Oh, Dandelions...

   
  "One man's trash is another man's treasure." How about, "One man's weed is another man's flower?" Certainly, this is the case of Dandelions. An enemy to many in Suburbia, here in the country we are overrun--and so accept them with as much of a Polyanna attitude as possible. Early settlers came up with Dandelion wine and Dandelion tea. The young leaves can be thrown into salads. But better yet, and far more "palatable," are the joys of seeing our children play in them, the bouquets happily presented to Mom, and the look of wonder on a toddler's face when the puffy white head of seeds is blown.


     I asked Marie, 16, as I went out the door with her brothers to school, to write a poem about Dandelions. An Expository Writing assignment! She didn't hesitate or balk but asked, "What type?" I gave her no limits--whatever came to her head. Thirty minutes later, I was home and given the following:

“The First Dandelion”　

The sun once grew ill

sickly and pale

It’s warmth began to wane

It’s power began to fail

No other stars were near enough

To see the orb’s distress

Only the moon saw it’s plight

For she knew him best

She knew what caused his ailment

The sun was all alone

No one ever smiled back at him

All sought shade when he shone

So the moon, one spring night

Called together the winds, four

She coaxed them with silver words

She begged them to soar

And through that night

Those winds; how they flew

They gathered ingredients

As the moon had bade them to

And the next morning

When the sun rose high

Imagine his surprise

As he opened his yellow eye

His rays began to spread

The sun stopped his crying

For beaming back at him

Was the first, gold, dandelion

And if wonder he did

Who’d sent him this bloom

The next day it turned white

White and full like the moon

     Marie! Another joy to add to the Dandelion list.

      I googled "Dandelion" and found a poem on a blog called "Wordlust: Pandering to Your Inner Linquist." It is humorously presented as a battle:

http://memphiswordnerd.blogspot.com/2007/11/dandelions-by-deborah-austin-thank-you.html

Suzy (and Marie),

The Abbey Farm

Banquets and Clubhouses

     Today, Bruce took our six daughters to the annual Father-Daughter Banquet. The theme was: "A Girl Worth Fighting For." Bruce and Emily were the guest speakers. We joked earlier that they should work-in a skit from the movie "Mulan," where the father tells Mulan that she is the greatest gift he could ever have. They prepared something different, and special.

     Bruce texted me some pictures from the banquet. I thought to myself that there should be more "Mother-Son" events. There used to be a Mother-Son Pancake Breakfast and Max and I went to it long ago.

     Here are some of the pictures from Bruce, and then a few of the boys on the farm. We made our own event: "Mother-Son Clubhouse." I'd forgotten that clubhouses and forts could be as much fun as banquets...

God Bless!

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

Looking Up

    
     I watched the Pixar movie "Up" the other morning with Jim, Margaret and Marie. The opening scene was so very moving. I was not expecting it, though Bruce told me long ago that I would love it, and that I'd cry. I did tear up. It was good on so many levels--humor, animation, artistry, and the priorities in our lives.

     The opening scene was a montage of eight decades of "Carl and Ellie's" life together; it was precious. Eighty years seemed so short. Life is, really. The present is here for only a moment and then it is a memory. Good moments and tragic moments follow the same rules of time. I reminisce often about my life, my childhood, my adolescence, the sad ending of my first marriage, my life with Bob, our two daughters and the earth-shaking loss of him, of meeting and falling in love with Bruce, our marriage, our family. Someday I won't be here and all those memories will be gone, save for what I have shared with my children.

Me, ten years old, at the Bowerman's

     In the movie, Ellie keeps a scrapbook. I won’t let on about any more, but since watching it I have felt a greater thankfulness for my life, it's past, and it's present with Bruce and our children. In the busy-ness of activities and schedules and "Time Maps" I can lose focus on what is important. I'll never get it perfect, but I'll keep trying.

     Before we knew that Bob's father had Alzheimer's, "Pop" remarked about an elderly man who was increasingly feeble and decreasingly productive. He felt sorry for the gentleman, who had been a college professor with a PhD in Molecular Biology and Botany, and could not imagine how hard it would be. He joked about what we should do if it ever happened to him.

     Pop was still living at home when he lost his only son. He had Alzheimer's and was seldom lucid anymore.  His wife, beloved "Grammy," was distraught and had a hard time with helping me make the decision about an autopsy. Her son had died so suddenly and it was very difficult. Pop took the phone and in one of his last truly lucid moments that I remember, gently and lovingly counseled me to have it done. "You have to know for the children, and it's OK with us. We love you."

