Because everyone loves a good story
Rolling Stones: The Little House Series
When I first began reading the Little House series, I didn’t expect much from it. I’m all for great kids’ books, as you know, but I wouldn’t say I get hooked on them very often. Harry Potter and the Anne of Green Gables series are a few notable exceptions, but I had low expectations for a main character who was neither magical nor impishly precocious.
That’s why I was surprised to find myself staying up late to read just a few more pages. I needed to see what happened to Laura’s doll, how their crops turned out, and whether they’d had a nice Christmas. In short, I was hooked.
Mysteriously Addicting
What is it about this old-timey autobiography that kept me reading all nine books? (That’s right…NINE books. That’s 2,784 pages.) Was it the straightforward writing style laced with vivid imagery? The nostalgic feeling of the Old West era? The description of everyday tasks that we’ve completely lost the ability to perform? The swiftly-moving timeline from Laura’s childhood to her marriage?
Well, yes. It’s all that, and yet the series is more than the sum of its parts. It would have to be. When you can summarize nine books with the sentence, “A family moves a lot, and life is exciting but hard,” there must be more to the series than meets the eye.
A Preview and a Warning
To me, the books were both inspiring and frustrating. I was inspired by the family’s character qualities, expectations, and work ethic, but I was frustrated by their isolation and motivation. I plan to wax eloquent on these topics in the next two posts, but let’s start with a super-brief overview of the books.
By the way, if you’ve been meaning to read the books, you may want to tackle them now to avoid my “spoilers.” (Although does it really qualify as a spoiler if the books have been available for 90 years and you still haven’t read them? Just asking…) If you never plan to read them, no problem. These posts will still have something to offer you. Read on, my friend.
A Peek into Each Book
Little House in the Big Woods (published 1932)
Set in the early 1870’s, the first book of the series begins with the Ingalls family living in the woods of Wisconsin near extended family. Some of Laura’s best memories come from time spent there with grandparents and cousins. The book is basically a description of everyday living back then, but it’s fascinating because we’ve lost nearly all of those skills less than a century later.
Little House on the Prairie (published 1935)
In 1874, Pa Ingalls decides to move his family to Kansas so they can start a homestead. They have no family and virtually no neighbors except one bachelor over yonder. Building a house and making a living is hard, and then they all get malaria and nearly die. To top it all off, they hear that the Army is coming to evict everyone in the area because, legally, it’s still Indian territory. They pack their wagon and leave their painstakingly-built house behind.
Farmer Boy (published 1933)
Set in 1860’s upstate New York, this book follows the daily chores and capers of Almanzo Wilder, the boy who grew to be Laura’s husband. The Wilder family is settled and successful, but it’s incredible to see how much work goes into maintaining their farm. Also, I can’t believe how much food that boy consumed—the descriptions of his snacks and meals will have your stomach rumbling.
On the Banks of Plum Creek (published 1937)
In 1875 the Ingalls family moves from Kansas to Minnesota near a small town. Laura and her sister Mary go to a real school for the first time and are right on track academically, thanks to Ma. The family lives in a dugout while Pa builds a real house, planning to pay for the supplies with the profit from his crops. Sadly, grasshoppers consume every piece of foliage in the vicinity, bury eggs to ensure next year’s destruction, and fly off. There goes the profit and the farm.
By the Shores of Silver Lake (published 1939)
Most of the Ingalls get scarlet fever, and Mary is left permanently blind from the infection. In 1879, Pa decides to move them to South Dakota so he can work in a railroad camp while looking for a new homestead in the area. Laura is fascinated by the ingenious construction of the railroad, and Pa eventually lays claim to the perfect plot of land.
The Long Winter (published 1940)
The winter of 1880 was a doozy. The Ingalls family abandons their “claim shanty” for the season, staying in Pa’s storefront in the nearby town instead. The girls go to school until the blizzards become constant. Then they, like everyone else, stay home and try to survive seven months of arctic weather. Almanzo Wilder, who also lives in town, risks his life to buy wheat for the starving residents. Even so, the Ingalls nearly freeze and starve and go nuts, but they manage to survive until spring comes in May.
