Fireflies

It was dusk, on a warm August evening. The boys were piling out of the car after a trip to the local ice cream shop up the road. The sky was a deep shade of indigo, with streaks of hot pink and royal blue hovering over the horizon. The air was still, quiet with the sound of crickets chirping and birds singing their final adieu until morning. A tiny flash of light in the distance caught my eye, and then another, and I quickly grabbed Sammy out of his car seat and hollered for Jack and Gabe to follow me into the back yard. We ran through the dark shadows under the trees, straight for the open expanse of bean fields that bordered our yard. "What, Mom? What is it?" Gabe asked, eagerly. I simply looked out over the soft bean plants, a smile spread across my face. Jack and Gabe followed my stare, and after a long moment, gasped.

Like a blanket of Christmas lights draped over the entire field, thousands of fireflies danced and darted before us, twinkling in the failing light. The boys giggled and tried to catch some, stumbling over branches and pine cones in the yard as they reached for the tiny disappearing acts. Sammy kept his hand extended out, perhaps anticipating that one would finally come to him. It delighted me to watch my children as they laughed and reveled in this magical moment. Trying to catch a firefly is no easy task, they learned. They had to anticipate where it was going to reappear, and be ready to clasp it. As they jumped and bolted towards the blinking lights, I breathed the whimsy and merriment in deeply, like highly oxygenated air - so pure and necessary and cleansing.

Harvest is in full swing, and Eric is working long days out in the golden fields. I take dinner out to him in the evenings, so the boys can see him for a bit each day, but this particular season is so draining on both of us as parents and spouses - time is so limited with each other. I find myself in "high speed Super Mario" mode from the moment I pick up the boys from school. Unload book bags. Snack. Homework. Cook dinner. Pack up dinner. Bring dinner out to Eric. Eat dinner. Get home 30 minutes later than planned (because, of course, tractor rides too). Rush through bath time, story time, prayers, lights ou- oops, forgot to go over Bible verse memorization - run through that real quick, then lights out. Clean up messy kitchen. Throw the wet clothes that have been marinating in the washing machine for seven hours into the dryer. Realize all the phone calls I forgot to make and texts I forgot to return. 9:30 pm. Tomorrow, then... Whew.

I was recalling our firefly adventure the other day and my heart yearned for that moment again. I crave those precious little blips of time, where nothing else exists but the present moment and the joy that is overflowing from it. Every year this season gets the best of me. The heightened responsibility that I place on myself as a wife and mother takes a toll on me by the third or fourth week of harvest. I'm determined that this time around, it will be different. I'm teaching myself how to savor - time, moments, opportunities. I'm learning that there is, in fact, a pause button on life. I have the remote in my hand and I absolutely have the authority to push that pause button. I'm exercising it liberally.

Last week, on a Tuesday afternoon, the boys were settling down with their post school snack. The house was unusually dark and dreary. Jack came to me and said, "Mom, it looks dark outside. I hope it rains. Can we pray for it to rain?" We long for the rain during harvest season for one reason - the rain brings Daddy home. We stood in the kitchen and Jack asked Jesus for the rain to come. It rained a short time after that, and within the hour, Daddy was home for the night. It certainly was somber outside, but inside the walls of our little house, a different story was unfolding.

Dinner was underway. I was trying out a new chicken and dumplings recipe. My hands were covered in flour as I rolled out the dough on the counter. Eric opened a bottle of red table wine we had been saving since our trip to Door County. I dusted my glass with floury fingerprints as we made a toast - to a rainy night in. Sammy was munching on some shredded chicken as he sat in his high chair in the center of the kitchen, in the middle of Eric and I as we danced our favorite dance - the one where we cook together. I cut the dumplings on one counter as he sliced open the spaghetti squash on another, then we high fived and exchanged knives as we switched spots. The Kitchen Waltz warms me from the inside out - not only because I am moving in rhythm with my favorite person, but that beautiful dance feeds the souls and tummies of the ones we both love the most.

