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.

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.

Remembering our Royalty

The days are dominoes. Slipping softly one after another or clanging loudly on top of each other aggressively. I am fairly passive in this process. My mold for each day, stuffing minutes like play-doh into the shape I want it to form, is gone. I tossed the mold at some point or maybe it exploded when the minutes became combustible. Entering the world of teenagers and middle schoolers has pretty much annihilated my game plan, and made me very very tired. I grab after laughter like ointment, the only thing that heals my chapped optimism, and I talk. I talk late to my boys. I see this world through their eyes and I feel the confusion and temptations that come with growing into manhood in this culture. I lay my time and heart out in mothering like I never have before and, yet, I can't guarantee anything. I pray for a faithful heart that doesn't grow weary.

Our new couch was a little bit bigger than I anticipated it being!

Earlier this week I found a few minutes to curl up on our new couch with a magazine. The door opened and I saw my mom come in. I continued to read until I sensed an undercurrent of excitement in the room. Now, I love my mom, but her undercurrents of excitement usually stem from things like discovering that peanuts are solely responsible for obesity in America. (MOM, what have I told you about clicking on those ads on the computer). So I hesitated to look up, finding the magazine much more safe. I lifted my eyes to see her fidgeting at the edge of the couch.
I braced myself but not enough.

"I just found out that we're related to King David."

Just found out? As in angelic messenger? As in an old genealogy hidden in a secret compartment in Grandmother's jewelry case?

"No, my sister got a new app on her phone that traced us all the way back. She just kept pressing the back arrow and there was King David!"

That's a lot of back arrows. I tentatively asked, "How can they know the lineage that far back?"

"Oh, they kept very good records of royalty." She swished back out the door and I could almost hear her purple robe trailing behind her.

I love this woman. I want to throw in the towel and howl and she's content with knowing that she's royalty. And she is, she is God's daughter, whole-heartedly, and she never forgets it.

She reminds me, that I too, am of the generation of faith. I have a cloud of witnesses who lived this life faithfully before me. I may or may not have the blood of King David running through my veins, but I do have the same Spirit, and so do my children.

So I smile and ruminate that the royal line wouldn't be intimidated by the tactics of the enemy.
I open my Bible, ready to form a new game plan.
I continue to lay my time and my heart out in mothering like I never have before and I have faith that the words and actions I lay on this alter of love will help shape a generation, one life at a time.

Later, I go upstairs to tuck in my little daughter and I can sense an undercurrent of excitement in the room. I try not to groan, but an undercurrent of excitement in Rose usually stems from things like telling me how many scoops she got out of the litter box that day.
So I braced myself, but not enough.

"When I start my period will you get me a bunny to celebrate?"

I tuck in the slightly shorter version of my mother into bed and get my royal self downstairs.

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.

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!

The Stories Together

I've been amazingly blessed with car time this fall.
Inevitably Rose starts off this time with, "Tell me a story Mommy."
It is not a request.
So a few weeks ago, I decided to turn the tables.
As soon as I heard her seat belt click into place, I said, "Tell me a story Rosy."
Silence indicated that she was contemplating this turn of events.
"All my stories are your stories Mommy."
And I blinked hard, because she was correct. All the stories she has heard and lived have been with me. Everything that has happened so far in her short life, has happened with me. I love that.

So here is our last month in pictures. All the stories we've lived together.

The frogs that my three younger children consider family.

The "all boy" camping trip out to an island for Rowan's 9th birthday.

Campsite!

Brothers!!
Dave's Aunt and Uncle gifted us this boat this spring. So sweet!

Pensive Grant

Eager Rowan

Picking pears at the cottage.

Rowan asked for a pair of overalls and a push lawn mower for his birthday.

The boy's dam and the resulting pond

The kids made themselves breakfast down on the island.

Rowan had to get creative with where to put the pears!

This fall has been a beautiful reminder that the stories we are making right now, will be retold to other little children someday. So I can laugh at the odd, embarrassing, silly things my children (not to mention their parents) do, because someday.....those very things will make a great story.

