blessed beyond measure

It was like the mother ship was calling him home. Aden was invited to the trampoline park for Gage's birthday, and never before have I seen my little cheese addict so excited for an hour of high-intensity exercise. I sure am glad we have friends who offer my kiddos these life experiences that their painfully-frugal Mama doesn't offer. Of course now that he's had a taste, he must go back. With his brother, cause ain't no way in heck I'm stepping out onto that floor dripping with danger. Trampolines and I go way back, and not in a good way. Yes, I'm still bitter about it. Anyhoo, the bouncing was a blast as expected. Aden and Noah hung together, both newbies and learning the ropes. The blur of orange we saw every once in a while was Gage, perfectly at home in this padded wall, foam pit palace. It was a relief for a few moments to not have to worry much about safety, and to watch Aden finally freely and non-destructively act out all the acrobatic tricks ...

It was church that first brought us together three decades-ish ago, and church that brought us back together last weekend. It's been eight years since last we all met, only five kiddos between us and two of us expecting. Much has changed since then, not the least of which is our combined eleven children with another on the way. We are calmer, wiser, decidedly more grown up. But none of that, not the years passed with no contact, not the thousands of miles typically between us, mattered. No awkward silence, no competition, just us chatting up a storm and getting acquainted again. Who we've always been with and for each other. A reunion much needed, that will be remembered even more fondly than the last. Love these girls, my lifelong BFFs. 2017 2009 1999

They roll with the times, these boys. Whatever sport is in season, that's what they want to play. It is these sports that draw them together, and for a few shining moments, their boundless bickering is replaced by a fierce focus on competition. With the surprising side effects of compromise and cooperation and even camaraderie. I have drawn a firm line in the sand. These boys will not play organized tackle football. Never mind that tackling is a daily occurrence in our home. There's one of us who wouldn't be able to take the pain and one of us who would hyperventilate watching her babies get hit and one of us who is a walking head injury anyway. It just doesn't fit. And it might be a loss for the sport. My Trey, who the other day declared that a new feature found on his GPS would "change the course of history", with his quick hands and long-legged speed would make a fabulous wide receiver. My Aden, who the other day watched me rejoicing over a valu...

There is nothing more constant than change. Heraclitus said that, or something like it, millennia ago. An oxymoron that has stood the test of time. As do most insights that should be brazenly obvious to anyone who doesn't live under a rock, the observations about life that make us look down and to the left and go, "Huh." How is it that truth is so profound? There is much different in my sphere than just over two years ago, and seven years ago, and ten years ago, and fifteen years ago. The roller coaster of all these things I've dreamed about since I used to play the Life board game by myself so I could map things out exactly as they should go for me. Some of them have. Some of them have very, very not. It's a timeline, life. Rather predictable for the homebody white American girl who resists change. Those important blips, the highlighted events, are for me mostly what you'd expect. Graduate college and land a job. Get married and settle into a hom...

On to our very most favoritest annual adventure, an evening on the lake. Anticipation ran high as always, Aden leaving notes to himself on his nightstand so he'd remember first thing every morning what joy was just around the bend. Wishing Poppop an early happy birthday. Riding the boat, taking turns at who got to drive and honk the horn at every opportunity, arguing over the privilege of manning the wheel because it's extremely important to practice driving. Three peas in a pod taking a frigid dip at "our" beach on some deserted land a stone's throw from the bridge. Yummy, healthy picnic at the state park, where the sploosh of rocks into water and the sight of calm water touching evening sky never, ever gets old. Why oh why do we only end up doing this once every year? And why, why in tarnation indeed, do we always wait until it's so dern cold? The last three years in a row fall has come a knocking on boat day, and our swim bag has overflowed with gog...

I stand at the kitchen door and watch the remnants of Harvey finish off the last of the brown, crunchy grass. Lush green has returned to our land, as it always does. The sky is heavy gray and the wind swirls, leaves trembling frantically and branches swaying in every direction. Diagonal rain pelts streams into the empty sienna garden soil, and pools on the glass porch table, ceiling fan above turning lazily in the breeze. This after a thousand miles of weakening on its journey north. I can't imagine the horror that Houston saw. Even the clips of weathermen clutching metal rails and shouting, heads drawn into their slickers like turtles, aren't enough for us to know what it was like during that storm. Or even more, what it is like now. I get to stand here in my safe, warm, secure little brick house. Someone else does not. Why? A child of God, I believe every moment of eight billion souls is held firmly in His hand, and that nothing is wasted. We are human. He is not...