.

This is a snow day I want to remember forever. A day where the blue and the white, with flecks of gold and glitter, were as close to heaven as we could possibly get. The day where the work was still there, but the fun seemed to make it less of a job and more of a joy. A day that kept us coming back for more, even when the sun stopped shining and the blue turned to gray just a few hours later.

A day that Jesus whispered to our souls that He was there.

That's He's always there.

when the sun shines in February.

 Dear boys,

You will most likely never know what riding your bikes on pavement is like for extended amounts of time, but you will have the pleasure of go-cart tires spinning out in the gravel and dust swirling from now until forever as your bike wheels spin and stop. You will have drag races around our circular driveway until you're well into your teens, and there will always be dogs chasing after you and cows watching your every move.

Your dad will be the fix-it man when tires go flat, chains come off, and even brakes quit working. He's handy like that and even when he doesn't really have time to be fixing bikes in February, he will. He will because he does most anything and everything you ever need done when the sun is shining. Funny how sunshine seems to make everything better. Sunshine with a slow gentle breeze gets your dad to do most anything. Don't ever forget that in case someday you are put in charge of the wind and output of sun - which is highly unlikely, but hey, it's worth dreaming about.

Your dad is busy most of the time. He is a one man show and you two are becoming quick to lend a helping hand when you see it's necessary. Thank you for knowing when to help, but for also remembering how to have fun too. Keeping a balance between work and fun is something a lot of people aren't exactly good at - your dad being one of those people.

You, and our four beautiful (but a bit worthless at times) dogs, seem to remind him that fun is worth fighting for. It's worth taking the time to do, and it lets the people you love most know you are happy to be living life with them.

So when the sun is shining in February, pull out your bikes from the shed, get your dad & his beautiful (but a bit worthless) dogs to have a little fun, and let the blue sky surround you with joy. Even if it only lasts for a few minutes, it's worth fighting for and your soul will thank you.

That's a promise.

You've arrived.

There is this wonderful thing about arriving to a place for a visit for the 2nd time, the 35th time, and even the 587th time. A visit to somewhere you've been before that causes your heart to ache and joy to spread at just the mention of the road you drive on to get there. Arriving at a place that changes you with each visit is a place worth coming back to. You see life and the people in it with different eyes, a different spirit, and most likely a different agenda each time you visit.

The seasons change, and with it, the landscapes looks different than you might remember them, but yet, they still hold that feeling that you long for. That feeling of fresh air blowing your hair this way and that. The feeling of security and strength and power in the simplest of things. The feeling of freedom and acceptance and worth. The feeling of being where you're supposed to be - where God wants you to be.

It's hard to explain, but I truly believe we all have those places in our lives that call to us when we're restless. We dream about them when we can't find rest, and we picture them in our minds when the stress of the mundane becomes overwhelming and life-sucking. We hold onto the images and memories we have of our time spent there and suddenly, all seems right in the world - even when it's not.

This life and these words that I live through each and every season on this ranch I call home seem to nourish me and those around me more than I ever thought they could - or would - and yet, I can't always get them out. I want to scream them from the top of the nearest hill over the valley that sits below our home. I want the words and feelings and pictures to echo like a train whistle through souls across the miles. I want to listen and know that God is using this life and these moments to spread glory. Not my glory, but His. His light, His work, His faithfulness, and His hand in this joyous, heartbreaking, and beautiful life He's given me to live. But for some crazy reason, I've lived the past few months in a quiet place. A place where the right words haven't surfaced and the time I've had hasn't been used like it should have been. I've quietly wrestled with what I'm supposed to do with my words and instead of just writing, I've been waiting.

Well, the waiting is over and I think God is feeding me with words that need to be shared through conversations, friendships and some pretty amazing books too. I've found myself in the barn this week on more than one occasion. It's empty right now. There are no babies to feed, and the shelter it provides in the winter isn't needed. Not needed, but still so important. You see, the barn is a lot like the words I've been trying to get out for months. They're right there, standing on the edge, firmly planted, just waiting to be used in a way that is beautiful and honest and generous. In a way that hints at God's love just by being present. In ways that aren't worried about if I'm qualified or not ... just in ways that say He will qualify me because I have been called.

I've been walking through the past two seasons looking back a lot. Looking behind me to see who is following. Looking back to see if I matter to anyone else. Looking the wrong direction a lot of the time. It's not been a bad thing, but I know in the depths of my heart that I need to be stepping forward - looking up, and even looking in as I walk through these days of my life. I need to be saying yes to what's next and not looking back for followers or for approval. The approval is found when I stop being restless and rest in Him.

My life is full of beautiful faces and places that I need to learn from and write through.God's glory is ready to be shared with my world in a different sort of way. In a way that isn't about me, but about the beauty of others around me. I believe God is whispering words to my soul that where I live and where my people live is where He is. He is alive and well.  "We are important and our lives are important, magnificent really, and their details are worthy to be recorded." {natalie goldberg}

Smiles worth capturing, souls worth sharing, life worth living. "Only when we decide to quiet ourselves and listen on purpose do we really begin to hear." {emily freeman} I've been listening and waiting and busying myself with a lot of this and a little of that, but today ... I listened just long enough to hear Him say to my heart - write about the people that mean the most to you because they truly mean the most to Me!

In this season that just arrived, I'm at a place where investing time in the people that live in the places I love most are worth chasing after. They're worth writing about. They're worth loving. They're worth sharing the best of myself with because the best of me is exactly what God sees as beautiful.

This blog has been a place I've called home for a long time, and although it's not necessarily changing, I believe it's beginning to uncover the art I was born to make and live. The art that God is creating in and through me. The art of saying yes to what's next and trusting in it.

You've arrived.

And so have I.

Welcome.

This is a place worth planting yourself.