4360

Last Friday, I got ready in our teeny tiny rental bathroom for the last time. As I did my hair, my throat tightened and a few tears rolled down my cheeks. It was silly really, after all, it was definitely a short term plan and we were only there for 4.5 months and SO excited to be moving on, but there was a lot of living in that one-floor rental.

The day we moved in, there was a freak spring snowstorm and Canada, following other parts of the world, was just about to tip into a pandemic. We had been so preoccupied with packing and leaving our home of 14 years that we hadn’t been paying much attention to what was still most commonly referred to as the corona virus. Sure, I had asked another mom at ballet the week before if she was concerned but we both agreed we were only mildly so. But that night, Thursday, March 16, after all the boxes had been unpacked, I sent Phil to the grocery store and he texted me pictures of empty shelves. He returned with a mix-mash of foods he had scavenged and thought the kids might eat if things really spiraled – packaged rice crispie squares, canned peaches, cartons of orange juice and beef Mr. Noodle (which we would later discover was not an adequate replacement for chicken Ichiband). By Sunday afternoon, it was announced that the schools would close indefinitely. I would not have believed you then if you’d told me my kids wouldn’t have any interaction outside of our family for 77 days straight.

The next few months were this strange mix of life feeling normal and as though everything was radically different, all simultaneously. I’ve always loved having my kids at home, so these long days spent entirely at home were a gift. It felt like an extended Christmas vacation with lots of baking, Fort building and a few school lessons squeezed in at the kitchen table. As spring emerged, we biked almost daily and planted a herb garden. The kids coloured and built suspension bridges with LEGO. In the backyard they picked up wiffle sticks and built bird houses. We learned to make friendship bracelets and sent postcards to friends. Zoom play dates became a new common place way of connecting. Colton had the simplest birthday party I’ve ever thrown, but at the end of the day said he hoped could have a Covid birthday every year. My three children shared a room and it felt like a nursery right out of Peter Pan. Wyatt woke up at 7 am every morning. He would make his bed and then proceed to drag Phil out of bed to complete a youtube exercise class called P.E. with Joe. On Sunday nights, we had a family worship and dance party and the kids looked forward to those videos, continually asking when we could watch Freshlife kids if we ever missed. Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, then finally Canada Day were all celebrated while trying to respect social distancing.

Of course the time spent in the rental will always be remembered as the time my belly swelled up with new life. We shared the news with friends that we were expecting a baby girl over a computer screen and our joy grew because of theirs. Little hands waited patiently for baby kicks. Every Monday the kids looked forward to finding out how much the baby had grown.

But there were other parts. Harder parts. Like the fear of the unknown that desperately wanted to creep in. The fatigue I felt growing a new baby. The emotional exhaustion of contstantly wondering what the future held. The line ups at grocery stores. Our ski season cut short and our borders, parks, playgrounds, churches, and pools all closed. We were literally stuck inside with nowhere to go.

The house itself was filled with all sorts of first world inconveniences – like the fact that there was only one plug in for an entire kitchen. The water pressure wasn’t strong enough to run the dishwasher and take a shower at the same time. A flashlight was needed to find anything hidden at the back of two cupboards. Sometimes the toilet just would simply decide not to flush. And of course the smells of cooking from the downstairs tennants that would waft up our registers often sent this pregnant mama to the bathroom heaving over the toilet. I doubt we’ll ever forget the night I threw up in the front yard in the flower beds.

But even still we were grateful for God’s timing. His perfect provision and lessons in trust and waiting. I’m thankful my children had the opportunity to see that a house is just a house. A home is made up of people, that joy and love are not tied to a physical space. And so it was that another chapter came to a close with fondness.

Later that Friday morning, we received the keys to our new home. This kids ran through the empty halls and we snapped our first photo in the kitchen. It was surreal. When it was just the five of us left, in a beautiful, empty living room, we had this sacred, simple moment of joy as we sat in a circle on the floor with our hands joined and thanked God for His gifts to us, for this space that He’s given us. We asked Him to fill the house with HIS Holy Spirit. That it would be a home where above all else, love would abound. That is would be a safe nest from the world, a place to rest and find solace. That we would make memories here, invite others in, serve one another and grow in faith. That we would see the fruits of the spirit grow in our hearts. That in all that we do in say, in all the moments big and small, we would bring glory to God.

We are thankful and humbled and can’t wait to have you over to 4360 soon.

Seven

Golden Colton, what joy you bring to our lives. You add the laughter and spirit to our days and life without you, just wouldn’t be the same. 

Seven trips around the sun – it’s hard to believe. It seems like just yesterday you were a smiley toddler with fuzzy blonde hair. In the blink of the eye you’ve grown into a wild and free little boy with a contagious zest for life. 

