I’ve gone through the past week wondering if I need psychiatric help.

Somehow in the last years of babies close together and the loss of my brother and being a pregnant homeschool mom for part of a year and some dark, dark days of depression I seem to have lost my ability to make decisions.  I think it has something to do with making goals and simply not being able to ever accomplish them for a while there.  I became okay with that.  Had to.  It was the only way to function.  Now I’m incapable of knowing where to start. 

And yes….decisions like what to do with stuff in the closet and the stacks of papers in the drawer just do me in.  I feel like I am on the brink of some kind of change.  I just don’t know what it is.  I have muddled long enough.

I also wonder if I need spiritual counseling.  Because I still feel like I’m back cohorting around with Job and his questions instead of triumphing with Paul and his talk about a transformed mind and abundant life.

I wrote these words at 3 a.m. on Tuesday morning:

“Loneliness….

        Reaching ugly fingers deep into my soul.

              In those dark times when nothing cuts it.

                   It doesn’t matter that it’s the New Year.

Or that I’ve had four phonecalls from people I love today.

I read  Scripture that should comfort and renew hope in a detached manner.  Uh-huh, God.  So nice for someone else.

The shallowness of Facebook doesn’t help a bit.

Nor does the inspiration of blogland.

A backrub does not ease the pain.

My prayers feel wooden and insincere.  

If there wasn’t so much to do I would curl up in a ball and weep.  Thankfully there’s so much to do that I don’t curl up in a ball.

But I weep.  Into the clothes I soak in oxyclean.  Into the stew I cook for supper.  Over the mess on the livingroom floor.   Into my pillow.”

That was Tuesday and Friday looks much more hopeful.  But I wonder why the battle against the rulers of the darkness of this world is so intense.

I read a blog post recently where the writer said her New Year’s resolution was ‘Believe’.  I have taken that as mine as well. 

Because I long to keep a quiet heart. 

I would describe my relationship with God as  rocky right now.  That’s why I am so extremely grateful for moments like listening to Blessed Be Your Name and singing it through tears.  Better yet, feeling overcome with some God-like emotion when singing Face to Face at the nursing home….”only faintly now I see Him…with a darkling veil between…but a better day is coming when His glory shall be seen…”

I feel like I write the same things over and over on this site.  When will I get past some of this trite questioning and on to bigger and better things?  The only reason I can think of for being here is that maybe there are others out there who need companionship in their struggle.

Dan & I had a hot date last night.  Grocery shopping.  Usually I shop alone after school.  It’s a frenzied activity where I’m trying to get home so the children aren’t by themselves too long or supper needs to be made.  Or if I have some or all of them along, you know the scenario. Maybe fun in spots.  Never relaxing.  Often wild.

But last night after supper we meandered through the grocery store.  It’s fun to shop with Dan.  He looks at all the things I don’t even see in my haste.  He bought us breaded Bluewater fish.  And the unbaked pie shells caught his eye because he knows pie crusts are a trial to me.  He said they’re cheap if I count my time for anything and we put a package of two in the cart.  And then Dan chose socks of the thickness that suits him and I looked at 70% off Christmas decorations.  We bought a new microwave because ours has gone stark raving mad.  It beeps at inopportune times and needs to be banged before it will follow orders.

Liesl is exploding with new words.  I love the stage where they obediently try every word you tell them to say.  I was pulling clothes out of the dryer the other day and she was saying the names of the people who owned them.  Yeah.  That might not enthrall you, but it does me.  Especially when accompanied by chubby brown legs and squishy brown cheeks and brown curls and brown eyes.  I am smitten.  Truly.  Even though she will.not.learn. to stay out of the toilet.

Life wears on just doing the usual, which I specialize in.  I put “coloring food” in water for Natalia, who likes colored water for medicine when she plays doctor.  I looked for a lost library book in vain.  I rescued chewed-up crayons from Liesl’s mouth and tried hard to get my very lazy little Andre to dress himself entirely after his bath.  I cried one day over a Kleenex box that got emptied.  Because it was that  kind of a day.  I thought how smart my girl was when she was overjoyed to discover that blue and yellow make green by putting a clear blue cup inside a clear yellow one.  I cleaned up the house for Bible study.  Then I cleaned it again after Bible study.  I disciplined Brown Curls for tearing the (very ugly) border off of the stairway walls.

I also read a very engaging book by Khaled Hosseini.

Andre has been singing “…and the mistletoe…it’s Christmas-and I’m going home.”  He thinks he sounds like George with Celtic Thunder.

 Dan is doing a funeral service on Monday that’s difficult.  Pray for him if you care.

Dan’s parents are coming on Tuesday.  I should be cleaning. 

I should take a creative writing class so I can learn how to be concise and stay with a topic.

On the other hand, I should be cleaning.

Tell me about how you face your battles 

              how you accomplish your goals

                      or what your relationship with your Father God is like.

Ah the bliss of the first-day-of-the-holidays feeling.

9:20 a.m. and everyone still sleeping but Andre and me.  He’s drinking chocolate milk while I have coffee.

In Dan’s defense, he n.e.v.e.r. sleeps that late.  But he was up till an ungodly hour partying with Bryant & Alec.  Trying out John Deere Farmer on the computer.  Alec’s Christmas present.

It’s snowing.  I would happily sit here all day in my bathrobe and watch it fall.

Yes, I am that lazy.

Christmas eve on the livingroom floor.  Do you think anyone slept well?

How would you answer this question from a 4 year old: “What are apples made of?”

