Preparing for the Sabbath

"Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.

"Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work:

"But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God. ...

"...Wherefore, the Lord blessed the sabbath day, and hallowed it."

~Exodus 20:8-11

If He rested on the seventh day, and hallowed it, and made the Sabbath for man, should we not consider this the pinnacle of our week?

A time to come before Him in worship, for as Elder L. Tom Perry states so beautifully:

"The pattern of Sabbath day observance must always include worship." 

And we worship first and foremost by coming to the Sacrament table to partake of the sacred emblems.

The bread to remind us of His broken body which was bruised and torn for us, but now lives again triumphantly resurrected.

Teaching us that we too may become whole and healed in body and spirit through Him.

The water to signify his blood, which was shed in the garden "for the remission of [our] sins."

Truly, "Partaking of the sacrament is the center of our Sabbath day observance."

They who lived long ago would bring a sacrifice to the altar, to give away, pointing to the great and last atoning sacrifice of our Lord, Jesus Christ, who gave us His very life.

And while the burnt offering was fulfilled in Christ, we still can and must bring to the altar a sacrifice.

A sacrifice of sin, a desire to give them all away in order to know Him.

For our Savior said, "And ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit."

So might we begin anew? 

To come to the Sabbath with outstretched arms and cupped hands, ready to receive His divine grace.  Ready to receive His sacrament, ready to sacrifice our sins, ready to rest from all the cares of the world.  

For in Him, they are all swallowed up,

and only peace and joy and love left in return.

Indeed, the Sabbath is a hallowed and holy day.

{This post is also linked up with A Holy Experience and Women Living Well}

Preparing for the Sabbath

"Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy.

"Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work:

"But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God. ...

"...Wherefore, the Lord blessed the sabbath day, and hallowed it."

~Exodus 20:8-11

If He rested on the seventh day, and hallowed it, and made the Sabbath for man, should we not consider this the pinnacle of our week?

A time to come before Him in worship, for as Elder L. Tom Perry states so beautifully:

"The pattern of Sabbath day observance must always include worship." 

And we worship first and foremost by coming to the Sacrament table to partake of the sacred emblems.

The bread to remind us of His broken body which was bruised and torn for us, but now lives again triumphantly resurrected.

Teaching us that we too may become whole and healed in body and spirit through Him.

The water to signify his blood, which was shed in the garden "for the remission of [our] sins."

Truly, "Partaking of the sacrament is the center of our Sabbath day observance."

They who lived long ago would bring a sacrifice to the altar, to give away, pointing to the great and last atoning sacrifice of our Lord, Jesus Christ, who gave us His very life.

And while the burnt offering was fulfilled in Christ, we still can and must bring to the altar a sacrifice.

A sacrifice of sin, a desire to give them all away in order to know Him.

For our Savior said, "And ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit."

So might we begin anew? 

To come to the Sabbath with outstretched arms and cupped hands, ready to receive His divine grace.  Ready to receive His sacrament, ready to sacrifice our sins, ready to rest from all the cares of the world.  

For in Him, they are all swallowed up,

and only peace and joy and love left in return.

Indeed, the Sabbath is a hallowed and holy day.

{This post is also linked up with A Holy Experience and Women Living Well}

Walk as He would...

When shadows are all tucked into the blanket of sky and the moon shimmers as the world's one great nightlight I come to the posture of humble submissiveness--that of kneeling to bring before my Father the minutia of a day.  Somewhere in the middle of it all I ask a frequented question:

What wouldst Thou have me know tonight?

Then at the close of the prayer, I listen perched atop my bed covers, waiting, straining to hear the answer I'm sure will come.  And all I can feel is a tingling, numb sensation in my feet, which I try to brush off and ignore.  But the tingling intensifies and reality strikes me forcefully----

this is the answer. You must walk as He would walk in order to walk with Him.

It's as if the tingles are bathing my feet with a disciple's purpose, imbuing a stunning transformation.

