Week(Ends) and Such

I wanted to get a Weekends With Chesterton post up this weekend and have time to keep my new Pinterest planning trend going, but a bum ipad charger and a lot of other stuff didn't let me get that far.

So, I'm all off kilter, but I did get the ipad going again, so I am going to pretend it's still the weekend and share these quotes I read this week in Chesterton essay entitled The Advantages of Having One Leg. I loved it and had a ton of highlights, but here a couple of my very favorites:

"But I am afraid that the maxim that the smallest worries are the worst is sometimes used or abused by people, because they have nothing but the smallest worries...We need not deny that the grasshopper on man's shoulder is a burden; but we need not pay much respect to the gentleman who is always calling out that he would rather have an elephant when he knows there are no elephants in the country."

"This world and our powers in it are far more awful and beautiful than even we know until some accident reminds us. If you wish to perceive that limitless felicity, limit yourself if only for a moment. If you wish to realize how fearfully and wonderfully God's image is made, stand on one leg. If you want to realize the splendid vision of all visible things--wink the other eye."

As far as plans for the week ahead, we are pushing through core subjects, reading a bit of Robin Hood and a lot of Percy Jackson, and the boys are hanging with Dad for some jungle survival lessons while I ask IF with an amazing group of ladies, so that is pretty much it. No pinning that. Just living it.

Oh, and tomorrow, a trip to the Embassy in San Jose to replace my stolen passport. Because in case you haven't heard, I"M GOING TO AFRICA!!!!!!! My husband and I will be making an assessment visit to the communities in Tanzania that St. Bryce Missions will be advocating for in 2014. Take a minute to watch this video that outlines our hopes and dreams for these communities:



So, my life requires a lot of planning right now, but it's not really the blog worthy kind. But I can keep counting thanks, claiming all things as eucharisteo...so that I will do. Here are some of the ways He reached down and out and in last week:

#1755...a new home for our mission
#1757...plane tickets to "home"
#1759...some rhythm to school work
#1764...people willing to give us tangible help
#1765...little boy drawings of the Pope
#1766...reading multiple perspectives on this story of a miraculous Haitian birth...love these midwives and their people and their work

Don't forget to spread the word about the new Pope Francis link up happening here this Friday and come back and link up yourself!

Have a blessed week, friends!

KNOWN 2014: The Word WAS

                                      

This has just chased me down all week. A new reading of a familiar verse.

He WAS. Just always. From the beginning. My Jesus. WAS. 

                           

It is a familiar yet earth-shaking reality. My Salvation always WAS, with God. In God's mind, in the beginning, was saving me from myself with the Word that is Him. 

Just can't seem to digest that crazy wild reality this week. But have found it such a buoy to my days. It has made my heart sing with gratitude. 

                             

                                             

In Spanish it reads, "In the beginning, the Word existed. And the Word was (form of be that indicates something changeable) with God, and the Word was (form of be that indicates something unchangeable).

He WAS the unchangeable God who comes to change, who exists in time and outside of it, in all that is eternal and all that is temporal. In all that is glorious and all that is ordinary.

                             

And what He was was the Word that Love spoke into the world, the Spirit being His voice. 

And the three who always were, they have always KNOWN me. 

                              

And that, friends, that is carrying me on eagle's wings and bringing me unbounded joy this week. Which was only amplified when I read this. You too, friend?

What great comfort are you finding in the Word this week, friends?

#oneword364 #memoryproject2014 #TheJesusProject

Letter To Self: You Shall Not Perish

Dear You,

 Yeah, you. You with the brave word KNOWN tattooed on your heart for the year. You with the new commitment to sink deep into the Word and speak in tongues not your own. You who thought maybe John 3:16 might be an easy place to start.

I watched you this week. I know you found out it wasn't. You found out that familiar isn't the same thing as easy with the Word of God. I watched Love pierce deep in a dark place. Say a hard thing to you.

