Do We Meet Here?

I hardly recognize the woman who sat down to write this out.  At least not until about two thirds through...then I start to see myself.  But, just like this post took some time to write, it's taking me some time to see it. Furthermore, daring to tap the "publish" command has me a little in knots.  As my proof reader puts it, "This sure is a lot about you." (Thank you firstborn farmgirl for your caution and insight). She's right on.  I dare to post knowing that although I'm talking about me, perhaps what I have to offer meets you where you are, and we see into each other in humility and love.

For perhaps ALL of my growing up years, and maybe most of my adult years I've been one to see and seize opportunities.  Search out possibilities.  Look for chances. I usually wake most mornings with fresh hope, optimism, and am ready to take on the day.  (After some deep dark cups of coffee and quiet time that is...)

My training, and in many ways my early experiences, was the opposite.  My parents come to life aware of boundaries, respectful of limits, and cautious.
Furthermore, we seriously depart in the coffee department.  They're more of the tea type. I digress.
Regardless of what's in my (or their) morning mug, my view of my origins is shaped by what I remember as tight close fences around life, growth, and opportunity.

Can you imagine the differences of perspective, disagreements, conflicts, and issues presented by my teen years?  Oh. My.

I was always stretching for the next thing.
Eager and waiting for the another door to open, ready to walk through.
A rejector of self imposed limits, I chafed at the many things I was told I couldn't do.

I haven't changed that much.

Until recently.

I'm hard up against needing to respect limits.
Only a little fuel remains with still many miles to travel.
Often putting one foot in front of the other, with (literally), just enough oxygen for the next step.
In circumstances that I cannot influence that have profound influence on me.

Much of this influence is very good, wildly, wonderful parts of life.
-Adult sons living at home getting ready to make their own way.
-A house full of teens.
-Youngsters still underfoot.
-Barns and pastures full.
-Renovations of this old farm slowly, and in fits and spurts, progressing.
-Gardens STILL burgeoning.
-An excellent beginning to our homeschool year and many confirmations that our affiliation with Classical Conversations is timely and perfect for us.
-Tutoring in Classical Conversations has awakened my brain and I'm enjoying teaching again.
-The ups and downs of necessary restoration (and sometimes backsliding) of key relationships requires time and commitment, but we are hanging on for our very lives and praying for a good yield.

You see?
Abundance.
It is the good things that have created limits.
And, I still chafe.
Conflict arrives.

Mostly it visits me.
(Sometimes others when I'm selfish and careless.)

This time, and maybe I'm lucky, is the first time that I've not had wiggle room to do anything - I can't change it up.  I'm powerless to extend boundaries or make more space. Whether the causes are negative or positive, I'm left with no choice, except to yield.

I'm having to say "no".
To extra activity.
To selfish pursuits.
To the unnecessary.
To the self gratifying things I love to fill up on.
And, this is the one that has me in a dither, "no" to worthwhile good things too.

And "no", although plenty uncomfortable all by itself, has opened the path for other more pointed discomforts.

Like the realization that I continue to crave (idolize?) recognition and so can all too easily get busy with things that build me up, and even though sincere love and service is involved, there's always a little slice of that pie just for me.

Or, the smack dab pressed up understanding that I'm creeping daily up on a substantial milestone birthday.  It's not 30.  It's not 40. Been there, done both of those.  It'll be a couple of years yet, and although I'm as fit and as strong as I've ever been, I need more sleep, take more time to weigh decisions, move more slowly. Giving myself over to slower means I've got to wrangle with my paradigms and our culture's penalties for aging.  I can no longer meet my "normal" production marks, which puts my comfortable habit of measuring myself by performance goals in a stranglehold.

Without performance, shockingly, I find myself insecure about appearance.  Yes, there's liberty, attractiveness, and even relief in embracing a kind of beauty that can't be bought, that comes from the gift of years. But, when the gray hairs make the curls a crown, I find myself wondering.  When the pretty has faded all away, when what I look like is less and less of an issue, will what I am be enough?

