Amen

I have my arms around the toilet when she says it.
It's cleaning day and my girls are scrubbing with me. Rose complains about this inconvenience to her plans.
I reason, "Rose, do you know how gross it would be if we didn't clean the toilets and the floors?"
She scours the sink and retorts, "I think we are going to think differently about some things in life."
I slow.
Yes, we probably are.

My mom lives next door to me. We think differently about quite a few things.
She's violently enthusiastic and I'm tentative.

This is what a violently enthusiastic person looks like

We hold differing views on lots of things, but we love each other and we know that we are God's good gifts to one another. We help each other, we offer perspective to the other.

This is good. This is the way God intended family to be. Not a collection of Russia stacking dolls, but unique, different, complimentary.

I need to remember this when my children stretch out of my box of comfort. I need to remember I am not trying to raise perfect little me's (which is in itself contradictory). I am trying to raise God loving/serving/fearing men and women who delight in the individuality of who God has made them.

Rosy sleeping with her babies.

Avonlea on Bald Butte overlooking Mt. Hood

Grant loving his dog

Rowan carries everything in his overalls

what I tend to think my children should look like

what my children actually look like

We explored the attic this week. Avonlea found an old dress of mine from high school. Rowan found the vest to my dad's first suit that I used to wear. They wore them. In public. On purpose. And they were completely themselves in them. They used my things as an accessory to themselves.

Someday, I may come across one of my mom's flags and maybe I'll give it a wave. Maybe Rose will decide never to clean her toilets but she'll love to write poetry while taking a bubble bath.

The possibilities are endless. The potential is amazing. Family is a whole lot of fun.


And one more of my babies will leave the nest next week. This is a video of Grant telling about his mission trip. However, he messed up and cracked us both up. This right here is what I will miss for the next 5 weeks. Please remember him in your prayers.

Anniversary

I would like to tell you that 18 years ago I married my best friend. But that would be a lie.

Eighteen years ago I married a man I BARELY KNEW. Gracious I was young and incredibly trusting.

But it wasn't Dave I trusted in. Somehow, between the time I graduated from high school and married four years later, God took my self-confidence and people confidence and turned it into God confidence.

When Dave and I got engaged, I told him I loved him because God told me to. He looked at me and I learned to keep that type of information to myself.

And when we were first married and I tried on a new swimsuit and asked how I looked and he said, "Great, except for right here," which he accompanied with a point, I looked at him. He learned to keep that kind of information to himself.

So we jolted along over this road called marriage and somehow, somewhere in the journey, I fell in love with my husband. Not just because God told me to. But because when he messed up he was so humble and repentant. And because when I messed up, he was so forgiving and loving. He makes me laugh. He makes me groan. He is always ready and willing to sacrifice for all of us (except for when it comes to the last piece of pizza). He has logged impressive listening hours. He works without complaint, early mornings and sometimes late nights. He stopped whistling because high sounds make me vomit. I could go on.

So on Friday morning, when I asked him how his previous 20 hour work day had been, I shouldn't have been surprised at the information that followed. What surprised me was that it took him an HOUR to get to the good part. He's been married to me for 18 years and he still doesn't know how to separate Headline News from fillers. We need to work on this. Anyway, after an hour of small talk, he told me that he slid into a fast food booth at midnight with a taco salad. He quickly slid back out thinking someone had spilled something, because it felt wet. He looked onto the bench but didn't see any water. Then he felt his pants. Or what was left of them. There were two holes, one from outer thigh to crotch, the other smaller but wider. He had been all over the city in these pants, up ladders, bending down. He had no idea when it had happened he only knew his pants had been strangely comfortable all day.

As this all flashed into his conscious he could only think of one thing. He still needed salsa. So he kept to the walls facing outward (surely you've seen this in movies and can imagine it). This my friends is why I love him. It didn't matter that he'd been traipsing around the city all day, he was modest enough to slide to his salsa.

I'm not sure when he became my best friend. But we grew up together and we learned together to have God confidence and we learned when to keep our mouths shut. And we are still learning and God willing, we will have many more years and many more stories, and much more laughter.

Happy Anniversary! I love being your wife!

Spring comes to Parkdale: By Avonlea

Isn't that gorgeous? That is my intro to a long train of pictures from Parkdale (these pictures up above aren't from Parkdale).

Note Bald Butte in the window's reflection. We hiked to the top on Sunday for the first time.

