Larkspur Lane

My Testimony

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 03:25:00 +0000

If there were such a thing as a "second conversion," this would sum up mine:

Too many Christians practice the disciplines of the Christian life with the intention of turning God's face toward them and inclining his heart to favor them. They forget that God has loved them with an eternal and infinite love. He turned his face from our sin when he placed that sin on his dying Son, but now he never looks away from us and his heart never ebbs in affection for us. Every act of providence is for our eternal good and flows from his infinite love. Communing with God in prayer, understanding his ways through his Word, and embracing his glory and goodness through Christian fellowship and worship are means by which enabling grace fills our lives. These disciplines of grace are nourishments of the faith that we need in order to act in accord with God's purposes. They do not force or leverage God's hand but enable us to see it, grasp it, and receive the blessings it provides. The Christian disciplines do not earn blessings but guide us into the paths where God's grace has planted his blessings.

In grace-based preaching, the rules do not change; the reasons do. We serve God because we love him, not in order to make him love us. . . .He releases us from the performance treadmill that (falsely) promises to provide holiness through human effort, but the effect on the heart is love that is more constrained to please him.

(Christ-Centered Worship<, by Bryan Chapell. pgs. 248, 242)

Oooh! I want!

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 00:01:00 +0000

Doesn't this look fun? It's a Step2 choo choo train wagon!

Quote of the Day

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Wed, 20 Apr 2011 21:11:00 +0000

It's an NRO blog post, and I haven't even read the entire piece, but the metaphor is just funny by itself.

"Truly, these folks have the self-esteem of an abused pit bull."

Quote of the Day

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 04:28:00 +0000

"Some places are characterized by get-to’s and some places are characterized by have-to’s."

Which place is yours?

Yes, I'm Bragging.

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 03:23:00 +0000

It's not often I feel like a gourmet chef these days, for two reasons. 1) I have two children under three. and 2) I have two children under three.

But tonight's dinner was lovely, simple, AND used leftovers. Meet chicken and roasted vegetable crepes with goat cheese alongside spicy roasted chickpeas:

Dancing Metaphors

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 03:17:00 +0000

Some challenges are insurmountable, however grand our intentions. Whoever said "Put your best foot forward" didn't have two left feet.

"For I know that nothing good dwell sin me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out." (Romans 7:18)

It is such a mercy to fall on the grace of Christ. It is sufficient.

I Like This Thought

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Sat, 12 Feb 2011 20:59:00 +0000

Doug Wilson has a post up about Lent--or, rather, about fasting in general, but in the context of the upcoming Lenten season. He helpfully defines a proper fast as "foregoing pleasure to make room for joy."

Some Days Just Hit You Like That

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Sat, 05 Feb 2011 02:14:00 +0000

This is what happens when you pick up the rice canister by the lid.

I wish I could tell you I had no idea that would happen. . .but I probably should have said that before the first time. . .after which I diligently picked up and washed the whole mess. It's cooked and still sitting in my freezer downstairs.

I carefully swept it up, and Carolyn helped by sweeping (Read: scattering) my neatly-swept pile to the ends of the earth. Or maybe just the kitchen--it was hard to tell. Then she told Daddy what a mess I made.

(In case you're wondering, I threw it away.)

We've started encountering some of the "big" conversations. Carolyn told me very somberly this week that she didn't want to die, or for Mommy, Daddy, or Adrienne to die. Answering these two-year-old concerns is such a challenge to my own faith. You don't really know your doctrine until you've simplified it into words a toddler understands.

Carolyn is growing and learning so quickly that I often feel as if I scarcely know her now. She isn't a baby any more and, though she is in many ways still a toddler, she is more a child every day.

There's something bittersweet about rocking your two-year-old to sleep on the night she first confronts the coming-of-age ritual that is sleep without a pacifier. I relished the sweet baby that still needs her mommy's arms, all the while singing softly and thinking how this night would foster her further independence. What a paradox parenthood is.

