Hope

I am in beautiful Maine. The world holds so many variations of beauty. What a gift to travel.

The reason for my travel is not so wonderful, as we are enrolling one of our sons in a wilderness therapy camp. Our town has suffered four suicides in the last year. Our young people, barraged by social media and a world that holds nothing back in terms of the suffering going on daily, have such a hard time believing that this world is a beautiful place. They are losing hope. Even being raised in a bucolic setting with a family who loves him dearly, is not necessarily enough protection from the angry tentacles and angst of the dark side of social media.

I heartily believe that there is good and bad in just about everything. It can be a hard part of parenting to show and teach your child this. Self control begins with loving yet firm boundaries. Self-doubt and second-guessing comes more readily to some parents than others. I'm thankful that it is almost foreign to my husband, because he helps balance me. At times, difficult decisions need to be made.

Our daughter recently gave us a book called "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron. I am working through it. It was originally written a couple of decades ago when Julia developed a method of unlocking creative potential. What strikes me is her acknowledgement of the great creative force that ties us all together. Some call it God, some call it a "force," whatever. The way she describes it is non-offensive to anyone, in my mind, and applicable to anyone's belief system.

The truth is, we are created by something or someone that is the author of all creativity. Even if one does not believe in intelligent design, then we are amazingly complex and incredible in our Neo-Darwinism. Creativity is part of the intelligent human brain. I highly recommend Cameron's book.

Perhaps I will write more again, it certainly has been a long time since the last post. In the meantime I will be praying a lot for our son. I want him to see that despite challenges and suffering, the world is truly a beautiful place, and worthy of our hope and unique gifts.

Spring Once Again

       I suppose I can remember the onset of forty-some Spring seasons. I marvel at how happy I am that it has come again, though--as if there were some chance it would not. This winter was not terribly cold, or snowy, but I was ready for it to end and to be warm again.

       Walks around the farm are so beautiful. Tiny frogs are jumping around the banks of the pond. Trees are flowering and leaves are appearing in that early chartreuse color that is such a contrast to grey and brown. Robins and Downy Woodpeckers and Bluebirds have returned. A great heron has been feeding at water's edge, and migratory flocks of geese are passing overhead.

       With the change of seasons comes a reminder of new life and rebirth. I can't imagine living in a place without four seasons, but that is only because it's all I've ever known. Our foreign exchange students have told me what it is like for them. Certainly Stephania, who came at the start of winter here, is happy to be able to go outside without a heavy coat.

       The dogs are seeking shade to lie in to escape the sun beating down on their still-thick fur coats. The horses are happy to be eating grass after the winter of dry hay. We need to be careful with the ponies. Spring grass has a lot of sugar in it, and they can get sick from it and founder. I have been putting them in and out of stalls, the riding ring, and even the chicken run. We gave away the last of our chickens before the winter. They were older and had pretty much stopped laying.

       Gus wanted a couple of bunnies and so we made a condition that he clean out the chicken coop as an eventual home for them. He worked over Easter break and carted loads and loads of manure as well as a load to the trash dumpster and a few loads to the barn.

       Gus got the bunnies. They are adorable. We got them from the local farm store, which also had ducklings and chicks. Another hallmark of springtime. Margaret asked why bunnies are associated with Easter. The bunny motif was certainly strong in our dining room.

       I told her that bunnies are born in the springtime, that Easter is in the Spring, and that Christians believe that Jesus rose from the grave at Easter to give us new life. We drove past a local farm and saw that the farmer had erected a huge wooden cross on his hill. New growth is everywhere. It happens again and again, every year. Frozen ground thaws and green appears.

       Frozen hearts can thaw, too. Minds stuck in a belief pattern can change. 

Life can indeed begin again.

The Big Picture

       The other day, the automatic horse-waterer froze in the pony pasture. I had this terrible feeling that it might be frozen; I had not checked it for a day. Horses need great amounts of water in the winter. Ponies, too. I fought a feeling of dread.

       I was about to take the kids to school and drove over to the fence by the waterer to check it. It was frozen solid, meaning it had probably been 24 hours. I felt awful for the ponies. But then I looked over and saw that somehow, someone had left the water spigot outside of the pasture on full-blast. Though we will pay significantly more on our water bill this month--all I could do was smile! Each of the family members denied having left it on.

        Because it had been, a frozen river, with just enough liquid for the ponies to drink, coursed through the pasture.

       The kids jumped out of the van, so enchanted by the strange ice formations from the spraying and splashing of the water. Icicles and mushroom-like mounds covered the fence and ground around the spigot.

       It was beautiful. Any other time I would have been angry at whomever left the water on all through the frigid night. But this was a blessing.

       I worry too much, it is true.

