OurCrazyFarm

All In A Farm Week

2012-01-27T10:09:00.005-06:00

What an exciting couple of farm weeks! Within a matter of days we welcomed 16 new critters to our farm, of which I was privileged to assist in 11 of those births. The excitement continued this week on Sunday evening, while I was in the middle of making a third batch of goat's milk soap, when Cole and Micah went down to the barn to start chores. Cole came racing up to the house to anounce that there was a new baby goat! Being that Belle was overdue I expected her, but was surprised to hear that Susan had delivered a little buck. Oh-wise-goat-farmer that I am, I hadn't expected her to deliver for at least another week, so she wasnt even in a kidding stall. Cole found the baby just born and still wet outside the barn door, and by the time I could get my snow gear on and run down he had them settled into a stall. He is of the Narnia line, so we donned him "Caspian".

After finally finishing up my soap, giving up on Susan to deliver another baby, and kissing my kids goodnight I finally sat down, exhausted, to eat a very late supper . . . only to race up the stairs to get the kids out of bed because Lady's water broke. The naughty dog ran away in the excitement and busy-ness of Thanksgiving guests last fall and had a rendezvous with the neighbor dog before we realized she was missing; luckily the neighbor dog was a lab mix, too. Sixty three days later and we found ourselves surrounding her in the living room, anxious to see the first little black puppy face appear in another miracle of birth. By 1:00 a.m., after four new roly-poly pups were born, we assumed she was done so all headed up to bed. We woke up the next day to two more pups: three girls and three boys.I chanced a day away to go get groceries for my own kids, guessing and hoping that Belle wouldn't be delivering on Monday. On Tuesday morning (before the coffee was even done) I was getting ready to head down to the barn, and on my way stopped to rescue a stunned cardinal from the cats.

Once at the barn I found a suspicious looking Belle and decided to bring her up to the basement "just in case." By the time I poured my coffee and went down to check on her, she was about ready to push. Cole and I welcomed two new beautiful baby does to the farm! Hurray Belle! We needed some more girls this spring: 7 bucks and 3 does, and one of them a beautiful spotted girl besides! Cole named them Princess Leia and Padme. No more babies are due until March . . . except the order of 100 pullets which will {Lord willing} arrive next week.

"Lucky"

2012-01-23T11:30:00.012-06:00

Lucky.

As I was making the bed a while back God impressed upon me that I was the "lucky" (as in the definition of lucky meaning favored) one. Grief longed to consume that morning; the impression had been preceded by many tears, prayers, and waiting for strength to start the day. As the tears continued, the blessings that come with suffering began: I realized that I can't even get out of bed in the morning without the thoughts of heaven and eternity; I can't begin my day without coming to terms with God; I no longer consider my days my own, let alone my dreams, ideas, or my very life, but wait for God's leading.

"Lucky" is having your eyes opened to God, no matter the cost.

I spoke to a young man the other day about Jesus. My walls had been built high and strong, and I had vowed there would be no break in them for my own protection, but then this young father broke all protocol and walked over to where I stood alone. After the small talk, I asked the all important question, "How's your walk with God?"

We've all learned the game, the game of Sunday smiles and every body's saved; life will go on forever anyway and there's always tomorrow to ask and decide. But life doesn't go on forever, and tomorrow may never come. The facade of the game is shattered, and I can't stomach the rules of it any longer. A bit of digging revealed the truth, to both of us. Game over. Now truth can begin, truth can be said, fears are revealed, honesty is given words, genuine prayers can be lifted for a brave man who is walking the line of no decision being a decision that one day he will wake up to the realities of.

I talked to a mother a while back. She wondered how you get to where I am; I wanted to ask her where it is that I am. Please tell me, because I don't always know.

Where I am is clinging to God. Where I am is battling, moment to moment, for grace to believe, to trust, to hold-on. Fighting for breath, literally; fighting for reality; fighting to see beyond this world to a sovereign God who holds it all in His hands, including me. Where I am is on my knees, begging for strength. Where I am is in the Bible, constantly repeating the words and promises, trusting in them. Where I am is looking intently for God's glory, now as well as future. Where I am is believing in the One who gives and takes away. Where I am is waiting for Jesus to return and make this all right; waiting for the curse to be lifted and for the tears to be wiped away.

As the tears flowed down her face, all I could ask her was if she trusted God with her teen-age son's life. That's all that I'm doing; that's where I am.

I have been reading Uncle Tom's cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe. When I remembered part way through that the little girl dies I almost quit reading, but I am so glad that I have continued. As much as the book is about the atrocity of slavery, it really is a testimony of the gospel at it's core. After Eva's death, the author says:

"Thine is the victory without the battle - the crown without the conflict."

Some battles are won even before they are fought; other battles continue for years. I think of Trent's short life: he was a child his whole life, he never tasted of the cares and concerns of adult trials, or battled the battle's of years worth of sins. His was the "crown without the conflict".

I realized the other day that I could potentially live another 50 years . . . waking up every morning for another 50 years to fight for the victory of this battle. I thought of the blip of our lives on the screen of eternity. How would you even begin to measure eternity? And where would 12 years, 50 years, even 88 years fall on that line? In the grand scheme of things, isn't it the other side of eternity that matters? Isn't it where we are on that side that we should be more concerned about rather than our short time here?

Another line from the book was said by Eva's father, St. Clare, shortly after his daughter died. He had been indifferent to the gospel his daughter continued to share with him, until he had to come face-to-face with who this God was and what eternity held. He said, "I am braver than I was, because I have lost all; and he who has nothing to lose can afford all risks."

Eleven months ago I held on to this world and it's trinkets with a tight grip; I have been forced to let go. Actually, it was God's mercy that released my grip; it was a direct answer to prayers that Rob and I had been praying for right before the accident. Prayers for God to wake us up to Him; prayers to draw us closer, to know Him deeper, to live our lives for Him, to use our son in a mighty way for the gospel. We are braver now, because we have lost all. We see eternity clearer now, we see God clearer now, we see our short days clearer now and are counting the cost of how we live them. There is nothing in this life left to lose; we can afford all risks that hindered us before from trusting God, knowing God, telling others about God.

St. Clare asked Uncle Tom at one point, "How do you know there's any Christ, Tom? You never saw the Lord."

"Felt Him in my soul, mas'r - feel him now!" was Tom's reply.

I feel Him in my soul; feel him now. I long for the day I will see Him with my eyes; see what Trent see's; know what Trent knows. Fifty more years here does not thrill me; the sooner I see my Savior face to face the better.

Second Thessalonians 1:10 says that those who have believed will marvel at Jesus when He comes in His glory. Marvel at Him. First Peter 1:5 says that God Himself is a shield through faith. As the waves of grief consume, the panic attacks, grasping for breath, flashbacks of hospitals and policemen, I envision that shield of God Himself surrounding me. The enemies arrows are poised and thrown, but the shield of God protects. I hold on to God's grace that He continues to give; His eternal encouragement and good hope (2 Thes 2:16). Eternity is where my eyes are focused; eternity is what I continue to look forward to.

More Spots Today!

2012-01-20T12:00:00.003-06:00

More spots today! Lucille delivered twins this morning~ two more little bucks, but oh-so-beautiful!

Niece Hannah is spending the week with us to help with deliveries, and God answered our prayers that she would get to witness one. Due to below zero temps last night I decided to bring Lucille down to the basement as she was showing signs of delivering in the next "2 hours-to-2-weeks" (with just a few smirks of disbelief I might add).

But this morning as I got up to put wood in the stove I was so glad that I had brought her in! I barely had time to get up the stairs, wake 4 excited kids up, and get back down to the basement to catch a baby. And, right behind the first baby was a second baby, in the same sack. Hannah was going to catch a baby, but it all happened so fast that there was no time. She did get to help dry them off and watch them stand and nurse, though.

Another doe is due today, and then one more *hopefully* next week or so. Off to do another goat check . . .

Babies, Babies, Babies

2012-01-19T11:24:00.003-06:00

Just more goat pictures . . . 'cause their so cute! Years of selective breeding, culling, and dreaming have finally resulted in a basement full of beautiful spotted goat kids, although that dream still includes a finished barn so that they can be in the barn instead of the basement next year.

This is exactly what our goat dreams looked like all these years.

Dixie is the one-teated, older doe from a previous post, who had the triplets. Poor momma! She will forever be feeding! Two bucks, and one little doe: Ele May, Eli, and Levi.

Asha is the proud momma of the spotted bucklings. I had asked God for one beautiful buck from Asha to keep for breeding back this fall to the other does (due to her unbeliavably beautiful udder~ a goat milkers dream), and He gave me two gorgeous boys. One will be available for sale if anybody is interested in a handsome boy (now, later? I haven't decided yet): Barnabas and Boaz, after a dear friend.

I downloaded some birthing videos for those who are interested on Youtube, click here.

Stuff . . .

2012-01-18T20:25:00.006-06:00

And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.

Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings,

because we know that suffering produces perseverance;

perseverance, character;

and character, hope.

And hope does not disappoint us,

because God has poured out His love into our hearts

by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

Romans 5:2b-5

The camp called yesterday and left a message asking if Trent might want to come to the youth retreat in February. I know . . . just let that sink in for a bit. Just another goofy grief thing that seems to never end. Umm, no, Trent won't be able to make it this year, he has better plans. I laughed, I banged my head on the table, and then I cried. A book will be in the mail soon . . .

It's been a week of "haunting"~ making enchiladas for movie night again, pulling into the grocery store parking lot just as an exact snowmobile-coat-clad-patron walked by, vivid dreams, the ushering in of the "seconds" with the birth of the new goats. I figured once the firsts were over we'd be on the easy side of grief; I guess I was wrong.

Cole tripped on the china hutch yesterday, which refreshed more eleven month old memories. The day before the accident Trent had been running through the dining room, tripped on the leg of the hutch, the door flew open and out came crashing down numerous long-stemmed glasses that we use for our fancy birthday suppers. He was going to tell me and apologize the next day. I never got around to making any fancy birthday suppers the past year to realize they were missing.

My brain has refused to think this past week: complete overload. So I let it rest, and I rest, and I function on auto-pilot to keep cooking, and doing chores, and raising kids, and waiting for eternity to begin. Words could barely even break through as the balm that they usually are. I stayed where God had me; I trusted His leading. I indulged in ignoring the computer; I indulged in loving my kiddos; I indulged in letting life be simple.

This morning God led me to the Romans passage to wrestle again with suffering, hope, joy, glory. My brain doesn't understand justification through faith leading to peace with God at this point. My brain just wants to stay fuzzy in it's vitamin D lacking winter hibernation: sometimes it feels safer there. But on my knees I know this God; this God of big words and bigger truths. I long for this God, to really know Him, and realize that suffering is a huge part of it.

The suffering is what causes us to look for hope.

It's a grasping at this point; barely holding on by the fingertips as I strive to live moment to moment some days, but it's still there: hope. Hope in the glory of God, hope in the glory yet to be revealed, hope in an eternity to see it clearly. Hope worth rejoicing in, even in the suffering.

A Bit Busy

2012-01-18T16:19:00.001-06:00

It's been a bit busy around here lately with lots of new little kids! Triplets yesterday and twins today~ three more does to go~ I'll be back to blogging soon~ Lord willing!

Smile Baby!

2012-01-18T16:18:00.000-06:00

We have three windows in our living room, which means that at a certain point of the day there is an opportunity for some great lighting worthy of bribing a kid or two to stop doing their math and smile . . . or not smile. She's cute either way:))

Finding God in the Goat Barn

2012-01-09T18:29:00.004-06:00

Dixie is our goat herd matriarch. She is older, and is carrying a huge belly right now as kidding season is about to begin. She is pretty pathetic looking as she only has half an udder, and that teat hangs nearly to the floor at this point, as we were naive goat farmers when we bought her all those years ago and didn't know a good udder from a bad one. I promised her I won't breed her next year, poor thing, and will keep her forever no matter what our farm motto states. But she loves being a momma, so I couldn't deny her one last opportunity to try for pretty spotted babies before we sold that handsome buck.

I was crooning to her last night, and petting and kissing her, and crying to her about no Trent to sit with us at delivery time this year. I had to rub her back for the both of us. Constantly I remind myself that this is God's battle; He will come out victorious. Maybe in eternity there will be goat farms and sons to sit by again without the fear of death. Even if heaven was only that, it's all it would take to make me happy forever.

I was reading in Hebrews 12 about the thousands upon thousands of angels in assembly in the city of the living God, and about the great cloud of witnesses that surround us watching what God is doing. Watching for how He will cause His children to persevere in this race that He has marked out for us. This race that is so hard. Once again, I fixed my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith, and set before myself the joy of the cross that makes enduring this all possible.

Because of the cross I am forgiven, because of the cross Trent is in heaven, because of the cross I will be able to be presented before God holy and blameless, because of the cross I call myself a stranger here in this world, because of the cross my Heavenly Father disciplines me for my own good so that later on a harvest of righteousness and peace will be produced.

Lord willing, I will not refuse this God, but will look forward all the more to His heavenly kingdom that cannot be shaken.

Even if that means right now it hurts, and I cry and cry and cry. But I have found freedom in the tears; a sweet fellowship with Jesus that I have never known so deep before. I guess God will bottle up tears cried to goats, too.

Ice Skating

2012-01-08T17:07:00.015-06:00

Ice skating ~ it's one of the highlights of a Wisconsin winter. And 40 degree January days only make ice skating sweeter. The kids dug through the bin of garage-sale skates that we have had for years and years and claimed a fitting pair to own for the season. Rob checked and gave the "okay" for the ice safety, and off they went~ twirling and swirling, whooping and chasing.

I joined them today to take the obligatory 200 pictures of every newly created memory that none of us will ever want to forget. The "martha" that I am, I also picked up the shovel and helped clear the snow off the ice. And I cheered everybody on, and I watched the greatest ice-skating tricks that I've seen since last winter, and laughed and hugged and smiled and enjoyed my kiddos.

And missed Trent. And thought of last year. And tried to live now.

Life is tainted when a child dies. No matter what you do, it's always with you. The pain sneaks in along with the memories; the hope of heaven sneaks in, too. There is no more contentment with today, but always looking back or looking forward. Maybe because the today is too painful. Or maybe the pain goes away eventually: but then do the memories go away, too? How can a mother want to enjoy the rest of her life without her child? I don't know . . . just rambling; thinking out loud; working my way through this process.

And then I watched Micah slide down the dock, thought "what a crazy, wild kid!" And then I asked him for a turn on the sled and went down the dock myself, off the jump, and slid all the way across the pond into the cat-tails ~ screaming for joy all the way ~ because life is short and I'm still here.

Oh, yes I did!

Two Plus Two Equals God

2012-01-05T10:50:00.004-06:00

If what Scripture says is true: "Those who call on the name of the Lord {Jesus} will be saved." (Romans 10:13)

And: "To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord." (2 Corinthians 5:8)

Then: My son is with God.

God.

God.

My son is with God.

And, if my son is with God, then I need to decide what to do with this God that my son is with. I need to figure out how to live the rest of the short days that I have on this earth until I meet this God. I get to quit crying, quit hurting, quit whining . . . because my son is with God.

God.

Trent knows what God looks like. He knows what Jesus' face looks like; what the nail holes and the scar on His side looks like; what His robe looks like; what heaven looks like; what Jesus' glory looks like; what the angel's look like; what the throne looks like.

What I can't imagine, Trent knows. He is with God . . .

With God.

Yet somehow my days still need to consist of feeding goats and choosing what's for supper, and ultimately trying to figure out how to glorify God in all of it.

I stand in awe: Trent is with God.

And the Winner Is . . .

2012-01-04T14:38:00.003-06:00

And the Winner of the great birthday giveaway is . . .

Traci . . . at the Lazy J

There couldn't have been a better winner (besides everybody else who so desperately wanted to win, including Hunkyman) than the other birthday girl herself! I laughed when Alexis pulled your name out of the bowl, Traci! Happy Birthday!!

To all you wonderful contestants:

You made my week with all your sweet comments!! Thank you for playing along, and Thank you for promoting the giveaway ladies! It was truly a pleasure to meet you all, and I look forward to getting to know you better in the following weeks by visiting your blogs. I wish I could send cheese to all of you!

Please check out the Dairy's home page if you would like to order some of the delicious cheese they make there. And (just to brag a bit) check out the awards page and count up Rob's winning cheeses:))

For all of the runners up . . . I would like to offer you this condolence . . . I will send a {{free}} bar of home made OurCrazyFarm goat's milk soap (in the continental US only, my choice of scents) to anybody who leaves a book review over at Amazon . . . haven't read the book?? You can find it here . . . Thanks friends!

************

See . . . Traci does look just like me . . . one day we'll dig out the cowboy hat and put her in front of the barn for a few photo's.

Back to Real Life

2012-01-03T09:13:00.005-06:00

The Holidays are over {yippee!} and we are back to real life: homeschoolin', farmin', regular schedules, even a little structure. I actually heard Cole say last night, "I'm glad we're going to do school tomorrow, I'm excited to read my book." We have ate our fill of sugar, enjoyed all the parties we can endure for a while, and look forward to settling in to a long, cold Wisconsin winter full of cozy things like algebraic equations and phonetic rules while snuggling on the couch. A double ration of coffee and hot chocolate is on the menu as the temperature outside dips to single digits, and maybe I'll even have to dig out the recipe for Cathy's doughnuts~ yummy! Aaahhh! The peace of my little one school classroom makes me smile:))

***********

Don't forget to leave a comment for the Cheese give away~ I'll pick a winner sometime tomorrow. You have all blessed me with your well wishes and sweet comments! Love you dear friends! YOU make my day a joy!