I hold onto the tingles as long as I'm able, willing them to stay for just a moment longer, hoping this revelation will not slip into forgotten by morning.  But the miracle stays even when the tingle fades.   

My feet feel somehow different, more holy.  

And tomorrow I will look at my two feet with different eyes.  Where will they go?  What will they lead me to do?  All is adventure and all could be holiness if I can grant my feet willing emulation of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Walk as He would...

When shadows are all tucked into the blanket of sky and the moon shimmers as the world's one great nightlight I come to the posture of humble submissiveness--that of kneeling to bring before my Father the minutia of a day.  Somewhere in the middle of it all I ask a frequented question:

What wouldst Thou have me know tonight?

Then at the close of the prayer, I listen perched atop my bed covers, waiting, straining to hear the answer I'm sure will come.  And all I can feel is a tingling, numb sensation in my feet, which I try to brush off and ignore.  But the tingling intensifies and reality strikes me forcefully----

this is the answer. You must walk as He would walk in order to walk with Him.

It's as if the tingles are bathing my feet with a disciple's purpose, imbuing a stunning transformation.

I hold onto the tingles as long as I'm able, willing them to stay for just a moment longer, hoping this revelation will not slip into forgotten by morning.  But the miracle stays even when the tingle fades.   

My feet feel somehow different, more holy.  

And tomorrow I will look at my two feet with different eyes.  Where will they go?  What will they lead me to do?  All is adventure and all could be holiness if I can grant my feet willing emulation of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Listing--the Magic Button

Why do I always forget that gratitude, the special eyesight to see His wonder everywhere, is the answer to all woe?  When I refuse to "see" it is only because I have been blinded by he who wants my miserableness.  When my day (or just a few moments) go all wrong I search and seek for some magical answer, some perfect button to push and make everything happy again.  Then I moan when this magic button does not appear and I think I will never find the answers.

But somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice whispers, be thankful, give praise, see gratitude.  When I push it out, I remain in the unhappiness, but when I grasp onto those words and enact them by listing the gifts from God, I am restored to the happiness.

Why do I forget?  Why do I refuse to listen?  Is it because of the smallness of the task, the simpleness of the way?

Oh can I engrave these words into my heart forever?

 "...by small and simple things are great things brought to pass..."

I just need more practice.  And this year is the perfect time to do so...

     I will keep trying to remember...even when I forget or fail.

          Someday I will live eucharisteo perfectly.

{My list continues...}

#389. Open notebook just waiting for more grace.

#391. Pouring over Women's Conference details.

#402. Blueberry muffins in wicker basket.

#404. New day beckoning tomorrow-a perfect day to give away all my will.

#405. Little goodnights breathed through the dark.

#408. Beaded buds on tree limbs

#411. Raindrop smattered shopping trip.

#412 New shoes for little boys.

#414. Home to enjoy the rain from indoors

#415. Tortilla chips with a hint of pepper jack

#417. Forgiveness sweet from Little Bear.

#421. Slow dancing with my sweetheart.

#422. Soft music with breakfast.

#424. Inspiration from heaven teaching me to praise my boys--lavish them with it

#429. The opportunity to make a difference through blogging.

#430. Fresh fish delivered from a dear friend.

#432. Little Bug whispers.

#438. Lovely nap all snuggled under covers.

#446. My sweetheart's presence this morning.

Listing--the Magic Button

Why do I always forget that gratitude, the special eyesight to see His wonder everywhere, is the answer to all woe?  When I refuse to "see" it is only because I have been blinded by he who wants my miserableness.  When my day (or just a few moments) go all wrong I search and seek for some magical answer, some perfect button to push and make everything happy again.  Then I moan when this magic button does not appear and I think I will never find the answers.

But somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice whispers, be thankful, give praise, see gratitude.  When I push it out, I remain in the unhappiness, but when I grasp onto those words and enact them by listing the gifts from God, I am restored to the happiness.

