My Thorny Rose

I am used to waking up when I want to. In other words, I'm spoiled.
This fall, Avonlea started public school. She had to be awake by 6:30am.
That meant to spend time with her in the morning, I had to be up by 6:30am.
That meant that if I wanted to exercise, I had to be up by 6:00am.
That meant OUCH.
But my daughter is more important than my sleep so up I get.
So sleeping in is reserved for an occasional Saturday and the sacrifice is so worth it.

But....last Friday.... I had nothing to be up for. A vast, unlittered morning to relax in bed with my Bible and maybe even breakfast. With a sigh of contentment I snuggled back into my warm bed and opened to the book of Luke.

That must have been some kind of cue, because in to my bedroom blew a Rose.

"Hi mommy. Do you want to snuggle?"
"Sure, come on up. Mommy's reading her Bible right now."
"Cool. Is Jakob coming over today to set up Rowan's drum set?"
"Yep."
(Jakob is the 16 year old son of my friend Natalie)
"I can't wait to see his eyes light up when he sees me."
"Um Rose, he's 16 and you're seven. You're like his little sister."
"No, I'm like his wife." She tosses her head and retorts, "Besides, I'm old for my age and tall for my age and some people think I'm eight."
I close my Bible.
She continues, "AND I have all my children named." She cuddles closer to me, "My first girl's going to be Annie."
Before I can express my gratitude for this honor, she rattles off the names of half a dozen other children that may or may not be a reality one day.
"Those are beautiful names Rose but you'll have to make sure your husband, whoever that may be, agrees with those names."
"No I won't. This is what's going to happen. I'll get married and get pregnant and then my husband will go to war, and I'll name all my children whatever I want."

Suddenly, sleeping in lost all of it's appeal. I was out of that bed with an energy I didn't know I possessed at that early hour.

I'll take 6am exercise to talking to Rose about marriage any day.
She is scary.

What Stays Up

It's my birthday and I sit with a cup of tea and listen.
And I hear men and chain saws.
Ahhh, not what I was expecting either.
Six men to be exact with multiple chain saws going at once.
It is alarming, but necessary.
We have to clear the area for the garage/apartment that is going to be built. Something new is coming. But, oh, the trees.

When we first saw this house we were so excited about the possibility of buying it. I called my sister Amy and told her all about it. She was skeptical. "It sounds too expensive for such an old house."

So I took her to see it. She glanced at the house and then caught sight of the grove of trees behind it. Maple and beech and oak and locust. She hurried to check out the trees, calling back over her shoulder, "Buy it."

When Dave told me earlier this fall that the trees had to come down, I was stunned. I mean I knew we couldn't exactly drive through them to get to the garage, they're not the Redwoods, but still. Really? Down as in not up anymore? As in no more branches stretching beauty towards the sky?

Today is my birthday and I sit with a cup of tea and listen.
And I hear things changing.
It's alarming, but necessary.
New things are coming. But oh, I will miss the beauty of what was.

Several weeks ago, when I was driving home, I looked in the rear view mirror and I saw a hand.
Ahhh, not what I was expecting either.
A worship song was on the radio and my little daughter in the back seat was raising her hand in response.
There will always be change, always old things coming down to make room for new things, always years falling like leaves.
But by the grace of God, always that hand upraised, no matter what else comes down.
Always the upraised hand stretching beauty towards the sky.
By the grace of God, I want to always see the hand when I look in the rear view mirror.

My babies giving me presents. They're so generous with Ma Glo's money.

Dave was so sweet to me and gave me lovely gifts and a card with a pouty princess on it that looked just like me.

 

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.

Our Vast World

The fire blazes every night.
In front of the fire sits a grey dog, and bookish children with their bookish mother. Their active father is working hard and is often absent into the night.
The house smells like ham stew and pears in the food dehydrator. Wood fire. And dog.
A cat perches on the back of a chair.
And this world that overwhelms me with its vastness, is condensed. Corseted into an eight by eight section of rug.
I read out loud.
The Long Winter.
All of a Kind Family.
Charlotte's Web.
Escape From Mr. Lemoncello's Library.

Daddy surprises everyone by getting home early and his round of books begin.
The Hardy Boys.
Pollyanna.
The Warden and the Wolf King.

I could never count how many books I've read over the years to these kids or how many times I've gone hoarse.
It's beyond calculation.

This is our winter world.
Curled in front of a fire, lost in the vast world of story with several animals joining our travels.
All this glory on an eight by eight section of rug.
And outside, another world waiting.........

The Stories Together

I've been amazingly blessed with car time this fall.
Inevitably Rose starts off this time with, "Tell me a story Mommy."
It is not a request.
So a few weeks ago, I decided to turn the tables.
As soon as I heard her seat belt click into place, I said, "Tell me a story Rosy."
Silence indicated that she was contemplating this turn of events.
"All my stories are your stories Mommy."
And I blinked hard, because she was correct. All the stories she has heard and lived have been with me. Everything that has happened so far in her short life, has happened with me. I love that.