     Pop has passed away. He lived such a humble yet rich life. Much of it we know from our time with him, his stories and scrapbooks like Ellie’s. I know there was so much more. I know that in myself there are profound things I have seen and experienced that no other soul knows. Will all of that just drift away into nothingness when I die?  I am convinced that it will not.  I believe that we are here by the hand of a loving Creator who knows us more than we know ourselves. All that we are is because of Him and is known by Him. All that we have experienced will always be with Him. I trust Him.

  

St. Ignatius of Loyola prayed a beautiful prayer:

     "Take, O Lord, and receive my entire liberty, my memory, my understanding and my whole will. All that I am and all that I possess You have given me: I surrender it all to You to be disposed of according to Your will. Give me only Your love and Your grace; with these I will be rich enough, and will desire nothing more."



St. Ignatius of Loyola

 

      I lifted up Margaret after a long afternoon walk yesterday. I looked up with her at the blue sky as we passed our house and the cross on top of the cupola. I hugged her and kissed her for the hundredth time that day, amazed that I could love her so much and that I could be so blessed, even in this old body, with the experience of giving her life and watching her grow. I may be older and weaker, but His love and grace have made me full. My cup truly runs over.

The movie inspired me--to look “Up.”

God bless,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

Organization!

     I took a “day off” and attended a Lenten Retreat last week. Dr. Edward Sri, theologian, author and former professor of our oldest daughter, spoke on Love and Marriage. He's a great speaker and even had Susanna and her two teenage friends laughing and thinking hard. I sat with the wife of Bruce’s former boss. We hadn't seen each other in a few years; Bruce and I have had two more children since then, so it was fun catching up. She said to me, "That's hard, managing so many children and a home! You must be so organized!"

      Uh--yes and no. Yes, it is challenging to manage so many people and things. No, I am not so well organized. I want to be! It is one of my goals in life. I told her that I was always a "fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants" kind of person. It worked with two children, but when I married Bruce and our family instantly doubled, I had to change. I am still adapting, and I am no expert. Ben’s Kindergarten teacher would laugh if she heard my friend’s remark. I think whole trees have been ripped from the Rain Forest, because of all the reminder notes she’s had to send home to me. Ben manages to get out the door some days wearing pants with holes in the knees, and shirts on backward to school. Maybe I’m his teacher’s comic relief for the day.

     I have read nearly a dozen books on time management, scheduling and organization.  I combine elements from each of the books for a system that works for me; theoretically, that is, because I’m still trying and tweaking. One book that helped a lot was recommended by my brother Al-- “Getting Things Done: The Art of Stress-Free Productivity ” by David Allen. His system and ideas helped more than any other with the mountains of mail that come into the house. He helps high powered executives and businessmen but his ideas are adaptable to any person.

      Dave Ramsey has a radio show and has authored books on financial management. He focuses on a cash-based budget, getting out of debt, being wise with purchases, and then building savings. There are seminars, "Financial Peace University," usually at local churches; Google the one nearest you. Phil Lenahan has a similar program. I highly recommend either course, especially for college age people just starting out, so that bad habits never take hold. Both men are Christians and use Biblical principles in their philosophies.

     I was really impressed with Julie Morgenstern’s “Time Management from the Inside Out: The Foolproof System for Taking Control of Your Schedule—and Your Life.”   She helps with clarification of goals, permission to purge some unattainable or unrealistic goals, and the development of a “Time Map.” The latter sounds better than “schedule” and it is. It encourages you to concentrate on the top three actions per goal and to work them into your time map. The time map can be detailed or fairly unstructured depending on your style or job. I liked the book a lot.

     My Mother-in-law gave me “Organizing Plain & Simple” by Donna Smallin. This is a great quick-reference with very useful tips for every room in the house, with sections on finances and personal scheduling. I refer to it a lot and it has cute and colorful graphics that appeal to me (that may not make a difference to some, but it can encourage me to dive in more readily).

     “Eliminate Chaos: The 10-Step Process to Organize Your Home & Life” by Laura Leist is a very attractive book. It reminds me of the shows on TLC where people organize somebody’s home in a few days. There are before and after pictures with some really good explanations and ideas. I love the photography. It reminds me of a coffee-table book, but with lots of self-help information.

