My future is bright!

 These lyrics from Christy Nockels stopped me in my tracks this week. It's one of several reminders I've had lately that the future is bright. Sometimes I picture myself from the outside and see a mama in love with her family, a passion for photography and all things creative, and a heart forever wrecked and changed my foster care and adoption. Add to the mix the fact that God is currently teaching me how to live day by day and be flexible, and you can see why some days I'm scratching my head asking "Are you sure about this?"

 Long gone are the spring days of tight-fisting my "big" dreams, demanding them to grow even bigger.  But really just wanting to be seen and known for my creative side.

Instead our current decision to follow hard after foster care feels radical, when really it shouldn't. Have you read about the hundreds and thousands of kids and teens in the U.S. without a home?   Have you seen how many people are actually interrupting their lives to do something about it? 

That gap is radical. Doing something about it isn't radical but to me such an obvious path to take. There's a need and we can meet it! But I know how we must look.  I was just saying to Brett last week "Don't you know some people think we're crazy, with two great kids, a house, a boat, and a camper, and choosing to bravely walk into foster care and adoption." But I have stared the need in the face and couldn't turn back if I tried. There are real lives waiting for someone to speak up for them.

 It sometimes feels like in order to claim "My future is bright!" that you must also have a great five-year plan tucked in your back pocket, a list of healthy goals on the fridge, the perfect spring haircut in mind, and a vacation to top it off. 

The truth is, our futures are bright because of Jesus and Him alone. 

My future is bright because I'm known and loved by God. 

It's that simple. He is trust-worthy, strong, capable, and full of wonder. 

I can joyfully proclaim "My future is bright!" every day of my life with Jesus in my heart. 

The Christmas Calf

I was upstairs, helping the girls clean their rooms.  For as rosy as I am, I'll quickly be honest and admit this is my least favorite task.  The girls have BIG imaginations and I'm ever so thankful.  But this also means things tucked into nooks and crannies, piles of pillows and blankets that are an "animal rescue center", and various other set-ups strewn about the floor.  Every few days, it just has to be tidied a bit.  Brett was home because it was a Sunday and suddenly I heard "Sara, come look at this."  My husband is a man of few words, so when he does talk I listen!  I could tell by the tone of his voice something fairly urgent was needing my attention. 

I started down the stairs and smiled to myself, because there in front of our warm fire, was a baby calf.  This certainly wouldn't be the first time Brett has tended a baby calf, but seeing it in front of the fire felt different.  A few minutes passed with conversation about this red baby and then as Brett headed out the door to buy some formula I grabbed my camera and spent some time with this sweet Christmas calf.  It was ever so weak, but I inwardly assured myself and the calf both that the warm fire and bottles of formula would do the trick. I could picture the calf being nursed back to health and kicking up its heels in no time.  Maybe even becoming as active and naughty as our last calf who used my front porch as a bathroom! 

I posted a photo of our Christmas calf on Instagram and felt a collective "awww" fall from the lips of people near and far.  Everyone adored the fuzzy, cozy calf in front of the fire and began imagining what fun it would be for the girls to have a Christmas calf.  As the seconds, minutes, and then hours began to tick-tock on the clock I became very aware the calf just wasn't getting better.  Brett gave it bottle after bottle, patiently sitting by it and trying so desperately to nurse it back to health.  He stood the little Christmas calf up, only to watch it fall into a sad heap on the floor.  The weakness had just sunk too deep into its bones.  I began to realize, this one probably wasn't going to make it.  

I've always said I make a really terrible farm wife.  I think weeds are beautiful, I picture the pastures as photo shoots, and I like to make up stories about the cows.  I also get my heart involved in places you're simply not supposed to on a farm, particularly with the little calves.   We continued to keep an eye on our Christmas calf for another day or so and then Brett had to take it back to its mama.   I silently said goodbye and the wheels in my mind started turning.  Why was this particular calf so sad for me?  What about it pulled my heart strings harder than most? Why were tears threatening to pool in my brown eyes over this red calf? 