Because you, daughter of the King, child of Light, lover of Love, you've had a pretty messy year. A good one in so many ways. You counted more than 1000 gifts. Marked them out in pen. But even still, you were dogged by the darkness of anxiety more than ever before, felt the pain of loss open fresh old wounds, trusted and mistrusted yourself for the trusting then felt the guilt of unfounded mistrust. In the Word this week, you heard it. The hard word from Love itself. You have been living like you are perishing. Instead of living this:

You who lay down your life to help others believe, you have forgotten to believe yourself. Forgotten to live knowing no one is relying on your heroics to save the day, and that the dark villain chasing you has already been defeated by the only Superpower. You forgot that at the beginning of it all He WAS. And at the end, He will be. And right now, He is.

You have spent your days swirled in the dark mist of discontent, the bitter sting of hope dashed. And you have refused to believe in eternal life. Day after day, you lived like you were perishing, like any minute now, it was all going to fall apart.

You lived, dear one, in fear. In that unspoken and lonely fear of failure who is your worst enemy yet long-time companion. You courted her a bit this year, invited her in for coffee one too many times. And she wooed with quiet accusation. Made you believe you not only needed to fear the possibility of failing but that you had already failed, that you were a failure.

That the dishes left in the sink overnight said more about you that a God who put on skin to save you. That lack of routine and continuity and kids who went to bed too late and didn't do as much school as they should have said more about you than the miraculous fact that the God of the Universe trusted you enough to put eternity in your hands in the form of people who are His. That your body's betrayal, its inability to cup life safely in its womb, its bleeding out of hope said more about you than the Blood He shed so that your pain matters for something.

That the to-do list without the check marks and the so many days you made no lists whatsoever because you didn't care any more mattered more than the fact that it is done in eternity. That what people thought about you and their approval of your work made you who you were more than the knitting He did in your mother's womb.

You ran and raced within from the menacing threats, from mortal peril, from perishing, so many days. And more often than not, you still felt you had not run fast enough, that the darkness had caught you. But:

And as you have dug back in over the last month, heard Him say, "I know. Come out of hiding, sweet one. You are known. You are loved. Even with, even if, and even when. You are loved. And there is mercy and there is grace and there is light enough for all your dark battles. I put on skin for just this reason. So you would know. I laid my head in the meanness and cold of your cruel world so you would know. I held out my hands and embraced the tears of the woman who wept at my feet and the one who his at the well and the one who banged pots and pans in the kitchen in frustration so that you would know. I became incarnate in the womb of a woman that you would know. From the inside from forever until never-ending glory shines, I have known you. In the beginning, I WAS. And because I lived, I live in you. And you do not have to perish, only believe."

I hear the question forming before you ask. And I know that you know that you already know. All you have to believe is this one little thing: it doesn't matter if you are enough because He is. It doesn't matter what you know because you are known. It does't matter what you do, because it has already been done. So just live and breathe grateful. Keep counting. Live in the embrace of His Word.

You have chosen well, sweet soul sister. This is your year to remember that you are known. And to believe. And to live like you have eternal life in you. Because you are not in peril. You shall not perish, dear. So live in the light. Let it shine on your darkest places and let them be known. Because you cannot fail at what has already been won. And you cannot perish when you know you will live forever. So live lavishly and love long and let it go. He's got you. 

Come link up with us at the Grove at Velvet Ashes  this week.
You don't want to miss the opportunity to be part of this space.

On Growing Up, Grief and Grace: Part 3, Grace

There's one last post to be written in this series about how growing up, grief and grace have changed me as a person, and as a missionary.

I've had a hard time wrapping my head around how to write about grace. It's not like God suddenly invented a new grace that has made this leg of my missionary journey easier. It's also not like I've suddenly become a saint and I don't want to write in such a way that anyone would ever think that. In fact, I've stalled on writing this post, because I've been struggling to keep up the discipline of the very practices I want to write about.

It comes down to this. I have always known that living the life of grace, both the sacramental grace offered by the Church and the grace of turning our daily walk into something sacred, was the both battleground and the victor's circle of the spiritual life. It is where we fight to stay strong and to persevere, it is where we get up again when the knock-out punch rings loud in our ears, it is where we dance with joy in our victorious moments and where we wipe away the tears of our failures. It is where we learn to walk in the light and where we learn to keep walking when there is no light.

