50+ Musings

I’m thankful today for family. Not just the family you’ve made out of Brian and I, but on this day I reflect gratefully on the parents that brought me into this world and then grew our family through adoption. It is a privilege to have adoption in my family tree. It has tutored me in love. I am the benefactor of life lessons learned about taking risks. My parents didn’t do the math or wait until they’d mastered marriage or parenting, they just jumped into the deep end and participated in a story of rescue when they believed you called them to it. And it was messy. Still is because we’re all broken people. Orphans—abandoned, needy, desperate children- are set in families with angry dogs nipping at their heels and a boat load of lies about their identity. And that’s not a pretty journey. Maybe that’s why you chose adoption as a picture of your relationship with me. I came to you spiritually broken, needy, desperate and lonely with monsters in my closet as well as  under my bed, and we’re spending a lifetime together–You and me- fighting them off.

Thank you God that I have experienced adoption from both sides of the coin.

I am grateful for my sister and what she has contributed to my life.
And as a bonus, my cup overflows with gratitude for those 2 delightful, amazing girls I call nieces. My sister shares them with me so generously and they have my heart. I can’t wait to see them again in 23 days.

God, I am grateful that my family adopted. And I am amazed that you adopted me. Thank you that you are my daddy and I am your daughter.

Today, God, I am grateful for this country—the United States of America. This is where you sovereignly put me on the map. I have seen other places, like Europe with its rolling hills dotted with sheep and cathedrals spiraling toward the heavenlies and Haiti with its undescribable poverty and squalor. I could have been born in either. In Europe, I might have been one of the secularized cultural elite. In Haiti, I could have been raised in a tent city sloshing through waste mixed with mud as I walked barefoot to school. But here I am, by your plan.
Thank you.
Thank you that I own property, I travel freely between states. I can visit oceans and mountains, plains and deserts all in the borders of this expansive land. I vote for the government officials who represent me (though sometimes disappointingly). I worship freely without fear of persecution. I educate my children at my kitchen table and it’s legal. People born other places can choose to come to this country and live. They are my neighbors. We are each enriched as we learn from each other and respect each other’s cultural heritage.

God, I am grateful for the courageous people who sacrificed everything for their convictions. They travelled by boat to this place, suffered from exposure, malnutrition, and disease in order to lay a foundation for the freedoms I enjoy today. They were flawed people just like I am—all of us with our own messy stories. We all bear the ugly marks of sin with all of its scarring consequences and we feel the effects personally and as a nation. Thank you that your character is compassionate toward us, that you withhold your righteous judgment because you are slow to anger and abounding in love. Thank you that you are faithful all the way to our children’s children.

I am grateful that in this brief life you’ve gifted me with, that I am a US citizen. And I anticipate the day when my passport will be stamped heaven and I will transfer my citizenship to your eternal kingdom.

Thank you God for rest.
While I love a Sunday afternoon nap and the physical jumpstart it gives me for a new week, today rest came to my weary soul instead of my weary body.
I breathed an exasperated sigh directed at me as I slipped into the pew just as the call to worship began. “I should have gotten out the door sooner.” “If I’d gone to bed earlier, I wouldn’t have been scrambling this morning. “ You heard my self talk and interrupted it with singing—strong, low voices, 50 or 60 men in the choir loft, all in suits proclaiming “I’m Bound for the Promised Land” and it sounded like heaven. I scanned the sanctuary. The sun was streaming through the ornate stained glass windows and in the gigantic arrangements of roses, the colors of fall, I glimpsed your blindingly, beautiful glory. We sang about your faithfulness and spoke liturgical words about your goodness and mercy that endures forever. And somehow the tile floor beneath me became holy ground. And in that holy space, with those broken people– just like me- that you’ve made holy through the blood of Christ, I found rest—rest from the fears and anxieties, the disappointments and distractions. In that holy moment, you gently whispered words reminding me that you are my Shepherd and I shall not want (Psalm 23:1), that you gather your lambs in your arms and carry them close to you heart (Isaiah 40:11). And with that assurance, I was able to lie down in green pastures, be led by quiet waters and my soul was restored.