Identity as a writer, mother, wife, farmer, friend, teacher, Christ follower - every role- has felt the bright glare of introspection.  The light has revealed many pure and good things.  Excellent and praiseworthy pursuits populate the chapters of my life.  Contrarily, so has bitterness, lack of courage, failure to love and forgive - common to all, but personal to me, the population of these behaviors and characteristics has come to light and I can't just breeze right past them.

Gulp. I could go on and on.
And, in fact, in the daily-ness of life I have.
It can produce at first, a frightening kind of insanity, as going round and round with oneself only leads one to, ahem, the same old same old staring back from the looking glass.
Then, the fright shifts, because whereas the above cycle used to spur me on, it's the new normal.

I wrestle with it all.

When I'm spent, I come to this:

Does there come a season when all the effort, stretching, reaching, leaping through open doors shifts to cultivating, maintaining, and then harvesting what for so many years has been planted as new growth?

I'm beginning to think so.
Little quiet parts of my memory speak into this space.
I'm reminded that so many times before I've been ushered into something or someplace new and although I knew it was coming, once I was "there", initially I was ill equipped to understand and respond to the newness of the experience.
Even if I'd prepared.

Like laboring and delivering a baby.
I'd read books, watched (back then) videos, talked to doctors and nurses, and consulted my mom.
But, until I pushed head, shoulders, body, feet, delivered life through that burning portal I understood not what was my due.
And, each time I learned, lost, and gained something new.
Something that whether I perceived it or not made me ready for the season I was (am) in and what I was (am) to do and be.

So all this good is good enough.
And the faults are not too many.
And the "no" along with its limits brings more courage, humility, peace, and love.
Beautifully, limits produce less fear, stress, self seeking, and harm.

Not because I say it is so.
No, my own insight, strength, experience is not nearly enough to reach into and equip for the contrast of what is life right now- the fullness and its limits.

What then, to return to the earlier metaphor in my question, cultivates, maintains, and brings the harvest?

Gratitude and grace.
Far better than "good enough", these companions, concurrently cultivated and given as unmerited gifts, shine into this time with greater brilliance than introspection.
Their purpose and redeeming power overcomes not only the true cost of the mistakes that have been revealed in the hours of self absorption, but the weight of guilt is lifted.

By grace I can be grateful.
Through gratitude I learn to receive and give grace.
Grateful for grace I don't deserve, I cultivate deeper gratitude and receive richer grace.
All gifts.
All grace.

More than enough.

xoxo,
Laura

Edited to add:
Oh, how deeply I have struggled with failure to write regularly.  I had "told" myself that I would get it together enough to participate in The Nester's 31 Days series this year, and if I did only one thing well as a writer in 2013, that would be "it". 
Well, you know the outcome of that.  And I've participated in self loathing and condemnation.  

Thank goodness, (see- a tiny bit of gratitude) for good friends, Holy Spirit counsel, God's beautiful word The Bible, and wild grace.  They've had a greater grip on me than any unprofitable thinking.

So, settling into limits, I've not been writing.  But I have been reading. And I wonder if you'll be as blessed, challenged, changed, and loved as I've been when you click over to Edie's and Ruth's blogs and join in their journey during October's 31 Days blogosphere event?

Come back and tell me won't you, how you're being changed and restored by weighing more and less in your life, and daring to balance the scales?

And this- a little breath of thanks for reading this far.  So many words.  I have so many and so few opportunities to release them.  How you gift me to read to this very last mark. 

(Thanks to @jbkcyclist for sharing iPhone instagram photos for use on Liberty Farm Chronicles)





















 

He Calms the Storm

We've been working on an important project at Liberty Farm.
And, should we succeed, it will revolutionize life together.

It's something that we've been dealing with for almost 21 years.
And finally, it wore us (me), out and it's time came.

Six children, hundreds of thunderstorms, bad dreams, and itchy pajamas later, Weekend Farmer Husband and I are no longer allowing our youngest to share our bed and middle of the night snuggle time.

This is revolutionary on many levels, but foremost is physical.
I can feel my arms when I wake up.
I sleep several uninterrupted hours in a row.
Clarity of mind is easier to achieve without constant sleep deprivation.
My preschooler is less irritable because she's getting better sleep.
And, the sanctity and precious nature of our marriage bed is being resorted.

