The Nine Days

Rose came into this world on a rainy morning in April. She was pink and beautiful and precious. Dave was in the room and so was little Avonlea. Avonlea was six at the time, nine days from her 7th birthday. She had prayed for years for her sister Rose to be born and I thought she might want to be in on the action in the delivery room. 
As she held her new sister, I asked her, "So what did you think of little Rose's birth?"
She thought for a moment before replying, "It was very....private."
Later that day, I had the realization that in 2020, for nine days, I would have 4 teenagers. Rose would turn 13, and 9 days later, Avonlea would turn 20.
Of course at the time, I didn't really believe that day would ever come. If they grew up that would mean that I'd have to grow up, and I had no intention of doing so. I loved my babies being babies. I loved kissing soft little faces, holding grimy hands, and listening to their hilarious thoughts. 
Sometimes I wish life was a book that I could read as many times as I liked. The chapters have flown with adventures and heartache, laughter and pets, and it's 2020. 
Last week we ushered in the Nine Days.
Dave and I had made all sort of plans. We were going to Hawaii, a Victorian Tea House, a hike, 2 restaurants, etc. It was going to be a huge party, a celebration of 4 teenagers, all of whom we think are absolutely amazing people. But alas, COVID19. 
So the Nine Days that would have been spent in celebration are spent in isolation.
During the Nine Days we found out that the government ran out of money for small business loans and we had to lay off all our employees. Our business is considered essential but we do our business to "non" essential businesses so we had no work. 
Rose had kind friends who drove over and sat on blankets 6 feet apart from eachother to celebrate her day. Her grandparents stopped by with a present. We went on LOTS of walks with the dogs. We played games, did puzzles, went to a protest, prayed, and watched old movies. But the Nine Days looked nothing like I envisioned it looking. 

This is what a birthday party looks like during COVID19. We are doing a Bible Study. 

One of the things I did during the "stay at home" order was read through all my old journals starting with my marriage. I was constantly being surprised in my journals. Marriage was way more work than I thought it was going to be. Babies were surprisingly challenging. Homeschooling was alarmingly unvaried. House cleaning never ended. But even though so many things were not as I had anticipated them being, I still dove right in and enjoyed what I could and endured the rest (like diapers). 
So with the Nine Days. Another chapter. Another journal entry. Another surprise that I wasn't expecting but that I dove into anyway, thanking God for the good and enduring the rest (like Rose's zoom ballet class for 7 hours a week). 
I woke up this morning and knew the Nine Days were over. Twenty years ago I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. It was as if Dave and I had planted an unlabeled seed and we've had such pleasure in watching her become herself over the years. Avonlea is a delightful surprise and she has bloomed in extraordinary ways. 
I'm pretty sure my kids haven't stopped surprising me and life isn't done surprising me and I guess I should just dive in and enjoy what I have to endure because this is it. And I suppose the biggest surprise is that the kids have managed to grow up....but I haven't.

Before

After

Before

After

Before

After

The Slopes

Yesterday, Dave took the boys skiing. 
It was a beautiful spring day and they had all kinds of dangerous, adreneline pumping fun. 
I stayed home and vacuumed and schooled Rose. Later, I took the girls on a stroll through an antique store and ended up at a restaurant for dinner. 
We all missed each other.
After having Avonlea away last year we are profoundly grateful for the times when we are all together. Because we know it's not going to last. Avonlea's year in New Zealand was the beginning of the end. Grant leaves in July for his year in New Zealand and Avonlea has boys circling the house like vultures. So the nights of Catan and movies and dinner around a candlelit table are expiring and therefore precious. But truly, they were always precious.

Dave said the weather conditions up skiing yesterday were interesting. At the top of the lift it was sunny with blue skies but as he skiied down the mountain it misted over and then began snowing! Different altitudes had different weather and he only had a brief time to marvel over it as he manuvered the hills and landed the jumps. 