Thank you God for rest.

Today I appreciate community. Thank you, God, that we are more than just a speck on the metroplex map. We have places to connect in and invest our lives and that is a blessing.

Thank you for our neighborhood community. I’ve loved meeting neighbors at the pool in the summer, passing and greeting other regular walkers on the trails around the golf course, and I am grateful for the quiet but friendly people who live all around us and watch out for our house when we are away.

I’ve enjoyed this local community too.  I adore the little café on Ballard St and its amazing owners who gave our daughter her first job and still give us free onion rings, the library that we frequent for so many school resources, the rec center where we exercise. And Ibrahim, the bank teller—he holds a special place in my heart. He was the first person to recognize me in the community and call me by name. “Hi Hope,” he always says. “How’s your day today?” Thank you, God, for Ibrahim.

I’m grateful for our home schooling community too—all the moms and kids that intersect regularly through co-ops and classes, the curriculum swaps, advice and support.

It’s been such a delight to be a part of our choir community. We’ve spent at least one night a week and many Sunday mornings together for twelve plus years now. Our kids have grown up together. I don’t know what would have become of us here without it. It was a gracious provision that you provided. Thank you.

And the sweetest community ever is our faith family. Thank you for our home church. Even though one thousand miles separate us ten months a year, it is those folks who are the most precious, treasured group of people I’ve ever had the privilege to love. What a gift it has been to share life, to live exposed– warts and all- struggling together to grasp how long and wide and high and deep is the love of Christ.

Thank you, Father,  that in communities you make a place for us to know and be known. I am grateful.

Day 6: Health

Today I celebrate the intricacy of how you knit us together, God. Last week when the chiropractor was manipulating vertebrae in my spine and stretching specific muscles, I was awed by the complexity of the human body. It is amazing the way you designed all of our bodily systems to work together symbiotically and they perform their required functions without even our conscious awareness. And all of the chemicals that regulate our energy and emotions, in a constant state of fluxuation, it’s a miracle!

While I’ve got a short list of physical maladies and 3 kids with coughs and colds, thank you God that today, not one person in my inner circle is facing down cancer or another deadly disease.

When I look in the mirror, I see reminders of the cycle of life unfolding. My biological clock is ticking. The evidence is indisputable– permanent wrinkles, a slightly saggy chin and that ever increasing presence of gray hair that my kids keep telling me look like natural highlights.   Thank you God that aging comes gradually. The reproductive system slows down and there are no more babies (but there are grandchildren to anticipate). Stamina wanes. A morning of mopping floors on hands and knees puts me at risk of a week of back pain. It’s all of these gentle reminders that whisper we are strangers here, just passing through. Our GPS is set for an eternal home and the unending companionship of the One who custom designed us according to His delight and declared, “It is good.”

Grateful today for the health and strength to do good (Eccl. 3:12)……
Savoring the reflective posture that results from maturity.…..
Humbled by your faithfulness through these almost 5 decades……
Confident that you will never leave me even when I’m too weak, sickly or frail to be useful.
And that is the source of my future and my hope.

Today, I am grateful for work.

Every 24 hour day there’s my “mama’s work”- managing the home that daddy is out laboring to provide for. From the moment my feet touch the ground to the last tired sigh as I lie down in my soft, warm bed there’s educating and cleaning, and taxiing and laundry and business phone calls, appointments, nursing sick kids, repairs, plunging toilets, yard work and never ending cooking to fill hungry tummies. It’s a flurry of activity with a to-do list that often feels like it’s growing as rapidly as the national debt. But it is also a gift. I get to model and shape these not so little anymore girls, to train them to be skilled in the work that makes a house a home, to train them to persevere in the mundane dailies of life, to put one step in front of the other even when I don’t feel like it because our most significant work is often accomplished in perseverance.

