For the past several weeks, I stopped writing about our life here in North Dakota. It is a wonderful thing to look at my blog again today. It is April 8th, 2013 and it is accumulating snow and freezing rain is falling. I cannot believe it. We were blessed with a few days last week of 40 weather which began the slow melt of the layers of white that had become a permanent part of our landscape since October. This morning, the sky has opened up again to remind us that Old Man Winter is not yet having his fun :-).
As I opened this page today, it felt like coming home to my thoughts, prayers and presence. I didn't realize how much just journeying through words was actually leading me through this season. I didn't realize how much this practical exercise of my heart and soul was my place of stillness and wisdom building. With all transparency, when I should have been writing more, I stopped because I was overcome with the feelings and entropy that a long cold winter can do, plus a dramatic move to a new place.
God meets me here.
Many people say when they are in nature and the beauty of creation, they never feel closer to Him. Others it's when they are serving another or in community with fellow followers of Christ, which I can relate with as well. But I've found in this season when the quietness is easily found and distractions are few, times of putting myself open raw and real before God and then on "paper", I grow and connect with the Divine and thus my own soul.
At the time when these moments at my kitchen table would have helped me maneuver through this season, I stopped coming to the table.
So today, Digging Dakota, it is good to see you again :-))))
The blog below is one I began but did not finish a few weeks ago.
(Originally written February 22, 2013, in the wee hours of a dark and cold morning outside)
We are almost 4 months into our new adventure here in rural North Dakota and I think I am just now catching my breath. We have squeezed into our tiny home and learned to bundle ourselves up in the sub zero cold. We have gotten accustomed to long car drives and shopping for weeks at a time. And the weather reports take on new meaning from the uneventful news of Las Vegas weather. :-)
As I opened this page today, it felt like coming home to my thoughts, prayers and presence. I didn't realize how much just journeying through words was actually leading me through this season. I didn't realize how much this practical exercise of my heart and soul was my place of stillness and wisdom building. With all transparency, when I should have been writing more, I stopped because I was overcome with the feelings and entropy that a long cold winter can do, plus a dramatic move to a new place.
God meets me here.
Many people say when they are in nature and the beauty of creation, they never feel closer to Him. Others it's when they are serving another or in community with fellow followers of Christ, which I can relate with as well. But I've found in this season when the quietness is easily found and distractions are few, times of putting myself open raw and real before God and then on "paper", I grow and connect with the Divine and thus my own soul.
At the time when these moments at my kitchen table would have helped me maneuver through this season, I stopped coming to the table.
So today, Digging Dakota, it is good to see you again :-))))
The blog below is one I began but did not finish a few weeks ago.
(Originally written February 22, 2013, in the wee hours of a dark and cold morning outside)
We are almost 4 months into our new adventure here in rural North Dakota and I think I am just now catching my breath. We have squeezed into our tiny home and learned to bundle ourselves up in the sub zero cold. We have gotten accustomed to long car drives and shopping for weeks at a time. And the weather reports take on new meaning from the uneventful news of Las Vegas weather. :-)
This past week, Cole and I got hit hard with the stomach flu, along with 4 other kids from his class. While Cole seemed to bounce back quickly after getting some rest and ridding himself of everything inside of him, I however didn't fare as well. After a night of feeling horrible and truly losing my breakfast, lunch and dinner, I couldn't move and I was taken in to the emergency room to get rehydrated. Matt took over in his usual "come to my rescue" kind of way and got the kids ready for school. As I was severly dehydrated, I don't remember much about the first responders bringing me out to the ambulance except one faded image I'll always remember. I could see dimly Cosette in the hallway in tears asking, "Mom, are you ok?" "Is mom going to be OK?....." I reached for her hand and told her everything was fine and mommy just needs some help to get better. Oh, my heart.
Cosette has been created and imprinted with this tenderness that is so rare these days. She loves her dolls, animals and plenty of time alone in her imagination. So often in her little life I have felt like I was always holding a china doll. Afraid she will break if tugged at too much. Yet, she has this strong and dare I say stubborn part of herself that let's you know there is so much more beneath the surface. Cosette walks through this life at her own pace and you cannot push her, although so many times I've wanted to. I've wanted to push her to move a little quicker, get ready a little faster. Break through her fears with a little more courage. But just when I feel like I'm going to worry about her forever, which I probably will, she comes to the surface with this unexplicable boldness and strength.
We were having another painfully slow homework session not because of her inability to do the work but because she frankly wanted to do something, anything else. :-) This week she was supposed to write what her teacher called a "fractured fairytale". She was supposed to take a traditional fairy tale and put her own twist on it. Make it modern. Change the characters up a bit. Make it her own. As I was misreading her slowness in getting started as a lack of idea of how to get started, she was then actually processing through an idea. All her own. Not knowing this, I mistakenly began giving her some ideas to put down on paper and as she waiting for me to finish and in her strength told me to listen, she told me about "Little Red Writing Reporter". It was a fractured fairy tale about a modern day Little Red who was a reporter and goes to New York to see her great aunt and also to write about something great that happens to her. When she finished and turned it in, her story was one of the top three stories in the class.
I love how this girl of mine surprises me at every turn. God has me at a place of watching and waiting with her. To take a seat in the front row as one of her greatest fans and let the revealing of her wonderful self come to light. My daughter, Cosette whose name was given to her with great intentionality from my favorite story of all time, is a girl to be loved, a life to be celebrated and a story to unfold.
This day, I am so thankful she is mine.
Cosette has been created and imprinted with this tenderness that is so rare these days. She loves her dolls, animals and plenty of time alone in her imagination. So often in her little life I have felt like I was always holding a china doll. Afraid she will break if tugged at too much. Yet, she has this strong and dare I say stubborn part of herself that let's you know there is so much more beneath the surface. Cosette walks through this life at her own pace and you cannot push her, although so many times I've wanted to. I've wanted to push her to move a little quicker, get ready a little faster. Break through her fears with a little more courage. But just when I feel like I'm going to worry about her forever, which I probably will, she comes to the surface with this unexplicable boldness and strength.
We were having another painfully slow homework session not because of her inability to do the work but because she frankly wanted to do something, anything else. :-) This week she was supposed to write what her teacher called a "fractured fairytale". She was supposed to take a traditional fairy tale and put her own twist on it. Make it modern. Change the characters up a bit. Make it her own. As I was misreading her slowness in getting started as a lack of idea of how to get started, she was then actually processing through an idea. All her own. Not knowing this, I mistakenly began giving her some ideas to put down on paper and as she waiting for me to finish and in her strength told me to listen, she told me about "Little Red Writing Reporter". It was a fractured fairy tale about a modern day Little Red who was a reporter and goes to New York to see her great aunt and also to write about something great that happens to her. When she finished and turned it in, her story was one of the top three stories in the class.
I love how this girl of mine surprises me at every turn. God has me at a place of watching and waiting with her. To take a seat in the front row as one of her greatest fans and let the revealing of her wonderful self come to light. My daughter, Cosette whose name was given to her with great intentionality from my favorite story of all time, is a girl to be loved, a life to be celebrated and a story to unfold.
This day, I am so thankful she is mine.
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