lines, a pencil, and a whole bunch of grace

I picked up the pencil and held it in my right hand. When was the last time I picked up a pencil for me?
I write and write and write ... if 4th grade writing counts. 4th grade journal prompts, 4th grade Cornell notes, 4th grade sentences.

I write names, make check marks, draw stars, underline, circle, add bullets to notes, and keep my pencil behind my ear most of the time - just in case I need to write.

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

It was a Sunday in November. The wind was blowing outside. It was dark, so the lights were on in the house. Lamps in every corner turned on. I sat at the counter with a blank piece of beautiful white paper in front of me. Blank, white, hopeful paper.

My friend beside me, my husband watching from across the counter, and my boys wondering what I was doing with a pencil in my hand.

I didn't really know what I was doing either, but I was willing to try. I listened about lines and curves and held my hand out in front of me. My left hand ... the one that isn't as strong as the other, the one with hundreds of lines that for once didn't seem dry, the one that folded around air as I held it out.

Could I draw at all? Could I make my hand look real on a flat piece of plain, white paper? All I could think about was how I know I can write, but how I can't draw. Thoughts swirled around in my mind like the wind outside, and I twisted and turned the pencil as I anxiously started to draw one line and then another.

The size was off, the lines didn't quite match up, and I squirmed a bit. I wondered if my feelings were obvious. I wondered if the insecurity I was feeling was pushing through to the piece of paper. I wondered why I was doing this thing that I wasn't good at at all. I wondered and wondered and wondered.

The clock ticked and the pencil moved - pushing and pulling like my emotions often do - wanting to be brave, but holding back ... wishing for things to turn out just right, but realizing that imperfect is really what I need to be striving for ... hoping I could actually do what I was scared to try. I tried to erase the mistakes, and I even started over completely. Twice.

Later, as I walked through the house turning lights off, I saw the paper sitting on the counter. I looked at the ridiculous (for lack of a better word) attempt of making my hand have dimension and depth, and I stopped, sat by myself in a room with one lamp on, and flipped the paper over. I knew I could do it.

Sometimes, when you stop worrying about who's watching, stop worrying about being perfect, stop trying so hard for all the wrong reasons, you might surprise yourself in a matter of minutes. In fact, it turns out, all you need to give yourself is a pencil, a paper, and a whole lot of grace to see what was there all along.

To live by grace means to acknowledge my whole story - the light and the dark. In admitting my shadow side, I learn who I am and what God's grace means. 

- Brennan Manning

at the end of 1st grade

Dear Mack, 

This morning you weren't feeling well and quietly sat on the couch as the rest of us scurried around getting ready for another full & busy day. I was stationed to work in the nursery at church today and instead of holding a baby, I held you. Your feverish body that isn't so little any more curled up on my lap and slept - and I treasured every second.

I sat and rocked, and watched a room full of little people play together - remembering how much you hated the nursery as a toddler. The minute we walked through the church door, you would squirm. And you would cry and cry and cry some more after I left you even when you knew I'd always be back to get you in less than an hour. 

You have always been a mama's boy, and still today - weeks away from turning 8, that fact rings true. Thank you for your precious grin, your ability to make others laugh, and your sparkling eyes. You have always had me wrapped around that grin of yours, and I'm certain you always will.

This afternoon, you're asleep on the couch and I'm reliving your year of 1st grade through pictures. Pictures that have captured you at your best and at your worst. Pictures that give me the happiest of tears as I scroll through each one.

You lived this year so very brave, very happy, with some really good friends, running miles at a time, and reading chapter book after chapter book - along with a lot of Fly Guy too. You opened every gate you could, you were so much smarter than you thought you were, you did your homework without being asked, you ate a lot of great food (and plenty of candy too), you won some awesome awards, and you gave us every reason to be proud over and over again. In fact proud is an understatement.

We love you sweet boy. More than you'll ever know. And we're so very lucky to call you ours.

P.S. I hope you always know what a gift your smile is. It's contagious and beautiful in every sort of way - making the world better & brighter with each grin.

steady and sure ... and this season called summer.

Ian gathered our last bunch off of the 'Forth' piece we've leased the past several years a few mornings ago. When I saw them come over the top ridge, I grabbed my camera and headed toward the hay shed. Perched on our fence that borders the thousands of acres to the east, I watched him push the pairs and a few bulls from behind. He was slow and quiet as they made their way toward home. Steady and sure.

Not much has been slow or quiet lately. And it definitely hasn't been steady or sure. It's been a rush to get to the end of a school year, the end of a lease, the end of a the first cutting of hay finally being stacked, the end of almost two decades at a school, and the end of spring. There have been harsh words, frustration, exhaustion, worn out tears, and even sleepless nights. Decisions have made and so have opinions. Steady and sure, we're on the edge of everything being new whether we're completely ready or not.

I'm not going to lie and say that we're big fans of 'new' around here. We like steak and potatoes. We opt for ranch dressing. We like to be defined by the traits of  steady, faithful, and true. We are dependable, known, and comfortable. Adventure is not what has defined us in the past, and as one season ends and another begins - change and adventure seem to be staring us right in the face.

 And you know what, it feels right.

So very, very right.

Everything about it seems to be trustworthy.

It's taking one step at a time toward something better than we could have ever imagined. And as each day passes, the end is now becoming the beginning - turning into something comfortable and refreshing.

It's becoming familiar - just like Whitey.

Honestly, we are surviving the transition better than expected - finally being brave enough to stop tiptoeing around the reality that we need to be more than we've ever been before.

And although we're not exactly sure what we're going to face, grace and mercy seem to be the best sort of buffer we could hope for as we transition from one spot to the next.

So for now, we're going to enjoy our time in the holding pen called summer. The season that will offer a chance to breathe, a chance to plan, and a chance to dream - a time to get ready for all things new that are just up over the next hill and around the next bend.

Yes, thank you Lord ... for a chance to grow and live without abandon through this season we call summer.