Little Town on the Prairie (published 1941)
After that winter, Mary moves to a college for the blind in Iowa. Unfortunately, the crops that would have paid for her tuition are eaten by a plague of blackbirds. Laura feels pressure to study hard and become a teacher to help pay for Mary’s college. She’s pretty stir crazy until the town starts a monthly literary society. Almanzo Wilder also starts escorting her home from events, although Laura seems oblivious of his motives. Finally, she earns her teaching certificate and gets her first job lined up.
These Happy Golden Years (published 1943)
The book begins in 1882 as Laura leaves home for her first teaching job twelve miles from home. It’s a miserable situation, but she endures until the end of the term. Almanzo drives his sleigh to pick her up every Friday so she can spend the weekend at home. They continue to court for a while, and then he pops the question and she demurely agrees. When he finishes building their new house, the couple gets married and moves in.
The First Four Years (published 1971)
Laura Ingalls Wilder didn’t actually publish this book. After her death, a collection of notes was found and published, but maybe it shouldn’t have been; it’s a dismal end to a lovely series. Tragedy follows tragedy—lost crops, the death of a baby, diphtheria, drought, debt, deadly tornadoes, house fire, and the list goes on. Honestly, I might have skipped this one if I’d known. The Wilders did end up moving to Missouri later on and making a successful living, but that’s not included in this book.
See for Yourself
See what I mean? “A family moves a lot, and life is exciting but hard.” It’s not the what of the books that draws you in; it’s the how. Even though I outlined the plot skeletons, the soul of the books is much richer. Next time I’ll share a few things that really impressed me about the Ingalls’ lifestyle, but you can form your own opinion before then. They’re quick reads, so if you’re interested, check out the books or audiobooks. I think you’ll find it’s time well spent. It’s certainly more worthwhile than growing crops for grasshoppers or blackbirds. Until next time, friends!
Calvin and Hobbes: Imagination, Exploration, Investigation
“Mom, why is God invisible? When we die, do we go right to Egypt where God lives? I’m a robot t-rex, but I’m pretty friendly. Do you wanna race me? OnYourMarkGetSetGo!”
Just a day in the life of my son. Really, he has more in common with Calvin than I’m comfortable with.
I’m finding out that little boys are made of pure energy, and their energy blasts like a juggernaut in whichever direction their attention is focused at the moment. You can’t keep up with them, and you certainly can’t leave them alone. Then, out of nowhere, they can hit you with a question you’re scrambling to answer. By dinnertime, the question you want answered is, “How long until bedtime?”
No wonder Calvin’s mom always looked haggard.
Imagination, exploration, and investigation—three cardinal pillars of childhood, and three major themes of Calvin’s childhood. Check it out to see if you can relate.
Imagination Run Wild
When it comes to active imaginations, Calvin’s takes the cake; this kid can’t keep his mind on reality for more than a frame or two at a time. And we wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s a dinosaur, he’s two-dimensional, he’s smaller than a bug, his hallway rug is a flying carpet, a cardboard box is a scientific machine, his front yard is a canvas for macabre snowscapes. Seeing inside Calvin’s mind is like getting a sneak peek into the brain of any little boy. It’s crazy, cluttered, creative, and hilarious.
His imagination also brings us some of our favorite characters: the gritty Private Eye, the heroic Stupendous Man, and especially the intrepid Spaceman Spiff. Calvin and Hobbes wouldn’t be the same without these alter egos. With a wink and a nod at classic comic books, these strips are a mixture of satire and homage.
And, as I mentioned last time, the detail of Bill Watterson’s illustrations is always light years ahead when Calvin is pretending. His classroom is a boring compilation of desks and blackboards. His house offers the standard sofas, tables, and beds. His imagination, however, presents a fully-detailed prehistoric panorama. The surface of an alien planet is a vivid expanse. The animals Calvin sees in his mind are way more realistic than his own parents. And isn’t that how it feels when you’re six? Hats off to Watterson for capturing the visual aspect of Calvin’s imagination.
The Great Outdoors
To explore or to loaf—that is the question.
