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.

When We Can't Pick Up All The Pieces

     I had one of those great long talks with an old friend the other day. The kind that realigns you; where you bear your worst fears, relive sadness, reassess decisions made, and shed tears.  It is so important to have someone you can bear your soul to and who would never give you cause to regret that you did.

     Time changes things and that is inevitable. On the farm it is certainly true. I've chronicled the various animals arriving and the joys they brought. We still have joy, but we have had to live with some difficult losses. Annabell was never able to conceive and so we could not keep her. One philosophy about working farms that is difficult for non-farm folk to understand is that if an animal, or crop, or aspect, does not work in the plan, then oftentimes that part needs to be changed. Annabell was given to a very nice family. A cow named Sugar was sadly given away as well. Betsy was sold. Who would guess that I would develop a severe allergy to cow dander. I tried everything. It was very hard to give up the dream, but I started the process.

     And then one February morning I walked into the pasture and Flossy (Betsy's daughter I hadn't sold yet) had dropped a beautiful calf. We were so surprised; we did not know that at 9 months, Flossy had been bred when our neighbor's Gelbvieh bull kept hopping the fence. I'd figured Betsy was sold pregnant, but never dreamed that little Flossy was with-calf. We named him Friday for the day he was born and the dream that Marie recently had about a calf. Flossy produced delicious Jersey milk and I tried milking again. We were blessed with new tenants who wanted to milk, plus a slew of other friends who wanted to, and things worked well.

     We even bought another cow, with great plans in mind. May was a beautiful Jersey/Red Angus cross. She had a gorgeous brindle coat and she was bred. Not too long after, she dropped a bull calf and we named him Norman. All was well, but then a really tragic event occurred. One night a pack of feral dogs attacked and killed all six of Marie's sweet Nubian goats. We had hand raised most of them. Marie was away at college and for that I was thankful; the sight was one I won't forget. Over the next few weeks an anxiety came over me that was not easily shaken off. It was a long process of trying to make all of the other animals (the small ones) safe. My cow allergy worsened. I didn't sleep well.

     A month later we found May lying still in the pasture. She had died suddenly of bloat. We had a vet come out and run tests; it was a freak occurrence. I wondered what God was trying to tell us, to tell me. The stress became too much and we sold the rest of the cows--Norman to our neighbor and my dear Flossy and her Friday to a wonderful homeschooling/farmsteading family.  We also let go of one pony to the same family. In retrospect it was a dream which was not meant to last. That is what I spoke to my friend about, in sadness.

     Like the best of friends she listened, and she told me she was so sad for me. Then she said something that maybe I wasn't prepared to hear earlier, but could now. She said what a blessing there was even in the sadness. It was obvious to think she referred to the people who were gifted with our animals, and even that Marie was not home to see what happened to her precious goats. That was not all she meant. What she said that resonated deeply was, "There are so many people who will never do the things you have done, who will want to but have no farm or no means to have pets. But you always wanted horses and cows and goats and more. And for a brief time, you got to live that life of milking cows and raising goats. Maybe you will again, maybe you won't. But you did."

     She went on to tell me something we'd talked about before: "Life is full of so many puzzle pieces. We may never see them all put together, but our Lord does. He sees all the stages, all the beauty, the tragedy, and even His finished picture. We can trust that the pieces are placed before us by Him, that we can pick them up and turn them around and stare intently before placing them. Some we can move around. Some need to be put aside for another time." She made it sound so comforting, so deep and wise and true. Life would always involve change, and it would not always be easy, but we could trust the true builder of the puzzle, and we could be thankful for the pieces, even aspects of the difficult ones. Love, thankfulness and trust were the keys to working the puzzle.

     Driving home one day, pulling into our lane I saw the Robins return. Always a moment of joy in those first days, I remembered when my Mom was alive and the game she played with our landlord, Mrs. Mayo. Who would see the first Robin return after the long winter. I smiled and thought of Mom. My heart ached with missing her, a tear fell down my cheek but was replaced by a smile. What memories! I realized that some of the puzzle pieces would stay exactly where they were for the rest of my life, not to be picked up again. I might not see the finished picture, but much of what had been laid down and interlocked carefully--or even hastily or even forced--was there to stay.  And that was okay. It continues to be built. A beautiful and unique picture in the journey of a life.

