Growing Pains

He is only 2, but he is almost grown.

I know this because of all the older mothers who tell me it's so. But I know it, too, because I can sense it happening.

In his chubby hands that grow larger each day, edged with peanut butter and bread crumbs. In his shrinking sleeves that bear the smudges of his colors and "marks", as he calls them.

Here in the middle of our day, right in the middle of him playing with his trucks and police cars and Legos, sometimes right in the middle of lunch, or breakfast, or story time, I tell him:

William, I need...

And before I can finish he looks up and puts his arms around my neck. "A biiiiiiig hug," he says, the words coming out in his clear and ringing voice. He has a slight southern drawl that still catches me by surprise.

When he hugs me, I close my eyes. I wrap him up as close as can be and I breathe in deep his toddler graces, his baby shampoo and windblown curls and strawberry breath. He is always lugging a toy, a book, a tractor, a balloon. He is never empty handed.

And then he is off.

He is so fleeting, and I can't get him to stay still. Or to stop growing. He keeps on getting bigger and taller and smarter and funnier and leaner and, even though he is only 2, he is practically 17.

He is racing me. This is why I pour into him. Because he is growing and needs filling and teaching and I am the one charged with this task. I am the one who teaches him daily, who shows him and models for him about demonstrating love to others, who teaches about beauty, and grace, and how we turn to God in all times and all things, from the way we greet our grandparents at the door to the way we speak to strangers. And it is hard work that I do for him, but I do it because I love him and I love Him and even though I know I fail daily, I am sticking with it.

It is no small thing, this raising up of a child. Especially the part about "in the ways that he should go." But I am doing it, and already I see in him a light that is growing.

My sweet bundle of energy and happy laughter, I am doing my best for you. Even when it's hard, especially when it's mundane. I am doing this for you.

On Carving Out Spaces

I have been putting off writing a new post because, since this newest little chubby child has emerged from the womb (safe and sound!) and come to live in our home*, I have felt protective and unsure of throwing my words and pictures around online. Not because I worry about cyber-crime (feels funny to type that) or privacy issues, but because I care if my words are encouraging. I want to make sure they aren't hollow or misleading or, worse yet, discouraging to any one, especially another mother.

Funny how the protective hands of a mama can extend well past the reach of her children.

Along those lines, I will say that I have felt in my heart a strong, deeply rooted desire to carve out space  lately -- space for my husband to be encouraged, space for my toddler son to grow and play creatively and have quiet time, space for the four of us to be still as a family, space for Joshua to be nurtured, and space for me to feel peace and to create calm and order in an otherwise chaotic world. I plan on focusing a little more on these things over the next few weeks and hope to write more about them.

Ellen at Sweet Water is writing a 31 day series on home, and her words have been so encouraging and strengthening to me lately. You should read what she's writing about because I bet it hits home with you, too.

* I know I skipped a whole chapter and never posted about Joshua's birth or first days here, but I am still thinking about those very special days and what can be said about them. He is, as you can see, totally healthy, weighing 7 pounds and 3 ounces at birth, and is precious as can be.

A Short, Sweet Season (but a LONG post)

The Sunday that my placenta tore, I was riding in the car with my husband and son to have dinner at Don's parents' home. I was tired. Not sleepy, but exhausted from always running and trying to do one more thing, like most of the moms I know.

"I think I need to get some rest," I told my husband.
"You can rest tonight when we put William down."
"No, I think I need some real rest, like enough time to slow down and not be rushing around all the time."

He shrugged his shoulders.

I have been thinking about that conversation more and more these last few days. Now that I have been on bed rest for 8 and a half weeks. I think of how God knows what we need and how He delivers it in the least expected ways. How He uses bed rest for teaching and hurting for healing.

I am being completely honest when I say that I TRY to glorify God every single day. I am also being completely honest when I say that I FAIL daily, repeatedly, day in and day out. These last two months, He has made it easy for me to think of glorifying Him.

He has kept our littlest child healthy and strong, despite the odds. Despite APS. Despite our doctors' initial expectations.

Yesterday Joshua weighed (via ultrasound measurements) 1 pound and 14 ounces, ahead of the game for his age. His heart beat was strong and perfect at 154 beats a minute; he has no idea that a battle has been waged against him, that God is winning it for him, for me. I am still at home, though initially I was scheduled to move into the hospital at 23 weeks. Joshua now weighs more than they told us he would weigh at birth! It now looks as though I will carry him all the way to 37 weeks, though initially they weren't sure I would make it to 24.