But in my young faith life, this was all pretty much theory. I got the grace thing. But whatever the ups and downs of life were at the time, my hopes and dreams and boot straps were still enough to pull me and keep me going day to day. Then there was all that growing up and grieving. And those little bits of self weren't enough any more. I wasn't enough for me any more. I was really utterly dependent on God to sustain me for the first time in my life. And I learned what grace really was. 

I think back to the days after Bryce's death, of the cloud of grace that carried me through to the other side of the darkest days of my life, and I am humbled to the point of tears. I think of coming home from a D & C to a cleared out house and mound of suit cases and departure for the mission field looming four days ahead, and the grace that carried me forward to the hospitality of waiting friends, the love of people who wrapped my babies in their arms and held them for me so I could grieve once again, and the grace that made my feet go when my head could not think straight.

These memories, when I think back on them, feel like a dream. I know they are real experiences, but the memories is not sharp and painful like some memories. They are soft and wispy. Bittersweet. But sweet. They are surrounded in a cloudiness. It is grace.

And that cloud has surrounded this whole first year here in this mission post. It has not been easy. Neither were those things I just described above. It has not been without its ugliness, mistakes, and failures. I have battled self long and hard here. I have been disappointed and hurt. My husband lost his mother. My brother fights a terrible disease daily and I am not there. And yet, the walk through all of that has been made possible each and every day. And I have found peace and consolation in being where I am each and every day. This is grace.

I can point to three things that have kept me living in that cloud of grace over the last year. Habits that have been formed in the years of growing up and grief and learning to live dependent on grace. Habits that have become a focus and cornerstone of our life over the last year because of the strong leadership of my husband and the faithful spiritual direction of a holy priest. Habits that dear sisters mentored me to form. All gifts. Gifts given to me by someone else's love, sacrifice, sharing.

Because isn't that the essence of grace? It is the redemptive work of mercy in action. Sacramental grace is won for us by Christ's ultimate sacrifice and administered to us by the shared faith of our Church. And the actual grace that comes into our lives too most often comes my the love and service and sharing of another.

The first gift is the gift of speaking grace. I am user of words. Lots of words. Verbally. Written. Read. I like words.  I have learned from some of the loveliest women the power that encouraging, building-up words have to transform those around us. And to transform our own perspective. When we make a commitment to speak of our daily walk in a way that highlights the beauty and the grace we find in it, the world is made better by it. So I have worked hard to cultivate the habit of using my love of words to communicate all that I see as good and lovely and noble and true about the journey we have been on for the last year. And it has transformed the way I look at the journey. Shrouded it all in that cloud of grace that makes both the hard and the bitter sweet. Progress on the verbal end of this habit is still faulty and flawed. I have that punched in the gut feeling when I relive my own words in my head way more than I would like. But imperfect progress is still progress and I am going to keep honing this habit of speaking grace.

The second is gift if finding grace. I used to think that grace was something that appeared miraculously in over lives, happy moments that were sure signs that God loved us and was with us. And then there were the days of little wooden coffins and still ultrasound screens and miracles that flitted into our lives and faded out before they were real. And if I was going to continue to call myself a believer, grace needed redefining. And there was this voice in my life. This melodious gift of words that told me that grace is found where we look for it. That we can count the ways He loves in the lovely but we can count it in the ugly dark too. This voice that told me that to walk in grace is to realize that eucharisteo is about brokenness, not the warm smell of fresh bread, that the fragrance of the hurting and wounded heart who seeks His presence right there in the hard places is a perfume for the spirit. A voice that said, " Don't just look casual. Don't stumble upon grace accidentally. Don't hurry through the hurt and the chaos and the confusion. Live it. Look it in the face. See that He is there. Over and over again. In myriad ways. And count them. One by one. Count them. Until there are a hundred then a thousand, then more. Until you are forever changed." And I did. And I have been.

The third gift is the gift of the greatest grace. When my husband told me that our spiritual director was suggesting that we make an hour of prayer in front of the Eucharist a daily habit for our family in mission, I chuckled. A cynical chuckle. A chuckle that said, " Clearly, he's a good guy and a smart guy and holy guy and doesn't have a clue." Because getting myself to holy hour once a week for silence I relished and savored was already a bewildering conundrum and getting my boys through 15 or 20 minutes every now and then was enough to rob me of the grace earned in that hour.

