Room Cleaning By Grace

I know practical. I am a boring, no nonsense kinda gal. Although I can usually get the job done, there is often much to be desired in my fleshly modus operandi. I assess the bottom line and trudge in headlong without noticing or caring about the people in the process. But I am learning ~ or rather, the Holy Spirit is teaching me that every step in the journey IS the journey. And practical is not always best.

I like need order, too.  I used to think I was a control freak, and, while not discounting that completely (Mr. Visionary made me say that), I have learned that most some of this is just the way I am wired. I can't handle visual cacophony with my mental processing ability intact (I can't think in a mess). All of that is to say that I like things neat. Even with seven children, this desire has not abated. It hasn't materialized either, but that is another matter.

My old method in getting the girls to clean up their room was to come in and elbow-to-elbow with them, help them find order, fussing all the while, focusing more on the job than the little hearts. Partial enlightenment came, and I changed this method to: "If you can't keep it cleaned up, you can't keep it". That wasn't being mean, just...(here's that word again)...practical. If they couldn't keep it clean, they must have had too much stuff, so I'd help them get rid of stuff. Originally this method was met with weeping and gnashing of teeth, but over time, as they realized they never missed the extra stuff, the girls came to love getting rid of more stuff. It really was easier, they found.

But there are times now, even with very little clutter, that it is still a burdensome task for them to keep things orderly. Through praying for an idea to help my ladies, the Lord led me to a plan that blesses them even more than my help with the cleaning (although they still welcome this act of service). I came in today following the usual plan, "When the timer goes off, whatever is not in it's place goes in the bag", when the Lord whispered to me to rearrange the furniture. Huh? I didn't really get it, but I obeyed.

I made a few little changes here and there, only moving pieces that Mr. Visionary would approve of our moving without his help. A new doily, a new plant, and some of my Valentine's roses...and my girls were blessed. Oh, so blessed. It inspired them to feel good about their room, it encouraged their femininity, and if not giving them a new lease on life , then at least a new lease on their day. Smiling and encouraged, they flitted about, making their own changes, adding their own new touches, and the whole matter was concluded in half the time as usual.

These are good girls who sometimes get weighed down by their burdens. I don't need to add to it by being so practical. (C'mon, Mom, remember what it feels like. Weren't you feeling this way just yesterday?) Dawn is right, people and relationships  really are more important than everything else.

Thank you Lord, for letting blind eyes see... One. Moment. At. A.Time.

Too Quiet

During a too-quiet-for-comfort moment this afternoon, Doodle was discovered scaling Mr. Visionary's bedside refrigerator, atop which is a month's supply small stash of dark chocolate.

Flower Child: 'Doodle, what are you doing?'

Doodle: 'I'm keeping myself interested.'

Flower Child: 'Well, you need to get down before I tell Mom. You know you're not allowed up there.'

Doodle: 'Well, what do you expect? Literary Lady wasn't watching me.'


I'm afraid I see politics in this child's future.

Seeing The Good

I am always, no...frequently reminded by Mr. Visionary that I never see the good in a situation. After almost 17 years of marriage and many circular conversations, I have learned to not argue this point . My casually mentioning the fact that said visionary does not allow extremist words from myself the antagonist, as these words are inaccurate black and white descriptions of pictures dappled with black, white and (gasp) grey, can be risky. Anyways, he's right. So I am making a concerted effort to discipline myself to see clearly 'whatever things are lovely' in my daily life. Hence the new category I have added, 'Seeing The Good'.

I had my first opportunity to put the category (and the hopefully de-scaled eyes) into use this morning. Our family is in the middle-to-end of our second stomach virus since the first of the year. Last night, as we realized that Little Napoleon had yet to succumb, we planned to keep him home from church with Mom, who is currently enjoying the virus, 'just in case'. We awoke to find that during the night, that when the virus began it's work on Little Napoleon, that the Engineer woke up with him, put N in E's bed, and read Amelia Bedelia to him. Further down the hallway, Literary Lady was awake, and no doubt led by the delights of fine literature read aloud, checked on the boys. She got a hot water bottle for N, tucked them both in, and went back to bed. Neither the Mommy nor Mr. Visionary were any the wiser until daybreak.

My children care for one another. They serve one another sacrificially, and they do it with a happy heart. Do they fight? Of course. Do they want to strangle each other at times? More times than I would like to deal with. But they also love deeply. And it is lovely.

Thank you , Lord, for eyes to see.

Gobsmacked

It was a sucker punch.