I understood this. Conditions are constantly changing around here and I have only time to blink in amazement before my attention is demanded for navigation of the terrain.  A few weeks ago the kids were all in the office playing a game and I was cleaning up a desk and reading alternately. I went to get something and Rowan called out, "Mom, come back. You're the sunshine in the room." This random little comment stopped me in my tracks. Do I help decide the climate of their lives? Yes, I do. I wonder if they'll remember their childhood as tropical or polar? Probably both or somewhere in between. 

So I vacuum. I have the kitchen painted blue and the living room painted red (Dave wins again). A barn is going up behind Ma Glo's apartment. It will house a milk cow and Rowan's tractor. There is a big vase of tulips on the counter next to a plate of cinnamon coffee cake. As hard as I try to make their home beautiful and cozy, it's actually my heart and hands and smile that make the difference in their lives. I know I forget this. I get grumpy cleaning toilets and begrudge them the crumbs on the floor. But this counteracts the very thing I'm trying to do. Which is, make their lives beautiful, colorful, engaging and then point to the one who is the Creator of all creation. I've been manuvering this terrain for twenty years, through all types of weather. And although I'm tired, I realize there's no where to lay down. I'm still on the slope. 

There are days when I'm ready to check in my rentals, but there are also moments of exileration that encourage me to keep going. My adorable and shrinking, 79 year old mother, goes downtown to Portland every Tuesday evening to pray for homeless people in line for the free dinner. She braves the cold and dirt and occasional violence to offer people the love of Jesus. She mentioned to Rowan that sometimes people ask for Bibles but that she doesn't have any to hand out. Rowan gathered his siblings together and asked if they'd put their tithes and offering toward buying Bibles for Ma Glo to distribute. The purchased 600 New Testiments with commentary on how to become a Christian. 

Moments like that, when I see them loving well, I realize afresh the faithfulness of God. 

For faithful He is. In all kinds of weather through all different landscapes. He persistantly takes my world and shakes it up and teaches me to appreciate the changes instead of whining about them (even though whining is unfortunately part of the process for me). The changes change my life when I submit to His work in me. 

So today, I drop off kids at class, stop by the clinic for blood work, cut up watermelon for the ducks, make a pot of tea and read a book aloud to lunching children. I do these things in His Name for a kingdom I cannot see, but one I highly anticipate.

I know that we won't all be together forever on this earth, in this (clean) home, but I'm doing my utmost to make sure we're all together in another home for eternity. 
These are precious years.

A Story and a Dream

The story goes....

One summer we felt the need to forgo traditional church and spend Sunday mornings with the kids in the woods. We'd pack a lunch, hike a trail, park our bottoms on some rock outcropping or next to a waterfall and do a devotion and pray. It was 2011 and our kids were 4, 5, 9 and 11. By the end of that summer two things were clear: our family needed more time together and we all absolutely loved the Columbia Gorge wilderness.

So we started dreaming. Like most dreams ours started with a "what if". What if we could find a house in the woods somewhere were we could vacation? What if we could find something small and low maintance with a creek and a mountain view? What if....?

So we looked and we found something that changed our lives....

I loved the cottage and the view and the creek....but it came with something I didn't anticipate but something I loved more than the other three put together.

An orchard...

I had never been in an orchard before and there was something so symbolic and beautiful and mysterious about it that I fell hard. I can't count the amount of times I've walked those rows praying my children and friends through mission trips and heartache, knowing that my prayers would bear fruit, heavy boughs of ripe God goodness.

Avonlea was 11 when we bought the cottage. She had never been in the woods for a prolonged period before, the cottage changed her life. During the last 7 years she has become an avid birder, animal tracker, mushroom hunter, and outdoor enthusiast. It's not unusual to wake up at the cottage and find her bed empty. She gets up early and stays outside in her camo with binoculars around her neck for hours. The peace and beauty of nature has become part of who she is.