But they were stalwart these two men. Stalwart in the face of my I-know-so-much-better-than-you pride and stubborn will. And we arrived in this mission post and we put feet to dusty road and we went. Every morning we went. Just us. Sometimes silent, sometimes begging repentance and conversion, sometimes singing praise. Some days boys slept and some days they sneaked outside and climbed high in the limbs of trees before we noticed. It was not perfect. But there before Christ, there was more than enough grace for all those imperfections. Grace to cover loneliness and loss and worry and fear and pain. Grace to keep us near to Him and remind us to stay out of His way. Grace to remind me that the miracle is not in the big Hollywood action scene life but in the daily walk on the dusty roads that says to others, "I am still here", just like His quiet presence in the silence of our Churches says to us.

These last few weeks have been a bit off kilter for us. Our schedule has been flipped on its side and spilled into chaos by sickness and surprise runs to immigration office and a million other things. I have failed to live the greatest grace--the going to Him there fully present, divine and real, and drinking of the fullness that fills and drowns out all that is broken and ugly in me. And in the midst of it, I feel myself creeping in, getting in the way, wanting it my way, seeing the ugly and not counting the grace, speaking the ugly and not the lovely.

But the good news? I recognize the way out. I know where to find the cork that will plug my grace leak. It's in heading back to the greatest grace, breathing in the fullness of Christ present in the Eucharist, breathing in the air of perfection, the light of hope, listening to quiet whisper of His voice that says, "Don't run so fast next time, and maybe you won't fall as hard." That says, "You know, breathing is good. When was the last time you checked to see if you were still breathing. Be quiet. Breathe with purpose. Breathe grace. That is where you will find strength. I am the Breath of Life."

And in a great mercy, I see it now. When I start to feel the shoulders tighten and the jaw clench. When the thoughts flow ugly and mean long before the words ever do. When there is so much me I am too heavy to carry, I want to run to Him. Sit under the protection of grace. Be called back into a life of grace by forgiveness of my sins, wiped clean by the grace of confession, my emptiness filled by the bread broken and blessed, the Eucharistic body of Christ.

Sometimes, I'll feel the weight of brokenness heavy in my heart and think, "Wait. I'm getting all in the way again. How long has it been since we went to adoration? To Mass?" And to my surprise I will realize it has been a day. And when I see how much of mess I can make of His lovely work in just one day without Him, I wonder how I ever lived, breathed, survived before this. I count the blessing of the greatest gift -- the fullness of His love and mercy made present to me every day so that it is not my boot straps that pull me back up when ugliness and brokenness and hurt knock me down but the river of mercy that flows from Him. 

And so I receive the greatest grace. And I seek it. And I count it. And I speak it. And I walk out of the brokenness and the darkness and into the light once again.

Let's Take Advantage of An Opportunity

This has got to be the easiest way of taking action against human slavery I have posted yet in this series. And it's lovely too. And full of joy and HOPE. Sweet, sweet Hope.

So here's what you do.

1. You go read over at Ann's blog. You read about Hope. And you read about Ashoka. And you read about Mary and Jesus and Ann and her Mama. And you be moved to your core by the faces and the beauty amidst the ugly and the truth born into the middle of it all.
2. Then you click on over to this amazing story. Don't just click to buy straightaway. Pay the women of Freeset a visit. Get to know them. Get to know their work. Learn how you can fight trafficking with them.
3. Then you can scoop yourself up one of these awesome bags. Buy the message. Buy it and be all in. you are blessed and you can bless. Because He was born and broken for you and turns it all beautiful. Buy a big bag full of hope. For you. For Ashoka. For Hope herself.
4. Then live it. Live the message. Be the message. Be broken and beautiful and blessed. And bless. Bless everyone you meet by leaking the grace given right out of you and into their hands, their lives. 

See, easy. Now, what are you waiting for? Go. The time draws near. He comes. Do you not want to be about His Father's business when the heavens open to announce His presence and sing 1,000 "Hosannas"? Do you not want to already have sung His goodness with your life? I do.

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior. 

I'm Full

I'm not going to be joining my big, beautiful family around the Thanksgiving table this year. I won't take in the endless games of football and glasses of wine and snarky comebacks and too-loud laughter and the rich abundance of culinary grace that I have come to call Thanksgiving. I won't end this day so full of food and drink and family that I want to curl up in a corner and sleep for days and dream it all over again.