Another way in which Calvin depicts a normal, modern kid is his relationship with both nature and TV. To hear him talk, you’d think Calvin would be content to sit in front of his bulky old television watching pointless re-runs all day. He knows it’s drivel. He’s disappointed with the quality and content. His good buddy Hobbes points out the many shortcomings of that mindless entertainment. But given the chance, Calvin would park his little booty in front of the screen and consume endless hours of shows and endless bowls of Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs.
In this, I think he’s like most kids. Easy entertainment is just that—easy.
But the good news is that Calvin’s parents love him too much to let his brain turn to oatmeal. His mom kicks him out the front door—often literally—and out into the fresh air. Summer, winter, spring, and fall, Calvin is catapulted out into nature. And you know what? Once he’s out there, he (usually) loves it.
Some of my favorite Calvin scenes happen when he’s outside playing with Hobbes. Watterson remembers just what childhood is like outside. It’s full of puddles and bugs, snowballs and sand boxes, tree forts and forests. Calvin and Hobbes are always careening down some treacherous hill or other, clinging for dear life to a wagon or a sled. Inevitably, the bottom greets them with brambles, brooks, or boulders. But does that stop them from doing it again the next day? Of course not. And that’s childhood—contemplating the meaning of life on the way down but coming away with bruises instead of wisdom.
Ethics, Theology, and More
Which brings me to the final pillar of childhood—investigation. It may seem like Calvin’s head is full of dinosaurs, comic books, and mischief, but there’s a deeper side to him as well. And nothing brings metaphysical questions to the forefront like Christmas. How good does one have to be to merit Santa’s favor? And what is “good,” for that matter? Is good what you do, or is it who you are? Is it actions or intentions? When a litany of of gift ideas is at stake, even Calvin is willing to wrestle with Christmastime ethics.
But, as Calvin admits in one strip, he has the same questions about Santa as he has about God. Why all the secrecy and mystery? What’s the point of everything if he doesn’t exist? As adults, we’ve probably had time to consider conflicting worldviews, but it’s all new to kids. Ergo, the mind-bending theological conversations I have in the van with my three year old.
Kids see the world objectively. Anything is possible to them, but they want to know why. Things we take for granted or gloss over, kids want to examine and dissect. Calvin is no different. In the end, he often settles for the consolation of friendship. When nothing else makes sense, a big hug from Hobbes puts life back in perspective.
It sure isn’t the whole truth, but I can think of worse ways to live.
Thanks for the Memories
I have loads of respect for Bill Watterson. Unlike many cartoonists, he stopped writing the strip before he’d beaten the idea into the ground. And also unlike many cartoonists, he refused to license his characters for merchandise or film. He felt that it would be selling out for profit. Instead, he kept his characters where they belonged—in their own wonderful, imaginative world where they live on, reminding us of the magic, misery, and mystery of childhood.
Thank you, Bill Watterson. And thanks, Calvin and Hobbes.
Calvin and Hobbes: Childhood in Four Frames
Today I shall embark on a deeply academic subject—one so universal that you’ve no doubt given it much thought. It’s so complex that a professor could spend decades dwelling on it, and yet it’s so simple that a child can comprehend it perfectly. It’s primal, sophisticated, imaginative, scientific, and nostalgic. I’m writing, of course, about Calvin and Hobbes.
Fun for All Ages
My husband and I love Calvin and Hobbes. I’ve always kept a couple of the books in my bathroom in case anyone needs a little, er, inspiration. (Is that T.M.I.?) But guess who needs daily inspiration now? My three-year-old son. He requests Calvin every time he’s on the potty. Sure, some of the vocabulary is over his head (intrepid, noxious, gelatinous…that Spaceman Spiff is pretty erudite), but he can still track with the stories just fine.
A little too well, actually. We got him a fuzzy Calvin blanket for Christmas, along with a few more comic books. The blanket shows Calvin and Hobbes pretending, playing, and exploring around a big tree. It’s beautiful. Later I asked my son if he liked the picture on the blanket, and he said, “No, not really. I like Calvin better when he’s being naughty.” Figures.