       God tells us that we shouldn't worry, that we should think on good things, and that there is always hope. I'm not sure how, when martyrs were confronted with the end, they managed  not to worry, that they had good thoughts or had hope.

       This is difficult to ponder. God assures us He will be there, that He will save us, and that there is hope. Either this is absolutely true, it is only true sometimes, or it is false. If either of  the latter two are true, then, we can't really rely on God as Christianity describes Him. 

       My late husband's mother, Grammy, modeled to me that we can always have hope in God, that we can hand Him our worries, and that we really can trust Him with the future--to see the "big picture." If we are truly His instruments, here to "know and to love and to serve Him in this life and in the next," then the thing that brings fear most--death--truly has lost its sting. She remained inspirational throughout her suffering and death. "I have to focus on all the blessings God has given me," she told me.

       Recently, I was describing to a salesperson, as we were getting to know each other, how as a hospice nurse I am not depressed. There is a hallowed feeling of witnessing something so very profound. The salesperson tried to understand; she said, "Well, I guess there is some kind of thankfulness because the person is no longer suffering."

       "It's more than that, though," I explained. "As Christians we believe that this world is only temporary, but that our life with God is forever. Heaven is what we were made for. It's as if this life is like being in the womb. When we are born, it is joyful." I tried to explain another way,  "The caterpilar has to spend time in the cocoon before it can break free and emerge as the beautiful butterfly it was meant to be."

       It is fine if she did not agree or understand. I don't pretend to have it all figured out. 

       But I will try to avoid worry, to think on good things, to always hope in God, because I trust that He sees the "big picture."

Don't Do It

I was driving in the rain to Kansas City this morning. The windshield wipers were working hard and I felt tense. Lots of shifting over three lanes for left-handed exits. I missed one turn. I ended up at the wrong clinic.

I had to call for directions at one point and the nice man didn't understand what I meant by a block looking "sketchy." I have been around teens for decades and so I explained to the aged gentlemen that it meant "not quite right and perhaps a bit dangerous."

We made it, though, and Mary Pat will soon have an "Augmentive Communication Device." She still can't speak well but her understanding of letters gives her the ability, in the experts' evaluation, to pick out some words and pictures on this tablet-like device.

On the drive home I listened to the radio. There was a "quick minute" with a theologian, a nun named Mother Angelica. She quoted the Bible: "Do not let your hearts be troubled..." She made the point that God didn't say that He would necessarily take the troubles away. Troubles will come. They happened to Christ so they'll certainly happen to us. But we should fight discouragement. There is always hope.

I imagined some recent troubles in my life. Did I trust God enough to handle them?

Yes. I decided I did. And in anxiety's place came peace.

When I got home I google-searched the verse: John 14:27

I might have to keep reminding myself to let God handle troubles. Truly, some situations are much harder than others. But I will claim his promise. I hope you'll read the verse, too.


I don't have time to add to Renata, but I'll share some recent photos from the farm. They are from yesterday morning: misty, crisp and Fall-like.

God bless you.

Everything But The...

       Sometimes I feel I've tried everything but the kitchen sink. Actually, in respect to raising kids and home management, I probably have.  My stick-to-it-iveness is the problem. Or maybe it's that in a very large family no day is like the one before; there are schedules and sports and appointments. For years, there was a new baby every 14-20 months. I wondered when things would return to normal.

       Then I realized that normal for us was the state of flux. I've read so many books on organization. I wrote a blog post about some of them. Each has something very helpful, though it is unrealistic to expect just one to fit our family long term. I still like referring to them. Life just keeps changing. Marie and Susanna have moved into an apartment together, we have no foreign exchange students and so we "only" have 6 children at home. They are all school-aged, which is wonderful. For the first time in literally decades I was home alone some days of the week this past school year.

       The children are on summer break now. In times past we organized home "camp" days but this summer they range in age from almost 13 down to 6 and the older boys aren't excited about "Pirate Day," or "Astronaut Day." We still do a lot of learning serendipitously, though. We've been playing with the animals more, and their chores involve feeding and watering them, moving the ponies from stall to coral, and collecting eggs from the chickens. It used to be that I had to limit television. Now it is limiting computer and X-box time.

       Yesterday they played for hours outside, the weather cool. It was so much fun to see them running around with backpacks and plastic Nerf guns, working as a team. Ben would stop to roll around on the grass with some dog or cat. Max and Gus moved stealthily into the barn to avoid enemy wasps. Thankfully, no stings.

       They also love swimming in the pond (all swim well), paddle-boating and canoe-ing. Red is a great color for the canoe because I can locate them easily on the pond. Gus loves it especially. We have taught them boat safety, and our pond is small.

