Snow Soap

Winter just doesn't seem to want to go away this year, so we decided to take advantage of the record amounts of snow that keep falling and make some soap with it.

 

Our latest creation: Cranberry Pomegranate Snow Soap with cranberry seeds

sprinkled in the white "snowy" tops.

 

{{{Beautiful!}}}

 

We tried a new recipe for this batch, which will hopefully become another favorite.

There are thirteen bars sitting on the drying rack that will soon be ready to sample~ can't wait!

 

 

A Doozey of a Kidding Year

 It's been a doozey of a kidding year so far, and we are only half way done. The vet's number will soon be on speed dial, and my yearly farm budget is already in the negative. It all started a few weeks ago when we received news of a positive CAE test on one of last years bucklings.  CAE has been a new experience for us, but obviously has been a part of the goat world for quite some time, and with many varying opinions on the handling of it. (FiasCo Farms has a great post about it here.) Since a majority of our goats are sold as breeding bucks, we made the hard decision to cull out two of the four does of that line, leaving two others who will be kept back with the hopes that we can successfully bottle feed their kids to prevent CAE and keep the line in our herd. The disease has essentially wiped out half of our milkers.

Next, after that crises had been dealt with, came our first delivery from Dixie, an older doe who would be retired after this years kidding. She delivered two beautiful, healthy kids, but had barely any milk. The little buck didn't make it past the second cold night. Then Asha delivered healthy twins, but again, the buck out of the set didn't know how to get back into his warming house and didn't make it through the first night. At about this point I felt like the worst farmer ever, and vowed to never have kids due again in February/March (forgetting all of the successful past years of raising babies).

Lucille's due date came and she started out perfectly. There were obvious early labor signs when I checked her before going to bed, so I brought her up to the old wood basement to deliver her babies in the warmth. She let me sleep a couple of hours each in between checks throughout the night, and even let me finish a cup of coffee before she got serious about pushing. Little feet soon appeared, although they were the back feet, but being they were in the proper position I wasn't concerned. Within two pushes I became very concerned when all of a sudden out came a monster of a baby, a second tiny baby buck plus her uterus all at the same time.

We hurried to make sure the babies were breathing and taken care of, took a big breath ourselves, and looked again to try to determine exactly what had come out and if it had gone back in yet. Nope. I headed upstairs and did a quick search on the internet for "prolapsed uterus" and verified my original thought. Yep, that's a prolapsed uterus. I called the local vet, only to find out that nobody was available and had to call the office further away. The nice vet at that office wouldn't be available for a couple of hours, but calmly proceeded to instruct me how to put it back in myself. Alrighty then. Good thing I had had my coffee already.

Following his instructions, I grabbed the extra bag of sugar from the cupboard and headed back down to the basement. As I was dowsing the uterus with sugar to reduce the extra moisture and trying to figure out how to pull the after birth off without breaking the buttons which could cause her to bleed to death, the girls were in the background vowing to never birth children. After a few meager attempts, in dreadful fear to push with my palms and not my fingers lest I burst a hole through the uterus, I called the vet back in defeat and scheduled him to come out after his current clinic procedure.

Baby number two, the beautiful spotted buck, wasn't doing so well. Momma was able to get up and allow the little guys to get some colostrum, but he didn't have the strength yet to nurse. We dug out a bottle and nipple and milked some colostrum, then worked on getting it in him. He struggled weakly throughout the night, sleeping in a basket between the girls who blessed me by babysitting and multiple feedings so that I could get some sleep.

The vet eventually made it out, gave us all an educational, hands on science day and expertly reinserted the uterus and stitched her up with instructions to watch her so that she didn't push it out again. Right, wrong or otherwise I kept the momma goat doped up on some pain killers/muscle relaxers that I had for when I put my back out over Christmas and anxiously checked her rear end for protrusions. By day number three she came out of her stupor and was obviously tired of being in the basement. She wasn't very pleased with us, either, when we had to remove the stitches, but we appreciated her fiestiness.

Both bucks are thriving in the barn as of chore time this morning. But now Dixie is in the basement with supposed milk fever, another new goat issue for us. She lost all of her milk, which leaves us bottle feeding her month old doe. Only three more deliveries to go . . .

PicMonkey Collage

I have discovered a fun new website to play around on called PicMonkey. There are oodles of options for transforming pictures, making collages and blog headers, and most of it is free {there are optional upgrades}.

On my agenda for the past couple of years has been the project of tackling the transformation of the upstairs hallway. The orange shag carpeting has been torn out for quite some time and revealed decent, although characteristically unlevel, hardwood floors. The old walls were repaired, then recently painted a neutral beige color and an appropriate border has been picked out and is just waiting to be installed. Family pictures were next. I have been purposely avoiding this part of the project. Part of me wants to see the walls plastered with all those smiling little faces, but the other part of me hasn't wanted to dig through the pictures to decide which ones to use.

Do you use all pre-accident photos, or acknowledge that life has been forced to go on and everybody else is two years older and use recent photos? Do you change them out every year, allowing the glaring reality that Trent's picture never changes to be the first thing you wake up to every morning? And then there's the actual event of digging through the archived pictures: the horse rides, the football games, the reminders of the breakfasts in bed that you never got a picture of.