Changeable me.  One moment life is all bright with holiday cheer.

Then the fridge condemns me when I open its door.  It REALLY needs to be cleaned.

And I am also feeling sad because it’s now 9:45 and Dan is heading out to separate the cows and calves.  I’m sad for us, because it means hearing them bawl for the next two or three days.  But mostly I am sad for them.  IMAGINE—those poor mommies full of milk and those poor hungry little babies.  Though they are really not so little anymore.  They’re fat and sturdy calves.

For the few of you who are interested, here are some shots from Christmas program night.  I didn’t get one of all the children up front.  We sat in the front row and I didn’t want to be conspicuous with the camera.

I like our unique little church with its unique people-and our neighbors in this unique community.  Ok. I guess every church and community is unique in its own unique way.

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I am trying to decide if I should send out a New Year’s family photo and letter.  Which of the shots below it go best with this one?

My cheapie shots with my cheapo camera:

Bad quality, I know.

Don’t we look cold below?  Dan was not impressed.  Yeah. I know.  It doesn’t go with the summery shot of the children,which was actually taken on a very cold day in October when it was about to snow and poor Natalia was shivering cold.  I saw a really neat family photo in the snow, but this one doesn’t cut it.

Just don’t like this one down here…..

But when I get family photos I like when they’re not just of the children.  I really like to see how my friends are looking by now.

I wasted an abominable hour on Picnik this morning and this is what came of it.  Didn’t mean to have all that border stuff going on and should forget the dark photo, but anyhoo…

This one is probably better. But I can’t figure out how to do a small photo of Dan & I and make the children the focal point-without buying premium, that is.

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That girl Jenny at baileyandme whose creative blog I like to read says that a room should evoke a certain emotion in you.  I wonder what feeling the rooms in this house evoke in people. I’m thinking confusion would fit well.

Changeable me.  Sometimes I can happily live with the chaos and tell myself that one day I will clean and paint and redecorate.  Sometimes I even think it isn’t right to spend a lot of time and money on all that stuff.

But there are times when I don’t think I can stand the floral wallpaper and colorless walls in this livingroom another day.

But the thought of trying to paint in the chaos scares me away.

So I go back to the former arguments and thank God that there are no pressures in my life to have a certain “look” about my décor.  I will need serious help if I ever delve into it anyway.

Indecisive me.  I know what looks good at someone else’s house, but would be tied up in knots over choosing paint colors.

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It is now 5 p.m. and the luxuriousness of laziness continues.  We all went to my brother’s house for turkey soup today.  The older children stayed on to play and Dan & I came home and put the little people down for naps.  Dusk is settling.  The sky is beautiful.  House is quiet.  (Dan is out feeding cows.)  My house needs help.  But oh it is nice to sit.  It really has been a delightful Christmas. 

Our Swiss friends, Rolf & Connie came to help us eat the turkey and play in the snow.

We had a lazy Sunday.

And some peachy Peachey time today.

All that was missing was someone to eat oysters with last night and the night before.

The neighbors are coming for coffee tonite.  And a big cheque for rented pasture land.

Okay, I know this is boring.  But blogging feels good when you don’t feel guilty doing it because it’s a HOLIDAY and you don’t need to clean closets.

Peace to you, my friends.

There was a doll in the fridge the other day.  The next day Andre asked me if I had found it.  He said he’d put it there to keep it away from Liesl.  Does this look like a place where anyone needs to keep a doll away from anybody else?  And this is NOT the entire crew.

There are butterflies in my stomach this morning because there’s a Christmas program at church tonight.  30 years later and I still have them.  I’m not doing a thing but listening and making food, but old habits die hard.

What does it say about me that Dan is much better at wrapping presents than I am?  He does such a nice job and I am happy to let him do most of them.  We had fun doing it together last night.  Every year I think we are going to keep Christmas really simple because we don’t need a thing.  This is what keeping it simple looks like this year.

(Yes, our Christmas decorations are top of the line….silver tinsel and all. J )

Andre’s latest thing when he is procrastinating is to say that he’ll do it “in a couple whiles”.  (combo of ‘in a couple minutes’ and ‘in a little while’, I guess.)

Because our Christmas will be low-key this year on the family end I feel like we should be inviting some homeless or family-less person for dinner.  Our rich oilfield community is lacking in homeless folks.  I know there are lonely people, but I’m having a hard time coming up with ideas for whom to invite.  We did have one fellow to start out the season last night, but I know there are others.  Yeah, we specialize in last minute plans around here.  I am defrosting an enormous turkey.

I bought a black belted sweater with ½ length sleeves at Warehouse One the other night-marked down from $39.99 to $14.99.   It is kind of like the ones we gagged over from the old pictures of our sisters wearing them.  I got it home and started thinking about whether I’ll actually wear it and what I would wear it with.  I am not entirely pleased with how it looks on me.  Should I return it?  Probably.  Otherwise it will join the ranks of all the other unworn sweaters in my closet.

I am working on a post involving Honesty vs. Discretion.  I know well which side I err on.

But it is easier to write randomness than to look at your faults.

Of all the things I admire most in writing, keeping it meaty and concise takes the top.  I have resigned myself to the bleak fact that I will never achieve that grace.  It nearly makes me want to stop blogging, but it seems like I am always effervescing with things to say and I can’t stop myself.

Is it healthy for children to drink hot chocolate every single day?  Because it’s The Thing to Do here.  And no, it’s not necessarily the kind made with heated milk.

