Resist ~ Resolved ~ Renewed

Sometime in the past few months I jotted down these notes. Today, after discovering them (and being freshly encouraged by them) I have no idea if they were inspired by a gifted speaker or if the Speaker spoke them to my heart. Either way, I needed to read them. Hope they encourage you and speak life into your dried up soul as they did mine. Jesus is coming soon, people. Soon and very soon.

The enemy likes surprise attacks.
Satan can do nothing to us apart from God's permission; he is on his leash.
After the attack is when the real test of faith begins.
Faith is what Satan is attacking.
RESIST
Resist him by being firm in your faith.
Be a testimony.
Live faithfully.
Resist at the cost of your life.
RESOLVED
Know and believe that whatever happens God is using for my good.
Bank and believe  on God's promise of only suffering for a little while (1Peter 5:6-11).
This suffering is short compared to eternity.
Sustaining grace is given to the suffering, it is available as we go to Him and pray, moment by moment, it is freely given.
He is designing us to be conformed to His Son, like an artist carving deep into a block of wood.
God is forming a foundation for something yet to some, a glorious future, He is preparing us to reign with Him forever- this requires hardships. He is shaping and preparing us to do extraordinary things in the life to come.
Jesus is coming soon. When He comes, we will be resurrected, prepared to inherit this Kingdom forever more.
We are tempted to complain in trials. But Jesus is coming soon. It will be worth it all when we see Jesus. One glimpse of His dear face will be enough. Bravely run the race.
Don't judge God's work until He finishes it.
When He is done, all His children will say, "Well done, faithful God."

Merry Christmas

 
  And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night.
 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them,
and they were terrified.

But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger." Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests."

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let's go to
Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about." So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them.

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told. Luke 2:8-20

The hush of this snowy morning is welcomed as I contemplate the festivities to come in the next few days: a home that will be filled with love, food, presents and an overflow of special guests. Not guests so much as extensions of our family, those special souls that we claim as our own, pray for as our own. I look forward to the couch becoming a week-long bed, lazy days with nothing more pressing than loving each other, the living room ringing with laughter, and the kitchen bursting with goodies.

There were no pageants or plays this year, no big get-togethers. Such an odd holiday that has broken so many decade long traditions. Even the tree has new ornaments. A fake tree, much to the resistance of certain family members, rather than the Charlie Brown variety from the back forty. The presents, the few that there are in lieu of giving more than getting, have actually been wrapped for over a week rather than the normal rush of tape and tags on Christmas Eve. 

I can't say that I miss the hoopla. I am instead savoring the quiet. The peace, I'm still waiting for it. The pain, always there. Especially now as the world insists that this is the happiest time of the year. We are listening to our bodies and telling ourselves that hibernation is okay. The Spring will come again, and we best be rested and ready for the work God has for us in it.

I hope you find some quiet, too, this busy season. Sit a bit longer with your coffee. Go ahead and eat that extra piece of cake. Hug your loved one like there's no tomorrow. Close your eyes and get lost in their embrace. Leave the expectations at the door. Savor the Savior. Jesus is the reason for the season, after all. Take some time to find the baby who came to us in a manger, humble and meek, the one who is coming soon in all His glory.

Have a  Merry Christmas, Friends!

Time to be Back

I've been away from this little spot in cyberspace for quite some time now. The consuming addiction of blogland and all that goes along with it has been one of the primary reasons- if you are a blogger you know what I'm talking about: the rat race of keeping up and wondering how much is too much, not too much, write for yourself, write for an audience, topics, fancy pictures, waiting for comments, keeping up with the Joneses, etc., etc. 

Our world's craze of everybody knowing everything may come back to bite us all, and personally, as my sister has said before, when people know the color of the kitchen towel hanging from your stove, it might be time to tone things down a bit. But then there is the other crazy hope that not all the words are futile. Hope that God is in some of them, and that they would be words and posts saturated with life changing messages.

A quiet time of processing my own thoughts in my head has been interesting. Not necessarily good, but interesting. Living without blogging, after doing it for so many years, has been strange. I process by writing. My head is spinning from its own thoughts and nowhere to put them down and sort them out. The Alzheimer's side effect of grief tends to make conversations difficult. Words on a computer screen make sense.

