once upon this season ...

Dear boys,

Sometimes I make up stories for you at night.  They usually have farm boys, or cow dogs, or semi-trucks in them, and they always have cows.  You laugh at them and then ask if they're about you and sometimes I say - no way - it couldn't be, but most of the time I just grin and whisper - you know the answer to that boys.

Most of the stories involve some adventure or a bit of crazy chaos, and they usually have a lesson to learn that involves kindness.

You've been fighting a lot lately.  You fight about waking up, about packing your back packs, and about who gets to get in car first.  The 12 minute drive to school involves tears most of the time and ends with 2 boys waving goodbye as I practically shove you out of the car just praying that you're better at school than you are for me.

I'm not sure why you're fighting more than usual, but I have a bit of an idea.  Although our life looks pretty peaceful from a distance, there has been a lot of frustration, exhaustion, and stormy attitudes.  We've all been really great for the people we need to be great for, but then as soon as it's just the 4 of us, the greatness disappears.  We've been trying to do all of the things that have to happen on our own and have forgotten that the God that gives this peacefulness surrounded by blue skies is the one who directs the steps of our day.

I'm sure He's been shaking his head at us.  Shaking and laughing just like the leaves that are falling and twirling and swirling around our world right now.

We think we know right were we're headed and how we're going to get there.

We're sure we know.

And we get there and then realize that the dust is so thick that we can't do anything without Him.

We stand and we watch, and we quietly see Jesus. 

And then the arguing stops, and the light shines just right and everyone works just the way they're supposed to.

And you can almost hear God whisper ... "this is what it's supposed to be like" ... "this is it."

And the dust settles, and the sun starts to set and the story of that day comes to a close.

The lesson in the story that needs to be on repeat is that we are nothing on our own.  Nothing. 

The light, the dust, the dogs, the cows, the chute, the pens, the muck, the loud words ... it's meant to be a reflection of something great. 

But it can't be great unless you know where the greatness really comes from.  And that greatness isn't something that just happens.  It's planned, it's already been written, and it's waiting to be lived.

... but we aren't always living it the right way because we're trying to control everything that isn't meant to be controlled.

Here's to a new season.  One of listening and waiting and watching for the greatness we need to lead us to greatness ourselves.

A greatness that follows the footsteps of Jesus.

Loving you through the dust -

Mom

fixing a bit of fence.

Dear Ian,

The past week of our lives has been a bit of a blur.  Actually, it's been a lot of a blur.  It's more like an unending fog.
While you were in Long Creek shipping Clayton & Annie's calves and working their cows - while being and doing everything you could to help Annie & her beautiful kids - I was home.  Home, going to work every day.  Home, keeping the boys entertained.  Home, missing you and wishing I could help, but knowing you were right where you needed to be and I was doing what needed to be done right here.

Your "wonder dog" Bingo missed you too and must have wanted you to have plenty to do when you got home late Saturday night because Sunday was full of "fixing" everything that seemed to come undone. Undone.  What an appropriate word right now.  Funny how the fence isn't the only thing that can come undone in our lives.

 I watched you pull and twist and splice the wire back in place, and couldn't help but wonder if that fence of ours wasn't simply a reflection of your heart right now. It was standing tall, keeping everything in just fine, and then with one unsuspecting incident, everything was tangled, twisted, and broken in a matter of minutes.  Kind of like your heart.  Kind of like the hearts of many in our world.

I think that those few hours you spent on the quiet hillside Sunday afternoon were necessary. They were quiet whispers and flickers of sunlight saying that things may not be as neat and tidy as they once were, but that things will be everything they need to be.  They will be pieced together with this and that, and the strength will still remain

Fixing fence isn't glamorous or fun, but it definitely shows a person that with a little pull, twist, and sweat, it's purpose can be found again. It gives you a chance to make things right.  It mends that which has been torn and places hope right across the middle of our lives - just like a fence should.

 Your day at home on Sunday was quiet.  It was busy, but it was quiet, and I know now that it needed to be.  It needed to be spent on your hands and knees with a mangled mess so that you could see for yourself just a couple of hours later that the mess would be strands of hope and love holding things in place once again.  That the mangled mess wasn't permanent.  That although it's not perfect, it's doing exactly what it's supposed to do and standing tall.  Just like you.

Loving you with all that I've got ~

Linds

sunshine on a cloudy day.

Dear Annie,

Do you remember that day not so long ago {that you can read about here in case you forgot}, when we got in the car and drove for miles just to find the sunshine?  It had been dark and gray with crazy amounts of fog for days - and neither of us were enjoying it.  Calving season can do that to a person.  It's full of new life, but at the same time, it's life sucking, and ranch wives know it all too well.

We decided to go snowshoeing - praying that the warmth would soak into our bones and leave us with a radiating glow and extra amounts of happiness.  I remember laughing so hard about everything and anything as we started our trek up the hill in Meacham that we could barely walk without falling down. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and there wasn't a sound except our laughter bouncing through the trees. We found the perfect spot to sit in the snow and rather than hiking, we just laid there in that clearing for an hour.