Except for last night.

Dinner by candlelight during power outage

Hours and hours of pouring rain and rolling thunder made a symphony of the night, and the littlest among us was undone.

We allowed her to suck her thumb.
We gave her "special" blankets.
She slept with a flashlight.
Her kitties curled into her side and offered their warmth and comfort.

And none of that was enough.

So, when she came and whimpered in her fear that she was come apart, her loving father made room for her, drew her near, and assured her of his protection.

And she rested.
Deeply.
Satisfied and safe.

The storm didn't abate.
In fact, although we're not being pelted at the moment, dark clouds are gathered in the sky, and will release themselves on us soon.

Still, she sleeps.

And I'm reminded how for the Christian, we too have an open invitation to crawl right up next to God the Father, broken, needy, weary, and undone.  Amass with fear and the failure of self soothing, we have endless access to comfort, mercy, tenderness, care, love, and rest.

This changes how I pray and how I think.
Life is stormy.
And all too frequently, I too find myself undone.

For so long I've had a habit of soldiering on, and like we've done many times with our littlest, sought immediate comfort measures.

But, they've been of my own making and built on foundations of sand.
Prone to being swept away by the stormy winds and surges.

I'm learning to run to Abba Father, God the Most High, quickly and often, and seek comfort and courage in His presence.

And although storm clouds gather - literally and figuratively, I've a shelter in the storm.

Lyrics here.

xoxo,
Laura

I Keep Learning the Secret of the Keeper

He knew what I didn't, and in spite of his best efforts, the secret spilled.

Fifteen years ago, belly round with child, heart pregnant with fear and hope,( for I have known one of the worst kind of loss, and in its shadow had been given new life), my tears trickle onto the pillow.

As I wrestle with my deep desire for a daughter - knowing I can't replace the daughter I've had and released - I want to be grateful for the gift the Giver has given.  I don't want to receive the gift on my terms. Troubling terms which want only a "X".  I want to be willing to embrace "Y" knowing in full what that good gift is, having received it two times over, but stopped up by grief  feel incapable.

It's no longer a trickle.  The mattress tremors as it transfers my heaves.  And he stirs.

"Laura, the LORD has heard the desire of your heart.  It's a girl."  Roll. Whiffling.  He slumbers on.

And I tremble deep.

Relief calms. I don't have to fight with myself anymore.

False guilt makes a brief appearance, but I remember the Father delights to give his children good gifts, and why not me?  It's the Giver's prerogative.

And fear, although it comes each day and must be swallowed down hard, cannot keep her from her birth.

At first, each moment roared it's message - He is good!  And slowly, but certainly, the years and layers of years quieted the message, until I either selfishly assumed the goodness or feared its lack.

Pillow again wet, far more than a decade has passed and I am in the grip of wanting only what I'd like to receive, not what the Giver offers.  Can the mattress withstand what the years of fear have compressed into its coils?

Oh, glory, yes.  That seed of a girl planted in me so many years ago, now a lovely young flower, walks with me in the garden the next day, and we harvest what has been so hard fought this season.

In heat, drought, infestation - the Grower and Giver of Life has given undeservedly and provided what is succulent, nourishing, and pleasant.  And unlike the secret spiller, He has never slept.  Instead He keeps me and all that He loves.

Rest

Close friends recently described their plans for their upcoming weekend away and I confess I struggled with the tiniest bit of envy. Words like "sit around" and "lots of sleeping" and "just doing nothing" hold a powerful attraction.

You see, one of the reasons (I think) we've been able to accomplish as much as we have in two short years on the farm is because of our love affair with work.  Both Weekend Farmer Husband and I get all happy dancin' when there's a project, or two, or ten.  And, thankfully, we feel confirmed time and time again through the counsel of the Holy Spirit that some of our best worship is through work.

There's a downside.  You knew that, right?  Seems like once we get started we can't stop.  And, in gospel terms, we can easily get ourselves in circumstances in which our ox is constantly in the well. (Luke 14:5) There it is in black and white, the ones responsible - "we".  Any good thing in excess easily becomes negative.