Grief steals so much. More-so than just the person you are grieving, it steals your very self. It steals the mother, sister, wife, aunt, friend that you used to be. It drives you to the brink of insanity where you start to contemplate and wonder if just going over the edge of it would really be so bad. It steals even the ability to think rationally. You start to forget that this life is a mist and heaven goes on for an eternity.  Everything brings tears, even two years later.

The anniversary is over and Trent's birthday has just passed. Dear friends sent cards and emails, as well as called and visited. I cried over the ones who did, and the ones who didn't. The sweet, painful emotion of being loved well~ there are not adequate words to express how that feels.

I continuously tell God that I am so tired of crying. I can barely begin the words of a cohesive prayer anymore because all I do is lament and weep. There are no more words. My brain is exhausted by the work of searching out the glory of God in this (Proverbs 25:2NKJ). God knows my heart, He knows the depth of this agony. He has allowed a quiet hush to hover over me. A time of rest in my soul. A time of waiting as His work is being done. Simply "being" in Him. There doesn't always have to be answers to the questions.

So I went through the pictures. I relived life when there were five children smiling back at me on a computer screen all the way through life when there were only four. I sorted, debated, and created personal collages for each person in our family.

I chose the Roseman Bridge, where Trent's ashes were spread, for my collage. Pictures where I opened my hand and let go, let go of my son, let go of myself and my plans. Pictures of remembrance that mark in computer generated options my surrender to God, my attempt of the resurrection of an altar as the prophets of old used to build: an everlasting reminder of when God abundantly poured out His grace and along with it a great measure of hope. When He revealed Himself and allowed me to see and love Him more, and especially long for Him more, despite the great cost.

Oatmeal Almond Scrub Goat's Milk Soap

 Buy yourself a bar of goat's milk soap {{CLICK HERE}}!

Alexis and I have been having so much fun making soap! Between exciting goat deliveries (more on that soon, Lord willing), home schooling and the never ending laundry pile we have been able to whip up eleven batches of goat's milk soap in preparation for some upcoming Spring Craft Fairs. My soap racks are overflowing!

Almond is always a popular seller, so we made sure to make extra. Lots of folks like the Oatmeal Almond Scrub bar as well. We used our tried and true lard recipe which holds up well with the added oatmeal, along with 2 ounces of Brambleberry's Cybilla Almond scent.

At a light trace I poured about 1/4 of the soap mixture back into my oil pan, then added my scents and superfatted the original batch with the Castor Oil for extra luxurious bubbles and conditioning. Next I added some oatmeal, and mixed it back up to a thicker trace before pouring it into the mold.

The bottom layer turns that pretty brown from the Almond scent, with the plain white soap poured on top for some contrast, and a dash of cinnamon for an added dramatic effect. Beautiful!

Click Here For My Soap Making Tutorial

Terri's Goat's Milk Soap Lard Recipe~

15.2 Ounces slushy/frozen Goat's Milk

5.7 Ounces Lye

20 Ounces Lard

12 Ounces Olive Oil

8 Ounces Coconut Oil

2 Tbsp. Castor Oil

2 Ounces Scent/or as desired

  

Let the Soaping Begin

 

With kidding season comes an abundance of goat's milk. And an abundance of goat's milk means soaping time. After many requests to purchase soap last Fall, and more soap classes than I had originally planned on teaching, I discovered too late that I had underestimated the amount of milk I should have frozen.

 

With only four remaining precious bags of milk in the freezer, I have been hording them until my first doe freshened, even though we are down to just a few "nice" bars of soap left on the shelf. Now that she has, I feel the liberty to dig them out and start creating.

 

Except, of course, now that I have milk, I am short on supplies, so will have to wait until the nice Fed-Ex man pulls into my driveway with a big box of spring colors and scents from Brambleberry: Cucumber Melon, Plumeria, Cranberry-Pomegranate, the ever favorite Almond, etc., etc. There are a couple different recipes and designs that I have been wanting to experiment with, too ~ I can't wait!.

 

So stay tuned, and let the soaping begin!

Babies, Babies, Babies

 Our first baby goat of the year, born to Dixie.

A tiny, spunky little girl who has us hoping for a "doe year."

Two other mommas are due any day now.

 

 Cole's baby bunnies. Such sweetness!

 

Six baby chicks peeping in the basement,

enough to supplement our older flock of hens,

and more eggs in the incubator.

To Be Loved Well

Rejoice with those who rejoice;

mourn with those who mourn.

Romans 12:15

Amongst the overwhelming emotional pain of grief is the exact opposite: the flooding of love. When you spend so much time protecting yourself from feeling too much it takes extra effort to allow the love to seep in, too.  Both emotions can be as equally difficult to sort and absorb. Both leave you in tears, exhausted from the depth of them.

~An unannounced, surprise visit by a sister bringing treasures and kids with her.

 

~A niece whose love and encouragement hasn't failed to bless these past many months.

 

~New friends who are brave enough to talk to you about your son while your waiting for an appointment at the dentist's office.

 

~Old friends who don't forget.

