From a Glass of Milk

Community. We had friends over for dinner last night. They have six girls close in age to our six youngest. Our active, noisy kids, who seem to fuss a good bit with each other played amazingly well together. Most of mine are boys and we loved how the girls and boys all ran around the farm, petting animals and not having issues with "they only have girl toys" or "they only have boy toys." Thirteen children ran around and parents shared great conversation and a thrown-together meal for all.

Our friends are so connected in our community. Veritably everyone I talked about the husband piped up, "Oh, he's my cousin," or some relation. We laughed but it's something that makes our community special. Sure, some relationships may erode or fade over time and people may act like strangers, but on the positive side, there is an accountability factor. Would that we felt that with all of our neighbors. A connectedness even deeper than blood. Something more spiritual. As Christians might call it, "being part of a body."

We laughed some more, we shared fresh milk from my cow Betsy and talked about earlier times. About a connection with the land and soil. We talked about how Betsy's milk changes flavor slightly, depending on what she has eaten. A Jersey, she has a rich, creamy milk (the cream is amazing, really) with a yellowish color you don't see in the supermarket from the beta-carotenes and vitamins she consumes in our pasture grass and her alfalfa. There are probiotics in her milk that are so healthy for our immune systems. And it all comes from the soil we live on, the rain that falls on us and the sun that shines down over us.

We can live on sterilized, fortified products--and antibiotics and lists of medications. Those can be life-saving and good. But in an unbalanced relationship, they can be unhealthy for the body. Somehow, drinking this natural milk, eating local organic beef and vegetables and even local honey feels healthy. It feels like living in relationship with the land I'm living on. In a similar way, living connected to the people around me--not stuck in front of the television or gaming device or computer--working with them, volunteering, truly caring for them, living in community with them is lifeblood to the body. One gives and thereby receives.

Man was not created to be alone, but to live in community. There is a place for solitude, retreat, and cloistered communities. There are certainly different gifts and temperaments. But we were made for each other. We are healthiest when in communion with each other. I pray that you are able to find your place in the body that comprises all of us, locally and globally. Start right where you are. Prayer is the most powerful connection and effective means.Give thanks for what you do have, not lament what is missing.  Find God right where you are and share His love.

A Happy Thanksgiving to you!

Suzy
The Abbey Farm

Ebbs and Flows and the Farmer's Spirit

 
    It amazes me that a year ago I shared pictures of the flooding Missouri River. Farms were ruined, families moved because of it. Those who stayed planted crops that, up until May, were doing great. Then the drought hit. Luckily, most harvested an early hay crop. But the corn that started off so energetically, a foot high by June, barely produced any ears and was dry by early August. God bless those farmers who persevered after the flood only to be hit by a drought the next season.

     Hay has doubled in price. There is less of it. I believe hopes of a second cutting were unfulfilled. It's a vicious cycle because the cattle still need to be fed. We normally don't start feeding hay until November. We have begun already.  Food prices will soar because of the limited hay and corn crops. If you didn't know it, corn products and by-products are in many, many foods.

     It is good if you can put in a garden for your family or be a member of a local community supported agriculture group. We have the latter here in town and we're members. I'm glad to support the local farmers. I keep thinking I'll get a garden in "this year," but it always seems to turn into "next year." It will happen one day. Mary Pat's school-bus driver tells me about her prolific garden. She crochets a blanket for her grandchild while Mary Pat is being strapped in, and she tells me all about it. Each year she puts up hundreds of quarts of vegetables. Her hard work and self-sufficiency inspire me.

     The farmers do, too. Our neighbors have been farming for generations. Vince helps us set round bales (giant five and a half foot diameter hay bales) with his big tractor. One day the front axle broke as he was lifting the bale high. Vince, almost 70,  popped down, rubbed his chin and just stared. I was impressed with his calm. I told him I'd probably be react by whining and fussing. He just looked at me with wise, clear eyes and said, "But that wouldn't change things." He turned back to the tractor and continued thinking out loud, "I have a brother with a welder, and I'll just get this off and have him help..." Later on I told his wife how thankful I was that it had happened at such a slow speed and not as he was driving over here. She said, "Well, we would've dealt with that, too."  I pushed, "But Vince could have been hurt!" She answered with the same calm as her husband. "We're farmers--that's part of farming life and we deal with what comes."