I feel so blessed today.  A family that I know from a long time ago lost their mom to a stroke very suddenly last night or this morning.  Other friends are facing their first Christmas without their dad and husband.  Oh it makes me sad. 

And here I am, sighing over this floor that never stays clean and this daughter who leaves destruction in her wake all day long.  I shall hug her and the gift wrapper extra tight today.

Here is Alec at piano recital last week:

And since I am feeding my children cheese curls for the party mix tonight to keep them happy, I need to stop writing randomness.

A very Merry Christmas to you, my lovely friends.  I am so thankful for all of you. 

Meanwhile 

         Back at the ranch

               The cows have come home.

At 5:00 this evening I looked outside in the gathering dusk and saw 70 cow/calf pairs plodding up the lane.

Anything that I was doing just until the cows came home I can stop doing now.  I’m not sure what in my life applies to this cliche, really. 

  This is www on “till the cows come home”.

Meaning

For a long but indefinite time.

Origin

Cows are notoriously languid creatures and make their way home at their own unhurried pace. That’s certainly the imagery behind ’till the cows come home’ or ‘until the cows come home’, but the precise time and place of the coining of this colloquial phrase isn’t known. It was certainly before 1829 though, and may well have been in Scotland. The phrase appeared in print in The Times in January that year, when the paper reported a suggestion of what the Duke of Wellington should do if he wanted to maintain a place as a minister in Peel’s cabinet:

If the Duke will but do what he unquestionably can do, and propose a Catholic Bill with securities, he may be Minister, as they say in Scotland “until the cows come home.”

Groucho Marx was never one to pass up an opportunity for a play on words and this occurs in his dialogue of the 1933 film Duck Soup:

“I could dance with you till the cows come home. Better still, I’ll dance with the cows and you come home.”

until the cows come home (spoken) also till the cows come home

for a very long time You can diet until the cows come home, and you still won’t be a size 4.

Did you find that enlightening?  Me neither.

Meanwhile….

    In the ranch house….

 There are fresh marker scribbles in the little potty.  Liesl on the loose.

Natalia asked me last night what apples are made of.

I am pondering why there are toast crusts on the bathroom floor.

A whole bottle of pomegranate & lemon verbena scented body wash was dumped in the hotel hot tub tonight.  (Playing hot tub as part of a hotel swimming pool in the water-stained family tub is the rage of the week.)

After two hot tub episodes for the day I found 12 wet washcloths in and around the tub tonight.

Today I baked Miniature Peanut Butter Treats.  Those little cookies that you press Reese cups into when they’re just out of the oven.

Victoria baked Snow Topped Chocolate Mint Cookies.

This all sounds more romantic than it was.

If you want to do something to annoy your kids, substitute “the man with the pink hat” instead of  George’s friend “the-man-with-the-yellow-hat” in the Curious George books.  3 and 4 year olds hate it.  And they catch it every time.  No matter what color you try to use for some diversion. 

I felt very good this evening when I made vegetable soup from all the veggies I put in the freezer this summer for supper.  (Yes.  I know “dinner” is more elegant and I really want to use that word here, but it’s not true to my real self.  Because sadly, it’s plain old farmer-ish supper around here.)  I also felt good about fresh 100% whole wheat bread.  Mixed in the breadmaker.  Baked in the oven.

It took away a little of the guilt over putting pizza pops in the school lunches.  Again. Today.

I bought a package of pizza pops one night when I was shopping and Bryant was making me feel like an especially boring and old fashioned mother. 

“Just for special,” I said. 

He grinned triumphantly. 

Money is a little freer these days than it once was, thanks to a very profitable summer on the sawmill.  (Thanks to the oilfield industry which has overtaken our lovely farmland.)

Did you ever notice that when you buy a specialty item more than once in a few week’s time it becomes a necessity?

So it is with pizza pops.

They are so easy.  The children like them very much. 

I love it when a day you are dreading turns out rather nicely.

I had just told Dan last night that I am so.tired.of.the.grind.

Pry myself out of bed.  Try to read my Bible and pray in the grogginess of 6:30 a.m. when I really just want to hibernate.  Wake up very unwilling children for school.  Breakfast.  Cleanup.  Lunches.  Reminders to bring in wood.  Gather winter gear and herd 3 children out the door.  (Thankfully Dan drives to school in the morning.  I love him.) Laundry.  Stories.  Messes.  Snacks.  Diapers.  Andre rocking.  Lunch.  Cleanup.  Naps.  Pick up school children.  Take a walk. Piano practice. Supper.  Dishes.  Facebook.  Stories.  Bedtime.   

I start to feel like such a dull mother.  Such a dull wife.  Such a dull person in general.

And today was the usual, and yet it seemed touched with goodness.  Alec’s new 4 wheeler was fun to ride for a few minutes between chores and school time.   The 3 littles played messily (but more cheerfully and imaginatively than sometimes).  I had fun making my cookies.  You Facebook friends brightened my day with kind comments.  The laundry is put away.  I filled out a renewal for Andre’s passport.

Best of all, I am not longer hobbling around like our elderly neighbor lady.  I’ve had a severe backache since Sunday.  I felt all day long like I do at the end of a day when I’m 9 months pregnant and have worked way too hard.  Dreadful.  I didn’t know what I was going to do.  Chiropractors frighten me.  (I’ve never needed to go to one.)  But the pain was so.intense. 

It’s still there, but has definitely lessened. I am no longer hobbling.  And I just feel in my bones that it’s going to disappear.  Thanks so much, Lord.

