An attempt to declare the Glory of God for what He has chosen to do with our lives. A legacy to leave to my children in the telling of it.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Oh Mercy!

We named the new Jersey heifer Mercy. No other name seemed to fit. It may have had something to do with the fact that I expect both of us will need quite a bit of extra mercy if the time ever does come to attempt to milk her on a daily basis. She has mostly just been enjoying her easy life of grazing on green pastures for the past couple of months since bringing her home, but the time came to gentle her if we were ever going to do it. Rather than me risking life and limb I called in the pros: two young nephews who have a reputation for being Cow Whisperers.

 Thankfully they were the first ones to rub her all over.

They even broke her to ride, in case, you know, I get the crazy idea to ride her after I'm done milking her.

She gave them a little run for their money, but all in all she proved to be just what we had hoped for with a Jersey: calm, sweet and docile.

Since Mercy proved to be so easy the boys decided to gentle Thomas the big steer. 

He now thinks he should get a hug from me every day, too. Every day until I eat you, Mr. Thomas.

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

God is Still Good

There is a frog lost somewhere in this old farmhouse. Presumably, it is under the kitchen cupboard that is awaiting its final piece of trim, but who knows. Grace informed me that the big leopard they caught (all for my benefit so I could take Fair pictures, hence the child-like logic that it's really my fault) escaped its vase and yarn cage which was placed on the countertop as of yesterday evening. This morning- no frog. I just smile. No sense of being rattled, it will emerge in due time.

Since I've last posted two toddlers in our surrounding little communities have left this world. I've found myself teetering between numbness and a deeper insanity than I already thought I had entered into. My own questioning of the sovereignty of God shocked me more when I heard the news of their deaths than when my own child died. I reason it that God gives grace and understanding when and to whom needs it. These are not my children to grieve. I can go to bed not remembering their smiling faces or hearing their sweet voices or picking up the toys and dirty laundry they left behind as physical reminders that they were really here amongst us.

God is still good, even in this. He is still sovereign. He still reigns from His throne, working out His perfect plan. I hold on to the truths of Scripture as I cry tears from a never ending well. Tears for the journey ahead of these mothers. Tears in longing for Jesus to return. Tears because even though they were not mine I still grieve their precious little lives. Tears so that I feel something.

Please pray with me today for the family of Isaiah Thies as this broken family attends a funeral for their son: pray that the gospel rings out loud and clear, pray for salvation, pray for peace, perseverance and great trust in a mighty God. Pray that Jesus comes soon.

Monday, July 1, 2013

The Busy Season

We wake up tired these days and go to bed even more tired yet. The sun starts shining earlier, and sets later, and our bodies believe that they have to keep up with it. As long as that orbiting ball of fire is making its trek across the sky we assume that there must still be time to finish one more project.

The last of the seven bottle calves are close to being weaned. The vast difference between the couple months of their births making the red and white steer appear tiny in contrast to its more mature counterparts. The Black Angus are dwarfed under the Holsteins tall, lanky forms, their growth appearing outward rather than up.

There are still five does milking, with a total of thirteen goats in all. Too many bucks make up the lot of them, with one Craigslist reply away from reducing our herd. Soon it will be weaning time for the kids as well, which puts another item on the never ending list: more goat fencing.

Our young replacement pullets are thriving, and the new clutch of Silkie chicks are protected well under the wings of their possessive momma. One little black fluff ball doesn't realize it is a Light Brahma mix  that was adopted into the Bantam family when we snuck some extra eggs under the broody hen. Soon it will tower over its siblings.

The garden is growing weeds faster than edible plants it seems, and if we don't catch up on our daily barrage we may just have to give up. Using all manual labor, busy hands digging deep in the sandy soil to remove pesky roots, makes for buff muscles and nice farmers tans.

Several new fruit trees are growing well- four peach and another pear, plus some Saskatoon blueberries that the deer seem to have acquired a taste for which continue to remind me that tree fencing needs to be wrote on that list as well. We are attempting blueberries yet again, hoping for a freezer full of them one year. There may be at least a taste for everybody in a few days if we can keep the birds away from them.

Overall, it's been another season of missing. Intensely missing my son. Longing for eternity to begin.

Almost too tired to even grieve, the pain still refuses to end. Flashbacks enjoy popping into my weary brain lately, attacking when I have little resolve to fight them off. The balance of living before the accident and after is continuous. Life goes on. A mother's heart doesn't want to. Joy is rarely ever bereft of the longing. Laughter only hides the scar, still too fresh to ignore. Somehow living here, longing to be there. Finding purpose in one more calf bottle, pulling one more weed, storing up one more treasure, praying one more prayer for all these young souls that surround me, hoping for hope, waiting for what is not yet.

I continue to be reminded that the year of the Lord's favor will come. He will:

"Provide for those who grieve in Zion-
to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness in the morning,
and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the Lord for the display of His splendor."
Isaiah 61:3

1 Thessalonians 4:13-14 tells me to not grieve like those without hope, or even to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. I believe that Jesus died and rose again and also that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. The familiar words almost become rote in my tired state. I have repeated them so often that it becomes hard to make them exciting lately. I pray for God to wake me up to the gospel again, remembering those same words being uttered just before the accident.


I stop and ponder the word again. Eternity. Going insane wondering what Trent is doing there, wondering why mine is taking so long to begin. Wondering what to do in the meantime. Begging that my children would all be found there in Heaven together.