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"That's the way it always is: older people know more because they've done more and seen more," I say shaking my head over blooming scoops of brown sugar atop the kids' oatmeal.

I smooth a mound of coffee in the espresso basket, press it down with the tamper. Jane rinses egg batter from a white cereal bowl, the overspray a wake at my elbow. "Unless they've wasted their life," I add, "then they don't know as much."

Jane snaps the faucet hose back in place, quells the spindrift. She wads her hands into the hand towel. "They always know more," she says and brushes the towel up to her elbow.

I swivel the tamper in the espresso basket, shimmy off excess grounds until the coffee packs into a circular brick. "What do you mean?" I scrape the scoop along the shiny rim and loose coffee flutters to the sink.

"The older generation," she says and secures the white sackcloth towel back to the oven door, "knows more because they don't have as much stuff, and they aren't spoiled."  She nods as if listing the ingredients for the eggs and oatmeal she just made.

Less stuff. Less spoiled. A feather of a thought, I turn this over in my mind. She clips off to clear the dishes and rally rouge bits egg and crumbs.

My wide river of a day and the current eddies. Less stuff. Less spoiled. Yes. The election, another incremental change in our world, I realize afresh: this world is not my home. I pray to be worthy of the challenges ahead.





Gratitude:

3763. "Do you think chickens in Mexico speak Spanish to each other," Jack wants to know.

3764. "I hope we get lots of ads for our guy," Jane says of the election, "not that that gets people to vote."

3765. "We didn't call any of our babies Goliath," Lucy says, "'cause he's a very wicked guy."

3766. "It's election day today," I announce. Across the room, Jack widens his eyes, then bows his head to pray.

3767. Tuesday-girls at Mom's we pray for our nation over quinoa salad and salted chocolate.

3768. The cousins make a book club with our kids. Circled around the speaker phone they read to each other and make up discussion questions.

3769.  "You know what this apple pie is to celebrate?" I announce Wednesday morn as I peel and chop apples, "That even though Obama won, God is still in control." Jack bounds into the kitchen. "Really?" he says. "Really."

3770. I visit the night away with a dear friend. We even hop coffee shops when the first one closes before we are done.

3771. "Toot in the bathroom, not at the table," I warn Jack. "I find that pretty funny," he guffaws.

3772. Mom and I morn the election over coffee and pastry. Even in our astonished disbelief, the Lord is the path beneath our feet, the breath in our lungs, and the destination in front of us.

3773. Craig's mom drops in to say hi.

3774. "Lucy poked it out with a pencil," Jack says of his missing tooth. "We were playing."

3775. "Why aren't you leading in being joyful? The Bible says you HAVE to be joyful." I grouse to Craig. "Be JOYFUL," he commands. And what can I say? I submit. And JOY comes! Who knew.

3776. Saturday, the sky blue tang, we roust the crew and trounce to the local cupcake shop. Salted caramel cupcake. Who knew I would be 34 before I had the best cupcake of my life.

3777. We play games and eat popcorn all evening. Everyone practices being a good sport. Even the grown-ups.

3778. "It sounded almost like a violin," Jane says to Joey's coos in the bedroom.

3779. A treat for me: new eye make-up.

3780. "Why do you think adults have longer ears than kids?" Lucy wants to know. "'Cause ears never quit growing, "I say. "My ears are longer than Joey's and Myra's," she nods, "but Emma has longer ears than all the children in our family, and Ellin has the biggest of the bigger-ear-people. Logan has pretty big ears too."

3781. We run into our very first neighbors from our very first house and have lunch to catch up, the friendship still fresh.

3782. "Big girls get unda-wears on," Myra announces in the bathroom.

3783. "Daddy said he's gonna start running," I tell Jane. "I didn't know any boys liked it," she says.

3784. "Jesus my only way. Jesus wuv me," Myra says.

3785. "In Heaven we won't have to brush our teeth," Lucy whispers to Jack after they get ready for bed.

3786. "I a big girl," Myra chimes, "but Daddy's da boss."

3787. "You can have some of my lollipops anytime you want," Jane bursts when I tuck her into bed.

3788. A week of quiet before Thanksgiving, preparation, I greet it - eager.

Dinner

"I had a dream Obama came to our house for dinner." I flip a pot-sticker, Lucy perched at my elbow.

"Oh!" she stands straight on the black thimble stool.

"And we had to call him Mr. Obama," I say and flop another pot-sticker sideways.

"Did he really come?" she asks, eyebrows arched.

"No. It was just a dream." I rest the spatula on the edge of the pan, catch Lulie's blue eyes.

She furrows her brow, "If Obama came to our house," she says, "you could call him YUCKY Obama."

