10 million miles

When I delivered Juliette, I wasn’t expecting to feel the same bonding that I felt with our other children.

I wasn’t expecting to feel that deep love that took root when I held our first two squirmy, crying, nursing daughters.

And yet, I did.

She lay so still in the crook of my arm, and my heart gushed with love for her.

(I shouldn’t have been surprised, because God allows the same post-delivery hormones to race through the body; the same maternal instincts to rise up in the heart; so a mommy can know and love each and every one of her babies.)

I was smitten.

I looked at her little red body, which needed so much more time to develop, and I loved her.

No, she was not much to look at; for she was not meant to be seen yet!

But I felt so pleased about who she was; I am so pleased about how far she had come.

I am proud of her.

So very proud of her.

And I want the world to see our little girl.

What a wonder! What a delight! What a beauty!

The mystery is, she did absolutely nothing to win my heart.

She didn’t have to do anything to win my heart.

But did she ever.

So I caught a glimpse – just a glimpse – of the Father’s love for us.

Suddenly, it all made sense that even when we were dead in our trespasses and sins, God’s love for us gushed forth and Christ died for us.  It all made sense that His love for me doesn’t even consider anything I might do, be, or accomplish to earn it.

He just loves me.

I have done nothing to win His heart, for His heart has won me.

(Thank you, my dear Juliette, for teaching me the gospel.)

(Oh, the inspiration that may come your way through 10 Million Miles… Become a follower today!)

With great sadness, I wanted to share this with you…

Vivienne (to Grandmom):

“You know, my mom won’t be bringing the baby home with her from the hospital.

But d’ya wanna know what’s great about it?

The baby is in Heaven… and didn’t even have to read the Bible to get there!”

Some of you knew, some of you didn’t know, that Ryan and I were so happily expecting our third child. At our 20 week ultra-sound appointment, we discovered that the baby had stopped growing at 18 weeks and was no longer alive.

And, so, I don’t really know what else to write except that we are journeying through a stillbirth.

I’ve always thought of it as one of life’s single-most terrifying words: stillbirth.

I’ve always thought of it as being a quiet, sterile experience with no pulse; no energy.

But, there we were… laboring, crying, reaching, and waiting.

And I realized I had overlooked all of the movement there would be.

All of the agony, anxiety, care, love, turmoil, shock, shifting, and growing of mother, father, nurses, doctors, grandparents, children…

All the beating hearts and falling tears and mourning groans…

The only stillness, really, is that precious little body that emerges to say, “I was really here. But I am not any more.”

And that one little person is so very, very still.

While everyone and everything  keeps moving, and pulsing, and groaning, and hurting.

***

It’s only been one day since.

But, I wanted to let you know about it because it’s very hard for me to pick up the phone or talk about it in person.

***

We’ve had incredible, overwhelming support from friends and family – even from some folks who we do not even know, but who are entering our mourning process with the perfectly placed Scripture or word.

On Tuesday morning, Ryan and I were like a mommy and daddy sheep, grazing contentedly on a mountaintop, not realizing that, the next moment, when we turned our heads, we’d be whirling headlong down a cliff, into the valley of the shadow of death, running, feet over feet just to keep up with the plunge.

But, no sooner had our feet hit the depths of the valley, when we heard the thundering…

…the thundering footsteps of dozens and dozens of people, running headlong behind us, to meet up with us there.

And to surround us. All around.

We thank God that people – like sheep – follow one another with such devotion.

So, though we are here in the valley, God Himself remains our rock, and our family and friends remain our companions, hovering all around, even as Christ is with us here.

And our baby – a sweet darling if ever there was – is in Heaven (and didn’t even have to read the Bible to get there).

Here’s a Memoir:

There I stand with our battery-operated weed-whacker.

Mid-August.

In the backyard, you know, where the woods

pushes against our rock wall,

persisting on invading our property.

I mean it: Persisting.

But I will beat it back! I commit.

I will kill the invading woods!

Even as I rev up the engine, those strong vines boisterously roll over the rocks, growing 5 more inches, tossing suckers into our helpless lawn.

Who am I kidding? I ask as I remove my safety goggles.

My weed-whacker and I don’t stand a chance.

Life keeps springing up.

***

And so I meditate on this: life keeps springing up!

It happens all of the time: life keeps springing up.

Despite the way we

- when left to our selfish devices -

tend to destroy life:

we buy too much,

sleep too late,

eat foods that kills us,

say words that kill other people,

build weapons,

waste time,

abort babies,

and hate each other.