     Geared a bit more toward stay-at-home Moms is an older book, “Sidetracked Home Executives: From Pigpen to Paradise” by sisters Pam Young and Peggy Jones. This one’s a funny read. Their system for organizing and cleaning the home is very helpful, though somewhat antiquated. Their motto: “We Change Lives with Three-by-Five’s” needs a little updating in this new world of computer technology. Not that pen and paper doesn’t work; in fact, physical, tangible 3X5 cards may be the best solution for some. I do use them with the teens and our weekly house-cleaning. Nowadays, though, I’d imagine many people would prefer something on a computer or palm device. I finally made the switch from a paper/calendar based system to my iPhone (so far, so good, and now I’m investigating all sorts of  Productivity Apps!).  Marla Cilley, the “Fly Lady,” was inspired by these sisters and their system. She tweaked it into a portable "office-in-a-bag," a 3-ring binder in a carrier, and shares that system in her book “Sink Reflections.”  You can learn more about it on FlyLady.net.

     Six years ago I read a book by a homeschooling Mom of eight children. “Managers of Their Homes,” by Teri Maxwell is an amazing compilation of schedules of dozens of homeschooling Moms who tried Teri’s system of evaluating the goals and activities of each family member, and combining them on a wall-sized chart. I made the chart. Each person had their individual colored paper. I sticky-tacked it all up in our school room (I homeschooled Marie and Susanna at the time) and gave it a good try. I’m not sure why it didn’t work for me. We had three more babies in quick succession. Our lives did not allow for any extended maintenance period, ours was repeatedly adaption and evaluation. There were too many revisions required—or maybe just not enough colors!

     Holly Pierlot’s book, “A Mother’s Rule of Life” encourages the reader to look at the schedule in a more sacred way . Orders of religious people, like the Benedictine Monks, have a code or a “Rule” to live by. Holly helps the reader to develop a "Rule" for her family, and discern how her priorities fit in line with the goal of living a holy life centered on Christ. The family schedule becomes a beautiful dance of worship (well, maybe not quite so beautiful in our house, but I try). I have reread the book several times and attended two extended Bible Studies on it. I’m not a complete failure, though it is at times disheartening to read notes to myself dated 2005, 2007, 2009 and realize I haven’t quite gotten on top of it all yet. To perhaps feel better I tell myself that Holly had five children and I have ten…so it makes sense that it's doubly hard for me! Right?

     We make our choices. This is the life Bruce and I love, even with the challenges of my lack of organization. We each need to find what works for us, whether we live in an apartment or a house, a suburb or a farm, and have one child or ten!  I’ll keep at it. I joke that I’ll finally have it mastered when I’m eighty. Most importantly, our children need to know they have a Mom and Dad who love them-- even if they do get out the door with holey pants and backward shirts.

God bless us all in organizing the life we’ve been given.

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.

On Love

March!

     I love March. It's the month of my birthday. Jim will turn 3(!) and I will turn 48(!!). My brother plays poker with some old friends from our high school; they knew me as a little tomboy in pigtails. He tells me they wryly ask him from time to time, "Your sister pregnant yet?" I really don't mind their kidding. Gosh, I'm still worth a thought in their day! And regarding all our children, I feel amazingly blessed.

     Bruce and I have heard acquaintances say that they wanted to stop having children because they'd be too old a Dad or Mom. We do feel older and we're not as active as we were when we were younger. It is harder in some ways.  I've mentioned before that I wish we had more one-on-one time with each child. But really, even if their parents are in their sixties when they graduate from high school, I don't think Jim or Margaret would consider the alternative: their lack of existence.

     I will support, or defend if you will, what I believe in when questioned. We need to in order to understand each other. My friend Bev visited a few years ago when I was pregnant with Jim. Mary Pat was less than a year old. Our family had gone through a lot with her hospitalizations and surgeries and lack of concrete answers about her prognosis. Bev understandably was concerned and asked if I was thinking things through well enough. Was this wise to be bringing another child into an already stressed situation? Was it fair to the other children? Were my decisions imposing a type of life on my family that maybe they wouldn't want and would have no say in? All were valid questions borne out of love for me. We had a great few days together. Bev and I don't necessarily agree on all aspects of religion and politics but we have a bond that I can't explain. I love her like my flesh and blood. She is my friend.

 "Iron sharpens iron, and so a friend sharpens the countenance of a friend."

     A true friend does not avoid the tough questions, or tiptoe around difficult issues. By the end of her visit Bev said something beautiful. "You know, Suz, I don't necessarily agree with what you believe, but spending this time with you I understand why you do, and I won't worry about you." I do call it beautiful, because I know Bev loves me, and she showed it. She flew a thousand miles to be at my side, to help me, and to take the time to understand. We need more of that in the world. We may not agree with each other, but we can treat each other with love and dignity. If Bev truly believed there was moral flaw in what I was doing, she would have pointed it out, but would still have continued to love me.