Sneaking up out of nowhere, December grabbed me from behind, clobbered me and threw me to the ground. Too stupid to land on my knees, I landed on my feet and tried to keep going. Staggering, barely able to catch my breath, and with my vision impaired, I was determined to keep going. I had my seventh baby in September, and was adjusting well (at least I had the appearance of such). I made it through Thanksgiving, not exuding grace, by any means, but at least I made it. Although I am not sure exactly what it was I was trying to accomplish, I knew could do this. The Lord could count on me.

Or so I thought.

Waking up New Years's morning with a stomach virus was the best thing that could have happened to me. Even better was that Mr. Visionary and I came down with it simultaneously - I couldn't get mad  at him for not 'getting me out of this mess'. Flat on our backs for almost three days with seven children to care for, we were in a position to do nothing but trust the Lord and allow our friends to take care of things for us. Humbled does not even begin to describe my position. It was the introduction of a rich, but painful season of the Lord dealing with me about the lie of self-sufficiency and the fruitlessness of determining my own goals. Enter January where I have spent much time in absolute meltdown, surveying the carnage in the wake of one bad month. My laundry and home were a piece of cake in comparison to the relationship damage that had been done in one short season. Wondering why 'the Lord' has me in such a difficult season of having so much on my plate, I have been doing much praying...and eventually...listening.

It is amazing sometimes how complicated things can become when your goal is to 'get back to basics' or to 'live simply'. It amazes me more how I can so quickly point a finger at my Lord and question His plan. But all things work together for good, and even my questioning was an instrument in His hand. Or more aptly, His answer was. Whether or not this journey started out as something we were led to by the Lord, it had evolved into something far divergent. I've recently had the opportunity to see have my eyes opened to how foolish my lifestyle and fleeting my goals had become.

As I laid before Him a list of everything that was on my plate, truly desiring to hear from Him about each line item, conviction fell in the form of hot,  sobbing tears in recognition of the 'wretched man that I am'. I wish I could say that I held high my list upon open palms and allowed His Spirit to blow away the extraneous items like chaff. I did not. My flesh fought hard to justify why each thing just 'had' to be done, that this was what 'good ____ (Christians, mothers homesteaders...) did'. And yet...I kept hearing Him say, 'I never gave you that. I never gave you that, either. As a matter of fact, I never gave you that, that, that, or that... Only one thing is needful. Only. One.'

Exactly how does one wage war against a still small voice?

Spiritually I had become deaf, dumb, and blind in many areas. But once again, His grace made a way for me to come home. I experienced the truth of Acts 3:19 anew, 'Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord'. Peace and rest in Him are beautiful things. Recently I've learned they are the only things.

Now you know where I have been. I wish it didn't take so long for the Lord to get through to me each time, but I'll take that over not getting through any time. I'll be explaining in more detail some of what Father has shown me recently, and hopefully, some of the lifestyle changes I am making in obedience to Him. I hope you will be blessed and encouraged in the area of listening only to Him...

Because only one thing is needful. 

When The Waters Are Troubled

The waters are troubled. A deep, quiet bubbling…churning…boiling…in the secret places of my heart is the cause of an ache that is yearning to be soothed. There are questions longing for answers, my spirit’s burden longing to be lifted. I struggle to hear His voice, to know with certainty that His will is as I believe it to be.  Only by grace could I obey this voice, just as it is by grace that I think I am hearing…

I recently read several reviews of a book, (here and here), perusing them without a blip on my radar. The time had not yet come, apparently. After an experiment this December with an uncharacteristic-for-us frantic schedule, I was drained. Road weary and battle-scarred, I felt as if our spirits had been assaulted through the constant running…going…hurrying. While we were yet sinners, he died for us…and while we were yet striving He spoke to us. In the midst of the commotion, an acquaintance loaned us the same book. It’s time had come…and I was ready.

 

Only one other book, Stepping Heavenward by Elizabeth Prentiss, has ever affected me even remotely as profoundly. (You mean, it is normal to not be perfect overnight, and that sanctification is a process?) My reading of Henry and the Great Society left me alternating between weeping violently, worshipping passionately, but more often a chorus of both. Confirmation to me of how well my Father knows me and the deepest cries of my heart, I was relieved, oh, so relieved…so delivered from a burden that I had been carrying. One that I had been carrying for so long that my only notice of it was a whispered doubt that, “This is not the way God meant for me to live”. 

Henry is a normal guy with whom we journey into his entrance and entrapment in the “Great Society”.  Based on 1Timothy 6:6-21, his story is woven to show us that the subtle-but-sure lies of Satan in the Garden are still at work to destroy us. The book assumes that most of those who read the message will not “get it” (without eyes to see), and of those that do, most will change nothing (hearers but not doers), so don’t be alarmed if you come away wondering what all they hype is about. Mr. Visionary had me order a case of them to pass out, and I am expecting to get that reaction almost exclusively. But for that one…or two…the exceptions…it could be life-changing.

