Windows

This morning I awoke to the sunrise. A fruity affair of mellow cantaloupe and tangy lemons with a mandarin sun.
I was confused. We are going on eight months in this house and I had never before observed the sun rise from my bed.
Our room has four large windows in it. Dave and I, being city folk, were a little wary of these windows.

Windows in the city, mean people looking in. One time, it meant someone actually stopping and talking to us from the sidewalk as we sat on our couch. So we meticulously closed the blinds on the windows every night since we've moved in, thinking that in doing so we were securing our privacy.

Windows in the country, mean people looking out. Several days ago we had the epiphany that we have no neighbors that could possibly look into our bedroom windows, not even with binoculars. All we were doing, in our fear and self-consciousness, was limiting our view.

All these thoughts floated through my mind as I watched the sun rise this morning and I had to admit several disturbing things. Our preconceptions had made us miss many glorious sunrises. The sunrises that I did see, I had to go out of my way to find, when they were actually just beyond my own bedroom window.

God reminded me again, through different symbols, what He has taught me so many times.

Live with your windows open.

 

Fear will not stop the sun rise, it will only hinder your enjoyment of it.

Preconceived ideas only limit our perception of what's good, be open to change when His Spirit

nudges.

Securing our privacy often means missing out.

Stay in bed as late as possible.

I wish I could think of more lessons because I have more pictures. But I can't. If you can, let me know. I'll post the pictures anyway.

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.

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.

Really.

We drove out to the cottage on Saturday. It was a glorious day. We passed a popular hiking trail and I saw a sight that brought a wry smile to my face. It was a red pick-up with a teen age girl and boy in the back. They were obviously not siblings, if you get my drift. The warm sun beat down on their entwined bodies and rapt faces. They were in love, and there was this clear circle around them and their red pick-up.
The wry smile had to do with what I saw when I brought my gaze back inside the mini van. At my feet laid a dog who had under gone a mastectomy the week before. Yes, Winnie-the-Pooch has breast cancer. One breast has been removed, but apparently she has seven more to go.
Immediately to my left was my husband. Sweet, loving man who recently told me I was whining. Which was not true. I was stating facts, simply stating facts. Some facts can not be stated with a smile. Fact.
Behind and between us was a Persian cat in labor. Yes, that too, you read correctly. On Thursday we had a Traumatic Delivery of the Himalayan cat during Spanish class. The story is long and involved and ate my entire day and ended, by the grace of God, in the delivery of one dead kitten and four live ones.

See.

We mated Guinevere with an orange and white cat. Hmmm.....

Anyway, Jane, the Persian, decided I didn't have enough stress the day before and went into labor on Friday afternoon. She delivered a deformed kitten (for the record it was also black and white). She continued in labor for so long that we decided not to waste our lives sitting and staring at her cervix, but to just pack her up and take her up to the cottage with us.

Hence, the Persian in labor.

On top of the menagerie, there were four children in different stages of consciousness, some drooling others merely jerking.

Perceive the motivation for the wry smile yet?

As I looked around, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Having a family is so much fun. Really. Nothing you could offer could entice me to go back to red pick-up days. Really.

At the cottage this week, this was confirmed. My eldest daughter, turned 12.



We forgot to pack candles and made do with sticking matches in the cake.

She and her friends had a lovely day of wading in the brook and running through the orchard and playing dolls. They are beautiful, healthy, loving girls.

Jane gave Avonlea a birthday present and delivered the rest of her kittens in the doll house room.

The rest of the week we just enjoyed the beauty around us. We worked hard stacking wood and clearing trails. We found nature full of surprises.



The new wheel barrow was a big hit.

Weapons are always entertaining.



So I laugh to think Dave and I were once a red pick-up pair. We've morphed into a minivan stuffed with animals and kids and drool and laughter. And I'm so glad.

Really.

Having a family is so much fun.