Living has been another reason to be silent. Walking with my children. Fishing at the nearby lake. Movies and giggles and fights. Home school and books in bed at night. Baking dessert, then eating the leftovers together for breakfast. Dates and dreams and life changing decisions. Grieving. Always grieving. Laughter among the hidden tears.

But it's time to be back. Time to share what God is doing. As it says up above there in the header,

An attempt to declare the Glory of God for what He has chosen to do with our lives.

A legacy to leave to my children in the telling of it.

So here goes the attempting again.

Profit

What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, 

yet forfeit their soul? 

Mark 8:36

Jesus taught that to follow him is to die. Before we can live for Christ we must die to self. Really die. Die to this world. Die to its drawings and desires. Die to the temporal to live for the eternal. This won't be accomplished by ourselves. It won't be pain free. It will include suffering. Without it, I don't think a person can truly know their Savior this side of Heaven.

How I pray, brothers and sisters in Christ, that He wakes you up; that the Spirit would open your eyes to leave this world behind as you walk your short days in it and learn to suffer with Him who suffered. That you would know your Creator as your Comforter and that the result would be that He is your greatest treasure to be sought.

I've been doing a lot of dieing lately. 

It frees the soul as much as it tortures the heart. 

The reward: a glorious eternity.

I'm waiting.

Masterpiece

For we are God's MASTERPIECE. 

He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, 

so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago. 

Ephesians 2:10 NLT

A farm sale that seems to never be happening, a son in heaven, two mortgages for too many months, a head cold that has lingered along with frazzled nerves that could easily teeter towards bed ridden depression- it doesn't look like a masterpiece to me.

But that's what Scripture calls it. 

A masterpiece.

A masterpiece in the hands of a Designer who knows every hair on my head, every tear that has ever dripped down my cheek, every desire of my heart. A masterpiece to reveal Himself as the strong one, Himself as the carrier, Himself as the leader worth following.

For those who are called, for those who are God's, our brief lives are a masterpiece to bring glory to the Creator. Things may appear to be in the messy stage right now, but never doubt, the pieces fit exactly where they belong. The tears and trials are the blueprints required to reveal the end result: the forming of a new creation founded "in Christ Jesus, so that we can do the good things He planned for us long ago." All to reveal His glory. All, somehow, to result in our joy as we seek only Him.

Hold on to the promises, weary soul, and wait for the Master to be revealed.

The Chicken Coop Dilemma

I am sentimental. I admit it. I may just be one of the most sentimental female souls living in this old farmhouse. As we continue to work on packing, some parts of giving up the myriad of material possessions that we own have been easy, others, not so much so. I keep trying to weigh everything from an eternal scale perspective; "keep trying," those are the key words.

Letting go of the critters last summer was challenging, especially at first with a few of the favorites, but surprisingly, their absence in our lives is just alright. Sorting closets and junk drawers has been liberating, thoughts of divulging in a plate smashing party have been discussed and then quickly passed by, and the check from the recycling center has been a bonus to this whole moving thing.

But the chicken coop has become a dilemma.

From its history of being built out of the old log barn left overs, to the memories of hammering away with the kids to finish the construction of it, to the necessity of needing it for the dozen chickens who will be moving with us, the batten board artifact is something that I can't fathom leaving behind. Talk about souvenirs: it's a little larger than the trunks full of childhood memories and the totes full of home school projects.

At this moment there are many farmers, who, by their blood relation feel indebted to assist in the moving of the structure, are scratching their heads about how to lift and haul the beast. I am just hoping and praying that my craftsmanship isn't left splattered on some back road between here and the lake view property.

Oh, life just keeps getting more and more interestinger.

Survivor

Sometimes, life has a way of zooming on by without bothering to ask if we can keep up or even looking back to see if we're buckled in for the ride. The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of exhausting, amazing, satisfying, God filled, as well as plenty of mundane, activities. One of the highlights of those frenzied activities was running the 5k race.

