My Wild Church

My grandma always tells this story of the time I went out and picked strawberries. I brought them in, mud and all, washed them, removed stems, and put them in the fridge. All by myself. I was 6 years old. It is still my favorite fruit.

Dressed from head to toe for the wild blackberry patch, I will never forget holding my breath, on the edge of the field, as my grandma sprayed me down with bug repellent for the hunt. After a long cool shower with Dial soap, I would run up to my grandma's kitchen where she would have those berries all rinsed and ready to go swimming in a bowl of fresh whipping cream. It was magic.

My grandma taught me most of what I know about the land and it's ways.
I love to garden because of her.


I meet God in the garden; my wild church full of good fruit and a few unruly weeds - all jumping out of their pews, praise hands, guts and glory - alleluia.

Every day is Sunday here, and the congregation is full of all types; old, young, diseased, healthy, weak, strong, stubborn, lazy, and just ripe. All shapes and sizes fall in, represent. Tending, weeding, guiding, harvesting - a gentle communion - God coming to earth to do His work for us and in us.




I am drawn to the land. I think it's because it feels like He's been here, is still here; extending His hand to me and my family in the gift of fruit. Every visit a surprise. Color so alive you can taste it. I think it's because I feel close to grandma here; extending her motherly wisdom, taking care of me, so I can take care of my family.

We bought a home this spring with a yard big enough for a garden, but I chose to plant on my grandparents' land in the country instead. I didn't want to miss the chance for me, for my kids, to spend time with grandma and grandpa doing something so rich and life-giving. Tabby dog runs around the yard, happy to see us. Grandpa revs up a tractor or lawn mower to the delight of two little boys. Grandma drives around in her John Deere gator passing on her secrets, handing me a hoe, stopping to dig up some carrots for me or take baby Bella for a spin.



And I think it's important. I think it's vital that we step away from the rush of the American lifestyle and slow down, breathe a little, grow something outside of ourselves. I feel like I am suffocating sometimes as the to-do list creeps up to my neck. Someone always needs something, there is always something to be done. But in the garden we are on God's time, and I like that.

This year we are growing green beans, peas, brussels sprouts, broccoli, cabbage, kohlrabi, cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, carrots, sweet corn, zucchini, spaghetti squash, and lettuces! We've also been able to harvest apples, peaches, blueberries, black raspberries and strawberries! Thank you, Lord, for the land, for grandma and grandpa, for the life you've given to the generations that gather around the garden for communion with You. Amen.



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Communion: Beyond the Doors of the Church

"What is time for if not to bless?" - Ann Voskamp

Isaiah was adamant about working with me in the garden. The child who cannot bear even
a spot of water on his dry clothing eagerly slipped off those red shoes - fancy Pumas that
he received as a Christmas gift; already so worn, rugged, bearing the marks of boyhood
adventure - and then his socks to feel the cool, damp earth between his feet.

I stood in awe, shock really, waiting for a cry of displeasure. Nothing.

"Teach me how, momma."


He learned how to pick beans that day; how to carefully pull back the green leaves and fill
his bucket with joy. Plant after plant, my diligent shadow picked a few - ate a few - and then
told me all about how he knew that Jesus was the one who made them grow.

I just stopped. I dropped the beans from my hands and began praying out loud.
Thanksgiving for the earth, the sun, the water that falls from the heavens - the seeds,
the growth, the God that works in every minute of every day to bring forth food for our family.
Food that remains unscathed by pesticides, preservatives - fresh, raw goodness that passes
through our hands and onto our table to fill us up. I gave thanks. His little
voice echoing, tiny "uh huhs" - his version of "AMEN." A Eucharistic moment.

For the past several months I have been delving deep into the ever so popular book,
One Thousands Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. Recently I began the study with a group of some of
my dearest friends, and it has moved my heart in ways that I needed, longed for - like it was on
the tip of my tongue, just beyond my grasp this whole time.

And finally I taste. Finally the door opens and I can touch it.

For years I've watched my own husband unashamedly offer thanks, praise, prayers of petition out
loud, in the moment - on the street, in public places, with complete strangers - with family, friends,
our children... with me. I've jealously watched his zeal, his trust, his belief that God is
there, listening, responding. I brushed it off all this time thinking that it must be a
"Protestant" thing - part of something he grew up with, his ethos.

But not for me.

Communion is for Church. Of course I have a "personal relationship" with Jesus Christ,
but for some reason it felt strange, odd, to pull Him into every moment of every day. My whole life,
I have celebrated the Eucharist - taking part in that glorious mystery - but seriously underestimating
its power, Christ's power, to walk out of the pews, slip out the door, and burst forth - ALIVE IN ME -
ALIVE IN YOU - in the world.

