Echo Farm

 An extraordinary night finds me alone in my house. I haven't been alone in my house since Covid hit our country 9 months ago. I have been with my family. Constantly. I say that tonight I am alone, but I should clarify that I am only bereft of people, not animals. Covid has turned my lovely, Georgian home into a muddy farm. And I am thankful. 

Rowan kicked off the spring by planting 2000 pumpkin seeds. A 40 row garden went in next. 

We built a barn and Rose got a pregnant cow. Rowan began raising, butchering, and selling chickens.

We got a piglet.

Geese were added to protect the chickens and barn kittens were secured to keep the barn in order.

Turkeys were someone's bright idea and 6 of them gobbled in the field. 

I started to go a little crazy and wore overalls and straw hats every day in the summer.

I have had many dreams in my lifetime but I'm pretty sure this was never one of them.

But I try to take what comes, listen to my kids ideas, and if at all possible, help them make those ideas happen. Sometimes, like when the cow tries to trample me, I think I may have gone too far. But then, nothing really bad has happened yet and our bacon tastes great. We are not completely self sufficient, but close. We eat our own meat out of the freezer, drink our own milk, crack our own eggs, and saute our own veggies.

Rowan and Rose are the driving force behind everything. Dave comes home from work and helps when he can. Grant just shakes his head and mutters that we only got him frogs. Avonlea is always willing to help between her school and work, but almost everything falls on Rowan, Rose and me. Rose and I get up every morning to milk. I strain and play dairy maid while she cleans stalls and sees to ducklings, rabbits, chickens, and kittens. Rowan feeds dogs, meat chickens, geese, turkeys, and quail. I go back out and give extra milk to animals who had 5 gold stars for attitude and obedience and then I distribute pumpkins (although we sold hundreds, we still have a few (hundred) left over). The chickens and the cow love overly ripe pumpkins ripped open for them. I love feeding and nurturing so we are all very happy. 

We named our farm, Echo Farm. I believe that the words we say and the actions we do will live on through our children and echo down through the generations. This summer as my mom, Avonlea, and I weeded the garden together and Rose and Rowan wandered by feeding and walking animals I knew that none of us would ever forget the sound of this particular echo. That my mom, who sacrificed time and money we didn't have when I was growing up, so that I could become a dancer, enabled me to sacrifice my time and dislike of dirt and dirty animals so that my children could realize a dream. 

Maybe having a farm was never a dream of mine, but whoever said we have to only make our own dreams come true? This echo of sacrifice started long before me or my mom. It started with our Father God and it is echoing still in this world. Echoing in places we'd least expect to hear it. Like in a barn. 

Although maybe, that's the most natural place in the world to hear it. 

Merry Christmas.

Loops

I like loops.
Roads that begin and end in the same place.
I like leaving and I like coming home.
I like continuity.

My first loop experience was at Capernwray where you left the castle door with a chum or two and came back to the castle door with an enlarged worldview or a poetic twist on your common ideas.

Along the loop you'd see things like this:

And this:

The beauty of the journey shaped my soul as much as the conversation enlarged my thoughts.

I have recently experienced another type of loop. This month, Dave and I celebrated our 20th anniversary. Since we met in England we decided to loop back to Europe to toast our twenty. So in May, Dave and I spent a week in Switzerland.

The Matterhorn

We spoke of our own 20 year loop as we looped along mountain passes and waterfalls. We let our eyes feast on the beauty and our souls feast on the faithfulness of God through the long, winding years. I had time to look at my husband and say, "Thank you. You have been a faithful, loving husband to me for 20 years. I appreciate it. You are more than I deserve. God has shown me His goodness through you."

Tolkien's inspiration for Rivendell. Valley of 72 waterfalls.

Dave had time to tell me a hundred times a day that he thinks I'm beautiful and that he feels very blessed to be my husband. I had time to agree with him.

He took my hand when we crossed the street and he put me on the inside of the sidewalk when we walked. Dave took care of me loving and it reminded me of all the times he has sacrificially cared for me.

 

We are starting out from the castle door again. A new loop with new views and hopefully another 20 years journey to look forward to. There will be steep hills and deep valleys and graves by the roadside. But I wouldn't want to walk it with anyone else.

 

A ruin/graveyard I saw from the town and felt compelled to explore.

 



Our hotel served afternoon tea every day and I loved it!!!

