like the ocean

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Go out, go out I beg of you
And taste the beauty of the wild.
Behold the miracle of the earth
With all the wonder of a child.  – Edna Jaques

Some days just seem to go wrong.  I don’t respond well, I make things harder than need be, I find myself throwing my hands in the air and saying, “PLEASE can’t we just get along??”, fully knowing that things will resolve better with time if I remain patient and calm.

In moments like these, I feel defeated.

As a mother, I want to be a compassionate role model, as a person, I want to show respect and kindness to others.  Many times I need to do the very thing I tell my children:

be still. breathe. calm down. reset. try again.

And I long for the ocean.

A wave.

There I would stand, waist deep, looking out into the horizon and waiting for a glorious, tall wave to rush in and sweep over me. Strong and terrifying, it would knock me over and I would see how truly small I am.

I might stop acting so big.

The water would be cold and salty and my skin would have that beachy freshness to it.  I might be upset for a moment.  But, as my clothes cling tight to my body, I would smile, thank the ocean, and walk back up along the shore.

There are some things in life powerful like the ocean.

Big moments that hit us and pull us down below the sea and push us up again, so we can regain our footing in less certain ground, where we don’t think we know so much.

And small moments, too.  The kind that you don’t even notice, they slowly creep up and splash around your feet, but still, they impact you.

Today we put our books down and allowed ourselves to become intoxicated with sunshine and fresh air. We ran and laughed, marveled at a partially frozen lake, found enjoyment in throwing sticks onto the icy layer and watching to see the outcome.

And like a gentle wave, the wrong words and deeds were swept away and we all stood up feeling refreshed. And my heart feels so very ready to welcome more days like this.

-b.e.

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listen instead

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I sit here, tea cup to my side; half full with tea which has steeped for too long and become tainted with bitterness. The house, quiet, other than the near silent whirring of the fan and humming of the computer.

Children tucked in and kissed and brought water, nightlight turned on and off and on again and chilly toes tucked in once more, finally, settled and still and breathing the sweet deep sighs of sleep.

I sit here to write, but a phrase cycles through my head: “listen instead”.

I close my eyes.  The typing ceases. Breath becomes quiet and small. And I listen.

No agenda.

I am not trying to hear anything specific.

I simply listen.

If only more often, I would listen to listen, rather than to reply, perhaps my relationships would grow deeper and my understanding of others richer and the words they have to offer more valuable.

What if when my child is going on and on and on, and I really just want to quickly respond, because there are so many things I am trying to do…what if I actually stopped and fully listened? Not just so I can reply with affirmation, laughter, or correction, but so I can understand this growing and developing young person. And what if this became more of a practice in my every day life and encounters with others?

I feel an enormous amount of gratitude for people in my life and the diversity of perspectives and stories each has enriched my life with; a kaleidoscope of color. Yet there are many colors I have not even begun to imagine, for even the ones I think up and have caught vague glimpses of, I have not come close enough to understand all the depth and shades and value.

I read a book earlier this year about the Amish culture, specifically about the way their children are raised, but one part of their culture or common behavior which left an imprint on my mind was the way in which they listened and responded to one another.  The writer referred to it as the “amish pause”, because every time someone spoke, there would be an uncomfortable (to our outsider ears) pause in the conversation as everyone in the room reflected on what was said and took their time before replying. This allows them to focus simply on listening while the other is talking, and put their attention on their response after they have listened fully and clearly.

In a world where everything is so instant and we begin to worry when someone hasn’t texted us back or replied to an email within a day, I truly believe there is so much value in this waiting that we have lost.  So often we can feel undervalued when someone does not respond to us almost immediately. What if taking a little longer to reply was actually a gesture of respect, rather than the other way around?

This is just a small thought on a quiet night, but when I am gearing up to respond, I hope I will more often choose to listen instead.

-b.e.

when do they see this in me?

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childhood wonder // museum light // new plush brother // window // day at the park // comfort food // the big jump // summer melons // shades // disc // wood // this beauty // skate girl // evening longboarding //

Time speeds by, I cannot believe that August is only two weeks away from ending and we will begin to settle into the swing of a new school year.  My big boy entering Kindergarten and myself entering a new season of guiding young ones and no longer having a baby and a preschooler.  My heart is beginning to yearn for fall, although I am also already feeling sad for the loss of late warm evenings and outdoor adventures the summer brought. Every turn brings newness and the sameness in a new way and I am trying to embrace it.  Letting go of the mistakes and making better choices.  Working for my dreams and working my way there even when self-defeating voices squirm their way into my head. Listening to those who love and support me and trying so hard to find the balance between it all.

I love to write and share images and thoughts and passions.  I love reading others who share their heart and knowledge, also. But there is an inner struggle I have been battling between sharing and simply being.  Social media has a way of killing the joy for me.  Every time I post something on my facebook, I feel remorse and anxiety.  I begin to actually worry about who “likes” me (both literally and based off of the click of a button), and if I am too much for some people.  All of us will always be “too much” of something to someone, though.  Is this normal?  If it is, it is a strange thing to put myself through. I have come close to deleting my social media accounts several times, but there is always a practical reason for not doing it – a conversation with someone not finished, my phone contacts needing to be switched over manually, my photography page and networking sources. Deleting it may not be the answer, but it is difficult to find the balance.  I find nothing added to my life when I log on other than too many opinions and articles, so I haven’t been as much, and I have weeded out many of the people I follow.

I have almost finished a book by Jo Piazza titled, If Nuns Ran the World. The author found modern day nuns living in America and shared their stories, dedicating a chapter each to 10 different radical ladies.  It has profoundly impacted me.  Not in a way that I wish I were a nun, but that I wish I could have that dedication to make a difference in lives without needing any fanfare.  That I would be willing to give the loving embraces these women offer strangers and fight for the marginalized. Of course, I have chosen a family and with that come my first responsibilities, but I have a heavy burden on my heart that my children begin to see compassion and selflessness and the gospel that we believe in lived out.  As their mother, I question….when do they see this in me? There are so many things I long to teach them that I have not yet learned.

The beginning of the school year always seems like a more appropriate time for resolutions than January 1st to me.  Preparing for homeschooling, I have spent plenty of time thinking about academic curriculum and envisioning how our school day will be carried out and what our weeks will look like. But there is another greater, deeper element I want to turn my focus to. This year, I want to find ways to be a part of the lives of those who are hurting. I want my children to look at others and feel the same compassion Jesus felt when he looked out at the crowds gathering at his feet.

Because if there is one thing that this hurting world needs more of, it is compassion and love and mercy.

-b.e.

capturing childhood: sprinkler kids

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Oh how I love these two.  Their delight in the simple things like cold hose water spraying and trying to run so fast it can’t catch you, but then laughing like a maniac when you feel the refreshing drops hit against your hot skin.  I love it when these two play so hard together and look out for the other.  Makes up for the times they wear me out with their fighting and I’m trying to remember that I was like that too and some times I still want to fuss and put up a fight for what I think is fair.

At least some times, just turning on the sprinkler and finding that common thing you can enjoy together makes all the difference.  Even as adults, some times we can put aside our differences and have fun together.

– b.e.