 

~A policeman whom you've only met once at a faraway hospital, a meeting ordained perfectly by God, who remembers you in his prayers two years later.

 

~Wednesday night church ladies who hug and don't let go.

 

~And you, dear blog friends, who have walked in the trenches with me and keep reading my ramblings and sending your love through cyberspace.

The effect of your prayers has been felt. Smiles are returning. A glimpse of the victory to come is remembered. Lord willing, Monday will pass. It may even find me celebrating as the gamut of emotions have run their course and I can put it all in focus once again and realize that my son is in Heaven... with God... for eternity.

On the Hard Days

That day, when evening came, he said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.”

Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat.

There were also other boats with him.

A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped.

Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him,

“Teacher, don't you care if we drown?”

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves,

“Quiet! Be still!”

 

Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.

He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

They were terrified and asked each other,

“Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”

Mark 4:35-41

Dates on a calender should not have the power to have so much control over a persons life. For nearly four decades I was able to enjoy the month of February. It always brought with it Valentines Day, chocolate hearts and cards, and the hope of warmer weather to come. Now the days bring paralyzing grief, a return of tears that won't end, and a flood of memories. I thought goat deliveries and baby chicks would help speed the days and consume me with busyness, but they have only proven to be too bitter-sweet to enjoy.

{Jesus} said to His disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” Mark 4:40

I've been reading through the gospels again, my second round in our ninety day New Testament marathon; my anchor of sanity, the words that keep my soul focused.

Do I still have no faith? Rob reminded me that having faith doesn't mean that you don't have tears. Heart wrenching, sobbing, curled up next to the toilet tears. Begging Jesus to meet you there, on that tile floor, so that you can get up, start the day and tend to your other children kind of tears.

The second year is harder, ladies. I've hesitated to write that since I know many of you haven't even finished the first year yet. Satan does a doozey of a job to thwart the plans of God and twist whatever hope is left after the first twelve months of grief.

The kids and I have been reading John Bunyan's book, The Holy War, this week (it's a required assignment, otherwise our children do not usually gladly endure sitting through fifty-five pages a day of Old English language). My eyes have been opened, once again, to the fact that there is a battle raging – a battle for souls. Night terrors, in a girl too big to be scared of the boogey man, only revealed it again. The power of prayer reminds us of who wins in the end.

Randy Alcorn, in his book Heaven, talks about the liar of all lies, the great deceiver that masquerades as an angel of light dulling our minds to the reality of eternity:

“Our enemy slanders three things: God's person, God's people, and God's place – namely Heaven.

What better way for the devil and his demons to attack us than to whisper lies about the very place on which God tells us to set our heart and minds?

Satan need not convince us that Heaven doesn't exist, He need only convince us that Heaven is a place of boring, unearthly existence. If we believe that lie, we'll be robbed of our joy and anticipation, we'll set our minds on this life, and not the next, and we won't be motivated to share our faith. Why should we share the 'good news' that people can spend an eternity in a boring, ghostly place that even we're not looking forward to?

{Satan} cannot keep Christ from defeating him, but he can persuade us that Christ's victory is only partial, that God will abandon his original plan for mankind and the earth. Because Satan hates us, he's determined to rob us of the joy we'd have if we believed what God tells us about the magnificent world to come....

Sitting here in a dark world, we must remind ourselves what Scripture tells us about Heaven. We will one day be delivered from blindness that separates us from the real world. We'll realize then the stupefying bewitchment we've lived under. By God's grace, may we ... clearly see the liberating truth about Christ the King and Heaven, his Kingdom.”

I wonder, as Jesus sat in that boat with His disciples – the God man who lived not by His own power but by God's, the maker of Heaven and Earth itself – how He had the patience to not rap these men upside the head. They had walked with him, seen the miracles, heard the promises. Yet, so easily, like us, they got flustered at the first test.

God seems to “step away” sometimes in suffering, and makes us depend on His Word alone. Is it sufficient? Will we hinge everything on it? Do we allow it to sustain us? The splitting of hairs is so fine, our sin runs so deep, our understanding of God is so shallow.

We demand of Him, “Give me grace, do it my way, don't let it hurt.” But the hurt reveals. It reveals what we cling to. It reveals that we have not fully surrendered to Christ as King and Lord, sovereign of all, over every aspect of our lives. It reveals that we really don't think He's capable when we are honest with ourselves; that He may not have a master plan in all of this.

But it wasn't until the winds were blowing the hardest, the squall was in its most furious state, and the waves had finally broken over the boat that the disciples bothered to wake Jesus, and in desperation cried out for a Savior.

“The honest cries of a broken heart are better than a hallelujah,” sings Amy Grant. Pain brings honesty that can't be faked. It brings an opportunity to cry out to God. It forces us to figure out who He really is.

Crying on the floor, begging for rather than demanding grace, acknowledging God's perfect ways, waiting for my Savior to quiet the storm, and longing like I've never before longed for Heaven … reminding myself that the glory to be revealed will not even be worth comparing to this trial (Romans 8:18) that this life is as a mist (James 4:14), that my days are numbered (Psalm 39:4), and that my God is fully capable to see me through to the end (Isaiah 46:4), even through the second anniversary date.

“Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey Him!” Mark 4:41

Hatching Chicks

Throughout the cold winter months there has been an old, rigged up microwave oven that sits on the cherry laminate floor right next to my dining room table. Its light blinking off and on, off and on, keeping time with the thermostat that was installed to keep it at a consistent, toasty 99.5 degrees. It truly is the latest in decorating style - every old farmhouse should have one. The cat even likes it, and has claimed it as a warm place to take his nap.

After three impatient weeks, and many sessions of turning eggs, it's so fun to hear the "cheep, cheeping" from the old brown box. The noise leads us to inspecting eggs looking for pip holes, and putting various ones up to our ears to listen for the little scratching sounds made by a chick gearing up for the battle to begin his life.

That battle has been a losing one around here lately. Our Light Brahma's must be too old to hatch healthy babies, as they have trouble getting out of their shelled domain. The plain Blacks have been strong, though, and we have been rewarded with a couple of fluffy chicks to add to the clutch of Cole's Silkies in the basement.

Today is Due Day for the first of the expecting goats. One of the does refused her breakfast of grain, which is a good sign that labor could be starting soon. Chicks, and kids, and if the beef prices have come down to reasonable rates, soon new calves. Such a fun, busy time on the farm.

The Countdown Begins

The countdown is on ~ only two more days until Goat Watch 2013 officially begins.

Two older does are due next week, with their first potential due date (if I calculated correctly) being Saturday, but most likely happening later on in the week. Three more does are scheduled for the middle to end of the month, and the last three will be a guessing game after that.

If the weather doesn't warm up considerably before then they will be birthing in the old wood-filled basement again -- right next to the 100 chicks that are scheduled for arrival next week and the five baby bunnies that were born this morning . . .

Surrender

 

And the Lord said to Job:

 “Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty?

He who argues with God, let him answer it.”

Job 40:1-2

One of the kids is plunking out a tune on the piano in the living room. The coffee pot has finished percolating. The dog has already been let out and has come back in again. Controlled chaos reigns at the dining room table amongst English books and Math flashcards.

Upstairs, there is a battle being fought.

The preferred position being from my hiding spot under the three quilts on my bed rather than entering in on the front line which would require getting down on my knees on the old wood floor. To go there means tears. Not a few silent tears sliding down your cheeks, but the full avalanche of heaving, sobbing ones which leave you crumpled in the corner.

The ones that don't let you be fake, don't let you get by with that nice prayer of “thanks God for allowing my son to go to heaven,” but the ones that demand that you acknowledge just who this God is. The ones that end in full surrender, eventually waving a hand in the air as evidence, barely able to whisper, “thank you gracious Heavenly Father that You would actually allow my son, my son Trent, into your presence.”

Again, the reconciliation of who I am: a sinner saved by grace. And who God is: the Maker, the Creator, the Potter, Holy, Perfect, Sustainer, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace. To acknowledge that I am nobody to quarrel with God as the Israelites did (Isaiah 45: 9-12)

Will I really dare to question God about what He does with His children? Or give Him orders about the work of His own hands? He is, after all, the One who made the earth, and created mankind upon it. With His own hands He stretched out the heavens and marshaled the starry hosts all by Himself. He didn't ask my advice then, and He's not asking it now.

Surrender is where freedom is found.

“When we ask 'why' we are looking for the answer to satisfy – not God.” Out of the mouths of babes. I wrote Alexis' words down on my never-ending list of quotes and verse references on a recycled Youth Rally flyer that was recently tucked into my Bible. I ponder the words again. Why is it so difficult to let God alone be the one who satisfies?

After Job's many trials, and accusations against God, he gets what he claims to want so bad: a visit from the Great I AM. God doesn't coddle him, or apologize for what He has done, or beg Job for forgiveness for the pain he has endured. Rather, God cuts him another blow and puts him in his proper position; on his knees, crumpled in the corner, acknowledging who he is; who God is.

From the book “The Color of the Night”:

“Job has clamored and complained. He has stood tall. God would have him stand taller by bending low.

 

Job has been wise, but God would make him wiser. Job has underestimated himself, as we all do whenever we bring grievances against God. Pride isn't overestimation. If we know we are God's children, we will think, not less, but more of ourselves and the God who created us.

Before God, we are always in the wrong. Litany is our fitting language. Like Job, we haven't respected the throne. We have toyed with truth and tried to snatch the crown. Our complaints bear witness against us.

It seems cruel that in the midst of so much misery, Job is cut back and further tormented. But he has wanted to play God. He has trespassed; he can't be healed without hurt. Perhaps this is the meaning of God's relentless chastening. The Gardener prunes the branches, sometimes cutting most deeply into his most fruitful tree, that it may bear more fruit.

The words from the whirlwind invite Job to believe, for the Lord discloses himself as he names the mysteries in his world. Faith can't be commanded or coerced; it is elicited by revelation. In seeing the Lord one sees oneself.