I suppose the truth is it reminded me so much of real life this Christmas season.  Front and center on so many photographs and social media sites things look cozy and warm, nearly perfect.  Cookies are stacked next to creatively decorated trees, while piles of packages nestle beside warm fires.  Cups of hot chocolate satisfy our sweet tooth, while tiny Christmas lights add an extra twinkle to our eyes.  There are light displays to be seen, crafts to make, and more happiness to be had than any other time of the year, right? 

Except not. Just as our Christmas calf evoked a gesture of joy from those near and far, while the scene inside our house was telling a completely different story, this Christmas feels both bitter and sweet.  Behind the picture-perfect scenes of my own life and others near to me, I know the true story of sadness, hard situations, and weakness that has just sunk too deep into bones.  On the one hand I'm ever so thankful for things like Christmas movies, candy canes, baking, and beautiful light displays because while they can't erase the bitter taste of life, they sure can sweeten it a bit.  

On the other hand it feels a bit tough and untruthful to simply partake in the cozy Christmas calf stories of the world, without leaning in closer to tell the whole truth.  The night in Bethlehem reminds me of the Christmas calf, in a very small way.  From our modern-day perspective we peer into the manger scene, eyes aglow.  We sing carol after carol about the wondrous night Christ was born, about the calm and bright night.  And truly it WAS wondrous! Our Savior, our Healer, our own grace for the bitter and sweet, all swaddled and snug.  But I can't help but wonder if there was more behind-the-scenes real life to this scene than we allow ourselves to think about.  I wonder what raw emotions Mary felt, what weakness, if any, accompanied the wonderful the night Christ was born.  I wonder if it's ok in God's eyes and maybe even holy to acknowledge both the bitter and sweet this Christmas season.  I think it is. For in growing in my relationship with Christ and others, I must also grow in authenticity.  The blog is no different.  There is a certain kind of deeply cemented love that comes with baring our souls, an understanding that happens when you lock eyes with someone who knows your every battle and they've stayed to fight it alongside you.  Friends, I've looked too many people in the eyes and said "I'm so, so, so sorry" this Christmas to simply gloss over the less than picture-perfect moments that threaten to become milestones we simply don't want to remember.  

This Christmas maybe your heart is light, maybe it feels too heavy to bear, or maybe you're like me and it's somewhere in-between.  Whatever the case, I'm praying for you to feel nurtured, loved, and known.  I'm praying that you'll have a soft place to land when your soul has weathered too many storms. That just like our Christmas calf you'll have at least one soul to nurture your body and sit you next to a warm fire, eyes meeting yours and willing you to be strong.  

Our Christmas calf may not have made it.  But you will.  How do I know?  Because if you peer way down into the manger you don't just see a night of labor or no place to stay, you see a tiny baby that would forever change our lives.  You see a miracle.  You see Jesus, a Savior who experienced life as we do, so that he could be our own soft place to land.  Bethlehem was certainly a milestone we want to remember.  It may not have looked as picture-perfect as we imagine these days, but it was holy mixed with hard.  It was wise men bearing gifts and today it's the gift of a beautiful sunset, the encouragement from a friend or a stranger, the comfort of a cozy cup of tea.  

It's this: "But the angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, you have found favor with God." (Luke 1:30) and the miracle that our lives are.  We are living, breathing miracles.  As I leaned in close to tell a friend recently-"Your story isn't over yet."  Perhaps you're like Mary was, wondering how in the world she would deal with delivering the king of the world, with literally no place to stay. Perhaps your story isn't matching up with what you're seeing around you, or it appears everyone else's story is much rosier than yours.  Take a deep breath and do not be afraid. Embrace both the holy and the hard, and know that you are so very loved and valued.  That is my grown-up Christmas list, for each and every one of you to take hold of that.  I'm right there with you, gazing into the pink sky at night, feeling God's love wash over all the hard bits of life, feeling so very loved and like Heaven is on our side.  

