Saying Grace

No matter who thanks God for the meal, Amos usually wants to pray, too.

"Ah, Lord, thank you for this food. And put our helmets on..."

At this point, he always looks up. "Daddy, what are helmets for?"

"For keeping your head safe."

Sometimes this answer is satisfactory, and sometimes it isn't. Depending on the day, he will either nod vigorously, or offer a correction. "No, helmets are for racing."

Then he will bow his head again, and continue with a litany of requests. "And go down to the lake and go fishing... And get a bicycle..."

This may or may not go on for quite some time. The others are hungry and impatient. Sometimes there's a bit of prompting before he finally wraps things up.

"... And I don't know.... Ah, Lord, amen!"

He looks up, grins at us all. And then it's time to eat.



Flipping through the pictures on my phone, Amos was particularly interested in this one.


"Yes, that's a nice picture, isn't it? September took it."

"September... birds... Septembirds! They're Septembirds!"

And there you have it.


Roadschooling Wuggies: Day 2

A family of deer has been visiting us in the early morning, and at twilight.

The deer and the fish and the birds all seem to be on the same schedule, and I'm trying to get our family to join them. 

This is easier said than done, but it's important. Exciting read-alouds over breakfast help.

We are loving this series! Quirky and delightful, with lots of suspense, and important lessons too, about how the differences that make it hard to get along are the very things that make us need one another.

(These books are also driving us into Ephesians. We are one body... one ecosystem... We can only thrive bound together in love through Christ.)

We have finished the main trilogy already, and are making our way through the prequel.

As an extra point of interest, the housekeeper seems to suffer from Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, and I can definitely relate!

Speaking of which, the time in nature is doing me a lot of good. I am in substantially less pain, even though I've been pretty active.

I may have overdone it just a teensy bit on our tromp through the woods yesterday, but all in all, it was with it.


Roadschooling Wuggies: Day 1

And... we're on the road!

This week, we have a beautiful campsite by the lake (but not TOO close to the lake!), and we are beginning to settle in to our tiny home on wheels.

As far as the wuggies are concerned, the best thing about the RV is that it has so many nooks, crannies, and mysterious tunnels.

As far as I'm concerned, the best part is our library. Admittedly, this currently consists of four boxes of books blocking off the entry way. I'm sure we will find a better place for them eventually (sorry, kids, you're probably going to lose those hiding spots!), but in the meantime they work as a makeshift baby gate. And they are full of exactly and only the right books for right now. It is wonderful.

This one is sparking all sorts of amazing discussions, driving us deeper into the book of Ephesians ("alive together with Christ" is truer than I dreamed!), and leading me to the conclusion that roadschooling will be greatly improved when we get Timaeus out of the storage unit.

I should have known we needed Plato. Also, the pencil sharpener. We definitely need a pencil sharpener.

But hey, we're making it work.



The oaks have been good mentors over the past year. I will miss them.

They tell me not to worry about it. I am trying to listen.

They also tell me that no matter how well I listen, I won't ever be a tree. We're migratory creatures, some of us more than others. Few of us flit around quite as much as the blue jays and the cardinals, but we all spend our lives skimming along earth's surface. This, too, is okay. The trees reassure me that humans are fine and lovely creatures with their own kind of wisdom.

I get the idea that they aren't entirely clear on the concept, but they take it on faith that we exist with a life as rich and vibrant as their own. That is enough.

Their ignorance has taught me as much as their knowledge. Out of all that there is to know, we will always be ignorant of most of it. I had better learn how how to become good at being ignorant. I had better learn how to reach into the dark with fearless love.

Trees are not afraid of the dark. Half of their life is hidden in the underworld, where earthworms nest in their branches.

I am not a tree. The dark of the earth is for me a place of death, and I am not strong enough to feast on unfiltered light.

The oak trees spread above me, mediating glory, and beneath me, recieving burdens to great for me to carry. For them, it is no burden. It is the stuff with which they gather light.

And now they urge me on to go do likewise, but in the human way, spreading my roots into migration's deep rich heritage.


The trees here are very wise. They reach down into the underworld, and invite the earthworms to nest in their branching roots. The earth gladly recieves our burdens. What is trouble for us is a feast for the creatures below, and what they cast aside, the trees take up, transforming it into light-catchers. The oaks invite us to rest in their shade, and bathe in their softened glory. It is good to sit beneath their branches, alive with light, and listen to their teaching. Quietly, quietly, they whisper the ways of bearing one another's burdens until all is transformed to joy.