Author: joyfuldomesticity

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One Month

Sun shines in through my bedroom window
But gray clouds begin to line the sky.

I held you for just a few weeks;
My brokenness cries out, Why, Lord, why?

Your frame in secret was never hid,
Although I saw you not, our Father always did.

Knit together by His perfect design–
Image of His, your daddy’s, and mine.

A break in the clouds, a sun ray glows,
I strain to see heaven: you’re there, I know.

The clouds come again, the rain to pour,
I long for heaven so I can hold you once more.

The rain isn’t coming, ’tis only the tears
That Mommy cries for you darling, and will through the years.

One day as a thousand, and those as a day,
This month has seemed endless: you’re so far away.

But I will come to you, no more tears in my eye,
And we’ll glorify God together, my children and I.

These days are dark and dreary as I tread here on the earth
My womb, arms , heart and mind cry out: new life and birth!

Yet God is good and gracious, with mercies new each day,
He gives to us His wisdom, love, and comfort when we pray.

So my precious children, I praise Him through the pain,
Confident that someday I will get to hold you once again.

The Lord will bless and keep, and shine His face so bright,
While brother, Daddy, and I cling to faith with all our might.

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Vial Levity

Yesterday we had some blood drawn. My husband had four vials done, which may be the most he’s ever had at one time. I had 25, which is not the most I have ever had at one time.

In fact, when I saw the tubes divided into little containers (blood was being sent to four labs, and each lab’s vials were in its own container), I said to the lab lady who knows me by name (it’s just too much trouble to call her a phlebotomist), “is that all? I thought there would be more than that!” She thought I was crazy but I was totally serious.

About ten months ago I had 32 vials drawn at once, and it was scary to me at the time.

But now needles have become a habitual part of life for me. And getting my blood drawn is like child’s play.

So it’s just funny to me, seeing how my perspective has changed over the last year:
25 vials of blood? Eh, piece of cake! 😀

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exerpt from “Streams In The Desert”

The summer showers are falling. The poet stands by the window watching them. They are beating and buffeting the earth with their fierce downpour. But the poet sees in his imaginings more than the showers which are falling before his eyes. He sees myriads of lovely flowers which shall be soon breaking forth from the watered earth, filling it with matchless beauty and fragrance. And so he sings:

It isn’t raining rain for me, it’s raining daffodils;
In every dimpling drop I see wild flowers upon the hills.
A cloud of gray engulfs the day, and overwhelms the town;
It isn’t raining rain for me: it’s raining roses down.

Perchance some one of God’s chastened children is even now saying, “O God, it is raining hard for me tonight. Testings are raining upon me which seem beyond my power to endure. Disappointments are raining fast, to the utter defeat of all my chosen plans. Bereavements are raining into my life which are making my shrinking heart quiver in its intensity of suffering. The rain of affliction is surely beating down upon my soul these days.”

Withal, friend, you are mistaken. It isn’t raining rain for you. It’s raining blessing. For, if you will but believe your Father’s Word, under that b eating rain are springing up spiritual flowers of such fragrance and beauty as never before grew in that stormless, unchastened life of yours.

You indeed see the rain. But do you see also the flowers? You are pained by the testings. But God sees the sweet flower of faith which is upspringing in your life under those very trials.

You shrink from the suffering. But God sees the tender compassion for other sufferers which is finding birth in your soul.

Your heart winces under the sore bereavement. But God sees the deepening and enriching which that sorrow has brought to you.

It isn’t raining afflictions for you. It is raining tenderness, love, compassion, patience, and a thousand other flowers and fruits of the blessed Spirit, which are bringing into your life such a spiritual enrichment as all the fullness of worldly prosperity and ease as never able to beget in your innermost soul.

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Dress With Care

It is said of the Proverbs 31 woman that she is dressed (or clothed) with dignity and with strength (verses 17 & 25). These are important, hugely important, for any woman of God. A lot could be said about that at another time.