Winter Came While We Were Sleeping

2012-01-03T09:10:00.003-06:00

Winter came while we were sleeping
She snuck in, whirling and swirling
As we slept nestled in our beds.

Sweet dreams drifted under downy covers
There were ponies and sunshine and rainbows to catch
As we slept nestled in our beds.

Little knowing that right outside the door
Winds were whipping and clouds were hovering
As we slept nestled in our beds.

A magic winter land was in the making
One unique snowflake falling at a time
As we slept nestled in our beds.

Our eyes opened to the dawn, a bright new day
To the yard and trees masked under their glistening coats
As we arose in sleepy awe from our beds.

What I Found on the Floor

2012-01-02T09:35:00.006-06:00

My soul, wait silently for God alone,

for my expectation is from Him.

Psalm 62:5 (NKJV)

What I found lying on the bedroom floor, crying and broken, was everything that I had tried to stuff too deep. I found the pain that I refused to feel, the burdens that I had carried too long, the pride that I thought I was entitled to, the fears that I couldn't manage, the release that could only be found at the foot of Christ's cross. I found the freedom to live exposed. Exposed to myself, exposed to others, exposed to God Himself. I felt my smallness; and eternities greatness. I realized that when it comes right down to it, all that really matters is the state of my soul before God. Am I obedient, am I seeking, am I trusting, am I surrendering? Is Jesus glorified? Or am I still glorifying myself; ultimately putting myself in His position? Have I let Him be God? Have I surrendered to His sovereignty? Have I quit kicking and fighting and writhing under His ways? Have I yielded my personal rights and expectations to God? Have I truly yielded them to accept being shattered? Again . . . today . . . fighting the good fight.

A New Year's Surprise

2012-01-01T14:41:00.004-06:00

We woke up to a nice New Year's surprise this morning -- our first Light Brahma chick! The little peepers aren't supposed to be hatching until Tuesday, but this cute guy decided to beat the crowd and hatch first. There are 29 more eggs that we will be watching to start pipping in the next few days, and if we can gather enough warm eggs from the chicken coop we'll start up another batch in the incubator at the end of the week. This is why I love farm life!

Did you know??

* It takes 21 days for a chick to hatch.

* You can hear the chick peeping in it's shell a couple of days before it actually breaks out.

* It takes Light Brahma's 5-6 months before the pullets start laying eggs.

* Most hens turn their eggs 3-5 times an hour ~ which is why we use an incubator with an automatic turner.

A Birthday for Me, A Gift for You

2011-12-31T10:18:00.014-06:00

Happy Birthday to Me!

Happy Birthday to Meeeeeee (and Traci)!!!!!

Happy Birthday to Me!

My twin sister, Traci, insists that we are TWENTY-NINE years old again, and who am I to argue??! Since you have all been such a blessing to me this past year I figured it would be a great time to host a little give away.

My birthday present to you: A box full of various kinds of that good Wisconsin cheese that Rob makes at the Dairy.

Just leave a comment on this post and I'll pick a winner on Wednesday, January 4, 2012. And . . . if you want two chances to win . . . post about the giveaway on your blog and leave me another comment. (Shipped to the continental United States only:))

Good luck friends!

***********

The contest is officially over~

thanks for the overwhelming response!

I'll post the winner soon . . .

What a Farm Week!

2011-12-29T14:00:00.005-06:00

What a farm week! Cole's farm, that is, not mine. Poor Cole has worked so hard to build up his own enterprise of chickens and rabbits, besides helping out with the regular critter chores of goats, steers, laying hens, and horses. This past week has been non-stop pit-falls for him as he continues to blaze his trail into earning more money than just an allowance.

It all started when his rabbits mysteriously started escaping from their cozy stall in the barn. To keep them a little warmer this winter he spent a considerable amount of time getting a stall rabbit ready where they have been very content for weeks. But something inside their little bunny hearts must have cried out for adventure because we found them hopping around the barnyard one dark night when we went out to do evening chores.

The two of us chased and chased, running 'round and 'round the calf shed, until finally giving up. Cole easily caught them the next morning, only to find them out again that night. They took refuge under the chicken coop, where he lured them out with fresh carrots and apples the following day. He was especially worried because three of them were expected to have babies on Christmas day.

In the midst of the rabbit escapades, one of his little Silkie chicks that had hatched this fall was found dead in the chicken coop. We assume it was death due to trampling by a big, brute of a Light Brahma hen, and was the second fatality for him in a months time.

Then for the fourth day in a row we chased rabbits, again. After we finally caught the furry little buggers Cole inspected the pen in an attempt to seal up every possible hole they might be able to squeeze through. But as we were looking for secret tunnels and escape routes we noticed some questionable activity going on from one of the bunnies that should have been in the midst of laboring: does don't do that.

Both of us are still learning the ropes of figuring out which is a boy rabbit and which is a girl, and it appears that neither one of us was very good at it the first time around because two of his three expecting does are now boys, and that doe who should have been kindling was now very much in love with the escapee buck.

As Cole was recovering from all of that, we went out to do chores this morning only to find his buck out again. After putting him back we watched and discovered just how they were getting out: the little buggers were managing to jump on top of the barrel that we had set up for their warming house and over the four foot stall rails to risk an exciting new adventure in the great big outside world.

I guess that's the way it goes with farming~ some weeks it's the rabbits jumping the fence, some week's it's the goats, and then the next week it's the steers.

Winter Equals Sewing

2011-12-29T13:14:00.003-06:00

For several years around our house the annual ushering in of a long, cold winter means hauling out the sewing machine. I grew up as one of five girls in a home where my Mom sewed for enjoyment. As she worked on her quilts she would let me have all the left over scraps that I wanted. From these I would sew to my hearts content doll clothes and doll quilts, and eventually graduated to larger quilts.

But I never really outgrew sewing the doll clothes. Luckily, two of my own little girls have loved dolls and doll clothes over the years, too, which gives me a good excuse to keep creating them. Many a happy day has been spent looking through the American Girl magazines for new designs, digging through the scrap boxes for just the right pattern, and then the girls waiting patiently while their new doll clothes appear out of the odd-shaped pattern pieces. I don't actually use patterns, I just guess and cut and sew and hope they fit, adjusting sizes as we go.

Alexis has outgrown these sewing parties, but since Grace received a new doll for Christmas her first thought was that she needed some clothes. When cousin Morgan came to stay this week it turned into a sewing party for both of their dolls. They choose a winter outfit, complete with mittens, boots and a vest. The final result was two matching outfits and two happy girls; wait, three happy girls!

Bargaining

2011-12-29T12:42:00.000-06:00

I realized today that I am bargaining. I think I forgot that verse about God's thoughts being higher than my thoughts.*

Why, God? Not blasphemous, just why. Why couldn't people have been saved without Trent dieing? Why couldn't people have been taken deeper in their walks without it being my son? Why did I have to love him so much? Why does it have to be ten months later? Why does it have to hurt so much now? Why can't I have that peace and joy and certainty of heaven again? Why does this battle rage so hard? Why is there such an intensity to doubt? Why can't eternity just begin now~ wouldn't it be a perfect day for Jesus to return?*

I was even toying with the idea of exchanging those promised rewards*~ maybe I could trade them in for what's behind curtain number three and we could all go back to last February. Curtain number three may have been eighty years with my son whom had never gotten saved. Eighty years here or eternity at age twelve . . . Eighty billion years from now I would have gladly picked his eternity to start now.

My thoughts go to Jesus' temptation in the desert.* That separation from all that He knew, to be tempted when He was at His weakest point by Satan himself. What sustained Him was the Word of God, the ministering angels, the Truth, the hope, the joy set before Him. How revealing temptation is; I don't like revealing.

I've realized that at some point I have to let Trent go. I feel like I am in a tug of war: Trent pulling me heavenward, and everything else pulling me back to this world. Somehow I have to embrace living here again; yet the thought makes me want to puke, literally. So instead I somehow think that staying in bed, or finding a comatose state for my brain of not feeling, might help.

Every project I even think of immediately reminds me of the fact that Trent took nothing with him to heaven. Everything here is temporary, and only what is done for Christ will last. I don't have the energy to invest in temporary things anymore; yet at the same time I find myself coming back to thinking that the next temporary thing really will bring complete satisfaction and would be worth investing my time, money and energy in . . . only to know, deep, deep down, that it won't. So how do I live the rest of my life? Why am I still straining for earthly glory? Why am I not pressing into God harder?

Or maybe I am, and the pain that I feel is really the disappointment of the reality of this world which I have trained myself to be so comfortable in all my life*. Maybe the pain is because I can't lie to myself anymore and think that achieving the highest heights here matters so much. Maybe I really just want to go back to living how I was a year ago and be content by only crossing off the next project, but I know at the same time that I can never deny the truth that I have seen. Maybe I am grieving what I thought was reality for thirty-some years. Maybe I am finally being forced to acknowledge where my allegiance lies: my own selfish self, or God.

I am where I am, and that is grieving my son, as my sister reminds me if I try to justify anything. Those sisters~ they don't let you fool them. Grieving my son: I hate the words, yet I love the God he's with. God doesn't accept bargains; but He holds breaking hearts.

* Isaiah 55:9, Revelation 19, Revelation 22:12, Luke 4, 1st Corinthians 3:12-14

Let the Games Begin

2011-12-28T09:13:00.002-06:00

The cold weather and lazy days are a good excuse to pull out the checkers board and challenge a couple of kids to a game. I thought I would be the "nice mom" and take it easy on Micah, but instead he proved to catch on pretty quick and whooped me twice. Then everybody wanted to play, so we all stood in line to play the next winner. Cole kept his position for several games in a row and earned the title of the checkers king for the night.

The board is a Fair project from a couple of years ago. It's made out of a left-over scrap of plywood and some Popple branches from a tree that fell down out back.

The checkers pieces are Popple branches cut into thin slices, then painted and sealed.

Even Rob got in on the game. He thought it would be an easy win, but a couple of kids gave him quite a challenge.

Sorry, Eric, there is no Sugar Plum Princess

2011-12-27T22:02:00.006-06:00

"In repentance and rest is your salvation,

in quietness and trust is your strength..."

Isaiah 30:15

A lazy bum: that's what I've been for the past week or so. We took a vacation from school, so besides doing chores (when Cole doesn't do them before me), and reminding the kids to do their chores, and going up and down the basement steps umpteen times a day to fill the wood stove, I haven't been doing very much else. Alexis even told me one day, "Mom, you do have to remember to feed us!" I happen to not be a big eater, and "forget" to eat regularly, especially when there is no schedule to follow. Good thing there are some budding chefs around here who do remember that it's time to make something for lunch.

I miss Trent. I miss living without the pain of missing my son. And I knew it would be harder over the holidays. Therefor, I committed myself to very little else other than grieving. Exhaustion only causes me to forget the Promises, and they are easier to forget when the pain crashes in, wave after wave. I don't want pity; I just need to acknowledge where God has me and allow myself to be there. This is tough; it's a real battle. A battle to believe, to not give up, to not grow weary, to keep going.

I don't know how to hope for tomorrow, so I just focus on getting through today. I focus on getting out of bed in the morning to be able to kneel and pray; to be real with the God of the universe and allow the tears to flow over missing my son~ trusting God, but missing Trent. I make the bed, remembering how Trent used to always come in and snuggle. I walk past his bedroom, where there is no longer a sleeping teenage boy on the bottom bunk. I start the coffee and check the wood stove, then sit down in the recliner to read my Bible. An hour later, I am still begging for the strength to start this new day.

"In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength."

I remember the words: the words that have been impressed upon my heart for nearly a decade. "Repentance and rest" in a world of hurry up and never take the time to stop and ponder eternal truths; they are a welcome sign to sit at my Saviors feet. During a quiet time of prayer the repentance can come, followed by the rest: the rest of a forgiven, satisfied heart, a truthful heart, a broken heart. God knows, there is no reason to pretend that He doesn't.

Quietness and trust. When the chaos is too loud I can't hear God. In the quiet He whispers, and then my heart remembers His words, and the trust comes easier. But quietness in a busy household is hard to come by. I intentionally carve it out of my days, and I guard my mornings to achieve it. The kids know my ritual and honor it as much as seven-to-sixteen-year-olds can, and my husband has long given up on asking me anything or intruding on that much needed time until I rise from my chair with a smile on my face.

"Let us not become weary in doing good,

for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."

Galatians 6:9

I am weary lately, so very weary. Ten months into this and I feel as if I am no closer to eternity myself. Galatians 6:9 has been my anchor verse this past week: "Don't grow weary, don't grow weary, don't grow weary . . . for at the proper time, proper time, proper time . . ." I have repeated to myself over, and over, and over again. Even a friend encouraged me with those words today. I remind myself that it is all done at God's proper time, not mine. And then I see a picture, or a card, or a pair of boots or Trent's shorts in the hamper (it's funny how all these months later those same pair of shorts keep getting cycled through and nobody claims to know why they were on the closet floor or under a bed) . . . and the battle begins again.

On Christmas Eve afternoon I was working in the kitchen and muttered under my breath,
"I just don't want to do this."

"I can tell," was Alexis' reply. The soft words were soothing, not harsh, as she wrapped her arms around me.

I was surprised that the honest thought had been said out loud rather than just in my heart. I really tried: I tried to make it a nice Christmas. I helped cut down and decorate the obligatory pine tree, I went to the parties and plays, I made the cookies for the neighbors, I wrapped the presents, I made the Eclair cake, and then I ate half of the Eclair cake. But it still showed: I didn't want to do it. I didn't want a Christmas without Trent.

So I repented and I rested; I stayed quiet and I trusted God; I kept doing the good things for my family and refused to become weary in them; I longed even more for my Savior Jesus to come and make it all right again.

In repentance and rest is my salvation, in quietness and trust is my strength. In God's strength, I will refuse to grow weary of doing good things, and will look forward to that harvest which will come in God's proper time.

What Does your Kitchen Reveal about You??

2011-12-23T09:31:00.005-06:00

I am the Mom, which means that I rarely get my picture taken. Actually, that's just fine, I prefer the other side of the camera much better. But, like we say around here, they're gonna need some pictures for my funeral one day, so I encourage the kiddos to pick up the camera once in a while and point it my way. As I was skimming through this file of pictures looking for some cookie making one's for another post (and passing them all over because of the un-cropped nature of them since we all know that blog pictures have to be perfect) I stopped and took a closer look. What I saw was my life revealed in the un-cropped portions.

One of my absurd interests is to check out people's refrigerators when I visit their homes: refrigerators reveal who we are. See mine?? That's the real me. Chaos with pictures plastered one on top of the other: pictures of people I love, people I miss, people who are plastered in my life. Intermingled are words: school work, verses, names, advertisements of favorite author appearances, VBS projects, car magnets, and age old Christmas cards. I am most content in the chaos of life, and I don't mind the jumble, as long as those I love are surrounding me.

Then I see the vintage-print apron, the old sink, the bead board, and the new counter top. The new looking like the old; maybe it reveals the longing for the way things used to be. Next I see the food: I can minister with food. Food is easy; everybody likes food.

And I see the dirty dishes on the cupboard. Most day's they bug me, and I'd be bugging a teen-age girl to do her chores. But look to the left . . . Kids grow up too fast to always fuss over dirty dishes.

Cropped out of this picture is the dog who is usually in the kitchen with me; usually getting shooed out because she wants to help, too. And if you could see close enough, you would see all the unfinished trim work that reveals my flitting from one project to another, just for the sheer joy of trying something new.
Ultimately, though, what these photos reveal is that I am certainly bound to inherit that strong genetic gene of the double chin; especially if I keep eating all those Christmas cookies for breakfast.

I Like It

2011-12-22T12:27:00.001-06:00

I like it when this . . . looks like this. Thanks girls!

Luke

2011-12-22T09:30:00.010-06:00

Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when men hate you, when they exclude you and insult you and reject your name as evil, because of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven.
Luke 6:20-23

I have been reading in Luke lately and have been soaking up the words of my Savior. Sweet words that are a balm to my soul; words that go deeper than just letters on a page.
When the Lord saw her {the mother whose son had just died}, His heart went out to her and He said, "Don't cry." Then He went up and touched the coffin, and those carrying it stood still. He said, "Young man, I say to you, get up!" The dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother. Luke 7:13-15"Tradition says that while Christ was hanging there {on the cross}, the angels drew their swords. They announced, 'We are going to rescue you.' God said, 'No,' and the Scripture says that God spared Him not." Billy Graham
As I read that passage this morning I could just about imagine Jesus as He walked the streets of Nain, when along came the weeping mother and the coffin. I didn't have to imagine the mother; I knew her all too well. Being the very Son of God, Jesus realized what she couldn't see at the time: that her son would one day rise again. Scripture says that Jesus' heart went out to her.

Those words were said at Trent's funeral, that one day Jesus would say to Trent, "Young man, I say to you, get up!" And Trent will rise, coming forth with a glorious, imperishable body.*

How Jesus' heart must go out to His hurting children. How hard it must be to be bound by sovereignty for the sake of greater glory for our Savior to have to wait to say those words. The pain He must feel to see mother's weeping, all the while knowing Himself the depth of their pain and the joy that is coming.

