I’ve been a bit of an absentee blogger this summer.  I have many things I hope to blog about soon, but have to wait until the projects are further along.  And this whole trying to sell our condo thing has seriously taken over our summer.  I haven’t been home much (trying to keep the apartment clean and available for showings).  Not to mention I’ve had some serious internal debate over whether or not I want to continue blogging (that introspective post will come later, though.  Boy, aren’t you excited.)

But here’s why I’ve decided to keep blogging - at least a little bit, for a little while: it’s actually happening. This thing - all of this house dreaming - is actually coming to fruition slowly, one step at a time.  And I figure I’ve pined and whined and promised and prayed and planned about it for long enough, I should stick with it and take you on that ride with me to see it to the finish(ish.  Finish-ish.  Is a house ever really totally done?)

Today was one giant step for the Taylor family.

The surveyor came and marked out the land for subdivision.  Step 1 in getting our farmhouse.

(You see him?  He’s the little neon yellow guy beside the white truck.)

On this muggy, sunny August day we walked around in the middle of a grassy field (dodging cow pies) and wondering approximately where our front door would be.  Where the trees would be planted.  What it would all look like when a house was there.  Our house.

(The view from my future veranda)

It was pretty awesome.

(Can you picture it?  I can…)

I had a day earlier this week when, for some reason, everything seemed a little clearer.  Every time I dressed my baby in soft, clean clothes, or wrapped her in a warm blanket, or laid my children down on their cozy beds, or fed them nutritious food, and gave them clean water to drink, or spent time with them, or bathed them, or felt the warmth of our home, or  prayed for my husband working hard to provide for us - I was so aware of what a precious gift these things were.  I felt that each thing was like I was holding gold.  I realized how incredibly rich I am.  To be able to give my children all of these riches is a great honour.  And I was so grateful to the Lord who gave them to me.  And I was aware of children who do not have these things or who do not have someone to give them.  Not because the Lord loves those children any less - certainly not.  His heart loves them (and my children) more than they could ever ask or imagine.  But in a my world of the day-by-day mom stuff that can become so all-encompassing, narrowly-focused, and at times overwhelming He allowed me to see beyond.  Partly, for His praise and glory for the gracious gifts He’s given me.  And partly to remind me to see with His eyes, and pray and care for children (and mothers) who don’t have the sweet gifts of clothing, or food, or home.

One day may come when I do not have all these things.  Does that make the Lord any less good?  Certainly not:

“…for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.  I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” (Philippians 4:11-13)

And if I lack any or all of these material things one day I can still find reasons to praise the Lord.  For these things will all pass away, but He is my Sustainer, my Provider, my Saviour, and my Strength.  And He is enough.  He is greater than gold.

But for now, I hope I can live in thankfulness, recognizing how rich I am, and using each piece of gold for his glory.

My heart is rejoicing.

A quiet, lovely, sweet sort of rejoicing.

Whispers of thanks to a kind God

who always heard

who always saw

who always knew.

And who, in His infinite grace and power

has delivered a long-awaited blessing.

And I can truly say

that a part of this blessing

has been the long waiting.

I have learned more of hope:

How hard it can be to cling to as time passes.

How foolish you can feel while it’s just hope.

How only hope in the Lord is worth the wait.

I have learned more of trust:

How to let go of control

How to let go of my plans.

How the Lord is always trustworthy.

And what I’ve longed for is now not a right I am entitled to,

but truly a gracious, kind, generous gift from the hand of the Lord.

And the waiting has brought Him more glory in my heart.  The waiting has made me more thankful for this gift.  The waiting has refined me and taught me.  And the waiting is drawing to a close.

My heart rejoices in the Lord.

The other night Little M slept through the night. (Still a rare and wonderful thing.)  Too bad I was wide awake in the wee morning hours with my brain a’buzzing.  As I often do when I awake in the middle of the night I prayed for whoever popped into my head.  The people I was praying for are all in different situations, but there is a common theme in their stories: they all need hope.

So I began to think about Hope.  I don’t know about you, but the mention of hope makes me think of… a Barack Obama poster.  Sunshine and rainbows.  Fairy dust and daydreams.  While none of these things are completely off base I realized I had a much better, truer image of hope.

Hope is kinda’ like a BIG ole’ reliable farm truck.  With more horsepower than you think you’d need.  With heavy chains and ropes ready to slug it out and pull you from the stickiest, thickest mud you can imagine.  Hope is a big truck, coming just in time, that won’t give up and doesn’t want you to either.

I laid awake and thought of times in my own life when it was hope that pulled me through.  I remembered years ago when my life was in a dark and tough place.  I could see no end, and no change.  It was a wonderful godly woman who spoke into my life that brought hope.  She told me she’d been there.  She told me there were ways I could climb out of it - steps I could choose to take.  She told me there was hope.  And I believed her.  And slowly that big truck pulled me along and I climbed out.

I thought of when Little M was first born and I felt helpless, frustrated, and hopeless.  It was the words of another godly woman who helped me through.  She had also been where I was.  She was realistic about what I could expect.  But she assured me that I could expect it to get better.  And she was right.  And as things slowly changed and got better her words of encouragement and hope dragged me out of that thick sludge of hopelessness.

Hope is powerful if it is founded in truth.  However, without truth hope is empty and a greater danger than hopelessness, I think.

What do you hope for?  Are you hoping at all, or giving up?  What are you placing your hope in today?  Is your hope based on truth?

“Why are you downcast, O my soul? 
   Why so disturbed within me? 
Put your hope in God, 
   for I will yet praise him, 
   my Savior and my God.”

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.”

 PSALM 42:5, PSALM 46:1

Little One,

Who will you be?

How is our Creator crafting you inside of me?

If there’s anything I know (from my experience)

It’s that I don’t know anything.

And who you will become

will lead us both on an adventure.

At times I am so scared.

My stomach tied in knots.

There is so much I can fear,

but instead I must pray.

At times I am so excited!

My mind racing with possibilities.

What should we name you?  What colour will your room be?

What will you look like?  What fun we will have together!

At times I wonder how I could possibly do this again.

sickness, sleeplessness, pain,

sleeplessness, selflessness, worry,

humbling, sleeplessness, heartache…

…And did I mention no sleep?

But I have not one doubt

that you will resoundingly prove

that you were worth it all.

And joy will outweigh discomfort.

When I first see your face.

When you peacefully rest in my arms.

When your tiny hands wrap around my finger.

When you smile,

laugh,

roll,

sit,

stand,

walk,

speak

for the first time.  Or the millionth time.

Such moments of joy erase it all.

And you will be worth it.

And I will still fear:

Can I teach you right?

Can I model love well?

Can I point you to the Saviour?

Can I help you become you?

Can I handle your failures with grace and truth?

Can I handle my failures with grace and truth?

Can I help you with your hurts, while helping you brace for the trials of life?

Can I accept your choices, because you are you?

Can I let you go, when the time comes?

Can I pray faithfully enough?

Can I place you in God’s strong hands and trust Him to do the rest?

In the end, all I can do is pray and trust the Lord.  

So this, Little One is my prayer for you:

I pray that wisdom will lead you.

I pray that humility will ground you.

I pray that compassion will move you.

I pray that faith will form you.

I pray that courage will push you forward.

I pray that humour will lift you.

I pray that you will go further than I have ever gone.

And I pray that Jesus will be your Lord.

I love you, Little One.  Grow strong in there, OK?