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.

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. 

The Great Escape

I spent this weekend at a women's retreat up in the middle of nowhere.
It was a special weekend because my friend Dayna came from North Dakota to speak at the retreat. She spoke on Psalm 23. She is a lovely woman with a heart that yearns for God and so her words were both inciting and beautiful.
On Sunday, when it was time to leave, I was feeling particularly relaxed. The retreat ended officially at 2pm but brunch was done by 12:30 so we were pretty much packed and ready to go by 1pm. I was driving my friends Julianna and Dayna home and we decided to take a quick jaunt to the waterfall before heading back. We let someone know we were leaving to walk, so no one would worry about an empty car, and we sprung joyfully away.

We look like three cute girls, but we are actually something of a Bermuda Triangle.

It was a mossy walk with the background music of water and the freshness of ferns. Truly good for the soul. When we got back to the main camp all the cars were gone. We jumped in my van and pulled out to the main road of the camp. As we got to the gate of the camp we were a little alarmed to find it locked. It was secured with a chain and padlock. Just a little setback, we hadn't been gone that long, surely someone was around. It's all fun and games until someone gets locked in the retreat center.

It was a little difficult for my husband to wrap his brain around that text.

It took us about 20 minutes to find that every building was locked and there was no.one.there.
As previously stated, we were in the middle of nowhere, so our options were limited. Julianna started to call people to try to get help, Dayna jumped the fence to find if anyone was home at the house we could see, and I rummaged the shed to find a pick-axe and a metal cable to try and break the lock. Julianna suggested calling 911 but I was pretty sure we'd end up in the news. Who gets locked in a retreat center?

Isn't Dayna cute? 

Thank God I didn't injure myself with that pick-ax!

Right about now I was wishing I'd watched Macgyver with the boys.

The neighbor couldn't/wouldn't help us. The less said about me wielding the pick-ax the better. I hooked the chain up to the bumper of the car with a tow rope and was in danger of taking out the whole gate so I stopped (but it was really fun while it lasted). Finally Julianna got a hold of a relative who lived only 45 minutes away and had a metal cutter (or something like that) and he agreed to come spring us from lock down.
We put our coats down in a green pasture in between two bodies of still water, where we could still see the gate, and we had a picnic.

Julianna and Dayna talked and I thought about where we were.
I had never been locked in anywhere before. Or had I?
My brother and sister were allowed to babysit me when I was very young and they, not much older. I was a naughty child and one method they had of watching me was of locking me in a cupboard. The panic I felt in that cupboard led me to become a claustrophobic adult.
The retreat center is large and lovely and even contains a waterfall, but it was still a prison that I couldn't get out of. All kinds of resources were there, food, drinks, beds, but they were also locked to us. It wasn't a cupboard that I was cramped into, but it was still a prison. Our prisons aren't always stifling, sometimes we don't even know we're in one; until we try to get out.

As we sat waiting, and I worked to fight my claustrophobic panic, I remembered God's faithfulness of getting me out of the prison of myself. Jesus was the key to the gate of my own life as I was trapped in the retreat center of my sin. He not only opened the gate and gave me glorious freedom, but he unlocked all the resources and allowed me to truly use them, to live well within myself. To welcome people in through the gate of Himself, that He opened, or to go out of myself and into the big wide world of lonely, lost people.
I am so grateful.

I'll never forget Julianna on the phone, "Hi! Are you at home? Do you happen to have a lock cutter?"
This is what family is for. 

And as a truck pulled into view and we gathered our picnic food, I was grateful again. Grateful for a way out. Grateful for freedom in Christ. Grateful for friends that come in and out of the gate with us. Grateful for the reminder that there are still many people locked in themselves and their sin, and searching for a key to get out, and I can help them, because I know Who the key is.
As we drove off into the big, wide world with the exhileration of freedom, I had to laugh.
God finds such creative ways to restore my soul.

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.

Our Week: Ducks, Morphine, and Photo Shoots

Rowan is again making the headlines in our home.
He has become the proud possessor of a duckling. He owns a black duck named Swift and Rose has a yellow quacker named Popcorn. Super cute and fun, Until Rowan didn't wash his hands well enough after cleaning the cage and came down with salmonella poisoning.
Our week, consisted of trying to determine why he was so sick and encompassed, one urgent care visit, one doctor visit, two ER visits, and finally hospitalization in a children's hospital. They checked for a huge array of diseases and infections which left us reeling from potential scenarios for our future and Rowan's future. Salmonella poisoning isn't usually hailed with glee, but in our case, it was.

Cutest culprits of infection ever

There were some beautiful gifts given in the process of all of this chaos and confusion.

Prayer. So many texts from so many dear friends telling us they were praying. Rowan recovered so much faster than anyone expected given the seriousness of his case, but I knew it was because he was covered in the prayers of God's people.

Bonds. As Rowan lay writhing in pain on a stretcher he kept calling for his brother. He burst into tears when Dave showed him a recent picture of them together on vacation. He kept repeating over and over, "God's got me. Dad and Mom have got me. Grant's got me." It blessed my heart to see how much he loves his brother.