Then there’s the income-generating category of work.
I am grateful for that first music class that I attended 18 years ago with my own sweet little munchkin. We sat together on the floor in a big circle. She leaned in close unsure and a bit fearful. But within 45 minutes, we’d bounced and rocked and danced and cuddled, laughed and played. Apparently, the teacher could see we were enjoying ourselves because when she took an unanticipated medical leave of absence, she offered me her job. Now, almost 2 decades later, I have been privileged to partner with hundreds of young families—to be their first teacher, introduce them to music and to coach them as they develop intentional connection with their babies and toddlers. Thank you God that you’ve given me rewarding and meaningful employment.

You’ve said to enjoy our work, to find satisfaction as we work hard at whatever you give us to do. I am grateful for purposeful tasks to set my hand to each day of this brief life that I am gifted with.

9 more days until my favorite holiday of the year…..
Today I reflect with gratitude on the gift of food.

Ahh, food….One of the loves of my life. Thank you God that it nourishes, delights and comforts. Thank you for countless memories of food and friendship intermingled around the table.

I am grateful for the anticipation of cooking alongside my girls next week–sweet potato casserole, homemade sage stuffing and pecan pies. I remember my first experience with pecan pie. Brian and I were newlyweds and I discovered that not every family eats the same menu. I politely accepted a sliver of pie and gave my best effort to choking it down. The next year, it wasn’t as difficult.   In time, it grew on me and when I discovered you can add chocolate chips to the recipe, I was hooked. It’s a unanimous holiday favorite at our house now.

I appreciate the grocery store that opened this year right across the street from the entrance to our neighborhood. I get pretty road weary and it has been a gift to dash to the store for that one missing ingredient in less time than it takes to finish listening to a single song on the radio.

You have told me,“Go eat your food and enjoy it; drink your wine and be happy, because that is what God wants you to do.” (Ecclesiastes 9:7)
Celebrating the blessing of food today.

I remember when she called from the kitchen table. “How do you spell “hotdogs”, Mom?” Intently, Angela was poised to write on her red strip of paper thanking God for what was at that time her favorite food. Red and green construction paper, pens and a stapler was all it took to plant seeds of gratitude in young hearts transforming a feast day on the fourth Thursday of November into a month of thanks.
Then on Thanksgiving weekend, we’d cut down our tree fresh at the farm—always from the “Charlie Brown” section, where frugal Dutch families shop- and adorn it with our paper chain. Wrapped around the icon of gift giving was our gift to Jesus—a cornucopia of thanks.
During those sometimes snowy Michigan Novembers both grandmas and grandpas– living, breathing, talking, laughing- crowded around our tiny table in our cracker box dining area and feasted with us. Afterwards, we’d stroll “Around the World” at the Christmas tree display at Meijer Gardens or attend the opening night of the holiday performance at the Civic Theatre. That was where we watched Scrooge reclaim gratitude and generosity with childish delight and where we first saw Wendy and Peter Pan actually fly to Neverland. One year a grandma was missing from the feast so we loaded up the minivan and spent the afternoon at the hospital instead. The next year, she joined us but moved slowly, unsteady and leaning hard against her walker and Grampsy. We didn’t know it then, but we were living the final chapter in that holiday story—the one that included all those grandmas and grandpas around our table. Life is like that. There is a time for everything under heaven–A time to be born and a time to die…..

Our colorful paper chain tradition lasted a lot of years before repurposing gratitude into fresh packaging. That’s when we started the blessing box–a shoebox adorned in wrapping paper and labeled carefully with a slot at the top. Every night in November we passed around note cards at supper time and listed our gifts—the fresh new mercies for each day. We filled our box and carefully unwrapped it at our holiday banquet. Each gathering our own note cards, we read them to the rest of the family. There were 236 one year and afterwards, I assigned a sweet child of mine to type them up–a record of God’s incredible generosity and a bonus opportunity to practice typing. Wonder where that list went?