Why do I forget?  Why do I refuse to listen?  Is it because of the smallness of the task, the simpleness of the way?

Oh can I engrave these words into my heart forever?

 "...by small and simple things are great things brought to pass..."

I just need more practice.  And this year is the perfect time to do so...

     I will keep trying to remember...even when I forget or fail.

          Someday I will live eucharisteo perfectly.

{My list continues...}

#389. Open notebook just waiting for more grace.

#391. Pouring over Women's Conference details.

#402. Blueberry muffins in wicker basket.

#404. New day beckoning tomorrow-a perfect day to give away all my will.

#405. Little goodnights breathed through the dark.

#408. Beaded buds on tree limbs

#411. Raindrop smattered shopping trip.

#412 New shoes for little boys.

#414. Home to enjoy the rain from indoors

#415. Tortilla chips with a hint of pepper jack

#417. Forgiveness sweet from Little Bear.

#421. Slow dancing with my sweetheart.

#422. Soft music with breakfast.

#424. Inspiration from heaven teaching me to praise my boys--lavish them with it

#429. The opportunity to make a difference through blogging.

#430. Fresh fish delivered from a dear friend.

#432. Little Bug whispers.

#438. Lovely nap all snuggled under covers.

#446. My sweetheart's presence this morning.

Be Still.

There are times when clouds gather and snow falls in early April, when disappointment knocks on our door, when stress sets in like a frost and our emotions or anger or worry stir up inside of us. Like a pot of maple syrup set on the stove, we warm and then simmer and then heat into a stirring boil that threatens to overspill the confines and submerge the surroundings in a brown-steaming, sticky mess.

This is the way of the adversary. The one who seeks to make us miserable like unto himself.  "...and they were much disturbed, for Satan did stir them up...that he might harden the hearts of the people against that which was good..."  He does not want us to see the good, the beautiful gifts from God all around us.  He would rather us boil over and then harden into an impossible sheet of maple "rock."

But there is another way, a higher way. It is whispered by the dew drops of summer morn, the silent snowfall, the stately steadiness of distant mountains. 
        It is the way of "stillness."

And when the sun beams down in radiance, and the house is quiet, and the birds chortle their morning medley, it is easier to savor the stillness and say, yes.

But when tempers rise, toddlers topple, crumbs scatter themselves all over newly-swept floors, voices rise and so do our internal temperatures and something starts to stir.  Yet this is when the "still" makes all the difference, this is when the "still" calms the raging storm, and only He has power to do that.

"Still" is not easy, or convenient, or even desired in the midst of the way of he who stirs.

But only "still" will bring the inner peace we crave.

And so we fight the stirring, we settle and still and breathe. 

And if we wonder, "Master, carest thou not that we perish?" We will hear the tender rebuke, "O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?"

"Be still, and know that I am God..." 

Be Still.

There are times when clouds gather and snow falls in early April, when disappointment knocks on our door, when stress sets in like a frost and our emotions or anger or worry stir up inside of us. Like a pot of maple syrup set on the stove, we warm and then simmer and then heat into a stirring boil that threatens to overspill the confines and submerge the surroundings in a brown-steaming, sticky mess.

This is the way of the adversary. The one who seeks to make us miserable like unto himself.  "...and they were much disturbed, for Satan did stir them up...that he might harden the hearts of the people against that which was good..."  He does not want us to see the good, the beautiful gifts from God all around us.  He would rather us boil over and then harden into an impossible sheet of maple "rock."

But there is another way, a higher way. It is whispered by the dew drops of summer morn, the silent snowfall, the stately steadiness of distant mountains. 
        It is the way of "stillness."

And when the sun beams down in radiance, and the house is quiet, and the birds chortle their morning medley, it is easier to savor the stillness and say, yes.

But when tempers rise, toddlers topple, crumbs scatter themselves all over newly-swept floors, voices rise and so do our internal temperatures and something starts to stir.  Yet this is when the "still" makes all the difference, this is when the "still" calms the raging storm, and only He has power to do that.