Self awareness is helpful in the lifelong pursuit of a proper ratio, Industry : Rest.  By now I suspect it evident to you that our ratio is skewed and our equation looks more like Industry > Rest.

A brief weekend spike in temperature is what got our attention.  Our day fell to ruin on Saturday, and we were forced to at least admit that when it is hot we must adjust our expectations and our pace.

Fortunately, we had already made plans for Sunday, The Lord's Day, to set the AC to arctic zone range, cook early in the morning to keep heat out of the house, nap after church, and then travel the short 1/2 hour to the glimmering shores of Lake Michigan for an evening picnic and break in the routine.

Pulling into our long gravel driveway by the light of the night sky and barn bulb glow,  sleepy kids rinsed sand and sunscreen from skin and slipped into soothing cool sheets.  Moments later sleep crept in and peace was upon the house.

-Weekend Farmer Husband continues to process, plan, grieve, and debrief following his job loss.  We are grateful for so much space in outbuildings so we don't step all over each other and can be sensitive to emotional and practical needs.
-The countdown is on.  Firstborn Son is coming home soon and although there's not long term clarity on career and future there is confidence that law school is not in the immediate future.
-Graduation open houses for so many home educated seniors connect us in community and we encourage one another in the journey
-Lake Michigan so close
-Watermelon, Pasta Salad, Sandwiches- abundant food
-Energy to keep pace
-Constant talk from the little girls, generously peppered with "mom (or dad), I love you"
-Weeks of happy play for friends and our kiddos in the pop up camper
-Good news for my father at his recent evaluation at Dana Farber Cancer Institute - his blood counts indicate (at least clinically) that he will be cured from cancer.  This is the Lord's doing.
-Multiple job interviews for Weekend Farmer Husband.  We wait in expectation for the Lord's leading.

Whose Idea Was This Anyway?

Picture this.  We're young and probably immature.  It's a family member's birthday and he's just ever so slightly older than us.  There's not a history of exchanging gifts, but we do seek the perfect card.

The one.  Simple.  A line drawing - almost a sketch - with just the minimal water coloring to fill it in.

Is there such a thing as the perfect hybrid of wonky and geeky?  That's what this youngish looking line drawn man looks like.  The text balloon above his head says, "Remember when you were 14 and you couldn't wait  to grow up?"

Inside - "Who's good idea was that? Happy Birthday anyway..."

Ha. Ha.  It was funny back then since we had just entered into the realm of grown up, newly married, finishing up school, managing finances, and excitedly living the adult experience.

Fast forward.  May 2012.  Being a grown up is tough. Although many are in bloom, things just aren't coming up all roses around here.  And being "grown up" is a good idea.

We've encountered unprecedented challenges in parenting.  The mini farm we're gratefully developing taxes all our limits.  Finances are strained.   No kidding, our cows ran away and took a three day mini vacation in the 100+ acres of woods, swamp, and neighbors fields - unbelievable stress and exertion tracking them, understanding their away from home habits, and eventually just waiting for them to come home.  (Do you want to hear more on this later...it has the potential to be a pretty entertaining post?)

And here's the biggie.  Unemployment.  Ugh.  That's a weighty one to type.  After many years of commitment,  sacrifice, and personal investment, Weekend Farmer Husband's company has severed ties and he's out of a job.

So, how could this possibly be a good thing?  A good idea?

Although the stress and discomfort produces a constant ache in my chest, there's a deeper knowing even more central.  This is the process of maturing.  The coming to contentment in plenty or in want.  Personally experiencing weakness, completely coming to the end of ourselves, and resulting in the increased understanding that when we are poor He is rich.  It's the feeling like you're at the edge of an endless abyss and circumstances beyond your control shove you in.

And it feels like a bad thing, this free fall.

But, God's ideas for how we grow are far beyond ours.  And He is always good.

So, for those of us who believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and live to glorify God our Father, this is a good idea. It necessarily and logically follows.

Because this free fall doesn't require or even offer a safety net - no matter how much we want or think we need it.

Unconcerned with how fast, how far, how sloppily we fall we can only end up in one place.

We fall into the infinite character of God who never changes and who's promises hold fast.