Driving

When I was 15 Dad took me in to get my driver's permit. I passed, and as I walked out to the car I jokingly said, "Hey can I drive home?"
Dad threw me the keys and climbed into the passenger side. Please note: I had never driven a car before. Also: we had a stick shift. But adventure is my middle name so I gamely jumped in, started it up, put it in reverse, and stalled. Let's just say that it was a long drive home. I made quite a few drivers very unhappy. I ended up in a ditch and Dad took over and drove me home.
I mentioned in a previous post that I've been reading 'Practicing His Presence' by Brother Lawrence (a rewrite of the original). It is a beautiful soul-seeking book of encouragement written by a French "Lay Brother" among barefooted devotees. He claims you can be interactively in the presence of God at all times. Another man, Frank Laubach a missionary, has a chunk of his writings compiled here as well and he claims the same thing. "See how many minutes of the hour you can remember...Christ at least once each minute; that is to say bring Him to mind at least one second out of every sixty."
This is harder than it sounds. I've struggled with lots of thoughts like, "Why couldn't I have been a monk and gotten this down before I had four children!" "I could think about God all the time if I lived by myself," etc.
Then I read, "Faith alone, not a method, and certainly not fear, was able to satisfy me in coming to Him. That was my beginning. The next ten years were very hard, and I suffered a great deal."
Excuse me, did he say ten years...and he didn't have any children!
A couple weeks ago in school I told the kids that they needed to write a thank you letter for grammar. I told them to write to anyone they wanted to thank. A while later I found the following letter on my desk.

Dear God,
Thank you for being with me all the time. I really like that. Thanks again. Love, Grant

So I'm on this road, and I don't know how to drive, but my heart is still up for adventure and Father is in the front seat with me, all the time.

Note: I'm still thinking a parking lot would have been wise.

Reaction to Silence

Last week there was this moment of thought that ran along the lines of, "I'm really getting this quiet thing. I think it's going to be much easier for me to talk less after this." Ahem.
I really don't think I've stopped talking for the past two days. I'm giving orders just to hear the sound of my voice. I'm singing, shouting, laughing because I can. I note the startled look in my children's eyes and realize the extremes they're dealing with. I haven't gotten all the talk out of me yet but everyone, including Dave, is sleeping. So I'm going to type it out.
Do you ever get a random mental picture of a person? When someone says their name an image is conjured? I do. When I saw Rachel of Frugal Mama on my blog I laughed because I have a funny mental picture of her husband. We went to highschool together. He drove a mustard colored volvo (cars aren't my forte, I might have slaughtered that). Anyway for a while one winter, his windshield wipers didn't work. So he drove to school in freezing temperatures admist thickly falling snow with his window down and his head sticking all the way out. I remember seeing him drive by and worrying that he was going to get too close to a stop sign or light post and end up with a concussion. So this is the mental image of him that always makes me laugh.
Then I started thinking about highschool superlatives and how it's possible that I'm the only one who lived up to mine. I was voted Worst Driver. Yes, I'm proud. Truly, I get into a car and my mind turns off. Maybe it's not deep enough for me, too rote, I don't know - but there it is. I've driven the wrong way down one ways more times than I care to admit. I've been pulled over more times than I can count (but never got a ticket!). But my incident in February tops them all because it was the most expensive.
I said I wasn't going to repeat this story but I'm in the mood. The night before we left for the beach I went to mock Friday school registration. I left registration my mind full of deep thoughts and drove toward the store. I vaguely realized that I was completely out of gas so I abstractedly pulled into the gas station and put in a couple gallons. It was dark, windy, very cold, and raining. I resumed my path to the store got off at the exit and my car died a violent death. Lurching, groaning, wheezing. I was at a very busy intersection and terrified. I got out of the car and ran leaving Dave a hilarious message on his phone. When he called me back a few minutes later he asked, "Where are you?" I replied quite honestly, "I'm in the bushes on 164th!" He came for me and we sat in Mom's car waiting for the tow truck. He probed, "Why would the van just die? What happened right before?" I replied, "I just got gas." Silence. "What kind of gas did you get?" "I got Chevron, the big green button." Ominous silence.
Apparantly I put diesel in our car and that's bad. But in all honesty, no one ever told me not to do that. Did you know? I suppose if Richard ever got a concussion from driving with his head out the window he would have said the same thing, "who knew that was a bad idea?"
Besides I have to live up to my title, I feel strongly about this. Mr. Will be President Someday is living on love in Nevada but I am still Worst Driver.
There, I'm talked out and can sleep in peace.