The Usually Unusual

I believe late summer always finds me extremely random.

It's some strange combination of too much sun, too much time to think, and lots and lots and LOTS of time with my kids. Whom I love. Even when they whistle. Even when they whistle songs that don't exist outside of their heads. Even when they are 15 and still mispronounce "legend" by phonetically saying "leg end" and leave me thinking tibia while they are talking Sleepy Hollow.
See what I mean...random.

I have to record a story right now because it needs to take it's place in the halls of our family history. But I'm warning you...do not continue reading if you are faint of stomach.
You may (or may not) recall that we went to Hawaii in April. Well we left a pregnant cat at home. With my mom. I gave my mom implicit instructions on how to deliver Persian kittens. Persians need help cutting the umbilical cord and delivering the placenta. I told her whatever she does, to NOT LEAVE the cat once labor started because they will let their kittens die if they don't have help. My mom took all this in with a half skeptical half terrified look. I assured her she's make an excellent doula and began to pray.

We got a frantic call in Hawaii that the cat was in labor and when Mom tried to help the cat bit her and broke skin. So she said something like this on the phone, "I'm bleeding. I hate that cat. I'm going to the store to get band aids. I hate that cat." And I wanted to say DON'T LEAVE THE CAT, RECONCILE, there are Band-Aids in the cupboard. But seeing as how I was laying on the beach and my mother was bleeding I wisely said, "I'm so sorry mom. You go get band-aids."
Let's fast forward over the part of this story where she came home to 2 dead kittens. She sent me a picture of the one live one and I had to ask..."Mom is that a dead kitten in the background?" Oops, 3 dead kittens. The good news was that about a week later she found another live one also.

Fast forward to last week. It was Grant's first week home from Trinidad and we celebrated by having friends over. On Monday and Wednesday, several groups of people came to play. Avonlea mentioned at various times during the week that people didn't want to play dress up because it smelled in the dress up area. Finally Mom commented that she thought the cat had pooped on a little pink costume. So later on Wednesday, after all our company left, I grabbed the offensive costume and had Avonlea throw it in the washer. When I opened the washer after it was done, I almost fainted from the smell. I took out the clothes and there was the poop, still solid after a round on sanitize. What had this cat been eating?? I scooped it up with paper towels and found myself looking at a kitten. Or what was left of a kitten. From April. Oops, 4 dead kittens.

Can I just say that this was one of the grosser moments of my life, and if you recall, I have four children, so that's truly saying something.

I don't really feel like writing (or eating) any more after that. But if I did...I'd tell you about my time on the hammock down on the island at the cottage. I took off my glasses and looked at the world, blurry and beautiful. Suddenly I felt like I was blurry, indistinct. I melded with the waving leaves and the laughing brook and the birds flitting all about me. I must have melded for quite a while because when my world came back into focus, I was looking at Rowan yielding a machete (it was actually a stick, I was still fuzzy). He said with concern, "You have been gone for so long! I came to rescue you!" Totally worth putting my glasses on to see each freckle on that precious face.

See I kept writing and I started eating trail mix, too, so that kitten story must not have been that bad.

On Sunday, the people who sold us the cottage came by it to meet us. I officially have new FAVORITE PEOPLE. It was amazing to talk to them and hear of God's faithfulness over the years and how He honors a Godly heritage. We were so encouraged and again recognized God's hand in leading us there.

Next time I write, it will be from a place of school and order and schedule. And I will live a whole year before I have the time to be random again.

This is a good thing.


Photos by Avonlea unless she's in the picture

Whistling Boy Returns

He's home.
He's smelly, and tan, and laughing.
I got a kiss and a hug that lingered (in more ways than one).
My family is whole again.
And I'm happy.
His words come fast and furious and form themselves into sentences which are bullets of information and emotion.

Note the boots please.