But I’m thinking about something different at the moment. I just finished ironing a pile of clothing. The majority of it belonged to my darling husband. I realized that I love to iron his pants and shirts, and was trying to figure out why.
I love to take care of his clothing — removing stains, washing it, drying it, folding it, ironing it, putting it away, etc. He doesn’t let me pick out his clothes for him or even go through his drawers to decide what things need to be retired — those are his self-appointed jobs. 🙂 But I do the caring of his clothing (reminds me of Prov 31:21). Not only so he looks good, but also so people who see him know that he is loved — that he has a wife at home who loves to care for her husband in physical, tangible, visible ways.

You see, the way my husband looks, reflects upon me.
Just like the way that I look reflects upon him.

This reminds me that my body is not my own. I know that 1 Corinthians 7 is speaking of marital love and the marriage bed when it says “For the wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does. Likewise the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does”… but I really think that principle is well applied in other areas. It is the very idea of self-sacrifice, putting another before one’s self, and Christlike love coming into play.

I do not dress for myself.
I dress for my husband.

And I’m not just talking about cute little nighties.
I’m talking about jeans, t-shirts, dresses, footwear, sweaters — anything that goes on my body.
I dress for him.
It reflects upon him.
I do dress to please him — what wife doesn’t want to catch her husband’s eye when he walks in after a long day’s work?
But I also dress to reflect well upon him.

(And yes, my words, my stance, my clothing, my actions — they all reflect upon my husband.)

To reflect well upon him, I want to show the world that I have a hardworking husband who provides for our needs very well; that he loves to adorn my beauty and fill my closet; that he loves beauty as well as godly modesty; that he loves my skin enough to conceal it; that he keeps my body for himself.

And, likewise, the way he dresses reflects upon me.
The way our son dresses reflects upon us.

So yes, while also taking passages like Matthew 6 and 1 Peter 3 into consideration, clothing is important. Like actions. Like words.
We should desire to praise God through everything we do, including the way we adorn the physical bodies He has blessed us with. I want to honor God through my clothing. And I want to honor my husband through my clothing. (Prov 31:22)

So next time you’re ironing your husband’s clothes — think about reflection. Your reflection. His reflection. Your reflection of Christ. How we reflect upon one another.

Clothes are important. Dress with care.

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Three Syllables

My son’s name is Gabriel.

Not Gabe.

Why is that so hard for people to understand???


The Lord is My Strength — that’s what it means. I want the whole thing rolling off your tongue. The whole thing. All three syllables. Thankyouverymuch. 🙂

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Not In Vain!

Not in vain, the tedious toil, On an unresponsive soil,
Travail, tears in secret shed, Over hopes that lay as dead.
All in vain, thy faint heart cries. Not in vain, thy Lord replies:
Nothing is to good to be; Then believe, believe to see.

Did thy labor turn to dust? Suff’ring – did it eat like rust
Till the blade that once was keen, As a blunted tool is seen?
Dust and rust thy life’s reward? Slay the thought; believe thy Lord!
When thy soul is in distress, Think upon His faithfulness.

Though there be not fig nor vine, In thy stall there be no kine,
Flock be cut off from the fold, Not a single lamb be told,
And thy olive berry fall Yielding no sweet oil at all,
Pulse-seed wither in the pod – Still do thou rejoice in God.

But consider, was it vain, All the travail on the plain?
For the bud is on the bough; It is green where thou didst plow.
Listen, tramp of little feet, Call of little lambs that bleat;
Hearken to it. Verily, Nothing is too good to be.

~Amy Carmichael~

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Many mothers apply this beautiful poem to the toil of motherhood.

I personally apply it to my toil in search of motherhood. A large part of me desperately wants to give up. It is too hard to keep trying to have children, keep losing them to early death, and now to have doctor after doctor give me news that this may well just be the story of my life (especially without some drastic interventions). “It is in vain,” I often hear my brain telling myself, “Give up now while you still have a chance and before the ridicule gets any heavier.”

But, like it or not, God has called us to a particular path — and apparently it just includes more drastic interventions than I ever dreamed would be necessary. God continues to give wisdom when we seek it: to us as we use our weak selves to ram down the doors of Heaven and beseech our Father with frequent & fervent prayers, to my parents who are helping us seek godly wisdom & wise counselors, specifically to my father who is most actively pounding down physical doors to attain the golden gift of wisdom. And since God is leading us, it is not in vain. Most certainly not. Whatever His purposes are, they are most definitely not vain.