The dancing was even more fun because of the stellar playlist I had created for the evening. I put "the classics" on... you know, the songs that were on the radio at the time you were falling in love, the genius arrangements and lyrics that moved you to tears in admiration and adoration as you looked into the eyes of your future spouse and knew without a doubt that the person you were going to spend the rest of your life with was staring back at you. I asked my mom what her and my dad's classic songs were - Elvis's Can't Help Falling in Love and anything by the Moody Blues were at the top of their list. Eric and I were singing and grooving in the kitchen that night to "The Story of Us" CD I had made for him back in college. Jack walked in at one point and asked, "What are you guys listening to?" My response was, "Why Jack, these are the classics! This is what Daddy and I listened to when we were falling in love. This is Nelly, kiddo."  Outkast, Fat Joe, Weezer and some remake of Bryan Adam's song Heaven spiced up the love story that was rewriting itself in our kitchen that night. The boys were dancing around, Sammy was head banging in his high chair - what he does when he really gets into a song, and at one point, Jack grabbed his drum sticks and started tapping on the counter in time with the beats. In the middle of the chopping and dicing, Gabe grabbed an envelope from his book bag and handed it to me. Eric and I put down the knives and opened it, reading out loud the beautiful words in the progress report of his first two months in kindergarten. In that moment, I could see them everywhere - the fireflies. They were hovering over the pot of chicken and dumplings, swarming around the children and their dancing, darting between Eric and I as we savored every second in the kitchen that night. Fireflies - the moments in our lives that make our very existence burst with light, excited and engaging and present.

That night was fuel for me. I was able to slow down, pause, and see what was happening around me. And it was beautiful. In the last week, I have been able to slow down enough to witness some precious moments with the boys. The kiddos and I decided to go on a walk after dinner one evening. The sun hung low in the sky, a brilliant display of oranges and pinks and yellows swirling in and around the clouds that stretched over the road before us. I was pulling Sam in a little red wagon behind me. He leaned far over the side of the wagon, grabbing at the wheels as they turned, running his fingers over the spinning tires. Jack was leading the way for us on his scooter. Gabe stuck by me, holding my hand, keeping an eye out for bears and coyotes. We spotted a few shadows that we were extra cautious of, you know, just in case something big leapt out and tried to chase us. And as we imagined and dreamed and pretended... fireflies.

Gabe had a soccer game recently where he scored his first goal of the season. It is one of the most precious and sweetest things to see him score a goal and immediately after the ball rolls into the net he looks at me and gives me a thumbs up. His actions speak, "Did you see that, Mom? Did you see me? Did you see what I did?" His team also happened to win for the first time that night, by ten goals. It was a big confident boost for the players, so we talked about it quite a bit that night after we got home. As I was tucking the boys into bed, smoothing the sheets, applying peppermint and lavender oils to their little feet and kissing their foreheads, Gabe says, "Mom, we are on the winning team." "Yes, I know! You guys played a great game today, buddy!" I replied. "No Mom, I'm not talking about soccer. There is a good guy and a bad guy, and you know what team we are on," he replied matter of factly, with squinty eyes and a closed mouth grin. Bed time in the Heaton house happens to be the instance where most of our deep, philosophical and religious conversations take place. Usually, I am so ready to grab a book and put my feet up to wind down, but I stayed put and soaked up my sweet 5 year old's encouraging and life-giving words. "Yes. Yes, we are, buddy."

Fireflies.

I could kick myself for all the moments that I've missed, due to busyness or agendas or tunnel vision, but that serves me no point. What I am learning is that the fireflies are everywhere, and I can choose to slow down enough to participate in the magic they bring. Sammy had his first ride on the combine with Daddy over the weekend. He pressed his wet nose against the dusty glass window and watched the corn pour out of the auger like a waterfall into the wagons. His eyes darted around, intently viewing the corn stalks being swept up into the combine, and then grabbing at every button and lever within arms reach. Gabe repeatedly honked the horn, attempting to alarm any sleeping animals of impending doom. I've learned that the same season, lived over and over, can be experienced so differently if I choose to participate with a view through a different lens. Instead of embracing Super Mario Mom, I'm pulling the wheels off my skates that enable me to go go go, and simply just slowing down. These days we are plastering ourselves in mud and playing with our food. And I am so very incredibly thankful.

These bursts of light that bring me life and energy and joy are heavenly gifts from above. I wonder, what do such moments look like to God? I have this cliché image of Him, in my limited capacity brain, sitting on a golden throne in elegant, white robes, looking down on me and these precious moments. Does He see the fireflies? Do our lives with all of their priceless encounters appear to him as the bean field appeared to me that night? What if I miss out on a golden opportunity to experience something unique and special with one of my children - is that like a firefly that doesn't light up? What if the only heavenly light they reveal comes through thankfulness of such a moment? Am I thankful, in all things? The new lens through which I am choosing to see is that of thankfulness. If my day is governed by recognizing that which God supplies - not what I demand - I am so much more grounded. Content. And full.