      I am surprised at times with the non-Christian comments I hear regarding others, on the basis of morality. The comments do not reflect Christian love. Let me say here I am not a moral relativist. I do believe in natural law and morality and God and the Bible. I don't believe in "affirming everyone in their okay-ness." God's example of love was to give totally, even to the point of coming to Earth as a baby, a man, and offering himself as a sacrifice in atonement for the sins of the whole world. Jesus taught us how to love.

      Unfortunately, we fall short far too often in modeling that love. Ghandi was once asked what he thought was the biggest obstacle to the spread of Christianity. His answer: "Christians." Many of us are familiar with the words in the hymn, "And they'll know we are Christians by our love, by our love; yes they'll know we are Christians by our love." Yikes. I don't think we're always great examples. I won't go into politics ‘cause I'd be blogging for days. Suffice it to say: "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington." We need more politicians like Jimmy Stewart as Mr. Smith in the movie.

     We need to love more. We need to take the time to know each other and to understand each other. We may not convince or be convinced of a difference in beliefs, but to seek to understand is to love. To turn our backs and sneer or condescend is not love. Bruce came home the other day and at our traditional dinnertime "Highs and Highers," his "Higher" was "To find, in moral or political disagreements, a place of agreement somewhere and affirm that as the starting point for discussion." We can let our differences separate us, or we can build relationships of love. Idealistic, yes, and it gets pretty dicey on some issues. But no matter: we are called to love.

     Oh, part of me would love another baby in the house! I would. I am older and the body is weaker and the family is busy. I also love that I'm finally losing Margaret-baby-weight, becoming active again and finding just a little more time to spend with each child. I won't confuse selfish desires with purports of "God's Will." I will neither confuse selfish tendencies with the obstruction of it. Yes, I have a brain and will use it. I trust that like others, Bruce and I will pray about these things and decide what is best. Our family is our greatest earthly treasure.

     I look forward to my birthday! Life's been rough at times but it's been a very good life and I hope for many more years. I think of the sweet, diminuitive, elderly lady at our church. She is a widow now and moved from Italy long ago. I ask her how she is doing when I see her and she always answers the same. With a smile, and her thick accent she says, "What can I say? I'm eighty years old. I'm here! It's better than the alternative!" So, 48 isn't so bad. It's actually pretty cool. And when the Poker-Boys ask if this old gal is pregnant I'll laugh along with them. These kids are pretty downright amazing!

God bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

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

Reminiscing

     I remember wondering what life was like for my mother, who grew up in a very large family. I had three brothers and had what was considered an average family size at the time. Forty years later, I have a large family, when the average number of children is about two. People are curious about us. When they find out we have ten children, we hear, “Wow…how many?” or “Are they all yours?” or “I have one and I can barely keep up with him!” or comments about their own personal decisions on family size. No one has ever been unkind. People want to relate, to understand, and to be understood.

     Life is very busy, but in truth I couldn’t imagine it otherwise. Sometimes I’ll sit at the dinner table and count our children to confirm that there really are that many! Ten is a wonderful number. Each of our children is loved and treasured and unique. I remember when I had my first: Marie was the center of my world for two years. At the time, I couldn’t imagine loving anyone else like that, but then Susanna came along and, my goodness, I sure did!

     Emily and Sharon were ten and thirteen when I met them. The moment I realized I loved Bruce, I loved them. It didn’t matter if they were adorable and funny and bright and well-behaved--which they were--it was bigger than that. They were a part of the man I loved, and so I loved them. That love has only deepened and grown. They are absolutely incredible young women and they make life so special. I am very proud of them.

     Bruce and I were almost forty when we married, and we loved the thought of having another child. We understood that, realistically, we could be unable to have children and might need to adopt. We were able to have more, more than we imagined! Six in about eight years. God had a lot of work to get done in a short amount of time, I guess. Yes, I am tired often, but we are greatly blessed. I have friends who have grandchildren, who travel a lot, who play golf a few times a week, who have seemingly unlimited free time. I’m human and not exempt from whining a bit, but I wouldn’t trade places. This is right for us.

     Today, Max and Gus were sick and stayed home from school. I told Ben that I’d drive him to Kindergarten and stop first at McDonald’s. We had fun and actually dined in. I could see the little groups of elderly male regulars, all smiling at Ben. Were they thinking of their grandchildren, or their children? Were they remembering what it was to be five? They watched as he bumbled around, gazing at the soda machine and the case of featured “Happy Meal” toys. Mom had to redirect him a few times toward the menu board and his order. Ben picked a booth right beside a group of silver-haired men animatedly discussing local commerce. More smiles. Ben worked at his giant breakfast while Mom watched him and listened, and imagined his life the future.

