For the past seven months there has been one thought that has consumed me: Trent is in heaven. I don't mean that he's gone, but that he is in heaven. Look at your son. Now, try to imagine if your son knew what heaven looked like. Try to imagine if your son knew what the face of God looked like, what the scars on Jesus' hands looked like, what the throne looked like and the souls of the martyrs under the alter, besides the cherubim and the seraphim, and the Book of life. All those things we teach our kids about in Sunday school are reality for Trent. The things I long to know first hand, he knows.
We were at the zoo the other day. Half way through as we were marvelling at yet another of God's creation, it dawned on me that Trent is probably doing the same thing on a grander scale. "Look at that, look at that, can you believe God made that, look at that!" I can't even imagine.
I am beginning to live worldly again. I hate it, but it's creeping in. The reality of salvation is becoming commonplace again. The ache for God to save my children is slowly becoming a ritual again, rather than a desperate mother pleading before her King.
Today's plans and the farm repairs are rising in importance next to soul's lately. I suppose there are those who are breathing a sigh of relief and are glad that I might lay off of the "Jesus thing" now a little bit, but I am asking God for the exact opposite. All my days left here I want to be used for His Kingdom, not this one. I don't know how to balance that. The calf shed that was started last year still needs to be finished. It is important that the last pieces of siding get put on so that we are wise stewards of our possessions, but the joy of seeing that dreamed about building coming to completion is not there anymore.
I was beginning to wonder if it was the numbness of grief, but I am slowly seeing it as God's grace as I look beyond that little white shed. My mind is trying to sort what's really important and what's temporary. Mostly my brain is on survival mode at this point, and I am only functioning enough to keep my head and my soul above water. The rest gets put aside.
Goose hunting is going on in full force around us. I try to pretend that it doesn't matter, that it doesn't bother me or make me miss Trent more. But then I tell myself to quit pretending. I know that if he were here I would not have been lying in my warm, cozy bed this morning at 5:00 AM, but rather I would have been dressed in camouflage sitting in a frosty field somewhere.
I had the opportunity to share Trent's story with three different men this week; doctor's who aren't normally in our daily life, but who God put there to work miracles through. Last year we expected nothing other than scheduling our yearly checkup for September; this time when I checked out and scheduled our appointment for next September I wondered what would be different a year from now.
I thought of how we impact each other's lives without even realizing it. I thought of these men just coming to work to punch the time clock every day, not understanding the lives that they are changing. I thought of how God changes our lives in a single day. I prayed that God would use a little slip of paper to change their lives. I wondered if that doctor realized how much it meant to me that he broke professional protocol and gave me a hug when I told him my son was in heaven. I praised God for using us.
Yesterday I cried over fence posts. Yes, fence posts. Fence posts that were put in last fall with Trent's help. I touched the post, longing for any possible physical connection to my son. I fought tears as I picked up sticks and when I carried white steel siding. The tears finally overflowed when I realized I had spent the whole morning frustrated over trying to clearly communicate with a man half way down in the nation about what color I wanted used on a book cover about my son who died.
I can't explain how odd it is that Trent is gone. Just gone. You would think that seven months later I would be used to it. Someone said to me the other day, "I don't know how you will ever get over this. I don't think you will ever get over this." I gave them credit for saying anything. It wasn't as hard to hear that comment this time around as I have already heard it before. They did go on to share some very encouraging stories, offered their sympathies, and told me of how losing our child had changed their lives as well.
But still, I don't know how I will ever get over this either. I have come to realize it is not something to "get over". It's not a disease that there is a cure for. No magic pill or potion will take it away. It is a daily walk, a daily trust, a daily hope in Jesus. The only place I need to be is where He has me. Too easily I succumb to where others want me, not intentionally on their end, but where I think they must be thinking I should be. I fight to be where God has me, whether that be crying, remembering, happy, or rejoicing. They are all emotions from Him, not any of them bad in themselves, but only more reasons to remember God's words and reflect Him in them.
I wonder if I am leading or God is leading sometimes, so I stop my plans and let Him show me. And He does. I am glad to be out of the "battle zone" where I was a couple of weeks ago. There is no doubt in my mind that there are eternal battle's going on that we are not aware of. One day we will see. I think of the intensity of a friend who shared how she had been battling in prayer for me one day. Little did she know how I needed exactly that, exactly then.
The other day I realized that somebody must be praying for our marriage. Thank you. It dawned on me a while ago how God has pulled Rob and I together at a time that we could easily be pulled apart. I can't express the strength that God has given us, or the grace, or the togetherness, or the power (not sure if that word describes it right) to glorify Him together. It dawned on me that this, too, is a blessing from God.
Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city.
No longer will there be any curse.
The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve Him.
They will see his face,
and his name will be on their foreheads. There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light.
And they will reign for ever and ever.
The angel said to {John}, "These words are trustworthy and true."
From Revelation 22:1-6
This is what home school looks like in our house. Four kids, doing four different things, all at the same time. One doing math, one playing piano, one sorting letters, and one reading out loud to Mom while snuggling on the couch. We have an official "classroom", but it never fails that we do school at the dining room table.
This year I am teaching first grade through tenth grade. We have kept a lot of our same curriculum: Bob Jones reading and science, Saxon math, Spelling Power, the Bible, and lots of good books. We have fallen into a nice routine where the older kids get up and get right to work on their school work after quiet Bible time in the morning, and then I help them out as needed, which leaves us the afternoon to enjoy other projects.
Although Alexis is really the only one serious about piano and takes "real" lessons, the other kiddos are forced to daily plunking.
It only took me ten years of home schooling, but I finally came up with the great idea to buy a plastic tote for each child to keep their school books, pencils, etc., in. Two weeks into our year and it has already solved our problems of the mysterious missing workbook and pencil dilemma.
I saw the beauty in these dry, dead plants. 
I remembered when the soil was tilled months ago and the flower seeds were individually placed in the ground, covered tenderly, and even prayed over. I remembered how they sprang up slowly, then overtook their designated rows, to eventually bring vibrant color to the vegetable garden. Now, though brown and dead, their beauty shines just as bright if one is able to look past the cold winter ahead and dream about next spring. 
Martha, Esther and Jingle.
Do you know how hard it is to take a picture of a goat?! 
Almost without fail, every single year that we have raised steers (which is a lot of years), they decide that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence about three weeks before the big truck is scheduled to make an appearance at our loading chute, and decide it would be really fun to become Houdini's with the fence and sneak out to play a game of catch . . . daily.
By the time that truck does pull into our driveway those steers can consider themselves lucky that this crazy farm wife hasn't found the keys for the gun cabinet and done the duty myself. A nice juicy T-bone sounds pretty good for supper right about now.