Grant and Rowan slept in a tiny room together at the cottage. They stayed up late scratching backs and telling stories. The spent the days exploring with BB guns, machetes, and knives. They tried every kind of weapon they could get their grubby mitts on and they grew together tied by the bonds of a million adventures. They built forts and went sledding. The adventure and wonder of nature became part of who they are.

Rose was four when we bought the cottage. We would race down the long avenues of pear trees. She played Barbies in her room while the older kids were skiing. She'd come downstairs and ask me to make cookies and tea with her and I delighted in our quiet time together. She grew bolder as she grew older and learned to cross country ski, snow shoe, and sled (which one fateful Thanksgiving landed her in the emergency room). She grew up outside under the trees, under the stars. The joy and excitement of nature became part of who she is.

And so the story goes...

Avonlea's adventurous heart led her to New Zealand where she is thriving in Bible school and learning to unicycle. Every time she face times us she is outside with the blue sky over her head.

Grant starts community college this fall, on top of a part-time job, where his love of exploration will land him (in two years) with a high school diploma, AA degree, and his limited electrician's licence.
Rowan starts 8th grade next week. The curiosity and perseverance he learned in nature inspired him to write a documentary about iPhone usage and kids ("they need to get out and explore!"). He's interviewed professional doctors, psychiatrists, and brain experts. He will take bee keeping classes and raise a pig for the fair.

Rose starts ballet four days a week this September. Her love of the outdoors keeps her in the woods at our house when she's not dancing. The joy of nature has led her to love animals and she is currently saving up for a milk cow.

This weekend we said good bye to the cottage. We signed the papers, washed the floors, had a garage sale and drove away. Another family is coming there to grow and farm and fall in love with the woods. And we are glad. Mostly.

I stood in the orchard with Rowan on one side of me and Rose on the other. I told them this is my favorite view in the whole world. We see these trees pruned in February, small, reduced, and dead looking. We see them bloom into color in April. We see the elongation of limbs and the heavy fruit that grows in the summer, and I tell them, this is what will always happen when God prunes us. He cuts us back so that we can grow more fruit. Every.Single.Time. He is faithful.

For us, it always starts with listening and obeying in the every day. That's the foundation for our dreams, then we ask "what if..." and then we watch God change our lives.
Because He is always Faithful.

Trusty, dusky, vivid, true

She was 6 at her first piano recital.

I sat in our church sanctuary with my family and watched her pound out her simple song and I had absolutely no idea that I had just buckled my seat belt for a journey.
12 years later I am sitting in the same sanctuary listening again to her play.

There are differences. It's not a simple song and she doesn't pound. My dad is no longer sitting with us. Avonlea is taller and sweeter. The journey that I didn't know I started is coming to an end and there is an element of shock, as if a sudden stop informed me of how fast I had been traveling.

Avonlea leaves for Bible College in New Zealand in 2 weeks.

I will miss more things than I can chronicle, but near the top of the list is her music.

I can remember when we told her she could take harp lessons. She didn't gush but she came into the kitchen later and said, "I'm not saying much because my heart is in my throat." That's Avonlea's chronic state. The spoken word that solidifies her heart is difficult for her to express. Her fingers take the place of her vocal chords. She plays her heart on the piano and harp. It's always sweet and lovely and often playful. When I'm hurting or upset, her music is a hug and calm words. When I'm grumpy her music is cheerful and I can't help but caper. Her music draws cats onto her lap and people into the room.

Like Avonlea, her music has just always been there. Always, an important part of my life, my day.
My mother reminds me I'm building a legacy.
My pastor reminds us that we're building a cathedral, not just a square stone.
My mind reminds me that I gave Avonlea to God long ago and that this next step is natural and healthy.
But my heart doesn't acknowledge any of these things!
My heart just loves her and wants her near!!!