Seeing Through Busy

          Every one of my friends will say that their life is busy. I remember seeing a commercial from the 1950s which predicted that all of the new electric appliances would give women so much more leisure time! I do not think they understood the "Size of a Woman's Purse" philosophy. I don't know if I made that up, but I do know that whatever the size of my purse--it is filled to the brim. The same with "extra time." It gets filled. It is too cliché to say that many of us don't know how to say "no." We want what is best for our loved ones, our family, our husbands and our community. Our cup fills, and runneth over.

          I have not posted for a very long time. Life has been busy. Our two oldest are now married! The next two are in college and all the rest are in school this year. So did I make more leisure time? Did I dive into housework? Neither. I took on three jobs and started my graduate degree. As I write this it seems nuts, but every decision at the time was a right one. Each job is very part-time. It is the masters in nursing education which takes the most time, but I have loved it. I think it would be fun to be independently wealthy and become a full-time student. I love learning so much. I also love inspiring students to learn when I tutor, teach a nutrition course and teach clinicals. And I love being a home health and hospice nurse on the weekends. So much good stuff!

          It is running over in good and not so good ways. I now remember what a conflict it is juggling home and work. We had another lovely young lady live with us last year. Stephania is back in Columbia and we miss her terribly. She was truly one of the finest young people I have ever known. She helped our family immensely. I have decided that I am taking a few months off my graduate studies to dive back into my most important role: Mom.  It is only a delay in my studies, and I know I won't regret the time with my family. The best of Moms take care of themselves, but they figure out how to give their best to their families. It is not always clear-cut, and sometimes it is difficult; but it is a great goal.

      

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 

Timeshare Worth It After All?

     We had a wonderful Christmas. Our oldest daughter Emily and son-in-law Jason drove up from Alabama. All of our children were at home under one roof. There is just nothing better. Not even expensive trips and cruises. Home is where it's at, in my book.

     That is not to say that vacations aren't fun. Or good for you. Traveling is not essential, in fact in most cases it's a luxury--but sometimes a break is in order.  Relaxation and recharging of batteries.

     We made plans to go to Branson, Missouri after Christmas.  I was really conflicted about going. I'm on a once a day milking schedule with Betsy the cow and though my friend Christy and her family offered to take care of the place while we were gone, up until the last minute I thought I might let the family go without me. Pongo, our month old Angus/Hereford bull calf,  had just bloated. Bloat in cattle can be life threatening. I figured I would stay home with Mary Pat and have a bit of a "staycation." But that didn't feel right either. And Pongo miraculously got better.

     We bought Timeshare for a reason--to force us to go on vacation. So I went. And I was reminded of some important things...

1.  I love my family, even if we're not perfect, even if the lady in the room below complained that we woke her baby up with the noise and something falling off her wall. My children can be rowdy, but in truth, each year do better with traveling.

2.  I love my husband, even when we fall into bed exhausted and cranky, wondering why we drove so far, far away to experience stress on yet a new and unique level. He took the children to museums and movies. He dealt with drama, he put up with me. He is an amazing person.

3.  Branson, MO really is fun, even (maybe especially) when you take ten children, a couple of whom aren't yours.

4.  Expensive lunches can be worth it if the waiters throw bread at you (Lambert's Cafe). Lots of stops on long car trips are not all bad.

5. A break from home and farm chores helped me relax, think and put things in perspective.

6.  Friends you can count on to feed scores of livestock and milk your Jersey cow are priceless, the kind who devise a way to throw a blanket over a normally placid indoor-weinerdog-turned-snapping-killerdog to get it outside for a potty break.

7.  And finally, I love coming back home. There is no sad feeling that vacation is over...I can't wait to drive up the lane.

                               

                                                        "Home is where the heart is."

           
                                                               With our loved ones.

 

"A family is holy not because it is perfect but because God's grace is at work in it, helping it to set out anew everyday on the way of love."

- U.S. Catholic Bishops, Follow the Way of Love There are all sorts of families. Spiritual, adopted, nuclear, extended. Draw strength from yours. Give of yourself to them. To another. On vacation, at work, at home. Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year!

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

An Old Dog

     In December of 2011 I decided that it was time to transfer my RN (Registered Nurse license) from Maryland to Kansas. Since I have not been employed as a nurse for a decade (other than in my own family!), I was required to take a Nurse Refresher course. I searched for an approved University and got underway.

     For RNs thinking about a refresher course, I highly recommend it. Yes, it's a bother, but for good reason. The toughest part is the required number of clinical hours. For Maryland it's 80, but for Kansas it's 180. That's a significant amount of time away from family--without pay! But it must be done and so I am in the middle of it.