(Littlest son, know this to be true: The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still. Exodus 14:14)

For now, I can say with my whole heart that this time of bed rest has not been a curse, but an absolute hands-down blessing for our family. It has been HARD on everyone, especially for my parents and Don's parents, who have so selflessly given up half of their weeks to come spend the night at our house and take care of William and make sure I am not climbing on top of furniture to hang pictures and sanding and restaining Craigslist purchases in the back yard. It has been hard for me, but it has been so amazingly beautiful, too.

William has developed even closer relationships with all four of his grandparents.

Don and I have developed closer relationships with our parents. Daily I think of how blessed we are to have two sets of parents that offered to help us in this huge way, and how this has been a time for us to overcome any differences and to love each other.

I have learned (though it took at least 4 weeks) that it doesn't matter if my kitchen is perfectly organized or if there are toys on the floor. Or if my mother likes to use seven different dishtowels at the same time.

I am learning to be still, to trust Him above all else, and to be still. Did I mention that I am being still?

In lighter news, I have also learned to embroidery. My mom taught me on Monday and I love it. I ordered the fabric in the pictures above to make a blanket for Joshua, but I've been embroidering it now before I quilt it together.

A Broken Hallelujah

Sometimes the truth is hard to hear.

Sometimes trusting God is something I can only do with my eyes squeezed shut because I am too scared to look at what lies ahead, though I trust He will see me through it.

Sometimes, when I lay on the table at the maternal fetal specialist's office, my husband's hand closed over mine is the only thing holding me down to earth. I imagine that if he let me go, I would float off and over the roof of the hospital and end up dangling from the moon.

Sometimes, though, God says, "Enough."

Sometimes, He says, "You have to trust me. I will fight for you. You need only be still." (Exodus 14:14)

I have been still for six weeks and two days. I have had no choice. And today, lying on the exam table, my growing belly and sensitive rib cage already stretching to the max, the sonographer looked confused.

"I don't see it," she said. "The tear. It's gone. I honestly can't even see it."

Wave after wave after wave of grace. I tried to keep my head above the water. How does He decide when to apply salve to wounds and when to let fresh scars tear open? I have no idea. I have been on the receiving end of each, but today was a day of salve. A day of balm and comfort and healing and happy happy joy joy bursting through my heart.

A day so different than April 3, when I felt the blood drain from my heart and evaporate, my fingertips and face turn numb as the doctor spoke to us slowly, reaching out and gripping my arm to keep me from falling backwards.

What does all of this mean? It means that today Joshua is strong and healthy, big for his age, moving and kicking, totally unaffected by the dead part of the placenta. It means that the tear is gone, though our specialist won't say it's healed since that part of the placenta is still blank and unresponsive, though it doesn't seem to be impacting either Joshua or me.

It means that today I ordered the most beautiful and perfect crib bedding I could afford. If you are a mother who has had a miscarriage, you know how significant that is. 

We ordered crib bedding today.

God, I have said it when it stung, and I say it now in joy, too: my heartfelt HALLELUJAH!

"God is in the midst of her. 

She shall not be moved. 

He will help her when morning dawns."

Psalm 46 verse 5

Brownies & Bed Rest

Today is day 15 of being on bed rest. FIFTEEN. I never thought I would make it this far.

I'm not going to sugar coat anything.  Bed rest is part torture, part healing. The thing I miss the most is holding William, swinging him around before plopping him on the bed for a tickle fest, and being in charge of my own kitchen.

I miss baking.

I bake all the time; brownies are my love language. The first thought I had on the drive home from the hospital two weeks ago was that I wouldn't be able to make William's second birthday cake. I'm not exaggerating when I say I cried over that. I was in such shock about my hot mess of a placenta that it took a few days for me to realize we were probably going to have a very premature baby. The sad cake thought occurred to me first.

But we like to laugh around here. Even in the hard times. I get my slightly dark sense of humor from my mother. She and my father have moved in to take over my house-running duties and caring for William for half of the week; my in-laws have moved in the other half of the week. My mom suggested that I give a Caregiver of the Week Award out each shift change day. Once I have chosen a suitable prize, I'm going to follow her advice. Most likely I will choose a mustache on a stick (see photo above).