The Stuff of Childhood
So what makes Calvin and Hobbes one of the most beloved, timeless comic strips? In my opinion, it’s because Bill Watterson’s work captures the essence of childhood a way that everyone can relate to. To begin with, the illustrations are genius. The drawings perfectly depict Calvin’s facial expressions and action shots. Always goofing off, always on the move—a true boy. The illustration style also highlights his daydreams. What Calvin sees in the “real” world is basic compared with the elaborate detail of his imagination.
The content is classic, too. Calvin’s best friend is a stuffed animal, and the girl next door has cooties. He detests his mom’s home cooking and prefers “Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bomb Cereal” with extra sugar on top. He looks forward to Christmas and dreads the start of school. He’s a terror to the babysitter and a mess at home. Basically, he’s a normal, healthy kid.
Trouble at School
Everyone who’s been to school can relate to Calvin’s first-grade experience. You remember the way that time drags on during lectures or the sheer panic that hits you when the teacher calls you out of a daydream. You’re more apt to imagine your desk is a dinosaur than to pass your math quiz. And why did everyone else’s lunch seem so much better than the stuff in your own paper sack?
The school scene is also full of childhood archetypes: long classes, short recesses, lost homework, the harried teacher, the grim principal, and the bully with an overactive pituitary gland. No wonder Calvin disguises himself as Stupendous Man and makes a break for it. Hey, it was worth a shot.
Trouble at Home
Things at home usually aren’t much better for our little red-clad friend. His sadistic mom makes him do homework, play outside, and take baths. She won’t let him eat endless cookies, borrow chainsaws, drive cars, or do anything else remotely interesting. Calvin’s dad is always out to “build Calvin’s character,” which usually amounts to tedious chores or family camping trips gone wrong.
So clearly Calvin’s parents aren’t much comfort. The only friend who understands Calvin is a dangerous but lovable tiger, and even he causes trouble more often than not. Calvin can’t seem to catch a break. Any six-year-old can surely relate, and any sixty-six year old isn’t likely to have forgotten, either. Childhood is a grab bag of magic, misery, and everything in between, and few things capture that truth better than Calvin and Hobbes.
Universal Appeal
And that’s the beauty of Watterson’s comic. No matter who you are, where you were raised, or what’s changed since these comics came out in the mid 1980’s, you’ve got to chuckle at Calvin’s capers. And it’s even better because, while Calvin has to start school again every fall, it’s always first grade. The kid never ages! It’s like reading Peter Pan without the heart-wrenching ending. Really, it’s what we’ve always wanted—to look back on the imaginative parts of childhood with nostalgia and the difficult parts with insight. It’s with good reason that Yoda observes, “Truly wonderful the mind of a child is.” They can be miles deep in imaginative play one moment and then ask you the most baffling philosophical question the next. In this, Calvin is no exception. And that, my friends, is what we’ll be talking about in my next post. See you then!
Snapshots of Thankfulness
Since my wedding, I’ve been making photo books as a gift every Christmas. No, not scrap books with stickers and mementos and sentimental Band-Aids and such. Just online photo assembly that gets printed and shipped. But honestly, I’ve made several of each style, and I almost think the scrapbook is easier. Maybe my next job should be a consultant for how to make online photo book assembly more user-friendly. (My first suggestion: arrange the uploaded photos CHRONOLOGICALLY!)
But there’s one blessing about the hours and hours and hours of time spent poring over every picture from the past year: I get to remember. This year as I sifted through thousands of photos, I vividly remembered the emotions behind them, the stories going on in the background, and the miraculous things God has done.
A Rocky Start
If you tracked with Past Watchful Dragons through 2021, you know it was a doozy of a year for my family. I was expecting our second baby, and just before Christmas 2020 we found out that her stomach appeared abnormal in an ultrasound. Our midwife explained several possible causes, some less concerning and some more so. (Lots of happy memories that Christmas, but lots of fear in the background of each picture.)
We pursued follow up testing and learned that our little girl had a blockage that prevented her stomach from passing fluid. We wouldn’t be able to have a second home birth, our baby would need surgery, and she’d have to stay in the hospital for a while. (Pictures of us having fun with our clueless two-year-old son who wondered why I cry every time we talk about the baby in my tummy.)