Dad's tractor which he loves and which we have to rescue every time he uses it (it stops working).

One of the many nests we would find. This one is in the open barn.





A chickadee's nest in that tiny hole in the tree.

A robin's nest in an old orchard tree.

A Towhee's ground nest.

A warbler's nest. I didn't get to see exactly what kind.

 

Grant found my camera while I was gone and proceeded to take some crazy photos of himself.

Bonfire time!

Another picture of fire. I know. But fire comes in so many shapes and sizes.

Having fun at Parkdale!

Meditate in sun on kayak with dogs at Parkdale.

Do you see what I see?

  I wrote this with the intention of posting it on Starlet School blog (the adjoining blog to Dusk) but I accidently wrote this on Mom's blog. I'm the oldest of her four children. I'm fifteen and I love nature.

 

 

 



One Day More

One Day More is my favorite song on the Les Miserables soundtrack. I suppose I love it because my husband cannot help but belt it out when he hears it, even if we happen to be at the dinner table. The kids inevitably join in and I feel for a brief span that I AM LIVING IN A MUSICAL. Then someone always spills something or falls off their chair or does something equally non-musicalish and the spell is broken. But I tasted Broadway in that fleeting moment.

I also like One Day More because it is TRUE. Each day, is a story in itself, yet is connected to so many other stories all with a huge over-arching theme. I sang it this morning as I cut the butter into my scones. "Another day, another destiny, on this never-ending road to Calvary..." Yes, I am on the road to Calvary, dying to self, living to God. 

A friend wanders in, just as the scones come out, and we walk a bit of the road together. We love each other so we share the burden of this life together. We lighten it with laughter and buttered scones.

 

When she leaves, I go out to garden and battle the morning glory. Flowers that grow Heavenwards choking everything they climb. I find them very deceptive and take unholy joy in following them to their roots and annihilating them. I come upon a patch of ground which I recently rid of crab grass. Lo and behold, there are flowers growing in the cleared dirt. I only thought as far as the weeds, but flowers were just waiting for a chance, waiting to grow and bloom.

One Day More I am blessed to live this life of mine. This messy life in which the resemblance to a musical lasts approximately four seconds. But I am alive. I am healthy. My husband and children are very close. We have food on the table and tea in the pot. A fountain harmonizes near by and Rosy is playing Doe a Deer on the piano. A half grown dog cocks her golden head at me. I have time to notice these things, to pay attention to the road I'm walking. The scenery won't always look like this, it's constantly evolving, but this road, this life will always be worth noticing.

"One Day More, another day another destiny........."



So I continue to encourage singing at the table, weeding, and baking scones because they all add beauty to this path that is my life. And I thank God for One Day More, because really, all this, is way better than Broadway.

 

 

Probably.

Walking in the Footprints

Our plane landed in Hawaii at 10:30am.
By 2pm we were on the beach.
We don't believe in wasting time.
Not when there's an ocean involved.

Avonlea, Grant, and Dave had their snorkel gear on and were off. Rowan was catching surf on the boogie board and Rose was rolling in the waves, a horizontal, aquatic Tasmanian devil.

I was on the sand prostrate.
It's like this, I grew up in Alaska. Swimming was just not a popular sport up there. YMCA open swim always ended in an ear infection for me. I like to wade, to my knees. Deeper than that, something strange happens to my lungs, and I can't seem to get enough air to make rational decisions.

All that to say, I was on the sand prostrate.
The sky was wide-awake blue and the clouds were moving over it quickly. I couldn't remember the last time I watched the clouds. Then, like something out of a novel, the clouds made a picture right above me and held. It was a footprint. A perfect gigantic footprint complete with tread. A shapely heel, a wide curvature to a narrow toe line, a perfect footprint.

I've heard about the fingerprints of God, so why not footprints?

After a bit it dissipated. I didn't see anything else of interest.

I remembered that footprint in the days to come as we celebrated Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Jesus walked this earth. He left His footprints everywhere, even on the water. Even though His footprints were made thousands of years ago, I'm still trying to follow them.

Part of that following, is discipleship.
Dave and I spent every morning of this vacation reading the Word, talking about it, and praying with our children. We were intentional in our conversations with our kids and with others.

 We followed by celebrating. Our first born is approaching 15 and this trip was our present to her, the last vacation she gets to pick.