My tea bag told me I was limitless

My tea bag last night said "You are limitless". 

But my message board I'm staring at as I'm writing this has a rather unfortunate "e" that fell off the word "quiet" and so you can figure out the rest. "Quit" is now staring me in the face. 

Isn't life funny sometimes?  I took neither of these messages entirely to heart, although I suppose both do ring a bit true on this Monday, while I'm sitting at this kitchen table, with this mug.  

I've had a yearning to write.  If you peeked into my house around 5:30 in the morning and saw me curled up and cozy under the covers, you'd be baffled at the writing thing.  Especially if you saw how our mornings start and then the steady pace our days roll on by with.  I used to think I didn't have free time for blogging or painting or whatever little ideas squeezed their way into my mind among the piles of laundry and cooking.  The truth was, I had loads of time compared to now.  And parents of teenagers or older kiddos, I know. I've heard it a million times already-"just wait 'till they get older." 

Although I certainly believe some things need to take a backseat for a season (you read my painting blog post, right?), I have never prescribed to the train of thought that says "life is too busy, I'll just quit."  Life is as busy and busting at the seams as we make it.  It's the words, ideas, practices, and rituals that make life rich.  Sometimes though one part of life is screaming for attention and the rest fades into the background.  That's where I am now.  

I mentioned ever so briefly that I was working on some things, health-wise.  Nothing major, but big enough to where I truly wasn't feeling well at all, for days and weeks and sometimes months.  It came to an almost breaking point while on the most lovely date in Eureka Springs, when I finally, tearfully told Brett "I'm so rosy I cover it up really well, but I just don't feel well.  Hardly ever." 

He gently but firmly encouraged me to make a couple doctor's appointments or else he would.  I haven't been a good student my whole life for nothing. I called the doctors. 

A non-emergency diagnosis from one, a set of crooked X-rays from another.  To make a long story a little shorter I was dealing with some internal things but also my spine and neck were way, way out of line.  To make an even longer story even shorter, I'm now going to the chiropractor weekly and have made drastic changes to my diet.  Both of these tools combined have made for a me that feels good, like really good!  It is amazing and freeing. 

But this has been my one part of life that's been screaming for attention.  And so I've given it.  As I've done so I've felt at a loss or drained for words about all the other squares of life that make up this rich tapestry that is our story.  

Where to even start about that cute bulletin board makeover I did?  How to explain our first foster care meeting is tonight and all I'm looking for as I scan the horizon are cheerleaders and an army of God to encourage us, not tell us your worst horror story.  How do I pull back the curtain on my entire health story without feeling like I'm standing and shouting in the middle of a very quiet crowd with questioning looks and strange glances?  How do I unpack my journey into my photography business, without it sounding shallow and easy?  Because it truly has just fallen into place! 

I find that writing for me is like sinking deep into a really great couch, with my favorite afghan and a mug of something really hot.  Preferably coffee or a close second, tea. I've never been a good writer on the fly.  I need time to watch the words dance across the screen and mull over them.  With all that is swirling in my world right now it's been hard to jump in and grab a piece of life and write about it. 

Yet that longing to write is only intensifying as change seems to line up in a row, handing out marching orders in my life one after the other.  I will also say the new Gilmore Girls series did nothing to quench this desire either.  If you've watched, you know what I mean. 

All that to say, I'm here, I'm longing to write, and I will.  I'm neither limitless nor going to quit.  I'm just right here in the middle, mostly rosy but also realistic.  Some day down the road I'd love to share the natural ways God is using to heal me, from the inside out.  For now, I pinky-promise to keep showing up on the blog.  Just this week the girls and I pulled up Christmas posts from the past, one after another.  It was like watching the most beautiful film I could have dreamed up.  I've spent too much of life wishing for someone else's story at times.  