(Okay, when I go back and critique my writing I realize that the last paragraphs about my daily grind and backaches are of no interest to the general public.  Neither is the fact that today went better than some days go.  I should delete.  But I will not.)

What I really wanted to post about so soon after my last post was a few additions on family planning.  (Who do I think I am to address such a delicate subject in such a public place anyway?)

This is the quote that I wanted to share on my last post.  It was the general thrust of what was on my heart, but I MISSED IT ALTOGETHER.  It’s from someone else’s blog and they were quoting someone, so I don’t know who to give credit to.  If I knew how to link, I would do it because the post I read was very good.

“Most women haven’t given themselves totally to motherhood, understanding that it will take their all…

  … their time, body, life, moments, nights, everything to build a Godly legacy.

They think their children are taking up their time without realizing that God gave them children to provide them with an eternal work to do.”

I really get this.

It’s not that I have huge dreams beyond motherhood at the moment.  (Oh there are a few quiet ones lurking.)  But I think that the robbing of my personhood is what gets to me the most.  Sometimes I just want to be a Person again.  A person with ideas and opinions and something to add to the lives of others.  But motherhood induced attention deficit disorder has me on a weary treadmill of survival.  (Yes, Lisa, “motherhood induced ADD” comes from you.  Thanks.)

And I know my concept is all twisted.  Because I have something to add every single moment to the lives of my family. 

But the quote above really gets to me.  It is by my sink now.  I need to read it often.  And pray that God would just show me every moment that eternal work.

Because sometimes it feels like all I do is muddle. 

And I have a new friend named Angela that I met at the grocery store who blogs.  I LOVE these words from her:

The days that I cringe away from remembering because they are so littered with my failures do not define me.  I must out-shout my shame:

There is NO CONDEMNATION for those who are in Christ Jesus!Romans 8:1

Truth that makes me want to praise Christ Jesus for the wonderful, upside-down freedom that allows me to make such a ridiculous claim despite my unfinishedness.  Even if I’ve screamed at the kids, stomping through a minefield of toys and dirty laundry, slept in and skimmed through homeschooling, I can’t condemn myself because Jesus calls me cleansed and righteous.  Who am I to say He’s a liar?

And it’s that radical, ridiculous, beautiful grace that makes me want to cling to Him, to step closer so that I can soak up a little more of His radiance – know Him more and love Him better.

Thanks, Angela.  I hope it’s okay that I shared this.  I should have linked you, I know.  Teach me how to do that sometime.

Well folks.  Once again, you are a true friend if you waded through all of this.  L  Wordy Luci at it again.

 I need to go to bed so I am ready to build Godly legacies tomorrow.  The trouble with life is that it’s so daily.  Not original with me.  So true.

*Edit:  I’m so glad it’s really not up to me to build the legacy.  Thanks to God He uses other people and methods too. 

And I know I need some fresh material on this blog.  I am always striving but never arriving.

 Being a mom has its perks.  Like eating Lucky Charms at 10:30 on Saturday night.  Sitting beside the stove in the big arm chair with the laptop.  House quiet.  Now before you healthy eaters/cooks jump on me about Lucky Charms I’ll assure you that they are a rare treat at our house.  If I buy them, they are reserved for Sunday mornings—and me on Saturday nights.  J

But I feel guilty for being so carefree because Dan is studying for a sermon and I feel like I should be joining him.  It’s hard work.  I pray.  But it’s a part of his life I can’t really enter into. 

I had this post written in my head called You Have SIX???!  (horrified look)

But I don’t know if I’ll ever write it.

Because the whole issue of how many children you pray for or plan for or are gifted with is such a personal thing. 

And it is so touchy.  Because there are childless people longing for babies.  And people who have two who are convinced that two is The Limit.  And people who are welcoming their tenth and proud of it.  And parents of six who feel overwhelmed.

And if you had told me 12 years ago that I would have five more children by 2009 I would have laughed and said “Who do you think I am?” 

Because Dan & I kind of had the having children thing figured out back then.  Oh yes we did.

We always said four to six, with Dan probably leaning more toward six than me.

And in my book it was okay to have them if they were Very Carefully Spaced.  And planned for and cared for and well trained.

But here we are.  And sometimes I look around this crazy house and still think:  “God, what were you thinking?  Has your sense of humor gone awry somewhere at our expense?

But mostly I hurry to add all the disclaimers to that like:  I wouldn’t trade them for the world.  And it really is a good life.  And some days this big (hopefully happy) family is just the ticket.

But we had at least three unplanned babies, to be honest.  Unplanned in the sense that I was not at all ready to be pregnant.  Again.  So soon.   And yes, we know what makes babies.  We read.  We used ‘methods’.   We talked to our doctor.  We had nicely timed spaces of three years and four years between several of our children.  But we still had six in a little over 12 years.  Do the averaging yourself.  J 

One of the hardest things about having a big family in today’s society is holding your head high and ignoring the looks and comments that some people have for you.  Dan’s banker recently asked him how many children he had and when he said six he said, “Don’t you know what causes that?!”  How polite of him.

And much as I don’t like that kind of an attitude, I can have it myself.  Ten, for example,  seems preposterous to me.  Just like my six can look completely crazy to you.

Okay, the post I was not going to write is writing itself. 

And I’m not sure why it’s sharing all of this….

Except for to say that I do believe in careful planning when it comes to having children.  The life of a person with an eternal destiny is no small matter.  No matter to be thrown away in one careless act of passion.