     The course is self-pacing and I took my time over about 5 months to finish the didactic--or, online written--component. During that time I contacted local hospitals, nursing homes and school systems to create my clinical plan. One must design their own, securing permissions from the clinical sites and lining up precepters. The summer was busier than I expected and I didn't get started until August, but I am plugging away at it.

     Patient care has not really changed. Equipment has changed somewhat, as to be expected. Computer technology has changed the most. In my hospital, one unit still has handwritten charting identical to what I remember, but the rest incorporate 75-90% computerized charting. Pros and cons are probably obvious; it is what it is, and I...am learning. The patients are the best part. They are why I remained an RN for now 27 years.

     I am trying to make the best of every hour. In the last few weeks, besides all of the skills performed, I've been blessed to help on a delivery, instruct a new Mom how to nurse her baby, watch a little brother see his baby sister for the first time, help older patients ambulate, and simply encourage people. The bonds with new co-workers are forming swiftly and I am happy to be doing this again. Bruce is  managing the home very well while I'm away and the welcome home I get after each shift is priceless. "Why are you in that costume, Mom?" I tell them I am a nurse and they smile proudly and run and tell their siblings.

     It is all working out. I am still Mom and I love that the most. At a time such as ours with the economy shaky, it is the right time to reclaim my hard-earned RN. Mary Pat's LPN's have been my inspiration. They are some of the hardest working and loving individuals I have known. There are two local schools of nursing and I would like one day to help to educate future nurses like them.

     So this "old dog" is indeed learning new tricks, as well as re-learning some old ones. There is a Chinese proverb that says that you should "take your dragons to tea." I am. This is a little scary, but it is very, very rewarding.

All is well on the 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.

A Rolling Stone...

     And another school year has begun! One homeschooling highschool senior, a junior who switched from public to parochial, four in elementary school and two in preschool! Our oldest is approaching her first wedding anniversary and lives in Alabama, our second oldest is now an Engineer working for a firm in the big city! There is no moss gathered.

     Bobby is back in Thailand and Alberto is in Mexico. I miss them terribly, my Thai and Mexican sons.  It is hard when foreign exchange students leave. They will forever be a part of our family. Bobby is working on a chance to study in Japan to learn yet a fourth language, and Alberto is finishing his senior year, happily surrounded by his family and friends.

     The livestock count has grown by a couple more dogs, five goat kids, five rescue kittens and a milk cow. I finally got my milk cow! Annabell is a Jersey due to deliver her calf and produce milk in the Spring. I am busily reading all about small cattle operations, both beef and dairy.

     Annabell was purchased from a lovely family with eleven children. They own and operate the Covenant Ranch. She is quickly winning our hearts--Marie's especially, which is funny because she was against a milk cow all this time. Annabell is just so sweet. There is something so wonderful about the sounds on the farm, especially in the morning. Now we even hear moo-ing.

     For two months we heard donkey-braying while we hosted "Jack." He was lovely. We're hoping to have two mules sometime next year (by my mare Abby and Providence Hill Farm 's mare Cheyenne)!

Life has been busily lived with so many lessons learned.

Work is in progress--both on the farm and in our souls.

God bless you,

Suzy
The Abbey Farm

Seasons of Life

     My friend, Christy (http://artisanfarmsteadliving.blogspot.com), shared a soothing piece of wisdom. We were discussing all of the things we've accomplished or attempted, and how puzzling that each of those experiences was not active in some way in our present lives. For example, in the past I've baked cakes for weddings and for a restaurant. She's crafted and sold handmade dolls. We've each tried various diets (macrobiotic, low-protein, low-carb) but have not settled on "the one way of eating." I've actively foxhunted, ridden competitively and run races, but am not now. Of course, we agreed, you can't do everything. But I have felt that I should be incorporating most things, especially if they were healthy, helpful, or fun. If I'm not doing "it all," shouldn't there at least be some evidence of having done or learned these things?

     I have wondered that at my age, shouldn't I be a lot further along in peaceful, organized self-actualization? Will I finally feel I'm "there" when I'm 80? The last two months have been busy on The Abbey Farm. Christmas, illnesses, two new ponies, a new goat, two new puppies, a teen with a lead part in a play, new renters, and tragically, the death of a precious friend.

     Writing, usually a joy to me, fell by the wayside.

     The comforting piece of wisdom from Christy was this: It is natural that we go through "seasons" in our lives. The phases and experiences are like individual puzzle pieces. They may fit together well at one time or another, but the reality is that at times a piece is dropped off the table. For each season, the puzzle of our life looks a little different. The pieces on the floor are not reminders of failure, but of richness of experience.