I survived. I did not come in first. I did not come in last. I did take a wrong turn and instead of running 3.1 miles, I ran more than 3.1, but whose counting?

On so many levels, the activity of running grows and stretches a person. It was growth far beyond the new muscles and the shin splints that kept this middle aged woman putting one step in front of the other. Some stubborn determination to finish what I said I'd do was definitely a part of it, with perhaps some pride mingled in to show the kiddos that I could actually make it. But the best benefit was the spiritual aspect.

Out there on that course it is only your sheer determination that gets you to that finish line. Only the hope of actually seeing those flags flying, possibly around the next bend, keeps you from laying down in the ditch and instead forces you to keep going. Half way through the race I was overwhelmed with why I was out there. The race was in honor of keeping the legacy alive of another little boy who left his momma's arms sooner than she expected. It was a race to honor our children who are not with us.

I was a mother running in honor of my son.

My arms raised as my soul felt again the impact of that reality. That finish line became synonymous with the ultimate finish line of Heaven and the sting of that strained muscle in my thigh became the ache of grief; the ache that hasn't dissipated even after three years and I assume will probably never totally dull. But as it has been a joy to look back upon the accomplishment of crossing that finish line, so will it be a joy to cross over the finish line of eternity when God calls. To look back, to see the ache as a vague memory that was nothing compared to the victory, to look ahead to glory.

So I'll keep running, both physically and spiritually as God leads, because eventually, possibly around the next bend, I'll see those flags flying.

To All the Mommas

"For I know the plans I have for you," 

declares the Lord, 

"plans to prosper you and not to harm you, 

plans to give you a hope and a future." 

Jeremiah 29:11

To all the Mommas who had to endure an empty Easter basket this year:

I hope you remembered how much God loves you.

I hope you were able to smile through the tears.

I hope you could feel the embrace of God as He leads you down this path to know Him better.

I hope His grace enveloped you as you waited yet another day to see how God's glorious plan to prosper you will ultimately display His glory.

I hope you cried the tears, and filled the basket any way, and ate an extra chocolate Easter bunny like I did.

I hope you know that you are not alone in this battle of belief.

I hope you know that God is worthy of any sacrifice He calls His children to.

I hope you still have hope.

God's Not Dead

(Image via the World Wide Web)

There aren't many movies that our family indulges in. Our home selection includes a limited amount of DVDs and even VHS tapes that are nearly memorized line for line due to the lack of digitally mastered entertainment available in our living room. To spend the small fortune that it costs to enjoy a night in theater seats with buckets of buttered popcorn requires a show of high standing, and this is one of them.

God's Not Dead

If you haven't heard of it, google it. If you haven't seen it and you are remotely interested in furthering the Kingdom of God, go support it. If your dull soul needs a wake up call, definitely head out to the matinee- today. Take any teenage kid you know with you so that you have somebody to laugh with, cry with, dance with and share their treats. Just go see it. You will not leave unchanged.

I am Forty One

Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. 

Hebrews 12:1

I am forty one. Too old to decide that running my first 5k might be a good idea. But also young enough to think that running my first 5k might be a good idea. I casually mentioned it to the kids, and the next thing I knew, I was out on the road, pounding pavement. As they whizzed by me, waving from the far off distance to their mother who was lagging behind, I wondered if maybe we shouldn't have just stuck to another Bible study or started a book club.

Half way through the mile introduction of walk/run, I was tempted to lay down and give up. As we passed the driveway for the first time around, I begged to turn in. Wallowing in the ditch would have been okay, too. But I kept going. One foot in front of the other.

And it hurt. And today it hurts worse, and I still have a mile jog to look forward to. Cole, my newly donned personal trainer, tells me that he'll adjust the schedule on week three if I still can't keep up. Groan. A long winter of sitting in my comfy computer chair has caught up with me.

Perseverance is not my strong suit. I want the instant glory. I want the tone abs and thighs without the pain. I want the medal of the race without the training. I realized that I don't particularly like even being in the race. The sidelines are fine. But nobody asked me if I wanted to be in the race of grief. I likened every step on that training course to grief. I started out strong. It felt good to stretch muscles that I knew were there. Until the stop sign kept getting further and further away no matter how many steps I seemed to take. The small victories - a telephone pole, a line in the road, a mailbox- spurred me on.