She purses her lips. I pause. "No. I would call him Mr. Obama." I carry on as if pot-stickers were the universe, flip and switch, brown each side. "Even though I don't like him," I add. "I would show him respect because he's in charge." We listen to the pop-pop of olive oil sizzle in the pan. "Would you do that?"

I blink, and she nods her head like a giant bell. "Yeah," she says, "I would do what you would do."

We nod, furrow our brow and turn the pot-stickers down to low.

Respect, an anchor.

Gratitude:

1611. How Lucy pats my face while we pray.

1612. How Myra Rosie wears a rubber band around like a silly band to copy the big kids.

1613. Jack's rally, "Let's go outside and play Billy Goat where I'm the billy goat."

1614. How Myra tries to put my hand in her mitten.

1615. How Lucy belts out, "Holy, holy, holy," while she gets dressed.

1616. Jack's prayer, "God, thank-you that I'm healthy and whole."

1617. How Myra giggles when I whisper, "I love you," in her ear.

1618. How she pulls my face to hers, eye to eye.

1619. How she wraps her baby in a blankie and whispers, "Shhhh."

1620. Finding Lucy in the yard wearing Jack's three-sizes-too-big shoes.

1621. How the kids collect bowls full of marigold seeds and sprinkle them gold over the garden. And their explanation, "We were pretending like it was Jesus' body and we were putting spices on it."

1622. Learning about lying and one child's comment, "I was wondering when everyone was going to find out I was lying." And the realization it's actually better when we do.

1623. How Myra hops in my chair, opens my chocolate bar, and takes a good sized sample when I'm gone a moment to discipline Lucy.

1624. Lucy's sing-song voice, "Jack, I've got a good idea for the house." And his reply, "I know, keep it clean."

1625. Her attempt at conversation with Janie, "Jane, are you a pig? I'm a pig."

1626. Learning about the wolf problem in Montana, how they've decimated wild and domestic game, pretty much wiped out local hunting, and Lucy's summation, "We waaaaant the animals so we can shoooot them."

1627. How Myra Rosie pulls my hand to her face after I rub her cheek. How she squishes our faces together when I rescue her from falling off the kitchen bench.

1628. "And then all the people criiiied out to the LORD," Lucy reading her Bible.

1629. Jane's matter of fact, "Did you know that it's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to go into the kingdom of heaven?"

1630. And her advice to Jack, "Slow and stead wins the race, Jack. Remember SLOW and STEADY wins the race, about the speed of walking."

1631. My Dad and Mom home safe from Africa. Family gathered to see them in at the airport.

1632. Having parents I'm proud of.

1633. Our living room rearranged, wool rug rolled out for the winter.

1634. Jane teaching the memory verse, "Wanna listen to it a few more times? 'Cause I could hear that you were sort of struggling."

1635. Her furrowed brow as I put on make-up, "Momma, I can't even tell when you wear make-up."

1636. Her sweaty curls and flushed cheeks after nap, "I love you more than the other kids," she says, "not 'cause I don't love them, but because you're my mommy."

1637. Learning more each day how to lead these children and follow my husband.

Just a Grain of Rice

What to do in these perilous times? How do I explain to a pressing four-year-old that our president would let me kill a baby in my tummy? He says its OK. Jane keeps asking, "Do you think Obama will come to our house?" Eyes wide, she wants to know will Daddy protect Lucy from Obama? It's all so literal for her. Lucy is still a BABY! HELP!! And after all isn't she?

My first pregnancy I miscarried. Sorrow upon alum sorrow. The second was Jane. Six weeks old and grain-of-rice-size, even so, I watched her tiny heart pulse. ALIVE. The inexplicable spark of life had happened right there inside of me before I even knew. Every nuance of Jane written out in complex codes of DNA snapped into place and pulse-pulse-pulse. The unique imprint of soul already authored by God was right there, beating. How terrifying, God gave me a life?!

Can it really be that we devote an entire industry to snuffing this life out? No matter how efficient, noninvasive, and quickly done, I will always see a tiny freckle in my womb beating away, fierce with life. Jane will see Lucy.


God who gave us life gave us liberty. And can the liberties of a nation be thought secure when we have removed their only firm basis, a conviction in the minds of the people that these liberties are a gift from God? That they are not to be violated but with His wrath? Indeed I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just, and that His justice cannot sleep forever.

~Thomas Jefferson

(excerpts are inscribed on the walls of the Jefferson Memorial in the nation's capital) [Source: Merrill . D. Peterson, ed., Jefferson Writings, (New York: Literary Classics of the United States, Inc., 1984), Vol. IV, p. 289. From Jefferson’s Notes on the State of Virginia, Query XVIII, 1781.]