The Scrawl Vol. 1, No. 16

   

We went on a short walk in a charming neighborhood in St Paul. There were tons of zinnias along one block.
  
I drooled over them.  
 

They were so pretty. And they were attracting tons of butterflies and bees, too.

   

We visited a library with a nice kids’ area, and Maria climbed up the windowseat into the windows.

    

So big!
  
My happy jumpers 

  
We took a weekend trip down to Nashotah House to welcome new matriculants, converse with faculty, and spend time in fellowship with dear friends. It was exhausting and worth it. Sadly, though, Maria caught the sniffles. This is only her second cold, so we’re being reminded how little practice we have with this part of parenthood. Lots of feeds and snuggles are the order of the day (and night, too). Not really much different from teething, except for the snot and the light sleeping. And she has decided that the NoseFrida is meant to be used as a musical instrument. I found her singing into the mouthpiece.

     
Where did my baby go?

  
There she is!

  

The new hip way to wear your father’s hat
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Love is patient, and the things we struggle to be patient vary greatly from person to person. I loved this article on the subject.

I found this fascinating and convicting. I generally snip and clip and trim my stories to fit my audience so that I won’t make anyone uncomfortable. It’s kind of scary just how much we make decisions, whether consciously or not, based on comfort. I think it’s pretty obvious that that’s not the method Jesus used. Ever.

It’s so easy to slip into the rut of being pro nine months rather than fully pro life. I think the way I do this the most often is by silently judging other parents who are raising their children differently than my perfectionist ideals allow for. It’s time to eat humble pie and start encouraging and assisting families to show forth Christ’s love the best they can.

And an article on the subject of grief, which yet again causes me to realize that I’ve been ignoring that patch that tugs at all angles of the fabric of my life.

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