     Deal with what comes. A farmer I'd mentioned last fall during the floods was one who had to move. He's moved yet again to another farm on higher ground. He and his wife are happy. It could have been so much worse. They have each other and their family. And this new farm is actually closer to her parents and her church. It is probable that his crops have not done well this year. But I bet he'd be thankful that they weren't wiped out like last year.

     A verse in the Bible has been lived out by the farmers I know: "Be anxious for nothing, but by prayer and supplication make your requests known to God. And the Peace of God which passes all understanding will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." (Phillippians 4:6-7)

     I'd do well to remember that.

God bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

There are ways to support our country's farmers both locally and on a larger scale...check out Farm Aid. And don't forget to keep them in your prayers.

Saint Who?

    
     I never used to pay attention to why cities like St. Paul, San Francisco, St. Augustine and St. Joseph were named after saints.  I was raised Episcopalian and was used to the surname; I guess I realized these people were remembered for something. People of all Christian faiths acknowlege certain early Church Fathers such as Augustine of Hippo and early martyrs like Stephen. When Marie and Susanna were homeschooled we used a great history text that detailed the European settling of the New World, and the different styles of the Spanish and French and others. I had not studied in such detail in public school.

     We can all acknowledge documented historical events. Of course we may interpret them somewhat differently, but it is fascinating study. Sometimes I've felt that my own geneological research, while interesting, is moderately futile. Twenty generations back and we all have close to a million ancestors--so why would one thin line of them mean anything more than another? I lost my drive for geneology, but not for history in general. As I studied them, I realized what incredible, spiritually inspiring people the saints were.

      Each city named after a saint has a good reason for it. I do not understand how people deny the Christian foundations of our country. There was tragedy involved in some cases of "religious" settling. There was horror in the case of many Native American Tribes. Man is fallible. Good intentions may not always produce the results that I think God would have wanted. Man, throughout history,  is sadly inhumane to man. So instead of focusing on the evil, I find it better to focus on what was learned and most especially what was good. The lives of saints are such stuff. Recently up for sainthood is Mother Teresa. No one would deny that hers was a heroic life. Try Googling some lesser names like these: Maximilian Kolbe and Edith Stein, both of whom died in concentration camps in the Holocaust. Just incredible people.

     Four years ago on July 20th,  an obscure saint became known to me. Mary Pat was prep'd in the OR, ready to have a gastrostomy tube, or "GT" inserted at five months old. A GT enters directly into the stomach through a stoma created in the abdomen, and is used for feeding. Mary Pat could not nurse. She could not suck from a bottle. All those months since she was out of the NICU we'd been managing a Nasogastric tube or "NG". That's the feeding tube that goes up into the nose and curves down the back of the pharynx, through the throat and espophagus and into the stomach. The mucous membranes are very sensitive and tender, especially in the pharynx. Insertion is at best uncomfortable to a cognizant adult. Most people describe it as intensely irritating or painful. During insertion there is a good chance of putting the tube into the lungs, rather than the stomach. As a nurse I'd inserted NG tubes so I felt at an advantage. But those were adults. And this was my tiny baby struggling for life. I prayed so hard to God to let her suck from a bottle. I pumped for six months to provide her with the best nutrition possible. I ached to nurse her, but the chance of her taking a bottle would be a miracle to me. It wasn't to be. Every time she needed the NG reinserted she screamed and cried and turned blue. I prayed and tried to be so cool and clinical. Being an RN did not make it any easier.

      Mary Pat additionally needed a procedure to tighten the top of her stomach.  She had such bad gastric reflux that one day she stopped breathing and had to be life-flighted back to the hospital. She had an apnea monitor at night which I needed to attach to leads on her chest. False alarms in the middle of the night were not uncommon.  I prayed that Mary Pat would not need any of this, but the answer I wanted did not come. We checked into the hospital and dressed Mary Pat in her tiny gown. The nurse took her and I cried as I had before her other surgeries. Mary Pat had additional difficulty with each of her surgeries when intubated, because of her cleft palate, jaw surgery and anatomy.         Dr. St. Peter was her surgeon. He was very kind and comforting. He spoke with us before the surgery and was just the confident, calming presence that I needed. Bruce and I settled in for the wait. My reading led me to the "Saint of the Day." A Feast Day is usually celebrated on the date of death of the saint...the day they entered the hereafter with Christ. This day was the feast day of St. Apollinaris.

