Soon

Our pastor calls it "I spy a lie." It's the ability to spot what is false in this culture of ours.

It makes me think of detectives who study legitimate money so that they can quickly recognize counterfeit bills. The ability to spot deception comes from intimacy with the truth. That is a fact.

So we sit in a dark movie theater watching the previews before the cartoon cast of Frozen begin to let it go. In one of the previews, a girl looks at a boy and says, "You can do it because I believe in you." Rose spies that lie.

"That's not the truth!" she whispers loudly. "It doesn't matter who believes in you, it only matters who you believe in!"

Yes. It matters who you believe in.

Last week we got the call that Dave's Grandma was going downhill rapidly. She's 96 so this shouldn't have been a shock, but when are we not surprised by death?

We went to see her on Sunday. She was sleeping and wouldn't wake up when we talked to her. Avonlea played the harp and Dave stood next to Grandma and held her hand for a long time. And Rose's words in the theater came back to me, they coursed down my cheeks with salty truth.

"....it only matters who you believe in."

When it comes to this, death, Who you believe in is the only thing that matters.
But it mattered very much in life, also.
Grandma has 4 children who all love Jesus. Grandchildren that love Jesus. Great-grandchildren that love Jesus. It's this Godly heritage, this legacy of God-loving, man-serving people that came about because of Who Grandma and Grandpa believed in.

When it was time for us to go, we said our good-byes. Truly good-bye on this earth, for Grandma went home to Heaven two days later. We all told her we loved her. But Rose's strong sweet voice broke through the tears and said, "I love you Great Ma and I'll see you SOON!"

Yes, truly, soon. And until then, we will live out Grandma's legacy of believing and living our whole lives in light of that belief. And God willing, the Truth will continue to pervade the generations.

Christian Barbies, Bandits, and Nameless Hamsters

If you've been waiting for a hamster update, here it is.
We love our hamster.
I'm not sure it's reciprocated, but we love him. Or her.
I am just calling him "hamster" because he/she is currently unnamed.
He was named Dumpling until I heard Rosy introducing him by saying, "This is our hamster Dumping."
She can't manage the "l" and I can't manage without the "l" so it is now just "hamster".
Grant really wants to name him Aragorn, but I can't manage that either. No resemblance whatsoever!

Anyway, in other news.
Rosy has a favorite song that she sings at the top of her lungs whenever it comes on the radio. It is entitled, "I Want To Live With Abandon." I thought this was very fitting because she does live with abandon. But as I listened closer to what she was singing, I heard this, "I Want To Live With A Bandit." Which I suppose would also be living with abandon. When I tried to correct her, Rowan piped up, "Yeah Rose, it doesn't say bandit. It says Band-Aid."
At which point I turned to the classical station.

Barbies have been boycotted at our house for several years because Rose plays rather scandalous stories with them (we have a Ken, who I believe is at the bottom of all the mischief). But somehow or another Rose talked me into letting her have some up at the cottage. I had Avonlea and her friend put duck tape swimsuits on them all and I thought all scandal would end with the duck, so to speak. I was wrong.
Two week ago when we were up at the cottage, Rose and I went for a walk. We rambled side by side on the trail above the woods and she said, "Mommy, I played a Christian story with my barbies today."
"Good Rosy, I'm so glad you're playing nicely." And then I had to clarify. "What exactly do you mean by "Christian"?"
"Well remember that story you read us in the Bible last week about David and Bathsheba?"
!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Duck tape was my only consolation at that point.
See what I mean about Ken?

Rose told me today that God has asked her to be a missionary to Africa. When I asked her where in Africa, she replied Turkey.
Either God has some geography issues or Rose needs her ears cleaned out.
Remembering the bandit incident makes me lean toward Rosy's ears.
But I'm thankful that she's called to be a missionary because it's so Christian. And because I don't think there are any barbies in Turkey (but there might to bandits).

I will leave you with a SMALL sample of a group of pictures I found on my camera.

I think maybe God's calling me to Turkey, Africa.