But if you do have an unexpected pregnancy, resolve to love that baby fiercely and accept him/her as a gift from Someone who knows what you need.

I don’t have this down pat.  I still think longing thoughts sometimes of what it would be like if we had stopped with three and I was at home in a clean, organized house five days a week from 9:00 to 3:30.  (Okay, the house wouldn’t always be clean and organized, but I would have Time to work at it.  Which I don’t now.)

But I don’t know what I’d do without Andre and Liesl.  Because even if we had planned to have a 5^th and 6^th child in our timing, they wouldn’t be the make up of the ones we see today.

Andre, the quiet child. The one who seems to break the mold we’ve had so far of our boys being the more self-willed and difficult in our boy/girl scenario.  Sunny, singing Andre.  (This is only the 3^rd video I’ve posted of him rocking and singing.  Forgive me.)

And Liesl of the curls.  Who seems to break the ‘girls are the easy ones’ mode too.  She of the brown eyes.  We love this girl.  Funny and messy and quirky and cute.

I got it again last night.  The pang. 

The girls and I went to the library and then to Tim Horton’s. 

And in comes a tall fellow with some hair on his chin and a big nose and logger boots and a toque.  (That would be stocking cap for you Americans.)  Ruddy.  Talking on a cell phone. 

Oh Kevin.  I miss you.

Driving to Edmonton in December will always be painful.  We did the trip last week and that lonely road had so much ugliness, even though the occasion was a happy one.  We took so many trips down there to see someone once so vital and alive.  Dying.  Brain slowly shutting down. 

The city with its big buildings of many windows made me shudder with thoughts of hospitals.  Of people fighting for life.

I know it’s been almost three years and I need to get over some of this stuff.  But it’s hard. 

Because the gaping hole is still there.  Yes, life goes on.  Yes, life is good.  Yes, we laugh again. 

But life will never be the same.

In no way do I fancy myself a great writer, but after about a week goes by I get the urge to post again.  I think it’s a phase for me.  I really can’t see that it will last forever.  But who knows?  One day when I am not peeling huge sinks full of carrots and scrubbing the sticky from kitchen chairs I might take it up in all seriousness.  But then what will there be to write about?

The children go through phases too.

Last week I was trying to sew.  They were in the button phase.  The huge button collection I inherited from Mom is on the shelf in the sewing corner and they kept seeing it.  So they strung buttons on strings.  But more often the baby threw buttons on the floor.  All week I swept up buttons.  I’m still finding them in the registers and under the furniture.

(and that would be a partly eaten peeled apple chunk in the midst of the buttons)

We also had a rice and barley phase.  Alec was combining and hauling grain.  He got tired of the rice (too unrealistic) and brought a pail of barley in from the granary.  He hot glued elaborate elevators together with popsicle sticks and cardboard and icecream pails. And there is still barley in some corners of the basement.

The button week was also the puzzle week.  Andre and Natalia rediscovered the puzzle shelf and did puzzles that they couldn’t have done a year ago.  And at clean up time there were pieces all over and clean up time became solving puzzles time because we had to put them together to put them away.

This week it’s balloons because I bought a new pack.  It’s balloons shaped like cats and balloons with crazy faces scribbled on them.  And did you know that you always need one more balloon?  Six is never enough for three children, for example.

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I’ve never been a really nostalgic type of mom who doesn’t want her babies to grow up.   But I’m getting these little pangs lately when I put away clothes that are too small.

I don’t want to put away these little boots.

And I wonder who will make me smile on cold dark mornings when the toddlers are the 8 year olds who grumble about doing dishes.

And whose chubby cheeks will I kiss every.single.time. I take them out of the carseat when they’re not in a carseat anymore?  

Because it’s simpler to deal with buttons on the floor and waking up once every night to settle a one year old than it is to answer, “Am I a late bloomer, Mom?”

Or “Why do you tell me not to complain when you do it all the time?”  (Ouch.  And ouch again.)

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Urgent need:  Eight people.  Able to sing and follow notes.  Good quality voices preferred, but reading notes well even more necessary. 

Job security guaranteed. 

Job description:  To help the Bay Tree Mennonite Choir (a motley mixture of the entire congregation) sing this Christmas at the Bonanza School banquet and concert.  To help with our annual caroling.  To help sing at nursing homes three times a month.  To help sing at many community funerals.  Other needs will come up throughout the year.

Two of each part would be lovely.

Please consider!  If you come

-the few people who already read notes well in the choir will have company.

 -someone can direct the music instead of singing because the parts are incomplete without them.

 -someone can stay home and babysit and they won’t be sadly missed.

 -we can sing the harder songs without so much faltering…or giving them up altogether.

 -you can give music and voice lessons and we will all learn to sing better.

We promise to throw in warm hospitality and good skating with the offer.

These were my sentiments last night after a practice session with our choir. (cough.)

And I am not a hoity toity who thinks you can only worship with beautiful music. 

And I love the way everyone in church does their very best and isn’t ashamed to make a mistake.  Visitors have often commented that we have very good singing for the size of our church.  People open their mouths and usually put their hearts into it.

But the truth is, we could just use a few more singers who know what they’re doing.

But instead we keep plugging along.

And the community keeps asking us to sing at events.

And we’re actually doing okay.  But quality and excellence is missing.

I’m sure some of you wonder how this pastor’s wife mom of 6 has time to blog and Facebook as much as I do.

Well, it’s become my new hobby.  You know–you sew or scrapbook or shop or cook or decorate.

Well, I don’t. 

I mean—I sew and shop and cook, but not for fun.

