Ack. Mother’s Day is coming up. I don’t begrudge the celebration of motherhood overall – Aaron and I are both so much like Timothy, taught and prepared for ministry by his mom and grandma. We are overwhelmingly blessed with Moms (and Grandmas, Aunts, and others!) who love us and I can’t imagine what our lives would look like without the selfless care and godly influence of these women. (I can’t even find pictures of us to share because, let’s face it, Mom and Other Mom were always taking the pictures.)

Even though scripture teaches a lot about honoring parents, I think it’s okay to question the typical holiday celebration because the roots of our modern Mother’s Day come from a pacifist protest of the Civil War. Though parents should be deliberately honored, it’s probably worth rethinking some of the way we talk about Mother’s Day.

In an informal survey of my friends, I quickly discovered Mother’s Day is challenging not just for those who have lost babies (like me) and can’t figure out how to identify themselves, or struggled to become pregnant in the first place. It can be challenging for single women who would love to be married with children, women whose husbands are not open to children, and women who are not honored for their role as adoptive mothers, too. They find these celebrations very hurtful in the places they are already most tender. Fluffy Mother’s Day sentiments crowd  TV commercials, Hallmark displays, and even church. (Sometimes women from the church give testimonies about motherhood, mothers are asked to stand and receive applause or flowers, and sometimes the sermon misguidedly praises motherhood as the most noble spiritual calling for a woman!) I have had bad experiences and I’ve even stayed home from church a few times myself; I’ve been avoiding the card section at the grocery store all month, too. No fun, but I think there’s a solution here:

Let not any eunuch complain,  “I am only a dry tree.” For this is what the Lord says: “To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who choose what pleases me and hold fast to my covenant – to them I will give within my temple and its walls a memorial and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that will not be cut off. …These I will bring to my holy mountain and give them joy in my house of prayer.” Isaiah 56:3-7

In Jewish law and culture, eunuchs were excluded from fellowship and not allowed to worship in the temple. Obviously, a eunuch can’t reproduce, and this imperfect analogy works for modern baby-wanters who feel like something inside of them has been cut off – whether it’s the function of their bodies, hope of marriage, or ability to receive something good they really wanted – and they also feel isolated from their community on some level.

This command to the childless person is really important: Don’t buy the lie that God isn’t using you to produce life and growth if you don’t have children. I think there is a good lesson that, by extension, it’s important to praise the spiritual fruit of someone’s life even when it isn’t the pitter-patter-of-little-feet-variety, too. (I received a marvelous gift among my Christmas cards this year when a friend quickly commented, “We continue to pray for your family, but we praise God for the fruit and blessing he is producing in your marriage either way!”)

The encouraging news from Isaiah is the promise of a “name better than sons and daughters” for those who hold fast to God’s covenant. We know that name now: Child of God. And since God says it is more valuable to be “Child of God” than “Parent of so-and-so,” we should certainly emphasize this in our conversations about motherhood. From the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks: the only way to make your speech reflect this is, parent or not, keep the good thing (raising a child) in second place to the very, very best thing (salvation) in your heart. That’s the key to experiencing the promised “joy in the house of prayer,” too!

I hope these thoughts were uplifting if you’re feeling awkward about Mother’s Day, and inspiring if you have people in your life who could use a little extra love this weekend. If you want to do any further reading, I really like this blessing from “The Messy Middle,” which offers some helpful ways for churches to encourage those along the entire continuum of motherhood in their congregations. Seriously, send it to your pastor – or at least look for a way to encourage someone in your life who fits into one of the categories she mentions! I think Wendy Alsup hits the ball out of the park in “A Mother’s Day for All Women” when she says, “Motherhood is not the greatest good for the Christian woman. Whether you are a mom or not, don’t get caught up in sentimentalism that sets it up as some saintly role. The greatest good is being conformed to the image of the Christ to the glory of God.” That’s a timely reminder for the “haves” and the “have-nots” this Mother’s Day.

Some poor bird built a nest in my front door wreath; she spent two days dive-bombing the house when I took her little creation down. I know how she feels. Mother’s Day might be hard for her, too.

