This morning I was thinking about mercy meals. For those of you unfamiliar with that terminology, it just means meals provided by someone else while you’re mourning or ill or recovering from having a baby. It’s merciful to give them and a mercy to receive them when you’ve got a lot going on—and our church tradition is pretty consistently wonderful at caring for one another with mercy meals.

After life changed some eleven months ago due to Covid 19 showing up in the United States, I couldn’t see how mercy meals would continue. And that was hard as we had loved ones in our church body welcoming new babies, mourning deaths, and dealing with cancer. They needed to be fed, but we were in a position of not knowing how this coronavirus was being transmitted. I think about the several emails I shot off to a doctor friend (and fellow church member) in order to establish good mercy ministry policies in this new era. 

It wasn’t just the church struggling to figure things out. Schools closed completely. Our public library shut their doors and allowed patrons to hang onto their checked out books for months. Videos came out about how to wipe down your groceries. We were leaving packages untouched for three days to let the viral load lessen in case it was on the cardboard boxes. I wasn’t comfortable with dropping off a mercy meal with a side of coronavirus. I remember asking for church members to donate money for a grocery gift card thereby skipping the exchange of viruses along with lasagnas and burritos. But even then it was a poor substitute for showing up at a church member’s door and handing over a 9×13 pan that spoke of love and concern, that spoke of mercy.

It was a really weird, harrowing, uncertain time. 

We all adjusted when we learned that we could exchange items without great fear of virus transfer.

We quit wiping down groceries (thank goodness because that was an extensive process). The library opened up—though they still quarantine books for three days—and yesterday I learned I could stay in the library for up to two hours. We now take our delivered boxes into the house immediately, though I am mindful to wash my hands after handling mail. And we deliver mercy meals to church members’ houses again.

The act of feeding someone is the most basic and helpful act of all, I believe, as everyone needs to eat. When we’ve been through a rough time, delegating the task of finding food to a friend or family member has kept us afloat. I’m so so glad that, in this still very strange time, we can now walk up to someone’s door and hand over a bunch of hamburgers or a rotisserie chicken to keep them going for another day. A face is a wonderful thing to see, however briefly, when you’re going through a hardship. Being loved, knowing others are willing to sustain your family, is priceless.

I’d say that Covid has robbed many of us of many things. But one thing the darkness brings with it? The contrasting gorgeousness of light. Even a teeny tiny bit of goodness shines in the darkest of days. For that I am grateful.

The first pic above keeps with my personal DPP challenge this year, and the second represents the work of a husband to love his wife well.

A countdown has taken place on our little kitchen chalkboard. In the seven days leading up to my birthday Jeremy has celebrated in that small space, reminding me each day that I was on his mind. We’ve come a long way, this man and me, and he has done a stellar job being the Chief Celebrator this week. If you know anything about enneagram, then you can guess that I’m the tradition-and-celebration person around here as an enneagram 2. It’s totally in my wheelhouse to try to make someone feel special. Jeremy’s wheelhouse is more in the genius department—not in the IQ sense, though that may be true too, but in the detail sense. I’m watching my Favorite Web Developer (and enneagram 5) make sure that I have the gifts that I’d really like, the food that I’d really like, the drinks that I’d really like, the proper cheer that I’d really like, and he’s even motivated our child to join him in a decent understanding of birthday customs—and it has cost him. It’s not his scene but he does it because it brings me joy.

I love him.

Twenty-four years ago I spent my birthday with a guy I had just started dating. I couldn’t even recognize how smitten I was until he laid his feelings out on the table, and then I fell in love hard. Right now he’s picking up takeout for my birthday supper. I’m so grateful for this long vision of marriage, the one where we are bound together in Christ. We couldn’t have made it to this point without a whole lot of grace from the Lord, and He has been faithful to us. Each year we become more and more aware of his goodness.

PS. In the background you can see a new suitcase. It’s a fantastic gift that should have the word “hope” written across it in bold letters, for it broadcasts hope to me with its very existence. I’m here, homebound, at the end of 2020, but soon I’ll travel again with this guy!

After hanging three paper chains and nine new snowflakes I knew I would capture a piece of this activity for today’s image. There’s something lovely and slow about taping little fragments of paper together. There’s something creative and calming in using scissors and paper to make unique snowflakes for our windows. In this world where I am use to rushing—and yes, I’ve been forced into slowing down in 2020—I’m starting to see the peace in sitting still. The word “present” has been coming to mind since March. God is letting me mull on that word. What does it look like when a planner and doer focuses on being present?

Today is my cousin’s funeral. I feel like the absorption of her death is very slow for me and I’m wondering how long it will take before every pore in my body has digested the information. Surely a memorial service is a piece to that puzzle. All of my missing and wondering and confusion is connected to the wrongness of death. It’s okay to hate death. I don’t feel the need to wrap up this post with a bow for anyone, however I do want to say that Paula knew Jesus intimately. She loved him. He loved her and made her and called her to himself. Because of this our goodbye is truly a “see you later.”

Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).

Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty” (John 6:35).

Paula and I talked about our very human struggles when we’d message each other. Neither of us expected a life of ease and yet we both really wrestled with the hardships of this world. We commiserated. We prayed because we knew that the Bread of Life and the Light of Love cared about every detail of our lives. Sometimes our faith was very small indeed, and other times it was great. Now Paula is with her Savior, and someday she and I will both be perfectly restored and will live with him, feasting and banqueting with Christ himself. Amen.

Without a doubt, this delivery was the best and most beautiful part of my day. My love sent me birthday flowers to enjoy in the days before my actual birthday—and it made me light up from head to toe.