When I want to do something I like I blog.

So that’s it, right there.

And I spend more time at it than I should.

With the result that I’m often tired because I stay up late or get up early.

And I write in little bits and pieces that I throw together for long strung out posts that have no true thread of continuity.

Like this one.

It’s a Sunday night at home.  Dan is playing Sodbusters with Alec and Bryant.  Why can I not bring myself to play board games?  I mean…I do it on occasion, but it is with great boredom that I make the rounds in The Farming Game.  My mind is far away as I plant and harvest and make investments.  I don’t want to be a poor sport, but the unrealism of me pretending to farm is just too ludicrous.

Card games are okay.  And word games are much nicer still.  But I’d way rather talk with someone than play a game with them.  But I married into a family that is always game for games.  And they are lovely people.  But is it okay if I just curl up in the corner with my book? 

Someone was eating pizza in my bed today.  And it wasn’t Dan or me.  And the sheets were freshly washed yesterday.

No one told me how good pretzels with cream cheese are.  I discovered it myself.  This discovery will not be good for any tummy toning plan.

In ladies Sunday school today we studied the first chapter of Revelation.  The picture of Jesus there is just amazing and powerful and frightening.  Face shining like the sun. Hair white like wool, as white as snow.  Eyes like flames of fire.  Voice like rushing ocean waves.   Gold sash across His chest. What I love most is that this King is the author and finisher of my faith.  Mine.  My weakness.  My faltering.  My doubts.   And yours.

I’ve shown how small my world is by my excitement over a little trip to Edmonton to hear Handel’s Messiah. 

But you know, sometimes it’s just good to get out. 

This is especially true if you live in Bay Tree, Alberta.  It is even more true if you are parents of six children and pastor the tiniest little church that you ever did see.  And it’s really true if it’s wintertime.

Highlights of the weekend?  The red socks on the rather pompous (but good) baritone soloist.  Jacuzzi.  Pizza at midnight.  Riding in a stretch limo.  Dan and I took Edmonton’s light rail transit (for $2.50) from our hotel to the concert.  We happened to run into the lovely Steve Troyer family (Dan’s cousin) and they had gotten a limo because their family is too large for a regular cab.  They insisted that we ride back to our hotel with them.  Fun.  Not likely to happen again.  Bless Steve’s generous heart.

It was easy to get lost in the excitement and gaiety of a dressed up crowd ready to soak in some culture.  And I really cannot describe the beauty of the music.  So maybe I won’t try.  But sitting there and drinking in the art and the amazing words of Scripture it seemed that all was good and beautiful and I could only believe in a Creator who cares about beauty and knows our soul’s ache for it.

I couldn’t help but let out a huge sigh after each beautiful performance.

And I still sigh remembering.

If I had been Sheila I would have taken pictures of the food we ate and great shots of us standing in the glittering lights of the city. 

But neither Dan or I are good at photography.  And Dan highly resists a lot of photos of himself.

So we drove home in lovely winter hoarfrost and talked or were quiet as the mood dictated.

And all was peaceful and happy. 

I hope the peaceful and happy lasts through all of my week.  And yours.

  I was going to get up early this morning and immerse myself in studying the love of God. 

But the bed felt so cozy and the darkness was so dark.

So I lay there till 7:10.  Then I crawled out and got dressed and waited till 9:00 to comb my hair.  I read a few words of Philip Yancey and a few verses in I John and prayed, “Please help me, God.  I don’t know if I can face this day.”  And the day rushed upon me before I was ready for it.

I was going to post this status on Facebook yesterday:  “A workout cleaning 6 inches of snow off the dugout for skating, little people dressed up so warmly that they can hardly walk, red cheeks and hot chocolate.  Who says southerners have more fun?”

 But by the time I had taken the skates off of two weeping little people and the snowpants off of a third who was screaming, had washed countless hot chocolate mugs and skirted around the wet mittens drying by the fire I just didn’t have the heart.

I was going to take my baby’s bottle away because she is now 18 months and I don’t want it rotting her teeth or pushing them out.  But I gave her Just One More at naptime today.

I was feeling all warm and cozy about family as we all sprawled in the livingroom and ate icecream and pretzels and read books for a few quiet moments before bedtime.  And then Andre dumped his icecream on the hearth and Natalia’s fell upside down on the carpet.  And the warm and cozy left and didn’t come back.

I was going to go to church and sing my heart out and forget that there are only 32 of us and focus on Jesus.  But then the song leader picked I Love Thy Kingdom Lord and we started into it before he realized it was the wrong tune for the song.   And things fizzled out because there was no chorus where the chorus should be for the tune we were singing.  And then we sang it in the slightly unfamiliar music to which it was written because some brave soul led us through it.  And I lost both my composure and my focus on Jesus.  (No offense, Mr. Song Leader.  It could have been me!)

I was going to blog grand and glorious thoughts. Or at least finish one of the 10 posts that I have started and saved in Microsoft Word.   But I read other blogs yesterday.  And by the time I came away from the clever and the witty and the inspiring and the popular I wondered what there was left to say.

I was going to clean up my house this morning and then sew.  But I wasted time online looking for tickets to Belize (and…reading Facebook and Xanga).  And before I knew it there were eggshells on the rug and bits of paper all over under the table and capless markers dangerously at large and mittens and socks strewn through the house.  And the day had begun and I decided to wait to clean up till naptime.