Reclaimed

For the past 8 or so years, Eric and I have been staring at the same set of house plans. Our someday dream home that glows and twinkles in our daydreams, like a mirage in a desert, is merely a drawing on paper that we long for in reality. We've met with kitchen designers and looked at alluring gas fireplaces and received bids on window arrangements and stone to wrap the timber pillars around the outside of the house. We've met with an architect and finalized layouts, beam lengths and how many switches we want on the wall when we enter a room. I've even purchased a few things - like a charming, rustic wine barrel rim chandelier and frosted glass pendants to hang above the countertops. I've convinced Eric that its better to start buying all the things now, because if we wait until the moment when we are ready to install such things, we won't have any money left to buy them. This makes perfect sense to me.

I have even conceded to the thought that I don't have to have everything from Pottery Barn. I don't need the fanciest or the shiniest, the fluffiest or the newest of everything. Since I have moved to this quaint little farm town, I have been teaching myself to love old things, because, honestly, there aren't too many new things here to behold. Many of my dear friends enjoy hitting up the flea markets and antique malls which run rampant here in the same way Starbucks dominates Chicago city streets. At first, I didn't see the draw. Why buy something old, when, for a hundred dollars more you could have it new and bruise-free AND delivered right to your front door in two to three business days? Finding the beauty in old things has become a treasure to me - like discovering a part of myself over and over again, parts of me that I thought I had lost or had forgotten about. The history and stories that come with items that lived their shiniest moments in the past are beautiful if not for any other reason than the fact that they survived. They lasted. And now they are being reclaimed and layered with new stories that increase their richness and value.

Eric has been ripping oak planks and timbers out of an old family barn, with the intention of using the wood to build our house. He has been scouring the local salvage yards and acquired timbers that provided structural support for hundred year old barns. We have quite the collection of beams, hewn with chiseled edges, weathered and worn, nails protruding from the strong, earthy wood. They are discolored, smell of must and time, and display age with splits and cracks. I have no doubt in my mind, though, that these planks will transform into beautiful hardwood floors. They will be sturdy shelves in my pantry and provide a rustic elegance stacked against the wall to which my bed will border. Making old things new is the name of the game. To find the treasures hidden around us and breathe new life into something that is willing and able to receive it. To reclaim what was lost and turn it into something full of vitality and purpose.

I recently visited Eric at the barn, to get a glimpse of the treasures he was unearthing. As I ran my hand over the ancient, rustic timbers, I thought about a recent season in my life when God was reclaiming me, recovering me from the ashes of a mess I created. Back in February, I had felt a stirring, deep within the depths of my soul. God was calling me out of the depression that had crippled me for months after Sammy's birth. I longed to find myself again, to remember who I was in Him, my identity as a woman after God's own heart - one with a burning desire to create beauty, but just couldn't find the time to do so. I longed for Him to make me new again.

Around the same time as this stirring began, I was offered a job as an art teacher at my childrens' school. Of course it was a sign of an answered prayer, right? Here I was, struggling day to day because I had no time for myself, aching to sit with a pen in hand and pour my heart out on paper, or splay watercolors across a blank canvas. Art teacher seemed like the cure for my pained longing, like a dose of doing something meaningful and profound for my children and the children of my dearest friends would halt the tension that was building inside of me. I pursued the opportunity with fervor and immediacy and felt anxiety with every step that took me closer to the start of the new school year. Eventually, I couldn't take another step. I knew deep down in the most tender parts of my identity that I could have been an excellent art teacher. I would have had so much fun with those precious kids and would have savored every minute of it. But my prayer all along had been for God to make me new again. I wasn't praying for new things. I deeply needed him to transform me.

I needed to be reclaimed.

This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord:  “Go down to the potter’s house, and there I will give you my message.” So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him. Then the word of the Lord came to me. He said, “Can I not do with you, Israel, as this potter does?” declares the Lord. “Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, Israel.
Jeremiah 18:1-6

God takes each of us - marred and lumpy and useless as we are, and persistently molds and remolds and remolds us. And He doesn't just reshape us into some haphazard sculpture project - He's not aiming for a B+ in His ceramics class. No, He is a Creator of beautiful things, things that take shape and grow wings and fly. He takes what is old and makes it new, every day, day after day. With every rebirth, every renewal, every time we are lifted from the ashes of a hot pruning fire that burns away all the impurities and disease that plagues our souls, we are reclaimed in His name.