The way to feel small is to stand by someone who is tall. In the words of A.B. Davidson from the Book of Job:

The object of the Lord's answer out of the whirlwind is twofold, to rebuke Job and to heal him – to bring home to his heart the blameworthiness of his words and demeanor toward God, and to lift him out of perplexity into peace. The two things hardly differ; at least both are affected by the same means namely by God's causing all his glory to pass before Job.”

 

                                              ~by Gerhard E. Frost

Surrender reveals the glory of God to be who He is. His ways are not our ways; they are higher than the heavens are from the sky. To look up is the only way that we will see Him.

The oatmeal needs to be cooked, the middle-school readers are ready, and the dentist awaits. I dry my cheeks, attempt a smile, and longingly wait for the coming of my King Jesus.

How to Add "You Might Also Like" Widget

For quite some time I've noticed under other blogger posts the words, "You might also like" followed by photos and links to other articles in their blogs. Being pretty much internet challenged, it took quite a while before I attempted to figure out how to add the widget to my own blog. I'm happy to share with you that it was easy, painless, and my computer did not blow up in the process.

The simple steps are as follows:

Click on the widget link, here: LinkWithin

You will be redirected to a LinkWithin website that asks you to enter your email address, blog link, platform (Blogger, Wordpress, etc.) and width (I chose 3).

After you've entered the above information click on the big blue box that says "Get Widget!"

The next page will look like this:

 

 

Choose your blog from the drop down box and click on the blue box, "Add Widget."

 

 

Your Blogger layout page will now open, and you will see an added HTML box (on the right) that says "LinkWithin." 

 

Save your changes, and go check out your blog with the added addition of "You Might Also Like"

Bare Toes in January

 

Water balloons in the freezer.

Tea parties in upstairs bedrooms.

Chickens in the basement.

Oodles of stories stored in a laptop computer.

Kisses goodnight.

Kisses goodmorning.

And any odd number of childhood antics in between.

 

Such is my life.

Besides the never ending laundry pile and the creative energy it constantly requires to make three scrumptious meals a day, three hundred and sixty five days a year, unless it's a leap year, then three hundred and sixty six days a year.

 

The grief in between is just a constant reminder of the best that is yet to come.

It drives me to my knees begging for salvation,

which is found in Jesus Christ alone,

on behalf of those I love.

 

A body that keeps going through the motions.

A mind that feels like it can't take in one more single concept.

And a soul longing for restoration and righteousness.

 

Bare toes in January.

Two minute boy showers.

Orthodontics times three.

Tears in the morning.

Tears at night.

 

A Savior leading.

 

To Wrestle Like Jacob

Six below is the predicted high for the day here in Wisconsin. Which means that, at least twice a day, we get to bundle up and brave the elements to care for our menagerie of critters. Enduring a nearly eighty degree difference in temperature, and a frozen water spicket, all for the sake of having some home grown beef in our freezer. The thought of a little corner lot in town with a plastic goldfish floating in a bowl has become appealing and common dinner conversation as of late. Or at least goat farming in the Bahamas. There must be a need for handmade soaps and milking Nubian does somewhere in the Atlantic region.

To pass the time of these cold days we work on home school: adverbs and adjectives, transitive and intransitive verbs, algebra and phonics. Character and self-control are highest on our list of curriculum in four young souls (not to mention my own), and seems to be the subject that constantly demands the most attention. Two teenagers and two middle schoolers in one old farmhouse in January makes for many opportunities of growth, and throw in there the dog that constantly needs in and out, in and out, always just as you've settled nicely into the recliner. Each with our own weaknesses, as iron sharpens iron, we go on .....

Winter is also a time for quilting. Somehow, I have gotten four baby boy quilts behind in my gift giving this past year. Three tops are ready to be stretched and sewed together, with more quilt patterns running through my brain than I could attempt to sew all year long. It's been nearly two years since I could even think of quilting. I'm not sure if that's the first glimpse of the healing they say comes eventually in grief. If it is I think that's why I resist it so; I never want to be healed of missing my son and thinking this is normal. So I sew between the tears.

And cry over hatching chicks. Chicks that haven't hatched in an incubator in my dining room for nearly those same two years. The pipping hole found me crumpled on the cherry laminate next to the table while the house was quiet and the sun hadn't peeked out yet. Crying as I longed for feather legged chickens like the one's we picked up a week before the accident. Crying because there might not be feathered legs, crying because I'm tired of waiting for eternity to begin.

As I often do when I need solid encouragement of Scripture, I searched for the Desiring God blog, and found Jon Bloom's post on Jacob's time of wrestling with God to be so applicable.

"And what changed him from fearing man to trusting God’s word was prolonged and painful wrestling with God. Sometimes, in your battle with unbelief, your greatest Ally will wrestle you — he might even make you limp — until you’re desperate ... "

I have felt like Jacob lately, battling so hard and then struck where I am most vulnerable. Struck by rejection. Struck by pride. Struck by sick goats. Struck by grief, every morning being greeted with the fresh reality that my son is not here. Struck by complacency, and apathy, and the mind boggling, numbing, stuffing inability to discern what really matters. Struck where it hurts the most, because where it hurts the most is where I need to be sanctified the most.

There is so much of "me" left. The pain reveals where Christ is not yet ruling. Where I still expect something else to satisfy. Where I still refuse for Jesus to be enough.