Conversion

Rowan met me, with big shining bright-eyes, at the bottom of the stairs one morning several weeks ago.
"Rowan," I gasped, "what's happened?"
"Well mom, I led Gypsy to the Lord this morning."
Gypsy is his 1 1/2 year old dog that he loves like kin.
"Really Rowan? How?"
"Well I snuggled up with her in her kennel and I asked her if she wanted to become a Christian. She said yes so I told her about Jesus and what He did for us. Then she prayed with me. After that I said, 'Gyppy you're going to Heaven!' and she started barking strangely."
"Wow Rowan."
"Yeah." Huge smile.

At breakfast Rowan repeated to the kids what he had told me.
He concluded with, "Yep, Gypsy's a Christian."
Grant, the skeptic, replied, "I'll believe it when I see changed behavior!"
Which really showed me that he gets this whole salvation thing. Grant had more to contribute to this conversation, "Uh mom, why are you acting like Rowan's all cute for praying with Gypsy? When Avonlea and I led Lancelot (Persian cat) to the Lord and we asked to have a tea party to celebrate you said animals don't go to Heaven and can't experience salvation."
"Oh really? I don't recall that." Can you say 1st child versus 3rd child?

But Rowan, full of the joy of leading something into glory, had the last word.
"Yeah, and when we go to the beach next month, I'm going to baptize her!"

A Lot Of Beautiful Work

In August, when the whole world was ripe and blooms had swollen to blossoms, we took a drive through the country.

We passed a house well set back from the road. In front of the house was a fairyland of flowers. This was no cottage garden running wild and sweet, it was a planned, precise, aisled garden. Well plotted rows of dahlias and roses ran obediently along from the house to the road.
I gasped when I saw it and shouted, "Look!"
It was so lush, so beautiful, I wanted the kids to see it. I slowed the car and let everyone get a good look. Grant was in the front seat and as we drove away I asked him, "Wasn't that beautiful?"
He paused and then answered, "It looked like a lot of work to me."
I had to laugh because my logical son is so different from his passionate mother.

A month later I was sitting in an airport waiting for my plane to Alaska to board. Grant and Rowan sat in seats across from me. They were reading something together. Grant had his arm draped casually, big-brother like, around Rowan's shoulder. Rowan would look up and he and Grant would share a laugh. It was a beautiful picture and I sat soaking it in. Then I realized that I wasn't the only one soaking. The woman sitting next to me was watching the boys also.
She looked away from the boys, found my eyes, and said, "Someone put a lot of work into those boys."

She was right.
Raising these children well is a lot of work.
But, oh, the beauty of a well tended garden is more than enough reward for this passionate mother.


P.S.
A cup of tea and a nap are also appreciated.
Also, a good book.
I've always wanted a grand-father clock.

Oh Wow.

We headed up to the cottage last weekend to relax.
My definition of relaxation differs slightly from my husbands.
Dave towed the trailer behind our van so he and the boys could pile in all the metal they've found around the property.
Saturday morning dawned gray and dreary but that didn't daunt them. Or me. Avonlea and I armed ourselves with stacks of Victorian magazines and cups of tea and relaxed to our heart's content. Dave and the boys collected their metal, running in every now and then to gloat over some big find.
"Mommy! Mommy! We found the hood of a car!"
"Oh wow." Flip page, sip tea. "How exciting."
The day waned and late into the afternoon Rowan came running up to the house. The door opened quickly and I got ready to say, "Oh wow."
"The car is falling over the cliff Mommy."
He had the door closed again before I could respond. I spent a moment in sympathy, the boys would be sad if they lost all the metal from the car hood, but whatever. Flip page.
The door opened again almost immediately, Rowan again, "Oh yeah, Dad says to pray."
Really? He wants me to pray for a car hood? This annoys me a little and I have trouble getting back into my magazine.
Ten minutes pass in the peaceful bliss of mother and daughter sipping and flipping.
Then Rowan's back, "Mommy, daddy wants you to come push the car."
I wake up rather suddenly and say, "What car are you talking about Rowan?"
"Our red van. Daddy drove it over the cliff trying to get the metal."
Gracious.
Coat and shoes were the work of seconds and I bolted down the access road. And there it was.
Our van at a 45 degree angle. The two driver's side wheels off the road. Dave was plying the shovel with a will, trying to get ground under the tires.
"Could you push the front while I put it in reverse?" he asks.
"Uh-huh"
I push with all my little might but don't even budge it.
"Sweetheart, you wouldn't by chance have the parking brake on?" I gotta ask.
"Oh, oops."
I push again and it starts moving, but that only aggravates it's precarious position.
Rowan screams, "Daddy get out! It's going to flip over!"
It doesn't, but Dave gets out.
I start having creative solutions zinging through my head, probably because of the magazine/tea combo of the afternoon.
But no, it was not to be.
Dave called a tow truck and the boys were enthralled with the winch system.
The tow truck was free since it is a NEW van and still under warranty. Who knew that warranties cover ditches and bad back-ups and metal?
The boys got the trailer filled and took it to the metal yard today and had a great time.
I also had a great weekend and have learned that there is really nothing to make you appreciate quiet, creative moments with your daughter like having to interrupt them, to push a van up a steep hill. In the rain. With the parking brake on.
My definition of relaxation differs slightly from my husbands.

