Shoveling manure seems so romantic after having survived this week.

View of the garden and chicken house through the kitchen window.

After 6 days of fevers, heart-stopping coughing fits, lethargic babies and temperamental temperaments to equal all the chaos, I'm starting to see a light at the end of sickness tunnel.

I hate hate hate watching sickness ravage my children's tiny bodies. Being powerless in the face of sickness weighs on my soul heavily. All is dark when they are coughing so hard they can't catch their breath. I try so hard to keep a gentle smile on my face when they look up at me with pleading eyes, begging for relief and I have none to give. I pray. And pray. And pray.

That's all I can do.

God, this sucks to be powerless as I watch my precious daughters suffer.

I trust You are here, even when I don't "feel" it. But it still sucks.

This brings me to the picture above. Turning the proverbial corner in this slowly dying plague, my heart starts to yearn for happier things to come. Namely, working in the garden.

I stinking miss it. I miss the dirt and the fresh air, the sweat and the toil, the digging and the weeding and the constant battle against the curse on the land. I'm quite sure I "miss" the curse because I've been cooped up inside for far too long and I'm afforded too much time to romanticize all the toil of gardening.

There is something so deeply satisfying to my soul to see dirt under my nails. To eat the food that I grew (by God's grace) is immensely, well, cool. I have been citified for far too long. Depending on a grocery store for my food instead of my own 2 hands feels like a jail sentence now.

I even miss the smelly chickens. (When are those useless creatures going to start producing eggs? That reminds me, we have a rooster to dispatch of.)

Still chewing on yesterday.

Cuddling with Z in a house full of silence, but for the occasional crash of thunder.

I've been chewing on yesterday like a piece of over cooked steak.

Seriously, Jesus. What does it mean to fall in love with You? To be swallowed up, consumed, real, true, full of the love of God?

What does it mean to really say, "Gain!" when I look death in the face with the promise of Christ?

How could I ever love anyone like Paul talked about? To wish to be cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers and sisters who are lost? I can't fathom that kind of love.

I'm terrified. I'm full of ecstacy. At the thought of being wholly consumed by You.

Nope. I'm terrified.

Nope. I'm dying for it.

I don't want to be religious. I want to be Yours. I don't want a list of do's and don't's. I need a relationship. I need to know God. I need to be known by God. I need the love of Christ.

Narnia moment

Sitting in the quiet of my room, reflecting on the last 4 hours of the day. How did I survive those?

How did the girls survive those?

What utter hell. I'm sure part of the problem is the current plague Is and Helen are suffering from. Sick children tend to equal rotten attitudes. That equation works for adults, as well now that I think of it. Our day went as well as can be expected with fevers and congestion and coughs and runny noses. I made smoothies for breakfast (always a winner). We cuddled in my bed, watched movies, the girls took a long nap, watched more movies and then it was time to cook dinner.

I sent the girls the play area and told them to play and read while I fixed dinner.

WW3.

Spankings and tears and rebellion and prayers and tempers and more spankings. As if I had commanded them to clean the toilet with their tongues! Since when did I get the "Horrid Mother of the Year" award for telling the girls to go play?

Then my beloved husband comes home! Oh, what joy and relief flooded my soul! My best friend, partner and comrade in the trenches has come home to help me fight the good fight for their little hearts and keep me from loosing my freaking mind.

Oh. Wait. You have a mission meeting at 7 you forgot about? Ok. No problem. Allow me a moment to chose my poison. A shot of tequila or the pretty blue cyanide pill I have stashed away for a day such as this.

We quickly scarf down the meal I had prepared (and burned while trying to nurse Z and maintain order at the same time - not possible, I've concluded), bathe the girls, put them to bed and he jumps in the shower to then turn around and run out the door.

My heart is so broken at the way this day has ended.

Looking for a ministering effect on my battered soul, I go to a favorite website and click on "Popular items." Here's what I ended up on:

Think Hard, Stay Humble: The Life of the Mind and the Peril of Pride

Sure, I'll watch this. I've already established I'm a self-absorbed, prideful-as-a-peacock Pharisee. I'm already feeling bruised from the beating I got out of the day. Why not seek out a little more punishment?

The message is delivered by Francis Chan. Never heard from him.

