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.

Enjoy the Show

Friday night was opening night of the Nutcracker.
This was Rose's fourth year performing.
Our whole family stood in line an hour before curtain and finally got seated in the middle, five rows from the front. 
The first half was flawless and intermission came with only minimal suffering for the brothers. 
The first number of the second half the stomach flu hit. Literally. It hit the floor of the stage and froze the dancers mid move. The curtain closed quickly and Dave and I exchanged amused glances over the heads of our children who were seated in between us. A man behind me muttered about "low income productions" (I wonder how a bigger budget could have kept her from vomiting?). Someone in front of me suggested just dancing over it.
My friend Amy, sitting across the aisle, hopped over to me and we started to laugh. 
After all, it wasn't our kid. 
But I'm pretty sure the director wasn't laughing. The stage was cleaned, ballet shoes were disinfected, and before you knew it, the dance went on.

When my head hit the pillow that night I thought, raising adult children is exactly like that.
For almost 20 years, I've been the stage director. I absolutely take my cues from God, but more or less, I'm in charge of the daily decisions. I've scheduled dentist appointments, trimmed toe nails, flashed biology termed flash cards. The foods they eat, the type of bedding they sleep on, the kind of deodorant they use, and whether or not they have clean socks have largely depended on me. I've given my life to this job of mothering. I've researched everything from allergies to cat litter. I've felt the weight of the responsibility of my choices. I've prayed. And prayed some more.
But now I have two adult children and my role is changing. I've done my job well and they know what they're about. They want to see me in the audience cheering them on, watching with wonder and delight as they dance through their lives. I know there will be moments of vomit on the stage, moments when catastrophe comes and the dance freezes mid move. And I can trust that the director has it under control and that the dance will go on. God is the one who has always been in charge, and now, it's just that much more obvious.
It is a hard transition from backstage to audience, a transition I am still maneuvering. But I have hope and a God who loves to teach me and stretch me in new ways. There are days when the enormity of this change engulfs me and I thrash about in fear. Fear for my children (it's a scary world out there) and fear for myself (will I still exist without children depending on me???) But God reminds me again, what I often forget, I haven't given my life to this job of mothering, I've given my life to HIM. That won't change no matter if I'm sitting behind or in front of the curtain. 
And after all that work, I have every intention of enjoying the show. 

Life in the Oven

I woke at 4 am and thought, "I love baking. You always know what's going to come out of the oven by the ingredients you put in the bowl."

This may appear to be a random observation at 4 am, but it wasn't. It stemmed from the vastly different personalities of my children, all whom I have raised EXACTLY THE SAME.

The same ingredients went in the bowl, but let me tell you, I am pulling some interesting things out of the oven.

Avonlea rocked the boat a little as a teenager. Grant has capsized it.

It's not just a few scattered incidents, it's a constant state of incident.

Take this morning. I was in the shower. I was startled by a furious pounding at the door. I hear Grant yell, "I need help!"

At least he's admitting it, I muttered. I turned the shower off so I could hear him, "What's the matter?"

"I need a comb!"

"I'm sorry dear, but I am not getting out of the shower to get you a comb."

Real angst in his voice, "But I already put the gel in!"

I sensed tears were near so I jumped out, dripping, grabbed a comb and stuck it through the cracked door. Did I hear a relieved thank you? Oh, no.

I heard an exasperated Grant say, "Not THAT one!"

I think shock set in about this time and somehow he got his correct comb and I got my shower but I'm not sure how.

Recently, Grant had friends over for his 16th birthday. He told me that he gave them a talk about relationships. Okay....this was curious....what about relationships?

"Well, I told them there were two types of relationships, dominant and recessive."

I replied, "Aren't those gene types?"

"Yeah, well it works for relationships, too. Recessive relationships are shallow and don't last. (At which point he told me one of his friends shook his head and muttered, "I've had a lot of recessive relationships.") Dominant relationships have two characteristics; both people like each other and they are willing to wait a really long time."

I gathered my scattered wits at this eloquence and asked, "Where did you get this?"

He replied bitterly, "Experience."

Grant was running across the sidewalk the other week when his dog ran between his legs and sent him flying. He got up and ran after his dog. Comet is no fool and when she saw him coming she rolled onto her back and played dead.

I said to him later, "She didn't mean to knock you down Grant, you shouldn't have gotten so angry with her."

He replied, "I wasn't angry that she knocked me down, I was angry that she didn't come back to check if I was okay!"

At which point I laughed. Really hard. Because when you put the ingredients for scones into the bowl and pull pork and beans out of the oven the only reasonable response is laughter.

On The Edge

When you are teetering on the edge of sanity it only takes a small thing to tip you right on over.

Last Wednesday, that small thing came in the form of a dead hamster. Now the hamster itself wasn't the tipper. Actually, I have been known to complain over the longevity of this very hamster. The thing that brought the tears, was the memory of getting the hamster.