{Natalia just told me that when she looks at her nose she has four feet.  One little discovery on how to see double. }

My heart was overwhelmed with feelings of love for Dan.  The man who comes into the house on these cold days and tends the fire and says, “Is everyone warm and happy in here?”  The man who plays board games for hours on end with his children.  The man who loves me unconditionally, which is no easy task.  My big, kind, huggable husband.  But last night I went to sleep feeling lonely and misunderstood and thinking, “How could two people be more different from each other?”  (But he’s the one who got the lemon, folks.)

I was going to watch the Woman After God’s Own Heart DVDs that have so blessed my dear friend Laura.  And in so doing I hoped to get a handle on home management like Laura and Elizabeth George seem to have.  But the venerable Mrs. George does not settle with me at this time in life.  Her standard seems so high.  I cannot attain unto it. 

I was going to quit nagging and getting into combat with my older children.  But when Bryant complained AGAIN about putting away dishes I resorted to my old tactics.

I was going to be a fun mom and let my small ones have a tea party.  But when they insisted on pouring their own milk and stirring the honey all over the place, the fun mom became the stern mom again.

I was going to find a pretty sweater and scarf and maybe even some boots (with heels!) that don’t look silly on little Mennonite me for our date in December to hear Handel’s Messiah by the Edmonton Symphony Choir.  Instead I wasted some precious time (alone) wandering aimlessly through the mall, afraid to go into fancy stores with a salesperson breathing down my neck, afraid of $120 price tags on pretty boots, feeling hopelessly uninspired.

I was going to write a Christmas letter and send it early for a change.  But I couldn’t get it together.  And so I decided that I will probably wait like I usually do and send it in January.  Or maybe not at all.

I was going to be wise when I was 36.  Wise and mature and secure and admirable and ever so godly.  But instead I feel needy and doubtful, still searching for answers. 

I want to be a woman of purpose, but I’m still muddling. 

And I don’t want to stay here.

I remember an old Randy Travis song that said “I hear tell the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”  Never liked that song.

So tonight, Father, I’m asking for a touch from You.

A Touch that will help me to make The Choices that are excellent.  Choices that go beyond intentions and translate into purpose and wisdom and fruitfulness and hard work and blessing others.  So that my life will not just be a series of ‘shoulds’ and ‘going-tos’. 

And somehow in all of this I need a grace beyond my own to know what is important and what is just an unreachable goal in this crazy life of mine.

Other randomness: 

Because I’m feeling nostalgic about Belize.

And because it’s just fun to look at old pictures:  (old as in 4 years ago)

(I’ve always gotten a bang out of this photo.  It was not a planned shot.)

Happy Things from here:

-The ice is beautiful because it froze hard before it snowed.

-Today Natalia asked me if it’s “Down in my heart Tues-day ” {to stay} in I Have the Joy, Joy, Joy .

-We might be flying to Belize in February.  I am ecstatic.  I don’t care that it will mean extreme busyness and tiredness and parading our family of 8 through customs and security checks.  I just cannot wait to see our friends there and soak up that beautiful sunshine and eat escabeche and corn tortillas.

-Liesl says little 3 word sentences.  Her beautiful brown skin is so squishy and kissable.  She likes to hide from me when it’s time to change her clothes.

-Andre still rocks and sings on his chair.

-I love our little wood stove.

-The children come home from school singing their Christmas program songs. 

-We have the nicest teacher team at school.

-I woke from a luscious little nap today and the sunshine on the snow made me feel alive and well and energetic.

-I made pizza tonight for supper.  I am insecure about pizza because I seldom make it.  But it turned out.

Sad Things:

-I am getting a muffin top.  I have never been beautiful or talented, but I have been thin, especially since all my babies.  Like beauty and talent, my slimness was a gift.  No merit of my own.  Because I eat whatever I want to eat and rarely exercise seriously.  But I have this hunch that slimness will not always be my lot.  And it makes me very sad.  Because I like Reese cups and I hate exercising other than walking.

-It is Very Cold.  I took a walk after school and had to keep putting my hands over my face to keep it warm for a few minutes against the bite.  (But the sunshine made up for it.)

I can’t think of many sad things, though they were many this morning.

Above all, I don’t want my posts to be meaningless drivel.  Dan says sometimes that he thinks Facebook and Xanga can be kind of a competition to see who can be the funniest or the smartest or the most spiritual or whatever.  Even though I might argue against such sentiments, I know what he means.  I don’t want to be that way, but I have a very competitive streak.

I also hate the way blogging makes me feel self-centered.  Me this.   Me that.  I feel.  I believe.  Because I care intensely about others.

So I am really trying to write and not worry about what others think.  I’m trying to forget about popularity or trying to be clever just to be clever.

Because blogging is fun.  And it gives saneness to a long dark winter in the North.  It clears my mind of nattering thoughts.  It unloads some of the burdens of my heart.

And a quote from Reaching for the Invisible God by Philip Yancey:

“The hunger for God that I feel-that is a sign of the Spirit’s presence in me.  My fitful battles with lust, my conviction of pride, the strong sense of when I need to apologize, and when to forgive-these signs of God are to me every bit as impressive as a burning bush.  They let me know God is still at work inside me.”

It just doesn’t work for a mom to be sick.

She doesn’t think she’s a wimp.  Sickness details bore her badly.  She would way rather talk about books or feelings than babies puking.

But last night she had a bad stomach bug.  I won’t regale you with details, but it was nasty.

This morning it’s a lot better.  But she still feels weak and her stomach is sore.  And she is very, very tired.  Her head swims when she gets up.

