Tuesday, December 22, 2015


I love that the phrases, scriptures, and words that you put into your mind can, at just the right moments, and nearly of their own accord, unlock the little doors they’ve sat behind and coming whisking like a cheery little breeze into your conscious mind.

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Most recently, as I’ve looked at my little people, it has been this lovliness from the book of Psalms:

“. . . for I am fearfully and wondefully made . . .”

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(Yes. Mike is totally giving Mette bunny ears in that picture above.)


My parents have a real, live, attic. Not the kind where you open a little hatch in your ceiling and crawl along rafters. No. No. Theirs is the kind at the top of a flight of stairs with a real door, and a celing shaped like an A. The kind full of Halloween costumes and wedding dresses. Letterman jackets and old stuffed animals. Christmas ornaments and forgotten journals. Prom dresses and books.

Nearly every family friend has spent time in that attic searching for something – boots to make a Halloween costume, clothing to wear to a 70s themed dance, or (as was most often the case with me and my friends), random things to wear for various guests on filmed talk shows. Linda! Linda! Linda! Was the go to talk show. I was the host – Linda (you may have guessed at the name) and we would come up with all sorts of interesting guests whom I would interview (after they found appropriate clothing in the attic). Then we’d watch our creations and laugh and laugh. Oh how I wish I could find some of those films!

Anyway, all of that was to say that my own kids have spent plenty of time up there (in the attic) as well – examining the little dollhouse, searching for dress-ups or toys. A week or two ago I was there to retrieve some of my things. Jesse found my dad’s old typewriter and was instantly in love.

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I know decluttering and organizing are all the rage these days, but that attic? It’s full of memories and magic.


I took Summer and Mette for well-child exams last week. To appease Summer’s crying after her shots (and while I held Mette for her shots), the nurse gave her a blue sucker which she proceeded to suck on for awhile before rubbing it back and forth nervously throughout her hair.

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And last of all – a little picture from our recent snowfall (followed by what I wrote about it on Instagram).

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Snapshots. Tiny quick glimpses. They never tell a very complete story. Raising eight kids is complicated. Exhausting. Messy. There are more things to worry about, fix, accomplish and manage than I ever actually can. There are more moments of tears -- from the kids and from me -- than I'd want anyone to ever know about. This image was captured after a morning of mess and tantrums and only exists because, on our way to the grocery store, I noticed how perfect all that snow and ...sky looked, and creating pretty images fills some artistic craving in me. So no. These moments could never tell the whole story. But what they do tell is truth. A more beautiful truth than exhaustion and stress and whys and how's. A truth I always struggle to remember. And that truth is: there is perfection and loveliness and utter joy all sprinkled in this messy existence. And these tiny glimpses are what keep reminding me of the eternal significance and amazing beauty of everything we get to experience by living this gift of a little mortal life.

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