There wasn't much to say really.  We both live and breathe the slogan "behind every successful rancher is a wife who works in town" and do our best to maintain a sense of "grace" in all we say and do when it comes to our lives being lived well.

...................................

10 months later and I'm wishing for that day again.  That day when our "cattlemen" had practically begged us to go for that drive, just so we might smile at them again.  That day when we shared some dreams we had, along with a few fears.  That day when life seemed "normal" and finding sunshine was our only concern.

......................

I've cried buckets of tears for you over the past 24 hours.  I think all of your friends and family have.  I don't think, I know.
I've cried, and I've prayed, and I've begged God to whisper a hint of what I'm supposed to do now as your friend.
Your friend that wants to make all of this better.
Your friend that just wants Clayton back.
Your friend that isn't sure how to be helpful or what to say.
Your friend that knows she could of just as easily been the one finding the strength to hold onto her precious kids as she explained what happened to their dad.
Your friend that hopes sunshine will soon fill your heart and soul again.

You've been in my life for a reason, several seasons, and I know without a doubt, we're headed toward a lifetime.  I'm one of so many that is supporting you in any way I can.  I'm one of the hundreds that has been blessed by your smile, your unwavering faith, your optimism, and your strong beauty.  I'm one of your friends that needs you to know that we love you.

This new season of friendship that started yesterday afternoon ... well, it's not going to be easy or explainable or without tears, but it is going to be worth everything I've got, every tissue box ever made, and will probably include several pieces of chocolate too!

Praying for sunshine and a chance to lay in the snow again ~

Linds

a legacy.

Dear Clayton,

It seems like just yesterday you were standing in the driveway with me.  It was a cold, winter day last January and you and I were standing on the hill watching Ian try to maneuver his way around the feeders in the lot below.  He was trying to be the {one man show} that you and he both have down to a science. Here's the thing ... one man shows don't always work ... in fact, they rarely do. I think you knew that, but it's not a habit easy to break.

You looked at me and asked, "I wonder if he needs help?"

I smiled, looked back at you and said, "probably, but watching is a lot more fun."  "Should I find some lawn chairs?" 

You laughed that belly laugh of yours that I can hear in my mind and feel in my heart still today. Thank God for memories and a heart to hold them.

We stood there in the quiet, hearing Ian swear and cuss the mud.  I started feeling sorry for him.  I think you did too, but we still just stood there.  A lesson was being learned.

You are all about lessons being learned in the midst of a challenge.  That is a quality that not everyone has, but it was one you radiated.

The lesson we were watching was one I pray my husband remembers from now until forever.  The lesson that keeping your pride in tact isn't as important as asking for help.  The one that says you've got this --  just as soon as you stop worrying about how it may or may not make you look when you shout {or even whisper} three simple words  "I need help."

When he pulled back in the driveway, and started toward us I got a little anxious, feeling bad we didn't help, but you just stood there smiling.  "All you had to do was ask for help, Ian ... that's it ... ask for help before you kill yourself trying." "We love you enough to help."

.............................................

10 months later and all I can think about is how great you were for Ian - as a friend, as a fellow cattleman, as a husband, as a dad. 
How your wisdom and words, and even occasional shouting frustration taught him so very much. 
I want to write down every bit of everything I remember you saying and doing to help Ian by just being you.
I want the hot summer days of tearing your flatbed trailer apart and the jobs you "gave" to Mason. 
I want the days of welding in the shop. 
I want the cow trucks parked and washed out. 
I want the quiet smiles. 
I want rusty gates and shovels and branding adventures.
I want the gathering days in the mountain pastures. 
I want root beer and chips and your kind eyes that always whispered "thank you."
I want the birthday dinners and beer margaritas. 
I want the look of understanding that you always seemed to have.

I want you back.

We all do.

Your legacy will live on, and I promise that we'll take care of your beautiful Annie, your smiling Jarred, your sweet Justine & caring Julia, and your mama.    I promise.

We will love them the best we can ... from now until forever in the best possible ways.

Missing you and your true-blue friendship that so many of us could count on,

Until we see you again ~

Lindsay & my 3 cattlemen {and so many others that loved you too}

Time After Time

6 months ago I spent 2 life changing days in Eugene. It was beautiful in a bunch of different ways ... but probably one the best things about it, was the time spent worshiping and studying the word of God with just a few of my most beautiful friends!

You never know what Beth Moore is going to talk about when you sign up for her conference - but you do know that whatever it is, it's going to be a-m-a-z-i-n-g, God filled, and worth every minute you have that weekend.
...............................

6 months later and here I am re-reading my notes from the message focused around {time}.  Funny how God brings you back to the basics at just the right times in your life - this Sunday in October of 2013 being one of them - when I've been letting time control me rather than just doing what I can with the time I have.
.....................................

Did you know that time is what keeps everything from happening at once? It's true. And yet, how many times have I felt like one more thing couldn't possibly happen in my life at the same time without the world coming to an end.   Key words:  I've FELT like.  Feelings are different than reality.  Time doesn't go - time comes!  We should not be depressed or anxious about all that seems to be counting down around us... we are on a "count up!" We are on a mission to live life well each and every day - without worry, without fear, without knowing what might happen next, but trusting that this time we have is going to be spent well.