You love to play with Lego and are happiest when the directions are discarded and your creations spring from your imagination. The same rule applies for drawing, and it’s fun to peek inside your mind. At school, you enjoy math and gym, and have worked hard to learn to read, carefully sounding out the letters with determination and concentration. Your speed and coordination shone in soccer last spring. You were the team all-star without a doubt. When you’d run up the score, making goal after goal, you’d find yourself in net. You learned to skate this winter, proudly and appropriately wearing a Golden Knights jersey. You adore skiing and love to remind us, “Rick trusts me on black diamonds!”

While you’ve grown and changed in so many ways, much about you has remained steady and true. You still love peaches and claim to dislike chocolate (with a few exceptions made for ice cream and Kit Kats). Your favorite color is orange. Racing Hot Wheels, shooting dad with Nerf Gun bullets and battling evil with light sabers are all a part of your days. Your mornings start with cuddles, your body pressed in close while your little feet fidget. Like the years that have gone before, you adore a little ragged owl who shares your birthday. Countless prayers have been offered and hours spent searching for Hootie as he always seems to disappear on adventures, and must be found and returned to his nest before bedtime, safely in the grasp of your hands as you drift off to sleep. You adore Wyatt and Lucia equally – and have a unique relationship with them both. They in turn love you deeply, too, and the friendship you share is a gift.

When it comes to your personal style, what truly makes you stand out is that sparkle in your eyes, those adorable freckles scattered across your cheeks and the way your nose crinkles up when you genuinely think something is funny. Your smile changed when you lost your first tooth and then a second one a short time later. You disdain collared shirts and blue jeans and always opt for joggers given the choice. For several months in the fall you wore your Mickey Mouse ears religiously, but only at home for fear of losing them. If we even talk about cutting your locks, tears spring to your eyes as you adamantly insist, “Colton keep long hair.” After being missing for several months (and again praying fervently for its return), your bracelet from Disney that has your name engraved in Aurebesh is kept safely in your special treasures, but you do wear a WWJD bracelet and a watch on your wrist around the clock.

Although you are a whiz at telling time, you march to your own beat and are never in a hurry. When we go on walks, you stop frequently to look at flowers and rocks and all that catches your eye, explaining to us when we ask you to catch up, “Colton’s just so curious.” I hope you never lose that joy in the small things, the wonder in discovery. Thanks for showing us the world through your eyes – it’s a beautiful place.

While it’s true you carry a lot of spunk, those who know you best know that you also have a gentle spirit. You care deeply for the plight of baby robins when it snows in the spring, will give Lucia anything she wants if she cries and love to hold babies in your arms. You can’t wait to meet your new sister, you talk to her daily and were the first in our family to feel her kicks, waiting patiently with your little hand on mama’s belly.

While all of these things are a part of what makes you uniquely you, what marks your life most significantly, is your love for Jesus. You know that you are a child of God. You love to be reminded of the truth: “What is our only hope in life and death? That we are not our own but belong to Christ.” You have faith in His control and worship in spirit and in truth, often with your hands raised high. His hand is on your life and we can’t wait to see it unfold.

Sweet blue-eyed boy, how we adore you. You are the babe we asked Jesus to send. You are loved, you are loved, you are loved. You are a child of the King. No matter what your days hold or what adventures your feet take, never forget, we’re cheering for you, rooting for you, always believing in you. Shine on.

Nine

Wyatt Jude, our curly-mopped brown-eyed boy. This year, you’re holding nine fingers straight up in the air, just one thumb left tucked away until you reach two full hands. You’re on the cusp of moving into a new phase, a new chapter around the bend, and while it would be easy to jump ahead, we’d risk missing this beautiful unique season, one of the last filled with all the wonder and innocence that makes up childhood.

The other day, I pulled you close and said, “Come here little boy.” You replied a few moments later with, “I like being called little.” Sweet son of mine, you were the one who made me a mama. Even as you grow older and wiser and taller, that special role in our family will always remain.

So, let’s talk about just what an awesome kid you really are. When you were a toddler, I made up a little tune to these words: “Wyatt Jude, you are one cool dude.” And my goodness, is that ever true.

You’re quiet but confident, you know what you like (and what you don’t), and you’re comfortable in your own skin. That’s a quality I hope you never loose. Hold onto that tightly.

You’re still rocking long locks, and I can barely convince you to trim off even the tiniest bit of length. I know you secretly enjoy getting dressed up occasionally for a special date, but are happiest wearing a baseball hat on backwards, joggers, a hoodie and your black Nikes with a white swoop (the ones that match Dad’s). When it comes to toys, LEGO remains the at the top and we have shelves upon shelves of your creations taking over our office space. You’re happy to play any sport. Balls of all shapes and sizes, baseball gloves, rollerblades, bike helmets and hockey pucks litter our lawn all summer. You take (too much) thrill in shooting your parents with Nerf bullets. You dream of living by the ocean and breathing in salty sea air while you surf year-round. In addition to salmon, you’ve added crab and calamari to your list of favourite foods. Apple crisp, fundito and orange pop are new found happy discoveries. At the days end, you still love to have your back stroked as you whisper about your day.