Through our actions, we scream, “We. don’t. want. any. more. life!”

Yet, God persists.

He fills our gardens, our imaginations, our cells, our wombs.

He persists in growing trees, providing fruits and vegetables, giving wisdom, creating babies,

and breathing life through Scripture so that we are overwhelmed with growth:

life that multiplies from His sweet hands.

Father and Creator, forgive us for killing what you have created (in a million different ways),

what you have loved (in a million different ways),

what you have invested your heart in,

what you have written on your hand and placed upon your arm.

All I can request is,

“Keep going! Keep on in your mercy inundating us with life!

Your glorious power speaks for itself –

You are greater than death.“

- thoughts by Laura

(Photo credit: The Independent)

Not too long ago, a friend of mine reminded me about this post. Because I was reading it anyway, I thought I’d post it again.

Self-entitlement: The attitude that lurks just under my skin, ready to emerge whenever I’ve worked my rear-end off and think I deserve some sort of a pay-back. (Also, when I imagine that people are deliberately disregarding my time or work.) (Also, when I self-righteously call myself a “servant”, but expect to be treated like a “queen”. I once heard a pastor say, “If you want to be the servant of all, expect to be treated like it.” Who wants that?!)

Its appearance: I’ve noticed ugly self-entitlement in my own life when I demand a “break” from the children, a mind-reading husband or a clean house (“I just cleaned this entry-way! Who left their shoes right in the middle of the floor?!”).

Its symptoms: So, what begins as an ugly thought, becomes a silent-though-deadly sigh, which becomes a snippy comment (“I said, who left their shoes right in the middle of the floor?!”), which becomes resentful behavior (shoving shoes into the closet), which becomes a sulky, mean, and demanding me.

Its friends: I find that when I am indulging self-entitlement, I’m simultaneously indulging discontentment, resentment, pride, selfishness, and independence. ‘Must be what Paul was talking about when he wrote, “For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice.” (James 3:16)

Its food: Somehow, self-entitlement seems to gobble away the lovely things in life like relational peace, service, contentment, and joy.

Its fault: It turns out that, even if I did work my rear-end off, picking up those shoes is yet another practical way that I can serve the shoe-owner who – let it be known – did not intentionally leave his shoes there just to make me mad, or to disrespect my hard work. Rather – now that I think about it – he worked just as hard as (harder than?) I did and happened to leave his shoes on the mat on one (very) ill-timed occasion. And chances are, he didn’t have time to put them in the closet because he was rushing to relieve me of a whining child, a load of laundry, or a burning pot of beans, which made our house spell like cigarette smoke for days.

Its freedom: The way I see it, I am entitled to 2 stunning rights:

To love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength
To love my neighbor as myself. (Of course, these basically open a glorious storeroom of rights to me: the rights to serve others, love others, and to enjoy peace, kindness, and gladness to my heart’s content.)

Beyond that, though, I’ve got no self-entitlements. None.

I am not entitled to sulk, complain, demand, destroy, or resent. If my husband needs to work an extra hour on Tuesday night, or leave his shoes in the doorway; if my child needs me to leave a friend’s house early because she is strung-out from that 10 a.m. cupcake, or if she needs me to use that precious nap-time to plan healthier snacks for the week, bring it on. Let the thanksgiving commence! Let this woman say, “Praise the Lord! He has entitled me to love!”

It’s fought with: Philipians 2:3, James 3: 16, Romans 12: 1 – 2, Philipians 4: 4 – 9, Galations 5: 22 – 23

(Don’t worry! The author of this text took plenty of feminist-theory classes in college and has read piles of books about a woman’s rights, privileges, and expectations. She concludes that the feminist mentality doesn’t hold a candle to the glories of living a feminine life of Christian service and sacrifice that glorifies God!)

A friend of mine – Sarah Mae – writes blog posts that receive responses from all kinds of women who are trying, listening, discerning, changing, thinking… I really love mulling through the conversations.

Recently, Sarah wrote about her desire to embrace godly principles without (or despite) other people feeling judged or throwing rotten tomatoes. Plenty of responders wrote that they feel the same way. Needless to say, their thoughts got me thinking, too… my thoughts were too long for a comment on her blog, so I thought I’d just post them here.

They Won’t Throw Tomatoes

A woman who believes that what the Bible says is true,

works in her home to invite people in;

to build an environment that is immersed in

God’s grace and goodness

so that when people come in,

they bask in that love and acceptance – they don’t throw tomatoes.