I quote from 2014: "We all worked together to set up the cage and then the four of them sat down around the cage and stared that poor hamster down. Grant looked up at me, love radiating out of his sweet face and said, "This is the best day of my life."

The hard part to read there is that last sentence about Grant. Since that hamster moment, my son has turned 13. Radiant and sweet are not exactly the best adjectives used to describe him right now.

I recently brought him with me to North Dakota to visit our friends. As we walked toward our gate at the airport I said, "Grant, we get the whole day together." (Traveling to North Dakota is not for the faint of heart traveler). He replied, "I wish I had some kind of electronic device. Anything would do."
Alrighty.

So I went weary to North Dakota, knowing that my friend Dayna would prop my feet up, make me some tea, and feed me yummy things. So I was a little surprised the first day to have Dayna say, "Let's go to the Badlands for a hike!" All instincts told me to STAY AWAY from anywhere called the badlands. Obviously the person who named the place was trying to tell us something. We spent the afternoon there hiking and waiting (while our kids looked for a rattlesnake nest) and it was lovely and a little creepy.

The next morning we ran a 5K. Dayna had asked me before I came if I wanted to and I said "sure!". However...1. I didn't know what a 5K was....2. I was in my jammies drinking tea when I replied.
So we ran/walked it. I enjoyed being with Dayna.

The next day we walked around at a lake. Monday before I left for the airport she made me take a brisk walk before taking me to a tea shop. Something of the carrot there.

When we got on the plane to go home, Grant looked at me and said, "I can't move." Dayna's boys played as hard as she did.

However....I did have plenty of rest and tea and Dayna's good, good cooking...she just made me work for it.

I'm sorry, that had nothing to do with the dead hamster.

I went upstairs as my boys prepared the body for burial and I mourned. Not the rodent, but the era when a hamster was enough to make my boy beam. For the days past, when hugs and kisses were the common currency between us. When we spoke the same language, laughed at the same things, and ate gluten together in secret.
I know this stretching, this change, has to happen. I know it's good. But I miss him.

After I got upstairs, I did fall over the edge. But it wasn't the edge of sanity, merely the edge of control. I have to get over myself, over the fact that he is now making his own choices, over the idea that change is bad and that growth means distance. I'm going to remember that Peter Pan needs to be allowed to leave Neverland.

I want to rejoice in this. To honor my son and my God as I help Grant transition into adulthood. But in all honesty, I'm struggling right now.

Discouragement brings with it so many voices. Exhaustion invites rude guests.

Today I fought the good fight, yesterday I didn't.

I don't know what tomorrow will bring.

But I know truth. So I strive to live it. To let my burden fall when I realize it's too heavy. To laugh upon slightest provocation. To turn a cold shoulder on self-pity. To take a nap. To spend time with Jesus and ask for His eyes and heart. To throw myself over the edge without waiting for something to propel me.

Rowan turned 10 this week. He is a wonderful boy. Sweet and loving and helpful and full of questions. I tell him I will never have all the answers to his questions, but I will always love him, and that will just have to be good enough!

And that's kinda that, my faulty love and God's perfect love, is all I have to offer them.
May love be what pushes them over every edge.

Whistling Boy Returns

He's home.
He's smelly, and tan, and laughing.
I got a kiss and a hug that lingered (in more ways than one).
My family is whole again.
And I'm happy.
His words come fast and furious and form themselves into sentences which are bullets of information and emotion.

Note the boots please.

Of course there were sentences that made me cringe.
"I changed my clothes every nine days."
"My bags were overweight so I didn't take my towel or washcloth."
"I don't want to go swimming right now, I'm not used to water anymore."

And sentences that made me cry.
"I was so sick for the first week. When I wasn't working I just laid on my mat and watched the spiders and ticks crawling up the walls."
"I burned so bad on the back of my neck, I was blistered and bleeding."

And sentences that made me proud.
"I asked them why I needed to know that word if I didn't plan on using it."
"The leaders left me in charge when they left the room."



This group of 10-13 year olds did a mighty big amount of work in Trinidad!

And sentences that made me laugh.
"They had a lot of dance parties at the church. I really cut loose on the last night."
"The shark tasted like aquatic chicken."
"I showed my leaders your picture. They all thought you were cute."

His tent at boot camp.

So he's home and he's bathed and healthy and whistling.
He's a vital part of our family and we function best with him here.

Thank you God for bringing my boy home!

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.

Surprised

Avonlea was born in April. The end of March I had pretty convincing false labor. I went to see my doctor and I said, "Um, I hope that's not what labor is going to feel like, because that really hurt!"

She looked at me like she was trying to figure out if I was joking, I wasn't.

She didn't really have to say anything because I had my answer a few weeks later.

