It has been a great priviledge to read with my kids before bed. Since they were little I would try to have a reading time to settle their minds from the days events and let their imagination soar. When they were little we would read as a group. Then somewhere in the elementary years I had to seperate them because the books of a grade fiver was not the same as someone in kindergarten. Tonight I read Little Town on the Prairie. It’s a classic and believe or not it’s my son who’s 11 almost 12 that loves it! He’s working on the whole series.
With spring in the air I have been nostalgic for our farm. We would have baby calves born every year and the hunt for crocuses on the back 40 always gave me great pictures. I miss those days. While I was in them they just felt commonplace. Normal. But now that we’ve left them they hold such magic that when I think about them my throat gets all thick and I can hardly talk. Good days. Gifts from God. But if I didn’t notice them then, I’m likely to not notice the days now.
The evenings I have my kids to read too. The barbequing on the deck. The discussions while driving to music. Walking the dog around the block. The girls laughing in the mall and dancing silliness in public. This noticing is good. I am thankful.
I am making church a priority. The past year it has been an option. We would go and often feel so disconnected that I wondered if it had any value. But like anything it’s only when you don’t have it you notice it. So I’m trying again. Trying to be part of community. Tonight my reading son said as we lied on his bed how our church in Saskatchewan was like Laura Ingals’ church with community and discussions in the service. That was good he says. But that worked there, not here. We have sat in the same seat at our saturday night service for 5 weeks now. I’m sensing routine here!
The white anemone’s and blue hyacinth’s are up here. It’s camera time.
From the archives:
The farmer saying goodbye to his cows in the borrowed blue whale trailer. ‘Til we meet again.