Adrienne

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 02:53:00 +0000

One more from the weekend:

A Belated Birth Story

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Sun, 16 Jan 2011 00:10:00 +0000

*edited August 16, 2011, to include details and thoughts I want to remember.

It's been nearly 7 weeks now, but in case anyone is still interested in Adrienne's brief birth saga, I'll share.

This was not an easy pregnancy. And it was probably worse because my first was so easy. I certainly knew in my head that no two pregnancies are alike, but subconsciously I must have expected to glide through the second as smoothly as the first. When that was not the case, it was hard for me to adjust my expectations and summon the necessary coping skills. Now that I know--for at least two of the discomforts that made this one difficult are all but sure to return with subsequent conceptions--I am hopeful and prayerful that God will grant me courage and strength to endure with greater fortitude. Being mentally prepared, I think, is half the battle.

Our predicted due date was Friday, Nov. 26--the day after Thanksgiving. Carolyn was 8 days "late," so I suppose it's no surprise that I was still pregnant on Saturday the 27th. My parents and my brother had arrived on Thanksgiving Day, but we didn't get the new guest room finished in time. So Carolyn slept in the pack-n-play in our room, leaving the futon in her room to my parents and the living room couch to Brian.

I started having contractions that were actually painful sometime early Tuesday evening (November 30). But they were short and infrequent, so I helped cook and generally continued on as usual. (Roast turkey served alongside Gingered Pumpkin Soup w/ Molasses Whipped Cream makes a fabulous pre-labor meal, by the way.) In addition to my parents and brother, my aunt was here for dinner, and Kevin was working on the house with our good friend Jim. So, being me and having an inordinate love of privacy, I didn't tell anyone that labor had begun. . .even when the pain became fairly intense and the spacing was close enough to start watching the clock (except Kevin, of course. I did tell Kevin, because you shouldn't keep secrets from your husband. Especially secrets like "we're going to have a baby tonight."). I know this bothers people, this keeping things to myself. And I'm sorry. Really, I am. It's not something I can explain easily, so suffice to say that it helps me. The introvert in me copes best with pain and pressure without extra attention.

Anyway, Carolyn went to bed a little late. The men worked late. The house didn't start settling down for the night until about 11, by which time I was having a hard time masking the contractions and confessed that we wouldn't be needing our scheduled "past-due ultrasound" the next morning. We settled into the living room for a few short hours, Kevin timing the contractions and bringing me sustenance, Brian providing distractions. (He's the closest thing I've got to a sister, you know, and he's priceless. Truly priceless.) By 2 AM, I was beyond ready to call the midwife. We'd been waiting because the timing of my contractions was not what it "should" have been to indicate imminent birth, but my legs were starting to shake and I was feeling as if I was in transition. . .which, as it turned out, I certainly was. By 2:50, we met Nikki, the midwife on call, at the birth center. She did a quick exam, found me dilated to 8 cm, and stepped out to phone in the nurse. (Because it is a freestanding birth center, there is no need for 24-hour staffing unless someone is in labor.) By 3:15, I was yelling for her to come back, and by 3:27, about the time the nurse arrived, I was back in bed with a baby girl on my chest.

I think Nikki would have preferred another 15 minutes, so as to have an assistant present for birth. Oops.

Adrienne was a compound-presentation, emerging with head and hand together. I almost laughed when Nikki said she saw a hand. Of course she did! I'd been feeling a small appendage jabbing my pelvic bone for months. In fact, at every appointment I was worried that the baby had turned breech, because I knew that was not a head I was feeling so frequently. Now we know that she is a die-hard thumb sucker and, no doubt, has been since conception. She was eventually documented as weighing 9 lbs 4 oz and measuring 22" long. Kevin--who had worked all day, before coming home to work on the house, before staying up to help his wife have a baby--was exhausted and went to sleep pretty quickly after we were settled.