       There are still days where they claim boredom; those are the days I send them outside. "What do you think children have done all the thousands of years before air conditioning and computers??" "Aw, Mom, that was the olden days--kids do different things now!" Watching them play Army yesterday reminded me of playing with my brothers forty-five years ago. It doesn't have to be so different. Many families have stricter rules and even no computer time or X-Boxes. I respect that.

       Instead of feeling like I've failed at a given tasj, I remind myself to take from it what I can and move on. That's not to say I don't get down about it sometimes.  I tell myself, like Dori from "Finding Nemo" repeated: "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming." Jesus told the disciples that if a town didn't welcome them to kick the dust off their feet, to keep doing what they were meant to do. Disappointment and negativity can render one ineffective and hopeless.

       Not today! Today I had the kids formulate a contract of turns on technology and initial it. They abided. Some broke off to play piano, clarinet and guitar, and the others went to the pond.

       Then we made cookies. A double batch in my giant new Kitchen-Aid mixer. Marie and Susanna are excited to inherit my old tilt one. Over the years they helped mix thousands of cakes and cookies with it. Before they were born I used it to bake wedding cakes and birthday cakes and our family's favorite Dobos Torte. Unless you have a Hobart or a commercial mixer, I think a Kitchen-Aid mixer is the best small appliance. My KSM-90 is still going strong after 28 years. I hope my new larger capacity mixer will, also.

       So here's the recipe. "Everything But The...Kitchen Sink Cookies." If you don't have a Kitchen-Aid, it will be quite the upper body workout. I doubled the recipe, but that won't work in a 4 or 5 qt. bowl. You'd need this baby (or a Hobart--lucky you!):

Everything But The Kitchen Sink Cookies 

Beat together:

1 cup butter, softened

1/2 cup white sugar

1 cup dark brown sugar

1 1/2 tsp pure vanilla

Beat in:

2 eggs

Stir dry ingredients together, and mix in slowly:

1/2 cup coconut flour

1/2 cup unbleached white flour (I like King Arthur Brand)

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

Stir in very slowly:

2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats

1 cup organic dried coconut (or whatever you have)

1/2 cup chopped pecans

1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

When well combined, drop by tablespoonful onto an ungreased cookie sheet and bake til golden in a 350 degree oven (about 10 minutes). Cool on baking rack.

You can add other ingredients. A basic oatmeal cookie is one cup flour and three cups oats. I have purchased gluten free oats before and ground some to make the 1 cup of flour. I've added crispy rice cereal, granola, different types of chocolate chips and different nuts. You could even add cinnamon or some almond extract. Today I thought dried cherries would be good, but I didn't have any on hand.

       Have fun with the recipe. If I struck a cord with you, if you are also an organizational book junky yet have failed to find just he right system, perhaps we're ok the way we are. Just be sure to take one day at a time and to kick the dust off your feet from the methods that don't work. Keep moving on and doing what you do best.

Childhood Friends, Lifelong Friends

  
       I am looking forward to seeing two of my oldest friends later this week. We have not been together--the three of us--since 2000 when my late husband passed away. Though Bev lived hundreds of miles away with a busy speaking and teaching schedule, she was by my side within hours of Bob's death. Sandy was there within minutes. I count myself so blessed to have friends like them.

       My work colleagues cautioned today, "Don't get into trouble!" The worst I can imagine us doing is laughing too hard and annoying some around us. I admit I feel I will become childlike again. But I have gotten pretty "in-touch" with my inner child. My temperament allows it. A Myers-Briggs INFP, a melancholic with sanguine as well as phlegmatic flares, I guess I am a natural contemplative.

     My brother once commented that I was more like my mother than he. "I wish I could care more about things sometimes, like you do." I admitted that I wished sometimes I was not so empathetic: it takes a lot of energy. It also leads to some disillusionment, as I have intimated in the last couple of posts. Without disillusionment, though, is life realistic? For many it leads to anger and distrust. I reflected in my last post about trusting God with the big picture, and that thankfulness was a key to true joy. Happiness is momentary and transient. Joy is a cenote: a wellspring under the surface.

        It is thought that the Mayan culture, which grew to an estimated 20 million occupying the Yucatan Penninsula in the first millennia A.D. survived because of thousands of miles of cenotes: underground caverns full of water. Crystal clear. Life-giving. Though joy may be unseen and unfelt because of tragic life events, that spring is ever there, ready to well up when we least expect it. I felt it--not as happiness, but of peace--when riding in the ambulance just after Bob's death. I felt it again a month later driving to my Mom's place in South Carolina. One minute wondering how the world could go on, the next feeling the presence of the Holy Spirit, the Comforter--it seems implausible. The Peace of God which passes all understanding. Truly.