Randomly, we sang around the dinner table throughout November too. Remember our favorite hymn? “Count Your Blessings”. I wish I’d recorded Robyn and Lily belting out the words “Count” and “1 by 1” for emphasis.

A few years, we opted to adorn a paper turkey with our praise. We cut out red and orange and yellow feathers for our poster sized turkey, and covered him with gratitude. Starla wrote some of her first words on those turkey feathers. Those were years of pilgrim and Indian dress up too. We’d read about the perilous journey the Puritans took across the Atlantic Ocean to practice their faith freely at Plimoth Plantation, the sacrifices made, lives lost, hardship endured. And then, after a devastatingly harsh winter, God intervened with dirt and fish bones and the help of natives. Food was harvested and friendships forged and that is always cause to celebrate. And you’d re-live it like the original storytellers.

Last year, we entered a new season of life in our family. One of our little birds flew away, migrated north and left an empty seat at the table all fall. I felt her absence keenly and deflatedly contemplated repeating time honored holiday traditions. God and I have a long history of conversations about creative family traditions. I asked Him what I should do and then I drove past a poster nailed to a telephone poll advertising a turkey trot. Immediately I thought, “How about a Blessing Trot?” Down here in Texas, fall is just waving “hello” around Thanksgiving time. Trees are beginning to blush and there’s a decent chance of a cool day perfect for a walk. So, I took to the trails around our neighborhood and designed my own personal 5K route. I was excited about our family walk and all of the reflective conversation we’d share focusing on gratitude. I enthusiastically unveiled my map to the family on Thanksgiving morning.
My idea got mixed reviews.
The dog wagged her tail and Daddy’s always up for a walk, bless his heart. Two of the kids smiled hesitantly and put on their tennis shoes.
Thank you.
One kid shot me an angry glare and another ran in the bathroom and sobbed for about 10 miutes moaning that she could never walk that far.
Some ideas just take time to warm up to.
Being a mom means you gotta grow thick skin.  I’m still working on that….
Eventually we walked and talked and shared the goodness of God with each other while our turkey baked in the oven and when we came home, it smelled like Thanksgiving at our house. So we cooked together, all of our tried and true favorite family recipes—Grandma’s stuffing, sweet potato casserole, chocolate pecan pie. We set our table and feasted.
The writer of Ecclesiastes grappled with the meaning of life long and hard. And he concluded:
There is nothing better for people to do than to eat, drink, and find satisfaction in their work. I saw that even this comes from the hand of God. Ecclesiastes 2:24
And with our overstuffed bellies, we were living that dream in that moment—enjoying what the effort of our food preparation produced, eating, drinking, acknowledging our gifts from the hand of God, sighing with contentment and then resting from our work.
We took long naps—a luxury for us hurried people.
Later, Daddy meticulously and strategically constructed a fire in our pit. The little girls threw in crumpled newspaper for good measure and we sat around it making s’mores until we smelled like we’d been camping. Then we finished off the day cuddled up on our futon, covered in quilts watching a family movie.

This year, I am more excited than I’ve ever been for that fourth Thursday in November when we’ll all come together and celebrate the goodness of God again. The beauty of the holiday hinges on acknowledging the Giver of all those fresh, new mercies that have nourished us like dew waters thirsty ground every day, year after year, all 26 of the years Daddy and I have been forging a life together.
More than anything else, I hope that each of you girls reflect on the time we shared and see His mark on all of it. The saddest possible perspective to have at Thanksgiving is to appreciate the gifts without having spiritual eyes to see the Giver. Dante G. Rossetti says: “The worst moment for the atheist is when he’s really thankful and has no one to thank.”
That is not our family story. Our story declares the goodness and love of God in all places, in all moments and in all experiences, from low-lows to highest highs.
Do you see His fingerprint inked on your story, on the story we’ve shared, on our messy lives all intermingled? His signature reads, “Faithful and Trustworthy Father”.
That’s what we celebrate together this Thanksgiving.
And I can’t wait.