Our Week: Ducks, Morphine, and Photo Shoots

Rowan is again making the headlines in our home.
He has become the proud possessor of a duckling. He owns a black duck named Swift and Rose has a yellow quacker named Popcorn. Super cute and fun, Until Rowan didn't wash his hands well enough after cleaning the cage and came down with salmonella poisoning.
Our week, consisted of trying to determine why he was so sick and encompassed, one urgent care visit, one doctor visit, two ER visits, and finally hospitalization in a children's hospital. They checked for a huge array of diseases and infections which left us reeling from potential scenarios for our future and Rowan's future. Salmonella poisoning isn't usually hailed with glee, but in our case, it was.

Cutest culprits of infection ever

There were some beautiful gifts given in the process of all of this chaos and confusion.

Prayer. So many texts from so many dear friends telling us they were praying. Rowan recovered so much faster than anyone expected given the seriousness of his case, but I knew it was because he was covered in the prayers of God's people.

Bonds. As Rowan lay writhing in pain on a stretcher he kept calling for his brother. He burst into tears when Dave showed him a recent picture of them together on vacation. He kept repeating over and over, "God's got me. Dad and Mom have got me. Grant's got me." It blessed my heart to see how much he loves his brother.

Education. We had a nurse ask in the ER if Rowan was home schooled. We said yes and then Dave asked what gave it away. The nurse explained that most 11 year olds don't quote the entire Gettysburg Address when in duress. Right. Rowan also quoted the 24th Psalm and discoursed for a bit on his favorite civil war battle (Chickamauga). He was delirious with pain but what came out was what he had worked so hard to put in.

Our very sick little boy waiting for his CAT scan

Faith. Rowan wanted to listen to music in the ER while we waited for the results of a CAT scan. He chose to listen to Bethel's "It is well with my soul". A nurse commented that he doesn't hear that one much in the ER. We met some wonderful nurses and doctors who serve in a really hard setting with really sick people, yet they do so with such compassion and wisdom.

Pleasant surprises. On Friday we were told that our nurse, Jody, had won a nursing award. She was going to be featured in a magazine and have her picture in the lobby of the hospital up on the wall. She would be photographed with a patient and she chose Rowan. Rowan miraculously stopped writhing long enough to smile up at her while she took his temperature and stuff. Cracked.me.up. He's truly my son and photo shoots are not to be passed up NO Matter What.

Drugs. A shot of morphine gave Rowan much needed relief. He really liked the morphine and was later a bit irritated at the nurses who only offered ibuprofen and Tylenol. I woke up in the hospital Friday morning to Rowan's eyes boring into me as he stated, "I want more morphine." It was a good thing we had a lot of time together in the hospital because I was able to tell him every horror story of drug addiction I had ever heard. Pretty sure I got my point across as he refused Tylenol and ibuprofen after our hours long discussion.

Rowan in his hospital room contemplating escape

Home. We had some vague promises that we could go home from the hospital on Friday so when the doctor came in and said  Rowan's levels were too high for her to feel comfortable letting him go, we were both disappointed. But as soon as the doctor left the room, Rowan was more than disappointed. He was crushed. "I want my home. I want my dog. I want my brother. I want my bed. I want to go home." I tried to comfort him but he'd had it. He packed up his stuff and he told the nurse, "I am completely better. I want to go home." She listened to him. She talked to the doctor who agreed to do another blood draw. She found his levels so decreased that she was surprised and allowed him to go home. His face when he got here. His arms around his siblings. His hands on his dog. His smile and happiness and thankfulness filled my heart to overflowing.

So somehow, out of this crazy wild week, I emerged encouraged. Rowan slept 12 hours last night. He woke up weak and scrawny but so happy to be surrounded by the people who love him best. I hope all my kids always feel like that. That they know they have a place in something bigger than themselves and that our family also has a place in a bigger picture. I'm encouraged that even in the midst of all this mess God has got us, and my children know it. Praise the Lord.