(I don’t think conforming to the image of Christ as a mom means you can’t graciously accept the honor of people who will make you cards, give you flowers, and feed you french toast or take you out to eat. So if you have that option, you should totally take advantage of it and enjoy a day with your loved ones. Really.)

One of the things that I was a little embarrassed to protect in the revised Spring schedule was times like this one. I really need some time for hot coffee and morning reading built into my weekend schedule. Nothing else works if I don’t get this in before the weekly grind spills over into the rest of my weekend. Really, there is no good reason for a Christian to feel bad about putting non-negotiable boundaries around their practice of a sabbath rest, but these things always make more sense when you look at it in retrospect.

I started this morning feeling disappointed, used up, exhausted, uncertain, and fully inadequate for the tasks ahead of me, nagged by the thought that this shouldn’t be happening because I have all the skills necessary to tackle my responsibilities. My relationship with Oswald Chambers ebbs and flows, but I find myself invariably turning back to this old copy of My Utmost for His Highest when I am frustrated or wanting something that isn’t happening. I read it every day the year Aaron was in Iraq and it feels comforting to revisit the graces that sustained me then.

“We must not measure our spiritual capacity by education or by intellect; our capacity in spiritual things is measured by the promises of God. …When it is a question of God’s Almighty Spirit, never say “I can’t.” …Never forget that our capacity in spiritual matters is measured by the promises of God. Is God able to fulfill His promises?” – Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, April 20.

The other thing at capacity in our lives? Our chicken ownership. We had just the right amount for our coop, but Aaron succumbed to the cuteness of baby chicks and brought a few more home. He came up from the garage mid-day last week when I had a break in piano lessons and said something like, “I just want you to think about how much you love me… and how much you love things that are little and soft before you go down to the laundry room.”

Surprise! Though the timing was close, I’m not letting him pass this off as a birthday present. And unfortunately, this isn’t an exotic colored breed; that purple mark is just from a Farmer’s marker.

It’s hard to get or stay mad at someone who brought you home some baby chicks. It seems that Space Dad is becoming a total softie. And if you don’t hear from us for a while, please check in and make sure we’re not accidentally becoming chicken farmers.

Sometimes April is hard for us. We pass lots of dates this month that recall God’s faithfulness in all circumstances. My 25th birthday in particular was one of the most difficult days of my life, and we’ll probably always feel a bit of a void for some little birthdays we wanted to be celebrating this month. In a few weeks we will celebrate Aaron’s Iraq homecoming anniversary – a special memory that is connected to lots of ugly, hard experiences, too. I love that the Northern Hemisphere weather reflects the church calendar so well, that nature is full of little green buds sticking off branches and new life coming out of the ground to remind us the Resurrection is real.

On a less thoughtful note, Aaron asked what I wanted for my birthday, and I felt really upset: “I don’t want more stuff! I want less stuff!” I don’t think he’s going to clean out my closet for me or anything, but my parents will be visiting this weekend and I think my mom will be a more willing participant in that project.

Thankfully, I haven’t accumulated any major new griefs or extra material possessions this year. I did, however, treat myself to a drive-through latte this afternoon as a “thank-you” to myself for finishing our taxes on my birthday.(I used a Christmas gift card, of course.) I’m so thankful for the gift of another year of blessings and growth!

As an anti-insanity measure, I squeezed in a walk in our park this weekend when the weather finally became warm and sunny. A no-cell-phone-so-no-one-can-bug-me kind of walk. And then I even had some outside Bible study on a beach chair in sandals. (I feel like there should be some exclamation points in that sentence.)  I found this Bible during a recent visit to my parent’s house. My maiden name is written inside the cover, and I vaguely remember having it at some point for some College class or something. And by some strange happening, there are notes all over the generous margins in my handwriting and I have absolutely no recollection of studying from this volume. It’s huge, about 3x the size of my usual leatherbound NIV, possibly because it contains the Apocrypha, which I always mean to read and research but never do, but also because of the generous cross references at the bottom of each page. It’s been fun to discover (or really rediscover, I suppose…) these resources. I still want to learn Greek, but in the meantime, it’s nice to have so many study aids available in English.