When Your Day Ends With A Hamster

Um, I'm not sure why we came home with a hamster. A hamster named Dumpling, who is residing in his new cage in the parlor. A hamster whom Dave has not yet met.

I suppose it started yesterday when a friend was having tea at my table (doesn't everything always start with tea?). Her 15 year old son is filling in for someone on a traveling music band and is gone for a couple weeks. This is a prelude to all three of her children leaving on missions trips this summer. She said something like, "We may never all sit down at a table together again."

This rocked my world. So much so that I picked up the spout of the teapot and had every intention of pouring tea out the handle.

We are contemplating putting Avonlea in school next year. She is leaving for two months this summer on a mission trip. Both of these things equal a change in our family circle. A broadening and a tightening all at the same time.

So today, I picked Avonlea and Grant up at their math class and I took them to Good Will to kill some time before their piano lesson. Avonlea found it there. A hamster cage. She wanted it. Grant wanted it. No use telling them that we don't have a hamster, they fell in love with a cage. I looked at my two oldest children; loving, responsible children. I melted. I bought the hamster cage.

After Avonlea had math and piano we raced home to take all her medications for Lyme and then sped back out to school testing for 2 1/2 hours. And at the end of this exhausting day, I took her, and met the other kids at the pet store. They all choose the same hamster and fought about who got to carry the box out to the car.

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."

We will sit down at a table together again, God willing. We will sit down around a hamster cage again, God willing. But times are changing, my children are growing up and out. It takes so little to make them happy.  I suppose that is why we came home with a hamster.

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!"

Gliding and Sliding into Winter

It's been snowing intermittently for two days.
Dave's home from work and public school children throng the streets.
It's the perfect opportunity for me to post the pictures of us sliding and gliding into winter.

Dave bought us all kayaks this summer to use on the lake up near the cottage. We had several family adventures on them in the glorious days of fall.

A month later when we went up to the cottage we traded our kayaks for ice skates!

And today, the sleds go whizzing past on the white streets.
To my husband, this kinetic energy is what winter is all about.
To me, all this movement is part of the great dance of seasons. A rollicking, infectious performance choreographed by our artistic God. Whether I'm kayaking or ice skating or sipping tea in front of the fire, I am thoroughly entertained.

Submitting

2006 was a particularly bad year. My dad died. My son contracted a blood disease that necessitated a blood transfusion to save his life. Dave felled a tree that landed on a neighbor's shed and flattened it. My son fell headfirst onto protruding stone and split his forehead open. I could go on.
On January 1, 2007 our family celebrated the fact that 2006 was OVER! I prepared a big breakfast. We drank a toast. Dave and I locked eyes across the table and I said, "It's over. May we never have to live a year like that again!" And I kid you not, at that very moment, Grant choked on a piece of bacon. Choked, as in, couldn't breathe. After several frantic moments we sent it flying and Grant went back to his eggs blissfully unaware of the fact that he just ruined our party.

This January felt something of a repeat of that. 2013 wasn't necessarily terrible but it did end badly. Dave and I felt all beat up and let down and we just wanted to spend January regrouping. On the 16th I had a doctor's appointment for Avonlea. We had done some tests and were going to get the outcome of them. I am a very positive person. It really didn't even cross my mind that anything could really be wrong with my thirteen year old daughter. So when the doctor told me that she tested positive, 100 percent positive, for Lyme disease, I went into shock. Instead of the doctor sitting before me, I saw a 2 year old's chubby face. Avonlea's little baby face. The baby I sung to and laughed with and prayed for. The baby whose whole future was just altered by what this man said to me.

"I'll wait till your eyes stop dilating and you can focus on my face."

He was talking to me. The baby face disappeared and I fought to focus. The doctor went on to say that she had also contracted several viruses and heavy metals because her immune system had been compromised. He went into a treatment plan that left me reeling.

We left the building after the appointment and I bawled like a baby in the front seat of the car. Bawled for a baby that I had dreamed of having a healthy life.