She has always been a water baby. She is the first one in the ocean and the last one out. She snorkels like a pro and identifies all kinds of fish and eels. She likes to swim with big turtles. There were times when she'd come in from snorkeling and we'd all be standing there, dressed and packed, waiting to go. One of those times, I said, "Don't you realize when you're out there, that we are all waiting to leave?" She looked at me in surprise and replied, "I was exploring the ocean!"

Point taken. So we let her explore God's creation. And we let her tell us all about it. Her excitement was joyous and her laugh loud. We followed by delighting in the good gifts of God.

We celebrated this little woman as well. Rose turned 8 and Bridgette (doll) turned 7. Rose delighted in frolicking in her tankini this trip. She stated seriously that she was going to stop wearing two piece swimsuits when she turned nine because they were so immodest and she didn't want anyone looking at her "stuff". I'm not sure what "stuff" she'll have at nine, but I'm glad she's thinking that direction.

We followed by feasting.
Every meal was shared and enjoyed.
Every meal was an opportunity to thank God for His provision for us.

We followed by laughing.
Our condo overlooked a luau. Almost every night we were able to watch amazing hula dancers and fire throwers. One night during a hula, Grant got the binoculars out. He watched the hula dancers so long that I started to get a little nervous.
Finally he said, "I see pork. And rice. Lots of salads. Oh it looks so good!"
Apparently he was watching the food bar and not the dancer's "stuff". Thank you Lord.

We followed by loving each other, even when we didn't feel like it. Even when we were tired and grumpy  and bickering. Even when expectations went unmet and the time change caused my children to wake up at 4:30am ready to start the day. Even when we had sand in uncomfortable places.

One night I brought them all into bed with us and cuddled them.
I told them, "When I was a little girl in Alaska..."
A teenager interrupted with, "I think we've heard this one."
I graciously ignored him and continued. "When I was a little girl in Alaska, I dreamed about someday having a loving husband, and a white house..."
"Yep, we've definitely heard this."
I kept my calm and sought revenge, "...a white house and two beautiful girls and two funny, strong boys. But God doesn't always give us what we ask for and I got you four instead...."

Like everything in life, this vacation was an opportunity to grow. As we read God's Word, we looked at how He walked. As we celebrated Easter, we saw the sorrow and joy in His path, the heights and depths He traveled.

I hope that when our kids look back on this trip they'll remember that the journey of God is full of joy, beauty, and fellowship. I pray that the confidence they gain by following on the sand will nurture in them the faith to follow when He calls them out upon the water.

Turning Outward

The candle in the middle of our table was purchased on one of our family trips to San Diego. I found it in a shop and loved the symbolism of it. Three boys and three girls, arms around each other, facing inward toward the light. Our family. I have kept it on our table always. Even...when friends told me it did not match my Victorian décor. Even...when friends told me it was ugly. Even...when friends told me it was pagan.
I simply don't care. I love it.

 When my children were little, I worked hard to make that candle a reality. I taught them as much as I could about the Light of the world. I homeschooled them and made our day revolve around the Bible and Jesus. We lived life together, arms around each other, facing the Light.

And then Avonlea went on her two month mission trip and my world and my heart felt cracked, severed, damaged. I struggled to understand and articulate WHY I felt like that, but last week I finally understood.

I was asked to participate in a survey about teenage homeschoolers. A man called to interview me and I was glad to glibly answer his questions. Some of them, were critical of home schooling and called for a defense of what I did. This too, I gladly answered, but some of my responses surprised me.

He asked me if I thought homeschooling was non-democratic because it only catered to the good of one family as opposed to the good of the community. I responded, "Oh it's what we learn at home that enables us to better serve our community and our world!" I proceeded to list the ways we interact as a family and individuals with the world around us. And as I described these things to this man on the phone, I suddenly had a vision of our family, facing outward.

It hit me why Avonlea's going on her mission trip had been so traumatic. She had broken the circle. She had turned outward. It was what I had prayed and hoped she would do, but it was a difficult transition, and it precipitated a general coup. Avonlea started public high school. Dave and I went to Haiti last month. Grant goes to Trinidad in July. We have a second Haiti trip planned with the kids. We are engaging the people God brings into our lives on a regular basis, not just in our home, and not just as a single unit.

We will still have times when we turn inward as a family. But more and more, our focus is outside these Victorian walls.
I want to live a turned out life.
I want to sit on the front porch instead of hiding in the fenced back yard.

I want to turn to the world with the light of God shining on our faces, arms around each other, three girls and three boys.

 

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.