Heritage and Hope

Our new house in the country has precipitated an overhaul of my habits. I've always enjoyed staying in bed for as long as possible in the morning. Since we've moved I've woken up at 5:30 am almost every morning. Did everyone catch that (all 5 of my relations who read this)....5:30 AM...It's like this, the morning sun rises red and the gleam of it crimsons the walls of my bedroom. I try to will myself back to sleep, but I know, that outside there's a gauzy mist over the marsh. I know that all the birds are going crazy for sheer joy. I know that bunnies are hopping around on the lawn. I know that a fawn may creep up to nibble on my bushes and if I'm in bed...I'll miss it all!

So up I get. I spend a half hour reading the Bible in front of the windows. I marvel at the light, the leaves, the song of the morning while I pursue truth. Then I go out into it. Just for a short walk before another day needs to be opened.

Recently, while reading in the Old Testament I came upon a list of leaders. They were the division leaders of the army, there were 12 of them, one division for each month of the year.

"The third army commander, for third month, was Benaiah son of Johoiada the priest. He was chief and there were 24,000 men in his division. This was the Benaiah who was a mighty man among the Thirty and was over the Thirty. His son Ammizabad was in charge of his division." (I Chron. 27:5-6)

I noticed as I read the list of commanders that I recognized names. These, like Benaiah, were men I've read about before, men that stood out for their bravery and courage. And now their sons were being identified by the names of their brave fathers. This short passage showed the grandfather who was a priest, the father a mighty man, and the son in charge of his division.

Uncle Jon and Aunt Sandy, who serve God and our Country faithfully with joy and wisdom

Last week was VBC at our church. Avonlea and Grant worked with me in first grade. Rowan attended the camp and Rose stayed home with Ma Glo to save herself for her ballet recital. I was standing in the foyer with Rowan after VBC one day when a woman walked up to me and said, "Your son is so sweet and polite. I had to look at his name tag to find out who he belonged to. I saw it and said, "Oh your a K---!" She said our last name, said it like it fit in a sentence with the words "sweet and polite". She recognized Rowan by his heritage, his family name. Something stirred within me as we walked away.

Uncle Mike....a man of courage and faith.

We bought Avonlea a concert harp several weeks ago. Her teacher tried to explain to me what to look for in a harp. She said, "You don't want it to be too old since the nature of harps are to self destruct. The pegs pull the strings taut one way and the wood pulls them another way. At some point it falls apart and you use the pieces to make a lamp or something."

Sometimes I think this is the nature of family as well. The world pulls hard against our children. Their own inclinations, peer pressure, and a constant stream of other people's thoughts, ideas, and morals join in. And as a mother, a father, we pull the other way. We teach them to follow Jesus, to love selflessly, to give generously. In this tension, they play their song and live their life.

The "sweet and polite" ness that Rowan possesses is a taut string that sometimes breaks under the pressure. But as parents, we don't let up, because we know for certain the world never will. So we train and we pray and we teach again, and again, and again, because we can see the grandfather a priest, the father a mighty man, and the son in charge of his division. We know these things are passed down and passed along and built up through the ages.

"... it was homemaking that mattered. Every home was a brick in the great wall of decent living that men erected over and over again as a bulwark against the perpetual flooding in of evil. But women made the bricks, and the durableness of each civilization depended upon their quality, and it was no good weakening oneself for the brick-making by thinking too much about the flood." (Elizabeth Goudge)

So I wake up early to rosy red light and I spend my time in the Word, because the older my children get, the clearer I see the battle that rages for their souls. I see the tension of the times in which they live pulling against the timeless truth that we have taught and I listen in awe to the music that the tension is creating. I try to express to them the heritage they have been given. Your grandfather is a man of courage, your father is a man of integrity....

...and you my child...you have a song that this world desperately needs to hear.

When I start to despair, when the actions of my children overwhelm me, I remember who else is pulling on our side.
The One whose hands caress the stings and ease the tension into beauty.
He is the reason the red sun rises and the reason the harp doesn't self destruct.

"He is before all things, and in him all things hold together" (Col 1:17)

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.

A Lot Of Beautiful Work

In August, when the whole world was ripe and blooms had swollen to blossoms, we took a drive through the country.