Sometimes, a new job or a fresh opportunity is part of the transformation. But as God spoke tenderly to my heart, I realized He was reminding me that I had everything I needed to thrive, already inside of me. He lovingly nudged me to check the back door to my deepest longings and desires. He had left it open for me... even though I thought it had been slammed shut. When I finally turned down the teaching job, a deep sense of peace washed over me, cleansing me of anxiety and fear. What sprouted in its place was self discovery. I began to yearn for remembrance of the shiny stories of my past, the history that created me. Newness is enticing. But sometimes, old is the way to go, and that is because I have value. I have value not because of what I can be but because of who I already am.

The rustic timbers dusted with rich history and destined for the pitter-pat of little feet lasted all of these years in a dilapidated old barn. They survived the groaning earth that settled and moved. They weathered the storms that blew shingles off the roof and siding off the barn. I lasted too, through the storms and self-made oppression. And the old parts of me are being made new again - parts that have been reclaimed in His Name.

I'm learning to keep my eye on my back door... it seems to be the one God is using more frequently these days.

Letter To My 25 Year Old Self

I have been spending some time lately, in retrospective thought. Not dwelling on the things of the past, rather, but focusing on how I have grown and changed. What is incredible to me, is how almost ALL of my dreams and goals have changed over the course of ten years. I am still the same woman, with the same longings, fears and passions... but my eyes see the course of my life so differently now (and not just because I require a stronger prescription contact lens.) I am continually on a journey of self-discovery, pruning, refining and bearing fruit - trudging through harsh winters, staggering across dry deserts, and rolling in colorful flower beds of summer. Life has brought twists and turns that in turn have brought marvelous changes and challenges. I would not alter a single part of it, but I do wish I would have tackled these past years with more grace, compassion, and objectivity. Oh, the things I wish I could go back and tell myself ten years ago...


Dear 25 Year Old Self,

I see you sitting on your back porch, the late morning sun warming your legs as you sip your white chocolate mocha, with open, blank pages before you. It's almost time for you to head into work, to a job you love - and a job that loves you. You are growing every day, in your love for the Lord, in your desire for your husband, and in spiritual maturity that is drawing you into the woman God designed you to be. Be affirmed, that the obstacles and frustrations you face today are simply shaping you into a woman with an important story. God has designed you to be a storyteller, and every situation you encounter will add depth and richness to your life story. Don't be afraid of anything. You will survive it - all of it, and come out on top of it all, stronger and better for it.

You have a couple of challenging years of marriage under your belt. I know you are discovering new things about yourself as you grow in unity with this man. He makes you feel alive and wanted and desired, all things you crave. I also know that you struggle at times, wondering if you married the right one. Marriage is a delicate, intricate dance requiring the fancy footwork of communication and forgiveness and grace. Your husband loves you so much, though he doesn't always show it in the way you want to see it. He may not, either. But he loves you so much. Be tender towards him. He tries so hard to give you everything you want and more. He longs to make your dreams come true. He wants to be your hero. Let him. There will be plenty of times where you won't agree on the method or manner in which something happens, but please remember - you both want the same thing. Take a time out in the midst of the struggle, whenever it presents itself, and remember that the journey is just as important as the destination. Love each other through it all. The Lord has some incredible blessings in store for you... three of which have blonde hair, blue eyes, and smiles that will melt your heart. And for the love, if you ever feel so inclined to chuck a glass plate and an English muffin at your husband, just don't, k? You would be totally justified. But just don't.

I challenge you to think about how you spend your time. Your house is spotless. Your movies are in alphabetical order. Your underwear drawer is a splendid rainbow of lace and silk, all neatly tucked in place. Enjoy the order and cleanliness now (and thongs - they are a PRIVILEGE). You will not always have the luxury of indulging your Type A personality forever. Don't let the brownie crumbs smeared into the soft, new carpet from the tenth grade girls sleep over the other night bother you. Trust me, teenage girls got nothing on your future. Get used to messes. In fact, make some messes of your own. At least you can control them. It might be liberating for you. And watch a little less TV. In fact, don't bother with Grey's Anatomy. You will love the show and then years into it when you feel like your very existence is entangled in the fate of the characters you mirror, the Dreamiest main character dies and makes you feel like hours and hours of your life - equipped with tears and heartache - were completely wasted. You've been warned. Instead, read more. Reading is something you will struggle to find time for someday, and you will wish for it desperately. Reading inspires and challenges you. Read as often as you can.