Education. We had a nurse ask in the ER if Rowan was home schooled. We said yes and then Dave asked what gave it away. The nurse explained that most 11 year olds don't quote the entire Gettysburg Address when in duress. Right. Rowan also quoted the 24th Psalm and discoursed for a bit on his favorite civil war battle (Chickamauga). He was delirious with pain but what came out was what he had worked so hard to put in.

Our very sick little boy waiting for his CAT scan

Faith. Rowan wanted to listen to music in the ER while we waited for the results of a CAT scan. He chose to listen to Bethel's "It is well with my soul". A nurse commented that he doesn't hear that one much in the ER. We met some wonderful nurses and doctors who serve in a really hard setting with really sick people, yet they do so with such compassion and wisdom.

Pleasant surprises. On Friday we were told that our nurse, Jody, had won a nursing award. She was going to be featured in a magazine and have her picture in the lobby of the hospital up on the wall. She would be photographed with a patient and she chose Rowan. Rowan miraculously stopped writhing long enough to smile up at her while she took his temperature and stuff. Cracked.me.up. He's truly my son and photo shoots are not to be passed up NO Matter What.

Drugs. A shot of morphine gave Rowan much needed relief. He really liked the morphine and was later a bit irritated at the nurses who only offered ibuprofen and Tylenol. I woke up in the hospital Friday morning to Rowan's eyes boring into me as he stated, "I want more morphine." It was a good thing we had a lot of time together in the hospital because I was able to tell him every horror story of drug addiction I had ever heard. Pretty sure I got my point across as he refused Tylenol and ibuprofen after our hours long discussion.

Rowan in his hospital room contemplating escape

Home. We had some vague promises that we could go home from the hospital on Friday so when the doctor came in and said  Rowan's levels were too high for her to feel comfortable letting him go, we were both disappointed. But as soon as the doctor left the room, Rowan was more than disappointed. He was crushed. "I want my home. I want my dog. I want my brother. I want my bed. I want to go home." I tried to comfort him but he'd had it. He packed up his stuff and he told the nurse, "I am completely better. I want to go home." She listened to him. She talked to the doctor who agreed to do another blood draw. She found his levels so decreased that she was surprised and allowed him to go home. His face when he got here. His arms around his siblings. His hands on his dog. His smile and happiness and thankfulness filled my heart to overflowing.

So somehow, out of this crazy wild week, I emerged encouraged. Rowan slept 12 hours last night. He woke up weak and scrawny but so happy to be surrounded by the people who love him best. I hope all my kids always feel like that. That they know they have a place in something bigger than themselves and that our family also has a place in a bigger picture. I'm encouraged that even in the midst of all this mess God has got us, and my children know it. Praise the Lord.

Eclipse

This world is so beautiful.
This world is so ugly.
Once in a while, the beauty juxtaposes itself over the ugly in a way that brings me up short.
An eclipse of sorts.

As a home school mom, summer is essential to my well being. I have to rest in summer to recharge for the next labor intensive year.

This summer was the first time in 3 years that I had all four children at home together. My plan was to go to the cottage and enjoy my children. But there was company coming. Then family wanted Rowan for a visit. Then company came. Then Grant left for three days with Dave. Then three of us flew to Alaska to see Page and her family. Then company came. Then we went to the beach. Then company came.

And to be honest, connecting these dots, was not usually rest, but a preparation for the next thing coming (which in retrospect, should have included rest).

The cottage is almost a personality that I feel waiting for us. Puzzled perhaps, at why it sits still and empty in the summer sun. I sense the vegetation growing over the trails we forged. I am aware that I need to go rest and be at peace. It is as if I am very thirsty and the cottage is the sound of running water.

And then when I feel most empty and vulnerable I am confronted by the ugliness. I know ugliness and I've fought it before, in myself and in battle on behalf of others. But this. This stark fear and misery and torment. I have not confronted this before. Pain so deep it cannot be spoken. I feel my small reserves being sucked away in an instant and the despair tugging at my very soul, like I'm on the edge of a spiritual whirlpool.
All the beauty that I use to fight, nature and wise words and laughter are bottles empty, and I have nothing to pour on this fire.

But then, my mother speaks. Her words are not her own, she quotes His Words. She speaks God's truth to the pain and tears pour. Mom leaves for some water and I make eye contact with suffering and I too speak His Words. They come as mercy. With His Words comes His Heart into mine. A Heart of Love and Compassion. A Heart full of Living Water.

For four hours we sat in the tension of the eclipse. We sat in the mysterious beauty of the eclipse.
Then we went home.

I still am not rested. I still hear the cottage calling in the wind. But I do not fear that I will not be able to face the school year, for God has shown me the most powerful weapons I possess have nothing to do with location or even state of mind. My most powerful weapons are God's Love and God's Word. I must stay close to those two things, and maybe, when I hear the cottage and the mountain and the orchard calling, that is what I really want, God's Love and God's Word.
But His Spring is located everywhere,
even the center of tragedy.
And it never runs dry.

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)