We can see some things on the horizon. Avonlea, our first born, graduated from high school three weeks after we came home. We have our foster care training in August. Rowan starts junior high in the fall. Rose got promoted to the next level of her ballet training.

 

You don't think of the Alps as being blinding, but they were! We could barely open our eyes without sunglasses!

But there are lots of bends and dips in the road that we just can't see. But we know who we're following and we know we will walk next to each other. So we trust and we set out.

I like loops.

Roads that begin and end in the same place.

I like leaving and I like coming home.

I like walking next to you.

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



The Door and the Light

There is a door in the wall.

Last year when Dave and I went to Haiti to build a house, with a team from our church, we saw the door closed.
The community that was adjacent to that side, known as the Grand Ravine side of the seminary, was riddled with gang initiated violence. The shooting of a seminary watchman closed the door.
When Dave and I built last year, we built on the other side of the seminary. There have been over 30 houses built in that community. As the workers gave physical shelter the seminary students built relationships in the community. People have, and are, coming to Christ. Although the sights and smells were shocking to me last year, they were also alive with hope. People in the community smiled and sang with us, they nodded when we talked about Jesus. You could see God's Spirit at work.

This year we ventured back with our four children. We had heard that the gang leader from the Grand Ravine had approached our friend Mason, who is a missionary at the seminary, and asked him to begin building houses in the Grand Ravine. We rejoiced in this yet we were a little surprised when Mason told us we would be building on that side. Remember the four children part of this story?
We flew into Haiti on Monday and began work Tuesday morning. There were about 15 Haitians working on the house, plus Mason and our family. The first thing we did was make a human chain to transfer 100 concrete blocks onto the foundation to begin the walls. I passed a block to Rose and she promptly collapsed. The blocks were as heavy as she was and my only defense in handing her one was my optimistic nature. Rose was out. Then, I saw Dave pass a block to Avonlea. I saw all color drain from her face. Avonlea was out. We finished the block and the girls had better luck spreading mortar.

Rowan with some of his friends from the Grand Ravine

Dave and Grant holding the ladder

Rose washing her own clothes in the sink!

Jennica, our first friend in the Grand Ravine

After two hours Rose announced she was done. As I walked her back to Mason and Lauren's house to play with their kids, she asked, "Why are all these African Americans in Haiti?" Ummm. She wasn't quite ready for that history lesson.

The rest of the day was spent hauling block and concrete, playing with the kids, and building concrete frames.

At night we had dinner and hung out with Lauren and Mason. They were wonderful hosts.

The second day was more of the same. We built relationships with the children. I was amazed at the difference between the two sides of the seminary. The children in the Grand Ravine knew none of the hymns I tried to use to engage them. When I talked about God they shook their heads in confusion. The door into the Grand Ravine was open, but the darkness persisted.

Throughout the day I noticed a change. We taught the kids a Teen Mission song called Walking In the Light. We taught them This Little Light of Mine. We played and laughed and sang. The seminary students walked around and talked to people, sharing the gospel. I could see the Light starting to penetrate. As we left that day the children held our hands and accompanied us out of the door while we all sang Walking In the Light. Praise!

The house before the roof went on

playing with the kids

The Grand Ravine

Rosy's favorite friend Venessa

Thursday we went to Merger to see our sponsored children. Merger is a slum town where our church partnered with a national pastor to start a school. We played on the playground with the two little ones. Our older student, Ricardo, took us to his home. We had a translator and had a good conversation with him. Then we prayed over him. Rose first, then each of the children in succession of age, just like we pray at home. Dave and I prayed a benediction of Light over him. I was crying as we left. At lunch, we were told that one person in the Grand Ravine had responded and accepted the gospel while we were gone in Merger. Praise!

Merger kindergarten class

Rose was surrounded by cuteness

Ephraim

Schmide

Rose was a little overwhelmed by the love

 Thursday night at 2am (Friday morning) I woke to incredible pain in my stomach. It felt as though my insides had been put in a Vita-Mix. This frothy concoction was anxious to exit through any possible channel. I was sick. At 3am while still excreting, the generator quit and the lights went out. I was in totally darkness, directing my vomit toward what I believed to be the general direction of the toilet. The darkness, the pain, the smell (later I found there were dead mice decomposing under the sink) were other worldly.

Share.My.Pain.