I know your heart aches for sincere friendship. Its been a struggle for you, to find girls who also crave what you do - authentic intimacy. Not everyone is an open book like you are. Don't be discouraged. Invest your best self into every relationship that falls upon the pages of your story. Don't push or pull. Don't make something into what its not meant to be. Just allow yourself the freedom to breathe and trust that God has very special people in place to dramatically enter your life right on cue. Like a catchy tune you hear for the first time and can't get out of your head, or a new flavor of ice cream you decidedly can't live without, so will be your future friends...  ever-present, comforting, and full of rich, deep flavor. Your friends will season your life with the best of ingredients - like an aged balsamic or a smoky Mediterranean sea salt - they will be there for every joy and every heart ache, covering you in prayer, basting you in warmth and grace, smothering you in hugs and kisses, and sprinkling humor and laughter into your wide open gaping soul that more than welcomes such things. Be patient. These friends will become the sisters you never had.

Now about the Starbucks... and the Anthropologie and the J.Crew... and the P.F.Chang's... and the Maggie Moo's. I know they make you happy and that you enjoy spending your hard earned dollars at each of these establishments BUT it really isn't happiness that they bring you. They are merely a scratch to an itch. You love playing dress up, and you always will. But there will come a time when your husband will feel called to leave ALL THE THINGS behind. And it will feel hard to do. Leaving all the things behind is never fun, and rather, unsettling. But it is so worth it, because ALL THE NEW THINGS will be waiting for you in some other place, a better place that will bring you more joy doing what you never dreamed of doing. Practice the discipline of letting go of comfort as you now know it. You will find comfort in the most unexpected places someday... in the most simple, humble settings void of bells and whistles and scarves and crab rangoons. There are going to be some big things God is going to ask of you, and it would be so awesome if you anticipated that and began saving your pennies now.

You are wonderful at your job. You love the teenage girls you have the blessing and honor of ministering to every day. Some of these girls will become life long friends. You will attend their weddings and watch them become beautiful mothers. You will cheer them on as they head to other countries, ministering to others and living out adventures you always knew they were capable of living. Sharing your life story with these young women is so vitally important. I know you often feel misunderstood by others that you work with. Always remember this - God knows your heart. He alone calls you to the ministry He has set apart for you. And ONLY YOU can carry out your calling. Press into Him when you feel discouraged or alone. He will place you exactly where you need to be. He will also shift your ministry calling. Be aware of how He leads you, don't fight it. What is on the other side is exciting and shouldn't be feared or dreaded. It is a miracle at all that our God would have us do anything for His sake, broken and weary as we are. When He calls, always answer Him. Always walk with your head up high as you step out in faith into the unknown. Feeling uncomfortable will actually become something you crave. Change helps you thrive and grow. Embrace it. And expect God to call you out into deep waters. Because He will.

Its almost time for you to leave for work. I see you scribbling a few final thoughts on paper as you take your last sip of cold, chocolatey coffee. You are so diligent about journaling, and that is so necessary and good. This is a sacred time for you to pursue every morning as you start your day. You enjoy listening to the cardinals sing as they flit past you. The music of the birds, the rustling of the oak leaves as the wind awakens the tall trees, and the smell of the roses you planted with dreams of them overtaking your southern garden - inspire you to write. Never give up that desire to write... to create. God designed you with a gift, and life will get busy and there will come a time when writing will take the back seat - if you let it. If you stop writing, you will lose a sense of who you are. Your voice may be quiet, but it is strong, and God gave you something to say. So, say it. Say it with fervor, with passion, with desperation and intensity. Don't ever put your pen down. When God ignites your heart on fire and you feel scared because what you have to say may not be received well by many - write. It is your calling, and always will be. That daydream you had when you were a little girl... to write a book and be published... that dream can become more than a dream if you respond to the gentle nudges of your Creator, who inspires you and longs to draw you into the color-rich mosaic He has painted around you. Read as many books as you can and write as often as you are able. Always keep time set aside to read and write, it is essential to who you are and will enable you to become all of who you were meant to be.

As you head out the door, in your cute new yellow leather flats from J.Crew, keep this in mind - those beautiful feet will take you places you never imagined. But the reward will only come when you are walking on the path He has set before you. Those feet won't make it on their own. You think you are immune to the depression that has infused itself into beloved members of your family, but you are wrong. One day it will catch you, tangling you up into a net of despair and loneliness, if you are not alert. Keep your feet firmly planted on the path marked out for you. Step into His footprints if you are losing your way or life seems to grow dark. Stay rooted in His Word. Don't wait for the next Bible study to start. Leave the pages of the greatest love story open at all times. Allow His story to become imbedded in yours. It is the way to the fullest life.

And those yellow shoes will always be your favorite, so take good care of them. Don't wear them out in the rain.

With Love,
Me