I most frequently take pictures of flowers and fruit on my dining room table, which is truly the heart of our home. It’s what you see from the front door and it receives wonderful light from the south and the west. It’s just a fact that I’m highly visual and really value beauty. I like vibrant colors and simple arrangements. I appreciate a balanced and full vase of flowers like no one’s business, and if the light tracks through the leaves? Well, I’m sold. My files are filled with flowers kissed with light.

So then, maybe it’s not that weird that I recently gave my husband some very detailed information on what kind of flowers I’d like to receive for the next year. We’ve been married 22 years and he’s really good at loving me in a way that I feel most loved: beautiful gifts. And when I opened the door to the delivery man this morning (two notes on that below), I realized Jeremy had been listening to every single word I said. His attention to specifics was spot on. It made my smile even bigger.

Two notes on the delivery man:
1) I think he might have the best job ever. He must make people so happy!
2) Liv and I definitely had a homeschool-in-robes-in-bed kind of morning. Our noses were stuffy and we were tired and wanted to stay cozy. All I have to say is that when the florist’s van pulled up out front I pulled the most Superman of wardrobe changes and with no time to spare presented myself appropriately dressed enough to answer the door. We Tredways aren’t really morning people as a whole…

“You can make anything you want in the kitchen. But you have to clean it up, too.”

This was my teacher prompt for Culinary Arts today.

And she was off. Handmade bowtie pasta won the day. Pasta-making is not for the faint of heart—it’s truly a process! But this is what happens when you have the ability to let a kid choose what their heart desires. The heart wanted pasta. It’s wanted pasta since The Heart first started eating pasta. And I have to give it to her, fresh pasta is delicious.

Sometimes I love this human more than I can even express. She’s cool. She’s committed. She’s motivated from a deep internal well that I cannot see, but I get to see the fruits of her creative stirrings and I’m so grateful God allowed me to learn all about life through my Liv.

I’m eager to see and reflect on more beautiful things through this year’s December Photo Project. Thanks again for joining me, friends!

My cousin passed away yesterday. She would’ve turned 33 this month, and typing about her in the past tense feels utterly surreal.

Paula was born when I was ten years old. I must have been hoping she’d be born on my early December birthday, but she chose to make her arrival in November. She was the first child born to my Uncle Tim and Aunt Jan, both of whom I loved very much, and I was profoundly excited. Though I had loved on dollies my whole life, I never slept with a stuffed animal until someone gave me a small teddy bear for my 10th birthday. I named her Paula. That Paula resides in my closet. My cousin Paula now rests, her spirit is at home with her Lord and Creator.

Paula was vivacious and thoughtful in turns. She had a sense of humor that cracked me up. It was whip smart and hilarious and could touch on any cultural reference. I didn’t always understand the actual punchline, but if Paula was throwing down the joke it was for sure snarky and funny. 

Paula had such an openness to her that children loved her. My daughter Livia especially loved being around Paula because she was so much FUN. I want to text Paula right now, demand that she still lives, that a cruel joke was played yesterday, and then laugh about the dumb moments we shared together. Paula witnessed our dog Shiloh snarfing down a snack from the coffee table only to literally spit it out when my husband Jeremy (his Alpha) came down the stairs. A dog spitting out a goodie? I’ve never seen it happen before and never will again, but it happened when Paula was staying with us for a holiday and it made her and me laugh over and over again. 

Paula introduced me to new music. She was open with me about her struggles and her love for her Savior and desire for a closer walk with Him. Once she knew that chili and cinnamon rolls were a THING here in the Midwest she never got over it, insisting that it was a super nasty combination. She was wrong, but that’s okay. ;) 

Paula carried the intelligence of her dad and the compassion of her mom throughout her 32 years. She loved her family. She loved her pets. She loved her friends and particularly cherished her years playing ultimate frisbee. She loved her church, and she especially loved children. 

Paula, I have loved you since the moment I knew you were a wee person in your mother’s womb and I shall love you into eternity. How grateful I am that I will see you in heaven, in perfect wholeness and at perfect peace. But for now, I miss you like nothing else. You are irreplaceable and one-of-a-kind. No one can take your place in my heart.

I love these people! This is us getting a bit giggly at the end of our [miniscule] photo shoot. Now that I’ve got my tripod game figured out there’s no excuse not to have something to frame for the grandmas! Here’s one of the extras from our brief foray out in the Nebraska wind two days before Christmas.

After this shot she said, quite nicely actually, “This is getting annoying.”

Three takes—of four shots each—and I was done today. Pajama day. Saturday. We-are-wiped-out-and-don’t-have-to-go-anywhere day. A few days ago I did 26 takes. In the house. On the deck. With the dog. And so on. So if anyone wonders why we don’t have family pictures at my house, it’s because two out of three Tredways think it’s “annoying.” Ha!

She gets in the car and is ready to write. No one is telling her what to do or where to do. No obligations anymore, no bells signaling changing classes, no need to do homework, no places to go. Just an exhale of breath and the ability to choose, and what she chooses is to write. She writes and writes and writes. Her voice coming through the walls quietly, spaces in between for silent editing. How did I get so lucky to be her mama? Why did God give me a writer? What a joy.

There she goes! With grace, beauty, excitement, butterflies, and an iced coffee to start her day. I could not be more proud of this 8th grader. God has given Jeremy and me an amazing kid who makes us laugh, surprises us, loves us, and becomes more and more each day a tremendously cool person. Livia Raine, we love you incredibly and we pray that God matures you this year into a woman of courage who honors Him. Happy first day, kid!

First Day Pics Roundup!
Kindergarten
First Grade
Second Grade
Third Grade
Fourth Grade
Fifth Grade
Sixth Grade
Seventh Grade