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.

These Boots Were Made For....

"How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can they preach unless they are sent? As it is written, "How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!"

Romans 10: 14-15

When Avonlea left for 2 months with Teen Missions last summer she had on new boots. Those boots endured a 2 1/2 week boot camp in Florida and then 6 weeks of hiking, street evangelism, and drama presentations in Italy and Greece.

When I was frantically packing for our Haiti trip earlier this month (approximately two hours before we had to be at the airport) I realized all I had for foot gear were Nikes. Really cute Nikes with hot pink laces. Could I Haitify them? Not in good conscience. Avonlea saved the day by bringing out her Teen Mission boots. They fit. Mostly.


The boots in Haiti

When I was asked several months ago if I would be interested in going to Haiti, I said "no". Immediately. I don't even like to go camping. But after my "no" the Spirit began to whisper "yes". He also whispered some hard questions, such as, "Will you go when I send you regardless of...." Fill in the blank with all my legitimate arguments.

After much prayer and thought I decided to go, and I was scared stiff, but I learned something. My daughter was brave. She stepped out in her new boots into unknown situations and experiences. She obeyed, even though she is an introvert and loves to be home with her family; she went. And God provided what she needed to obey. I learned that I could trust Him to provide what I needed to obey, too.

This summer Grant is going to Trinidad. He will probably be wearing these same boots. He will have the same fears and insecurities that I had, that Avonlea had, but he will obey his God regardless. And it's not about the boots (although I love the symbolism) and it's not about the feet in the boots necessarily. It's about a good God, who loves this world, sends His people to proclaim His love, and equips them to do it by His Spirit.

Our team at the construction sight of the home

One of the girls in the family we were building the house for. She is holding her doll.

You can kinda see my nose.



Crying over the beauty of these children.

The house we were building right next to those blue cans.

This year, God has asked me to let my children go serve Him,and to go myself. Both of these things were terrifying for me.

But let me testify to the faithfulness of God

in both these situations

and the blessing that comes through obedience.

 



Haiti

Last night I awoke to the sound of rustling.
My heart quickened and the thought that waved through my mind like a banner was, "There are angels in my room!"
Not perhaps a typical reaction, but then, it was my first night home from Haiti.

Dave and I left for Haiti on February 6th and were there for 9 days. We went with a team of 10 from our church to build a kindergarten classroom at a school that our church supports. However, when we got down there it turned out that there was a transportation strike over gas prices so it was impossible to run the risk of getting to the school. Instead, we started to build a house in the neighborhood of the seminary where we were staying. We were able to work in the community and later at the school and both experiences were amazing.

Dave is still there so I don't have any pictures to show until he gets back, as he has the camera. But I wanted to get some of my main impressions down.

Walking through the squalor of the neighborhood that first day was shocking. The houses are built stacked together (the "law" is 3 feet of space on every side). The paths between the houses are littered with garbage and waste. And this is where, walking through this labyrinth of bodies and homes and garbage, the image of our happy, well dressed, prosperous church chanting "God is good all the time, and all the time God is good" slapped up against this reality. I didn't want this slapping. Perhaps if I had gone to the school first, and seen all the happy, beautiful children in their school uniforms singing about Jesus, the contrast wouldn't have been so stark. But stark it was.

Slowly over the days, God allowed me to see a beautiful truth. That the working out of God's sovereignty, of His redemption, is in the very bowels of the earth that He created. That the layer we see here on the top, be it lovely or hellish, is only a very thin layer, and underneath that, He's moving. And often, the stirring in the depths will explode like a mini volcano of hope and light amidst the darkness. It was after seeing these mini explosions that I started to understand, He's here, He's working.

These explosions often came in the form of people. Mason and Lauren are missionaries in Haiti and long time friends. They serve the people of the community tirelessly. That doesn't mean they're not tired, but they are unfailingly motivated by the love of God for these people. They have helped rebuild dozens of houses for people living in scrap metal.

Johny, who laughs. Johny is the big Haitian man who started the school in Merger that our church supports. He drove to Merger daily even though it was often not safe to do so. He explained, "If the God in the Bible is real, He is able to get me safely to Merger." It was later reported to him by thugs that when they would lay in ambush to attack his car, his car would simply disappear. Yes, God is real. Johny saw a slum through the eyes of God and built a little school. The school now has almost 400 children and goes to grade 11. Next year the first child will graduate. These children are happy and bright and have a hope and faith in Jesus that is astounding.

WaWa is the president of the seminary. He had dinner with us and explained his heart for discipleship that surpasses just imparting Biblical knowledge to the students. He teaches the teachers how to invest in lives, like Jesus did, so that the students can see the practicality of loving Jesus. Yes.

We visited Chantelle who had a house built for her in 2011. She was laying on a thin blanket on the cement floor on the house. She had had diarrhea for 4 days (which was why she wasn't in a bed). When she saw several of the men who had built her house, she sat up and threw her arms open. They bent down to hug her. She had nothing but joy, nothing but gratitude for the roof over her head. We filed out of her home solemn, choked with the stench and the joy and the shock of having witnessed a volcano.

There were many other believers that we met that were faithfully, joyfully serving God among their people. They didn't look like volcanoes, but they were.

In truth, the very fact that our team was there was a volcano in itself. We hugged and kissed the children and we (the girls anyway) let them do our hair. We sang with them and laughed with them and told them "Jesus loves you" as we pressed our white finger onto their chocolate chest.
Jesus loves you. That is the truth that all the volcanoes proclaim.
God is working. Often it's in bowels, where it's not easy to see.
But I'm listening now, for the groaning and stirrings in the depths (or for the rustle of angel's wings).
I'm watching now, for the explosions of light that illuminate truth in this dark world.
Jesus loves you.

The people chanting "God is good all the time, and all the time God is good" were right, and it didn't matter what they looked like on the surface, because He's working in the depths just the same.

Overload

Since the holidays, I have been on overload. I am now going to share that overload in an attempt to feel less overloaded. Or  maybe it is simply because I have an hour to myself right now, as my husband and son make weapons of mass destruction and my daughter does homework and my other two are in bed.

On my birthday post I relayed the information that our beautiful trees were being executed. I have been reminded, once again, that there is beauty in death. The sunlight that lit up our previously dark living room almost took my breath away. Sunlight that came because of a cutting away.

After a lovely Christmas at home, we headed up to LaPine, and then onto the cottage, where we lived in a blur of activity and laughter. Truly a time I treasured.

Ice skating!

Sledding by tractor in the moonlight

My cottage decorating continues....here is the kitchen remodel so far.

this is how it looked when we bought it



this was the first phase
 

Not done yet, but getting there

Next...came Grant's birthday. He was given responsibility in the form of a gift. A precious gift that he named Comet.

Grant picked her out as a two week old baby

We brought her home at 6 weeks

She has become Grant's constant companion

Needless to say we've been in puppy heaven. Comet is so sweet. Grant got to learn how to wake in the night to puppy whines and take her out to potty. He feeds her, walks her, and trains her.

This last weekend we had a birthday party. Grant is growing up into a fun, loving, God-fearing man and part of this is reflected in who he has chosen for friends. These boys are kind, polite, and considerate. I feel tangible hope when I look at these boys and the men they are growing into.

The nicest boys ever, even if they are armed

I think that brings me up to date on Christmas, puppies, and teen birthdays. I no longer feel overloaded.
Now I can fix my sights on the next thing....
which happens to be Haiti!

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.