The baby came early, and God gave us a safe and speedy delivery. We named her Evangeline Sparrow because we wanted her story to spread the good news of God’s love and care for even the smallest life. (Pictures of our fragile little Sparrow hooked up to all kinds of tubes and wires. Thankfulness, sadness, and fear behind my smiles in the hospital.)
A Long Recovery
God allowed for a successful surgery and a long recovery. We were told to expect as little as two weeks before we were discharged, but it ended up being two months. (Countless pictures of our tiny girl sleeping in our arms in hospital chairs. So many pictures that look the same but carry different connotations of the procedures or updates from that week. A couple of them still make me feel like hyperventilating.)
Meanwhile, our son was having a blast with friends and family who so willingly stepped in to play with him while we were visiting the NICU. We made the most of our time with him when we were home, and while he may have been confused about how little he saw us, I know he made great memories during those months. (Pictures of the three of us on a carousel or playing in the snow between hospital visits. Memories of my fear that we weren’t being good enough parents.)
A Joyous Homecoming
But the best time was when our sweet Eva finally came home. (Pictures of smiles that can’t capture the shock and relief that we were finally busting out of there.) What a sweet memory when she could finally come home to meet her brother and stay with us forever. In that moment with NICU behind us, we were an invincible, inseparable family. (Pictures of pure, untarnished, sleep-deprived joy.)
The months that followed were full of crazy stress as we navigated Eva’s medicine schedule, hospital checkups, and health concerns. Add to that Isaiah’s desire to get our attention by displaying that he inherited his mama’s strong will. (Pictures of Eva’s first smiles and Isaiah loving on his sister. Memories of how worn thin I was as I tried to keep them both alive all day. My standards were pretty low for a while there.) But we were together, and that’s what we’d been praying for.
A New Normal
Pictures of the passing weeks reminded me how thankful I was. I may have been stressed and tired, but I was so, so happy. We were able to drop Eva’s medications one at a time until the seemingly-endless rounds of pumping, feeding, medicines, washing, and repeating slowed down to a normal pattern of nursing. That was a monumental milestone.
And Isaiah learned how to be a big help and a big ham. That guy can always make us laugh with his insights, questions, and faces. He’s a precocious weirdo, and we have so much fun with him. Popsicles on the swing, walks to the playground, swimming in the pool, romping in the mud, trips to the orchard, eating snow—life with a toddler is a (tiring) blast.
This wasn’t how I expected 2021 to begin, but I am so thankful for the way it ended. I’m thankful for the countless ways that God showed His love to our family. And I’m thankful for pictures that remind me of the way small, daily graces trickle into an ocean of peace. It was a good year after all.
A New(ish) Identity
Yes, but isn’t this a literary blog? Do I plan to write about family as often as story? Has my identity shifted from scholar to mother? The short answer is, “Meh, kind of.” I’m finally in a place where I can read a bit in the evenings if the kids stay asleep, and that fills up the void in my brain where big thoughts used to live—thoughts that didn’t center around meal planning, dirty diapers, and mountains of laundry. I’ve polished off a decent stack of books in recent months, and I have some bookish posts in the works that I think you’ll really enjoy.
But the fact is, I’m a mom now, and mom stuff takes up a lot of my time. Sometimes I’ll probably write about that stuff, trusting that you’ll be patient with me in this season of life. After all, it’s the daily minutia that really make up our lives anyway. Hopefully you’ll find some of it relatable.
And on that note, I’ve got some daily minutia to take care of now, so I’d better wrap this up. I hope you can see God’s hand at work throughout your past year, too. If you have a hard time remembering the specifics, try making a photo book. Or, better yet, make a scrapbook, and don’t forget the sentimental Band-Aids. Happy New Year, my friends!
A Contrast of Classics: Story and Takeaway
What makes the plot of Pride and Prejudice more appealing than its Highbury counterpart? And what’s the difference between Emma and A Comedy of Errors? As you may have guessed, I have a theory about both. Read on to find out in this final installment of the series. (Woo-hoo!)