     Will he be a husband, a father, a grandfather? God willing, Ben will live to a ripe old age. Perhaps he’ll have a weekly breakfast with old friends. One day, maybe a little boy will come into the restaurant with his mother, and Ben will find himself smiling, thinking back to life in a big family, to being five years old, and to a time when he and Mom made time stop for just a little while.

God Bless you,

The Abbey Farm

　

Forgiven

     I burned the gasket in our microwave today. It’s not even a year old. The warranty won’t cover it. “User-unfriendly button placement” isn’t on the list of things covered. “User error” is--on those things not covered. It’s a bummer.  It was simply a matter of pressing “power” rather than “timer.” I smelled burning plastic after only 5 minutes. Thankfully nothing caught on fire. We really use our microwave a lot. What a convenience! Is there anyone out there who doesn’t have one? I’d love to hear from you. How do you do it?

     I remember the first microwave I ever saw. It was huge. My friend's family owned it. I have mentioned Bev, who cooked in Canada with me. We had so much fun at her house. We experimented with cooking all sorts of foods in it. We microwaved bacon (messy), cookies (cool to watch them rise, but not a great final product), and Bev’s favorite: Bisquick coffeecakes (genius).

     Anyway, I can forgive myself. I’ve certainly done worse. Microwaves are easy to replace. Feelings are not so easy to mend. We teach our children to apologize and to ask forgiveness. And we teach them to forgive. It is not always easy, but they really need to learn while they are young. After an apology, to hear “It’s OK,” just isn’t as good as “I forgive you.” First of all, it wasn’t OK. Whatever was done was wrong--or perhaps an accident. Second, it offers better resolution. Most of all, it’s what Christ taught us to do, not because it makes us weak or passive, but strong. St. John Bosco said, “Let forgiveness be your sword.”

     It is certain that some things are easier to forgive than others. Some things can eat at us for years if we haven‘t forgiven. The TV shows like Jerry Springer and those “judge” shows are offensive to me. I don’t want to revel in someone else’s revenge, retribution or poor decisions. I feel bad for them.  Less offensive, but still hard for me, are the real cases you hear about with disproportionate damages paid. Like the classic hot coffee spilled by the customer at McDonald's. There are places for damages to be paid, but I feel as though there is abuse in many cases.

     I have a good friend who struggled with anger toward someone who was partly responsible for a loved one’s death. The fact that that someone felt no responsibility and no remorse made it even harder. She told me that after rehashing the story to the umpteenth friend, she realized no matter how many people she vented to, no matter how many others sided with her, there was no magical number she would reach when her pain would be healed. Rather, she found that her pain worsened. Somehow she had to find the power to forgive. It was especially hard that the person didn’t care to be forgiven. But she forgave, and was healed of the anger. That person was really in God’s hands.

     Forgiveness is healing. I know that there are circumstances where it is humanly impossible to do so. God gives us the grace if we ask Him. We may not even feel it as we utter the words. It may take time. It is a process.  I have struggled before. I’ve had situations in my life that called for a great amount of grace from God to forgive. Sometimes it took years to heal. There were times when I was stubborn. But God was patient.

     In the scheme of things a microwave is pretty easy to deal with.There are much harder situations.  I pray that if you have a tough situation, that you will find the ability to forgive. It may be that you need to forgive yourself. God says He’ll forgive anyone with a contrite heart. He doesn’t require self-loathing or disgust. Just faith in His love. The fresh start comes with great peace.

God bless you!

The Abbey Farm

Going On

     This January marked the 92^nd anniversary of Boston’s Great Molasses Flood. It sounds implausible but on January 15, 1919 it took 21 lives, injured 150 people, killed horses, destroyed buildings and cost hundreds of thousands of dollars in damages. At that time molasses was a top commodity. A tank had been built on Commercial Street near Keany Square to hold over 2 million gallons. It was a huge tank and it provided a great financial advantage for the Purity Distilling Company. Tragically, its construction was rushed. For a few years after it was built groaning noises could be heard coming from it. Fermentation of the molasses on an unseasonably warm day caused the tank to explode and a wall of molasses 30 feet high rolled through the streets at an estimated 35 mph. The force of the explosion knocked a nearby house off its foundation, took out an overhead railway and shattered windows for a mile. People drowned in a wave of molasses. All for a company’s greed and pride.