Full of the adrenaline that comes immediately post-partum, I dozed a little between visits from the nurse and midwife to check on Adrienne and me. There was some delay in stopping my bleeding, requiring some medication. (I believe that the undue haste with which Adrienne finally entered the world was not best for me.) Also, Adrienne's heart-rate and respiration were elevated every time they checked, but would calm back down immediately. She simply didn't like being bothered. They were eventually able to record normal numbers by gently pulling the covers back and timing her breath manually, counting the rise and fall of her torso and watching the clock. I am so grateful they made the extra effort instead of bundling us off for further observation at the hospital, where we would have had to stay for 24 hours. As it was, we were released before noon.

If you haven't seen them elsewhere, here are a few other pictures from the birth-day.

An Introduction

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Thu, 02 Dec 2010 01:54:00 +0000

Meet Adrienne

Still Waiting. . .

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Sat, 27 Nov 2010 13:31:00 +0000

so here's something on motherhood to read: Stretch Marks

Seriously.

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Thu, 18 Nov 2010 20:35:00 +0000

Sometimes, you just have to shake your head.

Twenty-eight weeks pregnant and happily so, but a little “financially strapped,” the young lady went to 44 Court Street looking for an organization that had assisted a friend of hers a few years earlier. She couldn’t remember the name of the organization, just the address. What she wanted was a car seat, since you’re not allowed to leave the hospital without one. Looking at the directory in the lobby, she saw Planned Parenthood and assumed that it must be the organization she was looking for. But when she went inside and explained her situation, she was told that they could not help her get a car seat, but that since she was financially strapped, she could sign documents indicating that she was under psychological stress and get a medical waiver for a late-term abortion. (Abortion is legal only up to the 24th week of pregnancy, even in New York, except to preserve the life or health of the mother).

This young lady was shocked and distressed by Planned Parenthood’s outside-the-box solution to her need for a car seat. She did not want an abortion; she wanted her baby — and a hospital-required car seat. She eventually found her way to EMC and received the help she actually needed and wanted.

Oh, and then there's this gem:

Did they honestly think that anyone would be confused about what an organization called Bridge to Life, the Sisters of Life, or Life Center does? Both officials averred that indeed, people would, since not everyone is well-versed in the vocabulary of the culture war. That is, Blank and Freedman believe that a reasonable person might assume that an organization called the Sisters of Life performs abortions.

The councilman then asked whether a person might also think an organization called Planned Parenthood focuses its efforts on assisting women who choose parenthood. No, said Blank and Freedman, a reasonable person would not assume that an organization called Planned Parenthood is primarily concerned with parenthood.

A (long) Excerpt and a Link

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Tue, 21 Sep 2010 17:13:00 +0000

I keep up with a half-dozen or so "real" bloggers. . .the kind that have readership outside of people they know in the flesh. Occasionally, there is a post I really want to share. This one is funny, but also thoughtful. And, just to make you click on the link. . .

I have a lot of experience being rescued from Kentucky mud, and I have to say, these cowboys are on the job. I’ve never had to wait long to scrounge up a rescue party, even the time I thought an advanced Kentucky ATV trail was really a road. Finding a man with chains is not that hard to do in the country. These guys are everywhere, kind of like the skinny guy in the Apple store with black square glasses that uses hair gel to make his blond hair messy and drinks Starbucks while listening to Jason Mraz in his earbuds. Pretty easy to find in Seattle.

[One of these guys if infinitely more useful than the other. But maybe I'm just saying that because my MacBook has never crashed--jinx, double jinx.]

. . .

I’m pretty sure that flat boredom inflected with occasional moments of crisis isn’t good for blood pressure. In my mind, I am cosmo—attending dinner parties in dresses with purple sequins and bare shoulders and then coming home to the unfortunate drama that the maid didn’t spritz my sheets AGAIN. Sigh.

The thing about that fantasy is that it is never all that. Underneath the glamour, you have to wear Spanx because you’ve born a half-dozen babies. In the real world, another woman, more beautiful than you (thanks to modern medicine), flirts with your husband at that party, and you stupidly bring a bottle of wine before you find out the hosts are really baptist.