We passed a house well set back from the road. In front of the house was a fairyland of flowers. This was no cottage garden running wild and sweet, it was a planned, precise, aisled garden. Well plotted rows of dahlias and roses ran obediently along from the house to the road.
I gasped when I saw it and shouted, "Look!"
It was so lush, so beautiful, I wanted the kids to see it. I slowed the car and let everyone get a good look. Grant was in the front seat and as we drove away I asked him, "Wasn't that beautiful?"
He paused and then answered, "It looked like a lot of work to me."
I had to laugh because my logical son is so different from his passionate mother.

A month later I was sitting in an airport waiting for my plane to Alaska to board. Grant and Rowan sat in seats across from me. They were reading something together. Grant had his arm draped casually, big-brother like, around Rowan's shoulder. Rowan would look up and he and Grant would share a laugh. It was a beautiful picture and I sat soaking it in. Then I realized that I wasn't the only one soaking. The woman sitting next to me was watching the boys also.
She looked away from the boys, found my eyes, and said, "Someone put a lot of work into those boys."

She was right.
Raising these children well is a lot of work.
But, oh, the beauty of a well tended garden is more than enough reward for this passionate mother.


P.S.
A cup of tea and a nap are also appreciated.
Also, a good book.
I've always wanted a grand-father clock.

Getting Ready

I laid in bed and thought. I followed the thoughts in circles, got carsick, and tried to apply brakes to the endless motion. There was a lot to do.
My niece was getting married on Saturday. It was Monday, and the first wave of family would crash into our shore that night at around 8pm. In all, there would be about 20 people sleeping at my house and my mom's house. No wonder I was carsick. There was a lot to do.

However, through the years I've learned something.
I can clean my house until it shines, until it dazzles, but if my soul is a mess, it really doesn't matter.
If I scour the floor but am harboring unforgiveness or unrepentance, my hospitality blesses no one.
So this time, I cleaned my house, but I also prayed and asked others to pray. I prayed alone. With Dave. With the kids. I prayed for grace to give and love and serve. I prayed that we might help and bless and bring joy. I took time, even in the midst of the chaos to spend time with God.
I straightened the furniture and I aligned my heart to God's Spirit.
It made all the difference.
So when someone made a comment about the naughty little girl I used to be, I was able to smile and say, "Isn't God good? Look at His grace that saved me!"
And when my sister told me that we had to make 200 cupcakes on the 98 degree day, I was able to say, "That's what sister's are for!"
And when I had to go to the craft store to figure out how to frost the aforesaid cupcakes and how to display them on the cake table, and I broke out in a cold sweat because craft stores scare me, I was able to pray for guidance and see God give it.

So although the time was filled with work, it was also filled with love and laughter and family.
And the little girl who had made me an aunt, made me proud.

And the family that was last together for a funeral came together for a wedding.

Tonight, the last family left. I threaded my way through the living room maze of lincoln logs and vitamin water and sprinkles. I missed the noise of many feet and voices. But I remembered that not everyone left, I've got four babes and a husband who will wake in the morning.
And they will want to find a mama/wife with a well cleaned soul.....
I gotta go!

My mom and brother

Rowan and his cousin drew themselves holding hands.

Rowan dancing with his cousin at the wedding

Dancing with the bride!

Rosy and Cait

The little guy who's responsible for my sister becoming a grandma

Rowan and cousin Summer

Avonlea playing with the little girls

Sustainable Living

We have just completed our third week of company.
There is high energy as siblings and their children weave in and through our day.
There is conversation, laughter, dancing, and prayer.
And I grow weary.
I'm in the kitchen cooking another mammoth meal, I'm pretty sure there are mash potatoes in my hair.
My eyes, roving the counter for a spatula, happen to land on my tea cup.
I feel the thirst in my body and soul. Tea time, in the afternoon, is when I meet with God. My Bible comes out of it's special drawer in the kitchen table and I sip and read nourishment. It's been a while and I'm needy.
Unbidden, and unwanted if truth be known, comes the thought, what are you imbibing for, if not to expend the energy? That rings of spiritual gluttony and I try to focus on the beans.
But I can't.
The Bible, that I read daily, speaks more of battles and races than clinking china.
Ecclesiastes 3 speaks of, "A time for war and a time for peace," and implies that there will be both.
So I get back to work with a will, in faith, knowing that God will use those quiet days of study to articulate His will.
Knowing that the deep draughts of tea and truth have a battle cry at their core and it must be uttered.
Knowing that though my body is weary, my soul is most at peace when in the fray.
And when quiet comes again, as it will, I will embrace it, but only as a means to an end.
This, my friends, is the secret to sustainable living.