William is doing really well. He thinks we're having a big, never-ending party because so many friends and family are here. He is in love with my parents' poodle, Cosette. 

I, on the other hand, am taking it day by day. 

We made it to day fifteen! Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.

Heartfelt Ramblings

It's 5:50 pm. This is the time of day I am normally filling our plates with homemade dinner, wiping down the counters with lavender-scented Method spray, microwaving peas for William, looking forward to the next hour when I can flop down on the couch with a book and my husband or walk across the street to Brandi's wooden swing, hanging from her ancient live oak.

Today is different. I am 23 hours into mandatory bed rest, and my hands and legs are itching to stand up and stretch, to put the kitchen back in order, to clear the dining table, to make something. Rest does not come naturally to me today.

Yesterday was a normal day, with a meeting with new friends in the morning, lunch at home, and while William napped in the afternoon, I boiled half a dozen eggs that my sweet in-laws bought us at the farmer's market by the river. I made homemade bread and homemade pickled cucumbers. William woke from his nap and then, just that quick, a spot of blood. Again. On shaking legs I walked to the kitchen to find my phone and called our fetal specialist. She said to come in. 

I was barefoot, in shorts and a tank top because it's already 90 degrees in Austin. I picked up William, who was also barefoot and groggy from his nap, and opened the door to see if Brandi was home. She was getting the boys out of their car seats, home from school. I walked barefoot across the hot street and handed my barefoot boy to Brandi, who took him in her arms without questions and told me not to worry about him. 

Several weeks ago, when we learned we were having a boy, we chose the most beautiful name we could think of -- Joshua, after Joshua 1:9, "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go." His middle name is Aiden, which means fiery one, because at each of the ultrasounds, Joshua has been so active that the sonographers have had a hard time capturing pictures of him.

Yesterday during the ultrasound, I cried and cried. Both Don and the sonographer told me to stop, that Joshua was doing fine and had a great heartbeat and was moving around. But I knew something was wrong.

Because of the blood clotting disorder I have, a large blood clot developed between the uterus and placenta, eventually ripping my placenta open by 25%. Our sweet boy is doing well, measuring large for his age and with a strong heartbeat, but the only treatment available is for me to be on bed rest and sit as still as possible. This will hopefully prevent the tear from widening. Once I am 23 weeks along, I will be admitted to the hospital for constant monitoring, and if we can make it to 28 weeks, we have a good chance of having a strong little baby who will live.

In the meantime, I am sitting still. I am counting blessings, because there are many. I am not dwelling on the hard things, the sad things, the fears and the restless legs. I am resting and waiting, on Joshua and on God. This is my best; this is all I have to offer. A broken heart that hopes, a torn open womb that still nourishes. This is the best I can do.

"The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise."
-Psalm 51:17

My Uterus Has the Gift of Hospitality

Let me explain.

The King is enthralled with your beauty; 

Honor Him for He is your Lord.

Psalm 45:11

Last week, I won (yaaaaaaayyyyy!!!!) a Naptime Diaries print from Ellen's Handmade Recess giveaway. Ever since, I have been thinking about this verse (written above), which I had never read before.

I'm not sure my own husband is always enthralled with my beauty...is it really true that God could see me as beautiful? 

Me and our fourth baby, March 15, 2012

My goal here is to be encouraging to you specifically. With that in mind, I am going to be totally honest and it's a little uncomfortable and a whole lot of embarrassing. I am vain. I care a lot about how I look and how other people perceive how I look. As I've grown as a woman, a wife, a mother, and most importantly, as someone who believes God is real and His promises are true, I have tried to replace vanity with a gentler, more loving, kinder spirit.

I have struggled with this especially during this pregnancy. Apparently, my uterus has the gift of hospitality. As soon as it realized a baby was coming to visit for 9 months, it renovated itself and stretched out to a luxurious, welcoming size. "Come on in!" it seems to say. "Make yourself at home! There's plenty of room to sprawl out!" What? Doesn't your uterus have spiritual gifts?

Did I mention that it did this overnight? That overnight I went from comfortable in my regular jeans to requiring the dreaded up-to-your-bra-strap maternity jeans? I tried to hide it. My little sister saw me and said, "Look! You're showing already!" I sucked in my stomach and told her I was just bloated.

I asked my doctor about it. She confirmed that yes, a uterus has muscle memory and will sometimes expand more quickly after multiple pregnancies. I whined to my husband and to Brandi. I considered wearing only very baggy t-shirts. And then I won the print above and, for the first time in months, came to my senses.