I don't want to wait to "give thanks" until the next time I find myself at Mass.
I don't want to wait to "praise" until the next time I'm leading worship with my husband.
I don't want to wait to "seek help" the next time someone asks me if I'll pray for them.

NOW.

I want to do it now. Because He's here. Communion.


“Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair.” - G.K. Chesterton

Taking Back Contentment

I was in a good place when I wrote this post not even 3 weeks ago.
The enemy must have got the memo that I was doing "juuuust fine in contentment-land"
because he sent out an assault in full force.

So here I am; me and my bucket full of tears and "what ifs".
What if we NEVER buy a REAL house? What if we can't have more kids?
What if I could be a farmer and I miss the chance? Don't laugh.



This time of year does something to me.
There are so many happy memories wrapped up in the season of fall.
The autumnal equinox rolls around and it's like BOOM -
memory lane becomes flooded with all kinds of blissful, happy moments followed
by irrational fears with a grand finale of a few good cries. What is that?!

Life is good. MORE than good I would say. My little family has been BEYOND blessed.
But some demon has been whispering to my heart... and I let myself listen for one minute.
One minute. And now I've spent days re-grounding myself and SPEAKING TRUTH
against a spirit of lies.

I spent all of a Saturday, not too long ago, working in my garden and playing with
my kids in the country. No hum of traffic. No sirens. No public eye.
I'm telling you - it's addicting. Alluring.
I meet God in a special way on days like that. All was good... until...

I WANTED a house.
My OWN land for a garden.
To be a farmer ASAP.
Another baby. Chop chop, GOD.

I neeeeeed. I waaaaaaant. What can I do to get it aaaaaall right now?!



My soul was whining. Like a professional three year old.
So all I have is this confession - this real life moment brought to you by
the very human-side of myself. And a resolution to acknowledge my desires,
pray harder for GOD'S will in my life, and kick the aforementioned demon in the butt.

Because the truth is... TODAY is good. I LOVE our way of life right now.
And even though I don't understand why God isn't blessing us with another baby,
a real house, my own garden, etc. etc. right now... I TRUST HIM.
His will and timing is perfect. And I have GOT to stop acting like a small child.

Breathing in Jesus. Breathing out fear.






"Delight yourself in the Lord,
and He will give you the desires of your heart."
-Pslam 37:4

How I Rank being a Stay-at-Home-Mom

Driving home from working in my garden, my husband asked me
to tell him what are the top 10 things I am most thankful for.
Without hesitation I started rattling off the obvious.

I'm thankful...
For YOU (my husband).
Our kids.
That we are believers.
The garden.
Our health.
Your job.

And then I was caught somewhere between my heart exploding and bursting
into tears as I shared that I am beyond thankful that I can be a stay-at-home-mom.

"That's everything to me," I said.



For ME (emphasis on the "me"), the joy and thankfulness that is in my heart for EVERYTHING
in my life is due in large part to the fact that my husband is willing, eager, and happy to go out
and face the world so that I can be the HEART of the home... freeing me to express my
femininity in mothering, building community, working in ministry, pursuing my passions,
cooking, gardening, creating...

I told you, I want to be Laura Ingalls or Anne of Green Gables. Either one.

I stopped and started laughing at how ridiculous that would sound to a "woman-of-the-world."
She'd be quick to call my paradise a domestic ball and chain. I don't even know what to say
to that. I understand that "paradise" doesn't look the same to every person. So I'll raise my glass
to finding God's will. Because that's ultimately what makes us happy.
Anything outside of that is treading water with blue jeans on. Not fun.

Even now I can hear the ramblings of those I meet at the grocery store, library, doctor's office...

"You stay home with your kids?! You're a saint."
Yes. Not really.

"Well, if that's how you want to use your degree... that's cool."
Why yes, it is. Thank you. I apparently have a brain and I'm trying
really hard not to wield all kinds of CRAZY at you right now.

"I would DIE if I had to stay home with my kids every single day."
Good thing you don't then.

My personal fave: "If I stayed home with my kids, I would be soooooo bored."
Bored? I don't know what profession you'd need to be in to sew up a busted chin,
chase a 3 year old through Target, stop the baby from killing the pet fish, or race
through the grocery store to pick up necessities (chocolate and wine, heeeello!) like
you're on a domestic version of SURVIVOR! Yea, I don't know. Boring.

I do believe I am digressing...



And then there's the garden - tending an extension of my heart, home, and family.
Growing our own food is like walking the streets of heaven and filling ourselves with
whatever God has prepared (like I've walked the streets of heaven before!?).
He has touched the earth and brought forth life... we have touched the fruit
and lovingly prepared it, consumed it, or stored it away for the winter months.