Truthfully, we just walk through the mud together with the people we love in our lives, one foot after the other: divorces, addictions, crazies, and for some of us, one embarrassing segment on Jerry Springer. We’re all just broken people trying to do our best to hold it together, some of us just expending more effort to make it pretty.

Yes, I know that's a long excerpt. So now click on the link. You've already read half of it. . .might as well get the good parts I left there, too. Especially the last paragraph.

Quote of the Day

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Sat, 18 Sep 2010 19:05:00 +0000

"People must repeatedly be reminded that societies do not disintegrate; families do."

Gladys Hunt, "Honey for a Child's Heart"

On Books

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 18:07:00 +0000

We had some wonderful fresh-raspberry scones this past weekend from my good friend Jen. We ate them for breakfast, and I laughingly admitted that I had fallen in love with scones before I ever knew what they were, let alone tried them. And Kevin instantly knew why. . .the Redwall books.

Though we didn't read them together, they (and so many others) are nonetheless part of our shared history.

As we are reading more and more with Carolyn, I'm continually amazed by how many connections she draws between daily life and some story we've read. Countless times in a day she perks up at the mention of some word, phrase, or name and races to find the book that contains some association to that idea. We're building our own shared history in books, even now.

I've been reading Honey for a Child's Heart, by Gladys Hunt, with its annotated book lists for children birth to 14 years and can scarcely wait to delve ever deeper into the literary world as Carolyn gets older. I rather liked this quote from chapter 3:

One day our high schooler was discussing the whirlwind of destruction left behind by a couple of children visiting us. He said, "I got to thinking about how I would teach my children not to pull up wild flowers by the roots and destroy things, and then I wondered how I had learned myself. I decided I learned from books to respect the world. In C.S. Lewis's books the animals and trees have personality; in pioneer stories Indians tried to walk through the forest without breaking a twig, and settlers respected the land; in Tolkien's books, the orcs are the bad guys who leave a path of careless destruction." He shrugged his shoulders as he concluded, "You put a whole childhood of reading together, and you don't have to take a conservation course."

Parenting Links

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 19:52:00 +0000

I found these thoughtful and encouraging:

A Spirited Rider, on helping little girls get a grip on emotional stability

Faith, Dads, and Children, on raising faithful kids

Carolyn's Birthday Cake

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 14:05:00 +0000

Musing

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 16:48:00 +0000

Yesterday, Carolyn woke up on the wrong side of the crib and was quite the fussy, clingy, needy girl for a couple hours. She spent a good bit of time with her arms wrapped tightly about my neck, head on my shoulder.

Now, of course I don't want my daughter to be fussy or sad or sick or hurt or otherwise unhappy. But, when she is, I can't help finding the abundance of lingering hugs very sweet indeed.

And it made me think. . .

Of course God doesn't want his children to be tried and tempted in various unpleasant manners. But, perhaps, he sees the abundance of our prayers during those times the way I see Carolyn's attachment to me.

Six Years

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 11:24:00 +0000

Six years ago today, Kevin and I woke up to realize that we had already missed our requested shuttle time to the airport. A quick call to the hotel desk and a scramble to get ready, and we arrived at the airport to hear our names being called for final boarding to our Hawaii honeymoon. We raced to our gate and, in front of the stares of the many on-time passengers, squeezed into the final two seats, several rows apart.

It was not, perhaps, the most auspicious start to Day 1 of our new life.

This weekend, we went camping. Kevin went in extra early on Friday so that he could come home early and we could get on the road a bit before rush hour. But I wasn't feeling great Friday morning, and I wasn't ready to leave by the afternoon. So we left at the peak of rush hour. We forgot the camera. And the child-carrier. Traffic was horrible. For only the third time in my life, I was car-sick and we had to pull over twice. . .once a little late. Half-way, after over an hour in what should have been a roughly one-hour drive, we realized we'd barely make it to our campground before dark and decided we should stop for dinner.

