Of Life and Lists

The list making has been shoved to the background.

What was once a regular practice has been consumed by the trips into town, the overdue books at the library, the garden harvesting, the buying school supplies, the gritty relationship work of staying right married and parenting with as much grace as you can bear to receive and then pour out.

 The animals don't demand, but they depend.

The supper doesn't come to the table by itself and the cupboards stay bare until by an act of the will, you plan, go get the goods, load them up again and grit your teeth to muster up a depth of gratitude that reflects the items present on the shelf rather than their blindingly fleeting nature.

And in all of this being, doing, planning, living- the giving of thanks and the writing of lists has been consumed by - all the above and so much more.

Today, just three things.
A beginning, middle, and end.

Re-entry.
Remembering.
Redeeming.

1.  Early rising and being filled with Truth and Hope for the day.
2. New beginnings - of lists and days.
3. I am His. (Christ's).


Thank you Ann for helping so many to chronicle gifts and for living out grace.
Linking up to A Holy Experience today...
(A long abandoned practice that called forth the time and effort today,and I am blessed)






xoxo,

Laura

It's all so Daily

Long before her art and style became internationally recognized and quickly popular, I had collected a few prints of Mary Engelbreit's work. Her lively, whimsical, and color saturated style has always been appealing to me and when combined with my first love, words, the draw remains irresistible.

Many moons ago she released a calendar with the title, "Life is just so Daily".  True Dat.

Image found here.

I may or may not appear to be and actually function in a less frazzled manner than the image suggests, but nonetheless, this picture and these words resonate!

Continual adjustment to this season of two adult, two teen, one elementary, and one preschool age offspring in our home challenges me to my outer limits.  But, please, oh please, do not hear that as negative.  It is a JOY to share these days with them.  

Family life, farm life, professional life - all of these currents ride like rapids and the thrill factor is high.  As you might imagine, life as a constant white water ride requires all our attention.

Fortunately, in all this "dailiness" it's easy to snap photos along the way.

Confession - I haven't taken pictures of the messy barn, the boys laundry pile teetering over six feet high in the corner of their bedroom (so not kidding), the overflowing kitchen sink, or the stinky pile of shoes right inside the back door.

You all know about that stuff, right?

I wouldn't withhold it from you if you really want to see it.  I am never ashamed or wishing to hide the impact of our daily life.

But, we do get to choose what we think about, yes?

I have a tendency toward the negative.  I'm critical.  I am too quick to judge.

And I miss beautiful messes.

When I miss the beautiful mess, I miss all the other kinds of beauty.

The camera keeps me connected, and helps me to see tiny but real slices of our life and the breathtaking beauty of an abundant life.

Join in, won't you?  Savor the light.  Drink deep of the colors.  Remember these sweet fleeting days, and let the images cultivate gratitude for the beauty of the earth, the glory of the skies, the undeserved gifts of relationship, and the grace upon grace that persists at Liberty Farm.

xoxo,

Laura

Pssst- might you like to follow along on Instagram? It's a fun easy way to stay connected in all this dailiness!

She Wakes! (And little glimpses of life on Liberty Farm)

I don't even know if I can understand or explain my absence here.

I ache with it.  I snatch at fragments of time, and even those slip through my fingers.
The blog sleeps, but I dream of writing.

I have words oozing out my pores - I imagine myself as some sort of X-men mutant,with newsprint for skin and a haze of dangling participles billowing in my personal space just waiting to make sense and arrange themselves into readable thoughts.

And, yet I do not write.
Not for lack of interest or writers block.
Today - enough!
Seizing the moment, I wake in this space, and offer up a paltry but grateful handful of sentences.

I can surmise that a busy spring on this Green Acres has left me with hundreds of photos and no time to chronicle with words.

I suppose the increasing demands of Weekend Farmer Husband's employment and the busyness of my older children keeps me cooking, cleanin', and running the show rather than journaling.