     Once upon a time I dreamed with my Mom of owning a Bed and Breakfast together. We took a Mother-Daughter trip to New England in autumn and stayed at a beautiful B&B. We had a memorable time laughing and planning.  Life, however, went in a different direction. Mom passed away a decade later and our plans never materialized.

     I may not be doing everything the way I thought I would at this point, but who is? Life is good. It is busy, it is challenging, and though I may not do it all well, humility and thankfulness are the greatest lessons learned.

     What season are you in? Is it challenging?  I pray that God gives you the grace to trust Him; that however your path goes, it ultimately brings Him great glory, and you salvation. We are all works in progress.

God Bless you,

Suzy
The Abbey Farm

When we bought this farm, it had most recently been used as a Bed and Breakfast. I am now entertaining and working and cooking every day for the people I adore most--my family. I do make plenty of breakfasts. Perhaps I got my B+B afterall. And Mom's looking down from heaven smiling!

Wonder and Thanks

     Autumn has passed too swiftly. It is my favorite season, though I enjoy them all. Marie commented on the fall colors, that even after the trees have shed their vibrant leaves and the sky has become paler, the shades of gold, brown and grey are tranquil and beautiful.

     Thanksgiving was celebrated for the first time without our oldest daughter. Emily and Jason made their first turkey together in Alabama, sweet newlyweds. Bobby, having experienced American Thanksgiving last year, looked forward to the feast. Alberto, our newest foreign exchange student from Mexico, learned anew our traditions. We have much for which to be thankful.

     The migratory flocks of geese have settled on our pond, honking and flapping, splash-running to take-off at the sight of our dogs, then circling and pitching in to land once again in spectacular fashion. It doesn't get old watching them.

     It seems that winter has already begun. Frost on the ground and ice patches on the road. Tonight the children will put out their shoes in the centuries-old tradition of St. Nicholas' Feast Day. My Austro-Hungarian grandparents also kept this tradition when my mother was a child. St. Nicholas' Feast Day is December 6th. The children will awaken to some chocolate gold coins and a few little gifts, and we'll celebrate the generosity of St. Nicholas of Myra.

     St. Nicholas was born in the third century to a wealthy family in what was then Greece, now Turkey. He was orphaned in childhood and dedicated his life and inheritance to helping the unfortunate. Upon hearing about the daughters of  a local poor man who were to be seized and sold into prostitution to pay a debt, St. Nicholas tossed three bags of gold down the man's chimney in the dark of night. The man was able to pay his debt and his daughters were saved. St. Nicholas was said to be present at the Council of Nicea in 325 and fought against the Arian Heresy. He is remembered for his love of children and those in need.

     As a child I grew up with the more modern tradition of Santa Claus. We watched "Miracle on 34th Street," and "A Charlie Brown Christmas," and loved them. We also went to church and celebrated the birth of God Incarnate, the baby Jesus.  My Dad dressed up as Santa when I was five and I steadfastly clung to the belief until almost ten years old. I was upset when I learned that Santa Claus was not real, that he did not visit the whole world overnight, slide down our chimney and leave presents. I remember the disillusionment.

     As an adult, I determined that there must be a way to incorporate both traditions, focusing on the true meaning of Christmas.  So we see Santa at the mall, we read stories about the North Pole and Rudolf, and we watch Charlie Brown's friends surprise him each year with his transformed Christmas tree. We go to church throughout the season. We talk about Santa as a legend borne from the real St. Nicholas, the great man of God who devoted his life to Jesus Christ. Who strove to follow Jesus' example of love and self-sacrifice.

God bless us all this Christmas, especially those who are suffering and in need. Let us remember all that we can be truly thankful for, and all that we can do to make a difference in our world.

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

Reconciling Arnie

Arnie on our John Deere "B"

     The film “The Straight Story” tells the true story of Alvin Straight, an elderly man who travels 240 miles to visit his estranged, dying brother. He has neither seen nor spoken with him in years.  Unable to obtain a driver’s license because of his age and health, he makes the journey across Iowa and Wisconsin--on his John Deere 110 lawn mower. We follow him on this six week journey through the picturesque countryside and the relationships he forms with people of all ages and backgrounds.



The Straight Story http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8OnsVDKjhpc

     Alvin was a World War II Veteran. One might pay him little attention if passed on the street.  But we see that he offers much more than meets the eye. He impacts the life of every person he encounters. Without giving more away there is a scene in which he talks about coming to terms with what he suffered in the war. “A lot of us drank after that…” he remarks. That scene made me cry.