     I don’t remember learning about this event in school. I read about it last year in an almanac that Marie got for Christmas. I later read a book about it, “The Dark Tide,” by Stephen Puleo. I’m not sure what intrigued me most about the event: the bizarre tragedy or the sadness of the loss of life. Perhaps it was the reminder that life can change in an instant.

     Ever since my late husband’s death I have been aware of the fragility of life and of our plans. When asked about my thoughts on the end of the world they come quite easily. Regardless of the second coming or the apocolypse or the end of the world, all we truly have is now. We don’t know if we’ll die tomorrow or next year or in thirty years. We don’t know how much time we have left any more than we know when the world will come to an end. Even if someone’s prophesy were correct and the date was set, our time is uncertain.

     What is important is how we live the here and now. To seek truth, to love as God loves us. To live prudently and wisely. To teach our children the same…to be moral, giving and forgiving people. As Christians, to live as Christ taught us.
   
     Invariably, we’ll fall short. But we must try. Apathy or dispair are not good options. Tragedy and loss are difficult. I have lost close loved ones, I know the pain and the difficulty of going on. My late mother-in-law lost her son. I saw her pain. I saw her faith and the strength that came from it. Years later after more terrible losses and multiple, serious health problems, people asked her how she kept going. She answered, “I could give in and become depressed and be of no good to anyone. But there are people who still need me, and I have to look at the blessings that God has given me, what I have, not what has been lost.”

     Ninety-two years ago the world changed suddenly for many Bostonians. Some lost their livelihood, some their homes, some lost their loved ones. I pray that God gave them the strength to go on. I hope that they were able to see blessings and to live to see more.

Through our losses or suffering or difficulties, I pray that we are able to see all of our blessings, too.
God bless you,

　
The Abbey Farm

Goat Theology

　

      Have you ever wondered why goats get such a bad rap in the Bible? I guess I didn't really either until I owned them. We have a herd of Nubian goats on the farm. My friend, Christy, owns Providence Farm, an amazing family farm that produces goat milk, cheese, goat milk soap, artisan breads and more. Christy is from Alaska and is one of the most fascinating people I know. Her goats are fat and beautiful and healthy. Of course I would seek her help when we decided that we wanted a healthier milk alternative. Goat milk has a smaller protein which is better metabolized by humans than cow’s milk. I was interested in trying something that had no hormones and that would be fun to produce. Marie and Susanna were game and Christy helped us get started.

     Goat milk is very creamy; it is naturally homogenized. If you want cream you have to have a special cream separator. I defy anyone to sense a “goaty” (caproic acid) smell in the milk, as long as the goats are healthy and NOT kept with a buck. Does (females) have an almost lovely lanolin smell. Bucks--well--not nice. We do own bucks and they are usually kept separate from the does. When we went to Christy’s to pick up our first goats I fell in love with a different kid, “Starbuck.” His name had nothing to do with the company or coffee. His mother was “Star” and he was a “buck,” and that’s how he earned his name. Fluffy and café-au-lait colored, small and snuggly and sweet, I did think of a warm, creamy cup of coffee. I was taken. He’s big and stinky now, but still sweet and quite a character. We had him pastured with the horses for a while. He was very affectionate with Snowball the pony. Snowball was barely tolerant.

     Thanks to Starbuck, we’ve had kids born on the farm now, too, and they are really adorable. They are such affectionate animals, really more like dogs. They call to Marie as soon as they hear her coming out to feed. Susanna soon lost interest in the work (it can be demanding when they‘re in milk), though still thinks they’re "cute." Marie is the goat farmer. Really, she gets the credit for any aspect of The Abbey Farm being called an actual farm. She feeds all the animals and manages their care…horses, goats, dogs, cats, chickens, assorted strays and injured wild. As to the latter, she has successfully rescued birds, turtles, bunnies and even a fawn.

     So back to my original question: Sheep vs. Goats. Lambs, I know, relate to Jesus in the Bible. He was the Pascal Lamb. He was innocent and loved by His Father who sacrificed Him for our salvation. In the Old Testament God promised Abraham, who for so long was childless, that he would have descendants that would "number the stars." Yet God asked Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son Isaac. Of course God stopped him. The typology to Christ is all throughout the Old Testament. The Jews sacrificed lambs on Passover and at other times. They were instructed to pick the finest lamb of the herd and then have it live in their house for two weeks. Can you imagine how attached the children and even adults would become to this soft, adorable creature? The sacrifice, when made, was not easy. Christ’s sacrifice was not easy.