And I could be really, really sad about that, because truly, Thanksgiving-- the reality, the history, the whole notion of it-- is one of my most favorite things ever. But I'm not. Because you know what? I won't have any of those festive Thanksgiving moments today, but I am still full. Full. Full. Full. Chock full and over stuffed with blessings and grace and beauty and joy in this life that I live and this life that I love.

I type to the cadence of a familiar piano tune. The tune that plays in the lovely online home of my friend Ann. The tune I open up when I need to remember grace, need to remember slow, need to remember thanks, need to say long and loud and live it on repeat, eucharisteo. 

The thanksgiving word, the word that says it all at once, speaks of what it really means to give thanks, to be thankful, to live full. To break bread, to be broken so that you may be shared, to recognize Him in the broken bread and to sit in continuous awe of His presence.

This is the life I get to live every. single. day. Hand in hand with my beloved, surrounded by the exuberant noise of the blessed band of brothers, I go out, Christ in my heart, Christ in our hands. And we kneel in His presence with our brothers and sisters whom we may never have met this side of heaven without this call. And we worship. And we are broken and beautiful and we are full. So, so full. Of His tender mercy and of the life of common grace at the ends of the earth.

And I watch as families living a faraway life in a faraway native culture descend from the mountains, babies strapped tightly to their backs, machetes at their sides, coffee baskets in hand. Their poverty and their timidity and their pride and their tight family core all evident in one glance. And the fullness of it spills over and we call the spilling zeal because it makes me want to run with it, this dripping, leaking grace called eucharisteo. And I want to run out into the dirt roads and grab their hands and shout with joy to them that hope is theirs and love is theirs and mercy is theirs and that there is a forever life that looks so very different from this hard life they live and that even in the emptiest, ugliest moments of sickness and wetness and coldness and hunger, there is a bread that fills, a living water that quenches and that they too can feel always full. Full.

Yesterday I walked in my husband's rubber boots up the sloping mountain road to church and met a group of women there who had come to study English with me. Their shy smiles turned to wide laughing before our time together was through. We entered unsure what to say and left holding hands and patting heads and wishing we didn't have to go just yet. Among them was my sweet old friend, Dona Lilian, a life nearly used up, happily confused about reality and in love with everyone she meets. Broken and beautiful. She interrupted us more times than I can count to tell us that she will bring cookies next time. The bread of the broken. Offered in worn hands. And I am full.

Dona Lilian, she brought me some shoes. Just like she had promised when she called me at 6:15 that morning. Some shoes given to her by someone wanting to bless, to give thanks, to live eucharisteo. They don't fit her, so she passed them to me, just like she passed to me the book from Mount Vernon she had in her home since some time in the 1960s I think and the missal from church from 2007. Long-lived and broken in thought, but whole in love that Dona Lilian is. The shoes, they're, well, old lady shoes. Old old lady shoes. That fit me.

And I will walk to church in them tonight. And this will be my Thanksgiving. Walking in her shoes to break bread with her at the altar of our God. Partaking in the only meal that really fills. Living in the blessed and the broken and the giving and the receiving, in the slow cadence of a beautiful song that sings, "Give thanks and all things rejoice, because He has made you glad, sweet one." And I am full. So, so full the grace leaks straight from eyes in a river of joy and gratitude.

This life is a life of giving up. But it is not a life of want. It is a life of need filled by abundant grace and fed by Love Himself. The banquet has been served for me, and me, I shall have my full.

Happy thanksgiving, friends. Happy, happy, broken and full eucharisteo.

Let's Fast From Freedom

Are you, like me, beginning to forget the commitment to act and pray to end human trafficking? I admit I feel like a bit like a clanging gong that no one can hear. But I made a commitment and I WILL see it through. Why? Because last week Costa Rican papers reported that a man from reported being brought here under conditions of slavery to work in a restaurant in order to pay off a debt his family owed the traffickers. He was afraid to go to authorities because being returned to his own country would mean certain death. Because the other day Maria at Salvando Corazones posted that she was thankful for calm seas that day because you never know what thoughts, flashbacks or memories will rock the world of those who have been abused and exploited nor do you know when. Because the Costa Rican government has openly stated in the last few weeks that it does not know how to close the loop hole that allows drug and human traffickers to apply for residency legally by taking up temporary residency in a different state of the U.S. and getting their police report from that state, thereby covering up their criminal history. They have passed a new law that states that if at any time any of these items is found on a person's record, his/her residency can be revoked. And so traffickers of all types and sorts have an open door to take up residency here and the blue print with which to do it.

