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.

We to Me

My daughter comes home in 23 hours. I have not been in her presence for 5 long months (22 weeks to be exact). Seasons have come and gone and there's been an ache that runs through all their beauty.
I always cut my I-teeth on Avonlea.
We've been preparing for her arrival home, planning surprises and Rowan looks at me and says, "You know that by the time I come home from college, you'll probably forget to pick me up at the airport." I exclaim that I'll be just as excited over him and make a mental note to carefully write down his flight times, because he has a point.
But there was 18 years with Avonlea, all chock full of her quirkiness and laughter. There's just no one like her in the world.
She had a wonderful semester in New Zealand. She said "yes" to whatever people invited her to do (thank God she was at a Bible College!). She ran a 4K (in jeans), learned to ride a unicycle, learned to play volleyball and basketball, led English Country dances, and wrote amazing papers. She met all kinds of interesting people and grew so much in her faith. I am so proud of her.
She entered the tunnel of "we" becoming "me". When she left, she thought in terms of "we". She was a portion of a whole, the "whole" being our family. When she got to school and people asked her questions about what kind of movies she liked, etc. she'd reply, "We like...". Inevitably that got weird and it slowly changed. Of course she's still a beloved part of our family, but she is forming her own independent me-ness, and it's good. We're certainly not about to ride unicycles as a family unit, however, her me-ness expands our family not contracts it.
When I got into bed tonight I said to Dave, "I don't think I can sleep, Avonlea is coming!"
I realized later that I had said those same words 18 1/2 years ago when I was trying to get some rest as my labor was starting. We give birth to the same child several times over in our life. We feel the labor pains and we disregard them in the joy of creation. Our lives adjust to the child's arrival, their growth, their challenges, their passions. Various internal parts of us grow pregnantly round and stretch taut. Our children metamorphosis and change utterly and end up almost unrecognizable. Almost.
Today a poem that I wrote when she was born came into my mind.

Her cry broke the silence
a thousand years thick
Time fell like rain
frenzied and quick
A life wound up tight
has now been let go
What direction will it jettison
is what we none know

Well now I know. She jettisoned toward truth and beauty and music and nature and ultimately toward her creator God. She is a blessing, and I would go through the birth process again for her in a minute. And I probably will.

My daughter comes home in 22 hours.
I always cut my I-teeth on Avonlea.
There's just no one like her.

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.

Glory Pursues

Day by day life rolls along.
A lilting song.
A shout of laughter.
A child's cry.
A near disaster.

This loud learning process never ends.
Or it ends only to begin again. Immediately.

Nevertheless.
In the fall, the glory pursues me.
The loveliness grabs me aggressively and I lean into it, lover-like.

In the arms of this radiance,
I realize afresh how far I am from where I want to be.
But I see also, how far I've come and how I'm covered in grace.

My life is a song that I am desperately trying to sing
before the words wrinkle into silence.

Nevertheless.
In the silence, I can hear the leaves fall.
And they sound like the footsteps of glory,
Pursuing.

Waiting in White

Christmas and New Years and a white world.

We wake up to the sifting of frozen precipitation on our cottage.
Wide eyes and wider smiles greet the morning and jammies are exchanged for snow pants with amazing rapidity.

There was sledding, cross country skiing, down-hill skiing, snow ball fights, and snow angels.

I watched the comings and goings of the kids and Dave and various friends.
I watched from the inside. Somehow, I didn't have the strength to battle elements.
I needed the beauty of a white world from the comfort of a warm cottage.

After a week of watching I finally ventured out into a 19 degree morning. I walked a circuit that normally takes me 20 minutes. It took much longer as I had to fight for my steps through the deep snow. My exposed face ached with cold. I was tired when I came in but not exhausted. My week of rest held me in good stead and gave me an understanding of the coming year.

Soak in the beautiful.
Don't rush out just because everyone else is.
Venture forth in the right time, rested and ready for the challenge.
Engage the path and learn from the experience.

Mostly, I learned again what the cottage teaches me in every season.

Listen.
Slow down.
Watch carefully.
Feel deeply.
Engage.
Give thanks.
Love beautifully.

"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.
      They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
               I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.'
The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him;
        it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord."

~Lamentations 3:22-26

Waiting Thankful

Rose loves an outing.
A trip with Ma Glo inevitably means candy or a coloring book. Or both.
So she skips in to ask if she can go to the store with her Grandma and I nod a slow yes, prolonging her anticipation.
Ma Glo tells Rose that she'll just run down to her house to get her car and then she'll drive up to get her.
Rose gets her shoes on and slips out to wait on the porch.
I get lost on the Internet, reading someone's story somewhere about something. It obviously impacted me deeply. I was interrupted from that memorable something by a tragic faced child.
Her three words gnashed.
"She forgot me."
And then silence while I gasped for air and her eyes pooled.
"She never came for me. It's been so long. She forgot me."
Instinctively I knew that this was more than coloring books and candy, this was the longing of humanity, to be remembered. To be worth remembering.
And I spoke the words I needed to hear, "Rosy, Ma Glo loves you. She would never forget you."
"Then where is she!"
On cue came the sound of an opening door, "Rosy! Are you ready?"
Rose ran.


This Thanksgiving I am thankful for a God who doesn't forget us.
I am thankful that when I doubt this I can resource His Word that tells me, "Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;"  (Isaiah 49:15,16)
I am thankful that He promises, "Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."
I am thankful that I was reminded by a little girl, that when my eyes start to pool and doubt gnashes deep, a Hand is already on the door knob waiting to open it.
And when He opens that door,
I will run,
because I have been waiting a long time.