     St. Apollinaris was the first bishop of Ravenna in the first to second century. He was a great preacher and many came to know Christ because of him. He was brutally beaten and tortured more than once by the Roman officials but he kept evangelizing and was eventually martyred. St. Apollinaris had been ordained and sent to Ravenna by St. Peter himself. St. Peter! This fact may seem in no way to be connected to Mary Pat, but I knew that in God's great love, He knew about what would happen to Mary Pat, and when St. Peter did ordain St. Apollinaris He knew that centuries later it would give comfort to a frightened mother. Mary Pat was indeed in His hands.

     Dr. St. Peter came out after the surgery to tell us that it had gone well. As we began to breathe a sigh of relief, he informed us that he encountered something serious. Because of the need for that surgery, Dr. St. Peter found a life threatening condition called a diaphragmatic hernia and expertly fixed it. He also found that her large intestine was not where it should be. Part of it was basically unattached and could have led, undetected, to a fatal condition of twisting and strangulation of the bowel. He fixed it. If God had answered my prayer and allowed her to nurse, or even to be fed from the bottle--to be spared of the NG tube and later the G-tube--these conditions could very well have killed her. I learned the beauty in unanswered prayer.

     I have a thirst for wisdom, knowledge and history that will never be quenched in this lifetime. Though eternity may be incomprehensible, thinking about getting to know all those who have gone before us--is a taste of paradise to me...

...as is Mary Pat.


God bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

What the World Needs Now...

     I've mentioned our tradition of "Highs and Highers" at dinnertime. We go around the table and tell about the best part of our day, and then something that God taught us, or some wisdom we want to share. It works fine for all faiths, those with no religion, even those with no words. Jim usually says, "In my heart!"  Margaret tilts her head when her turn, smiles and just says "Aww!"-- because no matter what she says we always go "Aww!"

     Yesterday, Marie and Susanna had friends over for dinner. The last time one of them was here we had a great lasagne. He'd never, ever had it before. It was actually on the schedule again for dinner and we didn't want him to think it was all we ate. Without too much time to switch gears, Susanna found five frozen pizzas in the freezer, and "Voila"...dinner fit for a Teen! I thought wryly that I'd just posted that morning about homemade pizza on: theabbeyfarmcooks.blogspot.com. Well, there is a place in the world for frozen pizza, too. The block of time which was created by not having to cook was welcome in my busy day. It meant more time for play with the children.

     Dinner was fun. We remarked that we had all skin colors and hair colors at the table...light, Asian, and dark skin...blonde, brunette, red, black and even gray hair. Conversation was fun. I told about my second, chance meeting with the same man outside the Walmart in two weeks. He was taking donations "to decrease heart disease and diabetes." He had books on a table covered with a canopy. Two weeks ago I found out he was from the Seventh Day Adventist Church. We shared aspects of our religions and focused on what we agreed on. We even prayed together before parting. I learned that Seventh Day Adventists believe strongly in taking care of the body and they eat a macrobiotic type of a diet.

     In the last two weeks I learned more about his religion and his way of eating. The latter I incorporated more into my life and have been blown away by the results. I feel so much better eating a diet composed more largely of whole grains, vegetables and legumes. I really don't see myself ever becoming a Vegan, but the simple changes I've made have been very calming (to my usual hyper-anxious state of feeling the need for multiple radars on my head for keeping track of so many little ones). And I have had more energy and less joint pain. I encourage you to read more about a macrobiotic type of diet, as it makes so much sense. The American diet is more and more in the media as to its adverse effects on our bodies and lives. I'm living proof that you don't need to go hog-wild to see positive changes.