On my knees before God this morning, I felt like I did out there on that road yesterday. Like just laying down to have myself a pity party. I'm tired of this. I'm worn out. My heart feels ready to burst. But just one more step. One more step. One more step towards victory. I realized that the strength to continue doesn't depend on me on this faith walk. It's God who's waiting for me to wear myself out in my own strength, so that I finally depend on His. I never said that I wasn't slow.

I guess sometimes it's just a long way home.

Three Winners!

Grace drew three names for the Casting Crown CD's...

Drum Roll, please...

And the winners are:

Sherry at Rustic Acres

Brenda at Granny's Best 

Peggy Lineberry

If you'd please leave me a comment (will not be posted) with your mailing addresses Brenda and Peggy (I know where you are, Sherry) I'll get them shipped out right away.

Thanks for playing along!

PS~ If you don't have this CD~ get it now:) It'll bless your socks off!

I Was a Goat Farmer

But the Lord took me from tending the flock and said to me,

"Go, prophesy to my people Israel."

Amos 7:15

I was a goat farmer when God called me. My days enjoyably consisted of tending my flock of critters and children, gardens and home, while I pursued what I thought was a deep walk with Christ: reading my Bible, attending church and prayer services, doing my duty in the nursery. Then God showed up with reality. Eternity appeared before us with a dose of acknowledgement that couldn't be ignored. The truths that God had been laying as a foundation in my life were now called upon to be lived out. He shook my world and called me to greater desires.

When the grace of God is poured out on a person there is no going back, only going deeper and closer to that Light. The world around you dulls in the presence of Jesus and the previously glittering distractions are no longer a lure. You have no choice but to want more. Not more of the world, but more of the moments when it is all about God's glory.

I don't know how to adequately describe the transformation. I don't know how to tell you what it feels like to be so close to Holiness where you are allowed to sense the very near presence of your Maker and still breathe. The day of Trent's death was a day of repentance. "I believe you now, God, help me overcome my unbelief." I thought I was living for Christ before that day. Now I only long to live for Him. To live with nothing here that I won't want to leave on the day that He calls me.

To live desperately needing God for everything is addictive and satisfying. But I don't have a need for God now in the same way that I did three years ago. I want to live where I need Him. I want my life to be poured out to walk like Jesus walked. I am excited to see how God plans to fulfill that longing in the days that I have left to live for Him alone.

"These are the words of Him who holds the seven spirits of God and the seven stars.

I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead.

Wake up!

Strengthen what remains and is about to die,

for I have not found your deeds complete in the sight of my God.

Remember, therefore, what you have received and heard;

obey it, and repent.

But if you do not wake up, I will come like a thief,

and you will not know at what time I will come to you."

Revelation 3:1-3

Smiling Through Thanksgiving

I admit, the beginning of the holiday season last week did not thrill me. Turkey Day loomed on the horizon, but the Blaze Orange Holiday of Wisconsin deer hunting was the toughest to anticipate. I ignored it all as long as I could, stayed busy, and resisted making any definite plans until hard pressed. The baton of our long standing hostess position was offered up to my sister. Unfortunately, it wasn't to be so, when they ended up with what was first thought to be a child with the flu that eventually would up being an emergency room visit and a trip to the big city for an overnight stay in the Children's Hospital. An eye opener to all about what we are truly celebrating on this gluttonous day. Needless to say, we never did make it to their house, but instead disappointed all of the cousins and will have to plan for a Christmas sleepover.

My well laid out plans to ignore the week morphed into being one of the best holidays that we've enjoyed for years. This humble farmhouse became a revolving door as we welcomed old friends that we haven't seen for many months as well as friends and family that we see regularly, a couple of nights of sleep overs, and an unexpected visit from relatives on Thursday. There was no turkey in sight, but instead authentic Indian chicken curry, home grown steaks on the grill, and too many pieces of Éclair cake and cream cheese pumpkin pie.

Some of the highlights that found us smiling:

*A house overflowing with loud, laughing kids.