Yes, it really hurt. But I didn't care! I rejoiced in spite of the pain, I enjoyed the wonder of the birth of the most beautiful little girl!

To make up for my lack of preparation for the pain involved in birth, I tortured myself throughout the next pregnancy. I anticipated the pain and so it came as a shock when Grant shot out quickly and almost painlessly. I am captured on video, holding my son seconds after his arrival, exclaiming, "That was easy!"

And that's me in a nutshell, always surprised by the best and the worst.

Parenting the teen years has had something of the same feel to it. I am still grappling with the fact that this is hard. It's labor to raise these children through their hormones and my own. It's agonizing to search the faces of my teens, trying to find something familiar, something sympathetic.

I watch them stretching past me, yearning for the light and air of freedom and independence. I see them make their own choices and I feel the tearing of separation, even though they are often making good choices.

Throughout the labor, throughout their ache and mine, there is profound gratitude. I was blessed to be able to carry them inside me for nine months. I was blessed to be able to wrap my arms around them all these years and train them. I am blessed to have them always, embedded in my heart, twined into the person I am.

I stood at the window and waved this morning as Avonlea drove off to school. She didn't look back. And the pain of that surprised me.
But I rejoiced in spite of the pain, as I watched in wonder at the maturing of the most beautiful young lady.

These Boots Were Made For....

"How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can they preach unless they are sent? As it is written, "How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!"

Romans 10: 14-15

When Avonlea left for 2 months with Teen Missions last summer she had on new boots. Those boots endured a 2 1/2 week boot camp in Florida and then 6 weeks of hiking, street evangelism, and drama presentations in Italy and Greece.

When I was frantically packing for our Haiti trip earlier this month (approximately two hours before we had to be at the airport) I realized all I had for foot gear were Nikes. Really cute Nikes with hot pink laces. Could I Haitify them? Not in good conscience. Avonlea saved the day by bringing out her Teen Mission boots. They fit. Mostly.


The boots in Haiti

When I was asked several months ago if I would be interested in going to Haiti, I said "no". Immediately. I don't even like to go camping. But after my "no" the Spirit began to whisper "yes". He also whispered some hard questions, such as, "Will you go when I send you regardless of...." Fill in the blank with all my legitimate arguments.

After much prayer and thought I decided to go, and I was scared stiff, but I learned something. My daughter was brave. She stepped out in her new boots into unknown situations and experiences. She obeyed, even though she is an introvert and loves to be home with her family; she went. And God provided what she needed to obey. I learned that I could trust Him to provide what I needed to obey, too.

This summer Grant is going to Trinidad. He will probably be wearing these same boots. He will have the same fears and insecurities that I had, that Avonlea had, but he will obey his God regardless. And it's not about the boots (although I love the symbolism) and it's not about the feet in the boots necessarily. It's about a good God, who loves this world, sends His people to proclaim His love, and equips them to do it by His Spirit.

Our team at the construction sight of the home

One of the girls in the family we were building the house for. She is holding her doll.

You can kinda see my nose.



Crying over the beauty of these children.

The house we were building right next to those blue cans.

This year, God has asked me to let my children go serve Him,and to go myself. Both of these things were terrifying for me.

But let me testify to the faithfulness of God

in both these situations

and the blessing that comes through obedience.

 



Overload

Since the holidays, I have been on overload. I am now going to share that overload in an attempt to feel less overloaded. Or  maybe it is simply because I have an hour to myself right now, as my husband and son make weapons of mass destruction and my daughter does homework and my other two are in bed.

On my birthday post I relayed the information that our beautiful trees were being executed. I have been reminded, once again, that there is beauty in death. The sunlight that lit up our previously dark living room almost took my breath away. Sunlight that came because of a cutting away.

After a lovely Christmas at home, we headed up to LaPine, and then onto the cottage, where we lived in a blur of activity and laughter. Truly a time I treasured.

Ice skating!

Sledding by tractor in the moonlight

My cottage decorating continues....here is the kitchen remodel so far.

this is how it looked when we bought it



this was the first phase
 

Not done yet, but getting there

Next...came Grant's birthday. He was given responsibility in the form of a gift. A precious gift that he named Comet.

Grant picked her out as a two week old baby

We brought her home at 6 weeks

She has become Grant's constant companion

Needless to say we've been in puppy heaven. Comet is so sweet. Grant got to learn how to wake in the night to puppy whines and take her out to potty. He feeds her, walks her, and trains her.

This last weekend we had a birthday party. Grant is growing up into a fun, loving, God-fearing man and part of this is reflected in who he has chosen for friends. These boys are kind, polite, and considerate. I feel tangible hope when I look at these boys and the men they are growing into.

The nicest boys ever, even if they are armed

I think that brings me up to date on Christmas, puppies, and teen birthdays. I no longer feel overloaded.
Now I can fix my sights on the next thing....
which happens to be Haiti!