The Story of Pride and Prejudice
I first read Pride and Prejudice in high school. On my own. For fun. Yah, I was that kid—no TV and an overburdened bookshelf. But I’m glad I read the book before watching the movie because I got to savor the storyline. I’ve since watched and enjoyed a few movie versions, and as predictable as Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy’s union seems from my present vantage point, it’s still a lovely bit of work.
It has all the charm of a rags-to-riches tale without wallowing in the privations of the rags portion. The delight of seeing two stubborn people bend their wills to see life from a new perspective is satisfying, and their change is so gradual that it seem almost believable. The happy ending is unmitigated (although I wish more ill had befallen Wickham and Lydia). For those reasons and a great many more, I love the story of Pride and Prejudice.
The Story of Emma
I first read Emma in high school after finishing (and loving) Pride and Prejudice. Even then I could feel the difference. I squirmed as I read about the frivolous lives of the characters, with their matchmaking and dances and picnics and gossip. Yes, I know that Elizabeth Bennet’s life was comprised of much the same stuff, but as I mentioned last time, Emma lacks the consolation of a sensible heroine and so leaves me feeling adrift in a sea of misunderstandings.
When I had to study the book in college, I learned that Austen was often being satirical about her society and its values. That made me feel a little better, but it didn’t increase my enjoyment of the book. At that time, Jane Eyre was my jam, and Emma felt shallow by comparison.
But even now that I’m older and oh-so-much wiser, I still can’t say I enjoy the story of Emma. At least on the first perusal I was free to grit my teeth at the characters alone. Now that I know what’s going to happen, I also find myself exasperated at the blunders and misunderstandings. Instead of providing the usual humor of situational irony, it gives me situational anxiety instead. But someone must enjoy this style because movies abound with this same plot. It’s just not my cup of tea.
The Dialogue
The dialogue and writing style of Pride and Prejudice is golden. Little gems of wit glitter in every chapter. The first line alone is iconic: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a great fortune, must be in want of a wife.” But every chapter boasts enough humor and truth to fill all the literary quote coffee mugs you’d like. Well done, Ms. Austen.
I do admit that Emma has some quotable lines, but the writing style feels more stilted to me. Maybe it’s because it was such an early book for Austen and she was still discovering a more natural, flowing style. Whatever the case, many of the lines that seem mug-worthy feel a bit forced, like Austen was inserting a previously-crafted thought (here’s looking at you, Mr. Collins). But my real beef with the writing style of Emma is the magnitude of tedious dialogue. Inane conversations are written out word for word, question for question, page after page. The reader could have gotten a full picture of the situation in half as many words.
My Takeaway: Less Is More
Which leads me to my takeaway. As you know, both books are comedies. They end with weddings and are full of blunders and capers throughout. Shakespeare himself often used this formula to great success. But the major difference between my enjoyment of A Comedy of Errors and Emma is one simple factor: brevity. Sure, P&P can’t be read in an hour either, but it doesn’t feel as laborious to me because I get lost in the story. Emma, however, contains almost 40,000 words more than Pride and Prejudice, and I’m willing to bet that most of those were spoken by Miss Bates.
The manageable length of a Shakespeare play makes the misunderstandings humorous instead of claustrophobic. Had Austen turned Emma into a three-hour play, I could have borne it much better. That’s probably why the movie versions of Emma are much more enjoyable for me. The characters are still aggravating, but the brevity allows for laughter, knowing the pain will be over soon. In my humble opinion, the point of Emma could have been made just as effectively in half as many pages—in fact, the point would have been better served.
And yes, I fully realize this is the pot calling the kettle black. I am verbose in the extreme. Please accept my apologies.
Happily Ever After
Now I’ve said my piece. Heckle me if you’d like. In fact, if you’ve tracked with me through this brief mini-series, you’ve earned the right to heckle. Also, if you’ve stuck with me this long, I thank and congratulate you. I hope my musings have helped you clarify your own opinions about these books, even if they’re polar opposites of mine.
So, until next time, I hope you have a wonderful holiday season! Here is some sage advice from Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I hope you’ll be able to use it in 2022: “Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.” Merry Christmas and happy New Year, friends!