*Familiar faces who have made up Thanksgivings past and present so memorable.

*Friends who sent emails, little knowing the power of their simple words.

*Frosting turkey cookies.

*Cranking the grinder to make cranberry salad.

 

*Paper plates.

*Playing tag in the dark.

 

*House movers who found time to move a house during this festive week.

*Tears for friends who have new babies welcomed into the world and at the same time other friends who have said good-bye to their mother; an ushering in and out of this little blip of time in the midst of eternity.

*The overwhelming knowledge that God would continue to use this broken vessel for His glory.

The crash seems to come afterward. When all the people have gone home, and the sugar rush is winding down and there isn't enough to do except wait for eternity to begin. When again the extra chair is empty and the days are long. How I desire for the work of God to overwhelm me so as to pass this time quicker. How I need a place to invest for His sake. Ministering, cooking, serving, encouraging, challenging, hugging, loving, even driving to pick up a momma and her son curbside at the ER makes this doable. I smiled through the Holiday. I thought of and prayed for so many of you, hoping that you were able to smile as well.

OurCrazyFarm

One of the best parts about not moving immediately is the time to linger through the packing process. We have been at the farm for six years, which culminates in a lot of stuff and a lot of memories. A majority of the clean out was done over the summer when we sold off the machinery, farm equipment and animals. In anticipation of hoping to move right away I even did a pretty major clearing out of closets and rooms. Pictures came off the walls, kitchen cupboards were sorted, and the outbuildings cleaned.

Now that I have nothing to do but wait six months until I can physically move anything else, I have been overwhelmed to close this chapter on our lives by recording it in both written and photographic form. I bought my first cheap digital camera shortly after we purchased the farm and proceeded to capture nearly every experience of our kids' childhood, so, luckily I have the {literally} thousands of pictures taken since we moved here. Unfortunately, they are all un-sorted on the old computer instead of the newer laptop, which meant that Grace had to teach me how to use a flash drive to move them and now I get the fun job of sorting and printing them.

I've also been writing a family memoir, called (what else?), OurCrazyFarm~ The Book. It was actually begun the summer of 2011 after Trent's accident when I could still recall how it was when life was normal. I've relished living in both the book and the photos. Easier to be there than look around some days; easier to stay there than to live now.

I'm hoping to have both projects done by Christmas. Hah! I'll be lucky to have it done by next Christmas, but since I work best under pressure, Christmas is what I'm telling my brain. Even Christmas presents, to surprise the children, you know.

It will be good to have something physical to look back on, but at the same time, I am anxious for what the future holds. It feels easier to live a new life at the other place. Hope seems easier there, rather than surrounded here by choking memories. I want them to stay where they are happy memories, not crying ones. The book has done that so far. Laughter is the tone of it, because there was much laughter back then. Death did not loom. The photos reveal the change. Innocent faces were all that was seen prior to 2011. The recent photos reveal too much contained pain; too much knowing of grief.

I have been praying for and anticipating what God has in store as we move on. Thoughts of ministry in India has left Rob speechless, but knowing that we will be entering a stage of our lives where we expect to have an abundance of money and time, something that we really have no experience with, has me wanting to proceed with caution. I've been asking the big question: what do I want to do with the rest of my life?

Above it all is the hope of the "renewal of all things (Matthew 19:28)." We begin this next chapter with the thought of eternity. What will matter then? How do we live it out now? What is of utmost importance?

For now, I keep plucking away at the keyboard, forcing my brain to live five years ago, five kids ago. Smiling, laughing, enjoying innocence and not feeling too guilty to let the kids cook as we can always call it Home-Ec.

Horses

 

... As it is, you do not belong to the world,

but I have chosen you out of the world...

from John 15:19

 

The last of the horses have gone on to their temporary home to await the big move to their permanent home. Of all the animals, these two were the hardest to let go. Lightning has been a part of my life for over eighteen years, and really, going all the way back to my childhood when we owned her mother. For all her orneriness and issues I loved her and enjoyed many, many pleasurable hours on her back. Sassy was with us for over ten years, teaching numerous children how to ride, being used in fun shows and even a home-made movie, patiently plodding along with whoever was on her back. Many giggles and tears were experienced from atop her red 12-hand gait.