After I've cried the tears, and realized the beauty of the battle is that the end result will eventually produce a harvest of righteousness and peace (Hebrews 12:11), I raise my hands in defeat. I can no longer struggle as Jacob did and demand more from God. My strength has been drained from the energy it has taken to resist Him thus far.

Instead, I accept the blessing that has already been given: the blessing of suffering.

West Bow Press versus CreateSpace

A while back I was asked by a blog friend about my thoughts on self publishing, so thought I'd post my response for others who may be curious. It has been just over a year since my book, How My Savior Leads Me, was first published. We chose to use WestBow Press for our first publisher, but after much frustration and over all disappointment, we soon decided to make another investment and have the book reprinted with CreateSpace.

It is a big book world out there, and it would be easy to get ate up in it! Before self publishing I did quite a bit of research and looked into different venues for printing my book. I researched literary agents and big house publishers, but soon realized that I knew I wasn't emotionally strong enough to handle the rigorous process of submissions and rejections. I did submit to one agency, and sent books to the big publishers, but only received a few form letters saying they were not accepting new projects or no reply at all.

Since I was confident that writing and sharing Trent's story was of God, and many doors appeared to be opening in that direction, we went ahead with self publishing.

Our first edition was printed with WestBow Press. I don't have alot of good things to say about WestBow. My gripes: you feel like just a number and soon find that you are treated as such. I bought into their advertising that you could be the next big author and picked up by Thomas Nelson, and also thought (due to their advertisiements) that they would be very helpful in promoting my Christian view. In the end, I found very little personal help as a newbie author, and soon became very frustrated by the lack of communication as well as the cost of every service that seemed should have been covered in the package price.

I purchased their Pro Format package, which included amongst other things, Interior Book Design and Page Layout, plus Standard Cover Design Including Personalized Back Cover. The promises soon became tarnished when I learned that my options were limited to 1-3 choices and then a fee of $150+ was added to change anything (fonts, etc.). Which meant that I could submit an idea (choice 1) for the cover and they would come up with their own design (choice 2), if there was a font or color change requested to either of those designs that would be choice three. At that point you would be required to pay the additional fee to see any other options. The same for interior fonts, details, designs. Even to request changing the size of the book required an additional fee.

I also had several problems with getting the book printed on the correct color of paper (more than 500 books in multiple orders were printed on the wrong color), and wasn't all that impressed with the final printing quality.

My book representative was very quick to reply to both phone calls and emails, but the communication was very poor between him and the team that actually did the work on my book. Soon, there was a turn over in personnel and my file seemed to be laid by the curbside with no personal contact representative.

After several months I ended up with a book that I really didn't like, was very disappointed in their cover options and art work and would be unable to financially consider any changes, besides looking at $700+ more to correct new-found typo's (after already investing over $2,000 initially with them, besides out-sourced editor fees).

Maybe my expectations were too high: I expected that we would work together to create a quality book, but found that they mostly turned out to just be a very expensive printer.

Which all led us to choose CreateSpace to reprint the book only three months later.

What I liked about CreateSpace:

(If Blogger would let me upload images I would attempt to place a photo of the book cover and interior here, but since it won't, you'll have to check out the Amazon page to see an example- and while you're there, if you want to leave a review or a "like" Amazon appreciates that, and so do I:))

They were half the price of WestBow for a better quality book. I could have attempted to format the whole book myself, but I knew that I wasn't capable, nor did I want to try. For $900 I purchased their interior and cover formatting option and they did all the work. They were much more flexible with actually designing a book that I liked, instead of giving me a couple of options and then charging to change anything.

Example: For the cover design I filled out a questionnaire, they designed two mock up covers,
and then allowed me to choose one to start creating with. If you don't like either option, they redesign, or allow the choice of making changes to color, font, etc., until the author is happy with the result. The interior also received royal treatment and design work continued until it met my satisfaction, with no further charges.

With CreateSpace they worked with me until I actually liked the book. Their design team was fabulous, they replied and worked very fast, and the quality and printing of the book was so much better. The option of fonts and layout was superior to WestBow, and the design team was particular to attention and seemed to want to meet your desired expectations. Printing with WestBow took about six months, and with CreateSpace about four months to publish the books.

Actual book printing cost with CreateSpace is also half price: about $3.50 per book compared to about $6.50 with WestBow, which means higher author royalties with CreateSpace, or the ability to charge less for the book. Both companies offered similar options as far as ISBN numbers, availability of additional services (marketing, editors, etc.), retaining author rights, and distribution.

If you are computer savvy, and are willing to do the research and work yourself, you can format and design your entire book for no cost at all with CreateSpace and only pay for the cost of printing the books. I have done this for a little booklet that we had printed for some fishing scholarships in honor of Trent in our community, as well as a children's book that Alexis wrote.

One consideration with CreateSpaces' Self Publishing is that you have no publisher to list. One option is that you can open your own publishing enterprise (you'd have to check into local legal requirements). We chose to print under the name of More Glory Ministries for our CreateSpace books. We applied for a non-profit status for all of the donations after Trent's death and have committed to using all book proceeds and funds as well for sharing the gospel. Having the More Glory Ministries name on the book directs people back to our blog where the books are advertised as well as Trent's story and the gospel is shared.