So here is our last month in pictures. All the stories we've lived together.

The frogs that my three younger children consider family.

The "all boy" camping trip out to an island for Rowan's 9th birthday.

Campsite!

Brothers!!
Dave's Aunt and Uncle gifted us this boat this spring. So sweet!

Pensive Grant

Eager Rowan

Picking pears at the cottage.

Rowan asked for a pair of overalls and a push lawn mower for his birthday.

The boy's dam and the resulting pond

The kids made themselves breakfast down on the island.

Rowan had to get creative with where to put the pears!

This fall has been a beautiful reminder that the stories we are making right now, will be retold to other little children someday. So I can laugh at the odd, embarrassing, silly things my children (not to mention their parents) do, because someday.....those very things will make a great story.

The Days That Pass

"I stopped there in my field and looked up. And it was as if I had never looked up before. I discovered another world. It had been there before, for long and long but I had never seen nor felt it. All discoveries are made in that way: a man finds the new thing, not in nature but in himself."

-David Grayson

 

 

I learned a lot this summer. And as summer revolved into fall I grappled with my knowledge, trying to own what I knew, desperate to apply it.

One life change led to another. Avonlea gone for two months became Avonlea home but at school every day. We don't blink at her gone for 7 hours a day because her mission trip accustomed us to life without her. The tragedy of seven hours absence is quelled in comparison to two months. She is her own responsible, independent, mini adult. That change was birthed on the mission field for her and for myself, it was birthed in an orchard.


Avonlea at the Colosseum

All summer long, I walked the orchard every night that we were up at the cottage. It was therapeutic to walk down row after row in prayer and praise and communion with the Maker of nature's fruit. Up one aisle, down the next. The kids would either be in bed or occupied when I slipped away, but sometimes they weren't. Sometimes they'd ask to come and I'd resist, I'd been with them all day, I wanted to be alone with the Lord. But they only learn what they see, so sometimes I'd take one of them. We'd take turns praying aloud. Up one aisle, down the next. And my heart would break wide open in the blessing of this. My child and I, side by side, talking to the God of the universe like He was walking next to us. A new faith was birthed in that orchard, a far costlier fruit than the pears that hung thick.

Dam building at the cottage

 

There was pain this summer. Physical pain. My mom fell down the stairs at our house, while we were gone, and broke her tibia. My husband had a tooth implant that got an infection that spiraled him into unbearable pain for 12 days. My mom and my husband, my support system, knocked flat by pain I was completely helpless to alleviate. I felt it deeply, my daughter was gone beyond my help or influence, my closest loves were suffering intensely, and I had no control. At one point Dave woke me in the night to pray...again...sleep was intermittent at best for over a week and we were both exhausted. I pulled myself up and told Dave, "God is sick of my voice!" But He wasn't. He isn't.

My voice calling out to Him in every situation is exactly what He wants. I experienced the truth that though circumstances made me feel out of control, I was exactly where He wanted me. That I am never so well provided for, so perfectly centered, as when I am out of my control and in His. That any time I feel in control, I am being hallucinatory.

So we swing forward into the next season and I struggle to live this every day. To teach it to my children. To make sure they know that no matter what, God's got them. They are His, He will never forsake them. Sometimes my love for them becomes my driving force and I have to mentally go back to the orchard. Walk with them, teach them to pray, remember the fruit.

 My life will never look like it did before this summer. The birth of one thing requires the death of another. I've known that before and now I know it again. This summer birthed a new era of our family and there is mourning sometimes for the era that is past. But my husband's mouth and my mom's ankle are healing, growing strong again, and I know that we will too.

 

And until then, He's got us.

 

And when we're thriving in this new now, He'll have us still.

 



Building to Last

In 1908, when our house was being built, the owners put up a little, temporary house to live in.
It didn't have a foundation or a real roof.
It was never meant to be lived in long term, only until this house was built.
But somehow, it was sold, and for the last 60 years a married couple lived in it.

 

About 3 years ago, we were given the opportunity to buy it, as it adjoins our property.

We couldn't believe the conditions that the elderly couple had been living in.

 

Looking in from the front door.
These pictures were taken last fall.

Every floor was crooked. Ah, foundations do matter.

The chimney had fallen in without a proper roof to hold it up and withstand moisture. Ah, the roof is essential for protection from the elements.

 

When we asked HOW? WHY? this couple had stayed and lived in this hovel, the wife said,

"It was all we knew."

Living in a place that was never meant to be lived in. Staying, because it had become familiar.

I sympathized.

But I knew there was potential for more.

 

So this June, we did it.

Demolition.

 

 

 

Because sometimes you just have to start over.

Start right.

Put in a foundation that lasts.

Put up a roof that protects.

Build for life.

 

So we are reclaiming this property.

We break ground in a couple months on a garage/apartment.

We are building a shelter to last.

 

And then I'm going to decorate.