     My father, Arnie, had it tough as a kid. His father died when he was only four. In the same year his mother met and fell in love with a man who did not want children. Dad was left on the doorstep of his paternal grandmother on a cold winter day in 1934. Clara had been out shopping and when she saw him she scooped him up in loving arms, took him inside and raised him with his aunts and uncles. She had grievously lost her youngest son that year and saw in her grandson an amazing gift. Dad loved her dearly.

     After her sad passing ten years later he went to live with his maternal grandmother. At that time he met and began dating my mother.  He fought in the Korean War at eighteen.  When it was over he was drafted again--this time into his lifelong dream--by the Cincinnati Reds Ballclub. Dad was a hard hitter and a great fielder. One night in a pre-season game he threw his body into second base with an athletic hook-slide. Realizing he would severely spike the second baseman he switched slides--something players are coached not to do. He shattered his left ankle, his career over before the regular season even started. The doctors said he could never play professionally again.

     Once more he picked himself up, dusted off and moved on. He married Lizzie and went to work as a banker. They had four children.  Well, more, really. Mom had three miscarriages, and my baby brother was stillborn. Mom was saintly and heroic. Dad stoic.

     Very few knew what Dad had lived through. He was outgoing and sociable. Extroverted and energized by people, he could talk with anyone. Everyone loved him.  I think even my teenage friends hung out at our house not so much for my brothers and me as for Dad. He was engaging and fun. It was not out of the ordinary for Dad to bring home dinner guests and Mom was always game. Once he met the crew of the Zerstorer Rommel in the Baltimore Harbor and brought the German sailors home. For the whole weekend. We played soccer and swam in the river and cooked out.  Classic Dad.

     But he carried much sadness deep within him, and by the time I was in junior high, I was aware that he struggled with alcohol.  It was difficult to deal with as a teen. I sensed unhappiness somewhere and I couldn't fix it, try as I might. His sanguine moments kept it bearable.  And his love for God.  Deep down Dad was humble, repentant, aware of his mistakes and, like a lot of us, much harder on himself than anyone else.  

Dad rode at Ft. Belvoir and thereafter held an affection for horses

     In the 1980's my grandmother's health was such that she could not live on her own. Dad helped her move out of the farmhouse she'd shared for decades with my late step-grandfather. Dad had reconciled with them years before. He took my grandmother into his home and cared for her well into her eighties. It was a great witness of forgiveness and love.      

      Dad passed away in October of 1995, a year before his mother. I was comforted with certain knowledge of his love for us. The teen years held some scars, but none too deep for healing. Not long after I lost Dad one of my students lost her father. I was remarking to a co-worker about how fascinating, successful and loved her father--a pretty famous man--had been, and how she could be very proud of him. My co-worker, a recovering alcoholic, leaned over the table intuitively and said, “Suzy, your Dad could very well have been more successful with what he was given in life, than that other man.” The truth of his statement struck solidly in my heart.

     I thought back through Dad’s life. In the Korean War he was a forward scout. He and his radio man, Jimmy, were well into enemy territory when they were closed off on the side of a steep hill. They took fire and Jimmy was gruesomely killed in front of Dad, who pulled the radio off his friend’s body and called in artillery on his own position.  He scrambled up the hill believing he would not make it. The ordnance hit just as Dad got clear.  He was chased for days, many times hearing the enemy shouting taunts at him while he hid in the cover of brush and snow. He finally escaped and made it back to his unit. For his performance and valor he received the Bronze Star.

     As a child I would see him staring at the medal, thinking he must be very proud. But nothing could have been further from the truth. I understood years later when he was dying. He wept one night on a hospital bed as I held his hand. He paused suddenly, looked at me with moist eyes and said softly,  “I’ll finally see Jimmy again.” He slept deeply then. I realized that he had carried the responsibility and weight of Jimmy’s death with him all of his life. He had carried many losses.

     Dad lived two more years and he seemed a changed man. Sweet and happy, he was the father I loved so dearly. Reconciling death and the past was healing for him. Peritoneal dialysis, scores of medications and injections were taken without complaint. He was happily playing cards one evening with my mother, brother, aunt and uncle when his heart suddenly stopped. He slipped away in my brother's arms, my mother's name on his lips. At the funeral I remembered his words from the hospital bed and I smiled thinking of his reunion with Jimmy, with his beloved Clara, with the father he had barely known.