This guy is so real. He is so in love. With Jesus. You can hear it, see it, almost taste it from the moment he starts speaking.

I, on the other hand, am so in love. With myself. My life. My goals. My desires. The way people perceive me. Am I a good homeschool, hippie, bake from scratch, organic gardening, natural childbirth, breastfeeding, baby wrap wearing, pro-spanking, pro-gun, pro-life, physically fit, modest to a fault, conservative homemaker? As long as someone is watching.

As previously discussed, I don't pray often. But I bet my theology and doctrine is more sound than yours! And did I mention I read philosophy and bake my own bread and make my own cheese and yogurt and volunteer for charity and my husband is a missionary. I don't even have a tv.

I'm so holy I can hardly stand it.

Oh, God! Save me! Save me from my religion.

I like the things I do for my family. I like the work my hands have been tasked with...today a little less than others, but life goes on. What I don't like is my piety. In fact, I hate it. I despise my sin of self-righteousness. I abhor my unwillingness to get down on my knees every morning (if only for 5 minutes) to confess to my Holy God I'm a desperate sinner in need of His provision and strength.

Some of this is fear driven. What if He doesn't show up? What if I'm left there, talking to myself?

I live with enough fear to choke a horse. Fear of God's rejection, fear of failure, fear of falling short, fear that I'm not enough for God. Suffocating.

My A+ theology and doctrine tells me in a far off, clinical voice, "You're not enough and that's the point. God's grace is sufficient." I don't need my knowledge right now. I need God's love. I need to feel it, to share it, to experience it, to give it and live by it's power (not my own).

Here's where the Narnia moment happened. Watching and listening to Francis, I start thinking, "Father, I want what He's talking about. I'm dying for it." All the while knowing in the recesses of my mind, "I can never really get "there" where Francis is. That requires a life swallowed up in Christ. A life lived for Him not me. I can't do that. I can't even get up and talk to Him for 5 minutes in the morning."

And then the mental image of Aslan talking to Jill Pole flashed in my mind. Their dialogue was audible in my ears.

"Are you not thirsty? said the Lion. "I'm dying of thirst," said Jill. "Then drink," said the Lion. "May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill.

The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience. The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.

"Will you promise not to - do anything to me, if I come?" said Jill. "I make no promise," said the Lion. Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer. "Do you eat girls?" she said.

"I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it. "I daren't come and drink," said Jill. "Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion. "Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then." "There is no other stream," said the Lion...(They talk about how she came to be in that world.) "You would not have called to me unless I had been calling to you," said the Lion.

I feel like Jill. Unwilling to bend down and drink deeply for fear of what the Lion will do. What is God going to do to my life if I drink deeply and live fully for Him? As if it is even my life. As if I own anything. As if it is not God's to give and take as He wills.

What is going to happen if I fall head over heals for Jesus?

6 am and a cup of tea

This morning, Jake went back to the grindstone. Coal plants. Yuck.

Since I was up making his food before he left for work, I decided to make a cup of tea and have some quiet time with Zarah before the dynamic duo awoke at 7. This quiet time with Z ended up as quiet time with J...Jesus, that is.

I am so very guilty of not praying nearly enough (but can one ever pray "enough"?). Most of my prayer is in the form of an arrow and shot up only in times of desperation. So dumb, I know. And yet, I resist the change. For some reason I think I have to be on my best pharisaical behavior before I can talk to my Father. Again, so dumb. I have a knack for completely missing the gifts of grace. It's my bent as a Pharisee to twist amazing grace into the filthy rags of self-righteous good works.

Aaaanyway, I'm going to blame the Holy Spirit for this, but something was pushing me to sit in the dark and the quiet and just talk to God. I didn't even feed Z on time this morning (shock and horror for breaking the sacred schedule!). I just sat. Talking. To God, no less.

To my amazement, I think Jesus met me there in the stillness. Different people and needs kept coming to mind and I just talked to the Lord about anything and everything for about 10 minutes. Big whoop, right? !!10 minutes!!

That's pretty long for me. And I actually want to do it again tomorrow. I enjoyed asking God to meet these different needs that I am powerless to provide. I enjoyed seeking His grace on my life, my daughters' lives, my dear husband and other people around us.

After praying, I nursed my sweet Zarah and opened the email while sipping on some good ole black Irish. It just so happened, ahem, that I received an email update from Desiring God (the ministry of John Piper).