Psalm 38. I don’t know why I underlined this; good to know it’s still true!

I definitely get a huge nerdy kick out of opening up this scriptural monstrocity, but it’s really spooky to find notes I have no memory of making, especially when they are helpful and insightful. The real world may be dulling my senses, because these notes definitely indicate I was a lot smarter in college. Or at least I had more insights concerning the Minor Prophets than I would these days…

In recent days, they moved out of their box in the laundry room and currently reside in a stylish navy blue coop in our backyard. They won’t be laying eggs until August, so we’ve entered a less-than-exciting phase of chicken tending.

I have always been very opposed to the idea of “Furbabies,” where people consider their animals as important as kids and call themselves “Mommy” and “Daddy” to the pets. However, we don’t have any children or even regular pets running around, and the chicks are definitely getting an extra dose of our doting while we teach them to do things their moms would have taught them on a farm. The solution has been to narrowly escape the “furbaby” category by claiming a special title for ourselves as caregivers. The idea came from Megamind, one of our favorite movies. (If you haven’t seen it, don’t judge the whole movie based on this one-minute clip. The full-length feature is quite a hoot!)

Last night, after he successfully impelled the chickens to use their ramp independently, Aaron gave a perfect impersonation of this scene, saying, “I am the Chicken’s Space Dad and my chicken-training abilities are unfathomable…. they can’t be fathomed… they are without fathom.” Since I’m less involved with their activities, I get to be the “Space Step Mom.” What can I say? I’ve had some work done recently.

…right before hosting a bunch of family members for the second half of Spring Break. Luckily, we have the sort of family that is not scared by frugality and DIY projects, so they felt sharing a half-demolished bathroom between eight adults and one toddler was not problematic in any way. Or at least they were gracious enough to hide any disdain they may have felt. And since I’d just written a post declaring homemaking is about the gospel, not about socially constructed ideas of hospitality or decorating, I didn’t have any room to complain about this being embarrassing.

The first round of company was cousins from Wisconsin. They arrived in time for dinner and we shared a snack of fresh cheese curds and hot tea while we waited for the Michigan crowd to arrive in the wee hours of the morning. 

When the Michigan relatives finally made it in town, we discovered a little someone (our 18-month-old niece M) thought this extended car trip provided a great chance to stay up as late as she wanted. Much to Aaron’s delight, she was very excited about the deer head on our mantel and made up some hand motion to express her devotion. She holds the great honor of being the only person Aaron allows to pet the deer. She also felt 2:00 a.m. was a great time to check out his fish tank. The word for fish in her toddler language is “Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo-bo.”
Now in a toddler’s mind, after a late night there is nothing better than rising with the sun for a few rounds of the classic game “Take the stuffed animals out of the basket and line them upon the furniture” with Aunt Abby. It was nice to get a little morning time alone — we plotted some great excursions for future summers of Aunt camp.  We spent the rest of the weekend crammed into our tiny house like sardines, which resulted in lots of opportunities for the time-honored tradition of Aaron wrestling with his younger brother Jack.

Top: Emma, Jack, Aaron, Caroline.
Bottom: Bruce, Jack, Caroline, Aaron.

Roasting a Peep in the fireplace.

Maria sharing her books and toys with Aunt Kallie

This visit was full of eating, lounging, laughing, talking, shooting/shopping, watching favorite YouTube movies, warming up by the fire, offering awkward marriage advice to the engaged couple, and not much sleeping. This was such a great way to end to an otherwise disappointing Spring Break week, and we miss everyone. It will make for lots of driving, but having THREE sibling weddings this summer will give us plenty of time to spend with these folks in the coming months, too. I’m looking forward to it already!

As the weekend came to a close, I dreaded the thought of returning. Starting that Monday, some personnel changes meant my job would go from very difficult to I-don’t-know-how-I’m-going-to-make-it-difficult. So with that impending doom in mind, it was most crazy to me when one of E’s friends asked me how I liked being a housewife. Seriously? I am gone 10 hours a day, plus every other Saturday, to work at mind-numbing tasks in an office devoid of any kindness whatsoever. I mumbled something about how I was far from a homemaker, and this woman exclaimed, “Abby, you live somewhere and are married. That’s all you need. You are a housewife! Everyone is a homemaker; some people just juggle a little more than others. What is domestic is primary and everything else supports that.” It was the encouragement I needed to actually get in the car and come back instead of hiding away with E forever, which I definitely thought about doing on multiple occasions.