Last year when I was planting my rose garden, Dave brought home a rose for Avonlea. It is called the New Zealand Rose. It has more blooms than any of my other roses. The scent of it is amazing. Somehow, the rose bush is comforting me right now. I am allowing her to bloom somewhere else. Other people will be given the scent of her laughter and music and Avonlea-ness. I know she will bring joy and healing and wisdom to those she meets because she loves Jesus and follows Him with all her heart.

I know she will have adventures that she will bring home to our dinner table to make us laugh.
I anticipate the delight she will experience learning more about God's Word.
I want to see her bloom full and lush and velvety.
Even in the hurt of letting her go, gratefulness is greater.
I thank God for a daughter that loves Him.
I thank God for Avonlea.
These have been very precious years.

Avonlea and Grant June 2018 recital

Living the Contradiction

"So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it."

-Wendell Berry
taken from Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

I thought of this poem many times in the last month. I've loved it for a long time. Loved the idea that we are not computers, that the very ability to do something that doesn't compute or make sense, is the very thing that makes us human. That our life can be a great big contradiction of sorts. A parable. 

So for years I've done things that don't make sense (I envision many nodding heads here). I filled my house with animals. I ran through every field I could. I danced when my feet hit sand. I drank out of china tea cups with four small children playing tag through my legs. You can fill in the rest.

But this year I took it to a new level. Our family signed up for foster care. I didn't feel like I could do much more than respite while homeschooling the kids so I thought I'd just get my feet wet. There is no such thing in foster care. Our first child came in November and was difficult and turned our family life on it's head. He was brutish and I decided we needed a girl next. 

So last month a little five year old skipped up my walk and threw her arms around me. 
Ahhh this is more like it, I thought. 

I wasn't thinking that the next day when she threw a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich at me. I wasn't thinking it when a water bottle brushed my head and she proclaimed, "I am little but I can throw hard." I wasn't thinking it when she screamed and spat and called me something to do with a donkey's anatomy. Nor when she laid her head on my counter and said in a little tearless voice, "My mommy hates me." Nor when I spent my nights stretched across the doorway into her bedroom so that Jason, Freddie, and Annabelle the murdering doll didn't get her. 

I was thinking, What am I doing? This was living a life that didn't compute with a vengence. Why would I bring this out of control, raging, terrified little child into my home? I have no experience with this. I have four children of my own. The only word that echoed in my exhausted brain when I asked these questions was "Jesus". The romance of living a poem worked very well when running through fields, but Jesus takes our gift of humanity, of non-computing, way further. I danced on the sand and Jesus walked on the water and that was the difference I was experiencing. 

The first 10 days she was here were long and hard for the whole family. But we all loved hard and gave generously and forgave quickly and we saw amazing fruits come from our little sacrifices. She started to speak the words that we were speaking. She joined in morning prayers with us, even asking if she could talk to God. She wouldn't let me out of her room at night without a Bible story. She hugged each of us many times a day (Rowan counted eight hugs one day, "And that's not including group hugs.") and told us she loved us. After 8 days the nightmares went away and I could sleep through the night in my bed again. She woke up on the ninth morning and said, "Last night when I was going to sleep an angel came in my room and hugged me and told me I wouldn't have anymore bad dreams." And she didn't. 

I don't naively think that we changed her life. Our home was a merely a stepping stone and she has many years of trials and healing yet to come. But we introduced her to God and His Son Jesus. We showed her what a life looks like that's been transformed by His goodness. We showed her ways to live that don't make sense. God goes with her where we can't. He is the parent that will never fail or abuse her. My prayers wrap round her instead of my arms now, and that's even better.

We don't always realize that each step in life is preparation for the next step. Running through fields and loving the children in my home and caring for others faithfully enabled me to love someone who, at first at least, was not very lovable. Years of chasing after God can land us in some interesting places, but it will always land us closer to God. 

She's living in a different foster home now with her two sisters. I miss her but know that she's where she needs to be. And I'm where I need to be, right here, preparing for the next thing God brings that doesn't make sense. In this world anyway.....