Last year, Don and I lost two babies in a matter of six months. We had to wait to try to get pregnant. I have to stick needles into my pregnant tummy every evening to keep things going smoothly, and all of our prayers and pleas and doctor's visits have resulted in this amazing, miraculous, beautiful blessing. A pregnancy. A healthy pregnancy. A baby who is growing and measures large for his age, ahead of the game, who moves and kicks so ferociously that the sonographer couldn't capture his face on the camera.

Is it possible that I could be beautiful to Him, to the one who knew me all along, even when I denied He was real and opposed Him as often as I could? I have counted our losses as His grace. I count this newest child as a gift from Him. Swollen face, bruised belly, and all, I have to say that I am finally, finally, finally, starting to see that I am beautiful to Him. And, at the risk of sounding vain, to myself, too.

Grow Where You're Planted

When Don and I decided to buy our first house in 2009, we knew we wanted to live in a very specific neighborhood. Austin's east side is a booming place where cultures, tradition, and the hip kids meet. Years earlier, when I was a grad student in social work, I had a field placement doing grief counseling with students at an east side junior high. I was drawn to the people, the neighborhoods, to the cross sections of culture that buzzed within a short walk from Austin's neon-lit downtown. I wanted to live there.

We found several tiny, partially dilapidated, in major need of repair homes that we knew, way deep down, were definitely meant for us. They were all perfect.

So we prayed. We connected with a great realtor (who thought we were crazy). We put offers down on houses.

And we got in bidding wars on almost every house. It was a nightmare. We thought we would never find the right place.

After lots of agonizing, we decided to humor our realtor (and parents and friends and colleagues) and at least look at the houses located miles from the glittering, paint-chipped east side.

On the second day of looking, we had an appointment to see a house at 10:15. We met our realtor at the address and I was immediately smitten with the enormous ancient live oak tree that shaded the entire house and front yard. A wooden swing hung from the lowest branch, and I felt a glimmer of hope that we might be able to live in dreaded suburbia after all.

The owners told our realtor they needed an extra 15 minutes before we could view the house, and as we waited in their front yard, we noticed a small "For Sale" sign at the house across the street. Our realtor didn't know the house was for sale, but saw that it had a lock box on the door. He unlocked it and we went inside.

Immediately it happened. Don and I both knew that this was our house. It had never shown up on our online searches because it was well out of our price range, but our realtor called the selling agent and learned that the current owners had reduced the price that very morning by $20,000, due to the economy.  It was within our price range. It was perfect. Shortly after, it became our home.

Even though we loved the way it looked and felt, all new and shiny, I couldn't understand why God (because we believe in listening to God through prayer and that He has specific plans for us, including where we live and grow roots) didn't want us living on the east side, renovating a falling down house and being close to our church and friends. I looked at our new home's extremely safe streets, picturesque playgrounds, and overbearing HOA newsletters and felt stunned that we were actually living in suburbia, where we had never intended to live.

Why would He plant us here?

The next week I learned that I was pregnant.

The next year I became best friends with Brandi, who owns the house with the ancient oak tree that we originally came here to view. We have spent a thousand hours swinging and talking under that tree. I am so glad we didn't buy her house and that she still lives there!

And then my dad realized that my cousin and his family (our families have never been close) lived six houses up from us. We invited them for dinner and reconnected just before they moved out of the neighborhood. They are wonderful people and I am so glad to know them.

And then I met Mrs. B, who is 74. She and her miniature chihuahua came over for a short visit and she told me all about her son, whom she loved with her whole heart from the day he was born until the day he died at 48 of a progressive illness. I cried with her. I am a young mother. I only have a toddler. What can I offer her? I apologized for the toys strewn all over our entire house, the sippy cup leaking drops of milk onto our floor. "Do you know what I would give to go back to these days, honey?" she asked me. She finds comfort in our slightly overgrown grass, in our untidy living room.

And then yesterday, I went to a park outside of our neighborhood and met a new mom. We talked about how much we want to be connected in our neighborhood. She asked me where I live and I told her. We live exactly two houses away from each other.

I am starting to get it. Finally. He has a plan for us here. I don't know all of the details. I don't know why He chooses some people to meet and connect on the east side and some people to connect in south Austin, but He does.

We are growing here. Here is home.

This Time Around

This pregnancy, there are pills to swallow and shots to give.