 

I haven't categorized the emotion yet of not having them here. My brain is still trying to figure it out. Really, it's been heading this direction for a couple of years, so overall peace dominates the sadness. It's as if even a lifelong love of horses was taken when Trent left us. What we loved then is so hard to love now. The old desires bring too much pain with them, and our eyes have been refocused heavenward. These earthly treasures and delights don't demand our attention like they used to, our satisfaction and joy is sought elsewhere. We walk along now, after having tasted of glory and eternities nearness, refusing to be comforted by anything short of God Himself. It's a strange place to be, to live in this world as if we don't belong here, strangers and aliens waiting to go home.

 

The freedom of no chores is so strange, too. For my whole life I have been surrounded by critters that demanded attention. Now we're down to the last of the barn cats and the dog, and I normally don't even feed them as it is one of the kids' chore. Pretty soon somebody is going to notice that I have worked myself out of a job and I'll be put back on the dish-dawg schedule again.

 

I am feeling the need to fill the gap, seeking something to consume the empty time and desire that the animals brought. Waiting {im}patiently for God to reveal what He is up to, longing to be faithful as we go through this "quiet" time of transition. Hoping and praying that He will choose to use our lives in a glorious way to advance His kingdom.

Just Write

It feels like there is a large wad of immovable Play-Doh in my head. I'm sure that one line alone will provide some unending ammunition for certain grown men in my life. Maybe it's an aneurism. Maybe I'll be seeing Glory before I know it. Probably it's just my bodies protection against going totally insane through the hard process of grief. Nothing more glamorous than the Alzheimer's symptoms that I've read about that happen after a traumatic accident. Either way, its there. Interrupting any inspiration, forcing my brain to trek around it to simply finish a complete thought, making me forget words and rendering myself an incompetent fool most times when I open my mouth. Words keep chasing each other around, but the connection gets lost. And then the tears start. Either because of the lost words or simply because the realities of them are too powerful to try to comprehend.

Writing is easier.

That handy little gadget on my Libre Office program even makes helpful word suggestions once in a while when my brain gets stuck. Staring at a blinking curser allows more time to put thoughts together than standing before a live human body who is waiting for you to speak. But I even quit writing a while ago. That mother guilt kicked in and I thought I would do everybody more justice to not sit at the computer and write so much, so I stopped. And instead, just sat and stared at the computer for several months. Very therapeutic. I figured I was being a better mother to not be so selfish. But, after forty years, it finally dawned on me that I am a writer. I write. It's what I do. My father was a talker. My mother is a talker. My sister is a talker. I write. I always have. Duh. So I've made a commitment to myself to write. Ignore the laundry, wake up early or stay up late, whatever it takes. Make another pot of coffee and write.

I have two books in the works. One a fun book for the family about our time here on the farm and the other a first hand experience devotional that goes deeper into the theology of God and suffering than I should be qualified to write, but is instead a truth that I am learning the hard way. They accuse me, too, those two half done books. Defeat rules some days telling me to find something better to do. Writing is wasting time. Sitting in a chair is wasting time. Other days the writing just plain scares me. Both for the typos involved and the truth that comes through. I wonder sometimes what it is that I am really scared of. Being known? Being real? Or having to be known and having to be real.

Writing takes me to real.

When I write that blob in my head smooths out and I can make sense of thoughts. I can see the end. I can remember eternity and the God who holds it in His hands. Even this moment. Even the tears. Even a son who is no longer here. The insane is not so insane through written words. So I will attempt to write everyday: a grocery list, a Menards list, a blog post, a note to my children, a love letter to my husband, a love letter to my God. Then I'll throw in a load of laundry. The minor stuff can wait.

Richard Baxter

It's weird having your picture taken. It's weird to look at pictures of yourself. It's weird to post pictures of yourself on your own blog. As a camera fanatic, I am much more comfortable with the gadget in my hands rather than pointed at my face. But, like I keep telling the children, you'll need some photos for my funeral one day. I'm doing my best to ensure that there are shots without the double chin or sagging arms. Use this one, kiddos. Somebody blow it up and put it right on top of my casket. Let it be what you remember of me. May it be what I strive to live like before you, rather than the sulky mother that I've been.