What’s been neat this past year is to see your personality develop. You are kind and courteous and willing to help whenever asked. You have a prevailing gentle spirit. You’re an amazing big brother, and Colton and Lucia can’t help but adore you.

You were one of the youngest on your baseball team this spring, but you made up for it with a whole lotta hustle and heart. Of course, we weren’t surprised. We’ve seen that determination time and time again. When you set your mind to a goal, you’re unstoppable. After weeks of practicing, you flew past much older kids in the Little Souls Marathon. You took home the award for reading the most books at school. While we cheered from the boat, you surfed on your first try. And, most notably, we were all so proud to say you skied 200,000 vertical feet last season. You can go down almost any run now, and much to my chagrin, the steeper the better.

In a lot of ways, you’re like your dad: You have a memory for random facts and love sharing bits of trivia from the World Book of Guinness Records. A rainy afternoon is considered perfect for the rare privilege of playing video games. You’d rather work alone than in a group. You love watching racing and I didn’t think you’d sit through it, but you watched the entire Indy 500 this spring. You wish math was harder at school, but would be ok if you skipped music class altogether. You’re a master Jedi fighting evil forces in disguise.

But there’s lots of traces of your mama in you, too. We’ll often find you now with your head buried in a story as you read through chapter books and graphic novels faster than we can buy them. Wings of Fire, Dogman, the Bad Guys and Ricky Ricotta’s Mighty Robot are some of your go-to titles. You organize your socks and think your room feels “calmer” when you start the day by making your bed and turning on your bedside lamp. You are a thoughtful gift-giver and will spend hours considering what will bring those around you joy, happily contributing your own funds – like the bracelets you purchased in Disney for Niko and Elijah. You are a lover of small things and have a whole box of special treasures filled with rocks, shells, and pins.

Most importantly of all, you love Jesus, and you’re finding ways to serve Him even now in your youth. You took great delight in shovelling walks and gathering pop bottles to raise money for Compassion Canada. You are quick to remind us that we should pray about all things.

This is all part of your story, your ever-expanding foundation.

Since you were a tiny baby I’ve whispered these words to you: “You are a child of the King. He has great plans for you. I wanted you more than you’ll ever more. You are loved, you are loved, you are loved.” I hope these truths sink down deep into your soul and remain etched there for all time. Never forget who you are, but more importantly, never forget whose you are. You’re an MVP and we’re your number one fans.

An open letter to Mrs. K

 

Dear Carolyn,

As the school year comes to a close, I’ve been reflecting on how much Wyatt has grown and changed this year, how far he’s come. And I can’t think about that, without naturally thinking of the role you’ve played in his life this year.

This was the year I officially gave my firstborn over to a school system. Kindergarten was a gentle entry of course, but Wyatt still spent more time at home than away last year. But Grade 1 was different. Five mornings a week, we made the drive to school. Five mornings a week, I entrusted him to your care at 8:40 (or shortly thereafter ) until I picked him up again at 3:10 that afternoon. Five days a week, I’d think of my sweet boy and whisper prayers for him, wondering how his day was going, imagining him on the playground or picturing him sitting at a little table in your classroom. I admit, those first few weeks were hard. But you helped make the transition easier.

Early on in the year, Wyatt came home from school singing a little song about Jesus, one I didn’t know, one I hadn’t taught him. But it brought me such peace to know that even when he was away from our home for 6 hours and 25 minutes every day, that time was being spent learning about the world through the lens of a shared belief in Jesus. What a comfort to know that we shared the same goal: to see the kingdom of heaven come to earth, to see roots of faith planted for a lifetime.

What you do matters so much.

Several weeks ago, Wyatt was having a little issue at school and I told him I needed to let you know because it was your job to take care of him when I wasn’t there. The gravity of that really hit me as I said those words. What an enormous task you are charged with – caring for 25 students, teaching them, guiding them, loving and encouraging. Instructing them in reading and being kind friends, working on writing while pointing them to the heart of Jesus.

Thank you Caroyln. What you do is nothing short of amazing.

I have watched you comfort a little girl who was crying and frustrated because her task was taking too long to complete. I have watched as you calculated how long to let a little boy fidget and squirm before saying anything. I have seen your little class break out in applause of admiration for you. Every day countless demands are put on you, and you handle them with grace.

Thank you for creatively planning lessons and adjusting when things weren’t working. Thank you for not only taking them swimming Monday mornings, but getting in the pool with them. Thank you for accepting “gifts” of worms for the garden boxes. Thank you for being approachable. Thank you for weekly updates and for your organization. Thank you for letting me join in your classroom for art on Thursday afternoons, always welcoming me, as well as Wyatt’s two younger siblings. Thank you for making sure every one of your students had a thoughtful gift for Mother’s Day. Thank you for giving us grace and not questioning my judgement as a mother on those days when Wyatt wasn’t in school because we needed to connect as a family in other ways (and I know there was many). Thank you for partnering with us. Thank you for loving these little people.