Do the angels draw their swords while the enemy appears to be conquering, while mother's cry the tears and fight back the doubts? Is the great cloud of witnesses that surround the believer amazed or disappointed for the level of our faith?*

I have often wondered what went on in the angelic realm the day that Trent headed down that ski slope: did the angels have to be restrained from rescuing this little one that they had been put in charge of*, not knowing fully, either, God's perfect and sovereign plan?

For God's ways are higher than our ways; higher than the heavens are from the earth.*

Luke reminds us to Rejoice - Rejoice! - and leap for joy. He tells the poor, and the hungry, and those who weep now that great is our reward in heaven, and that we should look forward to it; a reward so great that it's worthy of the weeping. Therefore, we go on rejoicing, trusting, and weeping day by day until we receive it and see face-to-face this mighty God who is wise enough to have ordained it all to be this way.

* Hebrews 12; Matthew 18:10; Revelation 20; Isaiah 55:9

Parties, Parties, Parties

2011-12-20T09:07:00.003-06:00

Life has been one big party lately! I'm not so much the partying type, but rather the coveralls-and-muck-boots-in-a-barn type, so this month of digging deep into the closet to find something other than an old sweatshirt to wear and brushing the hay off of my nice coat has stretched me farther than I want to be stretched right about now. I'll just say it out loud, and be done with it, so I can get to the nicey/blog perfect part of this post: "I am ready for this holiday season to end anytime now. I am ready for the firsts to end, and eternity to begin, and Jesus to come back."

But since it isn't, and He hasn't, I keep plugging along; I keep facing the firsts; I keep going to the parties; I keep smiling until I can't smile anymore and then cry with those who are crying with me. Now begins the chipper blog post . . .

Our Christmas parties started with the much anticipated Shriner's party. Grace has doctored at the Shriner's hospital for the 8 years that she has been home from India, and part of the Shriner's program is loving these kids as much as it is healing them. She looks forward to the event for months, although she is scared of the guy in the red and white suit {another subject, another soap box, another post for another day, enough said} and makes Mom come up with her so she can sit on my lap instead of his {just breathe, just breathe}. Our local Shriner's group goes all out with lavish gifts and cookies and clowns and spoiling. Grandma Lee joins us nearly every year for the party, too, since she experienced nearly as much of Grace's doctoring as we did by riding down to the cities for all those casting trips.

Then we had the annual church Christmas program, where Grace played a little piano piece, Grace and Micah recited their verses, and Cole, Grace and Micah all joined in on the singing. Very cute! And then, the same day, the same weekend, we enjoyed Alexis' Community Choral concert where she had the opportunity to sing the solo "Mary did you know?" (and if I could actually download the video to blogger I would brag her up even more for the beautiful voice that God has given her~ totally a genetic fluke as nobody else in our immediate, and extended, family can carry a tune in a bucket of water).

And then came the annual swimming/Christmas get together at Grandma Lee's house. Grandma has forgone trying to buy individual Christmas presents for her twenty-some grandkids and great grandkids and has treated us to a day of swimming at a private pool party instead. All the kids love her for it! Then we go to her house and eat, and eat, and eat . . . mmm-mmm Super Duper bars!

Besides all of the Christmas parties, we also have six birthdays spread throughout the family in the month of December. Plus, there is still the other church Christmas Eve service and the actual day of Christmas left to celebrate. At about this point I start to re-evaluate the insanity of this month and declare that next year we are going to keep things simple and then realize why I am worn out and frazzled and find myself crying in a heap on the floor as I try to wrap presents for only four kids and remember that Jesus really is the reason for the season~ right???

For Sherry

2011-12-16T11:52:00.002-06:00

Lady Dog used to have it pretty easy around the farm. She does a fine job of holding down the couch and licking visitors when they arrive. She rarely chews up shoes, is a kids best friend, and tolerates everything. But her status has now changed; it's time to earn her keep like the rest of the critters that live here.
Thanks to Sherry . . . meet Lady the Musher Dog!

Sherry has 24 sled dogs on her little rustic farm, (besides Mustang horses) and offers training and dog rides for those who are interested. You'll be glad to go visit her blog and see her fabulous photos, too.

The kids have been having fun with their own dog training.

Cole, Grace and Micah thank you for the harnesses, Sherry!
And Lady Dog, too {I am sure}, thanks you!

I Was Thinking . . .

2011-12-15T13:52:00.016-06:00

. . . it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it.

John 11:4b

I was thinking about Lazarus today. As I was doing the farm chores, just feeding the horses some hay in the blustery cold, I turned to head back to the barn and the thought struck me: Jesus didn't come right away; He stayed where He was. His friend was sick, His other dear friends were crying, and Jesus stayed where He was. Scripture says that He knew Lazarus would die, but Jesus stayed where He was because His glory would be seen greater if He waited. My thoughts then went to ten months, ten years, twenty or thirty years . . . how much greater will Jesus' glory be then, if it was that great when He waited only two days?

I have a friend who keeps a "nothing book". It is just a book that sits out on her countertop and any family member can come along and write whatever they want to in it; a book filled with the "nothings" of life that turn into the "everythings of life". It is filled with the silly memories of everyday childhood, and being a family, from various perspectives.

Years ago I tried to write books for each of the kids about the silly things that they did: washing kittens in the sink, their little sayings, Christmas presents and traditions, and favorite foods. As they have each learned how to write they have been required to take over the recording by writing daily journals for home school. Since I enjoy words and memories so much, especially the ones written in the penmanship of those I love, I decided to start a "Trent book".

Over four years ago, when Rob, Trent and I were in India to bring Micah home, I bought a beautiful book, created with hand made paper, at an Indian shop. It has sat on my desk, in the original wrapper, awaiting the perfect purpose; never did I imagine that it would be for this purpose. All those memories, the big and the small, the "Oh, remember whens", the laughing one's and the crying one's, will now have a place to be; a place to come back to, a place to own, a place to be visited often, especially on the day's that we can't remember when.

I held the package in my hands for the longest time this afternoon, not sure just how to begin such a monumental book. What word could hold enough meaning to be the first word penned on that beautiful paper; which memories do you record, how can I do this, how can I not do this, what happens when the pages are all filled up? So, it's sitting on my cupboard friends, and aunts and uncles, and grandmas. . . it's your story to tell, too.

And talking about books . . . God is using this one in way's that I can't even begin to imagine. Our little newspaper's picked up the story, there has been minimal marketing yet sales are going well, I had a great opportunity to share {survived the interview:} on the blog talk radio show, and we had a book signing at the local library a couple of weeks ago. I see only clearer that it is God doing His work through me as I feel so incapable of attempting to minister in-and-of myself to the deep needs of those He brings to us. The stories, and the hurts, and the pain of lives that people have shared already make me see how good God has been to us and I appreciate His grace all the more. I pray daily for the words in that little book to shine God's glory and bring many to know Him.

And from this morning . . .

{Jesus} rebuked them for their lack of faith

and their stubborn refusal to believe . . .

Mark 16:14b

Sort of gave me the swift kick that I needed in the midst of my whining this morning. As far off as eternity seems sometimes, I found myself wondering if it would be a rebuke that I hear for my refusal to believe God's Word rather than a "well done, good and faithful servant." Either I believe Scripture or I don't; either I will live it or I had better give it up. But, since I do believe it, then I have no excuse to not live it. Like a friend likes to say, "Suck it up, Buttercup." God said it, so believe it, go live it, and don't quit sharing it. Souls matter; eternities matter; God's glory matters.

When Even the Coffee's Bitter

2011-12-14T08:43:00.005-06:00

You know it's going to be a challenging day when you're grumbling before you even open your eyeballs. When it's day three of rain and drizzle and warm spring like weather, but you know it's only December and a long way off until real warm spring like weather. When you meet the youngest on the landing of the stairwell because he's up already, too, bouncing and ready to go. And the other son has been up for an hour and a half (again) and has already done his day's work and is ready to talk and practice adding suffixes to adjectives, all before you've even started the coffee pot that has now peetered out to the point that it takes twenty minutes to make a batch of black brew.

So, in my impatience and desperation, I pour a cup half-pot and settle with drinking really strong coffee. Yeesh! A morning person I am not. (Remember that, Scott, if we ever do get to come and vacation at your farm: No picking on the house guests before they've finished their second cup of coffee!) Well, actually I am a morning person, if this old farmhouse is quiet and my brain can finish it's God thoughts and the phone doesn't ring and there's plenty of cream and sugar.

"Only those who have known sorrow and suffering can have fellowship with those in affliction," is the quote from the book The Faith of Billy Graham that I happened to flip open to this morning. Interesting, considering that my thoughts and prayers this morning centered around this verse:

Philippians 3:10-11 "I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead."

I have been trying to wrap my brain around that verse for quite some time now, even before Trent died. I can't honestly say that I have truly, at my core, really, really ever wanted to endure great suffering. At my core I am really a wimp. But, as odd as it sounds, and as I have watched others suffer, and have seen a glimpse of the grace poured out on them, I have longed for that grace; especially the knowing of Christ in that way. But knowing Jesus Christ that way only comes about through the fellowship of sharing in His suffering. And this fellowship goes beyond me, all the way to God's glory, and only God's glory.

"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." Romans 5:1-5

That's another verse I have been pondering for the past near 10 months, because it is not enough to suffer for only MY perseverance, MY character, MY hope, MY fellowship with those who are afflicted, MY, MY, MY. It has to go beyond . . . beyond me.

And this verse points to that beyond, all the way to Jesus; our hope is in Jesus alone. I don't know how, I can't see it clearly, but somehow the suffering we are called to in this life produces in the Christian the hope of Jesus making this all right one day; and beyond right, all the way to glorious; His glory shining in a way that we can't begin to fathom. Our eyes turn to Him in a way that they would not be able to without suffering. And His Spirit brings endurance, and grace, and faith, and mercy, and joy, and hope one day at a time, often one moment at a time.

I've found myself in therapy this week. Therapy for me is putting my hands to a pitchfork or a hammer. What I build is usually not pretty and always far from perfect, let alone level; there is a reason why I build on the back of the forty. All year I have hardly been able to even get up the gumption, let alone had the physical strength, to even pick up a hammer or a pitchfork. But this week I did. So I cleaned out the much overdue goat barn, and Cole and I mucked out the chicken coop and started preparing the kidding stalls for next month. And then Traci stopped over and we laughed and talked God and she held boards and swung a hammer with me and we built a hay feeder for the goats. And I think she appreciated the therapy, too.

And then the thought struck me . . . that last night, eons ago it seems, I was dreaming about spotted goat kids and farm plans and preparing kidding stalls and there were five kids playing in the haymow. The haymow that I can barely go up to, the thoughts that keep on coming, trying to paralyze me from trusting God and living in His good plans.

"Can't I just pitch a tent here, God, and stay on this mountaintop?" I asked Him. I've never understood Peter so well. (Matthew 17:4)

"Let's not go down, keep me in this place of safety and trust, God. Don't let the thoughts invade, or the peace flee, or let me be consumed with here and now; keep me in the palm of Your hand; delight over me again; pour out Your grace until I get there, too." If I let them, the thoughts do invade and the lies swirl and I am consumed again with the sinking of despair and I lose sight of my sovereign God's hand. "Let's just pitch a tent and stay on the mountaintop, God. I don't want to go down there."

But I go where He leads, and I take the good days along with the hard days. I pray more on the hard days, I know Him more on the hard days, I hold on tighter and look harder for eternity on the hard days. And on the good days . . . I smile, and my prayers turn to rejoicing, and I long for His glory to shine more, and I hold on tighter yet and look harder again for that eternity and His glory that will be revealed only greater because of suffering. And then I remember that Trent is in heaven . . . heaven . . . so I quit my whining and drink my coffee.

I am a Goat Farmer

2011-12-13T09:06:00.015-06:00

I am a goat farmer. Plain and simple. I find great pleasure in being in a stinky barn mucking out stalls. Big bellies, hours of assisting does in labor, and slimy afterbirth covered hands holding a new kid thrills my soul. Raising bottle-calves with that goats milk, and then watching those steers grow into large, healthy bovines is right up there with tending to the goats. And then there are the chickens: the farm fresh eggs, the cackling hens, and the job of shutting a little chicken ramp on a cold wintry night to keep them all warm and toasty inside their fancy coop brings a smile to my face like not much else can.

But I've realized that maybe I am too simple. Maybe I am too easily satisfied. I have found in the mornings that I am having an increasingly harder time trying to worship this God I love because I can't even begin to imagine Him appropriately; I can't fathom His greatness; I can't go beyond the little box I continue to put Him in to take in His grandness. I get stuck. What words could there be to describe Him?

My mind goes to Scripture to try to identify just who He is: King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the great I AM, Wonderful Counselor, Savior, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. I don't know how to encompass a God like this into my little brain and my little world, and then find words to honestly praise Him in a way that is fitting to His majesty. A God, who while sovereignly running the entire universe from time's beginning to time's end, comes down to my bedside to hear the lamenting and crying of my heart and my little pleas, and then responds by reminding me of what He says in His Word:

"The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing." Zephaniah 3:17

I think of my son being with this God, this God that I can't contain or begin to see the depth or beauty of, and I find myself not even being able to long for Trent to be back today. So I attempt to praise God more as I'm down there on my knees; to praise this God who gives strength, His strength, and mercy to His children for whatever He calls them to endure until we do see Him face to face.

Cathedral Ceilings and Looking for the Cross

2011-12-12T08:39:00.010-06:00

Words seem to have failed me lately as I haven't been much in the writing mood. I think with the holidays I have switched to survival mode~ it happens every year between deer hunting opener and New Years day. A stretch of time filled with too much adrenaline, sugar, parties and expectations. One year we scheduled a week long family vacation to the Bahamas during this busy season (yes, that's me on a white sandy Bahama beach), but since we can't afford that every year I tend to go on a mental vacation instead. And I notice it's not just me, either. All around me people give up their normal routines to try to cram too much fun into just a matter of days. We spend too much money on things we don't need and think those things will really satisfy us this time, and then we schedule too many parties with all the people we were too busy to spend time with the rest of the year.

I have fallen into a bit of a pity-party mode as the firsts without Trent come slamming in one right after the other. And, as I tend to go the physical route when the emotional route is too hard, I have been pondering things like tearing out the kitchen ceiling and creating a vaulted bead board cathedral theme. I have a sister that likes to tear things down (like walls) when life gets a little consuming, so I pretty much have convinced myself that between her and I (and Cole) we could tackle this project and complete it before December 25, or at least before my birthday on the 31st. Yes, just a bit of anxiety kicking in here. That's why I write, that's why I farm, that's why I take 332 pictures at any given event, that's why I buy old farmhouses; it makes dealing with the anxiety just a bit easier.

So, onto my other ramblings . . . ramblings that woke me up before 6:00 a.m. and almost made me get out of my warm bed and start the coffee pot to enjoy the quiet house and ponder eternal truths.

I've noticed that we live in a cross-less Christian culture. There is a lot of talk about Jesus, a lot of hype about Him, and a lot of books and entertainment sold about Him, but there's not a lot of pointing to the cross. Our pastor made the interesting comment yesterday that the gospel is only the gospel when the cross is pointed out. The cross represents our sin; an issue that nobody seems to want to talk too much about. We like the fact that there's a heaven to look forward to one day, but not so much the thought of our sin or the price paid so that we could go there.

For years I have asked the question about any given sermon, book, article, etc.: "Who is it about? God or me? Who did I learn more about? God or me?"

Most of it seems to be about me. And "me" likes it to be all about "me", but since God said He wouldn't share His glory, and as I realize who "me" really is, there is only one conclusion: it really is all about God.

So now I've added to my search "Is the cross pointed out?"

The cross that Jesus hung on, the cross that God ordained before the creation of the world, the cross that points out sin, the cross that we are called to carry every day as believers walking in this foreign land. The ugly cross, the bloody cross, the shameful cross. The beautiful cross, the joy that was seen beyond the cross, the cross that meant the enemy was defeated. Is that cross pointed out?

Not the pretty cross that we wear around our necks or dangling from our ears. But the cross that means we know who we are; we know that we are sinners saved only by grace. We know that our God has good plans for us, that He doesn't make mistakes, that it will all glorify Him. The cross that reveals it was our sin that held our Savior there, and put Him there in the first place. The cross that means we know this God, really know Him; know His Word, and believe it enough to obey it.

Easy believism runs rampant amongst professing believers. But God won't accept easy believism on That Day. I've watched (not too seriously, but it's always there) the media, and what is popular in America's Christianity, and what books are selling. What I find is that the gospel is lacking. People still want to believe in their works and their presumed own worth for acceptance. But only the cross, and what Jesus did on it, provides acceptance.

I had a dream. I love it when God sends me dreams about Trent. I find my soul trusting God, but at the same time my arms and my heart longing for Trent to be here. I continue to fight the battle to not trust my deceiving heart, but rather to trust God's word (Jeremiah 17:9).

In the dream we were just at my sister's house; just "being", just being normal. And Trent was there, and I was thrilled that he was back, and I wanted to never wake up. As he held one twin cousin in a headlock, though, he looked up at me and through his smile he said, "Mom, you know I can't stay here. I don't even want to stay here."