And so this poem, in all its striking beauty and truth, brings me to hiccups of tears every time I read it.

My life is not in vain.
My womb is not in vain.
My childrens’ lives (no matter how short on earth) are not in vain.
Our prayers are not in vain.
Our desires are not in vain.
The research, the consultations, the tests are not in vain.
The medical treatments are not in vain.
Not a single shot, pill, blood draw, or infusion is in vain.
These myriads of “little deaths” that I am called to die for my family are not in vain.

And this, my friends, is good news for this tired, broken mama. Good news, indeed.

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Love Being A Mother

I love being a mother. Maybe y’all have caught on to that before, haha, but I just like to say it sometimes.
It is one thing I rarely take for granted (although we all fail; I’m a sinner too!), because I realize (more than many) how fragile life is, how precious children are, how quickly & frequently they can be snatched away, and what a gift it is to be the steward of an eternal soul. I love the daily aspects, the long term aspects, the eternal aspects. I love the physical interaction, the emotional relationship, the spiritual guiding. I love that my refrigerator is covered in toddler-art masterpieces. I love that there are toys in my home. I love that sippy cups line one of my cupboards. I love that there is a monitor in my bedroom like an ever-present spy on my little boy. I love that we’ve got a carseat in my car. I love that I get to kiss the boo-boos and wipe the tears. I love that I get to change, rinse, wash, and fold diapers over and over. I love that I have a shadow for everything I do. I love getting kisses, giving kisses, and asking for kisses. I love reading books twelve times in a row. I love asking, explaining, commanding, and repeating. I love forgiving. I love learning humility. I love using a single chocolate chip to reinforce a job well done. I love not being my own and not being alone. I love that I get to learn how to wisely train, discipline, and disciple this small immortal.

I love reading about motherhood. Not only practical, how-to type books; but just reading others’ experiences, their joys, their activities, their accomplishments.

I love talking about mothering. Diapers and discipline, toys and tasks, schedules and soul-nurture, playing and preaching, bathtime and busy hands… I love it all.

I love sharing with bereaved mothers. Sharing my heart, my prayers, my time, my tears, my books, my gifts, my words, my ears, my silence, my shoulder, my Savior. I love talking about my six children in heaven, reminding even myself that they are truly alive, truly blessed, truly mine.

This is who I am.
This is who God made me.
This is who God has given to me.

And as a coda, here is a beautiful tribute on a mother’s work. Now please excuse me while I go joyfully put my hands, body, mouth, words, heart (my everything, really) to task at this good, worthwhile, exercising work.
This work that is worship.

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Welcome to my Garden

Most things in my garden are looking really well. Still waiting for the beans, squashes, cucumbers, sunflowers, and basil to come up. Everything else is sprouting and growing beautifully. I love my garden.

The little welcome sign my mom gave me this year (last year’s was broken), and Mercy’s little birdbath.

The garden gate, and the view of the garden from the garden gate.

Pretty, tidy little rows of onions and spinach!

Another side view of the garden, and a closeup at my little lettuce heads beginning to form! This is my favorite.

Valiant little rows of peas, almost ready to climb a fence; and a little cluster of carrots (that will need thinned soon).

Nicely spaced beets (however, they still need thinning – so I’ll pop the tiny greens in a salad); and my potato ditch! I’m growing Yukon Gold potatoes, which is very exciting for me. :)

I have found the garden to be some good therapy for me. Nobody stares at me while I weep out there. And I’m not hurting anything but weeds as I use all my body strength to whack at the dirt with my hoe.

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Mommy’s Little Helper

Gabriel is my constant shadow. From errands to laundry to cooking to cleaning, he watches what I do, copies what I do, and helps me with almost everything! It is precious. Here are a few recent examples.

He loves to vacuum the kitchen floor.

He loves to help me bake. This was a batch of whole wheat & oat bread. Isn’t he adorable in his “Baker In Training” apron?!

And tonight he learned how to wash dishes. You can see he got rather wet, but he loved helping!