And when all else seems to be coming undone it comes to me as more than a good idea.  It is my only comfort in life that I belong body and soul to the One who holds all things together for His glory and my good.

Amen.

• In uncertainty and want, the Holy Spirit tenderly leads through scripture, songs, and worship to minister to my fearful heart.
• Friends rally.
• Holiday weekend takes the edge off no office hours required.
• Plenty of deferred work getting done in barns, around the property, and the messy stashes of a busy life.
• Cows quietly enjoying their green pastures while the electric fence (newly reinforced) hums all around them.
• Strangers providing for needs we didn't even know we had.
• Friends just showing up and praying.
• Seeds going into earth promising a harvest and providing metaphors for hope in this gritty personal growing season.
• Mercy poured out and lavish forgiveness for the guilt I bear from selfish sin.
• Excellent hospitality in recent weeks growing relationship in our community of faith.
• Enough for now.  Isn't that always enough?
• White Horses  stampede and threaten to sweep away, but this repost reminds me it's all good.
  
• Grace aplenty.

10 out of 10

...you should receive a phone call late afternoon or early evening on 3/29 ...

(an excerpt from a message sent to my father from Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston, MA detailing instructions for his next hospital admission)

Just four short months ago on November 29, I got a life changing phone call.  We'd all known for awhile that something just wasn't right, but I don't think any of us expected the diagnosis.  Acute Myeloid Leukemia - AML for short.  My sister called to share the details, and although we all carried on through the multilevel clinical implications, it was a stunning sound track that played over and over again until the familiarity of the words settled in.

He didn't breathe fresh air for six weeks four days.  And, although chemo knocked back the cancer cells and transfusions brought new life to his bones, he still needed to undergo a further round, a 24/7 infusion of toxic chemicals, praying that setting fire to Rome would save Rome.

By the end of the third round, Praise God, a stem cell donor had been located.  A global search yielded the right match, and the end of February left us making plans, (well, let's face it, I have very few plans to make since I'm so far away...), but our family began to anticipate the series of phone calls that would set the wheels in motion for a stem cell transplant.

I know I'm not the only one who notices when dates seem to take on a symbolic nature.  May 11th was just a day until I gripped the edge of the hospital bed, took one more deep breath, and bore my firstborn son into the world.  Now, it's his birthday and forever set apart.  July 22 is the day I held my firstborn daughter for the first, last, and only time and although by grace and Holy Spirit care live with a contented heart and a grateful spirit, that day will always be sad.  December 28 I became Weekend Farmer Husband's wife and on May 14 we left the city behind and began our country living farm redeeming journey.

So, March 29 is just a day - except for our family it's a day when we anticipate yet another call with what we pray is life saving information - as opposed to November 29 when we received life threatening information.

Will you join me in ongoing prayer that my father will "sail through" his transplant.  It's a risky business and the list of potential complications is vast.  My parents and their local caretakers have much to face in the next several months.

Will you pray for my mother who is tested on so many levels in times of extreme need?

Will you pray for my sister and her family as they've provided ongoing care in every conceivable way since this all broke? And, for my brothers, sister, and myself  - far away and not capable of in the trenches service - that we would be supportive, understanding, and available as needed.

Will you pray for my son who is living with his grandparents while he interns with my dad to determine if grandpa's career is the one for him as well?  Pray that he will see opportunities to serve and to maintain a cheerful attitude about the differences produced by a 50 year age gap and extreme illness.

And, will you join me in giving thanks that of the 10 blood proteins that are matched for a stem cell transplant from donor to host the match is a "perfect 10"?  We've come to understand that this is not necessarily a typical scenario and we're overwhelmed with this good gift from our Great God who delights in giving good things to His children.


In case... any of you who join with me and one another in this glory dance of capturing, counting, and chronicling gifts want to encourage, uplift, check on, learn from, pray with, and get to know my dad his CaringBridge site is:


http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/brucejohnson7 

Six Weeks, Four Days

Writing a blog puts its author into the first person narrative quite a lot. I regularly pause to consider the use of the pronoun "I" and whether or not it's possible to craft an idea with limited use of such tool. The original goals of this project continue to direct me to an autobiographical position as I tap, tap, tap and determine what will be published.