Avonlea answered my questions on the way home. Of course she still wanted to go on her mission trip this summer. No she wasn't scared or sad or angry. "Actually," she said, "I'm kinda happy to have something exciting to say in my testimony."

Ah, exciting. I had somehow missed that part of it.

Later that day Grant tried to get Avonlea off the computer and I heard this, "Grant, be gentle with me, I have Lyme disease."

As the days have rolled by I've asked myself some questions. Can I accept this as being God's plan for my daughter's life? Am I scared or sad or angry? Can I let go of the "perfect" healthy life I envisioned for my daughter and help her thrive regardless of what her body endures?

Yes. Yes. And yes.

She asked me last week, "Is my Lyme disease in submission?"

I answered, "No, it is not in remission, but yes, it's in submission."

And so am I.

Default

I learned my default early on. Default, the position my heart fell into when not consciously being deliberate in my faith.

Sixteen years ago, Dave and I spent our first Valentines Day up in a cabin in the woods. A group of friends came over and we went cross country skiing. After dinner they left to drive the hour or so back home. Not five minutes after they had gone, Dave realized one of them left their cross country ski rentals at our cabin. Dave is a man of action. He grabbed the skis in one hand and the car keys in the other and bolted.

I dimpled up at the thought of surprising him when he came home. I lit a myriad of candles in the living room, got a full fire going, and slipped into something less, well, less. I settled into a flattering position on a chair next to the fire, arranged my hair, and waited. And waited. And then I heard the sirens.

Unbeknownest to me, Dave was unable to catch his friend, so he just decided to go into town and find the ski shop his friend had rented them from, and return them for him. The town was half an hour away. Then were several ski shops that had to be located and inquired into. It took him a long time. This was pre-cell phone era.

Meanwhile, the fire's dying (literally and figuratively). At the sound of the sirens, tears started sliding down my face. My thoughts ran like this, "I am a 23 year old widow. Dave is dead. I don't have any nice black clothes to wear to the funeral. I am all alone. Forever. I'm too sad to go shopping but I don't have any nice black clothes. Dave is never coming back to see how cute I am sitting here. Poor Dave." etc.

Two hours later Dave came home to his bride. He had a blizzard from Dairy Queen in each hand.
He found me in fetal position, sobbing, swollen faced, and muttering something about black dresses.

Eventually I recovered enough to eat the blizzard.

I learned several things from that brutal Valentines Day. But the most important thing I learned was this, my default is fear.

If you recall, I said earlier that my husband is a man of action. With that statement comes the assurance that I've had many, many chances to reaffirm that, yes, my default is fear. Add children who largely take after their father, and yes, my default is fear.

But I've learned something else over the last 16 years of marriage, God can reset your default.

So I've made my homepage my Bible and the face book I peer into is the Book that shows me the face I want, the face of Jesus. I slowly trade in my fear for the peace and joy and faith that He offers. My default changes. My husband doesn't change, my children don't change, but my default changes.

We celebrated New Years this year up at the cottage. The children were asleep and Dave and I were playing cards when a storm came up. It was sudden and violent. Dave and I looked at each other in alarm. We knew that there were 3 very dead, very big trees directly behind the cottage. We weren't expecting a storm before we had time to cut them down.

"Let's get the boys. Stay away from the windows."

My husband is a man of action. Within minutes, we had the boys moved downstairs on cots, out of the vulnerable position of the room nearest the trees.

Rowan awoke in the process and wanted me to stay with him downstairs. I curled up on the couch while Dave went upstairs where the girls were.

The wind was possessed. Debris flew past the windows. The rain appeared to be horizontal. With every gust my default spoke like this, "God thank you for your protection. I know you will never leave us nor forsake us. Thank you for a roof over our heads. Thank you that you love these children even more than I do. Thank you for your grace that is always sufficient. Thank you for your peace that passes all understanding."

When we listen to God's Words more than our own words, more than our friend's words, more then this world's words, our default changes. The storms rage, but we don't.

The default the Lord offers is praise.
I open the Word and reset.
Daily.