So how is the book doing?

After being available for fourteen months between the two publishers, we have distributed over 1,000 books. Nearly two-thirds of those have been given away as gifts. God has continued to provide the resources through book sales and donations to make it possible to share the gospel and the hope of eternity with many hurting souls.Nearly weekly we receive emails or notes about how God is using Trent's story for His glory.

For our family, personally, the book is a huge comfort and encouragement as well on those days when we can't quite see past the pain of missing a son. I can't recall how many times I have been convicted by my own words, or had my eyes turned back to the cross through it - so even if it never makes the best seller list, that is enough of a reason to have wrote it.

So... there's my ramblings about self publishing. If there are any other specific questions I can answer, let me know.

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

For cover work, I would highly recommend Design Crowd, 

who did an awesome job to create the books final cover.

Farming

Blogger is being a bugger. For some reason they won't let me upload any new pictures today, so I had to dig through the archives and use some old photos. I've read that others are having troubles recently, too.

 

Anybody have any advice???



 

 

Kidding season is fast approaching. In about two weeks we will officially be on "goat watch." Doing routine checks of back ends and udders and ligaments until it drives the girls and us crazy. My favorite time of the farming year: baby season. The delivery of goat kids ushers in milking time, which also means we get to look forward to raising bottle calves from all that rich milk. Jacob (on the left) is our main herd sire this year. He comes from Brenda's farm in Missouri.

 

Dreaming about lots more colorful kids like last February, except hoping for a girl year this time around. The little guy on the left is our second herd sire this year. Any locals looking for purebred Nubian goats let me know! 

 

Having all that good goats milk also means more soap making. This crazy soap dream has exploded into an obsession and a small income to help keep the farm running. There are a couple of soap making classes scheduled in the next two months, plus craft fairs and expo's to prepare for, but no milk in my freezer. I've been adding to my wish list of scents, colors and designs plus am excited to try out some new soap recipes~ now I just need some milk. And talking about soap, this was a sweet encouragement: Backyard Farming Guide.

 

In other farms news: we are anxiously waiting for chicks to hatch, both from the incubator and from Cole's Silkie hens who have decided that the middle of January would be a great time to set on some eggs. There are also 150 little pullet peepers on their way from the hatchery for resale this spring. Baby season is almost upon us~ I can't wait!

 

Reading Between the Lines

An hour and a half in bed, refusing to be real. Too lazy to get my bum down on my knees to bow before my Creator, and instead settling for prayers full of apathy. Tears cried into my coffee cup until it is too cold to drink. Repentance and the first two chapters of Hebrews later, plus several cross references, before the peace settles.

Jesus, the One I have never seen with my eyes yet my soul has never not known, the radiance of God's glory, the Maker of the heavens. The Savior, who was made a little lower than the angels for a time until He would be crowned with glory and everything would be put under his feet, was perfected by suffering under the hand of his Father, that He might become the perfect atonement for sinful man.

I am not good at enduring. Perseverance does not thrill me. Running, controlling, knowing now, hurry up would be better. Scripture puts my unspoken, scattered, and pain-filled emotions into perspective.

“Because He himself suffered when he was tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.” Hebrews 2:18

The overflowing of honesty spills out when I read between the lines: I suffer when I am tempted to be held in bondage by others' approval and allow them control over me, rather than walking in God's ways. The cords of that bondage are strong in a current situation. Chokingly strong. Maybe they choke because they reveal my hard heart; maybe it's not choking but gagging over sin that I don't want revealed. Or maybe it is a blaring warning sign that I can't clearly decipher through the masquerading words of truth.

“Therefore, holy brothers, who share in the heavenly calling, fix your thoughts on Jesus, the apostle and high priest whom we confess.” Hebrews 3:1

My eyes have not been fixed on Jesus lately in this situation, I have instead let them stray. I have chosen to wallow in the pain of the seen, rather than looking to the High Priest whom I confess.

“{Jesus} was faithful to the one who appointed him.” Hebrews 3:2a

What did Jesus do in His suffering? He was faithful to the Father, the very one who found it fitting to allow His suffering. For the greater glory, for the joy of being seated at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven, for the throne that would be ruled with a scepter of righteousness and could only be conquered through the death of a perfect sacrifice, to ransom His own, to glorify His Father, He focused his eyes on eternity.

“I will put my trust in Him.” Hebrews 2:13b/Isaiah 8:17

Jesus put His trust in God. What a simple concept. To merely trust Jesus until I see Him face to face. To endure what He calls me to endure. To do it willingly as I attempt to train my heart to do the same and look forward to that glory. To fall on grace alone, accepting the proficiency of the solitary power of the Holy Spirit, and continuing to disregard any of my attempts of accomplishing His finished work of salvation on my own. To praise God for failure, so that mercy can be realized.

A Returning

Words have returned, what a refreshing welcome to lay down the consuming thoughts that insist on swirling in my brain, to give them a place to reside and rest, to relieve my heart from carrying them. The camera has hardly been thought of lately, maybe God will choose to restore that soon, too.