Rowan was sick by 7:30 am. All of us took antibiotics. Rowan and I stayed in bed all day Friday. We missed the key ceremony and house dedication. We missed breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and a last night of fellowship with Mason and Lauren. But by Saturday morning, we were able to board a plane and head for Florida.

The scenery in Florida is beautiful but it doesn't hold a candle to the beauty of Haiti. God's creation is lovely, but the people He created are loveliest of all.

Oh the beauty of them!

This trip was a great gift. I was able to hold and love beautiful children. I was able to watch my children interact with all types of people. I could see the fruit of unconditional love in them, an acceptance of others no matter how dirty or naked. I was given a period of sickness to taste, for a bit, the darkness and despair of those around me without Christ. I was given fellowship with my husband and our friends, Mason and Lauren. I was given a front row seat in watching God open the door.

Walking out together

The door.

The door in the wall is open and the Light is pouring in.

Praise!

Growing Closer

I have been coping extremely well with Grant being gone.
The absence of his hugs and laughter is augmented by the absence of his whistling.
He is on a great team, with great leaders. He is working hard and eating shark. The only letter I've gotten from him was to inform me that I sent him with the wrong kind of clothespins and he had to (horrors) go and buy new clothespins at the camp store. Obviously this was worth a letter. I didn't really shed any tears over that correspondence. And did I mention...no whistling?

I have had great bulks of quiet (as in no whistling) time up at the cottage. Resting my soul and body but challenging my mind through the Bible, prayer, and good books. This is a beautiful combination.

Dave is absent this summer. He was forced to move out of the warehouse his business has been in for over 25 years. God provided a new warehouse right across the street. Literally. So he's been busy moving and I've had to reason and debate and process information with/by myself.

One of the thinks I've been thinking has to do with motives. Take this morning for example.

I woke up at 4am. I put on my robe and went downstairs. I was up for an hour. I couldn't sleep. Why? Was there something specific God wanted me to pray for? Or was it because I had on a new nightgown and bathrobe that I had just gotten in the mail from April Cornell. When I examined my motives in walking the floor in the middle of the night, and realized that I really liked the way my robe swished against the hardwoods, I went back to bed. It's easy to unthinkingly apply righteous motives to our movements. I've been surprised by the "swish" on a number of issues that I've examined. It's humbling.

picking blueberries with Rowan

Avonlea went to camp for a week in July and I had so much fun with just the "R's". They have gotten to be such fun companions. They play together really well too, and with Grant gone, Rowan has let Rose work with him in the shop. She proudly showed me the hammer he gave her and he smiled and nodded saying, "You keep working hard and next year I'll give you a screw driver set Rose." Ahhhh incentives. And later he asked, "Rose what time do you plan on working in the shop tomorrow?" Rose replied, "I'll be there at nine." He shook his head and replied, "The shop opens at eight Rose." He's already got her number. I love it.

Other times they barter over their time and it goes something like this, "Okay Rowan I'll work in the shop for 15 minutes if you play Barbies for 15 minutes first." They have a diverse life at the cottage.

Now we head into a few weeks of company and then Grant comes home and all introspection will grind to a halt. Because I'll be listening with all my heart to my boy's stories about stepping out of his comfort zone to serve the Lord. We will fill him in on what we've done in his absence and life will again flow towards the end of summer as a complete family unit. But we will all be a little bit bigger and different. Rose will know how to hammer. Rowan will have learned compromise. Avonlea will have gleaned from her 26 hours of lectures at WorldView camp. Grant will have served a church body in Trinidad and made countless new friends. Dave will be in a new warehouse and he will have a deeper faith in the Lord's provision. I will be more aware of my motives and will go to bed every night feeling lovely in my new nightgown.

We all grow and deepen into Him knowing we will never reach the bottom of His love no matter how many seasons roll by. But also knowing that each season brings us a little closer to Him and therefore a little closer to each other, even when we're apart.

Anniversary

I would like to tell you that 18 years ago I married my best friend. But that would be a lie.

Eighteen years ago I married a man I BARELY KNEW. Gracious I was young and incredibly trusting.

But it wasn't Dave I trusted in. Somehow, between the time I graduated from high school and married four years later, God took my self-confidence and people confidence and turned it into God confidence.

When Dave and I got engaged, I told him I loved him because God told me to. He looked at me and I learned to keep that type of information to myself.