Not this time.  This is my story, my song, my life ballad back to God for all that He has done.  My story is beautiful and so is yours. 

 Go into your week with that planted firmly in your heart.  I'll pray you see it take root and grow into the tangible you can see with your eyes.  Perhaps a smile from someone you've been praying for, a moment of quiet and a beautiful sky, a funny something to make you laugh when your bones are aching for joy.  I know this time of year isn't rosy and merry for all and my heart aches to send some joy flying your way, like the flight of birds that soar over the farm a few times a day.  That's what I'm praying for you.  

I'm a BraveGirl.

Our rural internet has been down and I have missed occupying this little corner of the web the past few days.  A few weeks back I had a rare, gem of a morning.  I typically don't like to go into details about our morning routine because I've noticed people get really weird sometimes about what your household does vs. mine.  To put it simply, I've found what works for us and that's that.  But I will say in full disclosure this particular morning my girls were asleep past seven.  We had nowhere to go that morning, at least not until later.  I poured my coffee, drank in the silence and breathed deep the intoxicating aroma of morning.  After my usual few sips I noticed something-no one was awake yet.  With an extra bit of pep in my step I started across the house to my craft room but something stopped me in my tracks. 

It was damp and foggy outside, a magical kind of morning.  The painting and crafting would simply have to wait.  The world was just begging to be noticed right outside the front door! 

I quickly pushed my much smaller feet into Brett's big farm boots and went clunking along outside, camera in hand.  When I walked up to the farm fence I noticed the greatest beauty was found inside the pasture.   I quickly slipped my camera strap around my neck and made my way over the fence, secretly praying the neighbors wouldn't notice what I was up to again.  

I suppose from far away the pasture would have looked pretty enough.  But up close, it told a whole different story.  Pretty doesn't even begin to describe it.  Captivating, or mesmerizing is more like it.  

This whole tiny world, all within a few feet on the farm pasture, simply felt alive. 

While I normally drag my feet into fall, eyes still searching the horizon for summer, this particular morning reminded me in no time at all that there is beauty to be had in all the seasons.  The same is true of life.  

This is why I adore photography so much.  It has helped my eyes notice this grand world like I never would have otherwise.  Some people see the camera as a distraction to participating in life.  I see it as a record keeper, a memory holder, a lens through which all of life deems worthy of noticing.

I was asked by a friend of mine to contribute photos to a blog she is a part of called BraveGirl. I thought and prayed about it for a few days, but really as soon as she had asked I thought a giant "yes!" inwardly.  It is this view on life, this gift of seeing what others may not, that I wish to offer as a pleasing act of worship to God.  

So I said "yes".  I am meeting the rest of the BraveGirls this week and soon you'll see my photography on the blog, a small offering of what a big God we serve collectively, together.  

You can check out my BraveGirl profile and why contributing to this blog means so much to me here.

Dear 91 photos,

Dear 91 photos,

I sat down at the kitchen table today with the wind blowing the curtains just right.  Gentle enough to soothe, but yet enough of a roar for the wind to not let me forget it was there.  The sunshine dappled in, flitting this way and that as it does in the fall.  My coffee was near, my camera full to the brim with photos from the past few weeks.  To completely set the mood (as if the sun and wind and coffee weren't enough) I put my favorite Spotify station on and clicked my camera on.

It is a sacred act, this turning on of the camera.  It is much like opening a book and watching wonderful words tumble out or putting a new cd on, knowing the lyrics and melodies will sink into the nooks and crannies of the best part of your heart and soul.  Photographs do that for me.  I especially love when I have a full camera, because it means my mind and eyes and soul are working as they should.  It means my emotions are checked in, feeling all the feels..  Please notice, 91 photos, that I didn't say it means my emotions are perky, happy, and rosy.  They run the full gamut, just as God intended.  