A woman who believes that what the Bible says is true, works

to raise children who bless their neighborhoods

with godly attitudes, selfless actions, and sincere love.

She overflows with ideas, resources, and energy available to love

other children well;

she serves soups, cakes, and salads to hungry stomachs

around her table

and around the community.

She stocks up on band-aids, toilet paper, water bottles and Bible verses

for skinned knees, emergencies, and broken hearts;

she lays aside the clock when a salesperson knocks,

a neighbor-kid stops by,

or her husband calls – just to check in.

With lawns mowed, children welcomed, health concerns prayed-for, and stories listened-to,

they won’t throw tomatoes.

A woman who believes that what the Bible says is true

happily supports men teaching men because

they – just like women – need to dig into Scripture,

plead for insight,

organize their thoughts,

and communicate the Word of God boldly as they should.

She can see that those controversial verses are wise for this day

when a man’s platform is shrinking and his digging

is discouraged.

Neither men nor women would throw tomatoes at a teacher

who has stepped aside so that others may learn, too.

The won’t throw tomatoes and they won’t throw words like

legalism, conservative, or limitations

because they’ll see all of this for what it is: love.

They won’t throw tomatoes

because, you see, a woman who believes that what the Bible says is true

asks the Spirit of God to change her into a servant:

and – this is where I take heart! – there is always beautiful evidence

when God

intervenes

and a mere human woman learns how

to live like the Son lives,

and to love like the Father loves,

and to minister like the Spirit ministers.

Yes, Christians will – and do – face persecution, but

the work that God gives to His servants is so loving

healing

forgiving

and sanctifying

that even if one angry person throws a tomato,

a servant cleans it up and loves even more.

Because that’s what Someone did for her.

Sometimes a book sits on a shelf

though it should be thrown away.

Sometimes a movie

or a phrase

or an attitude

lingers in our home a little too long.

Or, rather,

sometimes a wall remains blank

though it should be beautified.

Sometimes a gift remains ungiven

a smile, unsmiled

a lesson, untaught,

a song, unsung in our house too long.

These are the details I notice.

These are the “to do’s” on my post-it notes.

This is my career. My lifestyle. My goal.

This is why I pour my life into our home:

to notice the little things -

and the big things -

that come in,

and go out.

Like a bouncer, editer, manager, auditor, sanctifier, teacher, artist, cook, composer…

I box up the trash.

I send out what is meaningless, useless, wasteful.

I refuse entry to the thieves, the noise, the junk,

And say, “no” to things that might waste our vapor.

Ah, but I also keep the treasures.

I look for flashes of true beauty and tug, pull, stretch it out – to share it.

I gather the good – no, the best – and set it on our shelves, dinner plates, and ear drums.

I pray about everything I see, sense, and discern within our tiny family.

Every ounce of muscle, insight, and passion is required to be the Keeper of my Home.

No one else has been – or will be – asked to do this job within these precious walls.

It is on my shoulders, in my eyes, within my spirit.

And I gladly do it.

For God himself is happy then. And we are happy in Him.

- Thoughts by Laura

***

No wonder Paul wrote that women are “to be sober, to love their husbands, to love their children, to be discreet, keepers at home, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God be not blasphemed.” Titus 2. I think this is revolutionary.

***

Check out a related post: A Wise Woman Builds Her Home.

On December 21st, I shared the message,

“And His Name Shall Be Called: Everlasting Father“.

This is my Christmas gift to you!

(Click on the above title; when the new page loads, look for Laura B. – “Everlasting Father”.)

***

After you’ve listened, I hope you’ll sing this beloved carol with invigorated understanding:

Q: What else can you do with that button jar??

A: Here are some ideas to get you started:

* just look at it (seriously, some kids will be thoroughly engaged just looking at it)

* pull out last week’s empty egg carton and sort those buttons ’til you’re all sorted out (size, shape, color, number of holes, lights/darks, favorites, etc.)

* play “Button Store” (When you are the customer, order progressively more complex combinations. Begin with, “I’ll take two blue buttons and three red ones, please.” Work towards, “I’ll take five white buttons. Actually, one less than that, please.” or “May I please have two buttons with four holes and four buttons with two holes?” Throw in a little brown bag for “the purchases” along with some “please’s,” “thank you’s”, and “come back again’s”.)

* Make gifts! For example, last Christmas, Vivienne’s gifts to family members and friends were collections of button magnets. We glued varieties of buttons onto small round magnets and boxed them up with some green crinkle-paper. (Wish I had some pictures for ya… They really were precious. Side note: For Vivienne’s grandparents, we purchased inexpensive miniature nativity ornaments and made magnetic nativity sets.)