Good Friday

Last night we celebrated Good Friday. We had a family meal together and read, the account in the gospel, of Jesus at the last supper with his disciples. Dave and I got down and washed our children's feet, encouraging them to go and do likewise. It always surprises me how some of us fight being served. One child refused to remove his socks. A Peter among us asked Dave to wash his hands as well as his feet. It's a vulnerable place. To hand someone your filthy foot and try not to anticipate judgement.

Five or so years ago Dave and I took the kids out to dinner for Good Friday. We had a large gift card to the restaurant so we let everyone order lavishly. Order, like they wouldn't have to pay for it. To our surprise, the gift card that we gave our waiter had never been activated. We had lived largely and had a debt to pay. Thankfully, Dave had money in the car and we were able to leave without washing any dishes. 

I'll never forget the the unwillingness of my child to uncover his foot.

I'll never forget sitting at a table and being told that what I thought would cover my debt, couldn't. 

I'll never forget the moment I realized I needed a Savior, my debt was discovered, my filthiness exposed. 

So we remember. 

A life full of moments that we entered into the life of Jesus, and He entered into ours. 

And we celebrate.

Because Good Friday, really is Good.

The world in resurrection!

Good Friday hike. Getting our clean feet dirty.

Avonlea's Graduation

When it comes right down to it, I'm a sentimentalist. I don't try to be, I just am.

So I approached Avonlea's high school graduation with fear and trembling. Granted, Avonlea's personality doesn't encourage sentimentality. She is silly and quirky and a bit of a bubble but STILL she's my first born and she was graduating. Sniff, gulp. 

She had a really hard time with the tassel making her cross eyed. Bubble.

We decided to do a home school graduation where Dave and I would talk to her on stage for several minutes and then she would respond to us. There were 11 graduates total and I knew that this had the potential for a full out sob fest. 

Avonlea with four of her graduating friends. I had just said something funny.

When my friend Dayna moved to North Dakota I gave a little talk at her farewell party at the church. I made it too nostalgic and got teary and promptly forgot the end of the speech. (Which, unfortunately, was the best part). So I learned my lesson and knew that if I got emotional I'd end up not saying what I wanted to. So we decided to make it funny.

Lord knows, with Avonlea, it wasn't too hard. The hard part was trying to narrow down her exploits to mock. I wrote out both my part and Dave's and he added his own personal touch at the end. The result was laughter and a memory of joy. 

I thought I'd include our talk here so that everyone one who wanted to come, but couldn't, could laugh with us.

Our Graduation Talk to Avonlea.....June 10, 2017

Me: Avonlea, I've never told you this before, but your dad and I established certain criteria to determine whether or not we should keep you.

Of course there were the general baby qualifiers, big eyes, fat thighs, etc. But what it boiled down to was " Will this child make us laugh?"

So since you had the eye/thigh thing going on we kept you around to see if you produced mirth.

Dave: Do you remember when you were seven and I took you up to your grandma's attic? I told you not to step on the insulation. You were obedient and you didn't step on the insulation, but you did sit on it. You went bottom first through the ceiling I lunged and caught you by the ankle. Your only comment was "Now I have something exciting to tell my children!"

You were expensive and destructive, but you were funny.

Me: And when I took you into the dressing room with me at a nice clothing store and in the quiet of concentrated shoppers your little voice popped out, "Wow mommy! Your legs start out so small at the bottom and get so big at the top!" I grinned and admitted that though you were embarrassing, you were funny.

Dave: When you took your first communion at church and before we could stop you clicked plastic cups with us and said "Cheers". You were sacrilegious, but you were funny.

Me: And when our house was filled with your music, when the days were lived to the melodies your fingers produced on the harp and the piano, When your harp music would coax the animals to you and you'd play with a parakeet on your shoulder and a cat in your lap. You were talented, but even in your talent, you found a way to be funny.