Today as I clicked through each photo I did as I always do-I gave myself a split second or two for a response.  I don't know how to explain how my heart talks to my head about which photos to keep and pair up with words, but somehow it just does.  You, my dear 91 photos, are what stayed.  I continued to edit each of you, eyes filling with tears occasionally but more often than not, my smile beaming.  I debated stopping right there, simply plunking each photo into its proper blog post and moving on with my day.  And then I began to wonder-do they know what gifts these are? Do they know how funny life is?  How good God is?

I was driving down the road a month ago, at almost dusk.  I was praying aloud because I happened to be in the car alone. This is a rare treat for me and I have a feeling God enjoys the sound of my voice just as much as I enjoy his company.  We were chatting, God and I and then suddenly a spider-web on an old, country fence caught my eye.  It was glorious, simply stunning.  I began to pray this prayer aloud-"Father, I don't know why you've given me these eyes to see, but boy have you ever! Do you think, out of the hundreds of people that drove past here today, anyone else noticed the web?  Thank-you for giving me eyes to see, the different, the lovely, the beautiful, the little bits of rosy in the everyday routine.  It is a gift.  It is such a gift.  It is a gift."

That day and this one, I couldn't stop repeating that to such a good God.  He has given me such a gift to notice. When I say "gift" I imagine your brain thinks I'm saying I'm talented.  Yet that's not what I mean at all.  Our family is in a different season than we've ever been in, where growth abounds like never before.  It started with our adoption journey, which we thought was the end of our growth.  We didn't know it was only the beginning. We've seen too much and know too much and are called to too much concerning the poor in spirit and orphans and just people in general to act like our story is already over.  We have maybe just dipped a toe in the water of what God has for us, what He has for us to minister to those around us. We are forever changed, forever undone, forever feeling hope and happiness and heartbreak all at once, usually all within the same day. 

I imagine stepping into this calling to care, without the gift of noticing and I just can't do it.  It is because of having eyes to see and documenting the God-beauty that is tucked into the very nooks and crannies of life that I am able to walk straight into the depths of darkness and shine a light.  I have learned no matter where I go, there God is.  I am convinced that nothing can separate me from the love of God.  

So this little gift, my friends, is what I carry with me.  Not a gift from me to you (although I truly hope my words and photos do speak to you), but instead a gift from God to me.  

Over the next week or two, as you stop in and read the blog and see photos on everything from food to art to crafts to the farm, I want you to remember 91 photos, that you are my gift.  You aren't simply "pretty photos", but instead represent the deepest marrow of my bones.

Love,

me 

Rough around the edges and lingering ideas.

Our life feels a bit rough around the edges lately and full of questions, but also brimming with hope and goodness.  How's that for a confusing picture to paint?  I'm guessing you can relate though.  As I've grown into my 30's I find myself seeking out friendships, podcasts, and advice from people who aren't afraid to share their flaws.  The women with guts who love themselves and have confidence pulsing through their veins, but also talk about the big, hard things of life.  The ones who don't pretend to have it all figured out. 

I guess that's how I'm mostly feeling these days.  I can usually pick up the feelings of those around me pretty fast, I can tell if they're expecting me to have it together and have the right answers or not.  Here, on this beautiful blog, is my story.  I don't have to pretend to have it together, thank goodness. I've never set out to be a blogger with tons of stats and millions of followers.  In fact, I despise the numbers.  I really wish there was a way to not show them on the blog, the scale, and on IG.  The numbers are loud, but they don't tell the whole truth.  This piece of the internet feels like the quiet I sometimes savor at my dining room table.  

So on this very normal Tuesday, let me tell you what I've been up to and what this season is like in real life.  I've certainly been filling up with the passions and joys that balance out the more mundane tasks of life.  Painting, podcasts, reading a great book, connecting with friends, and cooking all fill me up.  Photography is also a must.  I think I sometimes struggle in some of those areas because I haven't figured out the balance of "I'm doing this because I love it" and "I have a head full of ideas for more...more gatherings, more jobs, etc."   I certainly start and end each day with my passions and my Savior.  But as far as figuring out a master goal list or dream list for these things...well, it's quiet.  