 Lots of shots, in fact.

I am amazed by the magic that is contained in 4 ml of clear medicine. It looks like water, benign and odorless. A nothing shot, so small it almost doesn't exist. Yet, for my littlest one, it is life-saving.

With William, I craved salty things and bitter tastes. With this baby, it is entirely different. I dream of lettuce leaves and homemade caesar dressing, scrambled eggs and homemade veggie burgers. It feels strange to crave lettuce, but it has inspired me to grow our own.

And with this pregnancy, there is a fast running 20 month old to corral.

 He is a tangle of sweaty cherubim curls and questions.

 And baby feet stretching into boy.

He imitates everything, including rubbing kleenex onto his lower tummy and using his finger to pretend to give himself a shot. He is so precious to me. I love chasing him around. It hasn't gotten tiring yet, though I'm sure, in the coming months, it will.

One of his favorite toys is Kanga. It has been so helpful. Mommy has a baby in her tummy, just like Kanga has a baby in her tummy, we tell him. William nods his head as though it's the most sensible thing in the whole world, and then he runs to me and lifts my shirt. "Baby! Baby!" He can barely contain his excitement sometimes, pointing to the bruises covering my belly. A friend of ours has a newborn and while her baby slept, William and I peeked at him. "We're going to have a baby like that," I told him. He buried his head in my neck and hid his face. I wonder what will happen when he feels the baby kick for the first time.

With this pregnancy, I have no expectations. Or, at least, I try not to. I don't spend time looking at nurseries on pinterest, or shopping for newborn outfits online. I am pregnant, my baby is perfectly healthy right now, and that is enough for today. 

I have hope that, come the end of August, we will have a second child here on earth, but I don't really expect it yet. It's not that I don't trust God, or that I have a negative outlook. It's simply that I cannot predict tomorrow, or even what will happen later today. I believe that God is faithful and that He keeps His promises; He will guide me through whatever may come. 

I hope for another baby here on earth. But, if not on earth, I look forward to meeting my little ones later. 

A few weeks ago, for the first time, I was not sorry about losing two babies. If I had the chance to change things, I wouldn't have. I say that in all sincerity. Isn't His plan more perfect than mine ever could be? Our babies, all of them, are tiny pieces of a puzzle I can't see in its entirety.

I am so, so, so happy God has blessed Don and me with another pregnancy. I am pregnant today, and that is enough grace for me.

A True Story

A few days ago, after running a ton of errands, I set my humungous shopping bags full of groceries on the kitchen floor, plopped William down with some toys, and ran to the bathroom. I was gone for all of two seconds when I heard a strange sound coming from the kitchen, accompanied by William saying, "Uh-oh," and I remembered that I stupidly left an 18-count carton of eggs on the top of a shopping bag. Uh oh is right. Instead of immediately doing damage control and salvaging the eggs, I did what any sane mother would do: I ran and grabbed my camera.

You can't tell in this photo, but every single egg was cracked and leaking egg whites onto the floor.

The picture is blurry, but you get the idea. He felt BAD. I told him it was okay. They were just cracked eggs!

I think I laughed a little too hard at the situation because he started to seem proud of himself!
 I made him help me clean up.

Little Moments

Little ordinary moments that I want to remember forever and ever. William, today these moments are our reality, but some day they will be memories. I want to keep them as fresh as possible.

 When you wake up, you point and grunt until I put all of your stuffed animals in your crib.

 Then you throw them out, one by one. We do this over and over again.

 Your beautiful crib is a teething toy. I love it even more now.

 You had just finished doing belly flops in your crib. You were laughing at the scared gasps I made.

 You have started throwing your head back when you laugh, just like your daddy.

I didn't edit these photos at all, little one. The light in a room is a huge memory trigger for me, just like smells are for most people. I will always remember your after nap time playing.

Team Don

As far as I'm concerned (and aside from the head of coiffed hair), neither Edward nor Jacob have anything on my husband. I won't get all gushy and embarrass him, but I want to say this for the record:

 I think your bald head is HOT. You make male pattern baldness look sexy.

 It's funny to me that there was a time when I was giddy about diamonds from you. After five years of marriage, you have given me so much more than diamonds.

Like this guy. And encouragement in my faith. And support. And a tether to the earth. And you are still, hands down, the funniest person I have ever met. I used to be the funny one, but I am so happy to just sit and laugh at your wit instead. I hope our son grows up to be JUST LIKE YOU.