And, there's been an eruption of relational needs.  And they've been painful.  And hard. And suffocating.  And I'm okay, and so is the farm family, our faith being further forged, and God acting in love and the constancy of His character has preserved us. But, there's no margin so only the necessary is accomplished.

Even so, life marches on.
And it's good.

The farm flourishes and the season is flush with it's fullness.

Spring is in wild bloom, it came late and after the preceding year's extreme drought and heat, we savor long.

Understanding that this too shall pass, I stop, write it down, give thanks and carry on.
xoxo,

Laura

***(Consider following me on Instagram?  It's a lovely way to keep up, grow friendship, and share community.)***

Surprised by Love

I wasn't fixin' to fall in love.

In fact, I was already in a committed relationship.

We'd been together for almost six years and had finally arrived at that place where, having worked through lots of our stuff, we were really getting along.

Not only were we comfortable, we understood each other, we served each other well, and we complimented each other.

There was plenty of grace for each other's quirks and neither of us demanded too much of the other.
We worked well together, played together even better, and had learned how to offer each other rest.
Of all the relationships I'd had, this one was the best.

I was pretty sure we would be together for the rest of our lives.

And then, Weekend Farmer Husband said, "It's time."

Time for what?

Time to get out of what I had thought was a long term relationship and establish a new one.

Unlike the previous relationships I'd sought, this time I had very few requirements.

I was looking for something that wouldn't cost too much, couldn't be long distance, and wouldn't for a time be too jealous that it was going to take awhile to disentangle from the relationship I was already in.

Probably something that needed a rescue.
I could anticipate years of quirks that might remain unresolved, either unresponsive to whatever fixes I  might offer or too costly to engage.
And, unlike ever before, this time I was faced with physical undesirability- bad smells, over all unsightliness - I was looking for something the world would not esteem.

It wasn't love at first sight.
As anticipated, the smells were overwhelming and the ugly I encountered was daunting.
Although initially "affordable", this relationship was going to require a whole lot of fixin'- time, money, patience, and sacrifice.
And, for me, perhaps the most frightening was the requirement to quite literally move into a region and a lifestyle that I'd never aspired to.
Not only was I going to have to physically, mentally, and creatively labor to nurture and grow this new relationship, I was going to have to make unanticipated heart sacrifices of hopes for a kind of future that had no place where I was headed.

I gave up finished.
I gave up spacious.
I gave up comforts.
I gave up perks.
I gave up (to some degree) perceived status.


And I gained the world.
Not the "worldly" kind of world, but the expansive, beautiful, giving, life nurturing kind of world that one encounters in the creation account of scriptures.
I found my place.
The kind of world that leads to being "emplaced" - understanding that where you are and what you're doing in that place has a profoundly deep significance not only to you, but to those you serve and the generations to come.

A place of wide open sky, waving grass, gentle dawn, and passionate sunset.
Seasons bless my heart and mind and I experience exhilaration as nature declares its intent and I rejoice in mud, blistering heat, dancing leaves, and wave after wave of lake effect snow.
Formerly indifferent to animals, (at best), I've been enlarged by creatures of the air that traverse our fields, make their homes in rotted fence posts, and chirp into the calm or cry alarm to the winds. Beasts of the field have become a thing of beauty and I'm astonished at their intelligence, charm, and at the end their sacrifice.  Symbiotic relationship abounds and now separated from the commitments of subdivision, street lamps, and sidewalks I see how I need the earth and it needs me to steward, bless, and as long as God tarries, preserve it.

I understand that I'm in love in a way I've never experienced before.
It was so uncertain at first and so hard to trust.
How could this possibly work out?
It was going to be so hard, and although on the outside I appeared confident and committed, I doubted myself.

But, I entered into the brokenness and the need.
I embraced the imperfection.
I forgave the ongoing quirks, and I still do.
Smells notwithstanding, I overlooked the ugly and sought the beauty that I knew lay underneath years of bad choices, neglect, and being overlooked.
In short, understanding that I would be taking on a multitude of shortcomings, limitations, and enduring marks of the past, I decided to love and redeem.

I wasn't setting out to be a savior.
And, since I had no glorified sense of self, I suspect that I've been more open to seeing the parallels to my own salvation.
As I (we) sacrifice ourselves over and over again for this new life I am overcome with gratitude for Christ who at once through His perfect life, ministry, death, and resurrection redeemed my broken life.
He, because of His unending grace, covers over my bad smells, is merciful about choices I've made, and with gentle strength requires that I yield to him and His perfect design for this life and eternity.
I, who was once dead in my sins, have been given new life.
The old has passed away and the new has come.

As we seemingly lay down our lives again and again to raise our family well, and to establish and preserve this "emplaced" vision I am generously and gently reminded of how my broken life has been made beautiful by the love of a perfect Savior.

"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us."
I John 3:16a

I'm thrilled to be linking up over at life{in}grace where Edie has cultivated a thoughtful, generous, and loving community to share in:

31 Days of Green Acres - Day 12

Welcome!  This is part of a 31 Day series.  To find other posts, please click here.

If you're like me, you're an extrovert.

Your energy comes from external sources.  People in particular charge your batteries, but other experiences or things can keep your tank full.

My favorite way to energize is to spend time with my family or intimate friends.

When that's not an option (rare, but sometimes...), I turn to books, blogs, and become a beauty seeker.

What could this possibly have to do with 31 Days of Green Acres, the story of Liberty Farm?

Thanks. Thanks for asking, because it is relevant.

Remember a couple posts back I told you I was a construction widow during the demolition, remodel/rebuilding process?  It was challenging to keep my chin up and see the light at the end of the tunnel because so many days were so  - lonesome.

Well, it's kind of happening again.

Remember, this property and home of ours, they're better than a century old.  And, winter is coming.  So, Weekend Farmer Husband has taken on epic projects during this course of unemployment, and with the inevitable change of season he works from before dawn to well after sunset to beat the hard freeze. He's in our home maybe 7 hours a day, six for sleeping, and the remaining one for other necessary matters like eating, and the rest of the hours are in barns or on the property.  Fixing, restoring, redeeming, chasing hard after a vision.

And after the hub bub of home education, home keeping, and mothering has subsided, it's quiet and this lonely girl craves something to power her up.

Enter the camera.  I keep taking photos, more than I'll ever be able to sort and use, to capture and chronicle this beautiful life.  And I crop, sometimes edit, and place in folders to make easy access to the images that fill my viewfinder and keep my spirit from being too desolate.

It's been a long week.  Weekend Farmer Husband and I just reunited face to face.  I'm invited to go see his progress.  Oh, how I will affirm and encourage him.  He provides abundantly well for us and these Green Acres.

But, before I go, I want to tell you that the pictures from today's post are from right outside my front door.
This view and brilliant landscape of autumn glory stopped up the drain of energy loss and filled me right up with wonder and gratitude for where I am today and the loving service of my faithful beloved.

Thank you Nester for hosting this 31 Days event.  Click here if you'd like to check out any or many of the 1200+ other bloggers who've joined in this challenge.

On Water and Writing

Sometimes I come to this place and my fingers fairly drip with words.  Large, fat, round droplets splash on keyboard and words stream into white space. Exhilarated and flush with creativity, every aspect of bending water to my will is a delight.

Conversely, I've known word droughts where cracked fingers come to this vessel, head tipped back, I open my mouth praying for just one drop to be released from the depths and I swear I will be satisfied.  Denied, my fingers stumble, hesitate, and have little endurance.

Yes, the two conditions sometimes co-mingle, but one typically has the upper hand - either one, at any given opportunity, and I'm left to wonder, what makes it so?

Although still new to this, I suspect I've poured out enough to with some legitimacy state that the water level has to do with time, time, time, and more time.  Dedicated effort yields a full cup.  Most times.

Sometimes time and effort is not enough.  What then?

Would behavioral psychologists suggest that I should just keep doing what I'm doing, fake it 'til I make it, repeat positive patterns until my parched throat is whetted with words and thirst is satisfied?  Perhaps.

Writers, would you tell me to find my muse, walk in Thoreau's woods, indulge in Hemingway's bottle, or work Berry's soil?

Any and all of those suggestions are valid, although not all will be profitable.

Nearly to the end of this querying, I think I see water and am drawn to the river's edge.

At times a rushing rolling rapid and other times a dry bed, I chart it's course for you, the reader.  Someday, I hope, my offspring will read with understanding and thanksgiving this legacy of supple fingers as well as cracked lips.  For now, you, with comments below, messages in my inbox, and a personal word deliver the quenching cup.

My thirst is slaked with encouragement, and you have been so kind to pour out.  And so, my fingertips move, tentatively at first, and by the end right slicing through the water to write my thanks, a deep reservoir of gratitude.

Chronicling gifts - a ongoing joy:
-Weekend Farmer Husband's interview went well.  We are carefully negotiating through terms of employment and considering the impact to his entrepreneurial vision.
-A gift, anonymously given, that helps to bear our financial burden
-My father has been given "permission" for a two day sailing trip - nearly 100 days since his transplant.
-Early autumn fellowship of hayride, God's word on the trail, rope swing, hot dogs on a stick, and a roaring bonfire drawing community together.
-Hospitality, although I do sometimes grow weary of what it requires, is yielding encouragement for God's kingdom and we press on with our open home.
-Books, big thick nerdy ones, and other geeks like me who love a good read and who discuss how masterful words change our very souls.  Encouragement.
-Our library.  The children are as excited to go to the library each week as they are on Christmas morning.
-Word from my mother that she's pretty sure that when she goes to visit my brother and his family in NC that MI is "on the way home".  We anticipate her visit with great delight.
-A furnace that warms the mornings.
-Plentiful water for us and animals, and this thirsty writer.
-Sons gathering in master bedroom in evenings to read the Word with us, the last thing before slumber.
-Scholarships - more than one for first born daughter who relishes being a student.
-Continued physical well being.  Remarkable assurance that the hairs on our head are numbered. Matthew 10:29-31

On Just Getting Started

Each year I wrongly imagine that I'm going to be "ready".

All the supplies will be sorted, purchased if necessary, labeled, and systematically placed in obvious (to me) order.

I'll have a library list captured on an excel spreadsheet and will know which books I'll need to get through inter library loan and which is available at my local branch.

Shelves will be orderly, activities planned, fun days on the docket, and when I stretch this dream a little farther, even my laundry is all caught up!

Then I wake up.

In spite of steady work in preparation for our home educating year I'm not "all done".  In fact, I may be even more behind than I would consider typical because we are rebuilding a room in this restoration farmhouse of ours to better serve our purposes.  And, you can imagine can't you, what that means to a family of our size spending our days on a main floor with perhaps 800 square feet.  We're cozy and chaos from reworking a room spills.

Farm work doesn't make a space for school to start.  School starts as companion to animals, land, buildings, and chores.  You wonder, do they meld?  Yes.  Grateful.

Order, preparedness, planning, making ready are all good practices.  And, in spite of my real life friends identifying me through my self deprecating jokes about the chaos of our life and how it's easier to just go with the flow than hold back the tide of our creative, energetic, ADHD driven life, I pull more than my weight in these administrative departments.

And, since I can't command lunar cycles, I just dive right in.  The room will get renovated.  The shelves probably won't get dusted.  Books, atlases, writing implements, instructional CD's, will froth, crest, and spill over on the shore of dining room table, desks, and floors.  An excel spread sheet won't get created.  Library cards will easily max out their circulation limit.  Learning won't be neglected and we will be blessed for dedicating ourselves to each day just doing what we must.

Today we began again.  Math, handwriting, history, and more returned to set the warp and woof of our day. And because we were willing to just get started we received the grace of a new beginning.

Chronicling gifts continues:
Weekend Farmer Husband is at an interview while I write.  Friends, family, and many saints praying for wisdom and provision for our family.

First born son bravely, winsomely, and lovingly exhorting us with the Word.

How can it be - second born son matriculating at community college tomorrow.  He's ready.

The joy of preschool again, and for a final time.  

Books, books, books - rejoicing in reading.

Good news from my dad last time we spoke on the phone - he went sailing!

Thank you Lord - a light rain this morning.  Pastures kept green by your hand alone.

Internet making connection with friends and family easy.

A restful Labor Day.

Blessed by community.

Confident hands of a chiropractor.

What? We ate the last of our ground beef from last year's cow - we have been given abundant food.

A personal message from another blogger I deeply admire that encourages and affirms.

Enduring health and safety - as we have no medical insurance I am being challenged to reject security as an idol and to faithfully practice my understanding of God's goodness in preserving our days and blessing us physically.

Flaky biscuits and amber honey for afternoon snack.

Hens laying more and more eggs - creeping up to peak production for a few months before daylight shortens.

Refreshing local farmer's markets.

A busy week ahead of fellowship and hospitality.  

And, above all, Christ - my High King and Faithful Savior.  All for Him...

When Monday turns to Liquid

I don't even know how it came up.

Following a restful afternoon with books, bike rides, naps, and games we gathered round the heavy wood table, bowed our heads, gave thanks to God for his abundance and began feasting.

Conversation ebbed and flowed, often the table is divided, little kids down by Weekend Farmer Husband talking about horses, play in the swimming pool, and the big kids down by me, new videos on YouTube, friends, work, and me just trying to keep up with it all.

Then the one whose middle name means "Pearl", and whose very name reminds me that my treasure is not of this earth, rather my riches lie with the King of Kings who will make all things new, asks a hard question.

"Who were the Nazis?"

And for once, the table talk stills.

Weekend Farmer Husband pauses, considers who asked the question and who's listening, and does a masterful job of creating a simile. A Nazi is like....

She nods her head.  Gets it.

Conversation lingers on the airstrip, and just as it's readying to take off, I call out for it to stop.  We need to linger here.  More needs to be told.  Although they should not yet need to carry the weight of the whole truth, it's time for them to learn to think more complex thoughts about what it means that there even are Nazis, how scarred human history is by yet another of our atrocities, and how unless we learn from history we are compelled to repeat it.

Firstborn son, with a teacher's heart and deep reservoirs of history, leads his younger sisters gently into new places of knowing, greater understanding, and satisfied curiosity without revealing the making of nightmares.

Humming again, conversation rises and falls, the family table comes to a close, and soon the youngest are being tucked in, and I'm singing what I sing each evening and telling Truth to them as our final words of the day.

Neither of the littles likes to fall asleep in the dark.  So I turn the same light on each night, and as I do so I give the benediction to their day.

"This light reminds us, girls, that Jesus is the light of the world, and NOTHING can separate us from His love."

Settled, they each reach for a book and read until slumber comes.  I return before slipping between my own sheets to usher darkness into the room.  All is well.  Peace is on us.

By the next morning I barely remember what happened not 12 hours earlier.  It's not that I can't.  It's that I don't.  I'm well into reviewing what must be done, setting up tasks, steeling myself for the day, replacing a wayward kitten back outdoors, inwardly groaning but smiling when the youngest gets up quite a bit too early. Frankly, I've failed in the discipline of taking time to remember the gospel and what it means today.  What it means for all of history.

Oh friend, how careless I am.

But, even more, how good He is.

Lunch is late today.  It affords a small opportunity for me to sneak away and check in on one of my "must read" blogs.

And I am undone.

Although I was already planning to chronicle gifts here today I am again stunned by my history.  Of a man who died in my place.  And the gift of His life for mine really is the whole of my list.

*************

Consider, won't you please, clicking on this and reading along with me what made thanksgiving, contrition, and joy run liquid down my cheeks in the middle of this regular Monday?  It will help make so much more of my small words above.

And as for the gifts, the many I enjoy and the ones I think to chronicle just this:

"It is enough that Jesus died, and that He died for me."