     Lambs are as cute as goat kids, but grown sheep to me are kind of flighty and hard to get close to. The goats are perhaps not as cloud-like or stuffed-animal-like, but just have more personality and affection. So why are they “separated from the sheep” like “chaff from wheat” in the Bible?

     I asked Christy. I figured she’d be a little indignant, too. She surprised me. “It makes so much sense, Suzy.” She wasn’t offended. Here’s the Theology lesson she taught me: “Sheep stay out of trouble by staying with the herd. They’re much harder to single out by predators. They listen to their master.” Hmmm, I had to think about that. “Goats, while more inquisitive--and maybe because of it--get themselves in trouble and sometimes don’t want to be together. Separated, they’re an easier target.”

     Made total sense to me.  I thought of the allusion to human behavior. Intelligence and inquisitiveness and passion are strengths. It is the desire to put one’s pride above caution and self above others that can lead to problems. There’s fuel for a year long course in Theology about this one. God made us capable and intelligent and quite amazing. We can change our world for the good or for the bad. The important thing, it seems to me, is foresight, caution, caring for the world we have, love of every person, and the consideration of God’s intention and design.

     All that from goats! I never thought I’d own them, but they’re pretty special here on the Abbey Farm. Good for milk and fun and affection and lessons in life and love.

God bless you!


The Abbey Farm

Memories of Batavia

     We all have favorite childhood memories. Many of mine took place in Batavia, Ohio. Aunt Irma and Uncle Carl managed a tobacco farm with a big farmhouse, a beautiful lake, a large barn and lots of outbuildings. In any given year there were hutches of rabbits, dogs, and cats with litters of kittens. We drove each year from Maryland to visit for a week. It was kid nirvana. Especially the lake. The men would go frog-gigging at night and the Moms would fry up the legs for a feast. It probably sounds awful, but they really were tasty. I always wanted to go along with the men but was told it was too dangerous. Flashlights, darkness, tipsy boats, deep water and long spears called gigs--did make for a haunting image in my young mind.

     We spent idyllic hours fishing from the bank of the lake. My cousins Steve and Jeff were a lot of fun. Other cousins came to visit while we were there. Along with my brothers we’d fish, play in the old tobacco barn, run around like nuts inside the farmhouse, and play wiffle-ball or Sunday-ball in the yard. There was a long gravel lane with grass growing in the center that headed up to the farm. A screened-in porch wrapped around the frame house. One of the doors had an old-fashioned doorbell that you would twist like a wind-up music box, only it was bigger and made a very loud, brassy sound.

     I can’t remember exactly why the house had two kitchens, but one had to be entered from the outside. There was a second refrigerator in it and (sorry, Aunt Irm!) we would sneak in and snitch food and soda pop. Grandma Breiner would make the family’s favorite dessert, Dobos Torte, and store it in the extra refrigerator. Nothing escaped our kid eyes. Dobos Torte was and is far better than any dessert. Created by Hungarian baker Jozsef Dobos in 1906, my Grandmother’s version had about a dozen thin sponge cake layers filled with chocolate-coffee buttercream and iced with a thick Hungarian chocolate frosting. Sliced thinly, it was an experience like no other. It melted in your mouth and left you smiling for hours.

     When the smiles wore off and clarity returned, we snuck into the second kitchen. We were stealthy. We’d open the refrigerator as softly as we could (back then they had big clunky latches). With a knife slipped from the main kitchen we’d make precise, surgical cuts so that no one would ever know we had been there. I can imagine the taste now.

     As a young adult I baked Dobos Tortes for a local restaurant. At that time there were no warnings about using raw egg in dishes; the buttercream and icing incorporated them. Thankfully, no one was ever reported ill. It was the hit on the menu. Later I adapted the recipe and stopped using raw eggs. Not exactly the same, the buttercream a little softer, but still pretty heavenly. A couple years ago I sent one in to Bruce’s office for the Christmas Party and Dessert Contest. I knew it would be a shoe-in. I told Bruce to be sure to refrigerate it until about an hour before serving. I arrived late to the party, the judging had been done. The Dobos Torte was slumped and resembled pudding squishing out of the sides of a stack of askew pancakes. It didn’t win. Bruce was sure I told him expressly not to refrigerate it. It was okay. A lot of people still came up and said it tasted really good. We still laugh.