     I will always miss my father. He gave me so much, taught me so much. He helped me see that there are Arnies and Alvins all around us. That each person's life, regardless of age or condition, is important and complex. That through reconciliation we are given grace and peace--and we begin again, anew. Scars may remain, but they are reminders of our capacity to love, to be loved, to hurt and to heal. Life holds pain but it holds so many more blessings. We have only to begin again each day, to be thankful in all, to seek to forgive and to be forgiven. To be reconciled to our one true Father, through His dearly loved Son, who took on all the pain of humanity, and is the key to peace that passes all understanding--and to Joy.

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

Angels

     I was quoted in an article written about Mary Pat as saying that her guardian angel “must be St. Michael the Archangel himself.”  Do you believe in angels? I suppose I always have. A young man came to live with my family when I was nine or ten. His family situation was difficult and my parents took him in. He was a gifted musician and directed our church choir. He read the Bible to us every night, and I came to know Jesus that year. I am eternally grateful.

     I learned about angels and the whole order of God’s creation.  Sometime in high school I read a book by Billy Graham about angels. It was very good. I think most of you are familiar with the story. God created the angels with free will. Perhaps they caught wind of God’s plan to make man in His image, or that God would come to the Earth as a man, or that one day man would be higher than the angels. Lucifer rebelled and took a third of the angels with him. They were cast to Earth and became demons. I am sure that it sounds ridiculous to some, but then, a friend recently commented that it takes more faith to be an atheist…

     Imagine, even if you don’t believe in them, that they are real. That they really do care about us, that one is assigned to each of us and cares about us. I think mine would be pretty sad when I choose to do some of the dumb things I do. There is a joke about God sending lots of help to a man caught in a flood, in the way of a boat and a helicopter, but he drowned because he did not recognize God’s form of aid. Perhaps we don’t recognize the help we can receive from God’s angels.

     There are a lot of stories in our town about haunted houses. We’ve had people drive up our lane and ask if our house is haunted. One ghost hunter stayed for an extended chat. I gave her my copy of St. Faustina Kowalska’s diary. Faustina saw visions of men and women suffering who were in need of mercy, both in this life and in the next. She had a beautiful relationship with Jesus and had the image of Him from her visions painted. He taught her “The Divine Mercy Chaplet,” a beautiful prayer of mercy for all man.

     I am not fascinated like the ghost hunters. I believe it’s quite possible that the fallen angels who have been here for a longer time than all of us--can imitate pretty much anyone. Confusion and fear are from Satan. Not God. 

     I think if there were spirits hanging around our house, they’re some pretty good ones. Many good men devoted to God and his creation spent a lot of time on this farm. They'd make up a pretty sweet cloud of witnesses. I don’t claim to have it all figured out. Maybe I just like to see things from a more positive perspective.



The Priests and Brothers at The Abbey Farm in the early 1900's



     
     We do celebrate Halloween--”All Hallow’s Eve.” And “All Saints Day.” And “All Soul’s Day.” We avoid focusing on the too-scary or creepy. We may have a token Princess or Winnie the Pooh costume, maybe even a superhero, but we try to gear the rest after angels and saints. Their examples and lives offer so much more history and inspiration.



The boys with our living saint: Renata



     We like to pray the “St. Michael Prayer” after each Mass. The boys pray the Guardian Angel prayer at night. A few months ago Gus said that he would call his angel ”Joseph.” It made me think of  ”Clarence” and his head angel “Joseph” in “It’s A Wonderful Life.”  In “The Bishop’s Wife” I love the angel “Dudley,” played by Carrie Grant. Another movie about angels that comes to mind is” Der Himmel Uber Berlin” (English title, “Wings of Desire”), 1987. Perhaps not theologically or angelically accurate, but inspiring nonetheless.

Wings of Desire

The Bishop's Wife

Clarence: It's a Wonderful Life

It's A Wonderful Life

     If we are to emulate someone, be intrigued, shocked,  fascinated and delighted , then it might as well be someone who can inspire us to do more for God’s creation—our world and all people. And how wonderful that God protects us and blesses us with His Angels.

Saint Michael the Archangel,
defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray;
and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host -
by the Divine Power of God -
cast into hell, satan and all the evil spirits,
who roam throughout the world seeking the ruin of souls.

Amen.

         Angel of God, My Guardian Dear
            to whom God's love commits me here.

Ever this day be at my side
            to light and guard and rule and guide.

Amen.

God bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

Link to Mary Pat’s article:

http://www.ncregister.com/site/article/miracle-of-mary-pat/