Again, being a stay-at-home mom has given me tons of time to work in the garden and harvest
what is given. I could go on and on and on... aren't you glad this is a blog and you aren't
sitting in front of me?! You might never be able to leave!

But alas this post must come to an end...
Enjoy the weekend, loves!!!

Sin and Weed

I feel Him in the dirt beneath my bare feet.
I smell Him in the wind of wide, open spaces as it kisses my face.
I move to bring forth life with tiny seeds - carefully tucking them
away in the ground as I whisper a prayer: "grow."
And in my absence, in the quiet of the night, during the morning
symphony of bird song and dew fall, He works.

His movements are so subtle, so exact - as He takes what I have
planted and brings it to fruition in His time. I am incapable of calling
down the rain or telling the sun where to shine. I am not the conductor of
the elements - only the messenger. The seed planter. A life bearer.
A co-creator working with my soul in His hand.
Hoping for a harvest. Helplessly abandoned to His will for the land, my soul.
It makes me feel small; covered by the creative genius of my God.




I love gathering what He creates when I am away -
walking in the rows and pulling back the leaves to see
what gifts He has prepared.

And in the midst of all that beauty, there are weeds.
At first they are small - seemingly insignificant.
Innocently my plants wrap themselves around and around the weeds
as they grow side by side... until the weed eventually kills the entire plant.
Choking it to death. Stealing all of its resources.
Sucking the very life from the roots. A garden tragedy.

I spent hours and hours separating my pea vines from weeds this season.
Tenderly pulling the plant from the enemy. If the plant should break at
all during the process - the whole thing will die along with the weed.

Those weeds reminded me of SINS IN MY LIFE.
If not methodically and intentionally removed, they will succeed in taking
the life of the plant. Our lives. Without a plan of action - a course of healing -
the weeds will win the battle for our souls.

I lost some plants this summer. The weeds became too big.
So mighty. And my plants LOVED them. They gave themselves over
and there was NOTHING I could do to save them from their choice.

What do we wrap ourselves around? What do we give ourselves
over to for the thrill of the moment? God is in the garden and in the business
of professional weed removal. I've seen His work. I know the love
He has for each plant. But I'm only the messenger. The seed planter.
The one who prays: "grow."

Master of the elements, Keeper of souls,
Maker of beautiful life, steal me away from the weeds
so that I may bear fruit.

Slow Down and Grow a Garden

There is only so much of city life my heart can handle before it is literally aching to be free of the asphalt playground with manicured lawns. I love it when the sun keeps time; everything just slows down.
This week I sat in the country, with sprawling fields as far as the eye can see, with my children and grandparents... and we just stopped. Stopped running from play date to play date. Stopped checking my social networks. Stopped crossing things off my to-do list. We just WERE.
Fruit tree blossoms flew around the yard with each breath of wind that was heavily scented by my grandma's lilac bushes. We took in the day and enjoyed each other. Balm for any soul.My grandparents are generosity and unconditional love embodied. They give freely.They are the hardest working people I know. Their hearts are bigger than most.
Grandpa holds my sons in the palm of his hand. Papa Alvin still gets down on the floor to wrestle with them and stretch their imaginations with imaginary mice they call "Henry" and "James"... that are carried around inside of their shirts. He calls them out to be "one of the men" - always letting them go to the barn and ride on the tractor, mower, gator, golf cart... (you name it!) with him!My grandma gave me my love for gardening.From the time I was a little girl, I've been running out to the garden to help her plant, weed, and gather the harvest. She would always let me have samples! I think my favorite was her grapes! When she wasn't looking, me and my cousins would sneak handfuls of that concord goodness! We would get dirty and then she would have me wash my hands and feet with cool, well water and a bar of Dial soap.That smell will ALWAYS take me back to being a child.
I'm so blessed to still have her in my life and to share a garden with her, once again, this summer! I'm so glad that my boys can know her in their lifetime. She is a wise, wonderful, wild woman with the heart of an adventurer... I love her. And my children love her food. Who doesn't love grandma's cooking?!We planted so much this week! Bringing forth life from the land... makes my heart happy. God is crazy good to let us share in this creation - fruits and vegetables that will bring life to our bodies!
We planted a garden full of beans, peas, sweet corn, tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, squash, zucchini, lettuces, herbs, turnips, carrots, onions, cantaloupe, watermelon, pumpkins... and my grandma has lots of other wonderful things going on like strawberries, fruit trees, rhubarb, kohlrabi, etc!
I think my favorite moment of the planting day was praying with Isaiah as we put the seeds into the ground. Asking God to bless our work for our family - and thanking Him for providing for our every need.Stay tuned... I'll be gushing about my garden all summer long!