As a teacher, I hold a timer in my hand almost every day.  I time kids on math facts, I time them on reading passages, and I time their recess.  It's all a count-down to zero.  But over the course of the past few months, I've caught myself remembering Beth's powerful words that said "quit counting down!"  Grab a stop watch - start at 0 - and gain all the time in the world!

My lesson plan book is filled with appointed times for every day and every subject, and as I sit here tonight with a new week of blank pages in front of me, I can't help but smile.  Those appointed times have never been worth so much.  Rather than being discouraged about the shortened schedule, I'm going to focus on doing great things with the time that's been appointed.  My kids are learning, I'm learning, and the time we have is being counted up rather than disappearing.
Here's the catch ... the most beautiful place you can possibly be in your life is knowing that you don't have anything at all if He doesn't come through for you.  You see, God knows the end from the beginning.  He sees it before we do, and simply asks us to trust.  Trust.  Trust. Trust.

Teachers are notorious for feeling like there is never enough time.  I was one of those teachers last week.  But I do know that I have a dash that I'm living right now, and my students do too. The"dash" that represents everything you do from your birth until your death. The dash that whispers - "Hey, it's up to you if it's a mad dash {angry}, or a sad dash {torn up}, or a bad dash, or a glad dash that simply says I'm glad I was here."
I cannot be enslaved to a schedule.  I have to buy up the time I've been given ... redeem it ... and move from dark to light every single day.  God didn't have light first and then say "hey, we need some darkness."  He said ... let there be light!

And so, as I begin another week of school tomorrow morning, I'm going rise in the dark and move forward in the light - carrying 23 little 2nd graders with me as we count up the time we've been given rather than count down.

Who's with me?  These ladies are ... and I hope you are too!  Let the world know you by your love and live your dash well!!

returning to here.

I opened my eyes enough to see the sunlight.  My heart raced a bit as I questioned what day it was.  I was in a twin bed with books on top of me and a six year old snuggled into my side.  My eyes looked around the room and then I remembered ... it was Saturday.
I let my head sink back into the pillow quietly returning to a peaceful resting place.  I didn't need to rush.  I didn't need to prepare. But I did need to rest.

The remainder of the morning was slow and productive.  I quietly wondered what it would have been like to be sitting in the same room as Ann Voskamp, and then I quickly smiled.  She would be proud of me for staying home.  She would be cheering over the choice I made.  I didn't get to see her this weekend or hear her quiet calming voice, but I'm with her in spirit - giving thanks in the midst of returning to this place I call home.

I called a few friends, wrote a few notes and sealed them in envelopes, started the laundry, swept the floor, and folded towels. Beds were made, bills were sorted, and a piece of pumpkin pie was savored.  It's funny how everything seems just right when you return to a place that you're called to be in. And right now, the place I've returned to is a quiet, peaceful place of rest not in a physical location, but in my heart.

I turned on my camera {which just happens to be the best advice Lisa could have ever given me this morning}, and set about doing the normal every-day things that are often as far from beautiful as can be.  I dusted.  I re-hung a frame that had fallen weeks ago.  I switched out art work.  I listened to music.  I intentionally put on the agenda for the day REST!  I knew I was supposed to savor the chores, the work, the quiet, and the life I've been too busy to enjoy.

Getting things done instantly and quickly will do that to a person.  Facebook will do that to a person.  It's instant, it's fast, and right now it isn't where I need to be writing so that two seconds later someone can like it. I think I've been in this place over the past year where it's easy to forget who you really are because you're busy trying to be 5 of yourself at the same time.  I  look fine, and sound fine, but my soul is far from fine.

............................

I spent the late afternoon outside with the boys.  My garden hadn't seen me in a month. The sunflowers and roses that filled my summer with beauty were sending me off  with bits of beauty still remaining... reminding me that to truly gain an understanding of who you are, you have to die to yourself.

Later in the evening I turned on the computer and sat.  I stared at the header of this journal/blog I started 7 years ago and I cried.

It hadn't been updated for over a month.  It hadn't even been looked at.  Mack's first days of kindergarten are non-existent according to Bales and Tales.  My tooth extraction and gaping hole, the stitches, the swelling ... all of it is history & old news on Facebook, but it's still so alive here.  I scrolled and I cried, and I heard God whisper this:

Write. I want you to write. Hold your camera and remember who you are.  Press & release that shutter - over and over and over.  This place is your home, and it's welcoming you back.  I'm welcoming you back. This is where you are supposed to be.  Right here.  This ranch, this yard, this camera, this faith that speaks volumes without saying a word.  Return to the place that gives you My peace. 

...................................

The 3 gifts for 10.5.13 were gifts returned.  I think that's proof that I'm right where I need to be - sitting here, sorting through pictures, and typing as fast as I can as God whispers words to my soul so that I can share them with the world - or at least my mom.

Here's to returning to that which gives us life ~ not always understanding it, but trusting that it's where we need to be ... and it's who we need to be.