But I want you here, my heart cried. And my soul cried out at the same time, knowing God never makes mistakes, trusting Him more than my heart, more than the pain. I know Trent, I know. And he had those long Ken-doll locks, not the spiked hair, and his smile was still the same, and I can almost hear him giggle even now as I type this and see his eyes twinkle. So I cry and I pray and I force the words to come out, and then when they do I let them flow with the tears so that I can feel again instead of being numb and I can pick up my own cross, gladly, and set my face as flint towards God and His ways for the joy set before me.

And I still may go do a search on how to vent peaked ceilings and wire can-lights and measure how much extra bead board we have sitting in the pump house and then make another pot of coffee and see what Traci is up to today because that's just the way I am.

Critters, and Baby Critters

2011-12-08T16:31:00.007-06:00

It's that time of year again: time to start the incubator. My Mom always laughs at me for having all those chicks in my basement in January, but in the middle of a cold Wisconsin winter it becomes my sanity some days. The timer has been set for a trek out in the cold to check for fresh, still warm chicken eggs every 45 minutes or so throughout the late morning/early afternoon in the hopes of getting enough to fill the trays in the next few days. This year we have all Light Brahma's; other years we have had a little bit of various breeds of chickens. The Brahma's have been my favorite with their brown eggs, beautiful plumage and feathery feet, so they won out when we were scouring the chick adds nearly a year ago.
The other babies that we are looking forward to soon are the goat babies. I knew this would be a tough winter to get through anyway, so I purposely planned for January babies as a diversion. But January didn't seem so cold in August. Five of our older does are due mid-month, and are looking appropriately plump. They are enjoying back rubs and petting, which is a pretty good indication that the dates are correct. The younger does will be due in March and April, and will be our first kids sired by Jacob from Brenda's farm. Brenda's does are all due starting in just a week, so be sure to check back on her often. If you are anxious for new kids now, check out Tonia's new little ones. Her buck is a brother to our Jacob, so I will be excited to see if we get some of those spots, too.

Therefore . . .

2011-12-08T16:23:00.003-06:00

Therefore we do not lose heart.

Though outwardly we are wasting away,

yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.

For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us

an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen,

but on what is unseen.

For what is seen is temporary,

but what is unseen is eternal.

2 Corinthians 4:16-18

I'm thinking this will be my new verse to memorize, or maybe I'll have Alexis write it out in calligraphy and put it in a frame to hang on the wall, or I could have it tattooed on my other ankle. "Light and momentary" being the key words, as well as "glory and eternal", and then there's "seen and unseen". With the holidays, and all the new firsts, those things have gotten harder to remember lately. I think these are the day's all those kind people warned me about nine months ago when the hope was still so fresh and eternity didn't seem so far away; it now seems pretty far away. So, I pray harder, cry more, and hold on tighter. In desperation I call on my prayer warriors, only to find out that they are already responding to God's urging to go to their knees to hold me up in prayer at this time; just another testimony to God's never-ending provision. So I pray for them right back. Light and momentary, glory and eternal, seen and unseen; holding on tighter to my Savior's hand until I see Him face to face for myself.

Hiding in God

2011-12-07T08:47:00.004-06:00

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

neither are your ways my ways,"

declares the Lord. "

As the heavens are higher than the earth,

so are my ways higher than your ways,

and my thoughts than your thoughts."

Isaiah 55:8

I have forgotten that the past few days. I have forgotten the vast distance between my thoughts and God's thoughts. Somehow, I fell into the trap of thinking that I knew best, that I could control my little universe, that my plans would work better than His.

"Sometimes God comes down and asks great things of His people; God puts us on a course of His own choosing." I wrote the words down during the sermon at church on Sunday, and have come back to relish them again today. The pastor was talking about Mary when the angel came to tell her that she would be the virgin mother of the Son of God; definitely not a path of her own choosing as a young teenager. Her response? "I am a servant of the Lord, let it be as you said." Luke 1:26-38

Not sulking, not defeat, not defiance. Humble obedience. Total trust.

God offered me an invitation to the thirsty this morning by bringing me to Isaiah 55. And I am thirsty for Him; so thirsty. "Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and your soul will delight in the richest of fare. Give ear and come to me; hear me, that your soul may live." (Isaiah 55:2-3)

Hope; I forgot about hope. Hope beyond today, hope beyond pain, hope for eternity. The mail-lady delivered a little book by Joni Eareckson-Tada this week called Hope . . . the Best of Things. In this inspiring little booklet, she writes about Christians being called to take up our cross daily and follow the Lord Jesus (Luke 9:23). But her cross, she says, is not her wheelchair; it is her attitude towards her wheelchair. Ultimately, her attitude towards God for putting her in that wheelchair.

Ouch.

My cross is not that my son died; my cross is my attitude towards God for working out His plans which included my son dieing at age twelve. "His ways are higher than mine," He reminded me, "higher than the heavens are from the earth." I can't see eternity. I can't see the ripple effects of one boy going to heaven. I can't see beyond the pain some days. But God has let me choose: my ways, or His ways. Ultimately, there is no choice, other than to see that I have taken my eyes off of the cross, off of Jesus, and that I have resorted back to trusting in my own ways.

. . . if you honor it by not going your own way and not doing as you please or speaking idle words, then you will find your joy in the Lord . . .

Isaiah 58: 13b-14a

Jibberish to one who does not know the Lord; overwhelming peace to one who looks forward to the coming of the Lord Jesus and that day when salvation will be revealed and our King will reign, defeating His enemies, including death.

Seek the Lord while He may be found; call on Him while He is near.

Isaiah 55: 6

Blessed is the man who does this, the man who holds it fast. . .

Isaiah 56:2a

A Winter Wonderland

2011-12-06T14:48:00.005-06:00

Winter has officially hit in Wisconsin. The temps have begun to consistently drop, and again we are crazy enough to be convinced into thinking that thirty degrees above zero is a warm front. There is fresh, clean snow on the ground to lure us into dreaming about ice skating and sliding. Hibernation mode seems to be setting in as well, with thoughts turning to books, quilts, and hot chocolate with cool-whip and sprinkles on top. Winter's not so bad: there's Christmas and birthday's and lots of good food. Everyone is settling in here for a long cold spell; critters and people alike. We'll hope to stall off any thoughts of spring for at least a couple more months when all those seed catalog's start filling the mailbox and our minds begin to think, once again, warm thoughts.

Now . . . if somebody could just convince this little Indian boy that it really is time to put the shorts away!

Contentment

2011-12-03T22:23:00.004-06:00

Laying in bed expecting sleep to come, and realizing that the odds are against me thanks to that big cup of tea I drank at 4:30, I crawl out from beneath my warm covers to let the barking dog in . . . a good excuse to write and get these thoughts out of my head.

The thoughts of being content in God, and God alone. I know I am supposed to be, and I long to be, but too often I catch myself, again, looking here and now for that contentment.

I see it running rampant in my children, too, with the Christmas season approaching. For as much as we think we are not training them up to seek their treasures here, they still have their own lists of what they hope will ultimately make them happy: dolls and electronic gadgets and remote control trucks to replace the one that survived less than twenty-four hours from last week. Always more, always longing for something else. Maybe the lists are so long because, deep down, we all hope the "next one" will fulfill the ultimate satisfaction we seek on some level; the ultimate satisfaction that is only found in Jesus Christ when He reigns.

I have been pondering heaven again lately. First, the fact that Trent is there. Just that thought alone makes me pause. I have to stop what I'm doing, literally, and can't even go beyond that realization sometimes. He's there. My son, my Trent, is in heaven. He's still Trent, and he's in heaven, knowing what I can't begin to imagine, knowing what Jesus looks like, knowing God spirit to spirit, in heaven. He made it, he's there.

What I have been pondering, after I get over that fact, is that even in heaven our souls are incomplete. Better, by far, with no sin and being in the presence of your Savior, but still incomplete. As our pastor pointed out, and as I read in Revelation, the saints are crying out "How long, Oh Lord?" We were created to be complete with both soul and body: there are no bodies in heaven for those who have died. They, too, are waiting for Jesus to return to make all things right again; including receiving their resurrected bodies. "How long, Oh Lord?" we cry with them as we wait for Him, too.

In the past nine months I can hardly get my thoughts off of heaven and God. One foot here, one foot there; loving my children here, loving my children there. Trusting God for all of it. And the sweet Word of God, oh, the sweet Word. I feel the need to marinate in it, to soak it up by my whole being. It is powerful, and convicting, and life changing.

Eternity. Just imagine: eternity. There is no end to that word. There is an end to our lives here, but not to eternity. We put so much stock into this life, so much is invested here, when really, we should be investing there. What would it look like if Christians lived with eternity constantly on their minds? If we lived wondering, even expecting, what if today was the day we would enter that eternity, and see our God?

I feel like I am just waiting . . . waiting for eternity, or for Jesus to come back and make it all Right.

The Tears of the Saints

2011-12-01T10:31:00.004-06:00

. . . and as she stood behind {Jesus} at his feet weeping,

she began to wet his feet with her tears.

Luke 7:38a

How many tears would it take to wet a man's feet? To wet them enough to require the need of wiping them dry? And how humble must one be to bow and dry them with your own hair? And how great must be the sins, and the awareness of them, to cause all those tears in the first place?

I've cried; but never enough to wet more than my own face. I've wept over my sins; but never before a room of mocking men. I've knelt before my Savior; but never have I kissed his feet.

"Now which of them will love Him more?" Jesus asked.

Simon replied, "I suppose the one who had the bigger debt canceled."

"You have judged correctly, " Jesus answered.

I weep this morning because my debt was cancelled. I weep this morning because I haven't wept enough before. I weep because I have never seen it so clearly; because there haven't been enough tears shed; because my debt is the bigger debt; because my Savior chose to cancel my son's debt.

Who will love Jesus more?

The one who had the bigger debt canceled.

On the Radio

2011-11-28T09:13:00.005-06:00

"You are my witnesses," declares the Lord, "that I am God."

Isaiah 43:12b

Another amazing opportunity has presented itself to share about God. A couple of months ago Renee, from TailSpinFarm, sent me an email telling me that her husband, Scott, was the host of a Blog Talk Radio program, Christian Devotions Speak Up! She wondered, if by any chance, I might be interested in sharing our story of God's faithfulness in our lives on the show.

Of course I would!

More emails followed which introduced me to this guy who might as well have been another pesky brother-in-law, questionnaires were filled out, books were sent east, and Renee has even decided to join us on the big night.

And now the big night is tomorrow!

Tuesday, November 29, 2011 6:00 p.m. EST at Christian Devotions Speak Up!

Please pray for me, friends! Pray for those who will hear the testimony of our good God! Pray for salvation and changed eternities and that I don't pass out or stumble over words or the phone battery dies or, or, or . . .

So Long Porks!

2011-11-28T08:59:00.002-06:00

OurCrazyFarm is officially pigless as of this morning. The last of the pigs were shipped, without any troubles {thanks God!}, and some lucky patrons will soon have their freezers full of farm fresh pork. We went big in the pork department this year and raised eight pigs, in two separate batches. They were raised off of cheese and whey, along with left over garden goodies. Eight pigs, averaging a minimum of 250# each, equals a lot of cheese! Normally we don't like to keep pigs in the Wisconsin Winter as we are not set up with cold weather provisions, so it was good to see them go before the elements turned too harsh. Hibernation mode is setting in here, and having one less thing to do for chores in the snow is fine by me.

Not So Little Boys

2011-11-28T08:39:00.003-06:00

I realized the other day that we are almost past the little boy stage at our house. These poor last children of big families; they are destined to be the babies forever. My baby sister was over for Thanksgiving last week~ yes, she's thirty-something and her baby is older than my baby . . .

I love the little/big boy stage; the age of innocence and joy in simple things. Their out of diapers yet not quite to the ornery stage yet, and the Dollar Store still thrills as well as the simple joy of sitting next to Mom at movie night. "I'm just comfortable with you, Mom" is going to ring like sweet music to my ears for quite some time. And this morning, after venturing down the stairs still in his PJ's, "Well, nice to see you Mom!"

And his latest, which none of us can convince him otherwise, is the fact that he has been chosen to become the next Power Ranger. So stay tuned, maybe he knows something we don't.

Just Stand

2011-11-26T10:01:00.008-06:00

And after you have done everything; just stand.

from Ephesians 6:13

Just stand. Or lay. Or get on your knees. Sometimes there is nothing else to do. And as a "doer", doing nothing is the hardest thing in the world. So I {fitfully, anxiously, nervously} just stand.

Anxiety hits hard, and at unexpected times, like at 5:30 a.m. after Rob has already gotten out of bed and the dark is dark and the thoughts won't quit. What if God isn't there? What if eternity never comes? What if I am swallowed up today by this reality? What if the whispers of the enemy are true? Why can't I remember the rest of that verse about God being faithful and that Jesus is really coming back one day?

Just stand.

Although I feel withered, and beat, and tired and bent, I will still stand. Just stand. Stand firm in the Word, firm as the battle rages, firm as the shame heaps from within and my arms and my whole being feel weak; I will stand firm in my Savior's tight grip.

As Elijah (1 Kings 19), I resort back to simple rest. Food, coffee, a bed and a book. A needed respite from the world that continues to invade with it's never-ending demands. Rest for my weary soul, rest to fight the battle again, rest to remember the Promises.

I wait for the peace again, the calm in the storm. I wait to be renewed. I wait for the comforting whispers from a voice not my own. "Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you."

But as for me, I will always have hope. I will praise You more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteousness, of Your salvation all day long, though I know not its measure. I will come and proclaim your mighty acts, O Sovereign Lord; I will proclaim Your righteousness, Yours alone. Though You have made me see troubles, many and bitter, You will restore my life again. My lips will shout for joy when I sing praise to You~ I, whom You have redeemed.

Sweet Promises from Psalm 71

The Farmer's Wife

2011-11-25T16:33:00.004-06:00

Being the farmer's wife comes with certain privileges. Sure, you might not get to do all the fun stuff like driving the skid steer and loading the pigs, but you always get the front end on bull banding day. You have to be a true-blue farm girl to appreciate the benefit of that little detail.

A True Thanksgiving

2011-11-25T14:18:00.000-06:00

I know it was Thanksgiving last week. I know it was deer hunting opener last week. And I know I didn't post about it. It took enough energy to get through the days, let alone trying to decide how it all went or how I felt about it.

I think, really, that I just didn't want to have to remember the firsts without Trent. I didn't want pictures of another holiday without him. I didn't want a group-shot of blaze-orange hunters without seeing his face in the midst of them. I didn't want to make a paper-mache pinyata, or decorate it, or fill it with candy, or wait for what should have been his turn to take a swing.

I couldn't make taco soup this year for all those hungry guys, and maybe I won't next year either. And I was never so grateful as to have such a goofy daughter and nobody else in the kitchen to fight over whose turn it was to grind the cranberries. I couldn't decorate a turkey cookie, let alone eat one, and I counted myself lucky to have such a good helper to get through mixing the half-dozen frosting colors.

The Spoons table and the hugging sisters did me in. Trying to tell a friend why it meant so much to me that he loved my son and had taken the time to teach him how to cook sucker-lips on a stick about did us both in. Seeing that group of 13 kids, and knowing that one was missing, and knowing that they were knowing that one was missing, makes eternity seem a long ways off.

But there was still lots to be thankful for; lots. Friends and family in abundance: friends from down the road and friends from half-way across the world. Not-so-new babies, Grandma's and Grandpa's, aunt's and uncles, big kids and teen-agers who seemed like just yesterday they were the babies. More food and pie than what would even fit on my kitchen island and counter tops, and seeing the real advantage of someday having a front porch and a pantry.

Last year all I wanted was to have the bathroom remodeling project finished before Thanksgiving company came again. This year all I wanted, painted ceiling or not, was to simply enjoy the loved one's that God has put in our lives. And I did; I really did.

Two Sisters

2011-11-21T15:42:00.004-06:00

As I happened to walk around the corner and saw these two sitting at the piano in the sunlight today I had to turn back and grab my camera. There are some moments in life where you know that you are seeing more than a lens can capture; moments, somehow, that portray the very work of God Himself, moments that you don't want to forget, moments that go too fast.

I saw more than two sisters playing the piano. I saw childhoods, and foreign countries, and answered prayers. I saw one little girl praying unceasingly for a sister, and another little girl in desperate need of a sister. Visions of Barbie dolls and horse rides and laughter flashed through my mind as I clicked away, hoping that this time they wouldn't mind Mom taking a dozen or more shots. I saw braided hair and fancy dresses, and costumes and ballets, and even fights and tears and making up.

As the beams of sunlight shone on them, and the melodies and the harmonies continued in their own little enchanted world that didn't hear the Craigslist-special-piano in desperate need of a tuning, I could almost see weddings and sons-in-laws and catching bouquets. All too quickly those days will be here, too. Slow down, life.

For today, I will simply bask in the laughter and joy of two young ladies playing piano in the sunlight.

Letting the Hurt, Hurt

2011-11-19T08:24:00.008-06:00

Today, again, grief just hurts. I don't know why I am so stubborn and refuse to realize that and so often try to stuff it instead. I just want to fight it, as if I could fight the pain. It just hurts. We were not ultimately created to know death; it is the deepest, darkest taste of sin. Death is too much reality of the world we live in; so much proof that this world is in need of a Savior to make it all right. Oh, that Jesus would come soon and make it right.