     I saw the man again yesterday and I had to stop and thank him for his role in my research and changes in my diet. We talked more about our faiths, and I had to point out that what he believes my Church teaches is not what it actually teaches. I hope he listened. I told him that it's my belief that Satan does exist, and so his prime target is all that God holds dear...Christ, faith in Him, the Sanctity of Life, the family, Christians, the Church. For my friends who disagree, I urge you to read "The Screwtape Letters," by C.S. Lewis. You may not be convinced, but you will understand other Christians better.

     What did Burt Bacharach write? "What the world needs now, is Love, Sweet Love..." So true. Love will come better with understanding. In the end, God will be the judge. I do believe there is an ultimate truth; it is not relative. Circumstances may be relative, but truth is not. Mercy is relative...and that's where God will be just. In the meantime, we're called to be like Him. We may not agree in this life--but we certainly will in the next. Christ's desire is that we are all with Him in eternity. We are called to "...make a defense to any one who calls you to account for the hope that is in you, yet do it with gentleness and reverence..." 1 Peter 3:15.
We do it not out of pride, but love. Sweet love.

God Bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

What A Hug Is Worth

 

     I am conscious of how much television viewing goes on in our house. We have limits. “Family Movie Night” I wouldn't sacrifice. A couple Fridays back the kids had a snow-day and to tell the truth, when Bruce walked in the door I really wanted to escape upstairs for a break with a book and a cup of tea. But like the runner who says, "I'll just make it to that tree” or mile marker or other such goal, I knew I'd get dinner finished, and then consider my quiet exit. We cleaned up the dishes after the meal. I decided to wait again, and instead had a cup of coffee with Bruce.

     I felt my legs aching, my brain was over-full. I did want to lie down. At that moment Max, who had helped me make dinner, wrapped his arms around me, smiled and said he wanted more time with me tomorrow and, “Oooh, how about a Family Movie Night?”

     I couldn’t say no. "Ponyo" was the choice. What a very sweet movie. My children love it and I have seen bits and pieces overtime to add up to at least one full viewing. Their faces were so adorable watching it, their comments so delectable. Bruce had Margaret on his lap, dipping tortilla chips into the salsa he‘d brought in. He worked hard to keep hold of the cup of coffee I spiked with Irish Mist (to his surprise and delight). Mary Pat's G-tube pump was providing her meal and her contented tummy allowed her to focus on the animation on-screen. She smiled and giggled.

     These are the moments I treasure. They will be memories all- too-soon. They sustain me in the hard times (like earlier that day when I thought I couldn't take one more tantrum or loud outburst). Parenting is hard work. Did anyone teach us it was otherwise? I read a great post on Elizabeth Scalia's blog, "The Anchoress," on how our culture has perpetuated an adolescent mindset of self-centeredness and self-justice. I have witnessed this in a few of my contemporaries. The phrases like "I've finally got my life back," as the youngest child enters college, or "As soon as they're eighteen they're outa’ here!" support my observation that we've become just too self-centered. Our children are with us for a finite amount of time. I don't wish it to be cut shorter. There will be a day when I don't have a little one in the house. It is difficult with six children under eight, one with special needs. I do at times consider the day when they'll be older and things will be a little easier and I'll be able to get more done. But truly, I don't wish these days away.

     The sweet moments I do treasure. I've had enough now with snow days and being cooped up and racking my brain to come up with one more activity, one more creative solution to a conflict. I respect my homeschooling friends. They're so well structured that all this is built into their days, and I do feel their children are remarkably "immediately-obedient." But if the snow hadn't caused the school closing, I wouldn't have been stretched a bit--and I also wouldn't have had the good moments that happened because of it. Max wouldn't have made seafood chowder with me, I wouldn't have seen his impressive drawings, we wouldn't have made oatmeal raisin cookies for Daddy, and more.

     I have suffered loss in my life. When I was five I lost a brother I desperately wanted when he was stillborn. I lost my father in early adulthood, a husband to divorce, a husband to sudden death, my mother right after, my nieces in a tragic tornado the same year as my mother, and within a decade my two fathers-in-law and beloved mother-in-law. I know very well that life is finite, sometimes very, very short. Every life is precious.