          Sandy and Bev and I have differences, especially in regard to politics and religion. We all three feel emotions very deeply. We are testimony to deep love and understanding and tolerance. I think that much of what Sandy and Bev and I will talk about will revolve around our life experiences and how we've met the challenges faced. We'll talk about memories as well as menopause. Sometimes life events are themselves the cause to ponder, and sometimes they are the signal that it is time to ponder the past. Tears as well as laughter can heal. I plan on much of both--with some feasting and thankfulness and joy.

Saint Francis Was Not Only About Animals

  

     I've written a post before on organization. I've thought many times that if only I could be as organized as I would like (as I "should" be) then I would not suffer from discouragement.

     Appearances are not always what they seem. We know that. Certainly the lives of famous people and their problems are evidence enough. Yet I think many of us don't let the lesson sink in completely.

     In the last few years a couple of my friends--whom I confess I almost worship because of their beautifully behaved children and their spotless homes and knack of doing all so perfectly--have suffered with discouragement, too. I think to myself...they shouldn't! They are doing everything as I would wish to. They have lived an ideal, still married to their sweetheart from a young age, consistently parenting their children from day one, responsibly living...the list goes on.

     I have read that discouragement stems from pride. Perhaps. I get that. I feel as though I've had a lot of humble pie thrown at me in the last ten years. Truly, I know I'm lacking in a lot of ways. Bruce loves to joke with us, "I am the humblest man you will ever know!" as he raises his eyebrows and looks up at the sky. I'm certainly not implying that.

     I post beautiful things because I want to share them. I do not, however, want to give the impression that all goes smoothly each day. It doesn't. I have more positive friends who seem to rejoice in their challenges! And some who don't seem to have many challenges. I sometimes wonder why there is so much challenge!

     On the other hand, I have friends who have hit rock bottom. Unbelievable events have transpired for them. I have friends who have lived through far more difficulties and tragedies than I have. And I've read about people like Immaculee Ilibagiza in "Left To Tell" whose stories are horrifying and inspiring at the same time. I reprimand myself for my discouragement, then.

     Our lives are unique to us. Our families are unique. Our situations differ. The truth is, though, everyone at some point feels discouraged. Some momentarily, some frequently and some chronically.

     Pride aside, isn't it also from a desire to want to be a better person?  Christians believe they will never deserve the salvation they believe in which is through Christ. He loves us and paid the sacrifice for our failings even knowing us at our worst. We are worth something very special, then. Not "worms on a dung heap" as some Puritan writers may have proclaimed.  Knowing this, we want to please Him as a child wants to please his parents. We want to love creation as He loves it.

     Saint Francis was born in the Middle Ages into a prosperous family. His father was a respected merchant. Francis had a life of priviledge and excess. He ate well, he partied well, he "loved" well. He went on one of the Crusades to save the Holy Land. He returned disillusioned and sad. He saw the atrocities of war and the evil that man was capable of. We would have called it PTSD today. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. He did not speak for a long, long time. During that time he prayed to and listened to God.

     He had to come to terms with his humanity, what he was guilty of, what his fellow man was guilty of. Most of us know the rest of the story. He left his home, his money, his priviledge and rebuilt the church named San Damiano. Other men followed him, his life became simple and pure and self-sacrificing. He took care of the sick and the poor. He shared God's love with them. Later, he visited the Pope for permission to continue and the Franciscan Order was started. His childhood friend Saint Clare was inspired to start a second Franciscan Order, The Poor Clares living a similar "code," or rule.

San Damiano

     I think we all need to come to terms with our failings. When offered back humbly to God as imperfect gifts, God can bless us, and many others. It seems counter-intuitive.

     We'll all struggle at times. I pray that you will not withdraw from others. Try not to avoid those who can help. It is a tendency we have and sadly, divided we are more easily conquered. Talk to a friend, a priest, a pastor, a counselor. There is more ahead. There is more to give.

Saint Clare and Saint Francis

     Our society seems to be teaching us that we are at the center of our world, that we deserve fill in the blank: wealth, happiness, anything we want. But the truth is, true joy is in giving, not getting. In acceptance and obedience. Our culture despises the latter term. But obedience to an authority we trust, that is good, is something we have taught our children through the ages.

     Saint Francis gave it all up. He lived a poor beggar's life. And he gave amazing things to the people of his time, to the suffering, to the lepers. And to us all.

     When discouraged  remind yourself that you are "a work in progress." Pray and seek help and put one foot in front of the other to keep trying. God doesn't give up on us. We are precious to Him.

Saint Francis Prayer

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

 "I have been all things unholy, if God can work through me He can work through anyone."

Saint Francis of Assisi