On a very practical note, I want to thank you for teaching Wyatt to read this year. I always knew he would love being able to independently open books and get lost in the words. We saw this dream become a reality this year. One day I asked if he would like me to read a chapter of Dogman to him. He replied that he had already finished reading the book. While I knew he had been flipping through the pages on the couch, I had wrongly assumed he was just looking at the pictures. To my surprise, he had completed the entire book on his own. That was a magical moment.

In just over two weeks’ time, you will hand off Wyatt back to us for the summer, and say farewell to the class of 2029 as they move forward to Grade 2. But I want you to know, as one mom to another, that you have made a difference. Wyatt may not remember the words you said, or the lessons you taught, but I will never forget the way you made him feel. A few days ago I asked Wyatt what he thought of Mrs. K. His response, “She’s really kind.” His simple words touched my heart. What more could I ask for in a teacher? To be marked as a person of kindness in the eyes of a child – what a great honour.

It is my hope that Wyatt will remain a life-long learner, that he will always look at the world around him with wonder and curiosity. You have helped to lay a beautiful foundation in reaching that goal. Thank you for being a part of our lives this year. We will always look back on your classroom with fondness.

Blessings of love and kindness,

Wyatt’s mom

Grandpa

 

On behalf of our entire family, thank you for being with us today to celebrate a life that was well lived, to remember a man that was well loved. While many of you here knew this man as Willard Penner, to us he was and will always affectionately be known simply as Grandpa.

In his 93 years, Grandpa held many roles. He was a son, a brother, a loving husband, a father, and a farmer. But above all of those things, he was a man of faith.

If there was one thing that was clear last week when we came together to say farewell to Grandpa it was this: whether in life or in death, his hope was in Jesus Christ alone. As we gathered around a hospital bed, there was an overriding sense of peace that even though Grandpa was taking his final breaths here on this earth, it wasn’t the end. Death held no fear. We didn’t say good-bye, we said see you soon. We kissed his cheeks, gripped his hands and amidst sadness and tears, we celebrated that soon he would be in the presence of Jesus.

A nurse later commented that there was a lot of love in the room that day and whether she knew it or not, that was a mere reflection of the outpouring of love that comes from our Heavenly Father.

But before we get ahead of ourselves and jump to that final chapter of Grandpa’s story, we need to backtrack to the beginning. Because as any good farmer knows a harvest isn’t gathered without a great deal of planning and work, watering and waiting, tilling and praying — and Grandpa knew this best. Today, we want to take a few moments to share some of the stories from his life and the memories we hold.

Grandpa was born in Siberia Russia in 1924 in an era that we can hardly imagine. When he was just one year of age, his mother and father made the radical decision to leave all that they knew and loaded a boat for Canada in pursuit of religious freedom. After arriving in Ontario, they would eventually relocate to Grassy Lake and were among the first pioneers there. We are the benefactors of that leap of faith. Grandpa’s roots were forming.

Fast forward 20 some years and Grandpa was now a young man, starting out with a farm of his own. Now if anyone knows the Penner family, they also know that we possess what many might call a stubborn streak. I’d like to take a moment to reframe that quality under the banner of determination, but I’m also going to go ahead and give Grandpa credit for that spirit. As children, we loved to hear the story of how Grandpa wooed our Grandma, pursuing her relentlessly. After meeting Grandma, Grandpa sent her flowers, but Grandma hid them out of sight as her father didn’t approve of the budding romance. Following her father’s instruction, Grandma sent Grandpa a rejection letter. But Grandpa was not giving up that easily. He ignored that letter and instead returned, but this time with a bouquet of flowers to win over Grandma Pankratz. Grandma and Grandma’s mom both fell in love and the rest is history.

Grandpa and Grandma were married in 1950 and began a life together in Grassy Lake. Four years later, they welcomed their firstborn, my mom Sharen. That precious bundle had Grandpa wrapped around her little finger from the moment he laid eyes on her. Over the years both Grandpa and my mom would often tell the story of how when she was very little and wanted something, it would always be Grandpa who would say ‘let her eat it Mommy.’ My mom remembers roguing the specialty crops with her dad and milking cows on the old farm. Right from the start, Grandpa was instilling a spirit of hard work in his children and my mom took real pride in tilling his prized ever green trees with the little tractor.

Over the next few years, Grandpa and Grandma’s family grew. They welcomed two boys – first Donald and then Murray and then another baby girl, Connie. Connie was affectionately known as the baby of the family and Grandpa introduced her as that up until the day she was married.

It seemed nothing could deter Grandpa and Grandma. Until my mom entered grade one, they only spoke high German in the home, but as the kids entered school, they decided to learn English and learned to speak it flawlessly.

In those early years, Grandpa and Grandma were building the farm, all the while planting seeds of faith that would stand the test of time. Connie recently shared that one of her fondest childhood memories was standing on the bed with her arms wrapped around her dad’s neck, saying her bedtime prayers. Grandpa and Grandma were actively involved in the local church and started every day with a reading of the Daily Bread followed by prayer, a practise that would continue throughout their lives together.

