Journals Without a Back-Space Key

"Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry," said James (1:19).

Definitely not a verse I choose to quote often.

It's one of the most valuable qualities in my husband - this ability to listen before speaking.

Because I am deficient in listening skills and overly efficient in speaking skills, I tend to commit an overabundance of verbal crimes.

That's one of the reasons I write.

Do you know that my BACK SPACE button actually has the most smudges and scratches of all the keys on my keyboard? Perhaps that's a sign that even on paper, I tend to be overly quick to speak!

With my children, the words that flow from my lips do not come with a built-in back-space key. So many times, I have gone to a little heart and apologized for words - critical, angry, impatient, patronizing.

One place that I find to be safe for words is here:


I know it's not much - just college-ruled sheets of paper thrown together in colorful notebooks intended for math or physics notes. But in each of these notebooks, there are pages of handwritten letters. Most of them are just the ramblings of a wordy mother - humorous stories, funny memories, and lots of love-words to my kids, maybe things that they might not want strewn across a public blog. There's something so intentional about parenting with a pen and paper. I cherish the one place where I still get to do this.

My rules for the journals are few:

• I write when I can, but I do not stress about getting to it in a routine manner.
  
• Others are welcome to write if they want, but they are not free to read other entries. One time, after a particularly trying afternoon of bickering, I let the girls look at their journals and after flipping to an empty page, they drew pictures in each other's books. On their birthdays, I leave the journal out on an empty page and let family members sign if they want to. One time, Punkin weaved a story to her faithful scribe named Grandpa, who wrote meticulous letters on the nearest napkin, and even that made it into the journal.

• I have no long-term goal for the journals. Someday, probably when they are around sixteen, I will hand it to them and go cower in the corner while I wait to see if they roll their eyes at me and Gil.
  
• I try to write an entry for each child while we are on any long car rides, or on any vacation.
  
• Anything goes in the journal! I'm not neat and there are many scribbled notes that I wrote, carried home, and glued into the books.

• I try to be honest. If the kids are going through a difficult phase, I try not to gloss over it. If they are excelling at something, I try not to overly highlight it. I figure, someday they are going to be parents, and I don't want them to think all we did was sit around and play family BINGO and drink hot chocolate. Sometimes, we argued or had a flat tire on the side of the road or did math begrudgingly.
  
• I speak often of stuff we have done. I used to think that facts were boring, but those have been fun to reread as well.
• I include Real Gil whenever possible. He is welcome to write at anytime, and often will help me think of stories to include.
  
• I always hand write the letters. This takes a bit more time - and it runs the risk of having no BACK SPACE key - but I want them to have as much of my voice as I can give them. Exclamations points, run-on sentences, hearts over the i's, and scribbled-out words are all included.

This has worked for me, a scrapbook-challenged mother of three. If you find your spoken words inadequate for little ears, perhaps you too will find value in saving some of those words for later.

Resting in His Always-Love,
Karen

I have studied this parenting thing long enough to know that my parents were great. Kind but not enabling, loving but not smothering, stern but not overly strict. I think I figured this out in college, when everyone lives together and starts comparing notes. Suddenly, I realized how blessed I was to have the stable, loving home with my parents.

So, on that note, I thought, why not take you to Grandma and Grandpa's house? Good news for us, it does not require going over the river or through the woods. And lucky for you, I drove the fifteen miles and snapped a few amateur photos so all you have to do is scroll down.


That front window next to the flagpole was my bedroom window growing up. How many hours did I spend staring out that window, pining for Real Gil?!!


Come on in!

Is there anything better than a Grandma-hug? My mom holds nothing back, two arms wrapped tight and a kiss on the head.

On this visit, she was showing us her new farmhouse doors, newly hung after 25 years of hollow, fake wood doors. Aren't they fun?!

Sometime soon after coming in the front door, you'll probably run into this little lady, Grandma GG. (The G.G. used to stand for Great-Grandma when I was a kid and now, it stands for Great-Great, as she is a great-great grandma to our kids.) After us kids moved out, my mother took down the high school mascot signs and invited G.G. - my father's grandmother - to live in our old bedroom.

Now, on to the kitchen, where I caught this picture of Grandma charming my kids with fresh, homemade cookies.


When my parents were away on a recent vacation, my twin sister and I decided to re-do Mom's laundry room. We ordered wallpaper to cover the old brown closet-pantry doors, painted all of the old trim and molding, and added some chalkboard paint and a few details to the mix.


Now, if you plan on staying for the night, you will be staying in the guest bedroom.

(My mom's collection of old purses, mostly from her grandmother.)

My mom inherited this rocking chair from her mother. She recently decided to reupholster this so she bought a $20 curtain that did the trick perfectly. Cozy, comfortable, and sentimental.

Now, I've shown you where you stay, where you do your laundry, where the food is prepared, and how you'll be greeted. But I would be remiss if I didn't tell you who will keep you busy.


Dad. Or Grandpa. (Here he is, comforting Sugs who fell off the jungle gym during a soccer game. It would be a little awkward if you tried to curl up on his lap, just a warning.)

He will probably take you for his daily hike with the dog. And then, you can talk to him about anything. He knows a little bit about everything - with the exception of words like menstrual, menopause, or mammogram.

Oh, and I should probably mention that he's a genius. He's way too humble to care about getting the actual genius test, but he is. Just try to be a teenager under the roof of the most huggable mother and the smartest father. No wonder I came out fairly unscathed.

Dad's mind is always processing. Just the other day at our house, he was explaining his newest invention. Before long, we had fetched playdough and a cork and a glue stick for him to build us a model.

I love sending my children to their grandparents' house with no fears of what we need to "fix" on the return home. Thankful for healthy, independent parents, and the gift of hospitality they share with both young and old.

Hope you enjoyed the little tour. And thanks Mom for the cookies.

Resting in Him Who Never Closes His Doors,
Karen

Michelangelo's Mistakes

Just this week, there was an article published in the New York Post, telling the story of an old painting stuck behind the couch. For years, it hung above the couch, but rowdy children prompted some responsible parent to remove it from the wall and wedge it behind the furniture. For years, the home's inhabitants wondered if the family lore about the piece being a genuine Michelangelo painting could be true. Finally, upon the father's retirement and a life with fewer demands, research began with startling realizations that this very well could be authentic. My favorite part of this story is that the most indicative evidence suggesting that the painting is a real Michelangelo is its mistakes.

God's grace says two things to me tonight:

1. I am treasured. Accepted. Chosen. Adopted. Forgiven. An heir. (Eph. 1) Like a painting long lost and now found, the very flaws make it more authentic. (In Jesus' words, It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. Luke 5:31) I used to wonder if God really treasured me, or was it I that needed to treasure Him. Now, I know that it's both!!! [For example, the exact translation of Paul's Ephesians 1:11 is not completely known; it seems to say both "we were made to be His inheritance" and "we have obtained an inheritance." He treasures us, and we treasure Him.] We ourselves are HIS inheritance, His treasure, His Michelangelo!!!

2. I can take this gift of grace and let it bloom, accept the gift accordingly. Like a long-lost son, like a hidden treasure in a field, like a pearl of great value, like the one sheep missing from a flock of 100. And if I might take the liberty to apply modern-day parables, like a painting which I treasure, hang in a place of honor. I have an inheritance that can never be taken away, can never be broken by flying tennis balls and sin, never comes with conditions like good behavior or better sacrifices...

Simple, I know. Now, to convince myself to live this way.

Resting Here,
Karen