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Kristen Anne Glover

Five in Tow

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Surrounded by Savages: 100 Beautiful Days of Motherhood {25}

A young and innocent Kristen Glover, banished to the Outside while her mother makes quiche

First published in August, 2012

In the beginning, the first man and the first woman had two children.  But the children were both boys so their mother felt like she had a dozen.

The earth was young and the boys were wild since they didn’t have any girls but their mother to tame them.  They made weapons out of sticks and stale bread and pomegranate seeds.  They chased the sheep and ambushed the chickens and managed to find mud in the desert.

They punched and wrestled and ran so much, some days their mother thought she might go deaf.  Other days, she wished she already was deaf.

“That’s it!” the first mother shouted.  “I’ve had enough!”

The boys stopped dead in their tracks and wondered if this might be the end of the human population increase.

But God looked down on the earth and had compassion on the first mother because she was the only woman in the entire world, which pretty much meant she was surrounded by savages.

So God looked out over the great expanse of all that He had made, but He couldn’t find any place in all  that wild world that was soft and beautiful where a mother could rest.  So He said, “Let there be an oasis in the middle of this great expanse, and let it be called ‘Inside,’ and let Us separate the ‘Inside’ from the ‘Outside.’”

So God put up four walls and a lovely flat roof and separated the Inside from the Outside.  And God saw that it was good.

Then He told the mother, “You shall have dominion over all the Inside.  You will put flowers on the table and crochet afghans for the bed and tame a cat to sit in the window.

“And you will lure the man Inside by baking things that smell good and occasionally undressing.  Once the Man comes Inside, you will make him take off his dirty shoes and talk about his feelings.

“But if the Man leaves his greasy tools on your counter or uses your best knife to trim his toenails, you will send the Man Outside.

“And you will lure your children inside with bedtime stories and cozy blankets and sugar.  You will teach them to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and not to put their fingers in their noses.

“But if the Children shave the cat and turn your best tablecloth into a slingshot and release something scaly onto your bed, you will send the Children Outside.

“Then, you will sip a cup of tea, make quiche for dinner, and paint something.”

The woman smiled.

So it came about, after a surprisingly short period, that the Children spent a lot of time Outside.

And the Man built himself a garage.

Savages

Kya Outside, making weapons

Fiction, Humor, Parenting 11 Comments

Fathers and Daughters: 100 Beautiful Days of Motherhood {23}

Fathers and daughters

My dad died when I was not much older than she is now.  I think of it in moments like this when he puts his arms around her shoulders and squeezes her to his side.

I think of it when he calls her Fluffer-Puff and asks her about her day, or when she’s tucked into her bed with a book and he sits down by her feet and talks to her in his unhurried way.  He is never as hurried as I am.

I think of it when he builds the Swing of Awesome because he knows she’ll love it.  It’s constructed out of a curvy old bike handle and a length of chain strung way up high in a sprawling tree.  He pushes her out over the field where the bank slides away and her giggles fly away into the sky.

I can’t watch.

Holding Daddy's hand

I think of my dad when her dad buys her bread sticks because she likes them, or when he let her have chickens even though he did not want chickens.  But she did.

I think of it when he asks me how he can pray for her better, and I am reminded of how my own father prayed for me.  It is not even a memory.  It is part of my making.

And it minsters to me so deeply, the fatherhood of my husband toward our children.  I see in him the love my own father had for me, and I am grateful.  I see in him the love the heavenly Father has for me, and I am amazed.

I watch them together and I am thankful that she has him.  I am thankful that her father’s love will lead her to understand the love of the Father.  I know my husband is securing her affections toward the things that are good and holy, pure and righteous, beautiful and lovely.  My daddy did the same thing for me, and if the story repeats itself as I think it will, she will not be able, after, to choose anything less.

So on this beautiful day of motherhood, I am thankful for the ministry of fatherhood.  I am thankful that God has given us a picture of Himself that I can’t see in my mirror.  I am thankful that I can see it in him.

Father and baby daughter

Parenting 8 Comments

On Waiting: 100 Beautiful Days of Motherhood {19}

Duct tape slippers

My husband’s slippers are made of soft shearling.  They were a Christmas present from his mother one year.  He wears them almost always because the thermostat is set on “economy” and that is not nearly enough to take away the chill that seeps into our house with the damp from the rain.

My husband wears his slippers so much, the rubber soles have begun to crack and leave little bits around the house wherever he has walked.  “You need new slippers,” I say as I walk by with an armload of laundry.

“Mmm,” he replies, turning one over in his hand while contemplating the big gaps that have formed where the sole and the leather should meet.  He is barefoot, and I notice the strange patch of freckles around his right ankle that showed up after a childhood cast was removed.

I remember back many years ago when I ran my fingers across those spots and wondered about them.  It was the first time I had ever touched him.  My heart felt almost sick to trace out that little strip of skin where his socks didn’t quite reach the bottom of his jeans.

I still get a little woozy over his ankles.

But it’s not right to let him walk around cold-footed in January, so I think I should set about trying to find him a new pair, maybe on sale.  It’s not really the time to be spending money on shearling slippers, not while he’s still out of work and looking for a place to minster.

But I figure I can find something just to get him through for now.

A little while later, Jeff is at the kitchen table with a gaggle of kids around him.  There is duct tape and a razor blade and the sound of something dangerous going on.  I peek over their heads.  The slippers are undergoing reconstructive surgery.  The cracks in the soles are being sealed up, and the worst places taped together.

When we’re all alone, I ask him about it.  “I can find new slippers for you,” I say, and he smiles.

“I want to make a deal with you,” he says.  “I don’t think this is a good time for me to spend money on slippers, or anything else.”  He lists a few other things that he is going to do without, and even give up, for the time being.

I nod, sadly aware that we need to find a way to make our tiny budget a little tighter.  Jeff takes me by the shoulders and looks into my eyes.  “I don’t think we should spend money on slippers because I want you to spend the money on your blog.”

I am stunned, so stunned I almost don’t hear all the beautiful words my husband is saying to me, all the words about how much he has wanted this for me, how he has felt a shared agony over the fact that this gift—is it a gift?—must remain unopened while the pressing duties of life and motherhood take priority.

“It is time,” he says, “for you to write.” 

I choke back a sob that comes up out of the years of waiting, wondering, doubting.  It is a sob for a dream that has been buried so deep and for so long, I thought perhaps it was dead.  I thought perhaps it had never been real.

But it is a gift, he says, and my eyes fill up with his words.  God’s gifts and His call are irrevocable.  Time and circumstances cannot take them away.

All these years of waiting, of feeling the weight of a gift I cannot use, seem all at once not to matter.  The season of early motherhood, when I couldn’t find the balance between using my gift and loving my children, when I couldn’t keep a home and entertain a dream, was just that: a season.  Not the dead-hard season of winter but the sleepy-cold season of early spring when the ground is almost too cold to plant.

In the dark of the earth, with muddy furrows above and beside and beneath me, I mistook the season.  It was not a season for dying.  It was a season for being planted, for waiting, for growing in strength down in the dark so the gift could grow when the sun came to shine.  It was not the end of a dream.  It was the beginning.

On this beautiful day of motherhood, I am thankful that the dark years cannot diminish who God has made us to be.  I am thankful that the gifts God plants in us do not whither for the waiting.  They are simply waiting for the right time to grow.

rainy hellebore

Uncategorized 17 Comments

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I believe you can find grace for the mother you are and help to become the mother you long to be—a mom who has the freedom to choose the better things and enjoy her kids right now.

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