About

twenty-seven years old – and life is crazy. My husband and I celebrated our 7 year anniversary this July – a couple weeks after our third child turned three!

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The years have been hard.

And I have been desperate.

And the joy in the every day has passed by my blind eyes- unnoticed, unappreciated, unnamed.

My heart has wrestled with depression- and in that I have become an expert in the hard list naming: those lists of trials, sufferings, and wrongdoings. But not in the hard eucharisteos. Not even in eucharisteo. Those I have rejected and refused and turned my face and closed my heart to.

And by grace I have found myself here.

Wife of my best friend from 10th grade. Mother of a boy who turned six in February, a girl who turns five this fall, and a “baby” boy, three, who is just as big as sister and only slightly smaller than big brother…(like I said, life’s crazy… And there’s a good chance we are too)..

And I am discovering eucharisteo. still.

It’s hard a lot of the time- most of the time- here, in the midst of all my wondrous crazy…

And yet…

it is becoming increasingly.

exceedingly.

desperately.

good.

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And I am beginning to understand this feeling like a hunter…

“A hunter trying to capture. And none of the shots are close enough, wide enough, radiant enough for the hunter. What is this that I feel sitting here, coursing through me relentless, hot, ardent? I have to seek God beauty. Because isn’t my internal circuitry wired to seek out something worthy of worship? Every moment I live, I live bowed to something. And if I don’t see God, I’ll bow down before something else…

I am starting to understand how much I truly want to see…

“How I want to see the weight of glory break my thick scales, the weight of glory smash the chains of desperate materialism, split the numbing shell of deadening entertainment, bust up the ice of catatonic hearts. I want to see God, who pulls on the coat of my skin and doesn’t leave me alone in this withering body of mortality; I want to see God, who gives gifts in hospitals and gravesides and homeless shelters and refugee camps and in rain falling on sunflowers and stars falling over hayfields and silver scales glinting upriver and sewage flowing downriver. Eucharisteo is everywhere and I want to see eucharisteo everywhere and I want to remember how badly I really want to see…

And this journal of sorts is my recordings of the practice of paying attention…

“I pay tribute to God by paying attention. I raise one hand high. And another hand high. I bow the head down. I lay the body down. ‘The life of true holiness is rooted in the soil of awed adoration. It does not grow elsewhere,’ writes J.I. Packer. I am bowed like wheat, raised like grass blades, grounded and rooted to now, and from Him and through Him and to Him are all things and all is His and everything that has breath praises Him and I whisper it again, again, again, remembering, remembering, remembering. 

“Eucharisteo, eucharisteo, eucharisteo.”

 quotes: One Thousand Gifts p110-111

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