"I'm already on a role this morning! I'll listen to a sermon on top of praying and then I'll be really good for God. Dammit. I hate my self-righteousness. Wait, did I just curse, too? Crap. Please forgive me, Father. Ok...moving forward. (sigh)"

This was the sermon:

For Judgement I Came into This World on Desiring God

Another gift of grace, dropped in my lap - or email box. Whichever you prefer. Just last weekend I asked Dad in passing, "So, why does Jesus talk in riddles? I don't get all the passages that talk about His desire that none would perish and how they stand up to passages that talk about him leaving people without understanding. Like, when the Bible says, 'He said this so they would not understand.' Can you help me out?"

Dad, "I sure wish I could. I don't really know either."

Frustrating, because Dad knows a lot about his Bible. But God heard my question and sent me an answer in a (humanly) timely fashion. How stinking rare! God rarely, if ever gives me what I'm wanting, but He always manages to give me what I'm needing. So cool.

8. my wrap. weird, huh?

As strange as this may sound, my wrap is a huge blessing in my life. Especially with 3 babes now in the picture, I am so thankful for this wrap. When it was just Israel, the wrap was mostly for pure enjoyment. I enjoyed the closeness with my Is and the feeling like we were doing all the mundane house work "together."

With my Helen, it became a necessary part of life. Although Helen didn't enjoy being in the wrap the way Is did, it was nice to have the ability to hold Helen and still have my hands free to play with Israel at the same time.

Now with Zarah, the wrap is completely indispensable! Without this thing I doubt if I'd ever have a moment to just hold my sweet baby. Having my hands free to care for Helen and Israel is a must and with this thing I always have my Zarah close to my heart. I don't feel like I'm missing any bonding time with my third born, which I had feared I would before birth. Now we four girls go everywhere and do everything together.

My wrap, although just yards and yards of t-shirt material, is a vital blessing in my everyday life. Thank You, Lord, for these simple blessings that carry us through our day. Thank You for making a way to be close to my all my babies at once.

i killed it.

Not in the slang way. This is nothing good.

After all my blood, sweat and toil I killed my mother. The sour dough one.

Left her in the fridge too long. Drat!

7. cameras. well, pictures. no, cameras.

Without these things I wouldn't have my pictures. So, I guess it's the pictures I'm thankful for. No, wait. It's the camera I...wait. Oh dear. This is like the chicken and egg question.

Whether it's the camera or the pictures, what I'm truly grateful for are my subjects. The ability to capture and save precious, candid moments of our fleeting lives is worth more to me than gold. My pictures are my gold. I flip through and savor God's blessings often. Without these reminders of His love I would be a sad creature, seeing as how I forget His mercies so quickly. I rarely recall His blessings to mind as easily as when I have a picture to aide me.

Helen discovers my sunglasses.

And spaghetti.

Poppa comforts a tired Israel on his homemade bear skin rug.

Zarah sighing the precious sighs of a newborn while we were at the park.

Fourth of July with my best friend.

Helen trying to chase her sister, long before she can walk.

Precious kisses.

A stolen moment of peace after Zarah's labor. A prayer of thanks on my lips.

This lovely moment when Is discovered my lipstick.

Or this incredible moment. I dropped the camera down to my thigh as we were on a walk. I didn't want Israel to see me taking a picture because she stops acting naturally. Seeing Is hand-in-hand with her Poppa, following his leadership and protection...nope. No words can say it. Joyful, maybe.

She was dancing all over creation because I showed her in the mirror how her dress and her hair bow matched. She kept shouting, "I'm so beautiful!"

Poppa admiring Ruby Falls cave. Helen admiring being admired.

Israel reading to Helen.

I could go on and on.

And as I said before, I have the greatest subjects in all creation.

6. my Dancing Queen

I'm totally watching the child bust some serious moves with the iPhone blaring music right now.

I mean hip shaking, arms waving, twirls, jumps, eyes closed and shouting out words that don't even go with the music. Israel believes she is singing along and that's what matters.

Oh yeah, and she is asking for pink hair. Not even 3, yet. Yeesh.

Couldn't find one of the hundreds of pictures I have of Israel dancing, so I picked out this one. I think it captures her mood right now quite nicely.