Joy Leanne

I made cinnamon toast for breakfast this morning. Every time I make cinnamon toast I think of my dad and my grandpa. Growing up my grandpa would make cinnamon toast for my dad and his siblings. There were eight kids, but for whatever reason, my grandpa would always make ten pieces of toast. This presented a dilemma. Did you savor your piece of toast, or did you rush through it in hopes of getting one of the two extra pieces. We all know this story by heart because every time my mom made toast my dad would tell this story. And now, whenever one of us makes cinnamon toast we tell the story as well. As I made toast this morning I thought back to our small group a few weeks ago. We are going through the book of Mark and as a group we were discussing the fact that Jesus taught in parables. We talked about the fact that he used every day items, things that his listeners would no doubt be familiar with, to get his point across. Farming, fishing, sheep, slaves, vineyards were all things that w...

My sister-in-law have a phrase that we so very often repeat to each other, "Not every season is joyful but every season has joyful moments." or, "Not every season is easy, but there are still good moments in those seasons." If I were to be honest, this week has been one of the less joyful seasons. In fact, depending on when you asked me, I might even classify it as down right hard. Tacy has been sick and from there we have fallen one by one. Josh and I were hit earlier in the week and by last night we were all down for the count. I spent the night last night sleeping on the sofa waking up every 45 minutes to tend to my 6 year old or 6 month old and then was woken for the day around 6:30 by my 4 year old. Today has been a muddle of sick kiddos, pizza for lunch, crazy amounts of NetFlix, canceling weekend plans, and unsuccessfully getting my kids to nap. But, in the midst of this hard week there have been glimpses of joy. Sweet reminders of love and light. My brother ...

We are getting ready to leave a friend’s house. She begs for a drinking. She is “sooooooo thirsty” she says. “PLEASE?!” she begs. Just one drink. She is given a bottle of juice. She climbs into the car and promptly drops the lid. For the next 15 minutes I listen to her complain…. She has to cover the top with her hand so it won’t spill and her hand hurts. Her hands are cold. She is tired. She doesn’t want to hold it any more. Please can’t I hold it for her? And I shake my hand and stifle a sigh of exhaustion before it hits me that she and I are the same. How often does it happen? I fixate on something. “Please, dear God,” I pray, “Please! This, THIS would make me happy.” Convinced I know what’s best I badger and beg till it is given to me…. Only to be surprised that there is no magic cure. That the gift I so desperately begged for is not an easy answer, but something that takes work. Marriages Children Friends Dream Jobs Dream homes All come with strings attached. All come with work a...

I am trying to write a post about the word Josh and I choose for our family in 2014, but frankly it's just laughable. My girls are talking, singing, cutting, writing, coloring as they work on Valentine's. I am desperately trying to focus on writing but my attention is pulled away every so often to spell names of family and friends. Our table is covered in papers, boxes of valentine's, napkins left over from last night's Superbowl get together, cups of cold hot chocolate, my lap top, homework assignments ect. My brain is cluttered and distacted trying to do two many things at once and over whelemed my the visual chaos around me. And I laugh.... because our word of 2014 is SPACE. And some days, some moments, I feel like that is the farthest thing from our lives. I feel like we are stretched to the max in every way possible and space of any kind is pretty far fetched goal. But that's exactly WHY it is our word this year. Because it is something we so desperately need a...

Standing in the kitchen doing bad yoga poses while waiting for the tea kettle to whistle. Staring at the tips of my fingers because the rest of the room seems to be spinning. And my brother finding me there later that night, legs pulled up staring at my bare feet on the ugly tile. I know I went in there for a reason but I can’t think of what it was when he asks. It’s where I do my best thinking though, so it only makes sense that it is there that   I find the strength to message her. I pray she hears the heart behind those words and I go to bed.  My oldest is up sick… sweating and shaking and I eventually give up on sleep and hold her till she is better and sleeping. It’s the warmest night we have had in weeks but I am cold. Deep down cold. Socks and sweat pants and two blankets can’t stop the shaking.  In the morning things seem less scary. As my brother put it, I no longer hear the things going bump in the night. I light a candle because it seems right and I breathe pr...

                                           I am pretty sure we all shed tears today. Over reading home work. Over nap times. Over the inability to crawl.  Over other people's pain. Over head aches. Over teething. Over our own restlessness.  But in the end we are all here. And all together. And all healthy.  And that's all that matters. 

Anyone who knows me personally (or has even just talked to me over facebook) can probably tell you that I tend toward anxiety. I get overwhelmed, over excited, and over stimulated very easily. I am not sure how I have been like this, but I know it goes back to at least college if not high school or younger. I wish I would say it get’s better with age, but it seems to be getting more and more pronounced.   The worst part? I see the same tendencies in my oldest. Abi is overwhelmed and spins out of control. In a letter I wrote to her on her 6 th birthday I promised that, in order to help her learn coping techniques I would first work on finding some for myself.  One of the things that send both of us into a full blown melt down is a messy house/bedroom. She doesn’t particular care if her room is a mess but if I ask her to clean it she is a puddle, and (though she doesn’t realize it) she is far calmer and centered when her room isn’t in chaos. For both of us the problem comes wh...