If you are intrigued, you may order Henry and the Great Society from Cumberland Books. After you read the story of Henry, go back and study the chapters that follow ~ and have your Bible handy. No matter your opinion of the author’s brief mention of the Rapture, the rest is gold, and much food for thought. And prayer. Gut-wrenching prayer. 

Now I am convinced that the nagging fear that I was the problem (this is not intended to discount my sin nature), that my failures to function ‘just like everyone else’ was false. My years spent trying to find ways to make it work are over. By His grace, I know that the system itself is flawed. And I for one ~ am getting out.

I don’t yet know how…or what this will look like fleshed out, but by His grace, I and mine are getting out of the rat race…

Show me what it looks like, Lord.

Note: An MP3 version of the first few chapters can be heard here.

Self Talk

I surely would have thought the days of women swooning were over. What with the 1960’s having done their upheaval and corsets, too, being a thing of the distant past, fainting was, in my humble opinion, only for the overly dramatic. Recent events however, have caused me to rethink my position.

Not having bounced back from this stomach virus quite as quickly or as well as Mr. Visionary and the children, my felt need was rest. Still quite dizzy upon standing, I was hoping to be horizontal most of yesterday, and school was conducted from Mom’s bed.  Queasiness was making the thought of preparing food less-than-delightful, so when our dear friend (who is now even dearer) Miss Elizabeth brought us soup for lunch, my gratefulness to her and the Lord abounded.

Lunch over, and naptime graciously looming on the horizon, a knock at the door alerted me that perhaps my plans were changing. Greeted by a large mass of raw-and-dripping meat, I learned that Old Mr. Clark had been hunting.  His I-come-bearing-gifts grin alerted me that perhaps I should delegate the ‘stroll on over to the back of the truck’ to the boys. Neighborliness having gotten the better of me, I helped him hang our gift-deer in the woodshed and managed to stomach a few instructions about how to proceed from here, all the while purposing to not look the thing in the mouth.

After watching the Flower Child scratch the horns and coochie-coo at this dangling dead deer, I knew I needed to call in reinforcements. A frantic plea to Mr. Visionary to get home speedily, a cold washcloth to my face, and a parenting-by-speaker-phone conference with Dad and the boys to “not talk about it to Mom” were stop-gap measures to tide me over until said help arrived. With instruction from Old Mr. Clark, Dad and the kids skinned the deer after dinner, but the rest (cutting, packing) was left until this morning. Before breakfast.

There’s been a lot of under-the-breath muttering in my house recently. When Mr. Clark left, I was reminding myself that ‘the blessings of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it’.  When I pined for that nap that was not to be, I repeated, “…as thy days, so shall thy strength be”. Overheard just this morning: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me…I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me… I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me…all things. ..I can do this…I can do this…even (gulp) this…”

Before leaving, Old Mr. Clark mentioned one last thing,"If any strangers show up and leave you deer, I sent 'um. I told four or five of my buddies that y'all wanted venison".

Suddenly even those last nine pounds of pregnancy weight seem surmountable.

Resolving: Stuffage

During the last 48 hours or so, as Mr. Visionary and I have had our opportunity to partake of the gastroinstestinal virus that has been passed through the family, I have had much time to stare at the ceiling (or the bathroom flooring) and consider. As I laid there mulling over how advantageous it is to have a bathroom floor in the same shade as one’s hair, I also spent time thinking through those issues on which the Lord has recently had His finger in our life.  

 On my personal To-Do List, pegged for the near future, is to clean out the attic. My goal is to rid our lives of 80% of the stuff accumulated there, but as of yet, I do not know what form this will take. Will it be that 80% of the furniture,  clothes, and ‘stuff’ is gone equally from each category, or will it be more general, in that just 80% of the bulk is gone from the attic in general? As I pondered, I realized that I truly have no idea what is in many of the boxes. So I pondered some more, trying hard to remember.

 What I remembered was numbing. Several moves ago, we were to spend nine months renting the home of some friends while the Dad went to a ministry school. Knowing that we were moving again in nine months, we used one of the bedrooms to store our ‘extra stuff’. Never in the nine months did we break into the stash, nor did we feel a need. Our next move was into a tiny-for-us house, without room for our ‘extra stuff’. The same stored boxes went to my in-laws’ three-car garage to sit while moth and rust (and mice) did their work until our next move.