Driving to Boston to bring my Dad home from his extended stay in the hospital bumped me out of my autobiography slightly and I began to wonder in earnest what it might be like to step out into liberty after a long confinement.

It's been six weeks, four days.

How will he feel about Boston Traffic? Invigorated? Threatened?

Will He be glad of the sun or will it seem too harsh in it's brilliant winter glare?

Cold air sucked into a chemo ravaged body may not invigorate but may produce fatigue as the body must warm itself.

Artwork throughout the hospital speaks to the human spirit and is intended to relieve the oppression that can close you in. Will he see it and will his heart take wing,or will the unending corridors and hospital hush combined with the constant bell of the elevator be all he hears or see?

Pondering these things moved me to remember that these are exactly the kinds of questions I want to be intentionally asking, especially at the start of each week when I post of God's goodness and I chronicle the specific blessings that my finite eyes have graciously been given to see.

I take cold air for granted and fail to relish the season and how it mirrors God's faithfulness through the generations and for all of earth's history.

I expect the sun when I see blue sky and don't stop to consider what holds the heavens together by the power of His will and word.

Human ingenuity and creativity reflecting the image of Creator God is something I've always assumed, and when I get into any car I no longer marvel and the complex wonder of a self propelled powerful vehicle that I direct to my destination.

Certainly the point of disciplining myself to be here every Monday, (and in between), is to look for and mark exactly this. The things that sitting in a hospital room my dad could only long for.

Of course I'll conclude this post with my list of gifts as I've become addicted to being a gift chaser and raising my hands heavenward with joy and praise for all God gives. And, yes, I do mean all.

Cancer is not all gone. Dad still faces another bone marrow biopsy to determine if he's in remission. And that will determine much of the course for perhaps as much as the next year-if he is in remission. For now, that's all we know.

But, we are all together under one roof dad, mom, and I. We spent all of last evening enjoying conversation, games, and a home cooked meal without talk of discomfort or needing to be excused because of pain. We laughed at all the same jokes and we all held hands as my father led us in a prayer of thanksgiving before we ate.

As we settle into this space between being discharged and what is to come we do so with joy in our voices and a refreshed perspective as mom and I sang in church, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow!"

Monday's List:

• Thank you for faithful prayers as I experienced turbulent but safe flights from the Midwest to Boston during last weekend's winter storms
• God wonderfully provided resources for me to be long gone from my farm and family
• What JOY there was/is in bringing my Dad home
• My exuberant youngest daughter waiting by the red phone in the farmhouse kitchen near the time I'll call each night, saying hello, and then proclaiming to her waiting siblings, "It's mommy!"
• Worship and fellowship of the saints even when far from home
• Good sleep, good books, good coffee, and good fellowship while in my parent's home
• Physical mercies on the increase for my father as daily his blood counts are restored and his body responds to invigorated body chemistry
• Slow improvement for my mom following the flu
• Freedom to leave the farm to serve my folks
• Liberty to home educate
• A laptop to keep me connected
• Although I didn't bring my camera, mom's iPod was available to take some pictures 
• Concluding each evening with prayer over the telephone as Weekend Farmer Husband intercedes on my behalf

Pardon, please, the photos- some of them through a dirty windshield? 

Will link to Ann and the Gratitude Community later today.  

How He Works

Oh, I'm in such a tizzy getting ready to receive the GIFT of my father being released from the hospital. Although he is not cancer free, his body is recovering from chemo, and the remaining course of his treatment is likely to occur on mostly an outpatient basis, I sure would appreciate your continued prayers as we anticipate a stem cell transplant in the near future. First, there needs to be a donor match, and then, of course, we wait for The Great Physician's will to be done-and we ask that complete healing be the answer.

I want to give voice to a miracle gift God provided last night. My sister and I spoke briefly on the telephone right before I entered into a monthly home education support group meeting. She identified a pretty urgent need for me to travel to New England and assist in this first phase of bringing my dad home. Of course, Weekend Farmer Husband and I have been "at the ready" for an event like this...except, we've had difficulty, (to the point of failure), in setting aside any funds for travel.

So, my sister and I rung off with my commitment to look into flights and petition God for a gift.