Some days I wonder why I had to be the one to experience this, to feel this, to live this. Why couldn't I just go on with my rose colored glasses living my merry little life? But then other days I praise God for waking me up; waking me up to reality. And I praise Him for showing me the brevity of life, and for showing me the way of salvation, and for showing me Trent's salvation, and for giving me hope beyond this pain.

God asked me if I trust Him. Do I really believe what He says? Do I really believe His plans are best? Do I really believe in eternity where all will be made right? "Yes, Lord, I do" is my weak reply as I lay in my bed trying to figure out how to get out of it this morning. Then let the hurt, hurt.

The tears come when I go to my knees to try to worship this Creator God; this God with His perfect plans of pain. He is good; so good that I can't even fathom how good. My words are not sufficient, only tears are. Tears that will one day be wiped away. Tears over sons, and lost souls, and faithful prayer warriors.

Home Schoolin'

2011-11-18T11:14:00.004-06:00

Home school; we've been doing it for 10 years now. The grades span from elementary through high school this year; a little one-room school house right in our dining room. Young minds are being filled with wisdom every day (now if I could just get them to get dressed first and take out the garbage). Our days have settled into a nice rhythm of reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic. I am learning again about transitive and intransitive verbs, atomic models, allegory and irony, reciprocal fractions, the phonetic sounds of all 26 letters of the alphabet and their partners, as well as the dates and names and important places of the American Revolution (Sounds impressive, huh? Mostly they hurry through the books so they can cross it off the schedule and go play). This little tidbit was interesting from the other day: did you know that the Boston Massacre really started because somebody threw a snowball at somebody else? Me either. My kids didn't either.

This is my favorite part of home school though~ snuggling on the couch with my kiddos reading books. And the best part is that every child in our house can read (to some level at least). Whew! One of my hardest jobs in education has been accomplished. Even the goofy dog enjoys a good story!

Musical Chairs

2011-11-18T10:28:00.007-06:00

I see them, twenty-or-so teen-agers circling metal folding chairs, going round and round and round as the music plays in the background. I see them, leaders playing the games right along with the kids. I see them, the Bibles on the shelves. I see them, the minutes ticking by, ninety of them. I see them again, in a new light, twenty-or-so souls who will face God one day to each give an account. And they are still circling those metal folding chairs; round and round and round.

It is only my job to observe this night. As I watched from my corner I realized that time was never quite found for the gospel message to be presented, let alone the Scripture to be preached. These twenty souls, in need of a Savior, in need of a message, in need of the truth; twenty souls not put in that little room by chance once a week. I wondered, "What if it's one of them who will see their Creater this Friday?" These twenty souls, entrusted to men and women this night by Jesus Himself. Men and women who will also give an account one day sooner than they think.

I pray for them; all of them. Rise us up leaders, Lord, who fear You, who know Your Word, who are brave enough to present it. Leaders that will lead; followers who will follow. Rise up men to preach the Word, hearts that will consider eternity, lives that long to be changed. Somehow we have gotten comfortable here in this fallen world.

And there they go again. The music starts, round and round and round, circling those metal folding chairs. We don't have time for musical chairs when there is a battle raging all around us.

A Book Announcement

2011-11-16T12:27:00.003-06:00

I am so excited to finally share the official news with you my bloggy friends~ The Book is finished! It's hot off the presses, and hopefully the first shipment is already on the big, brown UPS truck and headed north as I type!

I'm buckling my seat belt for the next part of this wild ride that God has me on as I anticipate what He is going to do with His book. There's a radio announcer lined up, as well as our local newspaper working on an article, and calls have been made for arranging a local book signing.

The book is available for purchase through WestBow Press, Amazon (with some minor technical difficulties, soon to be fixed I am sure), or over here at the How My Savior Leads Me official book site where you can request signed copies~ come and take a look! (I don't want to turn OurCrazyFarm into a sales site, so I'll try to head most of the traffic over there for book stuff.)

Your names are in it friends and followers! So many of you have walked this walk with me and have made such a huge impact on my journey that I couldn't not add you in the acknowledgments:

Sherry, Cathy, RedGateFarm, Brenda, Momma Hooch, Renee, Kristen, Laura J., Sonja, Janette, Teresa, Dalyn, Heather, Shoshanna, Amy, Midlife Farmwife, DickyBird, Traci, my editor SheMarksinRed, my niece Anne, Maddie, and all you other lurkers and followers. Even you, Blaine and Jeannie, and Jill and Jen, Steve and Kitty, and Ritchard and Joyce (amongst others)for your faithful "real life" friendships and continuous love.

Thanks, faithful friends!

I Love You More

2011-11-15T08:31:00.005-06:00

If I love you more, will you love me less?

2 Corinthians 12:15

"I love you more." It's been a regular saying around our house for years. I think it started out with a little bunny book nearly a decade ago when we didn't know what tweens or teen-agers were. "I love you more." The battle still continues today, especially at bedtime, especially with a little tween girl. It's a good battle.

I heard God whisper it today as I sat in my broken recliner, drinking my hazelnut flavored coffee, looking out over the frosty yard, hair uncombed, listening to four kids (who were supposed to be) quietly working on school books, or lost in their own little world with God. "I love you. I love you more."

My morning rejoicing over Trent being in heaven has gone to a morning contentment lately; one can only stay on the mountaintop so long. Even rejoicing becomes exhausting. After nearly nine months I find (I know, I know, duh) that I keep coming back to the same reality: this is still real. It's not going to change. Trent is not here. Graciously, God continues to constantly point my eyes to Him, to His truths, to His joys, to eternity.

But it's a battle. A battle that becomes ferociously intense at times. So I praise the Lord that He made me too stubborn deep down in my genetic core to refuse a good fight. My husband can attest. As can my sister who is too much the same way.

God is the author and perfecter of our faith. What He uses to grow me may not be what He uses to grow you. But are you growing? Are you fighting? Have you bowed to Jesus as Lord?

This trial leads me to recite over and over and over again the promises of Scripture. I put no confidence in the flesh; my God is sovereign; it is God's will that I should be sanctified, therefor I put my hope in God alone; I will strive to be joyful in hope, patient in affliction and faithful in prayer because I know that this present grief and suffering won't even be worth comparing to the glory of Jesus Christ that will be revealed; throughout it all God is refining me and proving my faith (and Himself).

Salvation, and God's word, and Jesus Himself continue to be my greatest joy. I look forward to eternity: not to next week, or next year, or when the goats are due, or the mortgage is paid off. I have never prayed "Lord, let your Kingdom come" with such a fervency and longing before this trial.

I stop often and look up at the stars and the moon at night. I have been known as of late to even stop on my walk up from the barn and just lay down in the cold grass to look up. Two kiddos looked at me odd the first time I was laying there, but soon found a comfortable spot of their own to gaze upon the heavens. One day I will know what the face of the God looks like who made those stars, and the sun, and the moon and put them in their place. Genesis 1:16 almost makes those little twinkling lights seem like an after thought when God was creating the universe. If the stars are the after thought, what then is the creation? What, then, is the worth of salvation? Especially considering that salvation cost the Creator His own Son?

It's as simple as "I love you, too, God." I think He wins. He does love me more. I'll just bask in that knowledge today.

Do You Think there are Tomato Schmears in Heaven?

2011-11-13T16:26:00.009-06:00

Do you think there are tomato schmears in heaven? Do you think boys will still want to kick box with their moms? Do you think they will make that popping, kissing noise when you tuck them into bed at night? Do you think there are mud hills so I could slide down with my son, rather than ewe-ing about the dirt and just standing back and taking pictures? Do you think I could cover myself with mud and dive into the pond to rinse off? Do you think there will be duck boats so I can just sit back and enjoy the ride again with my boys at the oars?

Will there be mornings of breakfast in bed, with pudding and cool whip and a cherry on top? Will there be stairways so I can take a turn riding the mattress down? Or forts to build, or trees to climb, or homemade boats to sail, or short horses to ride, or four wheelers to get stuck? Will there be tents to pitch or squirrels to chase? Pheasant's to mount or big fish to catch? Rivers to explore and lakes to enjoy?

For an eternity I will be able to look out into a crowd and spot those ken-doll locks and expect a young man to walk up and put his arm around me and rub my lower back just because he loves his mom and knows I need him close. I will see the twinkle in his eyes again, the sparkle reflecting from his Savior, as we go forth without the fear of death. If mud hills and duck boats and silly boys were this good this side of heaven, what must the other side be like?

"And I know this man . . . who was caught up to paradise. He heard inexpressible things, things that man is not permitted to tell."

2 Corinthians 12:3-4

Solomon

2011-11-12T15:23:00.005-06:00

We purchased Solomon at an auction barn a couple of years ago. I don't know where he came from, or who parted with this sweet little guy, but God certainly answered our prayers that night as I raised my card, not once but twice, and won him. He is now two years old, and still a stud (which could prove to have caused some issues with our two mares this spring).

Some girls are just destined to be cowgirls, and Grace is one of them. Today she begged for me to help her ride Solomon. Of course, after she told me she had already been on him once, I was a little less hesitant to just help her up on the back of a green bronc. So off she went and brought him up from the pasture; no halter, just a lead rope to throw around his neck. And she got on him, and he lazily walked with me over to the hay, and even refused the tootsie-roll in my pocket as a treat for the good job he did.

The thought has crossed my mind several times this summer that I really don't need a colt to train right now; but then the thought crosses my mind that there is a little girl who maybe does need a colt to train right now.

Hey Cowgirl!

2011-11-12T15:17:00.003-06:00

Cat-Tails in the Pond

2011-11-12T13:48:00.018-06:00

There were cat tails in the pond this summer. I just noticed them today. A whole season has nearly passed and another one will soon begin. And I feel as if I have finally looked around to realize it. The pond is a mess; the grass is shoulder high, the green moss is thick in the water, and the other half of the dock still hasn't found it's permanent home. I can't recall if I even sat under the little arbor on the island to enjoy coffee and my Bible once this past summer. And the cabin sight . . . it looks a lot the same. I took a walk and hid today. I know~ mother's probably shouldn't do that, but my kids are old enough that I can hide once in a while. I just sat and watched the world go by. And took pictures. I can usually gage my emotional/spiritual well being by how many pictures I take and if I am writing or not. Even grocery lists and school schedules count; goofy, happy stuff is even better; lamenting is healing and rejoicing in Jesus is the best. As I sat in the weeds I wondered why projects and ponds ever mattered so much anyway. And then I realized why as I recalled and treasured the memories of this pond: the day that we laughed {and grumped} so hard hauling supplies in the little duck boat to build the arbor with five kids; a full dock that sat in my driveway for months as a special anniversary gift until it was cut in two and put in place so I could walk over to my island; planting blue flowers that never grew in a "victory over death" garden for a son I love and miss; ducks laying on rotten eggs for months; Canadian geese flying in for a landing; catching and releasing entangled wild ducklings; big brothers carrying little sisters across near-frozen water before there was a dock just because she wanted to stand on the island with the big kids; ice skating and shoveling snow; mud slides and a dozen muddy kids; treasure hunts and swimming, smiles and friends and dreams. And I wondered how to begin feeling again. How to live again. How to find joy here again. I realize joy here is so temporary. It's not the things of this world that we should focus on or invest in to find our joy; it's the people, the occasions, the relationships, the eternities changed and the God who changes them. I realized, also, that this is a time to work; a time to work for the coming Kingdom. All that we see here will pass away, maybe sooner than we think, and our opportunities will be over. As like the fleeting days of childhood, that seem some days as if they will never end, and then do end; all too quickly. Soon, our days will end, or Jesus will return and there will be no more opportunities. What is done for the Kingdom now will be done; there will be no second chances to live this life again. The other day we were discussing the importance of salvation, obedience to the words in the Bible, the joy found in repentance,the reality of eternity, how Jesus lived in His time here, and how grateful we were that God is sovereign and that He has opened our eyes to the brevity of life when we are still young enough to change our focus. Don't you discuss those things at your dining room table? We were also discussing the millennial reign of Jesus. The thousand years that Scripture says Jesus will reign on this earth before the final judgement. Can you imagine it? I barely can. I realized that I will get to do what I love, all the things God made me to love, forever. Even goats, and kids, and ponds, and cabin sights. But it will all be without the curse. There will be no more draining spiritual battles to fight, sins to repent of, or children who die. The things unseen will be seen; I will walk face to face, hand in hand with my Savior. But this is still the battle zone. So I fight; even it's by just hiding for a while and taking pictures.

Hard Work and Chickens

2011-11-11T10:39:00.007-06:00

Hard work and chickens; that's what Cole likes. He's never happier than when there's wood to throw or Dad is home to work with. New projects thrill him, as well as pipping eggs and baby chicks. His brain is always a-whirl with numbers, and plans, and projects. Rarely does he ever let me take his picture. Usually all I get is a hand covered face, or a blurred image as he ducks his head. It must have been the new/used thrift store cover-all's that made digital photography acceptable this morning. Or maybe just the fact that he was in his glory made it acceptable to almost stop to pose for mom. Or maybe it was just the zoom lens and hiding behind the lilac bush that allowed me to capture so much. I wonder about him as he is hauling wood alone this morning. Having been promoted so early to big brother status, and the weight of that responsibility at twelve-years-old, how he's really doing. How do young boys process losing their big brothers? Their rivals, their examples, their worst enemy and best friend? I don't know what else to do but pray, and love him, and keep pointing him to Jesus. So I do just that. Then I put my camera down and help him haul wood so he doesn't have to do it alone, and listen to him talk about chickens, and rabbits, and wood piles.

Soap Molds and How to Make Goat Milk Soap

2011-11-10T10:12:00.007-06:00

For those brave souls who are willing to try it on their own . . . a little tutorial on making cold process goat's milk soap . . . it's really a lot easier than you would think. For those not so brave souls who don't want to try it on their own . . . there will be another soap making class next fall, Lord willing!

Terri's Goat's Milk Soap Recipe:
20 ounces Canola Oil
8 ounces Coconut Oil
12 ounces Olive Oil
5.6~ounces Lye
14.4~ ounces Goat Milk
Scents (1 ounce or more) or Additives of Choice

*Prepare your molds~ Spray plastic molds with cooking spray. Line other molds with plastic wrap.
*Measure the lye, set aside.
*Heat oils to 100-110 degrees in a stainless steel pan.
*Pour slushy goats milk into a stainless steel container, place in a sink with ice water. Slowly add the lye to the milk while continuously mixing with a wooden spoon. Cool to 100-110 degrees.
*Add the warm oil to the milk solution and mix with a stick blender (off and on) until light trace.
*At light trace add any scents, colors or exfoliates.
*Continue to mix. At trace pour into prepared molds.
*Wrap with plastic wrap, then cover the mold with a towel.
*After 24-48 hours cut the bars (wear plastic gloves as the lye can still burn your hands). Allow soap to cure 3-8 weeks before use.

Supplies needed: Stainless steel pail, stainless pan for the stove top, thermometer, wooden spoon, spatula, electric wand mixer, soap mold, saran wrap or cooking spray, plastic gloves, safety glasses, newspaper, old bathroom towel, vinegar (None of the mixing items should be used for food use again).

Always wear plastic gloves, long sleeves, and eye protection when making soap.

After trying different scents I have found that I like these the best from: Shawnee Soap Maker

To start with, prepare your work sight and everything you will need to make soap. I haven't had a problem creating soap in my kitchen, with the windows open for ventilation. FYI~ only use glass or stainless steel to mix your soap in, and don't plan on using them again as they could possibly retain some lye. I use stainless steel milk pails as they are high enough to prevent spills.

I lay out newspapers at each of my work stations (next to the stove top, next to the sink, and on the island where I will set my pail to mix) for easy clean up and to catch any spills.

Once you have all of your supplies out, start by preparing your soap molds. If you are using a wooden soap mold (like I am), you will line it with saran wrap, taping it down as needed. And, for Sonja who has been so patient, my molds measure 15" long, by 2 3/4" high, and 3 1/2" wide inside diameter. They are the perfect size for this recipe, and you end up with 13 nice sized bars of soap.

Spray your plastic molds lightly with cooking spray. Any plastic container, or even a cardboard box lined with saran wrap will work fine. Just be sure that you don't make your soap too thin, or else it will curl as it dries.

Measure your oils, and pour into your stainless steel pan to go onto the stove top.

Pour your slushie goat's milk into your pail, and set in a sink with ice water. Pre-measure your lye and set aside. When everything is prepared, it's time to heat up your oils. You want to reach a temperature between 100-110. The oils heat up rather quickly, so keep a close eye on them. Once you reach temperature, shut the heat off and set the pan aside if you are using an electric stove to prevent overheating.

Now, let me put the fear of God into you about lye. Lye is caustic: it will burn, it will blow up your kitchen, and you have the potential to lose your eyesight and will never be able to gaze upon the love of your life or your sweet little dumplings ever again if you are not careful. Be warned! And then just be cautious. NEVER, NEVER pour your liquids into your lye. Always pour the lye into your liquid~ slowly.

If you happen to get lye splashed on you, or even start to feel any tingling while making your soap, pour vinegar over the affected skin. Eyes would need to be rinsed out with water, and then seek immediate medical attention (but of coure you're wearing your protective glasses). Don't hover over your pail! Don't ask me why . . . Turtle necks are great to wear while making soap.

Slowly, pour your lye into your slushie milk in the sink of water and ice. Your milk will start out white, but you will soon see it turning yellow. If you pour the lye too fast, it will actually burn and even curdle your milk. The slower you pour your lye, the lighter your soap will be. The quicker you pour, the darker your soap will be.