By the time Grandpa was ready to retire, the farm had transformed from a small section of land to a real operation. The rows of green tractors and the patchwork of fields spoke to his love of the land – something he passed on with pride to Don and Murray. The boys will forever be grateful for the guidance and the start he gave them to succeed.

Even as their children started families of their own, Grandpa and Grandma continued to help in any way they could – showing generosity and love to their children and grandchildren. Grandpa combined for many years after his formal retirement. At 80 Grandpa went to Kelowna to help Brian and Connie finish their basement. Christmas and birthdays of every family member were always recognized with a hand signed card and a gift.

This story of our grandfather wouldn’t be complete if we didn’t pay homage to his commitment to health. He was FANATICAL about vitamins and exercise. I think we all learned a lot about blood pressure, the power of garlic and salmon oil and the importance of brushing our teeth – you were not to brush side to side but up and down. Or was it the opposite? I can never quite remember. What I WILL always be able to remember is Grandpa doing sit ups by the back door in Tudor. As Becky said, THAT’S a visual hard to forget. And I know for a fact that many of us here can picture him swimming lanes in the early mornings during our annual Fairmont vacations. My dad tells the story of visiting Grandpa on the farm and watching him cut up what he thought was an apple to add to his oatmeal. To Wes’ disbelief, it was not an apple, but actually an onion freshly harvested that very morning from the garden.

One thing that marked my grandpa’s life, was the love and commitment he had for Grandma. Their marriage of 68 years only grew in steadfast love with the passing of time. Grandma often shared about the joy Grandpa brought to her life. How he supported her, loved her and protectively cared for her. I will always remember the two of them holding hands in church, a display of affection not commonly seen in that generation. They held hands right to the very end. Their love is a true testament to time and an inspiration to model.

My Grandpa had a great smile. He was an expert fisherman. Him and Murray enjoyed many hours together waiting for the big catch. We were always so grateful and delighted when Grandpa would share fresh trout with us. He was a perfectionist. His yard was always meticulous, as were the vacuum lines in the carpet in their home. He was a frequent flyer at the BC fruit stands, but his favorite was cherries. He enjoyed hunting. He made a delicious green punch and creamy mashed potatoes were a staple for all family occasions during our childhood years. Grandpa loved family gatherings and right until the end joined us for dinner almost every Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Him and Grandma were wonderful neighbors both on the farm and in Lethbridge and made many friends, even introducing some of them to their precious savior.

When it came to his role as a Grandpa, you’ll hear today a few of the memories first hand. Grandpa loved his grandchildren and prayed for us. It was his desire that each one of us know Jesus personally. The girls and I affectionately nick named him Papa Granola. As we entered our teenage years, Grandpa would take each of us on a special date to Anton’s for our 13^th birthday. It was the first time I ever ordered crab and butter. As a Great Grandfather, it brought Grandpa great delight to hold the babies as they entered the world and he was given the chance to meet eight of them, precious moments we’ll always hold dear. Even in his passing, my children asked to come say good bye and great grand babies played on the floor.

As Grandpa entered what he titled the “rusty years”, the seeds that he had sown were being returned to him as his children now took on the role of caring for him. After Grandpa’s driving days were over, my mom chauffeured him with pleasure around town. When he couldn’t get out much anymore, she continued as a self-described merry maid bringing fruit, brown bread and of course Keifer, which would heal every stomach ailment he ever had. He was always thankful and often extended an invitation to stay for lunch at St Therese. Connie, too, made frequent visits from Kelowna and was by his side until the end. Just 10 days before he passed away she made a visit. All Grandpa wanted to know was that she would “stay” throughout the weekend and keep him and Grandma company. Then he would doze off in his favourite chair and sleep peacefully. For many years, Murray and Marilyn would come to St. Therese and Dylan would play guitar for Grandpa and Grandma when they could no longer attend church.

This past Easter, Grandpa told us it would be his last family gathering as he was going home and he pointed toward heaven. And just recently, he specifically told Auntie Connie not to cry at his funeral. While we haven’t fully honoured that request, we think he’d understand. Tears of sadness are shed because we’ll miss him, and we mourn with our Grandma in her great loss. But there are also tears of joy knowing Grandpa is with Jesus and that he is worshipping Him in completeness this very moment.

After Grandpa passed away last week, our family was ushered to a room where stories started to flow naturally.

We laughed.

We cried.

We remembered.

Told here today are only a few of the many, many tales, a mere snapshot of the times we’ve shared as a family, the hundreds of hours we spent together.

Someone once said, “Our parents give us life, but our Grandparents gives us a sense of who we are and where we came from.”

Grandpa, you were our living roots, your story is our story, your past a part of our past. You shaped who we are. You influenced who our children will be. You laid a foundation for a family to continue to find faith in Jesus and that is truly a beautiful legacy.