Well.

Except for maybe the farting in bed.

I love you, husband, and I am so happy I said yes to you.

Celebrating from the Inside Out

This time last year, I had checked off every item on a thorough cleaning/decorating/baking/shopping/gift wrapping list. It was a little bit crazy, and included things like, "Finish Christmas shopping by December 1." We were hosting Christmas for both sides of our family, and I wanted it to be really special. My husband and I both love having people over and providing a place for people to relax and recharge, and I thought I could make things "perfect" for everyone.

It's amazing how much things can change in a single year, isn't it? This year, while I still like making things with my hands, my shoulders slump under the weight of so much grace. I am undeserving. Yet here I sit, happy heart in my home, with a new understanding and insight about what it means to celebrate this season.

What would I have said, I wonder, looking at pictures of myself at Christmas last year, if I could tell her that soon, in just a few months, she would learn what it is like to lose? What if some magical visitor from the future had touched my shoulder gently as I served my homemade cinnamon rolls and said, "Next summer you will bury your baby." I wouldn't have believed it if someone told me that I'd lose a second child in the fall. Two in one year.

But here I am, these things came true, and still my cup runs over. He gave me enough grace. Grace enough to get through it. Grace enough to see with newly washed eyes. As beautiful as handmade gifts can be, as inviting as the smell of freshly baked pastries, perfection on the surface is just that. It's on the surface. It can be scratched away.

This year, we are only half-finished painting our house. You should see our guest room: it's like a craft supply bomb exploded in there. I haven't made those cinnamon rolls yet. But I wish I could show you my heart.

It's a garden of Eden in most ways. Like all the love and grace and tender care I never knew I would need left seeds when they rolled through my life this year. Laid seeds and tilled the soil and harvested the crops and cultivated heirloom roses, too. Two deep cracks can be seen running through it, my heart, but they are cracks out of which lilies grow. The kind of cracks that break in the soil of the soul before bulbs can shoot forth into flowers, or vines into fruit. Wellsprings of longing and joy.

This year, in this season of advent, I let the shopping and the decorating and the baking fall gently to the bottom of my list. Like the cream rising to the top, what is most important to me now is clear. I teach my little one about the truth, the lamb, the word, the grace God himself has given me and Don. "Where does Jesus live?" I ask William. He points to the sky, "Yee-sus," he says. Then he takes his hand and pats his little chest. "That's right," I tell him. "He fills up our hearts, too."

A Labor of Love: Making a Jesse Tree Tradition

It's finished!

I've been working on a handmade Jesse tree for the last three weeks and I'm so excited that it's finally completed. Sculpey clay is my new favorite.

 I used the clay to roll out small (these are about 1.5 inches across) fluted circles using a tiny biscuit cutter, and then I painted them with champagne colored craft paint. I originally wanted to paint the symbols onto each circle, but my goal was to complete this project for as little as possible, and I didn't have the right type of paint. So I decided to mold each tiny symbol by hand.

 This took much longer than I thought it would, and it was pretty frustrating at times, but I'm so happy that I did it.

 While most of our symbols are the standard ones (you can find tons of lists of Jesse tree ornaments online), a few were too daunting for me to attempt, so I made unique symbols for those bible passages.

 I spray painted some large branches from our backyard with white paint and propped them inside a vase that my mom gave us as a wedding gift.
I put family pictures and glittered ornaments around the tree's vase.

 Since the goal was to complete this project for little or no money, I used only things I already had, with the exception of the $3 spool of silver ribbon I used to hang the ornaments from the tree. I made "snow" around the base of the tree by cutting long strands of creamy knotted yarn and bunching it around the vase.

 I wrapped small bits of the yarn randomly throughout the branches, and held them in place with bits of craft glue at each end.

 The little boy above is an example of some of the symbols I created that are unique to my family's new Jesse tree. Instead of the lion and the lamb, I made a little child with a balloon (as in, "a little child will lead them").

 And this is the symbol I created for Isaac- a baby in a womb. He's a little hard to see in the photo above.

 I wanted to make something that would intrigue William (and ME) for years to come.

The tree is on our entry table in front of the mirror. You can see the doily project in the reflection behind the white branches, and it looks to me like a wall of falling snowflakes. I can't wait to read William the first story that foreshadows the birth of a savior. I'm so looking forward to using this tree every December.