Dear Lucy:

You turned six this week. Or, as you put it, “Now I need two hands to show how old I am!”

This has been a big year for you, with lots of firsts and milestones: first sleepover, first extracurricular (track club!), first time sounding out words and adding numbers on paper, going to kindergarten, learning to read, riding your bike without training wheels, memorizing your first Bible verse, and most importantly: inviting Jesus into your life.

I’ve half-joked that I have spent more time on my knees in desperate prayer to God since you were born than any other time in my life. It’s true. You were a difficult toddler and preschooler—easily frustrated and overwhelmed, a strong-willed tantrum-thrower. So many times I’ve felt like I’m failing you as a mom. But God has used your precious life, sweet Lucy, to teach me that it’s not so much about me being a great mom as it is about trusting our great God. That your life is in his hands and you are just on loan to me. Even when your daddy and I fail, your Heavenly Father does not.

And now, as you grow in the understanding of what it means to follow Jesus, I see those traits I’ve prayed for start to blossom: compassion, forgiveness, kindness, thoughtfulness, and self-control, among others. You are still quirky, and everyone who knows you loves that about you, but I am amazed as I watch these fruits of the spirit begin to show in your life.

Your two best friends at school come from dysfunctional homes. One has hearing aids and the other barely speaks and is a year behind everyone else in your class academically, but you haven’t noticed any of that. They are girls no one else has bothered with, but here you are loving and befriending them.

The very first thing you did on the morning of your birthday, bright and early at 6 a.m.? Present me with a card you had made, thanking Daddy and me for the balloons we’d sneaked into your room while you were sleeping. It is a special girl indeed who begins her birthday by thanking others. I’ve lost count of the number of cards and pictures you’ve made for people this year. Always your own idea, always created with care and detail, you constantly bless everyone around you with your beautiful artwork.

Daddy and I are so proud of the big girl you are becoming, and Lincoln admires his big sister to no end. I can’t wait to see how you keep growing this year, sweet girl! Happy Birthday Lucy.

Love, Mama

There is no “Fun” in Fungus

Did you know ringworm is not actually a worm, but a fungus?

I didn’t, until last week.

I mentioned in a previous post that we adopted a rescue pup and rescue kitten for a family Christmas gift. They are incredibly sweet animals, with the best personalities. But Beedo, our kitten, brought a little fungal surprise home with him from the kill shelter he was rescued from. Ringworm. And one long, trying month is stretching into two. Erroneous tests at the vet office led us to believe little Beedo was just suffering from unexplainable patches of dry skin. But then this weekend, I found a telltale rash of red circles down Lucy’s hairline and around her neck. Exactly where she most loves to snuggle her beloved new kitty.

Now, five days later, Lucy has been exiled from school, our cat and pup are both enduring putrid lime sulfur baths and more tests at the vet to rid them of the fungus, and just last night we found a spot on the back of Lincoln’s arm. Ben and I are the only ones still free of it. I look around my home and wonder where else it could be lurking.

“Discouraged” does not even begin to describe how I’ve felt this week. Ringworm deals a direct blow to two of my great struggles: pride and control. Pride, because it is humiliating to hide from the world in a self-inflicted quarantine, warning all who come near not to touch our animals, our skin, or anything for that matter. It is humiliating to have the school call and accuse, “Did you know your daughter has ringworm?” and demand she be immediately picked up even though she’s not contagious anymore. And control, because fungal spores spread everywhere and live a ridiculously long life, and no matter how much you scrub and wash and slather cream to skin and bleach to floors, it lives on until everyone is cured and every invisible trace is somehow removed.

Add this to the roof that still leaks and my husband’s car that won’t start unless he jiggles a few wires, and Lucy’s birthday tomorrow while her face is still covered in fading red rings. Ben and I keep looking at each other and shaking our heads. We take turns losing it (I’ve taken way more turns than he has!) and just keep plunking down money from our IRA to fix the leak, fix the car, fix the fungus.

Yes, I’m discouraged. So so so discouraged. But I’m also thankful. Because if I can’t be thankful, I’ll never crawl out of this hole. I’m grateful for:

1. A God who is surprised by nothing and works everything for good
2. Loved ones who bear our burdens, pray, and speak truth into our lives when we lose perspective
3. Resilient children
4. My husband, who has been a rock through this and who manages our money so well that this hasn’t completely ruined us

For any of you reading this who are also fighting weariness and discouragement, these words of Jesus are my prayer for you: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matt. 11:28–30 NIV)

When December Ends

From my desk this morning I can hear the sound of the steady rain outside.

I can also hear the steady plop of drops filling the bucket below the leaky spot in our ceiling.

Last month was one long leaky roof for me. I had dreamed of a beautiful December this year—Advent-focused, contemplative, celebratory—enjoying my family and our Christ-centered Christmas. My husband and I even planned the ultimate Christmas surprise for our kids: a puppy and a kitten. It was going to be unforgettable.

But reality looked more like this: two back-to-back colds, frenzied photo editing for clients’ Christmas cards, sugar-charged kids with no interest in gorgeous Advent readings, an attempted ceiling repair that revealed the leak and extensive water damage, a sweet kitten who, after one day with us, developed a wheeze warranting antibiotics and scaly patches of skin warranting extensive expensive tests at the vet (still no results), and a sweet puppy who now runs our lives with his potty needs. Our house is sectioned off with couch cushions to keep the dog in the main living area and several times a day I break up physical fights between my children over who gets to hold the kitty. One of our vehicles is in serious need of repair. I am way behind on work. My house is filthy. This morning I was awakened by loud arguing child-screams and a puppy who needed to pee but didn’t want to go out in the rain.

I have that wild-eyed What Happened? What have we done? feeling about December. It was a blur, completely out of focus. Not because of shopping or holiday parties or baking, but because of a messy life. I’m fighting disappointment and discouragement (and the urge to give the dog back up for adoption). And I know I’m not the only one. Hand Foot and Mouth Virus stuck its nasty tentacles into our church nursery and several of my friends have been quarantined at home with their little ones and their sore-spotted skin. Other friends in chillier parts of the country are already wondering how they are going to keep their kids occupied indoors with everyone’s sanity intact until the weather finally warms in April (or May or June).

But take heart, dear friends. Just wait. December didn’t last. Winter won’t last. And when it feels like it will, lean into your husband or a friend who will remind you that it won’t. That the sores will heal and the roof will be fixed (though mine still isn’t).

And really, isn’t that Advent? Advent isn’t beautiful, perfect, softly-lit, hot-chocolatey kind of waiting. It’s agony. It’s heart-wrenching, groaning kind of waiting. Because if it was perfect in our waiting, what would we be waiting for?

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” (Romans 8:18–25 ESV)