"Still" is not easy, or convenient, or even desired in the midst of the way of he who stirs.

But only "still" will bring the inner peace we crave.

And so we fight the stirring, we settle and still and breathe. 

And if we wonder, "Master, carest thou not that we perish?" We will hear the tender rebuke, "O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?"

"Be still, and know that I am God..." 

Thoughtful Thursday

There were days when the very thought of getting ready for the morning...the washing, hair coiffing, and makeup painting...was enough to make me weary.  Then before I'd blink, sun would set, little ones were tucked away into dreamland, and night would be fast upon me.  The process would begin again....the washing, and the brushing, and the flossing.  Why so much hassled effort to get ready for the day just to turn around and get ready for the night?

I pondered this puzzle for years.  Until one evening, the water was running clear and my cupped hands reached up to fill with the purity that cleanses pores.   

"Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow." 

 Could this be it?  Could I be engaging in a small ritual of not only physical, but spiritual washing in the morn and the eve?  At night, washing away distress and and anxiety and the tarnish of the day, and in the morn, washing away the soot and dust of slumber?

Washing to prepare to meet my Lord?

For isn't it ironic that evening prayers and a surge of the Word follow evening washing?

And isn't it interesting that morning prayers and a feast in the Word follow morning cleansing?

We wash to "strip ourselves of all uncleanness," to cleanse and purify our bodies and spirits for a small entrance into His presence, for "no unclean thing can dwell with God."

The scales of darkness fall from my eyes as the water runs down my face.

And now I understand.

{This post is also linked with Raising Homemakers, Time Warp Wife, and Women Living Well}

Thoughtful Thursday

There were days when the very thought of getting ready for the morning...the washing, hair coiffing, and makeup painting...was enough to make me weary.  Then before I'd blink, sun would set, little ones were tucked away into dreamland, and night would be fast upon me.  The process would begin again....the washing, and the brushing, and the flossing.  Why so much hassled effort to get ready for the day just to turn around and get ready for the night?

I pondered this puzzle for years.  Until one evening, the water was running clear and my cupped hands reached up to fill with the purity that cleanses pores.   

"Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow." 

 Could this be it?  Could I be engaging in a small ritual of not only physical, but spiritual washing in the morn and the eve?  At night, washing away distress and and anxiety and the tarnish of the day, and in the morn, washing away the soot and dust of slumber?

Washing to prepare to meet my Lord?

For isn't it ironic that evening prayers and a surge of the Word follow evening washing?

And isn't it interesting that morning prayers and a feast in the Word follow morning cleansing?

We wash to "strip ourselves of all uncleanness," to cleanse and purify our bodies and spirits for a small entrance into His presence, for "no unclean thing can dwell with God."

The scales of darkness fall from my eyes as the water runs down my face.

And now I understand.

{This post is also linked with Raising Homemakers, Time Warp Wife, and Women Living Well}

The True Easter Celebration

Even as I write this, chills tingle my spine and the Spirit whispers the confirming witness, that yes,

He Lives.

 Easter is nearing and my mind wanders the life and the ministry of Him who bore our griefs. How can I make this Easter experience one that washes over my family like a wave from the sea leaving us flushed with eternal water pure--His living water?

Our superficial world with its materialistic counterfeits for every holy thing has not left Easter unsaturated.  It is hard to break free from the traditionalism of Western culture--but we must return to the source of the water if we are to experience a rebirth.

This world with its holiday traditions is not evil, it is just distracting when there is so much more to derive.

My boys and I paint white clouds on blue cardstock, but do we snatch the opportunity to gaze up at the clouds that twist and float and change with each passing minute?

We blow bubbles and the ones that Pop holds are large and ethereal, soaring away on the April wind. And the ones that the little ones make are small and short-lived and we keep pointing to the colossal swirls of rainbow and say, "Look, look," but they don't hear or maybe they just ignore.