Oh, Taste and See
I don’t know about you, but I did plenty of tasting this Thanksgiving. In fact, I sort of used the whole week as a blanket excuse to taste. I know this is a problem that will catch up with me in the (not-so-distant) future, but this wasn’t the time to worry about it. Come to think of it, neither is the rest of this year.
It won’t surprise you to learn that I love food. I consider it to be a treat, a blessing, and means of celebration. And you know what? God designed it that way. Our gracious God, who could have made us photosynthetic, chose instead to put the first man and woman in a garden. He surrounded them with ripe, juicy fruit. He blessed them with an abundance of tastes and textures. And then he came down and walked around the garden with them in the cool of the evening. Adam and Eve could literally taste and see the goodness of God all around.
Turkey, Stuffing, and Beyond
Psalm 34 is chock full of truths about God that make you want to celebrate. It’s the source of the verse, “Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!” While that verse is apropos for a Thanksgiving meal, it’s also talking about the goodness of God in every facet of life. And the rest of the Psalm is just as fitting for this season of gratefulness. Verse 3 says, “Oh, magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together!” For believers, that’s what Thanksgiving is all about. In fact, it’s what every day should be about.
I had the privilege of studying this Psalm with a group of ladies at church last week, and it was encouraging to hear them share about God’s goodness in this passage and in their own lives. I left with the realization of how often I choose worry and complaint over praise and thanks. Considering all the bountiful blessings that God lavishes on me daily, my attitude is the epitome of ingratitude. God deserves much better.
Tune My Heart to Sing Thy Praise
So this Thanksgiving season, I want to redirect my thoughts and my heart. I want my life to exude gratitude. I want His praise to “continually be in my mouth.” Will you join me in meditating on these beautiful verses? I’ve put only the first bit of the Psalm here, but you can also check out the whole chapter for yourself! And if you’d like to share something you’re thankful for in the comments below, please feel free. Let us exalt his name together!
So from Past Watchful Dragons, happy Thanksgiving, friends.
Psalm 34
1I will bless the Lord at all times;
his praise shall continually be in my mouth.
2 My soul makes its boast in the Lord;
let the humble hear and be glad.
3 Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
and let us exalt his name together!
4 I sought the Lord, and he answered me
and delivered me from all my fears.
5 Those who look to him are radiant,
and their faces shall never be ashamed.
6 This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him
and saved him out of all his troubles.
7 The angel of the Lord encamps
around those who fear him, and delivers them.
8 Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!
Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!
Mom Guilt
Do you know what I love about being a mom? Nearly everything.
I love the hugs and snuggles. I love story time and summer strolls. I love my baby’s button nose and the way my toddler says the most hilarious things. I love it when they learn to smile, laugh, give kisses, and finally say “I love you too.” There is so, so, so much to enjoy about this stage of life.
Sure, I’ll admit that being a stay-at-home mom was never one of my top priorities. Maybe that’s why it didn’t happen until I hit the ripe old age of 35. But now that I’m in the thick of it, I’m thankful. God knew just what I needed: two little angels (who occasionally turn into gremlins or worse) to help hasten my sanctification and fill up my cup with joy and love every morning, noon, and night.
Especially night.
A Matter of Perspective
However.
Can I just be honest for a moment? Do you promise not to think badly of me when you read what I’m about to admit? Ok, well, here goes: sometimes I feel bummed out, frustrated, and at my wit’s end as I raise these offspring of mine. I know I’m not alone in this. Every parent has been there. But even in the middle of feeling depleted and frustrated, I feel guilty for feeling depleted and frustrated.
After all, they’re small for such a short time. Am I wishing their childhoods away when I feel worn down, spread thin, and aggravated? Am I wasting these precious moments when I focus on the messes, problems, tears, and needs instead of stepping back and enjoying the big picture? I should always feel thankful for the privilege of raising these little ones, so I should never heave a sigh or grit my teeth or wish it was already bed time. That means I’m wasting an opportunity to savor today with my babies, and that’s very bad. Right?