We arrived at dusk and found an empty site right in the middle of the row of 20 close-spaced tent sites. Carolyn was ecstatic to have (almost) free run of the surrounding area, and we set up camp without further incident. We didn't realize we'd left the camp pillows in the car until we were all settled in for the night, and Kevin didn't want to risk waking Carolyn (who slept like she was born for camping, thankfully) to get them. So Kevin didn't sleep well at all.

The next morning, Carolyn and I discovered the gnats were so plentiful that we took refuge in the car to eat our yogurt. We packed up camp amid swatting the nuisances away from our faces and picking them out of our eyes, not managing to leave the campground until after 10am.

There was an accident on a bridge as we neared our planned hiking destination, and traffic was at a standstill for quite some time. When we got there, we discovered they didn't allow picnic fires--and we were still carrying around the raw meat we had intended to grill the night before. So we drove back into the bridge traffic to a nearby campground to have lunch, only to be frustrated there as well. One more stop to get more ice for the cooler, and we returned to a cold lunch at Harper's Ferry.

Only, by the time we finished lunch, I was hot and exhausted. We opted to forego hiking altogether and mill about the tourist town for a bit. We left just as it started pouring rain. Not ready for setting up camp and cooking dinner in a downpour, we headed home, stopping at a state park to belatedly grill our camp dinner. We scrambled for the pavilion and started a fire just in time for a brief storm that damped--but didn't quench--our fire.

We grilled dinner in-between storms, while Carolyn covered herself in mud from head to toe. Another cold rain and strong wind kicked up before we could get her cleaned up, and we completed a half-hearted cleaning in the front seat of the car. Thankfully, the drive home was without further incident.

Life is sometimes like that, and it's good to have a traveling companion who helps you cope cheerfully. Among the many frustrations, there are always silver linings: Carolyn's joy at running free in the great outdoors, a beautiful country, time with my two favorite people, our first big mud puddle. I'd hate to be so wrapped up in misery that I miss those moments.

Someone asked recently if Kevin and I didn't bicker some over all the remodeling--or, rather, if I didn't get impatient wanting things done more quickly than he sometimes does them. In fact, we were warned at the beginning of this project that remodeling could take a toll on a marriage. I think I smiled before being enjoined to seriousness. As our friend said, Kevin is at work all day and comes home ready to unwind. It is easy for me, at home in the remodeling chaos, to welcome him home with a to-do list. But I have purposed to take the warning to heart and to remember, in all circumstances, that my husband is more important to me than any task or situation, be it a finished closet or an smoothly-orchestrated get-away.

If unexpected difficulties and delays are going to crop up (and, of course, they are), I am glad I get to face them at the side of this man. Kevin is the calm and steady anchor to my sometimes well-tossed raft, and I am so thankful for these six years of blessed marriage.

Linkage

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Sat, 29 May 2010 23:06:00 +0000

a good post for Christian women

Stairs!

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Mon, 24 May 2010 23:15:00 +0000

Progress 3

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Fri, 21 May 2010 01:25:00 +0000

In case you don't know, these are what the current stairs look like--steep, narrow, ugly, rising to a spot with no head room to walk, and wasting a whole end of attic space.

The expanded hole in the ceiling:

Stringers, waiting to be mounted. . .

and mounted.

In order to make the new stairs less treacherous than the current ones, the upper part will cross into our bedroom ceiling a bit. I think this is a fair trade-off for the greatly-reduced likelihood of me breaking my neck AND the gaining of attic space for an extra bedroom. In the end, of course, it will be covered in drywall and such.

Progress 2

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Sat, 15 May 2010 14:02:00 +0000

Progress

noreply@blogger.com (@lici@) — Thu, 13 May 2010 00:09:00 +0000

The plastic hallway from the front door to our bedroom, used to contain the dust as debris is carried out.

The new "hallway" where our back-to-back closets once were and where the new attic stairs will soon be.

The gaping hole in the former closets' ceilings, where the stairs will ascend and break the plane of the attic floor. This is exciting.