Dave: When you spent the majority of adolescence in the woods seeking birds' nests and strange fungus. You'd come home with your twigs and moss sticking out of your wild hair and burrs stuck to your camo. We'd look at you and say, she's crazy, but she's funny.

Me: So the decision was unanimous.

Dave: And we've never regretted it.

Me: Thanks for all the laughter Avonlea. Homeschooling you for the past 17 years has been a joy to me. Your have taught me more than I taught you. Thank you for being my guinea pig and allowing me to try eyery conceivable curriculum on you. You are scholastically well rounded. Thank you for staying patient and loving me even when I was a crazy wild woman. Your sweetness always calmed me. Over all the achievements that we celebrate today is the core that really matters, you love Jesus. We thank God for the gift of you Avonlea. We love you.

Dave: From the day you were born I committed myself to being the best father I could be. And though I failed many times I thank God for His help in raising you. He has truly blessed me beyond measure to see you through the last 17 years become increasingly more responsible, independent, and most importantly have a faith in Jesus Christ you have called your own. May your faith in God grow and flourish becoming fully dependent on Him in all circumstances. May you follow Him with abandon not based on feeling but based on commitment in the God you trust. I am proud of you and love you very much.

Avonlea is going to be around this year working. She was accepted at Capernwray Bible College in New Zealand for the 2018-19 school year. So I'm still able to keep my chin up and tell myself I have her for 11 more months. 

We were at a light. Pretty sure.

I'm so thankful to all of our friends and family who have contributed to Avonlea's life these past 17 years. So many of you have demonstrated Jesus in tangible ways and she is close to Him because she was close to you first. We were so blessed by everyone who celebrated with us through presence and presents. Thank you.

And now we move into the next chapter....(I can feel the sentimentality starting to tingle) Bible school, then marriage, and finally grand-children...and it seemed only yesterday she was toddling around in diapers...I need to go blow my nose.

Heritage and Hope

Our new house in the country has precipitated an overhaul of my habits. I've always enjoyed staying in bed for as long as possible in the morning. Since we've moved I've woken up at 5:30 am almost every morning. Did everyone catch that (all 5 of my relations who read this)....5:30 AM...It's like this, the morning sun rises red and the gleam of it crimsons the walls of my bedroom. I try to will myself back to sleep, but I know, that outside there's a gauzy mist over the marsh. I know that all the birds are going crazy for sheer joy. I know that bunnies are hopping around on the lawn. I know that a fawn may creep up to nibble on my bushes and if I'm in bed...I'll miss it all!

So up I get. I spend a half hour reading the Bible in front of the windows. I marvel at the light, the leaves, the song of the morning while I pursue truth. Then I go out into it. Just for a short walk before another day needs to be opened.

Recently, while reading in the Old Testament I came upon a list of leaders. They were the division leaders of the army, there were 12 of them, one division for each month of the year.

"The third army commander, for third month, was Benaiah son of Johoiada the priest. He was chief and there were 24,000 men in his division. This was the Benaiah who was a mighty man among the Thirty and was over the Thirty. His son Ammizabad was in charge of his division." (I Chron. 27:5-6)

I noticed as I read the list of commanders that I recognized names. These, like Benaiah, were men I've read about before, men that stood out for their bravery and courage. And now their sons were being identified by the names of their brave fathers. This short passage showed the grandfather who was a priest, the father a mighty man, and the son in charge of his division.

Uncle Jon and Aunt Sandy, who serve God and our Country faithfully with joy and wisdom

Last week was VBC at our church. Avonlea and Grant worked with me in first grade. Rowan attended the camp and Rose stayed home with Ma Glo to save herself for her ballet recital. I was standing in the foyer with Rowan after VBC one day when a woman walked up to me and said, "Your son is so sweet and polite. I had to look at his name tag to find out who he belonged to. I saw it and said, "Oh your a K---!" She said our last name, said it like it fit in a sentence with the words "sweet and polite". She recognized Rowan by his heritage, his family name. Something stirred within me as we walked away.