And when we were first married and I tried on a new swimsuit and asked how I looked and he said, "Great, except for right here," which he accompanied with a point, I looked at him. He learned to keep that kind of information to himself.

So we jolted along over this road called marriage and somehow, somewhere in the journey, I fell in love with my husband. Not just because God told me to. But because when he messed up he was so humble and repentant. And because when I messed up, he was so forgiving and loving. He makes me laugh. He makes me groan. He is always ready and willing to sacrifice for all of us (except for when it comes to the last piece of pizza). He has logged impressive listening hours. He works without complaint, early mornings and sometimes late nights. He stopped whistling because high sounds make me vomit. I could go on.

So on Friday morning, when I asked him how his previous 20 hour work day had been, I shouldn't have been surprised at the information that followed. What surprised me was that it took him an HOUR to get to the good part. He's been married to me for 18 years and he still doesn't know how to separate Headline News from fillers. We need to work on this. Anyway, after an hour of small talk, he told me that he slid into a fast food booth at midnight with a taco salad. He quickly slid back out thinking someone had spilled something, because it felt wet. He looked onto the bench but didn't see any water. Then he felt his pants. Or what was left of them. There were two holes, one from outer thigh to crotch, the other smaller but wider. He had been all over the city in these pants, up ladders, bending down. He had no idea when it had happened he only knew his pants had been strangely comfortable all day.

As this all flashed into his conscious he could only think of one thing. He still needed salsa. So he kept to the walls facing outward (surely you've seen this in movies and can imagine it). This my friends is why I love him. It didn't matter that he'd been traipsing around the city all day, he was modest enough to slide to his salsa.

I'm not sure when he became my best friend. But we grew up together and we learned together to have God confidence and we learned when to keep our mouths shut. And we are still learning and God willing, we will have many more years and many more stories, and much more laughter.

Happy Anniversary! I love being your wife!

Haiti

Last night I awoke to the sound of rustling.
My heart quickened and the thought that waved through my mind like a banner was, "There are angels in my room!"
Not perhaps a typical reaction, but then, it was my first night home from Haiti.

Dave and I left for Haiti on February 6th and were there for 9 days. We went with a team of 10 from our church to build a kindergarten classroom at a school that our church supports. However, when we got down there it turned out that there was a transportation strike over gas prices so it was impossible to run the risk of getting to the school. Instead, we started to build a house in the neighborhood of the seminary where we were staying. We were able to work in the community and later at the school and both experiences were amazing.

Dave is still there so I don't have any pictures to show until he gets back, as he has the camera. But I wanted to get some of my main impressions down.

Walking through the squalor of the neighborhood that first day was shocking. The houses are built stacked together (the "law" is 3 feet of space on every side). The paths between the houses are littered with garbage and waste. And this is where, walking through this labyrinth of bodies and homes and garbage, the image of our happy, well dressed, prosperous church chanting "God is good all the time, and all the time God is good" slapped up against this reality. I didn't want this slapping. Perhaps if I had gone to the school first, and seen all the happy, beautiful children in their school uniforms singing about Jesus, the contrast wouldn't have been so stark. But stark it was.

Slowly over the days, God allowed me to see a beautiful truth. That the working out of God's sovereignty, of His redemption, is in the very bowels of the earth that He created. That the layer we see here on the top, be it lovely or hellish, is only a very thin layer, and underneath that, He's moving. And often, the stirring in the depths will explode like a mini volcano of hope and light amidst the darkness. It was after seeing these mini explosions that I started to understand, He's here, He's working.

These explosions often came in the form of people. Mason and Lauren are missionaries in Haiti and long time friends. They serve the people of the community tirelessly. That doesn't mean they're not tired, but they are unfailingly motivated by the love of God for these people. They have helped rebuild dozens of houses for people living in scrap metal.

Johny, who laughs. Johny is the big Haitian man who started the school in Merger that our church supports. He drove to Merger daily even though it was often not safe to do so. He explained, "If the God in the Bible is real, He is able to get me safely to Merger." It was later reported to him by thugs that when they would lay in ambush to attack his car, his car would simply disappear. Yes, God is real. Johny saw a slum through the eyes of God and built a little school. The school now has almost 400 children and goes to grade 11. Next year the first child will graduate. These children are happy and bright and have a hope and faith in Jesus that is astounding.