And Pop says it best, They are too focused on making their own that they don't look up to see the big ones.

When we focus so much on the fluffy traditions and forget to live the holy ones it's as if we are painting clouds and blowing small bubbles and forgetting to look up, to the source, to the real beauty and meaning.

Could we remove the layers of fanciful that quickly wither?  Could we refuse to go through Easter and instead pledge to have the experience of Easter go through us, and change us?

 Let us walk with Him today and everyday as we travel the road to the cross and the empty tomb.

The True Easter Celebration

Even as I write this, chills tingle my spine and the Spirit whispers the confirming witness, that yes,

He Lives.

 Easter is nearing and my mind wanders the life and the ministry of Him who bore our griefs. How can I make this Easter experience one that washes over my family like a wave from the sea leaving us flushed with eternal water pure--His living water?

Our superficial world with its materialistic counterfeits for every holy thing has not left Easter unsaturated.  It is hard to break free from the traditionalism of Western culture--but we must return to the source of the water if we are to experience a rebirth.

This world with its holiday traditions is not evil, it is just distracting when there is so much more to derive.

My boys and I paint white clouds on blue cardstock, but do we snatch the opportunity to gaze up at the clouds that twist and float and change with each passing minute?

We blow bubbles and the ones that Pop holds are large and ethereal, soaring away on the April wind. And the ones that the little ones make are small and short-lived and we keep pointing to the colossal swirls of rainbow and say, "Look, look," but they don't hear or maybe they just ignore.

And Pop says it best, They are too focused on making their own that they don't look up to see the big ones.

When we focus so much on the fluffy traditions and forget to live the holy ones it's as if we are painting clouds and blowing small bubbles and forgetting to look up, to the source, to the real beauty and meaning.

Could we remove the layers of fanciful that quickly wither?  Could we refuse to go through Easter and instead pledge to have the experience of Easter go through us, and change us?

 Let us walk with Him today and everyday as we travel the road to the cross and the empty tomb.

Cupped Hands, broken world, Eucharisteo in practice

Last night was wonderful.  With the summation of General Conference and the words of a living prophet, my heart was happy as my sweetheart and I discussed the gems we heard.

But today has been a tornado of terribleness.  Boys crying and falling off chairs and puzzles missing pieces and I sit and wonder what pieces are missing in me.  Why is this all so hard?  Why can I not be just stronger and just truer and just better and just...something that I'm lacking?

I remember Ann's words I read last night when all was peaceful and still and just perfect.  And today with the turmoil the words are being put to the test:

"Eucharisteo makes the knees the vantage point of a life and I bend and the body, it says it quiet: 'Thy will be done.' This is the way a body and a mouth say thank you: Thy will be done. This is the way the self dies, falls into the arms of Love." ~Ann Voskamp, one thousand gifts

I felt it last night after prayer and while I quietly pondered.  I gave my will to Him and in response, a waterfall of joy and peace washing over me, making me feel cleansed and pure.

But in the here and now, the rush and franticness, the helter and skelter, the tears and the anger, "this fallen world [that] never stops dis-membering and we all break apart a bit more everyday," I am put to the test.  But what else could I expect when for Christmas I gave Him a gift of thanks, Eucharisteo, that would evolve into a new way of life for me and my family?

Do I not believe that He will therefore give me a chance to practice this Eucharisteo every day and perhaps every moment?  But what of when I don't feel joy brimming and overflowing?  What of the reality of diapers and laundry and stubbed toes and dishes and piano lessons and keeping the peace with a house of 3 boys?  What of the times when my heart fills empty and alone and angry?

This is the time when I can follow what I read from Ann last night:

"And I humbly open my hand to release my will to receive His, to accept His wind.  I accept the gift of now as it is -- accept God -- for I can't be receptive to God unless I receive what He gives."