 

I have discovered recently that as hard as enduring the physical separation of grief is, the unknowing of heaven itself is almost as difficult.

“Where are you, Trent?” The first words whispered while I stood next to that emergency room bed nearly two years ago. The joke between my son and I for months prior to the accident. The thoughts that won't be settled in my mind until I see paradise firsthand.

Heaven, where the glory of God is seen in its full. Where we will be welcomed onto the throne with Jesus himself. Where every tear, and every sin, will be wiped away. Where multitudes of angels dwell. Where Paul saw the inexpressible things that man is not permitted to tell. Where martyrs under the alter are crying out, “How long, Oh Lord?” The same plea I cry every morning.

The slow insanity of grief comes in the everyday trickling of “normal.” Trying to make this world the normal when Scripture says it is the temporary. Hebrews 2:14-15 tells us that Jesus shared in our humanity, the children of flesh and blood, so that by His death the power of death- that is, the devil- would be destroyed. He freed His children from the very fear of death; a fear that holds us in slavery.

To think, this very day, that my son is before this Savior while I am consumed by living here. The mortgage has to be paid, there are three meals to plan and prepare again, farm chores to be attended to, little people to love, all while so much pain and suffering is evident all around me, lost souls are everywhere, eternities are looming.

The Gift

After Trent's accident, we chose for him to become an organ donor. Recovering what they could, the doctors would attempt to use the opportunity to restore somebody else's broken body. I have been crying for days after receiving the news of the reality of what this gift meant: sight was restored to two individuals whom we will probably never know this side of heaven. Our son's corneas, which once saw the beauty of his world, now see for others. The radio is blaring, "No more sorrows, no more tears." I am ready and waiting for That Day.

The story is here.

When Hope Survives

Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect,

that they too may obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus,

with eternal glory.

2 Timothy 2:10

I wonder, if we had one taste, one glimpse, one second of that eternal glory, how would we live differently? I wondered, too, when I read that verse this morning if Paul ever endured the heart-wrenching pain of grief for the sake of the gospel. It's easy to lump grief into the "everything" category of that one sentence; living it is harder.

To "endure everything for the sake of the elect." Trying desperately to grasp the depth of that statement, and find hope in it, I realized that suffering becomes sweeter when I remember that now John has an eternal glory to look forward to because God opened his eyes and has allowed him to lead his family towards Christ; how Anne and Traci's kids have mothers who have become mightier prayer warriors on behalf of their children's souls; how Sue, and Gwen and countless other mothers have found comfort and a refreshing of God's promises through our brokenness.

It's ironic, I guess, as even hope has been so hard to come by lately that I would be working on a devotional book called "When Hope Survives." God seems to be stripping me bare, so only hope in Him survives, then and only then, will I truly have something to say. There is so much of "me" left that needs to be removed. But I hold God at arms length- tired of the hurt, the tears, the pain of revealing.

Martin Luther's commentary on Romans 8:26 cut deep. "The Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered."

"These are prayers which no man can describe by words, and which no one can understand except God alone. The groanings are so great that only God can rightly regard and appreciate them: as we read in Psalm 38:9: "All my desire is before thee; and my groaning is not hid from thee." It is not an evil sign, but indeed the very best, if upon our petitions the very opposite happens to us. Conversely, it is not a good sign if everything is granted to us for which we pray.

The reason for this is the following: God's counsel and will tower high above our own counsel and will, as we read in Isaiah 55:8-9, "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my thoughts higher than your thoughts." Hence, when we ask anything of God and He begins to hear us, He so often goes counter to our petitions that we imagine He is more angry with us now than before we prayed, and that He intends not to grant us our requests at all. All this God does, because it is His way to first destroy and annihilate what is in us - (our own wisdom and will) - before He gives us His gifts; for so we read in 1 Samuel 2:6: "The Lord killeth, and maketh alive; He bringeth down to the grave, and bringeth up." Through this most gracious counsel He makes us fit for His gifts and works. Only then are we qualified for His works and counsels when our own plans have been demolished and our own works are destroyed and we have become purely passive in our relation to Him.

The proud (unbelievers) desire to be like God. They want to place their thoughts not under God, but next to His, just as though they were perfect (as God is). But that is much less possible than for the clay to tell the potter into what shape he should form it. So we read in Isaiah 64:8: "O Lord,Thou art our Father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand." But those who have the Holy Spirit do not despair but have faith when they see that the very opposite of what they asked for happens to them. The work of God must remain hidden in any other form than that which contradicts our thinking and understanding. Thus God permitted St. Augustine to fall deeper and deeper into error, despite the prayers of his mother, in order to grant her much more in the end than she had asked. This He does with all His saints." (Commentary on Romans, Martin Luther, translated by J. Theodore Mueller, Pg. 126-127)
 
I sit here and cry my river of tears another morning. But finally, this morning, they come from a deeper place. A place where they are not the overflow from the high barricade that I have built around my wounded soul, but where they pour out from the demolishing of falsehood which means that God has broken through. The tears are the beginning of true hope, true endurance, and true trust in God.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him,

 so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Romans 15:13