I have more to tell you and a growing list of ways you can help with the plan for the Blessed Zelie Martin Initiative that I laid out here. . I am putting together some other actions that I hope you will help me with in the areas of government action and responsible tourism. I am planning a trip to visit the safe house for Salvando Corazones and put my head together with Maria about what we can do together.

In the mean time, as a family, we begin a circulating Holy Hour for the month of missions in the communities of our church parish. We will kneel in the presence of the Lord of Lords every afternoon for the next two weeks with our brothers and sisters and pray for the Church's call to missions. And I will beg that we embrace this as part of our collective mission as a Church, the call to act to end the atrocity of human slavery.

And while we are doing that, I offer you another action to keep us all focused on this fight. Let's fast from freedom this week. The victims of trafficking and slavery lose so many basic freedoms: the freedom to eat, sleep, use the bathroom when they want to, the freedom to speak to whom they wish, the freedom to call their bodies there own, the freedom to love, to trust, to hope. Is there a friend or a family member with whom you can share your desire to act on behalf of these victims? Might you enlist their help in a fast of sorts from a basic freedom you enjoy daily?

What if for one day, you did not go to the bathroom without asking someone's permission first? Or leave the house? Or go to bed? Or eat? Or drink? Or speak to someone else? I think it will serve as a poignant reminder to me of all the basic human freedoms I take for granted on a daily basis.

Over the course of the next week, I am going to enlist my husband's help (poor thing, I have no friends I can enlist as texting buddies here, he has to  bear the brunt of my crazy ideas) in this endeavor. I am going to choose a particular freedom listed above and get him to agree that I will ask his permission and he has to grant before I act. Every single time. And each time I go through the process, I will stop to pray for all the people on the world who live daily without freedom, who are begging for a basic mercy and being beaten or kicked or abused for asking, who are waking up at night in a terrified sweat, imprisoned by traumatic memories, who have been made vulnerable by poverty or culture or war or neglect.

If anyone decides to join me and walk beside me in this endeavor, I welcome the company. But if I go it alone, so be it. This is the call of my heart. A "yes" I offered to my merciful Savior. I will not, with His grace, take it back because I feel silly or lonely or like I am shouting into a dark abyss. I will cling to Him and seek the grace to continue on.

A Whole Lot of Livin' Going On

So in between loving the orphans and widows in His name, in between the long journeys and the busy days full of Church activities, a whole lot or ordinary, every day family life goes on here. Cooking, cleaning, washing clothes and teaches school. Family movie night. Working. E-mailing family and friends. Afternoons at the river. Kicking the soccer ball around the plaza. And lately, a lot of fort building on the front porch.

I am committed to maintaining the atmosphere of family first here in the missions. My kids did not come all this way to be exhausted in service. They are as hungry for the love of Christ as anyone else I might meet here. And it is my primary duty to give that love generously. One way I attempt to do that is by being a "yes" momma, as often as I can saying yes to their requests for my attention: "Can you take us to the river?" " Can we paint today?" "Can we make cookies tonight?" Yes, my loves, I can. We can. Because in the midst of all this service, you are the most important people in my life. I will stop for you. I will rest a longer because you have curled up next to me. I will sing " The Ants Go Marching One by One" one more time. I will. Because you are precious to me and precious to your father and precious to the Lord. And you are loved.

I love to see how happy my kids are here. And I love to see how much they truly appreciate it when they get to Skype their cousins or see photos of friends. They are elated to be remembered.  And the so the joy that ensued when one sweet friend and her children waltzed their way to us via care packages that arrived this week was truly memorable.

Even after a few tries, I couldn't get squirmy excited boys to stay in place long enough for you to really see our message, which reads MUCHISSIMAS GRACIAS FAMILIA _______!

