Spring Cookie Art

Spring is here at last. To celebrate, I pulled out the cookie pans, cutters, and sprinkles, and whipped up some cookie dough and frosting for a delightful afternoon with my children. I love the imagination each one put into their creations. I love the refined beauty of my older daughters' cookies and the whimsical art of my sons' all piled together on one plate. I love the laughter, the joy, the conversation shared around a sticky table. I love the celebration tea that followed, and the dancing that concluded our day together. What a wonderful way to celebrate spring! The memories created today will not be forgotten.

Admirer or Follower?

"The difference between an admirer and a follower still remains, no matter where you are. The admirer never makes any true sacrifices. He always plays it safe. Though in words, phrases, songs, he is inexhaustible about how highly he prizes Christ, he renounces nothing, gives up nothing, will not reconstruct his life, will not be what he admires, and will not let his life express what he supposedly admires."
Soren Kierkergaard

This quote has turned over and over again in my mind for the past few weeks. Its depth has pierced my soul with conviction. Truly I admire Christ, all that He is, and all that He has done for me. My heart is full of deep affection, but has this affection led me to give up all that I have and all that I am? Have I laid down my life for His? Have I followed Him to the cross? Or do I still hold on to earthly ties?

I want to be considered as one who follows my Lord, but this following comes with great cost. Sometimes the cost seems too great, but is it really? What cost is too great for the One who gave up his right to be king, and came humbly as a poor man to this earth to live a short life, then die? He lived to die. If I am a true follower of Him, my purpose will also be to live to die.

I like how the Message translation of Luke 14:33 says it. It states, "Simply put, if you're not willing to take what is dearest to you, whether plans or people, and kiss it good-bye, you can't be my disciple."

Living to die, truly is a process. At the moment I finally give in and die to that thing I hold so dear, I am confronted by yet something else that lies deeper, something embedded into my heart that my selfish soul refuses to let go of. Then the dying process begins yet anew. For this reason Paul said "I am crucified with Christ." In other words, I am daily dying.

There is beauty, though, in this death, this being "ruined" of soul. It is the life of freedom that follows. Freedom to be a true disciple of Christ. You see, the more self dies, the more joyful life becomes. Although the process is hard, as death is painful, the resurrection of life that follows is beyond compare.

Cupcake Inspired

These days I find myself inspired by delectable bites of pastries creatively decorated with creamy waves of frosting. So many ideas exist to spark the imagination, but this little one from Martha Stewart declares "spring" in such a simple way.



You see, I love to make celebrations with my family out of ordinary days. For it is in these celebrations that memories are made and relationships are forged. So when I see these lovely pictures I am reminded in my hurry-scurry world to stop, create, and celebrate the little moments of life before they slip away.

The Sacrifice of Trust

I sit here this morning having found my soul pondering what it is to trust God in the lives of my children. As a mother, I want to give them good things: to train them to live rightly: to point them in the right direction: to give wise counsel: to protect them from evil: to keep them from making mistakes they may later regret. This burden fills my heart as I am sure it fills the heart of many mothers. It compels me to speak, to train, to give. But last night, as I was praying, I was pierced with conviction of the Holy Spirit, that perhaps I have not always trusted Him and His way of speaking to my children. Perhaps I speak more words than necessary, particularly in the lives of my older children where they have to find their own way with the Lord. Their faith cannot be mine. They must have their own. They must make mistakes and learn from them. The words of Oswald Chambers ring in my ears, "The one passion of Paul's life was to proclaim the Gospel of God. He welcomed heartbreaks, disillusionment, tribulation, for one reason only, because these things kept him in unmoved devotion to the Gospel of God."

Truly, the one and only thing I long for in my children is for them to love God with all of their heart, soul, and mind and to love the people of this world as the Lord does. I do not care what this looks like in each of their lives, for it will look very different from one child to another. Yet this may bring heartache, disappointment, pain that I cannot shield them from. Can I trust the Lord with this? Can I stand back, keep my mouth closed and my opinions to myself when the Holy Spirit calls me to silence? Truly, I feel the immense conflict that must have been in the soul of Abraham as he lay Isaac on the altar. The pain of the altar is real. Without that pain, it would not be called sacrifice.

This does not mean that I cannot speak into their lives, but it does mean that I want to be so sensitive to the Holy Spirit that I only speak when compelled by Him to do so. There is so much He sees that I cannot. There is so much He wants to show them Himself, and I do not want to stand in His way. Can I trust Him to speak to them in times of need? Can I let go? If my children are to find intimacy with the Savior, I must.

This trust is a daily sacrifice, but it is a trust in the One who created the universe yet cares for the sparrow who falls to the ground. It is a trust in the One who numbers the stars yet knows the number of hair on my head. It is the trust of Hannah who gave Samuel to the temple once weaned, because she knew who God was. Yes, I say with joyful confidence mingled with the pain of sacrifice, "I am counting on God."

Stories of Grandma

Today is the day of my dear Grandma's memorial service. Although I am sad to miss it, my heart is full of wonderful stories of moments with her.

My earliest memories begin with Sunday afternoon tea in her home. As a little girl, I was made to feel as welcome as any of the adult guests. There was something about Grandma's way that made me feel like a princess. She would pour my tea in a special china cup and give me one of her delightful homemade cookies. She would then pull out the baby dolls and blankets and assure herself of my comfort before visiting with her other guests.

As I grew older, I had opportunities to spend more time with Grandma. I will never forget the walks we used to take around her small rural community. My legs would have to work twice as hard to keep up with her brisk pace, yet the chats we had in those walks were precious. The evidence of her love for her Savior and those around her was very clear.

She loved serving others, and this was most exemplified in the quilts she made. Every one of her children and grandchildren received a beautiful quilt from her. Every new born baby in her family and church were blessed by a soft blanket, lovingly crafted at the hands of Grandma. Many children in foreign lands were also blessed as Grandma quilted hundreds of baby blankets to be sent via missionaries overseas.

Grandma served others even in the last days of her life. Along with creating soft, cuddly blankets, she would bake lots of cookies. She was always ready to welcome company with a warm cup of tea to her small retirement village apartment, and at the age of ninety-two she chose to bless others without consideration for herself.

Grandma is a hero of mine. As she enters Heaven's gates, she will hear the voice of her Savior proclaim "Well done, good and faithful servant." She has blessed so many lives, and I count it a great privilege to have known her.

I Love Christmas!

The Christmas season is upon me with all of its tastes, sounds, colors, and experiences. Reds and greens fill my home with festive color. Yummy treats and holiday favorites are prepared. Cookie dough is rolled out by small hands and cut into holiday shapes. Sprinkles and frosting cover the table after cookie masterpieces have been prepared....

Gingerbread houses are constructed from tasty confections while sticky fingers enjoy the labor...

Beautiful memories are made of times like these. Times that are somewhat messy and very busy, but times that are full of love and laughter. Flour covered floors, frosted table legs, sparkled carpets are some of the messes left behind after so much creativity. Yet the wonderful time spent together remains imprinted upon my memory long after the messes are cleaned up. It is my favorite season of the year!

Beauty and Ideals

Tonight I sit and contemplate the hectic schedule of the season and find myself overwhelmed. I am tempted to throw my hands in the air and give up, yet something inside me stirs me to create beauty amidst the chaos. Although I am weary, I am encouraged by the words of another idealist, Sarah Clarkson. By her thoughts I am motivated to press on. I have new vision for creating beauty and memories for my family this Christmas. I know it will take hard work and sacrifice to continue with special traditions, but the cherished relationships and hearts moved toward worship are worth every effort.

I encourage you to read Sarah's thoughts on ideals at her blog, The Itinerant Idealist, and may you find encouragement to add beauty to your life this season as you seek to keep Christ in Christmas.

A boy with a tub of water becomes.....

.....my own sweet kitchen elf.

I wonder how long he will let me cut his hair like this???

Happy Birthday To My Little Boy

Childhood is such a wondrous time of beauty and joy. Although it passes all too quickly, I savor the moments to celebrate it. I cherish its hugs and kisses. I marvel at its simple pleasures. There is such beauty in the simplicity of these days of play. To watch as little hands spend hours arranging and caring for their new "animal" friends brings both delight and satisfaction to my soul. What will these little hands grow up to to? Who will they bless? Ah, may they be hands that raise in adoration to the Heavenly Father and hands that stretch out to comfort weary souls.