 It's also quiet on the adoption front.  Rarely does anyone ask about our adoption, maybe they've forgotten about it since I've been quiet, or maybe they don't know what to ask.  Either way, my answer feels complicated.  The short story is, we're waiting.  The long story is we're waiting because there doesn't seem to be a need for a home for babies right now, but instead for foster care and older children.  We've looked into that and any other avenue you could dream up, with nothing feeling right.  I know the cliche' thing as christians is to say forget the feelings and go with faith.  But in the conversations between God, Brett, and I we feel that it is wise to adopt a young toddler or baby, not an older child right now.  You can't imagine the guilt that comes sometimes with that statement, even though I know for now it's the best choice for our family.  Because as a Christian we are certainly called to action for orphans! I think everyone should have a part in this story.  But as a "waiting family" and a christian, it opens itself up to lots of questions from outside folks, wondering why we aren't doing more than we are right now. 

Trust me, the story doesn't make sense to me either.  But for some reason that we will only know about further down the road, God has asked us to wait.  

In the midst of waiting for these things, among some other questionable things, God is still gracious and good.  He always is.  We are finding it more necessary than normal to do simple things together as a family, like racing each other in the yard, or going camping.  Even in the rain! 

 Gatherings like eating supper together or sitting in the bedroom at night, learning how to pray with our girls, mean the world to me.  A lot of times I feel the biggest presence from God right outside in nature.  I had one of those moments this weekend camping.  I was laying in the camper in mid-day, doing nothing.  Just letting my mind be free, my phone far away (thank goodness).  As I watched the leaves and shadows and sunlight filter through it literally felt like God was laying right there next to me, covering me with the deepest of rest.  Shooing all worry or wonder away, just letting me be.  

 And He keeps doing that.  If you asked me today what my dreams were or how our adoption was going or what school Anna will go to or any of "those" questions you would get a blank stare.  Maybe even a few tears.  But, if you asked me what God is teaching me, you would get a smile.   A piercing look with confidence, and tears?  Happy, grateful ones, bubbling up from my soul. 

 There might be so much I don't know and don't have figured out right now.  And that bugs me! It's hard for me.  I've always been a planner, a gal with her heart focused on creative retreats, art shows, more ideas, more ideas, more ideas.  So this season of loving my family and community really, really well, while letting the ideas linger in the air, not knowing if they'll fly or fall....it's hard for me.  It's really hard for me.  I'm most at home in front of a crowd, or leading a bible study, or dreaming up a photography retreat.  The harder thing for my heart and soul and fingers to do is the quiet work at home.  To joyfully fold the laundry, hide behind the tree for hide-and-go-seek just one more time, to sweep the granola up for the third time in a row.  

Notice I didn't say it's bad for me to do these things.  It just doesn't come as naturally for me to do them cheerfully as leading/styling a photo shoot does.  Or painting.  I used to feel like a bad wife or mom even thinking that.  I thought I was broken or something was wrong with me.  Surely it couldn't be right that the thing that made energy course through my veins and my eyes light up and my voice get loud and excited could be anything other than parenting?  Now I have learned, it's both.  Sure parenting does that for me! But so do other things.  And right now I don't always know how to plug into the "other things" and sometimes that's hard for me.  

 But I can feel that as I'm giving my family and circle my best energy, it's not time wasted.  As our girls transition from babies to older toddlers, the parenting is different.  The questions asked, different.  The discipline, love, time spent-different.  The prayers-so different! 

But the grace and patience and capacity to handle all that?  

Enough.  More than enough.  

On this very normal, very real-life Tuesday at my dining room table, this is where I am. 

And you?  

I'm leaning in close, I'd love to hear.