The lye is going to heat up the milk: sometimes very fast, sometimes slow, depending on how cold your milk and your sink is, and how fast you are pouring. You are trying to achieve a nice, steady increase in temperature.

Keep stirring as you are pouring the lye. Watch your temperature closely~ you are trying to achieve 100-110 again. Add more ice to the sink as needed, or take the pail out of the sink if necessary. You will want to tip your pail to get a good temperature measurement so that you get a true reading.

Once you are between 100-110, take your pail out of the sink and put it on your newspaper lined work station. Slowly add your warm oils while mixing with your wooden spoon. Now it's time to start blending. A stick blender works great for this (but remember, you can't use it again for food use). It is possible to mix by hand with a wooden spoon, but it will take about 2-3 hours of constant mixing.

The mixture will start out pretty thin, but within 10-15 minutes you will begin to have a pudding consistency. This is called "trace". You are looking for a light trace so that you can add your scents or additives. When your mixture starts to get thicker, take your wand and drizzle the soap across the top of the mixture~ if it holds itself up, you are at trace.

At a light trace you can add your scents and additives. Watch your soap carefully at this point. This is prime time for seizing (when additives make your soap instantly become rock hard). I have personally never had any soap seize, but there's always a first time. More often I find that the soap thins out as you have added more liquids. Mix until you get back to a thicker trace, keeping in mind that your blender is warm by now, too, and adding to the heat of your soap mixture. It is fine to let the soap sit quietly for a couple/few minutes rather than burn out your blender or overheat your soap.

At this point, since I am layering this batch of soap, I will pour part of my batch back into my oil pot.

Next I added cocoa to the pail (not too much, tho, I found out the hard way as you get chocolate bubbles, chocolate hands, and chocolate sinks) and mix again.

When my mixture is back to a nice trace again, it's time to pour it all into the prepared soap molds.I scrape off every last little bit with the spatula.And then pour.

Next, I pour my light color on top.

Because I used Hazelnut Coffee scent, I sprinkled the top with coffee grounds to look pretty.

Then I cover the soap with saran wrap, and wrap it all up in an old bathroom towel to incubate over night. To prevent soda ash you will want to gently press down the saran wrap to reduce any air getting to your soap.

After 24-48 hours it's time to cut your soap. I use a cheese cutter to get perfect sized bars, but you can also use fishing line, knives, or fancy crinkle potato slicers (just remember, don't use them for food again). The lye can still burn you at this point, so always wear gloves while cutting your fresh soap.

Find a spot to let your soap cure. I have a drying rack, lined with newspaper, in an out of the way closet. Basements are too damp to allow proper curing, and warm spots will dry out your soap too quick. After 3-8 weeks your soap will be fully cured and ready to use. Soap never goes bad, and only gets better with age.

Enjoy the benefits of your very own homemade goats milk soap!

Dance Before Your King, My Son

2011-11-10T08:55:00.009-06:00

My little sister sent over some pictures of Trent the other day. They came on a good day, a smiling day. I didn't even cry over them, until I saw Brenda and tried to thank her.

Grief is such an unpredictable monster; silently sleeping some days, roaring other days, lying under the surface threatening to burst often times, paralyzing to the whole mind and body when it wants to be. We were discussing the other day the physical pain of grief itself. There is a literal aching in my arms to feel Trent again, and my chest is constantly sore, probably from trying to hold it all in, and then finally letting it out. The exhaustion is overwhelming as well. I try to protect from "extras" as much as I can so that I can just commit myself full time to this process.

I strive to remember that it is God Himself who has ordained the pain, the ache, the memories. Maybe the pain is just a taste of the curse of sin that I have spent my whole life getting used to, and now am seeing just a touch of the reality of that fatal first bite (Genesis 3).

Pappa Murphy's about did me in the other day. It should not be that difficult to walk in and order a family size Canadian Bacon with black olives and a cinnamon wheel. But after the young man took my order I had to turn around and study the menu lest the tears start. And then the stuffed pizza options taunted me even more. I've never ordered alone at Pappa Murphy's. There was always a young boy, with his swagger and Ken-doll locks, who opened the door and stood by my side as they made our Cowboy pizza. I didn't let the tears fall until we were driving down the freeway in the dark, with the radio turned up, with a teen-age girl by my side holding the pizza on her lap instead.

But then an hour of sweet conversation followed. Promises amongst the pain. Hope through the tears. Eternities ahead to forget these struggles. A Savior to look forward to. A God who ordains all things perfectly.

I've smiled the last two days. Smiled for a son in heaven. I take the days as they come; one at a time. I can't live them any other way. Deer hunting opener and big, hungry guys in orange suits will come when they come. And if they all sit around my table eating chili, but not taco soup, this year and we all cry~ so be it. Big brothers have big shoulders. They loved him, too. When Thanksgiving comes and there's an extra seat at the SPOONS table, and nobody is on that end to catch the flying silverware, and we all sit and cry~ so be it. Maybe we'll laugh, too, and pretend that he's teaching David and Gideon how to play. I can't go so far ahead as the annual "Wisconsin tan/tattoo revealing" December swimming party, either, or the following Christmas celebration at Grandma's house. That day will come when that day comes.

I was paralyzed by the fear in the middle of the night last night. Sheer panic. What if I wake up one day and God's grace isn't sufficient? Prayers, pleas, and promises go through my mind. And then God answers a specific request, and Rob rolls over and holds me. Maybe he was scared, too. Maybe he was reaching, too.

But then there are days that I dance. Like David, with all my might, I dance (2 Samuel 6:14). It doesn't matter who's watching. It doesn't matter if they understand the dance or not. The music is playing triumphantly; maybe there's even a trumpet I hear in that band. A choir of angel's are singing. So I dance; I dance before my King.

Oh Glorious Day

2011-11-09T09:45:00.004-06:00

I woke up wondering what this new day would hold. Like all days, I started in prayer. Eventually to my knees, eventually in tears, eventually in consuming praise to a sovereign God. Then I had to finagle the intricate workings of the water reservoir on the commode again because the twist tie holding the plastic pieces together broke, again, and the main fix-it man has been too busy making cheese to play plumber. Before the coffee was even done brewing Cole came racing into the house announcing that he caught a skunk in the live trap rather than his lost bunny. Then the other kids got excited and brought the dog out to see it, which, yes, ultimately led to two boys and a dog smelling like skunk. And I still hadn't had my first cup of coffee. And then, on top of it all, the phone was ringing just after 8:00 A.M. The phone and I are not friends, and I avoid it at all costs, especially before coffee. But it was Mr. Ryan, from West Bow Press, calling with the sweet news that the minor-needed revisions are done on the book! Yippee!! Next week, or the next week, I really should have a book . . . a real book, my book, God's book! I'm gonna go drain the coffee pot now . . .

Little Hands, Little Hearts

2011-11-08T11:27:00.007-06:00

I see his little folded hands. I see him bow his head and pray over his bowl of sugar puffs. I wonder what is going through his mind as he talks so long to the God of the universe. I smile, resisting the urge to giggle. I'm praying myself. I'm receiving the answer to my prayers in this moment in the kitchen, perched on stools, sitting next to each other, praying over bowls of sugar puffs.

Longing All the More

2011-11-08T09:29:00.005-06:00

This is what the Lord says, He who made the earth, the Lord who formed it and established it~ the Lord is His name: "Call to Me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know."

Jeremiah 33:2-3

My eyes are focused on heaven today. At the same time my mind and my hands are here to love and nurture those that God gave me to love and nurture. A gal commented to me the other day that we will eventually get over this period of grief where all we think about is heaven and being there ourselves one day. She assured me that I would live enjoying this world again. I'm not sure that I want to get back to that point. If that is the desired goal of grieving, just to live here, then I rather prefer to stay where I'm at.

The temptation to consider every day of the rest of my life nearly overtook me. From this perspective of the still fresh pain of grief, I was almost consumed in the pain of considering how to fight this fight every single day that I wake up here without Trent. I almost ran ahead, worrying about tomorrow, forgetting what God has already done in the past every single day that I have woke up without Trent here. God brought me back to here; to this very moment, to this taste of His grace, to this overwhelming peace. He assured me that it would be there then, too, but not until I got there and needed it.

I look around and watch others living, grieving, seeking God. I observe the similarities of how God works, as well as the diversity of it. God has narrowed my "window" down to the immediate: my family. He's closed me in, so to speak, and shown me the importance of these little souls. This is the "world" that He has called me to. Not to a foreign land; He has brought the foreign land to me. This is my mission field. If I fail here, I am no good "out there". When I am faithful here, He let's anything that's left overflow to touch lives. And He has blessed me in the overflow; I am daily praising Him for that overflow.

At times, my "window" opens a crack and I rejoice in the glimpses of the good works I see Him performing. For friends who encourage and pray, for lives that are touched when all I want to do is hide on my little goat farm, for grown men who repent, for teen-age girls He has allowed me to watch as He transforms their lives, for little hearts who are grieving, too, and the mother that cries out to Him to give her the grace and wisdom to keep on loving.

And then I long for heaven even more, and the day I will see clearly all of His good works.

Soap Class Success

2011-11-07T22:10:00.002-06:00

Our second annual, community-ed Goat Milk Soap making class was a success tonight! Whew! I turn into a nervous Nellie before these things, believe it or not. It was great to see the response from our little town of all the people interested in making soap~ even the sheriff showed up and made a batch. The director told us that the class numbers had been down for other courses, but ours was overflowing (we even made special exceptions to squeeze some extras in), which she was thrilled about. Some students even asked about the possibility of a spring class. Lot's of people went home with smiles on their faces and good smelling boxes of soap under their arms.

Alexis was my charming helper again and did a great job! Thanks Lex!

Non-Respectable Mouse Catchers

2011-11-07T21:59:00.004-06:00

It's pretty hard to be a respectable mouse catcher with a dress on.

To Smile Again

2011-11-07T07:52:00.009-06:00

Praise the Lord, all you nations;

extol him, all you peoples.

For great is His love towards us;

and the faithfulness of the Lord

endures forever.

Praise the Lord.

Psalm 117

I woke up smiling this morning. A smile on my lips and from my whole being, inside and out. I had almost forgotten what that felt like; the beaming, the joy, the freedom. I had dreamt about Trent. I woke up with him still in my arms. And then I remembered that he was in heaven. And I praised my God for it. I praised Him for a son in heaven while my arms clung to my empty chest and the smile stayed, inside and out. Then I went to my knees and praised God again; for his sovereign plans, for the good works still left for me to do, for an eternity to look forward to, for another day to trust Him, for more opportunities to share about Jesus, for children and a husband still here to minister to, for a son in heaven. The sun beamed through my bedroom window, as if to celebrate with me, and to announce the glory of God in the coming day. It feels good to smile again.

One Trick Pony

2011-11-06T15:10:00.006-06:00

Grace set up a little horse show for us the other day. All spring and summer the horse crazy girls in my life have been begging to have another horse showdeo at our place. I just couldn't do it. Too many firsts, too many tears, not enough energy to commit to anything other than grieving. Hopefully next year, little ladies; Lord willing. But I did get on and ride my mighty beast; not in the arena, but in the yard. No dunk race to laugh about this time; rather, I wore my winter hat. No hoola-hoops, goat catching, or pancake-eating-cousins; just mom and daughters and memories and little brothers taking pictures.

I have found, like Lightning, that I am a one trick pony. I only know how to do the same thing over and over and over again; and for me, that is thinking about Jesus and eternity. I'm not sure how many opportunities you have to witness to people about salvation and the benefits of heaven, but around here we get a lot. Especially in the past eight-and-a-half months there have been uncountable opportunities to share our joy and God's truth.

But it still surprises me that I receive, almost unanimously (there are a few exceptions), the same reaction. "Christians" don't quite get that heaven is better than earth, obedience is not an option, and that God really knows what He's doing although they profess the same God as mine, and non-Christians think they will be fine trusting in themselves for their own salvation and don't need to read or hear any Scripture.

I feel beat to a pulp after this past week. I am so saddened for the unbelievers and so disappointed in most of the believers that I have encountered the past few days. My Bible says that God is trustworthy, He is faithful, heaven is good, and we should long to be there. My Bible says that if I am weak, it is actually beneficial because then I quit trusting myself and depend on God, and it's then that His strength is revealed through me. My Bible says that we should forgive, and love, and tell the truth, and plain-old be nice. Guess I need to remember that I only stand before God to give an account for my life and how I lived when my day comes to face my Creator.

Looking forward to a new week and what God has in store for it .

To Smile Again

2011-11-03T16:22:00.007-05:00

I don't know, anymore, how to delight in the simple joys of this life. I can only vaguely recall what it felt like to get out of bed with my only thought being that of looking forward to coffee, and sneaking down the stairs before the kids or the dogs woke up to enjoy the quiet of the morning curled up with my Bible in the recliner. I can't remember what it felt like to just play with my kiddos who are still here without this dull ache in my chest, or the fear of loving them so much, or enjoying them too much, or praying such big things for their lives. To all curl up on the couch with a good book used to be a treasure, now the thought brings tears. Pizza-and-movie night often finds me avoiding looking at the corner of the couch that Trent always claimed. I can hardly remember what it used to be like.

Or maybe I can, and that's what scares me.

I'm smiling on the outside, but the inside still hurts.

Soap Making 101

2011-11-02T10:08:00.003-05:00

Next week is my second annual soap making class at our local high school. Earlier this summer I was requested, summoned, asked for by name by the local community-ed director to teach another goat's milk soap making class. What an honor! I roused myself out of my grief induced fog and told myself I could be brave enough (and I wouldn't cry~ I won't cry, I won't cry, I won't cry) in front of the dear friends who came last year to create beautiful soaps with me. And so, as the day approaches, I have been busy the last few weeks making new soaps, printing soap info and recipes, ordering new scents and colors, putting together a little goat slide show, thinking up new ice-breaker games, and preparing lye packs and jars of oils. The class is overflowing at this point, with a couple of private classes requested as well, and as the holiday approaches orders for buying soaps are coming in. Work is hardly work when you're doing what you love!

I've seen their faces

2011-11-01T10:53:00.004-05:00

I spoke to a young man this past weekend about Trent's death. A young man, a teenager, who did not know God when he was allowed to be a role model in my son's life without even realizing it. A young man, whom I am not even sure if he knows my God yet.

But I saw his face.

I saw his jaw clench. I saw the words penetrating his very soul. I saw the fight between his pride and the tears stinging behind his eyes. Then they started . . . one by one. Tears dripping down a handsome face of a young man being broken by God. A young man that saw too clearly everything his parents diligently tried to teach him all these years was true. A young man who sin not very long ago threatened to rule, who was steeped in that sin until the stench filled the very church he has attended for years; the very church that embraced him and forgave him and loved him still when he repented. I saw his face. It revealed his heart.

Then I saw another man.

A stoic man, a man that refuses to have his heart revealed. A man who preaches it, but is not allowed to live it. A man that cannot bring himself to reveal the tears, or feel the touch of an embrace, or let the hurt run deep enough to be shattered. I fear for this man; the man with the Bible in his hand, the man without tears.

Light and Momentary

2011-11-01T09:27:00.007-05:00

We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus,

so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.

For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake,

so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body.

2 Corinthians 4:10-11

We forget that the men who were inspired by the Holy Spirit to pen the New Testament were Jesus' friends. Flesh and blood, walked by His side, ate with the Savior, watched Him bleed, friends. Two-thousand-and-some years later it is pretty easy to pour a cup of coffee, with extra cream and sugar, and curl up in our recliner's and read these words. But this was their friend. Death is cruel; crucifixion crueler yet. It was under that vivid memory that they walked their walk and preached their gospel.

It is written "I believed; therefore I have spoken."

With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak,

because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead

will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you in His presence.

2 Corinthians 4:13-14

You cannot live the same after experiencing death. And after experiencing a resurrection . . . it goes without saying, your life would change. I know that Trent will rise again one day because of what Scripture says (2 Cor 4:14). I know that my life has changed because of experiencing his death. I can no longer live as if this world matters and will last forever, when right before my eyes there is too much evidence that it does not. There is more. Jesus is the "more". God proved it by raising Him from the dead.

For our light and momentary troubles

are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen,

but on what is unseen.

For what is seen is temporary,

but what is unseen is eternal.

2 Corinthians 4:17-18

Do you live for the "seen", or the "unseen"? Do you groan, longing to be rid of these mere earthly tents that we live in, longing to be clothed with your heavenly dwelling (2 Cor. 5:1-2)? Do you long to see that glory? The eternal glory that far outweighs anything here?

We live by faith, not by sight.

We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body

and at home with the Lord.

So we make it our goal to please Him,

whether we are at home in the body or away from it.

For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ,

that each one may receive what is due him for the things done while in the body,

whether good or bad.

2 Corinthians 5:7-10

I feel the shame creeping in even writing these words. I fear that "man" will not be pleased to hear them again. I fear for the deaf ears that they will fall on, for the hardened hearts that will refuse them again, the dull souls that will ignore them. The warning has gone out; the choice is yours, the choice is mine. This day . . . yet again this day, there is still hope, there is still time to call on the One who can change your heart. His name is Jesus.

Be reconciled to God.

God made {Jesus} who had no sin to be sin for us,

so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.