Armed and Ready

I smile as they walk off into the woods.
Winter's sloping sunlight at their backs makes for long shadows in front.
Two boys, well armed, go into the wilderness determined to subdue all opponents.
Grant has a machete slung nonchalantly over his right shoulder, over his left is a bow and a case of arrows. Rowan has a duct tape sword. I'm guessing there's a slingshot in his pocket and I wouldn't be surprised if there was a pocket knife somewhere as well.
Grant turned 10 this week and somehow, in this moment, I see the future.
My boys, walking away from me, towards the shadows, towards the wilderness.
The thought comes quickly, If he is armed spiritually like he is physically, he will have nothing to fear.
But no, having the weapon is not enough, he needs to know how to use it.
So we set up a target. He memorizes the Word.

The truth, the bulls eye, becomes familiar. His eye is trained to seek the center.

He learns how to apply it to his life, what weapon to use in each situation. This is wisdom.

He shares the adventure with a brother, a sister. This is fellowship, love.

He learns to always center himself on the target, even if it's uncomfortable, even if he has to adjust his position to do so. This is faith.

There is victory in the sight of my warriors walking away. I know my job isn't even close to being done, I know that the boys will come in cold and wet, wanting hot chocolate and warm underwear. I know the target is still hazy to them sometimes.
I know,
and yet I rejoice.
Because they are walking in the right direction, with the sun at their back, illuminating everything they see.
They are well armed.
And by the grace of God, they will subdue their enemies.

"Sons are a heritage from the LORD, children a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one's youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame when they contend with their enemies in the gate." Psalms 127:3-5

Little Boys And Their Thoughts On Marriage

He sat deep in contemplation and I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. Rowan's contemplation produces hearty Mommy laughter without fail.

So I asked, "What are you thinking about baby?"
He didn't fail me.
"Oh I'm just thinking about my wife."
He's five.
"Really? What about her?"
"Well, she has ta be four things fore I'll murry her."
I reached for a pencil.
"What are those four things?"
"Well, she has to be cute. She can't argue with me. She better be unselfish. And I really want her to be curious."
"Like George, the monkey?"
"Yep, then I'll murry her if she's really good and does all those things."
"She'll be a very lucky girl Rowan."
"Yeah I know."

Grant and I also had a marriage conversation that was destined to be preserved as well.
He's a very kissy child and sometimes his kisses get a little too much.
So I kindly told him, "Grant, you need to save some of these kisses for your wife!"
"No, I've decided I'm not going to ever kiss my wife."
This was taking purity and courtship a bit too far.
"Grant, trust me, you're going to want to kiss your wife."
He shrugged and answered, "No, I won't, I don't like kissing anyone but you."
I mentally chewed on some replies while we sat in silence.
Suddenly he turned to me wide eyed, "You don't think she'll make me kiss her, do you?"
"Let's go make some popcorn."

I have a feeling these boys will be hearing about these conversations again someday......
like at their rehearsal dinners.