I speak for all of us here when I say we will never forget you. We will always love you. And we will keep a special corner of our hearts for you until we meet again at the gates of glory.

 

And just like that…

“So are you going to do this every day?” Phil asked jokingly as he walked into the kitchen.

It was nearing 10 at night, and I was using lightning bolt and Batman cookie cutters to shape tiny ham and cheese sandwiches.

“Probably,” I answered. “After all, there are only so many ways I can say I love you when he can’t read.” It was said lightheartedly, but I really was serious. And crazy.

And then his backpack was loaded. The lunch was packed. The love “note” showing a picture of our family with doodles around it was tucked into his bag. His clothes were folded and laid out, right down to the Star Wars underwear and new socks with stars.

So naturally, all that was left to do was cry.

I never quite expect to feel such intense emotion at these milestones, but I have no idea why. I should know better, I really should. But still, I was taken by surprise at the depth of the emotion washing over my heart. I crawled up the ladder to the top bunk and pulled all 39.4 pounds of that boy close to me.

Wyatt Jude, as you snoozed, I silently sobbed, my tears soaking your pillow. I kissed your cheek gently, stroking your curls off your forehead and I remembered what it was like to bring you home six years ago. That Fall, it was probably the biggest change of my life. There were so many dreams coming true. My first baby. I was so madly in love and a little bit overwhelmed. I thought of you as a toddler, already so particular, lining up rows of pigs and little people on the windowsill. Days flashed before my eyes. Trips to the library, followed by cupcakes. Painting nativity scenes on large poster boards on our kitchen table. Welcoming a baby brother. How little and big you seemed when you came to meet Colton for the first time at the hospital. Your first day at preschool. Prayers for a baby sister. Tea time with chapter books. Carefully learning your letters. Wonder. Laughter. Tears.

How did we get here so fast?

Wyatt, you are so excited to start school. I’m not entirely sure what expectations your little heart holds, but in your innocence, you’re imagining only good things and that’s exactly how it should be. We’ve talked about being a good friend. Using the boys’ washroom on your own. Not leaving the playground. How you can ask the teacher anything. We’ve gone over the fact that you need to eat your healthy snack first. We’ve visited the school several times and looked at where you’ll hang your backpack and leave your gym shoes. We’ve talked about how Jesus is always with you and that at 3:10 mama will pick you up and bring you back to your safe place to land. In theory, it feels like we’ve covered everything, and still I don’t quite feel ready to let you fly.

But you are.

And so my sweet boy, know that you’re taking all my love with you. That this mama’s heart will be holding you close all day long. Picturing you at recess. Will you find a friend? Will you know where to line up? Lunch time. Another recess. And as the hours pass, I’ll be counting down to seeing your face again. And I know the truth is that I know your teacher can’t know you like I do. That your days are going to change and you’re going to have little hurdles and challenges to overcome in the process of learning. So my heart hurts a little. Because just like the Father’s heart, my heart breaks for what breaks yours. But I also know you’re going to gain independence, that you’re off on a great adventure. That you love to learn and can’t wait to open up a world around you. You came up the stairs this morning, reverberating with anticipation and proclaimed, “It’s the first day of school!” And so in the same way, I can’t help but be excited for that which excites you. So I gave you the tightest hug I could and kissed the palm of your hand and told you to keep it safe.

I miss you already; the house is too quiet without you. But know this, I’m standing behind you, even when I’m out of sight. I love you beyond what you can imagine. I’m cheering for you. I’m here for you. I’m praying for you with almost every breath.

All my love.

Forever and ever.

Always yours,

mama

Fierce lineage + high callings

It hits me at unexpected moments, motherhood, this calling, this life, how fast it’s slipping.

Someone I bumped into while walking the dog asked how old he was. My reply, “He’s almost 10.” And it’s not really possible.

More significantly, I was making a quick run to wall-mart at 10:09 at night. It was already dark. Phil was assembling a trampoline in the backyard. I was holding up the flashlight on my iPhone so he could see. This is parenthood, isn’t it? And as we worked, I realized the kids would need a stepstool to make it up. I wanted them to be able to wake up and play the next morning with no barriers, so off I went. I walked into Wal Mart and there like a slap in the face was the back to school supplies. There was an unusual emptiness to the store that night, so you could hear the music over the speakers, some slow sentimental song that made my heart squeeze. Because how can it be that I have a little boy, an almost six year old that will put on a backpack filled with pencils and markers this fall? I’ll drive him to school, kiss him on the cheek, wish him the happiest of happy days and then go back to a van where I’ll bawl my eyes out that it’s the beginning of the end. I can hardly fathom that there will be days now where the majority of his waking hours will be spent with someone else. And will they know how amazing he is? Will those people who have such huge influence get it, like really get?