Now that I’m basically thrilled to death with my job(s), it’s easy to lose sight of how homemaking fits into life. But those piano lessons and co-op classes exist for a dual purpose: to enrich the lives of students and  support my home. I know that when I focus more on the home-supporting, which does happen with some students, I become a crummy teacher. And sometimes I focus on student-enriching to the detriment of my own home, when I bend rules on lesson times or handle stressful parental interactions during my off-hours. So with that in mind, I am thankful for this “Spring Break” and the chance to devote some extra time to this housewife endeavor, which is going to be an ongoing project for my whole life independent of any income-earning or child rearing that might also be part of my vocation.

Don’t think for a moment that this housewife business is really about decorating or crafts, or home ownership or marriage or even being a woman. Plenty of great people don’t or can’t fit into those roles. And homemaking is not something that happens as a “lesser” career, or in subordination to a job. Instead, I think making a home is about cultivating your surroundings to act as a mini-church. It is in the home that we fellowship and eat, our sins are laid bare, we forgive and reconcile, we live out our daily acts of worship, and in the best cases it is where we are most comfortable being the people God created us to be. For Christians, this is exactly how we can begin with the end in mind. And so gospel-centered homemaking is, as C.S. Lewis says, casting a shadow of the Christian’s future heavenly home:

“I think I can understand that feeling about a housewife’s work being like that of Sisyphus (who was the stone rolling gentleman). But it is surely in reality the most important work in the world. What do ships, railways, miners, cars, government etc exist for except that people may be fed, warmed, and safe in their own homes? As Dr. Johnson said, “To be happy at home is the end of all human endeavor”. (1st to be happy to prepare for being happy in our own real home hereafter: 2nd in the meantime to be happy in our houses.) We wage war in order to have peace, we work in order to have leisure, we produce food in order to eat it. So your job is the one for which all others exist…” (pg 447-Letter of CS Lewis 1988 ed.)

Praise to the Lord! Who doth prosper they work and defend thee;
Surely His goodness and mercy here daily attend thee.
Ponder anew what the Almighty can do,
If with His love He befriend thee.
— Praise to The Lord, words by Joachim  Neander, 1863.

We delight in the law of your word
We delight in the Son who was perfect from birth
We delight in the day He’s returning to earth, Hallelujah!
— We Delight, by Joshua Moore.

“Do the chickens have large talons?”
“Do they have what?”
“Large talons.”
“I don’t understand a word you just said.”
— Napoleon Dynamite (Paramount Pictures, 2004)

This is not going to become an organic-chicken-raising urban-farming blog, but here are a few more updates for our chicks’ devoted fans.

1) The fuzz is on the way out. This Rhode Island Red is Golda. She is displaying her fancy wings and (let’s be honest here) the cutest tail feathers of all time.

2) I can’t tell the Barred Rock chicks apart and we might give some of them away, so two names rotate between all four. This little lady might be Winifred or Simone. She is displaying her talons.

3) You can get another peek at all six in this video – they are still reasonably adorable and like to peck their beaks on the side of their box.

I do want to say that I didn’t have animals growing up (except a hamster named Pecan, may she rest in peace), so this is pretty new to me. I have firmly indicated that I am not interested in raising any cloven-hoofed animals, but I could probably be convinced to get a horse if resources allowed and we had kids who would manage the riding and caring. I’m pretty sure no one is reading this for my treatise on hobby farming – you just want pictures of the chicks. I will happily oblige.

1) Chicks at the store. We couldn’t leave them there: 2) Transporting them home in a box:
3) Aaron carefully observing them. He is such an animal-lover that I can’t believe we haven’t had anything serious until now:
4) The chicks enjoying their temporary box home in the laundry room:
…But, wait! There’s more! I TOOK VIDEOS. Indulge yourself as you see fit.

Aren’t they cute!? I’ve heard they might even stay this way for a few days.