Of course there were sentences that made me cringe.
"I changed my clothes every nine days."
"My bags were overweight so I didn't take my towel or washcloth."
"I don't want to go swimming right now, I'm not used to water anymore."

And sentences that made me cry.
"I was so sick for the first week. When I wasn't working I just laid on my mat and watched the spiders and ticks crawling up the walls."
"I burned so bad on the back of my neck, I was blistered and bleeding."

And sentences that made me proud.
"I asked them why I needed to know that word if I didn't plan on using it."
"The leaders left me in charge when they left the room."



This group of 10-13 year olds did a mighty big amount of work in Trinidad!

And sentences that made me laugh.
"They had a lot of dance parties at the church. I really cut loose on the last night."
"The shark tasted like aquatic chicken."
"I showed my leaders your picture. They all thought you were cute."

His tent at boot camp.

So he's home and he's bathed and healthy and whistling.
He's a vital part of our family and we function best with him here.

Thank you God for bringing my boy home!

Growing Closer

I have been coping extremely well with Grant being gone.
The absence of his hugs and laughter is augmented by the absence of his whistling.
He is on a great team, with great leaders. He is working hard and eating shark. The only letter I've gotten from him was to inform me that I sent him with the wrong kind of clothespins and he had to (horrors) go and buy new clothespins at the camp store. Obviously this was worth a letter. I didn't really shed any tears over that correspondence. And did I mention...no whistling?

I have had great bulks of quiet (as in no whistling) time up at the cottage. Resting my soul and body but challenging my mind through the Bible, prayer, and good books. This is a beautiful combination.

Dave is absent this summer. He was forced to move out of the warehouse his business has been in for over 25 years. God provided a new warehouse right across the street. Literally. So he's been busy moving and I've had to reason and debate and process information with/by myself.

One of the thinks I've been thinking has to do with motives. Take this morning for example.

I woke up at 4am. I put on my robe and went downstairs. I was up for an hour. I couldn't sleep. Why? Was there something specific God wanted me to pray for? Or was it because I had on a new nightgown and bathrobe that I had just gotten in the mail from April Cornell. When I examined my motives in walking the floor in the middle of the night, and realized that I really liked the way my robe swished against the hardwoods, I went back to bed. It's easy to unthinkingly apply righteous motives to our movements. I've been surprised by the "swish" on a number of issues that I've examined. It's humbling.

picking blueberries with Rowan

Avonlea went to camp for a week in July and I had so much fun with just the "R's". They have gotten to be such fun companions. They play together really well too, and with Grant gone, Rowan has let Rose work with him in the shop. She proudly showed me the hammer he gave her and he smiled and nodded saying, "You keep working hard and next year I'll give you a screw driver set Rose." Ahhhh incentives. And later he asked, "Rose what time do you plan on working in the shop tomorrow?" Rose replied, "I'll be there at nine." He shook his head and replied, "The shop opens at eight Rose." He's already got her number. I love it.

Other times they barter over their time and it goes something like this, "Okay Rowan I'll work in the shop for 15 minutes if you play Barbies for 15 minutes first." They have a diverse life at the cottage.

Now we head into a few weeks of company and then Grant comes home and all introspection will grind to a halt. Because I'll be listening with all my heart to my boy's stories about stepping out of his comfort zone to serve the Lord. We will fill him in on what we've done in his absence and life will again flow towards the end of summer as a complete family unit. But we will all be a little bit bigger and different. Rose will know how to hammer. Rowan will have learned compromise. Avonlea will have gleaned from her 26 hours of lectures at WorldView camp. Grant will have served a church body in Trinidad and made countless new friends. Dave will be in a new warehouse and he will have a deeper faith in the Lord's provision. I will be more aware of my motives and will go to bed every night feeling lovely in my new nightgown.

We all grow and deepen into Him knowing we will never reach the bottom of His love no matter how many seasons roll by. But also knowing that each season brings us a little closer to Him and therefore a little closer to each other, even when we're apart.

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.