 The miniscule percentage of those items that I kept remind me of my attic now. How much do we really need to live? Really. Need. Not to necessarily live as the world does, in our culture, at this time…but to simply live? And how much of the ‘extra stuff’ keeps us so busy working to buy, use and maintain it that we have little time for God or the work He has given us?  How sick and tired of the stuff is sick and tired enough?

 I will be working through this some more, as I am sensing that this is only the beginning ~ the first few wobbly steps on a journey to a new kind of freedom...

 “…And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” John 8:32.

 

 

 

Dropping Like Flies

So my girlfriend calls today, checking on our new cow, and casually asking if we had received her Christmas gift, “You know, the one I left you last week”. When two girlfriends and their children were here for an impromptu tea party, our collective children enjoyed themselves, tea-ing, partying and sundry other giggle-inspiring activities, while the Mommies chatted and did not spell out our words.

We have all experienced the phenomena when your company leaves and you find out that the children were all doing something they oughtn’t - in that order. Sometimes you find out right away… sometimes it takes a few days for all the facts to come out. Sometimes the children know better…sometimes they are clueless. The game that has small parts that they weren’t supposed to have out with toddlers, the weapons when our peace-loving friends join us, the sharing of germs…

This time it took a few days (and a few kids) before I found out that our Christmas gift was the gift that keeps on giving. Seventeen loads of laundry later due to a front door/backdoor illness, I am wishing I had not spoken so soon. I mentioned to the gifter that our family was not hit too hard by this virus – only three had had it, with two days between each onset. At dinner we had two more casualties.

Yes, as a matter of fact, we did get that gift. As frugal as I tend to be, I will resist the urge to regift this time. Instead, with a blanket announcement that our family will be conspicuously absent from church this week, we are preparing to ring in the New Year from the sick beds on the couch.

 

Out with the old…eh?

Learning Curve

Deep sigh.


It's over. I was truly dreading it, knowing that the dispersing of such information could very well cause us to be the laughing stock of the church, I didn't want to tell.


When you go to church with almost all farmers, especially folks who were raised on a farm, eating, sleeping, breathing farm life, you just know they giggle at you when you make mistakes. A dear sister from church who runs a feed store has visibly reddened and had to exercise tremendous amounts of self control over some of my questions to her.  She's a patient woman. She manages to maintain her composure enough to educate me even when her coffee is attempting to come out of her nose.


But it didn't happen. Actually, it never has. As much as I anticipate it, it never actually occurs-they never laugh. Instead, our revealing the newest of our dumb mistakes educational experiences simply spurs our friends'  stories of their early years on their own farms, when they were just learning .


Case in point: we were recently expecting our Jersey dairy cows to calve. I was joyfully expecting their arrival, and the ensuing flood of milk, butter, ice cream, cream cheese, yogurt, ice cream, kefir, ricotta and ice cream that we would have once more. Did I mention ice cream? (Our children used to have asthma and ezcema, and can't have pasteurized milk, so we've been without dairy during the dry period.)

When we recently announced that we found out our cows are not even pregnant, lots of folks were disappointed with us, but they assured us that it was a common mistake. Not having them checked by the vet after breeding to be sure they were pregnant is an ommission that apparently everyone has made. But only once.


'Well, I guess you won't be making that mistake again!'


No, I can assure you, we will not make that mistake again.


We'll have a list of plenty of others to work on...

Blogging Without Obligation

After coming across what seemed to be the 4000th or so post on someone's blog starting with "I'm sorry I haven't posted in awhile." I decided it is time to rethink what makes a good blog and the expectations that have come to be part of it. I am thinking that no one should utter those words again . . .and with that thought I give you Blogging Without Obligation.

If you feel the same way feel free to grab the logo, make a logo or whatever you would like to do!

I release all the logos, thoughts and words mentioned here about this concept into the public domain. Take the idea and run with it. . .or walk away. It is all good.

• Because you shouldn't have to look at your blog like it is a treadmill.

• Because its okay to just say what you have to say. If that makes for a long post, fine. Short post, fine. Frequent post, fine. Infrequent post, fine.

• Because its okay to not always be enthralled with the sound of your own typing.

• Because sometimes less is more.

• Because only blogging when you feel truly inspired keeps up the integrity of your blog.

• Because they are probably not going to inscribe your stat, link and comment numbers on your tombstone.

• Because for most of us blogging is just a hobby. A way to express yourself and connect with others. You should not have to apologize for lapses in posts. Just take a step back and enjoy life, not everything you do has to be "bloggable".

• Because if you blog without obligation you will naturally keep your blog around longer, because it won't be a chore. Plus, just think you will be doing your part to eradicate post pollution. One post at a time. . .