Because my first-born, my first baby, my Wyatt Jude is such a gift. And even as I type these words there’s tears flowing because until you’re a mama, you just don’t get it, you can’t understand the hopes, the dreams, the fears, the completely encompassing love. That first baby changes your world, shakes it, transforms it and leaves this beauty, a new vision and calling. And honestly, I can still remember those first days, that fall of 2010. Holding this little bundle, being blown away and utterly exhausted and wondering if I could really do this because I was just. so. tired. And here we are more than half a decade later. And this little man, I’d give my life for his in a second. He’s silly, makes up jokes and only laughs after the recipient expresses how funny they in fact are. He has a sensitive spirit, you have to be gentle. He’ll put himself in time out and burst into tears because “I feel bad.” He loves to cuddle at night and silently soaks it in when I whisper ten things I love about him. He’s smart as a whip and taught himself to read and begged to do our “homeschool” lessons this past year. He’s worried he won’t get enough solo time in the library to practice his reading. He’d rather play inside than go to spray parks. He’ll happily work all morning on a lego set that’s meant for kids way older. He loves a celebration and just can’t settle on a theme for his sixth birthday. In the past few months we’ve been scheduled to host parties centered around robots, ninjas, lego, ninjagos, Star Wars and hunting. He loves to wear sport shorts and is conscious of matching. So when he comes up wearing something like grey shorts and a grey shirt, I tell him I like his style, even when it looks like he’s rocking a jumpsuit. He has no desire to learn to ride a horse but can’t wait to start judo lessons with his dad. He was the worst skater in his class because he’s calculated and careful and just couldn’t get the glide, but man that kid could run on the ice. He’s the best big brother and watches out for Lucia and Colton like no other. They adore him. He’s a lover of candy and chocolate ice cream and steak and ginger snap sandwiches from Penny Coffee House. He’s an awesome little swimmer, but it took a lot of practice and encouragement. You don’t see the countless hours or the hoards of money we plunked down for lessons when he goes running off the diving board with reckless abandon. When the babies nap and the house goes silent, those are some of our shared favorite times. This boy of mine, loves teatime with mama while listening to me read chapter books aloud. We just finished the Mouse and the Motorcycle trilogy, but almost didn’t make it past the first few chapters. Poor Ralph was trapped in the garbage can and as the story unfolded, he declared, “I don’t like this one!” He knows more about animals than I’ll ever know thanks to Zoboomafu.

All that to say, no, they will not get it. While his teachers and little friends may have a glimpse into my boy, they can’t know him like we do. It’s not their role. And so my job, our job as parents, to have the loudest voice in his life, becomes all the more important. And even more so than that, this calling to point him to the one who knows every little detail about him, his creator, becomes the absolute highest priority.

There’s a picture in the boys’ room of a lion wearing a crown. And it embodies everything I want them to know. That they come from a royal line, that they are children of a King, the lion of Judah. That they have brave and fierce spirits within them. That they are leaders. So whatever may happen during their days away from me, I want them to know the truth, that they have value, a calling a plan and a mark for their lives. I might send this boy of mine out in September, but at the end of every day I will still welcome him back into my nest. And when night falls, I will stroke those brown curls and tickle his back and whisper the truth of my great love for him.

Three and free

Colton Reed, today you turn three and we couldn’t love you any more if we tried. You declare regularly, “My favourite colour IS orange!” And that little phrase basically sums up who you are. You are full of life and energy, you have passion and a huge spirit. You bring joy to everyone around you. You love wearing masks and your gymnastic coaches always looked forward to seeing what you’d accessory you’d appear in. You adore your older brother and are learning what it means to be a great older brother yourself. You are the bridge in our family and add life to our busy days. A few months ago we’d get ready for bed by cuddling in the rocking chair, you’d urgently list the things you needed, “Baba! Blankie! Feeties!” But in the past few months you’ve taken such strides towards being a big boy, giving up your bottle and moving to the bottom bunk. You are a lover. When I tell you things I love about you, your eyes go squinty, you nuzzle in to my cheek, and nod your head with a huge smile. At the end of the day, I continue to whisper these words to you: I wanted you more than you ever know. You are the baby I prayed desperately for. You are loved, you are loved, you are loved. You’re a child of the King and you’re destined to do great things. Tuck these truths deep into your little heart. Know them well.

At the end of the day

My babies. They’re all sleeping and the house is quiet. It’s so rare that this actually happens, that I have a few minutes to sit to silence my soul, to breathe deep. These days, they’re filled with noise from the moment they wake up until the setting of the day. There’s a lot of laughter, a lot of tears, and a whole lot of busy.

But here in this moment, my heart is filled. It’s been almost a year since I walked through the fire, and as we approach this time of year, I can’t help but reflect on where we were… where God’s taken us.