My fellow moms/home educators and I have the sweet fellowship of concluding our time together in testimony for how God has answered prayers, and continuing to share ongoing or new matters for prayer.

I was uncharacteristically quiet during the whole meeting. There are lots of reasons,but primarily, I was thanking God for sending my Dad home, praying for provision, and paying attention!

Additionally, I was wrestling with whether or not to ask for such a specific need-cash.
But, the Holy Spirit was insistent. Speak.

I can hardly write this next part...

I spoke- (I hope), with faith and humility.

By the end of the evening I had enough cash to purchase a ticket.

Why do I ever doubt?

Now, perhaps you do or perhaps you don't know that we live in a state with one of the highest unemployment rates in the nation. Many of the families represented last night have struggled with declining income and or long term unemployment for the family provider.

This gift came from heart abundance, love,and generosity. Not surplus.

Of course, I can't see how we'll "repay" this gift any time in the immediate future. But, I will tell this story, pointing to the gift of Christian community, a God who provides, and the blessing of listening to and obeying the Holy Spirit. And, I will love and serve my parents well.

My mom is sick. She and my dad will be in semi-isolation from one another when he first arrives home. Please pray for her health and strength

I might be a little scarce here...I don't know. Sometimes, when the work is done while I'm at my parent's home I have a little spare time, and I may find my way back.

I won't be taking my camera. Hope I focus on improving writing skills since I can't distract with images.

I treasure your prayers for my little farm family left behind. This is the second time in less than 12 weeks that I'll be absent for an extended time due to helping my parents with a health need. So thankful for home education, Weekend Farmer Husband's job that allows him to be productive in a home office, and support from family and friends.

And, one last thing...I don't like air travel. No good reason. So, I'll be submitting my anxious heart to the giver of ALL good gifts.

A Fortunate Daughter

At first I wanted to speak with him every day.  When the water began to rise, and waves bearing words like leukemia, bone marrow biopsy, chemotherapy first crashed ashore, there was so much to talk about.  Most of it was difficult and or threatening, and although our family is a bunch of pretty good swimmers, we'd never seen surf like this before.

Soon enough this has become familiar shoreline and I stand at the edge as if I'm gazing out to sea-there's my dad-marooned on his own island, far away in a hospital in Boston. 

That imagery is too strong. Our family and my father quickly found out how loved, appreciated, and highly regarded he is.  Visitors have come who, drawn by his reputation alone, met him for the first time in the hospital.  Family, friends, professional associates and clients have graced him with their love and it is not unnoticed that none of them live in Boston.

Highly relational, dad has easily made positive connections with the hospital staff and although what they're doing to him, (chemo 24/7), is serious business, they seem to have entered into an easy understanding of their roles and my dad's desire to connect with them.  One of his nurses is Laura.  I'm a little envious that she gets to be with him in this time.

Lest you think I've lost my place, I'm a little bothered that I haven't called him for several days.  I warned both of us that on this end of things, I was quite scheduled for the weekend and therfore unlikely to call.  And although this brief separation is planned, I miss his voice.  I want him to hear mine.

I am one of the fortunate daughters.  Not only do I have a father who I love and who loves me back, my father was the first to tell me about Christ, and while young and secure on his lap, dad witnessed my sinful heart flutter and then beat fully alive with salvation, sins washed away.

And my flesh and blood father pointed to Christ for as long as I can remember, and by word, example, and the fruits of the spirit has helped make it easy for me to understand, know, and love my heavenly father.

Flashes of gray in my dark hair, references to events in the 80's and before, and my ability to sing lyrics to musak in stores gives my age away.  The years pass so quickly, and before another day goes by I want to stroke by stroke put words to the blessing of being a daughter.  The medical community continues to tell us that dad's leukemia is "very treatable", but only by God's hand do any of us take another breath.  So while we have this moment I'm giving thanks for my father, and offering humble gratitude to The Father who is the giver of all gifts.

Lots of fun pictures this week:

• A father and daughter, hand in hand,- legacy.

• We are rookie pleased that our cows weighed quite a bit and were noticably healthy when processed. For first timers we are fortunate that it was a good grass year, we didn't struggle with disease or pests, and none of us appear to be too "grieved" by choosing to butcher them on our property. Maybe we'll do ok at this farmer thing...?