2 Corinthians 5:21

Do you even understand that? Do you understand the depravity of sin? Your own sin? I cannot begin to see the depth of it, yet it is simple enough for a child to understand. We have sinned, Jesus paid the penalty of an eternity in Hell for us somehow through His death on the cross, and proved the power of God when He was resurrected from that death, and He said He is returning one day in judgment. Sound the warning, shout it in the streets, repent and be saved! Beg God to open your eyes, live for Him who matters.

As God's fellow workers we urge you not to recieve God's grace in vain.

I tell you, now is the time of God's favor,

now is the day of salvation.

2 Corinthians 6:1 and 2b

I have seen death. I have felt its sting. I have known it's reality. I have seen the hard faces that refused to be changed by it; I fear for those souls. Be changed. Let God change you. Give up whatever you are clinging to here in this world. Turn to God. Surrender today; the day that He is still offering salvation.

All Too Real

2011-10-31T05:20:00.005-05:00

So often lately I wake up in a panic that Trent isn't here. And more so because I can't remember him vividly being here, and "here" now means no Trent. I woke up this morning in the middle of some dream that he wasn't in, and I couldn't get my brain to figure out how to put him in it. I couldn't figure out how he would fit even if he was in it. I gasp for breath as I cry for my son. I raise my hands as I praise my God. I tell God I want to shut this blog off. I don't want to be real anymore, God. I just want to go hide somewhere. He says No. I don't know how, God, I can't lead; but He still says No. Grieve real, Terri. If you quit you'll only stuff. Walk it real. Fighting brothers still here make it all too real. Eternity will be real quicker than any of us can imagine. They're not ready. Have they forgotten that they can never get the morning back? Have they forgotten that even kids die and face judgement before God? Cherish each other; give your little brother the stupid whatever it is, help him button his shirt and find his Bible for church. Sitting in the church pew the tears threaten, both over the song and over reaching out and only finding four kiddos. Not remembering, and then remembering all too well. My outstretched arm reaches for God. Come now, Lord, come now. Some days I can't reach high enough.

Joyful, Patient, and Faithful

2011-10-29T08:31:00.001-05:00

Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord.

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.

Romans 12:11-12

It has come to my attention that there are certain people out there who have been waiting with much anticipation for a rip-roaring blog post after an amazing God conversation. Or maybe such person just wanted to butter me up for a free Aunt Terri babysitter. Either way, my brain could use some sorting. So, here we go, just some thoughts and observations from the past week on this bizarre walk of grief.

What keeps coming to my mind over and over again, after having several conversations about Trent's accident, is the thought: "You don't have to apologize for my Sovereign God." Right, wrong, politically correct or not, that has been where my brain keeps returning. Next week it will probably come up with another theological nugget to turn and polish and find God's glory in, but this week it is the observation of the lack of joy (or trust, or belief, or plain-old not knowing) in God's good plans for His children.

I can count on one hand (well, probably, my brain doesn't work so well these days to remember stuff) the number of people who were happy to hear the news that Trent died, even those who knew he was saved and therefor in heaven. And I know all the "we're sorry for you, we're sad for you, we're crying 'cause Jesus cried when Lazarus died" lines. They are the nice words to say, they are a natural response, and we should cry when somebody dies. But hardly anybody smiles and says, "Hooray for God's sovereign plans! Hooray for Heaven!" Even eight months later.

I'm scared of getting bitter. I guess that would be considered the required Anger Step that everybody who experiences a tragic death is supposed to go through. "Be mad at God, He can take it." The problem is, tho, I am having a really hard time finding that verse in my Bible. Doesn't that sort of turn the tables and put us right back on top of being in charge of the whole intricate workings of the entire universe rather than God being the one in charge?? It screams that my ways are better than His, rather than what Scripture says, that His ways are better than ours (Isaiah 55:8-9).

As my sister Traci reminded me in my whining the other day, "Have you forgotten you are a daughter of the King?"

Well, yes, actually I had, and a good swift kick in the behinder was what I needed. My Heavenly Father is the King. The King of all Kings, actually. He said so in His book, the Bible. And somewhere there is another book that has my name written in it. "Terri, my precious one, the one I love, the one I have good plans for; plans not to harm her but for her good. Plans to reveal Myself in her, and through her. Plans to reveal Myself in a way that she could never know Me without. Plans to give her hope and a future. Plans to answer her prayers for her son's salvation."

Grief is exhausting. The battle is real, the soul is weary, the mind can't handle much extra. This world is a distraction as of late. It's trinkets don't charm me anymore. I barely notice it's glimmering attraction. But God consumes me. Somebody mentioned the other day how sorry they were for me, how I looked like I had lost so much weight, was it the stress she wondered?

"My dear Christian sister," I wanted to tell her, "don't you know this God of ours is greater than even death? Have you not tasted of Him and found Him to be better and bigger and greater? Do you doubt that He would carry His children?" But as words so often fail me in speech, I could only gather my eight months of experiencing the tip-of-the-iceberg of God's glory being revealed before my very eyes by saying, "Food hasn't mattered so much lately. I have been consumed by God." She looked at me strange. "It's a good thing," I assured her.

And you all thought you were watching me in my little fishbowl. The observation of grief, especially in Christians, is just as interesting on this end.

And here's another thought . . .

Do we create yet another idol when we seek God's glory, or ways to glorify Him (as if we could bring Him any more glory by our mere deeds), rather than seeking just Jesus? Does our striving to bring glory to God through what we are trying to do for Him really become a works based faith that we have mastered to try to win our Father's loving affection? Somehow we have been duped to think that He doesn't love us enough to pry our fingers off of this world if He causes pain. I have seen just the opposite: the pain is the love of God. Pain is how He sanctifies His children, and how He shines His glory through them (Zec 13:9).

Just splitting some more hairs between the sinful nature and the God of the universe and finding myself revealed more of a sinner than I thought I was yesterday.

I don't know where this post will find you today; saved by Jesus, not saved, seeking Him or running away or not even knowing that you really don't know Him. I can't even begin to fathom where God chooses to bring these rambling words of mine. But I pray for you often, dear reader. I pray that the Holy Spirit moves how He said He would move~ through the Word, through honesty, through shattered lives. If it's for God's glory, under God's sovereign hand, and if it means eternities will be changed, then "Here I am, Lord. Shatter me."

A Horse and Her Girl

2011-10-28T05:50:00.003-05:00

Waiting

2011-10-26T13:08:00.002-05:00

If you happen to drive by my house and see me camped out at the mailbox, nervously pacing back and forth, scanning our lone road for any glimpse of the mail-lady, it's because I am impatiently waiting for . . . the first copy of my book to be delivered!! (Read all about it here.)

Yes, the initial writing and pouring out of my heart is done and the editing and revisions, and more revisions, and umpteen proofreads are completed (if you find a mistake, please do me a favor and don't tell me until at least next Christmas). Mr. Ryan from WestBow Press is probably doing the happy dance right about now, too, since he finally doesn't have to lament with me anymore about what shade of brown or red, or red or brown, should I choose for the title on the front cover let alone picking out page dividers and fixing backwards quotation marks.

The book is officially with the printers and I am expecting the very first copy any day now! Praising God that it's finished; praying for Him to be glorified in it. I may just do the happy dance myself when it does arrive!

***

I just heard that the first copy should be in my hands next week, and then I can place my official order and will have signed books available for you, my bloggy friends and lurkers! Please be in prayer with me that God will be glorified in a mighty way through them, and that He will prepare the hearts of those who need to hear this message of Him. And, as always, thank you for walking this walk with me. Terri~ OurCrazyFarm

As A Child

2011-10-26T08:56:00.006-05:00

For the wages of sin is death,

But the gift of God is eternal life

In Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 6:23

Micah and I were working on memorizing Romans 6:23 yesterday. I found that I really don't know how to clearly present the gospel to a six year old, let alone explain to him how our bodies can stay here when we die, and yet we can still live in heaven until we get our new ones. I couldn't quite find the words to explain the depravity of the human soul before salvation, either. Trying to explain sin and the offenses so great against a Holy God that an eternity in Hell is the only just punishment? Ummm . . . hitting your brother?

He listened, and the wheels of his little brain were spinning. He could connect sin, it turns out there wasn't much that needed to be explained. That squirming when I first mentioned the word revealed his heart. "For the wages of sin is death." God only owes us punishment for what we've done, like when Mommy has to discipline you when you've been naughty. He got that part.

And then the gift . . . "But the gift of God is eternal life." His birthday is coming up, so he understood gifts. But trying to put the glorious gift of salvation into simple terms, a gift that would last for eternity, a gift that I can't even fully comprehend, was challenging. To try to explain to him how God gave Trent that gift, and yet Trent is gone, and to six year old boys disappearing and never coming back home is a scary thing. But this is a good gift, Micah. The best gift.

I tried to explain (tried, because my brain has a hard time processing it fully) how we can be in heaven with God, and that's a good thing, fabulous thing, yet it means being away from Mommy and that's okay because you're with God. It's even okay for Trent. It's even okay when we all miss him so much because God said it was okay. And then I tried to explain eternity . . . forever, and ever, and ever, and ever. And how important it was to decide what we were going to do with this gift from God now because it would make a difference throughout that forever.

The best news of all is that it is a gift from God that is only found "in Christ Jesus our Lord." Now, if trying to explain sin and depravity, and eternity and salvation to this kiddo was hard, imagine trying to explain the very Son of God without misrepresenting Him. But I think he got it. On some six year old level, he got it. Jesus is good, sin is bad, eternity is a long, long time, and salvation matters.

For the wages of sin is death,

But the gift of God is eternal life

In Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 6:23

The Father has sent His Son

To be the Savior of the world.

1 John 4:14

And Then Came Facebook

2011-10-25T16:21:00.000-05:00

I was doing okay. I was breathing normally. I was content to wait on God. And then came facebook. Just a couple of goofy pictures on somebodies sister's facebook page from two years ago that somebody else thought I would appreciate. And I did. And than I showed Rob. And he had to leave before we all saw a grown man cry. And I stuffed it, because people were watching and best friends of twelve-year-old boys shouldn't see a grown woman cry~ it scares them, believe me. Do you know how hard this is? Some days it's harder than others. I miss that goofy kid so much.

Fossils

2011-10-25T14:39:00.004-05:00

Fossils have been the science topic around here for the past couple of weeks. Over the years I have somehow morphed from being a "fun home school Mom" to a "get-er-done home school Mom", so it was good to break the mold and do something creative for a change.

I dug out the clay recipe which dates back to when I was the little girl.

1 cup salt

2 cups flour

1 Tablespoon Vegetable Oil

Enough water to make a stiff dough.

Food coloring if desired.

Then the kids found lots of fun things to make their very own fossils. I like being the "fun home school Mom".

I think we're studying gravity next . . . hmmmm......

Good Morning Farm

2011-10-24T11:22:00.003-05:00

Years ago Aunt Traci had given the kids a book called "Goodnight Farm" with beautiful pictures of a farm going to sleep. I couldn't help but think about it as Cole and I did chores this morning. The menagerie of critters that we have sustain my sanity some days. Their very presence brings me peace (most of the time). Cole understands.

The calves reminding us not to forget them this morning.

The goats impatiently waiting for their breakfast.

The Light Brahmas.

Cole's Silkies. The barnyard cats and their too-friendly kittens.
The bunnies.

And the new little peepers.

Good Morning Farm.

Just Sustain Me, Lord

2011-10-24T09:51:00.008-05:00

For you were once darkness,

but now you are light in the Lord.

Live as children of light and find out what pleases the Lord.

Ephesians 5:8-10

I woke up again barely able to breath this morning. Panic attacks, anxiety, grief, womanhood; give it whatever label you want. My flight response wants to escape, but there is no where to run.

As a prisoner for the Lord, then,

I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received.

Ephesians 4:1

I have no choice, the Holy Spirit continually yields my heart back to God. I am constantly forced to check my heart, check my motives, line them up with God's Word. I am constantly found wanting. My flesh screams out the injustice of this life and the pain it brings. My greed longs for it all to be about me; for it all to be my way.

But to each one of us grace has been given as Christ apportioned it.

Ephesians 4:7

After the tears, I can begin to feel the grace. The things I can't say, I will have to trust the Spirit to relay. The real hurts, the depth of that pain, even if it's only the pain of my pride being exposed, are washed clean in the presence of my Savior Jesus. My fear of rejection is forgotten as my eyes are turned back to Christ and the Cross. He said I am His. He said to follow Him how He leads. He has called me precious.

Surely you heard of Him

and were taught in Him

in accordance with the truth that is in Jesus.

You were taught, with regard to your former way of life,

to put off your old self,

which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires,

to be made new in the attitude of your minds;

and to put on the new self,

created to be like God

in true righteousness and holiness.

Ephesians 4:20-24

I am not called to follow Christ as an imitator of how others are. We have all been given gifts, we have all been created in God's image to reflect Him in who He made us. He has prepared us individually for our very own works of service so that the body of Christ may be built up (Ephesians 4:11-13). When I stray from who He made me, how He has called me, how He leads, and try to copy somebody elses walk, then I have successfully failed to bring God any glory; I doubt the very intricate making's of the soul that He has made me.

I do doubt when the pain rises, and I feel the hurts and the rebellion in my heart, that God will use it for good. But somehow He does. After the tears I can hear His sweet, soft voice comforting, leading, admonishing, rebuking, loving; clearly perfect in exposing my deceitful heart. The Word that never fails, the hand that always leads, my God who always loves me and forgives.

Today, I am just broken. And broken is okay, because I know the One who fixes "broken".

All Those Goats

2011-10-22T15:12:00.003-05:00

Goats, goats, goats! We are up to 8 Nubian does and 1 Nubian buck! Not quite sure how they multiply so fast, and of course you can't sell any of the pretty babies, or every childs favorite baby (that is until next year when some of them just have to go). Five of our older does should all be bred and due in January. I am really hoping for and counting on the barn being completed this year, and of course, I think I also forgot what twenty below feels like at two-o'clock in the morning in Wisconsin in the middle of January. What was I thinking??!! But I like bigger babies in the fall, so here we are back to January deliveries. The three younger does were just put in with the buck, Jacob, and we will hope for March babies.

Yes, that's Jacob, Brenda! Isn't he a handsome looking guy! We sold our older buck, Cadillac, after the older does were bred and have used Jacob as the sire for the younger does.

Those ears are the reason I love the Nubian breed so much!

Those Pictures

2011-10-22T14:24:00.003-05:00

In case you were wondering about those flying Micah pictures . . .It finally came time to replace the old water line from the pump house to the basement as we continue plugging away on fixing up this old farmstead. It is something that Rob has wanted to do for years, and this fall it finally worked out to have my big brother come out with his big machine to dig the trench for us. It was not without excitement, as the electric company had to pay us a visit as well when the electric line accidentally got knicked~oops. But it went well overall, nobody got hurt, and the boys had a blast playing in the dirt piles and watching the heavy equipment do it's work.

Micah didn't get to jump across the eight foot cavern like he probably would have preferred.

But, rather, had to be content with his little hill while Dad and Uncle Steve got to play in the deep trench.

I did offer to take some flying picture's of Uncle Steve, too, but he graciously declined.Micah's little hill was only a couple of feet high.

Oh these boys!

This is Grief

2011-10-20T23:48:00.004-05:00

The thought dons on me regularly: Trent is still Trent. And then I begin to wonder for the umpteenth time where he is. Where heaven is. Where God is, where God dwells face to face with His children. And then I miss him, again. And then I wonder about what heaven is like, and what he's doing and experiencing, and about the things that he knows but I can't even begin to imagine.

And then the fear sets in.

I read that the first year of grief is covered by so much denial that you can't really even feel it; that the reality barely begins to sink in. The second year is harder, they tell me. And then this week I met a couple who lost their child several years ago. The tears still rose in their eyes and the day at the hospital was still vivid as they told me about it. But then they looked at me strange when I began to talk about my joy of Trent being in heaven.

I fear that I am missing something here. Aren't Christians supposed to be excited about going to heaven? I fear that doubt really will sneak in. I fear that one day I, too, will begin to think that God is not good and sovereign and that this world really is the only forever. Where are the stories of those who believe in the Promises of Scripture during times of deep suffering? I can't find them. I don't want any more nicey-nicey faith stories. I want the warriors. Those who stood fast to the Word of God. I barely even see the Word of God in those grief stories, let alone the gospel, or sin, or eternity. Where are you Christians? Who is fighting this battle with us?

I fear seeing God for the first time only to have not believed whole-heartedly every single word that He said. I fear being so content with what I can see here that I quit lamenting over my son being gone, because ultimately it was sin that lead to death, and I was able to somehow find that normal.

"Do you see him now?" Lucy Pevensie asked Trumpkin in Prince Caspian when they all stood on the shore of that river before the great Aslan himself. Yes, he saw him now.

I want to stand before God proclaiming that I never doubted His plan. That I did fight. That I did believe. That I knew He only did things for my good and His glory in my life. That I did trust His hand that was leading. I want to stand before Trent, holding him in my arms, telling him of what God did with his life and death, how I missed him, how I always knew he was in heaven and was rejoicing that he made it. That because of it I fought the fight harder. I long to let go of all that hinders here so I can run the race well, for the prize that matters.

I don't want to be entertained anymore, world. I don't want to be comforted by the only hope being that grief gets easier with time, or that my faith is so "nice" and it's good to see that I think there's a god somewhere out there. I don't want my tears to be in vain. I don't want to become apathetic. I want to live with my eyes wide open to eternity that will come only too soon.