      When I whine and cry about not enough of this or too much of that, I remind myself that every day is a gift. I once had a vision of wrapping up my day in an imaginary box at night and giving it back to the Lord in prayer. It was his day to begin with; I hopefully started it with the intention in mind of pleasing him, so it seemed fitting to give it back to him. I think He even wants the crummy stuff back--even my outbursts and mistakes, my omissions and should-haves. He forgives a contrite heart. I try to remember this when I’m dealing with my children. They want to please and to do better. Max suddenly hugged me at the end of the movie when the little boy finds his mother. It was the best moment of the day.

     I forgive his mistakes and trouble listening. We’re pretty consistent with expectations, consequences and rewards, so I know he’s learning. Would I love it if he “got it” a lot sooner? Absolutely. But he will “get it” in time--as I will. We are all works in progress. Max’s hug was worth a million bucks: a special ribbon on my gift back to God. A sweet memory to sustain me throughout the more challenging times on earth. I’ll not forget it. It was better than any quiet time upstairs with a book and a cup of tea.

George Washington...

George Washington praying at Valley Forge

   
 Happy President’s Day! George Washington’s birthday. What a man. What a life! There is another George Washington whom I can’t help but think of today--and also hope to meet someday in heaven. George Washington Carver.

George Washington Carver

      "Oh, when the saints, go marching in, oh, when the saints go marching in! Oh, Lord, I want to be in that number! When the saints go marching in!"  As a little girl, I imagined these saints as I sang. We had a great music program in my public elementary school. Miss Forsythe taught us many folk songs and classics. I can still see her standing at the blonde-wood upright in our classroom, her tall frame crouched slightly, one knee bent, the opposite foot on the pedals. Gosh, what good times. Some teachers really have a gift for making learning exciting, and bringing it to life.

     In college I was blessed to have a gifted History professor. Dr. Kerr was short and rounded with black glasses and thinning, white hair. He wouldn’t have stood out in a crowd, but in our large lecture hall all eyes were on him. He could have been an actor, his lectures were so animated. He quite literally performed in front of our large lecture hall. I sat front and center. I loved his class. He was Sir Walter Raleigh, Paul Revere, Queen Elizabeth or Abraham Lincoln on any given day. He made history come alive. He was brilliant.

     I still love history. I have more books than I'll ever finish. My middle-aged brain is slower and it is constantly trying to keep tabs on our eight children at home, two living away from home, and our foreign exchange student. They are certainly more important than my reading list, but when there is time, I do enjoy learning about earlier times, those who have gone before us, and especially those with heroic, inspirational lives.

     A few years ago the girls brought home a book about George Washington Carver. Born in Missouri around 1865, he wanted so badly to go to school that he walked ten miles to another town where a black boy could attend. He was raised by a man named Carver, who respected freedom, was good to him and raised him much like a son.  The woman who owned the house where he stayed while going  to school asked him his name. He replied, “Carver’s George, Ma’am.” She told him he should have his own name, one with dignity. He chose George Washington Carver, after our first President, and Mr. Carver.

     He graduated from highschool, moved a few times, worked hard to earn money, and went to college. A Botanist, he later earned a Master's Degree and an Honorary Doctorate. We seem to remember him most for inventing multiple uses for the peanut but he really did so much more. He taught farmers how to rotate crops, using plants like the peanut in order to restore nutrients into soils depleted by cotton. He was peaceful, strong, amiable and helpful. When my boys complain about going to school I remind them how blessed they are. They get a lesson about George Washington Carver and the value of education.

     To be counted "in that number".  I sure am hopeful that both George Washington and George Washington Carver are! I am my own biggest critic and I doubt that one day I could be thought of as an example of anything, unless it’s an example of someone with a desire to do right, despite her own weaknesses and procrastination.  I find strange hope in reading that men like Columbus and Tschaikovsky never lived to see the impact they made on their world. I am sad that they died feeling as though they hadn't accomplished much (can you imagine?).  I will never discover another land or write a symphony! Nevertheless, I will keep trying to do better, and to live as Christ taught. I have ten amazing children, and I believe the world can be changed by them.

You are the only one who can uniquely do what God has called you to do. Here’s to ”marching in” together one day!

God Bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm