Little Friends.

One of the best things about the Lobmeyers moving to Arizona a year after we did? These two little girlies can stay good friends. Peyton and Blythe, born 2 days apart- they always pick up right where they left off! So thankful for the gift of life-long friendships!

And then he ran away.

        It was last Tuesday that it happened. Just a regular Tuesday, or so I thought....get up, do the morning routine, go to barre, come home. Ask the kids to finish putting their laundry away. Get ready for some outside playtime before we start school. And then...suddenly, it wasn't a regular Tuesday anymore. My oldest son walked calmly out into the living room and informed me that he was running away. That he didn't want to be part of our family anymore....and that he was taking the most important thing with him. "My Bible!" he stated fiercely, grabbing it from its spot on the shelf.
 Blink. Well, at least there's that. Don't laugh! This is serious to him. Deep breath...
     "ok....why don't you want to be part of our family anymore?" I asked him. Granted, we've had a difficult 2 months, this oldest child and I; so it wasn't completely out of the blue. Still, I thought we were doing better than "I don't want to be part of this family anymore"!
    "You ask me to do too much," he stated. Ahh, yes. The chores. The lovely chores...too many "chiefs" in this house, as my dad used to say. He does NOT like being told what to do, unless it's something he wants to do. Actually, all my children are this way...and I promise you, although he probably does a bit more than some of his friends, because we homeschool and, well, that's the way it goes- he's far from a slave. Just the regular stuff...take out trash a few times a week, make his bed, brush his teeth, help sort and put away laundry or unload the dishwasher; help set the table, change the chicks' water in the mornings (oh, we got chicks!)....regular kid stuff.
"We do ask you to do things, because you're part of this family. And families help each other out. Do you think your friends don't have to help their families?"

"No."
"Is there something I can do to help make your chores more fun?"
"No. I'm running away from home. I might change my mind and come back, or I might not,"
"I would sure miss you a lot if you decided to leave. So would Daddy. We love you very much."
"I'm leaving."
exit eldest child.

      At this point I wasn't really sure what to do, to be honest. I realized I'd just have to let this play out....the kid is very strong willed and telling him he couldn't go or getting angry with him would just exacerbate the situation. And then he might actually run away. So I didn't say anything.
And he packed his suitcase and backpack, took a blanket, asked me for some food (which I didn't give him. I told him that I didn't want him to leave, so I wasn't going to help him with that part. But that he was free to take his wallet with him. With the allowance in it he'd earned from doing above chores...ironic, no?)
      About this time his little sister and brother came out to the kitchen and saw what was going on. Blasie opened the suitcase because he thought Pax was taking all the cars with him (that's when I saw he'd packed a full change of clothes-including underwear and socks-on top of his Bible. Parenting WIN!!) Blythe, on the other hand, started to cry.
And then he walked out the door.
And she sobbed.
I held her in my arms as she sobbed that she didn't WANT Pax to leave, that she LOVED him and WOULD MISS HIM SO MUCH; and although I reassured her I was pretty sure he'd be back, I also encouraged her to go tell him what she had told me. Because honestly, I wasn't entirely sure if he would be back or not.
"Maybe it'll change his mind," I suggested.
So she ran out the door.
      I followed, of course-I did have a seven-year-old who'd just ran away from home; and although I wasn't 100% on the protocol, I knew I needed to at least see what happened next. And, you know, where he'd gone. Which was down the street, almost to the neighbor's at this point (it's quite a ways-we have big lots in our neighborhood). My little daughter ran, legs and arms pumping, after her brother.
"PAX!! PAAAAX!!! (she caught up to him and stopped-he slowly turned around. Seriously, people. I felt like I was in a tv drama.) Pax (sobbing), I LOVE you. I don't WANT you to leave!! EVER!!"
Pax looked down at her....and then, even so slowly, wrapped his arms around her. It was so sweet... I don't know what else was said at that point; they were too far away to hear. But they turned around and headed for home, together.
       When he finally reached me at the end of our drive way, I just put my arm out and gave him a big hug. He told me he'd changed his mind, and that he wouldn't leave again, ever. I told him he might want to someday, for college or something, and that was ok- but that I was very happy he'd decided to be part of our family. And then he asked me to carry his suitcase inside...to which his 35-pound little sister chimed in "I'll carry it!", even though I'm pretty sure it weighed almost as much as she does.
       It gave me a lot to think about that day and the next, this running away from home stuff. And it turned out that I wasn't the only one it caused to think deeply. After a picnic lunch in the living room, Blythe started to cry again-because when she thought about Pax walking out the door, "it just hurts my heart SO much and I don't want to feel that way!!". This from the passionate little girlie who told me, just last week, that she felt "like I don't have any room for loving Pax in my heart. I don't even WANT to!". She's passionately emotional, that one. But what it taught her-taught BOTH of them, really-is just how much she truly does love her big brother. And just how devastated she'd be if he wasn't in her life....which is a very, very good lesson to learn, indeed. Not always are we given second chances to realize how much we would miss someone if they were gone. Not always do we get to chance from one day to the next and decide to show them more love-at least not without some kind of cataclysmic event. I'm so very thankful for that little life lesson for my kids-and for me, as Adam and I are constantly trying to know our kids well and love them in their differences. For the kid who wants life to be one giant party, this gets a bit tricky when it comes to things like work ethic and chores. But we'll get there. Because we're a family, and we help each other out...in more ways than one.

Blythe is five!

It's ridiculous and sad and sad some more that I haven't posted ANYTHING since November. It's almost February, people. This is borderline depressing. I love to write and in the past this blog has been so cathartic, as well as just plain FUN as a place to document all our silly (and serious) little family stories...so. This year, I've re-dedicated myself to writing here once a week. A story, a short post with photos, a long, drawn-out digging-into-my-soul...this place has been and will always be first and foremost for me, my family, and the friends who want to keep up with us.  And I'm bummed I let "busy" get in the way of that. So, now....

                                                               Blythe is Five!
(please pardon the watermarks on the photos-I'm testing out some new software before I buy it ;)

 Clockwise from Center: B at 2 months, 1 year old, 3 years old (her first Daddy-Daughter dance!), 2 years old (on her first trip to Paris-I miss those sweet, crazy curls!!), 4 and happy in a mud puddle, and FIVE!
We celebrated her birthday 2 days early, on the 17th of January, with a morning "tea" party. True to her nature, she wanted to be sure every detail was just as she'd envisioned it; so we had planned every detail together on a mama-daughter date in Durango over New Year's (thank you, Pinterest). She wanted a Frozen-themed winter tea party, complete with petite fours... and it was so much fun to bring that to life! I'd never done a party like this before, but my parents were in town and Grammy was, of course, a huge help.

 We hunted in our backyard for branches and pine cones and then proceeded to cover them with glitter...messy, but fun! Good thing it's nice enough here in January to do the glittering outside-my marriage may not have survived that much glitter exploding all over our house :). We (I) also strung cotton balls onto thread and hung them up as "snowflakes" falling; and baked teeny Russian teacakes (which my kids call Snowballs). I made a delicious white cake, half of which we filled with homemade lemon curd (again, thank you Arizona winter/citrus season!) and half which we filled with Nutella, before cutting them up into small rectangles and drenching them with frosting. Maybe not the prettiest, but they sure tasted good!

We'd asked the girls to come in "fancy dress", and then Grammy and I helped the little girlies make Fascinators one by one with tulle, ribbon, fake flowers, and gems on headbands while Adam led the rest of the gang is assorted Olaf-themed games. They had a blast and it worked out perfectly! After games, they all put on their fascinators and sat down to "tea" (peppermint hot cocoa). The cutest part was that as soon as those bouncy girls sat down at the elegantly-set table- they all got quiet. And showed beautiful manners. They knew it was special! Pax, with a vest and tie on, served the tea sandwiches (cut in crown and snowflake shapes), and everyone feasted. It was so much fun! Our first "kid party" was an easy, stress-free success. And our little girlie was thrilled beyond belief!
Blythe Linn, Daddy and I love the vibrant, fancy, twirly, graceful girlieness you bring to our family. Your passionate heart and strong will will carry your small-but-mighty body far in life! We love seeing who God has made you to be continue to develop each year; and helping you pursue the things you love is a joy to us. We pray you would never forget who created you the way you are, or how very much you are loved-by God first of all, and also by us. I had so much fun planning and creating this party with you, B.B. Doll!

And then, God spoke to me through a cactus. Or: how He makes all things new.

   One of our giant saguaros out front toppled over and crashed into our house a few weeks ago. The night of October 20th, to be precise. Our house is fine; we have a foam roof and although it may not be pretty it's apparently good at keeping cactus out. We were surprised to say the least, and I have to admit I was a little bummed. I know, it's a cactus. But those ancient "trees" of the desert are beautiful in their sky-high majesty! However-it was just a cactus, and considering the news we got from a friend of ours earlier that same day...perspective.
     Then came the next morning. The house was still quiet and dark; Adam was on a run and all three kiddos were asleep. I walked out to snap a few photos to show our families the danger of living in the desert, and, oh, maybe for instagram because how often does a giant cactus fall in your yard and magnificently smash a prickly pear so that it blows all over the place? It was pretty amazing. And beautiful, in the early morning light. And as I walked back into my kitchen to start making my morning smoothie, I started crying.
 Seriously?!? I'm crying over a cactus. What the heck is wrong with me?!? was my subconscious thought.
But from inside, I heard a very familiar still voice....
It's not about the cactus. 
And in that moment everything crystallized and I got it.
      As I stood there and the knowing washed over me, the tears really started to roll and I had to put the blender down and just hold onto the counter and sob....because the Lord had just spoken beautiful truth to me through a cactus and even though my heart was breaking for our friends that day, I couldn't help but see the awe-struck majesty of a Lord who would speak to me through a cactus. (And the ridiculousness of it. I could see that too.)
     You see, the day before a good friend of mine texted me while I was out running errands sans-kids. The gist of it was that my 28-weeks pregnant friend realized she hadn't felt baby move in a day or so, and was going to the midwives to get checked. She asked for prayer, and you can bet I prayed all thorough that hour-long barre class.
     When I got out I had a text saying there had been no heartbeat detectable with the Doppler, and she was headed to the hospital for ultrasound confirmation. By 5 that night we found out that yes, she had lost the baby. Adam and I, we're not strangers to death or grief and really, who in this world is? So our hearts broke for our friends and the rest of the night was spent talking, praying, reaching out to them, praying...talking.
Not even a sparrow falls but that He knows it.
     I wish I could describe to you in less than 55,000 words what happened the rest of that week and even into the next...the grief and the sadness, but more so the holiness of it all. The night we lived through in just a fraction of what they lived through, waiting to hear the news that she'd delivered their small daughter. That they'd finally met tiny, still Mercy. The updates of moments with her throughout that one day with her; of the only memories they would make with their small daughter in their arms. Painting tiny nails pink, taking hand and footprints, holding close to their hearts the little one whose heart beat no more. But I can't, except to tell you what my friend said in one of her texts- that it was the most beautifully sacred day they'd ever had.
       Beautifully sacred. Holding their stillborn daughter...no anger, never anger in that day; although there was-is- sadness. Mostly there was just an overwhelming sense of the presence of the Lord pervading it all and making beauty from their ashes. Just as the light made beautiful the wreak of the cactus in our front yard that morning.
I knew all about it, and I know all about Mercy. I am not a god of cruelty, of mistakes, of senseless pain.
Not even a sparrow falls but that I know it....
    And this is what I saw: He has conquered death. Not a new thought, really. It wasn't part of the original plan, death; it wasn't meant to be this way. It came in with sin. This is why death is so weird and just....heavy. I hate death, in a way. I'm not afraid of it, not angry with it...I just plain hate that this is what humanity has brought upon ourselves with our choices to sin. The traditions surrounding death, the rituals...it's all to try to understand, to say goodbye, to hold on longer.
But He has conquered death.
    I knew this, of course. When Erica died and then again with Celine the Lord carried us through those valleys with so many, many beautiful touches of His presence, revelations of Himself, His goodness, His peace...even in the midst of so much grief. But it took me being on the outside and watching someone else going through the valley and experiencing so many of the same things to really get it. You see, as Christians who profess Christ is the only Son of God; that He died for us and thus paid for our sins; as we gladly repent and admit we can't do it on our own, be good enough, try hard enough to get to heaven we know He's conquered death to make the Way for us. But this I didn't fully realize until that week.... 
His death on the cross and conquering of the grave did not simply make the way to heaven for us. It also gave Him the power to come alongside us in our grief in a new way. In the most beautifully holy, sacred way it enabled Him to bridge the solitude of our grief, of death, and create Beauty from Ashes. ALL of the Ashes. ANYONE'S Ashes.  He does, and He will, always, because of His love for us-- as well as for His glory-- and so He carrys us through the places we once had to trod alone. By His death, He earned that right.
Not even a sparrow falls but that He knows it.
Not even a cactus falls but that He's there to catch the healing tears of grief.
And so He continues to make beauty of the ashes.