Balls, baked goods, peanut butter, Nutella. The good stuff. And for a mom's heart? Dark chocolate, sharpies and a table cloth from pretty girls who know how to make things lovely. I hope these smiles tell the story of our gratitude, because we were pretty over the moon. Kolbe turns 5 this Wednesday and he has picked the Marble Cake Mix for his cake. You made our hearts happy, dear friends. And we thank you. Grace in a box. What a lovely gift!

Home Sweet Home

Hola! Bienvenidos a nuestra casa misionera! For you gringos, that's "Hi! Welcome to our missionary home!"
Would you like to come in for a little tour and see what our house looks like here in Grano de Oro?

Well, okay, come on in through the side gate. You'll find yourself in the breeze way that connects our open-air kitchen to the rest of our house. We use it for a casual every day eating area.

See that picture hanging on the back wall? it's a puzzle I brought with us. We built it to celebrate Mardi Gras even though we were far from my beloved NOLA. It's Rex turning down Canal Street!

If you turn to your right from here, you can come in and see our kitchen! It is separate from the house and enclosed in lattice work.

Small Sink

Larger Cement Sink, Woodburning Stove, and Pot Storage

Cabinet/Pantry Space, Counter Space, Oven

Fridge, Laundry Area

(I use that wall as additional pantry storage.)

Well, that's about it for the kitchen. Shall we head over into the main area of the house? The bathroom? Sure, it's right inside the door.

Oh, make sure the you don't throw toilet paper in the potty. The plumbing here is not made for that. That's what that trash can is for. All done? Okay. Let's head over here.

I think this room was destined to be an indoor kitchen at some point, but was never completed. It makes great storage and display for all our school stuff, shoes and other items for coming and going.

Let's go see what Quinn is up to. I think he's in his room.

Yep. There he is. His is the only room downstairs. It's a nice little spot and gives him the chance to display some things that make it feel a little more homey.

I saw an idea on Pinterest using embroidery hoops and fabric to decorate a wall. I thought it would be cute to do with t-shirts. And wooden hoops were inexpensive, light and easy to pack. I'm pretty satisfied with the result.

This is the, um, dining room....where I am folding today's laundry. Some things about a mother's life never change. This nice table does make a nice folding spot and a great space for spreading out for school work or board games or puzzle building. Let's keep walking out that door in the corner. It's really nice out on the patio.

That chair is one of my favorite spots in the whole house. I sit there early in the mornings with my coffee, bible and prayer journal and watch our little town wake up. Tea and knitting in the afternoon. The Kindle and a blanket in the evenings. Yep. I like this spot a lot. And the kids have found it to be a nice play room too.  

Would you like to come upstairs? Okay, follow me.

Here's our little "sala" or living room at the top of the stairs. I've always wanted to live in a log cabin home. I love that the upstairs of this house feels just like a log cabin. Take a peek in that door over there. That's the boys' room.

I love their sweet room. Right now the little boys are using mattresses on the floor to sleep, but we plan to get another double bed for this room.  Their football jerseys and team pictures make such the room cozy and personal, and they were easy to pack too.

More football paraphernalia. And thanks to Drew Brees double duty as inspiration and cover up for the random Rasta man painted on the wall there. Well, only one room left on our tour. Our bedroom is right over here on the other side of the sala.

Isn't it sweet and homey? I spent the months before we left pinning pretty vintage quilts and granny afghans laid out in old barn style homes to my home inspiration board and kind of laughing at myself. I mean, really, where did I think I was moving to?  I packed a few things to try to make our new home feel like "us" but quilts and afghans were a bit much. I resolved to use the things we were given and only buy the things that were not made available to us when we arrived. Imagine my delight in the Lord on the night we arrived when I found this quilt and afghan tucked in the stack of blankets I was handed.  

God loves us so well, doesn't He? Right down to all the little details.

Add in the amazing views out of our windows....

A little vintage pretty that I brought from home...

A place to store clothes ( yes, that is our shared dresser and closet)

Some lovely art to look at on the walls and a little corner for the computer and we have all we need to feel comfortable, happy, and at home in our house here.  I hope you've enjoyed your little tour. As you can see, we have plenty of space, so come visit us any time!