Yesterday it snowed, white transformed our world. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about motherhood, you’ve got to capture those moments when they come, so we bundled up and went outside, making tracks through the snow, forming snow angles, loading up diggers with fluff. And there’s another thing I’m learning, I feel most at peace with my soul when I get down and play with my children, when I stop to really listen, when I put away my phone. And it’s then, when I have that feeling of being exactly in the moment that I know, this is what I’m called to do in this space in time. The world, it wants me to believe that the role of mother is ever so ordinary. That making dinners, folding laundries, changing diapers and kissing ouchies, that it’s mediocre. Inadequate. Inferior. I hear the messages all the time. Just the other day at the skating rink, I could hear two moms talking to one another, “I could never have put in all that time for a degree to not put it to use,” one said to the other. In other words, being at home isn’t important. And those words, for a few minutes, they pierced, even though they weren’t being spoken directly to me. But this, this is my calling, my here and now, and I know that in the very deepest part of my soul. There will be a time when that changes, when these little people will need less of me, when the day-to-day nurturing shifts to new opportunities. But that day is not today. The years are short.

So my wee ones – Wyatt, Colton and Lucia – know this, I love these years. I love waking up in the morning next to my sweet girl, to let our mornings in jammies linger. It is my greatest delight to mother you. I chose this role and happily have put my career on the backburner. There is nowhere else I’d rather be. I am so thankful you have a Daddy who makes sacrifices so that I can be home with you, that he supports me in this role as your mama.

A few weeks ago, my friend Brody spoke at church and said this: The goal of parenting is not to have obedient children, it’s to have Godly children. And that’s been settling on my soul and ringing through my thoughts. Because the word obedient can be substituted in a lot of different ways.

The goal of parenting is not to have athletic children, it’s to have Godly children.

The goal of parenting is not to have good-looking children, it’s to have Godly children.

The goal of parenting is not to have smart children, it’s to have Godly children.

The goal of parenting is not to have culturally-relevant children, it’s to have Godly children.

And when I’m honest with this sentence, it’s heavy on my heart because more than anything else, I want my children to know Jesus, to love him, to serve him. So how am I really doing at that? How am I showing them that this world is fleeting, our time is short?

Oh God, grant me grace. Be my sufficiency in these days that are so full and so slow. Fill the gaps where I fall short for I am not enough. I am not enough. But comfort my heart in this truth: you are. You alone. We rest there and plant our flag in that truth.

 

 

Baby steps

I’ve been waiting for that perfect moment, to have a clean house, a scented candle, babies all asleep, maybe a cup of tea to come here and write. And today it hit me, it’s not going to happen. At least any time soon.

My mom graciously swooped my boys away this morning to give me a break. I instantly started making a mental list, unload the dishes, fold laundry, stop by the post office… That was just the start. And then she took them and the stillness of house with the absence of those two little souls was so drastic and out of no where, this thought occurred, what if I used today to recharge and left the to-do for tomorrow? What if today I rocked that baby girl to sleep rather than giving her a nap in the car seat? What if I paused and let my soul rest?

And so, the list remains, still lingering in the back of my thoughts. But here, in the quiet of the house, the smell of pumpkin soufflé fills the air, the hum of the furnace and click clack of the keys, a baby asleep in her crib… it’s a place of calm.

And so, a few randoms…

Last Saturday, I was making pancakes and listening to the radio, and these lyrics came on:

“She’s a Friday night lover

A Billy Graham fan like her mother

Wants her daddy and both brothers

To walk her down the aisle”

And tears sprung unexpectedly to my eyes, because I worry about her, my wee girl, this baby in our family with two brothers before her. And for some reason, that song gave this mama’s heart an assurance, “it’s going to be ok.” My family, with its odd number, it’s not entirely the way I pictured or planned, but God knew. And this sweet little thing, she’s teaching my boys how to treat a lady, while at the same time showing them girls can do anything they set their minds to doing. She balances out the racecars and rough and tumble play, even while she’s in the midst of the dog pile herself. And there’s nothing sweeter than the way Colton protects her from going to near the stairs (even though she shrieks in his face as he tries to hold her back) or the way Wyatt strokes her head and calls her “our precious little thing.”

This girl, she’s a tough one. The other day Wyatt called to me, “Mom! Lucia’s trying to climb the stairs!” I responded that I’d be right there, because I mean really, how far up could she be. But when I came around the corner, there she was, almost at the top! She had climbed the entire lower level, past the front door and tile landing and was on her way up to the second landing. It’s her new favorite, she looks over her shoulder, beaming with her accomplishment, and screams like it’s the end of the world when I bring her back down. She mounts the dishwasher if it’s ever left down, happily splashes in the toilet bowl and insists on feeding herself. At this age, my boys weren’t even crawling, but she’s bent of learning to walk, pulling herself up with great determination. She’s my baby, so naturally I’d like to push her down and wrap her back up in a swaddling blanket, but you can see how proud she is of herself, it’s written all over her face, so I can’t help but let her grasp my fingers and get closer to independence with every wobbly step. I know it in the depth of my mama’s heart, this one is going places and it’s futile to hold her back. So rather, I’m committing to cheering her on, to celebrating these baby milestones and taking a million pictures along the way.