Don't think I'm going suicidal, I'm not. I've just been reading a book by a man who has been in heaven for over three hundred years. (Three hundred years. Just let that concept sink in for three seconds.) He shares about his longing for that eternal rest, his desire to know God perfectly, spirit to spirit. He thought he was going to die so figured he should start thinking about such things. Turns out he didn't pass as quickly as he figured and ended up writing more than just his own funeral sermon but a four volume essay on heaven and the saints' desire to be there. Every turn of the page brings tears. Then conviction. Then that deep sighing that has been present for so long. That unsatisfied longing for God.

He writes:

"Can any soul that hath made God his portion, and chosen him for his only happiness and rest, find rest in so vast a distance from him?"

The universal longing of a Christian's soul to be in God's presence struck me last night at the supper table. Poor Rob, he gets all of my out-of-the-blue, unsorted, confusing blurps, "God revealed the same thing to Richard Baxter as He has been revealing to us: the longing for God's presence when He will dwell with His people." A foreign concept to the world, one only fools would believe in and bank on. If that's the case, then call me the biggest fool of all because I'm waiting for the good stuff, folks. I'm setting my sights on Heaven. I'm waiting impatiently for it and this book isn't helping.

Richard Baxter, The Saints' Everlasting Rest. It's good stuff.

When Hope Survives

CreateSpace has been my friend this summer. They have this wonderful feature where you can get a proof copy of your un-finished manuscript printed for about $5.00, cheaper and easier to handle than printing nearly two hundred pages on my archaic printer. I have been plugging along on my devotional, When Hope Survives, grappling with concepts like this revelational thought that popped into my most recent pity party:

We look here for temporary substitutes to replace God

which ultimately only bring discontent, depression and despair.
 

The pitiful things that I replace Jesus with condemn me in themselves.
 

Real joy is found only in God.

The key to joy, then, is to look to Him alone.

Not exactly what I've been doing lately. Hence the reason why writing the theological parts for the book might be a bit of a struggle right about now. The cloud of discontent, worry and grief have overruled lately.

The recent triggers: a little brown leather ball and a different seventh grade boy in a white and purple jersey. Another home school year with only four names on the schedule again. Those baying dogs in their boxes in the back of the old beat-up hunting trucks that continue to pass by on our quiet road. The next fifty years of my life to look forward to with everyday beginning with the thought that my son is not here to enjoy them with and battling to sing the praises of God for that. Fighting my flesh to call this good, seeking God's ways rather than mine, reminding myself to rejoice in the blessing of suffering.

Some days I honestly can rejoice. I am able to keep my focus on eternity, realizing the gift of having my eyes opened to it. Looking around watching so many people living carnal lives, only desiring the next recreational excursion or new toy rather than looking forward to Christ's return when we will marvel at Him, when His glory will be revealed, when our souls will be fulfilled in His presence, when the accounting of our lives will be reckoned and the grace of God will be shown for how it carried us. The gift of suffering becomes clearer, then, as I realize that it brings with it the desire to focus on eternity.

The book is still a long way off from being worthy of publishing, even self publishing. I pray for the words to write, but fear writing them at the same time. To attempt to permanently describe God, a black and white representation of the Almighty... it's a scary thing. I tread upon the responsibility with great respect and patience.

But then at the same time I feel the need for it to be finished. Now. I see the desperate need for a reminder of hope. I see grieving mothers, friends, and people I've never met (besides myself) needing to be redirected back to the promises of Scripture, back to Jesus, back to the gospel, back to the source of joy. Not just for those grieving a child, but those walking any road of suffering. Trials consume a person. Blinders need to be removed so that hope can shine forth. The truths of God penetrate the darkness.

So I continue to pick up the proof copy, continue to edit, edit, edit and wait for the perfect words to flow when it's God's time.

 

A View with a Lake

It's ours! A view with a lake!