* Match ‘em. For example, using different colored crayons, mark small dots on a piece of paper. Ask your preschooler to glue a matching-colored button on top of each dot.

* Count them.

* Name them. Feed them. Wash them. Put them to bed. (You think I’m joking??)

* String them along on a piece of wire to make a button-bracelet.

* Make your own Button Family Photo. Together, choose one button that most closely represents each person in your family. (For example, if Dad has a large purple head, the large purple button would be the perfect choice! Seriously though, you’ll crack up at your preschooler’s reasoning.) Glue it to a piece of paper. Ask your preschooler to draw the rest of the body under the button-head.

* Measure them with Tablespoons, teaspoons, and cups.

* Pour them, mix them, and put them away.

Incidentally, if you happen not to share my sincere affection for buttons, I’d be happy to take yours off your hands (or jackets, sweaters, shirt-cuffs, etc.) Also, if you happen to spot the mother-load at a garage sale, scoop ‘em up: I’ll pay you back! Just send ‘em our way.

…crash the neighbors’ (anyone and everyone); invite a friend over; put huge pieces of paper on the kitchen floor, give the kids cheap shaving cream or cool whip and walk away; play outside no matter what the weather is like; let ‘em wash the dishes for as long as they want; stick them in the bathtub with measuring cups and a turkey baster until they are positively prunes; watch videos like the Signing Time series (don’t know about Signing Time?!); read, read, and then read some more until they are positively prunes (increase your child’s stamina by reading to them during breakfast, lunch or snack time); play, “The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers” over and over again (nap time will arrive early that day); have a tea party; bake cookies; give ‘em a ball of yarn and kid-scissors; do puzzles; watch your child turn into a genius/ zombie as they play Sesame Street games on the computer (don’t know about Sesame Street games? Check out the playlists, especially.); let ‘em call your husband, your mother, your father, your sisters, your brothers,and  your estranged cousins; do the laundry (mere babes will sort darks and lights, put wet clothes in the dryer, AND sort underwear and socks if they know a marshmallow is coming); give older toddlers a couple of cotton balls, a wash rag and a small bowl of water to wash a plastic baby doll; smash towers of blocks with a remote control car (a recent discovery in our house – thanks SIL!); hand out scissors and an old magazine or coupon flier; take pictures of things that begin with different letters of the alphabet; watch every single Hallmark ecard before sending one to your hubby/ daddy; watch every single Hallmark ecard again before sending one to your mom, dad, sisters, brothers, etc.; finally, and most importantly, on days when you feel you have very little to offer, tip-toe around any and every already-occupied child and do not disturb them at any cost until they are positively prunes. And that will pretty much get you to lunch time.

1. I love a good back scratch,

2. and a good teeth-cleanin’,

3. and a good run.

4. I love impressive words like bombastic, equilibrium, and paleontologist,

5. but I love profound concepts like freedom, forgiveness, and mercy, even more.

6. I like to cut my fingernails all-the-way short and only use clear nail polish on them. (My childhood piano teacher taught me that this is most elegant for a pianist. Which, I like to imagine, I am.)

7. However, I love some color on my summer toe nails. (Favorite: OPI’s Ruble for Your Thoughts)

8. In the past five years I have fully converted from nail file to nail clippers (learn how to properly cut your own finger nails).

9. I bite my baby’s fingernails. While she’s nursing. Yes, she does mind. (Don’t tell anyone.)

10. I sleep under the covers all year round. (Shop for a down comforter here.)

11. I drink a lot of water. Exclusively. Almost.

12. Of course, if I’m not pregnant, not nursing (for an hour or two anyway), and not driving, I’ll share a glass of Pinot Grigio or a Woodchuck Cider with you.

13. I believe that all other beverages are a waste of calories.

14. I’d much rather save those calories for chocolate.

15. Or those mini eclairs. Partly frozen. Yum.

16. I love to-do lists.

17. I love done to-do lists more.

18. I get a thrill from efficient movement around the house. For instance, taking a load of recycling down to the garage when leaving for the grocery store, or moving a glass from the kitchen table to the sink while I’m walking by, etc.