WaWa is the president of the seminary. He had dinner with us and explained his heart for discipleship that surpasses just imparting Biblical knowledge to the students. He teaches the teachers how to invest in lives, like Jesus did, so that the students can see the practicality of loving Jesus. Yes.

We visited Chantelle who had a house built for her in 2011. She was laying on a thin blanket on the cement floor on the house. She had had diarrhea for 4 days (which was why she wasn't in a bed). When she saw several of the men who had built her house, she sat up and threw her arms open. They bent down to hug her. She had nothing but joy, nothing but gratitude for the roof over her head. We filed out of her home solemn, choked with the stench and the joy and the shock of having witnessed a volcano.

There were many other believers that we met that were faithfully, joyfully serving God among their people. They didn't look like volcanoes, but they were.

In truth, the very fact that our team was there was a volcano in itself. We hugged and kissed the children and we (the girls anyway) let them do our hair. We sang with them and laughed with them and told them "Jesus loves you" as we pressed our white finger onto their chocolate chest.
Jesus loves you. That is the truth that all the volcanoes proclaim.
God is working. Often it's in bowels, where it's not easy to see.
But I'm listening now, for the groaning and stirrings in the depths (or for the rustle of angel's wings).
I'm watching now, for the explosions of light that illuminate truth in this dark world.
Jesus loves you.

The people chanting "God is good all the time, and all the time God is good" were right, and it didn't matter what they looked like on the surface, because He's working in the depths just the same.

The Days That Pass

"I stopped there in my field and looked up. And it was as if I had never looked up before. I discovered another world. It had been there before, for long and long but I had never seen nor felt it. All discoveries are made in that way: a man finds the new thing, not in nature but in himself."

-David Grayson

 

 

I learned a lot this summer. And as summer revolved into fall I grappled with my knowledge, trying to own what I knew, desperate to apply it.

One life change led to another. Avonlea gone for two months became Avonlea home but at school every day. We don't blink at her gone for 7 hours a day because her mission trip accustomed us to life without her. The tragedy of seven hours absence is quelled in comparison to two months. She is her own responsible, independent, mini adult. That change was birthed on the mission field for her and for myself, it was birthed in an orchard.


Avonlea at the Colosseum

All summer long, I walked the orchard every night that we were up at the cottage. It was therapeutic to walk down row after row in prayer and praise and communion with the Maker of nature's fruit. Up one aisle, down the next. The kids would either be in bed or occupied when I slipped away, but sometimes they weren't. Sometimes they'd ask to come and I'd resist, I'd been with them all day, I wanted to be alone with the Lord. But they only learn what they see, so sometimes I'd take one of them. We'd take turns praying aloud. Up one aisle, down the next. And my heart would break wide open in the blessing of this. My child and I, side by side, talking to the God of the universe like He was walking next to us. A new faith was birthed in that orchard, a far costlier fruit than the pears that hung thick.

Dam building at the cottage

 

There was pain this summer. Physical pain. My mom fell down the stairs at our house, while we were gone, and broke her tibia. My husband had a tooth implant that got an infection that spiraled him into unbearable pain for 12 days. My mom and my husband, my support system, knocked flat by pain I was completely helpless to alleviate. I felt it deeply, my daughter was gone beyond my help or influence, my closest loves were suffering intensely, and I had no control. At one point Dave woke me in the night to pray...again...sleep was intermittent at best for over a week and we were both exhausted. I pulled myself up and told Dave, "God is sick of my voice!" But He wasn't. He isn't.

My voice calling out to Him in every situation is exactly what He wants. I experienced the truth that though circumstances made me feel out of control, I was exactly where He wanted me. That I am never so well provided for, so perfectly centered, as when I am out of my control and in His. That any time I feel in control, I am being hallucinatory.

So we swing forward into the next season and I struggle to live this every day. To teach it to my children. To make sure they know that no matter what, God's got them. They are His, He will never forsake them. Sometimes my love for them becomes my driving force and I have to mentally go back to the orchard. Walk with them, teach them to pray, remember the fruit.

 My life will never look like it did before this summer. The birth of one thing requires the death of another. I've known that before and now I know it again. This summer birthed a new era of our family and there is mourning sometimes for the era that is past. But my husband's mouth and my mom's ankle are healing, growing strong again, and I know that we will too.

 

And until then, He's got us.

 

And when we're thriving in this new now, He'll have us still.