Whispering breezes amongst towering, swaying pines; pelting, drumming showers invading our car conversations, mists obscuring our views bespoke to all of us the need for an August fire in our cozy living room, steaming cups of tea, and soul-feeding sharing of hearts. And so began a memory-making afternoon.
I will let my daughter, Sarah, tell the whole story as she is such a better writer than I am–but afterall, I was not homeschooled and she was! (I think it would be so wonderful if you could leave Sarah a comment to let her know it matters that she is writing! thanks!
The rest of this story is here
Even as God filled the earth with the art of a His best creation, so our homes must bespeak of His glorious creativity–colors abounding, lilting music setting the mood, feasts celebrated amongst every possible topic discussed, observed–from jokes to convictions, ideals to devotions, sadness to hilarity.
Real life should be lived–not virtual life observed.
We have had a house full of people for the last couple of weeks. The walls are fairly swaying with the life of friendships deepened, laughter ringing, voices raised in the spirit of competition of games played late into the night. (Golf,–a card game you can find on the internet-o- hearts, speed scrabble and scrabble, with even a little bit of tripoly type of card games being some of our favorites over the years.)
Oh how I wish you could hear the deeply felt convictions and beliefs and conversations of our precious children as they share over books read, convictions challenged by others, beliefs cherished and preserved in their lives out in the world–to peek into souls that have been nourished on the best minds of great authors, the daily devotions and faith shared that lives deeply, authentically in their own hearts, the creativity and life of these adult children being lived out as they have become lights in their own worlds.
It is deeply fulfilling to know that all of those years of the labor of love and educating has born such satisfying fruit in their lives and souls. They were actually listening and paying attention all of those years, day in day out of the giving of our best to their hearts, minds and souls. So, my sweet friends, your work is not in vain–in God’s hands it becomes a miracle.
This “life” is what my older children return home to experience–the cups of their souls longing to be refueled with the virtue, love, purity of moments shared together in the breath of God’s love warming our hearts, filling us all with the sense of belonging to His destiny, kingdom, and caling, and binding us together in the grand purpose of His calling on this family called the Clarksons.
Last night, at one time we had 3 guitars, a djembe thrumming and Clay leading the host. Real music pulsing through the open windows.
Old friendships remembered and rebuilt over banana pudding, chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, and brownies with Europeon chocolate chips sprinkled in–after a feast of spaghetti pie–an all time fav from an old Amish recipe.
Joy sported a headache and didn’t feel well, so her precious friend Andrea ministered comfort by soaking her hands in warm water and making her nails beautiful.
Meanwhile, the a serious game of cards ensued, as my sweet friend and I sat on the couch and pondered the gift of our precious ones who had grown up so quickly, and by God’s grace so wonderfully full of His life.