Generations

My brother Mike, his wife Caroline, and their two children Christopher (4) and Emily (2) flew in for an extended visit.
The first morning they were here Mike gave me a gift.
He gave me a ring. It's white gold with a one carat diamond. It belonged to our great-grandmother on my mother's paternal side.

Before I can utter a thank-you, he says, "Grandpa gave it to me a long time ago. He told me that it was a big diamond but it had a crack in the heart of it. It's flawed, so it's pretty much worthless."
I flinch.
A priceless, worthless ring passed down through the generations.
I put it on.

The days go by quickly with company, and there are messes and mayhem, and I struggle and strive to love like Christ. In the midst of all this there's mourning. My mom's dear friend passed away. Her friend's name was Mary, and she was a blithe, joyful spirit, full of the love of God. So on Saturday, Mom and I left the children, siblings, and grandchildren, and slipped away to Mary's funeral. The video clips of her family talking were extremely touching, but one thing stood out to me. Her kids talked about loving her, but they also talked about arguing with her, being angry with her, and butting heads with her on different occasions. She wasn't perfect. She was wonderful, she was a godly woman, but she was real.

So Sunday morning at breakfast, I told the kids about the funeral. I happened to glance down at the ring my brother gave me. The analogy hit me, "You know, Uncle Mike, told me that this ring is worthless because it's cracked, but he's wrong. This diamond is just like us, flawed in the heart. Mary wasn't perfect but her cracks gave Jesus a place to shine through. Jesus can shine through our imperfections, too." The kids nodded slowly, as they processed this information. Grant broke the silence, "Then you can always wear that ring mommy and remember that everyone is cracked open and it's good."

An hour later we sat in church. A whole row of my family worshipped together. Grant snuggled up next to me and during the service ran his finger along the surface of the ring, feeling the edges of the crevice. My immediate thought was to pull away, I didn't want him to get cut on the flaw. But no, the ring is to remind me that I am cracked open as well ,and that my children may very well be victims of my jagged edges. I don't recoil from them in order to save them from wounds, I pray for God to bind up any gashes that I, in my sinfulness, may make. But I let them know me, flaws and all. We stand to sing and instinctively one of my hands rests on my son's shoulder and the other, the diamond ring hand, the flawed, cracked, priceless hand raises high to the Lord.

Several of Mary's family members spoke of having visions of her going to Heaven and they said she was beautiful, shining, perfect.
Yes.
Someday the diamond will have no flaws.
Someday....
But until then, I wear the ring and remember,
"We're all cracked open, and it's good."

The flawed ring and the flawed soul will pass down through the generations, but so will the grace and the blessings. Thank you Lord.

Siblings

Rose's Sunday School teacher informed me upon pick-up, "We were learning about Saul being mean to David today. Rose kept interrupting, saying 'Ro-Ro mean'." Sigh. Of course she'd say that on the weekend that he decided to give her a haircut. He was so proud of his handful of blond silk.

When Rowan was born Grant looked at him and asked, "Is he going to be a somebody?" I remember that as I watch them become the "somebody's" God created them to be. It's not always the "somebody" I want them to be. But that's kinda the point. I learn and they learn to pull together, to delight in the differences instead of just tolerate them. We make light of it, training laughter instead of anger. I hear Avonlea laugh, "Oh Grant, everything about us is opposite, it's amazing!" They learn who they are by learning who their siblings are. We encourage them to love eachother, yes, but more than that to like eachother.

So the teacher's words bring a sigh but also a smile. We are not conflict free but we are not laughter free either. Thank God.