19. I always do housework when I am on the phone.

20. In fact, I have a running list of “phone work” projects in my brain so that I have something to do when you call.

21. I am ready to admit that it’s a problem.

22. I am not yet ready to change.

23. I also am ready to admit that my obsession with journals and bags is a problem.

24. I am not yet ready to change.

25. (I blame my most recent bag purchase entirely on Vivienne. How could I not buy that $10 army bag after my three year old shopping-buddy purported, “You need that bag, Mom. Look, you can put your books in here; stuff for me in here; and stuff for Lia in here! You NEED to buy that.”)

26. I love vintage-anything: knee socks, bed frames, wooden birds, etc.

27. But I don’t know how to convince Ryan that beat-up-stuff is totally worth his hard-earned money.

28. He’s a good sport, though.

29. Because he enjoys refinishing the vintage items.

30. For example, today we bought a little old school desk (the kind that opens up on a slant and slams down on little fingers. Not on purpose. I’m just sayin’ we know what we’re getting into).

31. So Ryan will refinish it, and it will look so authentic that our children will suddenly wear little bonnets, write in Old English, and carry slates.

32.

33. We always check out way too many books for me to juggle with a baby, a bag, keys, my parking pass, a snack, a preschooler’s hand, way-too-narrow parking spaces, and car handles. So, when you ask me if I need a hand, yes, I do.

34. I usually do, actually.

35. But not many strangers offer hands these days.

36. Interestingly, the strangers I most consistently rely on to offer help are grandpops.

37. Their kindness is so inspiring that I try to offer a hand when I see someone in need.

38. But then I remember that mine are full of books, a baby, a bag, keys, my parking pass, a snack, way-too-narrow parking spaces, and car handles.

39. And I remember that I’m also inspired by the simplicity of Europeans who, for instance, go to the beach with a towel. Just a towel. They sit on it, dry off with it, eat it as a snack, and then go home. See what I mean? Simplicity.

40. Isn’t that why I’m going to the library anyway? To borrow a couple of books that we don’t need to buy. To save some trees; save some space, save some cash. and participate in the literary community. It should be beautiful and, well, simple.

41. But, there are just so many books and those dust jackets make the books so easy to slip off the shelf into my pile. Not to mention that the other books are crammed so tightly that they suction back together after I’ve removed one, making it impossible to squish the book back into place with one hand (remember, the other one is holding other books, a baby, a bag, keys, my parking pass, a snack, way-too-narrow parking spaces, and car handles). So, week by week, we leave the library looking somewhat like the stereotypical home-school family with our piles and piles of books.

Don’t know what I mean by “stereotypical home-school family”? Just watch this:

42. And the laugh there is that we are a home-school family. And we don’t even have a five year old yet. Or a four year old.

43. But that doesn’t matter to this mother who googles curriculum plans, orders educational catalogs, and has unintentionally turned her kitchen/ house into a preschool.

44. I’m convinced that it’s a calling. You might have always felt God calling you to minister to a third-world country or collect previously-owned-eyeglasses for the poor; I have always felt God calling me to home-school. For real.

45. What else… Well, if it worked, I would name all of our children Bob Dylan and Patti Griffin.

46. But, for now, I’m content that Vivienne shares her birthday with Dylan and Lia *kinda* shares her birthday with Griffin (okay, so she’s one month, two days, and forty-four years off, but it’s better than nothing).

Listen to Dylan sing my Vivi song:

47. I share my birthday with Hitler, Columbine, the National Smoke-up Time, the fall of the Roman Empire, Apollo 16 landing on the moon, and the first pasteurization test completed by Louis Pasteur and Claude Bernard…

48. …and with a sweet little kindergartner from our church whose mom reads this blog. (Hi, Jenny!)

49. My annual birthday cake is my mom’s delicious strawberry shortcake. (Make your own: yellow cake, cool whip, and sliced strawberries.)

50. I also like Moose track Ice Cream. Galliker’s. (Find Galliker’s ice cream near you!)

51. (I’m only half-way there?!) Um, well, I can scrawl out some impressive poster lettering.

52. Without using a pencil to sketch the letters first.

53. I’m convinced that this is why I won the elections for class president in high school. (Doesn’t it always come down to the posters?)

54. Actually, you could write some impressive poster lettering, too. (Do it yourself: confidently scrawl your message across a piece of poster board. Add dots, stars, triangles, or horse figures to the ends of each letter. Wa-la! Impressive lettering! The art is hidden mostly in the confidence. My high school drama teacher taught me that I can be infinitely better at something just by acting like someone who is an expert in that thing. For example, the next time your friends ask you to join them for a 3-on-3 b-ball game and  you realize that you’ve never played before, just act like Kobe with your defensive arms flailing around and your smooth gooseneck follow-through and you’ll be tons better than if you just walked out on the court as your insecure self. No promises, of course.)