Uncle Mike....a man of courage and faith.

We bought Avonlea a concert harp several weeks ago. Her teacher tried to explain to me what to look for in a harp. She said, "You don't want it to be too old since the nature of harps are to self destruct. The pegs pull the strings taut one way and the wood pulls them another way. At some point it falls apart and you use the pieces to make a lamp or something."

Sometimes I think this is the nature of family as well. The world pulls hard against our children. Their own inclinations, peer pressure, and a constant stream of other people's thoughts, ideas, and morals join in. And as a mother, a father, we pull the other way. We teach them to follow Jesus, to love selflessly, to give generously. In this tension, they play their song and live their life.

The "sweet and polite" ness that Rowan possesses is a taut string that sometimes breaks under the pressure. But as parents, we don't let up, because we know for certain the world never will. So we train and we pray and we teach again, and again, and again, because we can see the grandfather a priest, the father a mighty man, and the son in charge of his division. We know these things are passed down and passed along and built up through the ages.

"... it was homemaking that mattered. Every home was a brick in the great wall of decent living that men erected over and over again as a bulwark against the perpetual flooding in of evil. But women made the bricks, and the durableness of each civilization depended upon their quality, and it was no good weakening oneself for the brick-making by thinking too much about the flood." (Elizabeth Goudge)

So I wake up early to rosy red light and I spend my time in the Word, because the older my children get, the clearer I see the battle that rages for their souls. I see the tension of the times in which they live pulling against the timeless truth that we have taught and I listen in awe to the music that the tension is creating. I try to express to them the heritage they have been given. Your grandfather is a man of courage, your father is a man of integrity....

...and you my child...you have a song that this world desperately needs to hear.

When I start to despair, when the actions of my children overwhelm me, I remember who else is pulling on our side.
The One whose hands caress the stings and ease the tension into beauty.
He is the reason the red sun rises and the reason the harp doesn't self destruct.

"He is before all things, and in him all things hold together" (Col 1:17)

Home

As my kids have grown older, my life has changed.
There are the usual changes: wrinkles, random gray hair, decreased metabolism.
And then there are other changes. A reaching for prose before poetry. Laughter that takes more work to come. Talks with teenagers that exceed my bedtime.

When we moved into this house almost 14 years ago, we said we would never move.
We loved it and it was home.
We walked to the park almost daily. We walked to story time at the library. We walked to swimming lessons at the pool. We held ballet lessons in the basement. Spanish classes as well. There were recitals under the trees and on the patio. Pony rides in the yard on birthdays. Blazing fires on winter nights with hot chocolate and books. Always a piano playing. Or a violin. Or both. Children playing dress up in the basement. Cookies in the oven. Kids sleeping in the tree house.

A never ending round of friends and family. Ma Glo walking up from next door. Natalie stopping by to pick up her milk and stay for tea. Julianna, Sarah, and I eating cherries on the porch. Tobi coming at the moment I happened to be delivering kittens. Dayna teaching me to can peaches in the kitchen. Jim and Nancy helping great grandma and grandpa up the steps to come in for dinner.

This house has been more than a house, it's been a home.

It will be hard to leave.

We have one more week in our home and then we move.

It is good. We are moving to a house that is close to everything I do with the kids. I will no longer have to spend half my life in my car. This is a huge blessing.

The house itself is lovely. Symmetrical. Solid. Well planned and lovingly maintained.

Ma Glo is moving with us. There is an apartment above the garage where she will perch. We couldn't do without her.

Ma Glo at her surprise birthday party that she almost slept through.

As my kids have grown older, my life has changed.
Some of these changes have caught me off guard.

But not one of them has caught God off His guard. He has led very obviously and we are so thankful for His clear direction.

So we are leaving our house, but we're taking our home with us.
Because our God, this family, these friends, they're coming, too.

And only God knows what other surprises are in store....

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!