And this too:

"True saints know that the place where all the joy comes from is far deeper than that of feelings; joy comes from the place of the very presence of God. Joy is God and God is joy and joy doesn't negate all other emotions--joy transcends all other emotions." 

~Ann Voskamp, one thousand gifts

So I keep counting and scrawling the gifts and little by little, with hands cupped, the winds start to cease--if not all around me then at least in my heart.  And my "I can't do this," turns into "We can."

Because the piece that was missing I can find everyday in Him and in seeing Him in every moment, every eyelash, every sound, ever tear.  He is here...giving me good gifts and I have cracked the code and will continue to re-crack it daily until it becomes in essence a very part of me. 

"In the remembering to give thanks, our broken places are re-membered — made whole."  ~Ann Voskamp

#175. Sunlight lacing edges of dark cloud
#183. Reminding myself that yes, even this is grace
#187. Not losing my temper once today
#202. Feeling the bread broken and the water cool--both healing my soul
#205. Prompting to call Mom and talk to her about my grace-trial
#223. Beethoven's Sonate drifting through my ears melancholy and somber and poignant
#227. Quiet moment in the Word
#228. Funny texts from sweetheart the make me smile
#230. Nudges to carry this notebook everywhere
#238. Warm purple socks snuggling cold feet
#239. Thinking of summer
#243. Day all mended with a call to my best friend
#253. Seeing my distorted reflection in the steel of cheese grater--reminding me that I see through a glass, darkly.  There is no veil veiling His view and perspective.
#260. Seeing the good adventure in living with family this year.
#279. A daily routine that finally words--Breakfast, chores, Sunrise Devotional, Preschool, lunch, naps, laundry and movie, playtime, scriptures and journals, bedtime
#280. Knowing soon I will have a Sabbath routine that will work.
#301. Warm, unseen hands on shoulders comforting me through my doctor's visit
#304. Little Bug running all cuddly to my lap.
#316. Needing more tape which seemed like storm of hail but was really grace because it led me to the store where I found the miracle of the 40 teal totes each $2.00
#318. Kind man fetching my lids when they blew away in the ferocious 35-40 mile an hour wind then going with me the extra mile to my car to keep the lids from flying away again.
#319. After completely dying, car starting again after a heartfelt prayer and many attempts.
#332. Trusting the Lord to cradle my day
#334. April 1st sunshine
#339. Rustles of pages and clicks of marker lids--the sound of boys coloring
#344. Little Bug saying "blanket" for the first time
#353. Little Bug wanting me to hold him all day-those days are so limited
#356. Little boys in little socks running in the sunshine and riding trikes
#359. Joy cackle of Little Bug on the swing for the first time this Spring.  Last year he went through a phase of fear for swings.  Had he just forgotten the magical wonder of it all?
#360. Waking up to Little Bear's voice singing, "Conference is today, Conference is today!"
#361. Spirit blanketing home today with General Conference streaming to our eyes and ears
#374. Bedlamites laughing manically while rolling on the ground.
#383. Little Bug's "Thank you Mommy's."

Cupped Hands, broken world, Eucharisteo in practice

Last night was wonderful.  With the summation of General Conference and the words of a living prophet, my heart was happy as my sweetheart and I discussed the gems we heard.

But today has been a tornado of terribleness.  Boys crying and falling off chairs and puzzles missing pieces and I sit and wonder what pieces are missing in me.  Why is this all so hard?  Why can I not be just stronger and just truer and just better and just...something that I'm lacking?

I remember Ann's words I read last night when all was peaceful and still and just perfect.  And today with the turmoil the words are being put to the test:

"Eucharisteo makes the knees the vantage point of a life and I bend and the body, it says it quiet: 'Thy will be done.' This is the way a body and a mouth say thank you: Thy will be done. This is the way the self dies, falls into the arms of Love." ~Ann Voskamp, one thousand gifts

I felt it last night after prayer and while I quietly pondered.  I gave my will to Him and in response, a waterfall of joy and peace washing over me, making me feel cleansed and pure.