55. We are down to the dregs in our hand soap, which bothers me.

56. But I’ve been waiting for CVS to run an ECB on hand soap. (Would someone please tell CVS headquarters that we’re about to be in dire straights in the hand washing department?!)

57. We’ll have to use Dawn Dish Detergent soon.

58. Which isn’t so bad, because isn’t it supposed to make your hands silky smooth while you’re slaving away over the burnt edges of the casserole dish?

59. Nonetheless, I just can’t turn my back on the good smelling hand soaps.

60. Truly, if I go to your house and you have lemon, lavender, or vanilla soap in your bathroom, I instantly feel as if you are the wealthiest, most hospitable, most wonderful homey friend in the world. (Maybe good- smelling-hand-soap is one of my love languages…)

61. My favorite subscriptions are: Eating Well Magazine, Homeschooling Today, and Family Fun

62. My favorite prescriptions are: allergy medicine that works even in the worst of times.

63. My favorite season: autumn.

64. My dream job for the far distant future: a college chaplain.

65. Really?! A college chaplain?! Why?!

66. Mostly because the chaplain at UR was incredibly inspiring: gentle, wise, unapologetic, and personal.

67. And, if I take a good look at my passions, gifts, and tendencies, I can see myself thriving in that position.

68. That is, after I’m finished with this preschool/ grade school/ high school stage of my life.

69. And, that is, after I figure out the kind of education I’ll need or the type of top-selling book I’ll have to write in order to secure said position.

70. Speaking of possibly needing more formal education for a future-future job, I should let you know that I daydream about the type of student I would be at this point in my life… because I’m pretty sure that:

71. I would rock.

72. Why? Because I would actually do my reading.

73. And I would actually go to office hours. (Teaching at the college level taught me tons about what really matters!)

74. Say, “Go to your professor’s office hours!” 10 times fast to a college student in your life. And then say it again. And again. And write it on a slip of paper and stick it in their Christmas stocking. Then write it on their mirror with a Sharpie. And then sew the collars of all of their shirts shut with thread that spells out “Go to your professor’s office hours!” That way, every morning, they will be firmly reminded of this most-important discipline as they fiercely poke their heads through their shirts.

75. I’m tellin’ ya, “Go to your professor’s office hourse!” is THE #1 word of advice I give to any and all college students.

76. But who knows what “college” will look like in the future-future when I’m all pumped up and ready to apply for a position as chaplain… Probably by then professors won’t even have office hours. And then what kind of advice will I dish out? I’ll have to come up with something…

77. Truth be told, the chaplain thing might just be one of my day dreams; unlike home-schooling, I’m not positive that it’s a “calling” exactly. They say “if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans”. (Name that movie for 32 extra points!)

78. I think that other things that make God laugh are elephant jokes.

79. Not to mention, of course, His other phenomenal animal: the chicken.

80. Which, we hope to accommodate at our farm sometime soon.

81. Shortly after which, we will welcome a Great Pyrenees dog. The first and only dog that has ever won my heart.

82. They are loyal, independent guardian dogs. (Who wouldn’t want a gorgeous, white mountain-top looking after her chickens and children?)

83. The first time I met a Great Pyrenees, my heart stirred within me. No joke. And the dog, who was lounging 20 feet away, got up and walk right up to me, as if to say, I know.

84. In that magical moment, I decided we’ll just have to be that family who travels in an RV, spends vacations at animal-friendly campsites, kayaks down riverbeds, and loves a dog.

85. In the meantime, our girls are loving a cat.

86. Named Linus.

87. Who moved to the farm as a kitten, and is the happiest and most beloved farm cat I have ever seen.

88. He never stops purring. Really. The vet had to de-purr him with an alcohol swab just to listen to his heartbeat. He’s that happy.

89. Why? (Because he has barged into my cat-free world, forced me to pick cats up, pet them, feed them, and BUY THEM FOOD.)

90. ‘Turns out, I’m happy, too.

91. I am.

92. Even though this year has been full of sadness, it has been replete with joy.

93. And, like a little girl balancing on a 3-inch beam, we walk the narrow path of sorrow and joy…

94. one foot in front of the other,

95. rejoicing in the footprints

96. that mark the way before us.

97. And we know that if He walked here,

98. we can,too.

99. Because the direction He walked…

100. was always towards Our Father. And so follow.