• Our first snow fills us with joyful exuberance, even though it got quite cold, cold, cold!

• Beauty and creativity filled the historic auditorium and I watched my older daughters drink in the wonder of "The Nutcracker".
• A friend and I met for coffee, and although I hoped to encourage her, the blessing was all mine as we reconnected after several months of seperation.
• I am well! Medicine, rest, water, and my body fearfully and wonderfully made brought comfort and restoration.
• The plant that appeared to be "doing nothing" has burst forth and we watch and marvel at the miracle of life as green cells divide and multiply.

• Sun! That is never taken for granted during winter in West Michigan-

• New glasses-I've never worn them before and what a relief it is to see clearly!

• Savings enough to buy two Christmas Trees-one for us and another for a military family.  How grateful we are for our freedom and the thousaands of men and women who have made it so.
• Dreaming and scheming with my oldest daugher at the fabric store.
• 24 hours-a respite for mother and daugher, away from the farm, chores, routines-falling asleep in the wee hours, still talking.
• Ever resourceful,and never taking ourselves too seriously, we add another layer to the tradition of going to get a Christmas tree-a generator and a sawzall to make the cutting easier, and after all, everything is better when a power tool is involved!

• Good care for my dad, and so far, no side effects from the chemo.
• Answered prayer for family waiting for news of a house to call home.

• And this, right here.  A place I said I'd never be since I "hate" to write (bad attitude-I know), that's giving me new eyes to see and a heart that beats with the steady rhythym of joyful contentment.

When the Waters Rise

Crash. Pound. Crash. Pound. The waves have beat mercilessly against the shore of my little life today. This body of water, typically so majestic and powerful in lovely ways, has turned insistent and almost brutal.

I know my experience is not unlike tens of thousands who have heard these words before. But when it becomes personal, and the whole shoreline shifts, you instantly receive new ears and the waves grate, their sound is no longer a pleasing rush but a demanding roar.

I'm not alone, (nor are any of us), we who have been tsunami surprised that a precious one is gravely ill, and who have to immediately see the world in “new” ways. Clinical ways. Ways that suggest hope-”This is very treatable”. And then the paradox- “He's got a big fight ahead”.

Danger, the flag flies on the beach. The undertow here is life threatening. Oh, I feel it. It doesn't just bury my feet as the briny sea curls around the back of my ankles, incrementally drawing me down in the sand. Although I am only ankle deep, the waves threaten to drown me.

“Laura, he has Leukemia.” First a bone marrow biopsy and then, most likely, a willing walk into the abyss of chemotherapy. So much has changed in less than a day. Horizons loom and the unexpected squall is suddenly and powerfully in charge.

Dad

Salt stings my eyes-my own and the deep deep sea's. I yield - make sure I don't rush through the moment because I've learned that the blessing may be right here, when the waters rise and the benign sand becomes a malignant mire.

Why do I counsel my heart with words like, “Well, if there's ever been a time to live what you believe, it's now?” Of course that's true. But, humility instantly renders me ashamed, recognizing the fundamental proposition of that kind of self talk, suggesting that I get to determine (based on circumstances) what events call for faith.

Fight or Flight. Conventional wisdom suggests that I will make a choice for one or the other in the current of this roiling water. And given the Creator's design, it's true I will do both, sometimes concurrently.

Faith. That is the life preserver, the protector of my heart. God's living Word – praise, poem, prose leaping off the page, and petition beating back the waves.

Sea shifts. Hasn't changed really. Creation always bears testimony to it's Maker, and for a minute I was fooled, but now I'm found.

Ocean depths are a comfort as they remind that even in their vast measure, they only dimly reflect the riches of the Father's love for me.

Currents no longer threaten, but give comfort, although powerful and I am incapable of standing against them, they are directed by a Loving Hand who works for good at ALL times. God controls the seas and I need not fear.

This is very uncomfortable, but having been lost in the waters before, I won't quit the shore. I will raise my hands and say, “Bless the Lord, O my soul and all that is within me, bless his holy name!”