Consider the Lilies...

About a month ago Pietro's mom gifted us with some money to go clothes shopping. Andrew and Shailey specifically had outgrown all of their fall/winter clothing from last year. Jonathan and Seth also have a pretty sparse and rather worn wardrobe, fine for everyday at home, but not really up to snuff by Italian standards. Forearmed with a bulleted list of the older kids needs and our gift money in hand (read tucked safely inside the inner zippered pocket of a pickpocket safe ameribag) we set out to the used clothing stalls at the Saturday morning market and nailed it. Got every single item the older two needed.

Last week as I was hanging laundry my attention was drawn once again to the sad condition of most of Seth and Jonathan's clothes from last fall/winter (most of these handmedowns from Andrew's days). My immediate reaction was to ask myself what *I* could do. I could post an ISO boys clothes sizes 10-12 post on a facebook group I am part of that is for christian homeschooling moms from the Navy and NATO bases here in our area. I kind of exhaled the idea out to God through the clothespins in my mouth. This is already something notable because in the past I probably just would have hupped to it post haste. I sensed a check in my spirit and that all familiar feeling: "Ask me....". So I did, finished hanging my laundry and came back inside to continue school with the kids.

The next time I checked my messages the first thing I saw, that literally seemed to jump off the screen in flashing letters was a post on the Naples homeschoolers facebook group. It read "3 bags of boys clothes size 10-12 to give away, any takers?" This is not a normal occurrence on this group as usually it is just for posting homeschool related books, co-ops or fieldtrips.

He continues to provide. He continues to challenge me to a life of childlike dependence. He continues to prove that the God who dresses the lilies of the field, takes personal pride and ownership in dressing His children.

I sometimes wonder if one day, once we have learned to walk with Him like little children in this way, if things will get easier. Whether they do or whether they don't I know one way or the other His praise will ever be on our lips.

"And why do you worry about clothes? Consider how the lilies of the field grow. They do not toil or spin and yet not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned as one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and gone tomorrow, will He not much more clothe you?"

On Celebration and Mourning

 It's Canadian Thanksgiving, one of my favorite times of year and favorite holidays. Okay, so I say that about every time of year and every holiday... but there is something uniquely nostalgic about the sights, smells and savory delights that are Thanksgiving.

Holidays are one of those missionary things that you can and you can't recreate. I can make Pioneer Woman's creamy mashed potatoes, and if I am lucky I can find sweet potatoes at the big french grocery chain a few towns over. I can whip up a creamy pumpkin pie and if I am really, really lucky I will be able to get my hands on a whole turkey somewhere.

What I can't recreate is the crispness in the prairie air touched with the soft amber glow of indian summer sunshine. I can't recreate the damp smell of fallen leaves or the pallette of fall color in field and forest. I can't make my special version of cranberry sauce with the secret addition of saskatoon berries, and I can't make crabapple slush with Canadian Gingerale and apples from my very own tree. I won't hear the geese honking and their strong wings beating as they take off from the field in front of my house and I won't hear the crunch of the gravel as my parents and other loved ones pull onto the yard.

Today I mourn the loss of those things for the first time. Last year God gave us the gift of being able to be home for a week over Thanksgiving and to celebrate it at the lake with my parents. A gift made even more precious when death later touched our lives and made it the last Thanksgiving we would share with our strong, quiet, faithful father figure at the head of the table. In loss, special days become not only days of celebration, but days of mourning.

Mourning is a beautiful thing. It means you love, you feel, you miss, you desire.  The strangest thing about mourning that I am learning is that one can both mourn and celebrate at the same time, that the two realities are not mutually exclusive, and that one does not preclude the other. I miss Canadian Autumn and my character home on the prairie, but that doesn't mean that I am not rejoicing today in the reality of my new home and the fall sun, like gold on my head here in Naples.

I miss worshiping with my Canadian church family and the amazing food and fellowship but that doesn't mean I didn't experience pure joy worshiping with my Neapolitan church family and eating fresh buffala mozzarella for dinner.

I miss people that are sooooo near and dear to my heart but that doesn't mean that my heart isn't overflowing with joy and gratitude for the new friends God has brought into our lives.

So as I look ahead to setting my own Thanksgiving table, and surrounding it with special people, I think back and remember with tears of joy and thanksgiving all the special people we have shared it with in the past. You are in our hearts, and part of our life, and you make us want to know and share this kind of love, with others too.