     We’re due for a Dobos Torte. I wish I hadn’t started Weight Watchers just yet, or that I’d thought to make it a few weeks ago. It must be about 157 (plus) points on the PointsPlus Program. But then, some things are just worth it; I’ll make it soon and post pictures and the recipe.

     My children will have some of the wonderful memories I had from my childhood. They are growing up on a farm with a big house, a barn, a pond and lots of animals. Though I don’t think their mother will fry up frog’s legs, I will make Dobos Torte for them. And, no doubt, they will try to sneak thin slices when no one is looking. I know I will.

God bless you with good memories,

The Abbey Farm

History of The Abbey Farm

     Long ago in the mid-1800’s Benedictine Monks came to Atchison, Kansas. Determined to spread the Gospel and to serve God in their work and prayer, they built a monastery and a church on the bluffs above the Missouri River. By 1890 they started work on a farm that would produce most of their food and supplies. Self-sufficiency wasn’t  trendy as it is now, it was necessity. They carved huge blocks of limestone from the property and built a house and barn. They planted a vineyard, built fence, started beehives, stocked cattle and hogs and chickens, tended a large garden, and settled into a laborious and virtuous routine.

     The monks and brothers ran the farm for a couple of decades and then decided they needed a farm manager. Over the next 50 years a succession of families inhabited the place but it was always worked by the Brothers. Charlie Wagner, now an octogenarian, was a child of one of the families. His father managed the farm for some 15 years in the thirties and forties. Charlie visits us from time to time. It is always a treat. His mind is sharp, his eyes bright and his tongue spins tales of boyhood adventures. He remembers the Brothers coming to work every day from the monastery in the horse-pulled cart, milking dairy cows, slaughtering hogs and working the fields. He remembers galloping on horseback with his brother Bert, ducking through the narrow, low bridge that went under the farm road to round up the cattle from the south pasture. He says they were amazing days, and I believe him.

     Charlie's mother worked hard. There were ten children. There were usually boarders in the house, hired farmhands. She worked to cook and clean and wash the clothing for all of them. Water was funneled into a cistern that was used for household chores and washing. A hand-dug, stone-lined well about 75 feet deep was used for drinking water. Charlie says his mother was very generous. One day about a dozen migrant workers showed up on the property. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or caution in her eyes, but she had Charlie sit them down under the shade of a tree and sent out trays of sandwiches and fresh, cold milk. Rested, fed and obliged, they continued on their way.

     Years went by. More families lived in the house. The monks said Mass in the upper room of the house, the children played in the spacious third floor. The farm produced all that it could until the day of the supermarket, when the fields lay fallow and the last of the livestock was sold. In the sixties the Galley family rented the farm and lived not in the main house, for it had become inhabitable, but in what was formerly called the “Bee House.” That was a frame house, originally attached to the main stone structure, but moved farther back on the property early on. The Galley’s were a large, prolific family, active at St. Benedict’s Church and the local Maur Hill School. The Monks sold the farm in the seventies and the land was subdivided.

     The Benedictines continue to own an adjacent parcel of a few hundred acres, leased to a local farmer. The Abbey and Monastery in Atchison are thriving. Benedictine College has earned a reputation of one of the top ten Catholic Colleges in the nation. Thirty acres remain with the original house and Bee House. In the nineties it was sold to a couple who truly infused life back into the place. The Denney’s were visionaries and took the house, which by now was damaged and populated with snakes, and renovated it into a beautiful, livable home. They decorated it with antiques and treasures they’d found at auctions and markets and opened a Bed and Breakfast. People came to get away from the city or to have a tranquil stay when visiting the historical events and attractions of the area. It was a unique experience to stay in a one-time monastery. The grounds are peaceful, the house still has its original crimped tin roof and cupola with bell tower and cross on top.

     We were blessed to purchase the farm in 2004. We were asked if we would run it as a Bed and Breakfast; we said only for our growing family of eight. And grow it did. Four more children have been born, an even dozen in the house. Benedictines are hospitable and when we bought the farm we made a promise to God that we would be, too. Yeo Joo from Korea lived with us for a year, Renata from Brazil for four, Johanna from Germany for a semester of school and currently, Bobby from Thailand. The Bee House has been home to four college girls and two families since we moved here. All have contributed richly to life here on the Abbey Farm.

     There are many more stories I’ll share over time. I wanted you to know the history of the place. It has been populated by Godly men and women. The cloud of witnesses over this place is great. It is comforting to know that people who dedicated themselves to God in work and prayer and service and hospitality filled these walls for over a hundred years. With God's grace, we’ll try to live up to their example.

May God bless you,

The Abbey Farm