I want to live smiling because my son is in heaven and I trust the God who was gracious enough to bring him there to be gracious enough to pour out His mercies in my life until the day that He chooses to bring me there. I want to feel the depth of the raw pain that God ordained. I want to know Him in the deeper parts that can only be known through this suffering. I will not trade perishable rewards for eternal ones. I will settle for nothing less. No tarnished wordly trinkets can compare.

I only want Jesus and all that He promised.

Just Breathe

2011-10-20T16:33:00.004-05:00

Grief is like a vice. I feel it squeezing in too tight sometimes. I feel it wrapping itself around my chest, then crawling it's way up into my throat, the dull ache and the too common stinging in my eyes until the tears are barely contained. I try to shut off the thoughts that bring it on, then I realize that it's no use. I might as well think them and go forth. I might as well feel the pain and cry the tears. And when it's over, then I can just breathe. In, out, in, out. Just breathe.

Another first today. The first day of going back to work in eight months. My employer has been so generous to allow me as much time off as I needed, and I probably wouldn't have had to even gone back today. But it was time. Time to just face it, do it, cross off another first. To feel the love and the hugs, to answer the dreaded "how are you" question, to drive the same drive, pray the same prayers, park in the same parking lot, punch the same time clock, walk the same halls as the day the phone call came. And all those ladies . . . if only they didn't have to be so wonderful, if only there weren't so many mother's with their arm's open wide who have been broken, too, for us the past eight months. Who have lifted up prayers and well wishes and really wanted to know how I was. Some smiled, some cried, some know my God, some don't, some agreed, too, that the world should have stopped when my son died.

I didn't realize how much I was stuffing until I turned back onto our road heading home after my shift and realized that I would walk in the door this time and hug all of my children who are still here. This time wouldn't be like last time. This time when I walked in the door I wouldn't have to ask if my son was dead or not. I wouldn't have to call my Mom or Traci or Jerry or go to Duluth. I could delight my children with fudgsicles instead and go play outside in the sunshine with them. I could live. If I could just stop crying. Just breathe, just breathe, just breathe. One. Breath. At. A. Time.

Better Than a Hallelujah

2011-10-18T16:00:00.004-05:00

The honest cry of a breaking heart is better than a Hallelujah

Amy Grant, "Better than a Hallelujah"

Writing is a release for me. Freedom, in a sense, to let things go. A record to see where God has taken me. My struggle with blogging has always been to write for myself, with the glory going to God in it, without the fear of man. So I shut the comments off, again, and allow myself to be where God has me. It's good to lay these thoughts down. It's good to stop carrying them, thinking them, trying to remember them, to quit being scared of forgetting them . . .

Lately I have found that the high of rejoicing is turning to a stoic contentment, contentment to steadfastness, and steadfastness to a hope that is still full of much underlying joy, all tinged with a deep missing of Trent and the sorrow of grief. It's always there, and I assume it always will be. I feel a deep resolve setting in. I refuse, in my genetic stubborness, to let God's glory get out of sight as the days, weeks, and months pass by. I refuse to let this become normal. How is it normal that your son dies? Do we not get used to sin being normal, then, if our only hope is to strive to learn how to function normally after losing a child?

The reality of eternity is already losing it's impact, though, as much as I thought it never would or could. It has barely even been my first thoughts the past few days. I woke up this morning and realized that already eternity wasn't as vivid as it was eight months ago. Eight months. It's been eight months today. I can remember when it hadn't even been eight days. I remember sitting in the front pew at the funeral looking at Trent's body beside me in the coffin, thinking, "It's been six days already, Trent's been in heaven for six days." I am sure when it's been eight years, and more, I will be thinking, "It's been eight years already." I don't want eternity to lose it's impact. I don't want to live without heaven being my forethought in everything. I don't want to live as if death is normal.

God said,

"Even to your old age and gray hairs I am HE, I am HE who will sustain you. I have made you, and I will carry you. I will sustain you, and I will rescue you."

Isaiah 46:4

I went to my knees again this morning, down on the floor, face to the ancient wooden boards. I went in obedience. I long for obedience, and I detest myself for being so dull to hear and obey God's voice. What did He say? Am I really being faithful? Have I really listened? I long to see the grand plan of all of this. I don't know how one twelve year old boy, one night of talking at the dining room table and one changed heart after many years of prayers, then one skiing trip followed by {probably} many more years of tears can result in God's glory. I don't know how the Holy Spirit moves to cause repentance through that, let alone salvation.

Salvation occured yet again under our rooftop over the weekend. As I slept in my bed upstairs, God was doing His work dowstairs. Teenage girls sat giggling while deciding which movie to watch next, and then the topic changed, and an eternity changed. I am baffled. I am amazed. I stand in awe to be a vessel of that kind of work.

I spent the day lamenting on Sunday. Uncontrollable tears for years of pain that I can't understand, tears for the fear of people that I can't do anything to change, tears that wouldn't stop. Tears for people that I can't reach, souls that I am not even sure that God wants me to try to reach, as odd as that seems. People where I have no ability to even minister when I am in their midst. I lamented for the trappings of their lives, the trappings of their own choosing in a way, and the blindness that sin causes. I cried because I have felt the pain of that trapping, and because I long for their freedom, and because I am terrified that I am being trapped as well. As polite Christians we don't say names, we don't point out each other's sins, we barely even dare to call sin, sin anymore. But it's still sin, and sin still traps, and God does not bless disobedience. Until there is open repentance and confession it will continue.

Events of the past eight months have been rolling through my brain. Faces of teenage boys come to mind. One young man at the funeral, who had been on the skiing trip with Trent, crying uncontrollably, admitting to me that he knew he would be in hell if it had been him. His mother, looking on, praying I am sure, as she must long for salvation for her children as much as I long for salvation for mine. I haven't seen him since. I don't know if God chose to save him or not.

Another young man, another friend of Trent's that had been on the trip that Friday, who was also at the funeral. I have seen him several times since, I have asked him repeatedly where he would be, where he is with God, and I have gotten the same answer. And still he refuses to accept grace and salvation. He can't accept grace and salvation until God grants it to Him. So I keep praying for him, this boy whom I could love as my own. Why some, and not others, God?

I think of pastors, four of them and their wives, who have not had the time in eight months to ask how I am, who have not allowed us to share our joy with them, to share God's good work with them. Then there's the church lady who has only cared to ask about who my sister is dating now than how severe our hearts are breaking, how God has moved, how He has sustained. Cousins, friends, aunts, uncles, grandparents, neices, nephews, fellow teen-age football players: their faces come before me. I wonder where they are spiritually. I wonder if they remember the songs, the sermons, the power of that day. I wonder if they have considered their own eternity.

I think of the people who continue to search for Trent's name nearly every day on the world wide web and find the blog. I wonder about others that are sent here by some simple search for making soap or feeding calves, and find the gospel instead. I wonder if I present the gospel clearly. I wonder about how God moves. I wonder how my breaking heart makes a difference. I long for God to use it to make a difference.

There was a missionary who spoke at our church the other day. One thing, especially, that he said has stayed with me. He talked about mission minded churches, and stated that the only way that a churches light {of the gospel} could shine all the way to the other ends of the earth was if it shone strong and bright at home, which is the source. I thought about how easy it is to "shine" our gospel across a pretty computer page. Or to send money to the orphans in India. And then I wondered if I shine bright close to home. More and more God has revealed my "missions" field as my children and husband. The day will come, Lord willing, when again I am called to sign up for every project at church, but for now I am called to shine where I am at home.

Days without the distraction of a computer has left more time for prayer and for visiting. I have been inducted into a group of women in our community who have lost children. There are too many of us in our little town. God has renewed my heart for them in these past couple of weeks. Grief is lonely. Sometimes lonely is easier than awkward, though. Who else could understand (well, besides aunts, and a few certain other's)? To overhear two mother's who have lost children discussing phone calls and hospitals and funerals and month's of grief would be an odd conversation for an outsider. Especially mother's who are happy that their son's are in heaven.

Now I'm rambling, which must mean that it's time to go make some peanut butter cookies with my little dumpling's who are still this side of heaven.

God loves a lulluby

In a mother's tears in the dead of night

Better than a Hallelujah sometimes

God loves the drunkard's cry

The soldier's plea not to let him die

Better than a Hallelujah sometimes

We pour out our miseries

God just hears a melody

Beautiful, the mess we are

The honest cries of breaking hearts

Are better than a Hallelujah

The woman holding on for life

The dying man giving up the fight

Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes

The tears of shame for what's been done

The silence when the words won't come

Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes

We pour out our miseries

God just hears a melody

Beautiful the mess we are

The honest cries of breaking hearts

Are better than a Hallelujah

Better than a church bell ringing

Better than a choir singing out, singing out

We pour out out miseries

God just hears a melody

Beautiful, the mess we are

The honest cries of breaking hearts

Are better than a Hallelujah

We pour out our miseries

God just hears a melody

Beautiful, the mess we are

The honest cries of breaking hearts

Are better than a Hallelujah (Better than a Hallelujah sometimes)

Better than a Hallelujah (Better than a Hallelujah sometimes)

Hi-Ho Silver

2011-10-18T13:22:00.006-05:00

When we were kids, a long long time ago, my sisters and I had horses {lots and lots of horses}. Most of the horses ran out back with the cows on the 160 acres of our farm. There were the few friendly ones that you could actually touch and ride, but for fun, we used to take lariats and buckets of corn and catch the wild ones. What a thrill to actually get that rope around their necks and then hold on for dear life until you could stop the mighty steeds by wrapping the other end of the rope around a tree to hold them. And then the struggle that followed to try to drag them all the way back home to hope that they would stay contained in our little pasture.

The best thrill of all, though, was the day that you could actually walk up to such a horse and pet them without first roping them. The day that they trusted you to handle them and lead them and care for them was monumental. We thought all kids grew up that way with such adventures to entertain themselves without colored television or Atari's.

My current horse, Lightning, is a descendant of those long ago horses. Her mother, Magnum, a black and white paint, was the prize catch of the farm twenty five years ago. In a round about way, after all of the animals eventually got auctioned off, we found Lightning as a foal living wild in somebody else's pasture and were able to buy her when she was five years old. Supposedly she had been professionally trained, which we have questioned more than once since the previous owners delivered her to our farm.

When we were little girls, our riding skills pretty much consisted of just being able to stay on top. Today, I am content with the same thing: just being able to stay on top. I used to long to have real saddles, and bits, and barns which I thought would make me a real cowgirl. But, it turns out, even though I now have those things, I have not strayed very far from how I grew up. Neither in location nor horsemanship.

The saddles sit on their shelves most rides, and no bits are to be found. The horses once in a while get a stall in a goat barn until a real horse barn makes it's way to the top of the list. We grab the hackamore's, jump on bare backs, and hold on tight. It turns out two young ladies have followed suit. And every once in a while, just to make me feel like a teenager again {I am sure}, Lightning even obliges me with the long-forgotten hi-ho-silver-and-away rear. Thus far, knock-on-wood, I have still been able to stay on top.

Behold

2011-10-18T12:20:00.004-05:00

The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.

James 5:16b

You may recall my story about loading the pigs a while back. Well, last week was the week to load the steers. The 1000+ pound steers. Usually the truck can come early in the morning before Rob has to leave for work, but this time they had to schedule for late morning. So my first prayer was that Rob could get off of work for an hour-or-so to relieve me from having to chase cows. Answer number one. My second prayer, and Rob's too, was that they would load easy as we have had our share of cow-loading-horror stories.

This walk with God has become interesting. I realize that He doesn't have to answer my prayers the way that I want Him to, and often times when I put Him in a box and will only accept one specific answer I am disappointed. But when my hands are open, and my expectations are for whatever His will is, I always find myself amazed.

All that we asked for was that the three steers would load well, which makes our day easier, plus gives us yet another chance to share God's answered prayers with the truck driver who is beginning to notice the little miracles of loading critters on our farm. And, just for some more icing on the cake, Cole came out to see if we needed help as the trailer pulled into the driveway and became a witness, yet again, to answered prayers. I said to him, "Cole, I prayed that those steers would load easy, and so did Dad. Let's watch and see what God does." So we both stood in the farmyard and watched.

A little coaxing on our end was to be expected, of course, to get the beasts into the trailer. The truck and trailer backed up into the loading chute as Rob directed them into the opening, and, no kidding, before the driver put the truck into park the first steer was already looking into the open door. Rob stretched out his arm and simply said, "Behold!"

One steer into the trailer, without Rob even moving, and the second one close behind. The driver got out and started to come around the passenger side of the truck when I told him, "You better hurry up, Brian, because they're almost loaded." He couldn't believe it and quickly ran around to open the 2 inside trailer gates. Steer number three walked into the trailer, then all three walked right up front where they belonged, and the driver shut the gates behind them. Then we got to stand around and talk about God for a while.

Behold . . . my God who loves to give good gifts to His children.

I Love You, Mom

2011-10-18T11:42:00.009-05:00

Micah is in that exciting stage of life where he is just beginning to learn how to read and write. I have to admit, with him as the baby of the family, I am not rushing it. Having taught four other children their abc's and the importance of starting every letter at the top, plus learning myself along the way what is really important in homeschool, I have backed off from rigid formal education and have just let him enjoy being a little boy as long as he can. A couple of month's ago, when he began showing great interest in sitting for school lessons, I reluctantly started teaching him from the 100 Easy Lesson's book. Somewhere along the lines he has even learned how to write. The only words he know's how to spell correctly are "I love you, Mom! Micah." I sort of like it that way.

I'm Back!

2011-10-18T07:59:00.002-05:00

Yippee!! The computer's back up-and-running!! After many telephone conversations with the tech guys and a visit to the local fix-it shop, everything is running smoothly again. After school, chores, laundry and some snuggling on the couch I will attempt to sort through the recent 700-and-some photos and get back to regular posting~ Lord willing:))

Technical Difficulties

2011-10-11T18:40:00.002-05:00

Hello dear friends! Just a quick note to let you all know that I am having some technical difficulties with my computer. Lord willing, it will get fixed soon and I'll be back! Terri

I Can't Even Imagine

2011-10-05T09:00:00.008-05:00

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.

But thanks be to God!

He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm.

Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord,

because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.

1 Corinthians 15:56-58

I have found myself praising God so many times over the past couple of days for how Trent died. I'm sure that has to sound morbid. I could never have imagined myself even thinking those words eight months ago about my son. But over the last couple of days I have seen, again, the grace of God to ordain Trent's life and death the way that He did. Even in death God pours out His mercies on His children.

Over the past year and a half there have been five accidental deaths of young men just in the extended circle of our little community. Most of those deaths have been horrendous, and the parents have suffered much. And more so, I don't know that God revealed the clarity of those young men's salvation. Knowing that Trent is in heaven still makes grief hard; not knowing~ I couldn't even imagine.

Hearing of the twelve year old boy who died over the weekend has begun to sink in. I want to shut off the thoughts of that mother's pain. I don't want to think of her walking this road. I wouldn't know what to say to her if I could. I come back to the truths of God's sovereignty. I do not have to try to explain away why God does what He does, I only have to trust Him for who He is and that His plans are far better than my own.

I have been pondering First Peter the last couple of days. I have been pondering God's glory, and eternity, and how we live our lives here. I have been able to grasp {in a teeny, tiny, minute way} the honor of suffering in anticipation of God's glory that will be revealed throughout eternity for it. I can't even get the complete concept of God's glory to register in my brain~ what is it? How is it manifested? What is the depth of it?

Matthew 13:43 says that the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father . . . what must God's glory be like in it's fullness if His children's righteousness will be as bright as the sun? How will it look without sin to blind us from it? At 93 some million miles away from the sun it was still 84 degrees in Wisconsin yesterday~ what does that look like close up? What does that look like translated into glory? What would that look like even if it was only 92 million miles away?

And then, why do I not just rest in this eternal God? Oh, that He would continue to draw me near. First Peter 2:4 says that God's children are precious to Him. Precious. Not just tolerated, not servants, not only children, but precious children. He calls us to entrust ourselves, our very lives, even our suffering, to Him who judges justly (1 Peter 2:23). He redeemed our souls through the blood of His own son, Jesus. Because we are His, we are called to live holy lives, set apart for obedience to Him, because He is our Father and He is holy (1 Peter 2:24, 1:2, 1:15-16).

A common topic lately that has come up in several conversations is how to live here, but still live for God. How does one live for the glory of God? How does one live eternally minded, yet still function here until Christ calls us home?

I had the privilege of talking to a dear Christian sister yesterday who has suffered much physical pain over the last decade. She was weary, and new ailments have plagued her for the past several months with no immediate relief in sight. She had no choice but to submit herself to God, to His trials, and to His timing.

She felt the pressure to conform to those around her, those who thought perhaps she was going on too much about the wheelchair she has been in and implied that it might be time to get over it. She needed the reminder that God is good and sovereign in all He does. She started to think these trials would go on for ever, that this short life and our daily struggles were all that there was, that God would not reveal His glory one day through these sufferings. As I shared the Promises with her, I was telling them to myself just as much. I needed to hear them, too. I get weary, too. I start to forget, too.

Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange where happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when His glory is revealed.

Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that He may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.

And to the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To Him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.

1 Peter 4:12-13, 5:6-7, 5:10-11

I can't even begin to imagine what that glory will look like. I pray that you know this Savior of mine.