But in the here and now, the rush and franticness, the helter and skelter, the tears and the anger, "this fallen world [that] never stops dis-membering and we all break apart a bit more everyday," I am put to the test.  But what else could I expect when for Christmas I gave Him a gift of thanks, Eucharisteo, that would evolve into a new way of life for me and my family?

Do I not believe that He will therefore give me a chance to practice this Eucharisteo every day and perhaps every moment?  But what of when I don't feel joy brimming and overflowing?  What of the reality of diapers and laundry and stubbed toes and dishes and piano lessons and keeping the peace with a house of 3 boys?  What of the times when my heart fills empty and alone and angry?

This is the time when I can follow what I read from Ann last night:

"And I humbly open my hand to release my will to receive His, to accept His wind.  I accept the gift of now as it is -- accept God -- for I can't be receptive to God unless I receive what He gives."

And this too:

"True saints know that the place where all the joy comes from is far deeper than that of feelings; joy comes from the place of the very presence of God. Joy is God and God is joy and joy doesn't negate all other emotions--joy transcends all other emotions." 

~Ann Voskamp, one thousand gifts

So I keep counting and scrawling the gifts and little by little, with hands cupped, the winds start to cease--if not all around me then at least in my heart.  And my "I can't do this," turns into "We can."

Because the piece that was missing I can find everyday in Him and in seeing Him in every moment, every eyelash, every sound, ever tear.  He is here...giving me good gifts and I have cracked the code and will continue to re-crack it daily until it becomes in essence a very part of me. 

"In the remembering to give thanks, our broken places are re-membered — made whole."  ~Ann Voskamp

#175. Sunlight lacing edges of dark cloud
#183. Reminding myself that yes, even this is grace
#187. Not losing my temper once today
#202. Feeling the bread broken and the water cool--both healing my soul
#205. Prompting to call Mom and talk to her about my grace-trial
#223. Beethoven's Sonate drifting through my ears melancholy and somber and poignant
#227. Quiet moment in the Word
#228. Funny texts from sweetheart the make me smile
#230. Nudges to carry this notebook everywhere
#238. Warm purple socks snuggling cold feet
#239. Thinking of summer
#243. Day all mended with a call to my best friend
#253. Seeing my distorted reflection in the steel of cheese grater--reminding me that I see through a glass, darkly.  There is no veil veiling His view and perspective.
#260. Seeing the good adventure in living with family this year.
#279. A daily routine that finally words--Breakfast, chores, Sunrise Devotional, Preschool, lunch, naps, laundry and movie, playtime, scriptures and journals, bedtime
#280. Knowing soon I will have a Sabbath routine that will work.
#301. Warm, unseen hands on shoulders comforting me through my doctor's visit
#304. Little Bug running all cuddly to my lap.
#316. Needing more tape which seemed like storm of hail but was really grace because it led me to the store where I found the miracle of the 40 teal totes each $2.00
#318. Kind man fetching my lids when they blew away in the ferocious 35-40 mile an hour wind then going with me the extra mile to my car to keep the lids from flying away again.
#319. After completely dying, car starting again after a heartfelt prayer and many attempts.
#332. Trusting the Lord to cradle my day
#334. April 1st sunshine
#339. Rustles of pages and clicks of marker lids--the sound of boys coloring
#344. Little Bug saying "blanket" for the first time
#353. Little Bug wanting me to hold him all day-those days are so limited
#356. Little boys in little socks running in the sunshine and riding trikes
#359. Joy cackle of Little Bug on the swing for the first time this Spring.  Last year he went through a phase of fear for swings.  Had he just forgotten the magical wonder of it all?
#360. Waking up to Little Bear's voice singing, "Conference is today, Conference is today!"
#361. Spirit blanketing home today with General Conference streaming to our eyes and ears
#374. Bedlamites laughing manically while rolling on the ground.
#383. Little Bug's "Thank you Mommy's."