I'm not even sure where to start this post. Maybe back to a couple of Fridays ago when we paid {cash} for a teeny, tiny parcel of land which will {Lord willing} soon be called home. Or back to that sermon that started the conviction of the gluttony that we have felt entitled to for so long. Or way back two and a half years ago to the discontent that began after Trent went to Heaven and I realized first hand that none of this stuff goes with us. Either way, wherever I start, it all ends up at the same place: a teeny, tiny parcel of land which will {Lord willing} soon be called home.

The excitement really started a couple of months ago when Rob came home with a little slip of paper that he had torn off of the bulletin board at work advertising some lake view property with a home that was cheaper than what we could consider having to spend to send our firstborn to college. Immediately we both envisioned no mortgage payments, no below zero chores twice a day, real vacations without running home to water animals and the prospect of pouring even more into raising our kids for the few remaining years that we hope to have them here without Rob working two jobs to feed them.

Unfortunately, it turned out that the house was literally a two room shanty. If there had been any way to salvage it I would have moved right in, but things like foundations matter to Rob, so we started our quest for other affordable living arrangements. Lo and behold, it soon came to our attention that there was a beautiful old farmhouse scheduled for destruction if the land owners couldn't find somebody to move it off of their property. Since I'm a sucker for old farmhouses we went to look at it... and fell in love. The big porch sold us immediately and has blinded us to the tiny dining room, graffiti walled kitchen and broken windows.

Soon, we set to work putting in an offer on the land and contacting banks and construction workers to see if we could make a go of the rest of the project. On a whim I put the farm up for sale on Craigslist and soon we were fielding emails and phone calls with showing after showing following. Next, we made a list of every possible material possession we could part with, including all of the livestock, and started receiving more Craigslist emails and phone calls. As the big finale we hosted a garage sale and sold out nearly by the first night.

On the day of closing for the land we showed up with cash in the bank and giddily signed on the dotted line. Then we went out and did a happy dance and breathed a big sigh of relief.

Now we impatiently wait for the rest of the contractor bids to come back and the final details to get finished to move the house. Two serious lookers are going to get back to us about the farm this week hopefully, and more people keep on emailing asking for more details so that they can start living their own dreams.

A home with a lake view. A place to rest, a place to regroup, a place to invest into what really matters. I can't wait.

What I Love about Small Towns

 

Small towns are wonderful. I've lived in one my whole life. Everybody knows everybody, and everybody knows everybody's business. Our immediate neighbors include a conglomeration of one of our kids' youth pastors, an obstetrical nurse who helped deliver both of our boys, a once removed (maybe twice) something-or-other shirt tail relation nephew's ex-wife turned friend, a long ago bus driver and the vacation Bible school friend's little brother who now has his own little ones.

 

These charming people represent our rural world and make us feel safe and loved. Any time we hear a car rumbling past on our quiet back road we know who's going where and why. So, it surprised us that it took nearly a whole month for our names to once again be the hub of the local café. The townsfolk are all flustered over our news: we're gonna move.

 

Yep, we're selling the farm. Lock, stock, barrel and even the goats. One friend called all flustered when she heard that our new destination was two hours away, another was so worried that she hiked right over to get the gossip straight from the horses mouth. There are those who want us to justify giving up the American dream of raising every morsel that goes into our mouths, but there are also those who have applauded our bravery. Either way, it remains the same, we've been able to keep the secret for over a month.

 

In all reality, there was nothing yet to tell anybody, so it was funny when we started to hear the rumors of our move before we knew if it was going to happen. It still might not happen as no papers have even been signed yet. But the cat's been let out of the bag, and yep, the farm is for sale.

 

Any buyers? We'll make you a good deal.

 

Expect in the near future (if I am not busy packing) some posts about the willingness to give it all up. If God had chosen to move me half way around the world I would have been just as happy, but He has so far chosen to lead us just a few miles up the road to probably an equally sanctifying place: a tiny little acreage squished between some unsuspecting neighbors. But He did throw in a lake view and potentially a big covered porch. Thanks God!

 

So that's the short and sweet version. If I ever see clear of cleaning for one more showing I'll wax and wane a bit longer.