The Deeper Question
So as you can see, I have a problem. I love my children more than life itself and want them to stay small and sweet and squishable forever, and yet I find myself fairly frazzled from time to time, wishing it wasn’t pouring rain while both kids scream in my ears and it’s still four hours until dinner. But then I feel guilty. They’ll be grown so soon that I’d better enjoy even this moment.
So what’s the balance between feeling sad that my babies are growing too quickly and feeling frustrated that I just found a turd on the record player? (True story. I still don’t know how it got there.) I guess my deeper question is, can I ever feel frustrated when things are hard, or will I look back in later years and realize that my response wasted moments that could have been sweet?
A Day in the Life
I’m not talking about blowing up at my kids or actually wishing we were years down the road. Of course I’d regret that. I’m just talking about the aggravation I feel when everything is falling apart all at once. Like when I love my kids dearly and want to savor every moment but can’t wrap my head around how long it takes just to keep the house running as I help to two crying children while making dinner and wiping spit up and crumbs off the floor and accidentally checking the clock every five minutes to see if it’s bedtime yet.
Those are the moments I feel depleted and bummed out. Is that wrong? Because I often feel condemned for these occasional, unavoidable, completely understandable moments of frustration.
Old News
Now, this is when some older folks—like, strangers in the grocery store, mind you—tend to take a deep breath and launch into how much I’ll miss these days when my kids are grown. They’ll tell me how their kids were in diapers just yesterday, and now they have kids of their own. They’ll say that they’ve been through the messes and tantrums and sleepless nights, but they’d give anything to go back and do it all again. They’ll tell me how the days are long but the years are short.
But do you know what? That doesn’t really help. It doesn’t help because I already know that. I know with certainty that I will miss (nearly) everything about this stage and that before I know it, my kids will be in school, then college, then grown and gone. And furthermore, the thought of my kids growing up breaks my heart even as I look at my 9-month-old daughter. She’s already too big. Trust me, I would stop the clock in a heartbeat if I could.
And also…
A Night in the Life
And also last night I got up every two hours all night long so I could nurse my fussy, teething, growing baby, and I got up two extra times to tuck the Star Wars blanket around my toddler again because he just couldn’t manage to pull it up without me. And then I was tired. And then the kids were going absolutely nuts today—both of them crying about everything, getting hurt, feeling irritable, needing me to wipe their booties and put food in their mouths and tuck them into bed so I can do it all over again tomorrow. Or in two hours.
And yet I love them more than anything. I would die for them without thinking twice. And I’m tired and occasionally frazzled. Is it possible to feel both emotions without feeling guilty about the second one?
I’m All Right…Really
Now, I do realize that this is all a bit dramatic. Sleep deprivation has heightened the significance of my emotions. I know this is just a phase, and a short one in the grand scheme of things. I haven’t mentioned the immense burden on single parents or the immense blessing my husband is to me and our kids. I haven’t told you how my wonderful family usually comes over once a week to play with my kids or how my beautiful friends check up on me and set up play dates. And I haven’t talked about the strength that God gives me moment by moment, diaper by diaper. Parenting without all this would be more than I could bear.
And sometimes just making it to the end of the day feels like more than I can bear too. But you know what? I really am all right with that. I’ve been a mama long enough to know that tomorrow will be better. Or at least it might be, and that hope is enough to get me out of bed again. There will be ups and downs, days when the kids have a blast and days when they really struggle. Me too. But I fully intend to enjoy every kind of day and as many moments as possible.
The Golden Rule in my Golden Years
But I also hope that, when I’m old and gray, I remember this feeling. I hope the memory fuels me to listen instead of talk. To sympathize instead of offering advice. To give that tired mama a few hours of free time instead of another adage. To put myself in her shoes and show her the kind of love that so, so many are showing me today. Because that’s what she really wants.
Friends, I usually have a tidy way to wrap up my posts, but today I must break tradition. This is merely musing, a sneak peek into the crazy tangle inside my head. Sorry about that. If anyone has wisdom or insight to add, I’m all ears, despite a few of my previous paragraphs. And if any of you would enjoy playing with an adorable infant and an energetic toddler for a few hours, unlock your front door. We’re on our way.
Only kidding.
Kind of.
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