She lay hunched in a blanket on the couch and watched the morning dawn.

And she dreamed of clean and quiet places where sick people could recuperate in peace.

She thought fleetingly of a grandma next door who would whisk the children away for the day and let her sleep.

And then They tumbled out of bed.  They wanted to cuddle and so they did.  They wanted to warm cold toes on her legs.  And so they did.  They wanted her to read Arthur and Franklin and Jesse Bear.  And so she did.

They fought over sitting next to her and blows landed on her sore stomach.

They worked on emptying the Lego box all over the house.  They pulled the Kleenexes from the box.

They drank the Fresca she had on the coffee table and crunched the ice cubes in it.  They spilled what they didn’t drink.

Their little hands punched buttons on her precious laptop.

They huddled on the floor saying they were sick too.

They pretended to barf in a bucket.

They begged for chewing gum.

They put Lego down the register by the couch.

They cried over knocks on the head and needed kisses.

She gave Them Oh Henry bite-size bars to keep them happy and the baby spit the peanuts out on the couch.

They asked her if she had ever seen a blue pumpkin.

They needed their little bums wiped and their wet diapers changed.

She lay and wondered about what They will eat for supper tonight.

And then she decided that moms just can’t stay sick.  And she knew why her own mom was always tough as nails.

And she decided to get up and drink some orange juice and deal with the soggy Frosted Flakes on the kitchen table.  And get rid of the pjs and the messy hair and the unmade bed.

(P.S.  Her husband is kind.  He had a 4:00 run to the airport to make and he stopped to buy Tide and margarine.  He thought she should keep Victoria home from school to help.

Her school children made their own lunches and poured their own cereal.

She will be Just Fine.  And she will grow strong and mature.

Because moms just can’t be sick.

And she prays mightily that it was the spoiled turkey broth she tasted yesterday that made her sick and not a virus that will go through the household, making her afternoon dream of a few days ago a reality.)

Time for something cheerful from this site.

The baby just dumped a salt shaker into a laundry basket. 

The laundry mounds in the porch might make those of you with two or three children vow that you have had your last.

The glass on our main doorway is covered with smears from the licks of the heifers that got out yesterday.

I awoke from a nap recently in which I dreamed a terrible dream.  There were sick kids everywhere and in the midst of the pee and the vomit my friend dropped off her girls so she could go be induced to have another baby.  Upstairs there was company that I knew would be coming down to eat soon.  No food ready.   I was mopping up something red and yellow.  I awoke with the smell in my nose and reality looked amazingly marvelous.  Even though it involved waking babies and buckling the Little Three into carseats so we could go pick up the Big Three at school.

Life is very, very good.

This morning Andre got the Belizean hot sauce out of the fridge and brought it to me.  “Cause Tillie was callin me a tinker.” 

We use hot sauce for nasty language sometimes.  Effective because they hate it.

Every morning when I take vitamins someone asks me for some Vitamin Seeds.  You know them- the orange chewable ones.

This little miss now yells a plaintive “I too” about everything.  It’s tough being the youngest.

After my last post on that really awful Thursday, Friday was good.  Immeasurably good.  And so was Saturday.  Which makes me wonder why I feel like posting when I feel miserable.  The only good I can see coming out of it is that someone else who is feeling blue might feel like they have company.  Because somehow when I feel overwhelmed and I think of someone who always seems to have it together I feel sadder still.  But when I hear that person say….”Oh, I struggle too” then I feel better.

You know, there’s a time to empathize.  And then there’s a time to encourage by speaking truth to someone who is anxious.    And it’s a fine line to know what someone else may be seeking.

But I think someone prayed for me this weekend.   

Maybe it was also the cry and the talk I had with Dan.  OR the cry and talk with my sister Julia. (Thank you both!)    You both listened and sympathized, but you also said true words that I needed to hear.

It might have had something to do with a cup of tea with friends on Friday afternoon.

Or the comfort of making beans and tortillas and fresh salsa for supper and watching Alec eat them.  Alec-the-man, who was off to Wisconsin for almost two weeks and was so nonchalant about getting home that I wondered if he even missed us.

Or the fire that Dan started in the wood stove on Saturday morning while we all relaxed and did our own thing when we should have been cleaning house.

Or the walk in the sunshine on Saturday with Andre, who picked out a special rock that he planned to take to bed.  Thankfully he forgot about it and I quietly put the rock outside this morning.

It had something to do with the little boy who gratefully said at suppertime when Dan brought in the steaks  (on a November day that was still nice enough to grill over the fire)….”Here’s da Steaker-man!”

Or maybe it was that Dan disked the garden and those ugly broccoli plants are under the earth now.

Maybe it had to do with the quiet quaintness of reading Beatrix Potter to little people.  I just love some of her lines.  “This is a tale about a tail-a tail that belonged to a little red squirrel, and his name was Nutkin.”

And the ending to the Mr. Jeremy Fisher book, which reads: “And instead of a nice dish of minnows-they had a roasted grasshopper with lady-bird sauce; which frogs consider a beautiful treat; but I think it must have been nasty!”

I sometimes groan a bit when the small ones bring me a little green book from our Beatrix Potter set to read because they’re longer than the average children’s story.  But I usually get lost in the peaceful little tales and cunning illustrations.

Or maybe it was the doughnuts that a friend came by to drop off for us.  They were some of the best doughnuts we have ever eaten, but the thought was what meant the most.  Thank you, Suzi!

Bryant baked a chocolate cake on Saturday afternoon.  He is 8 and he makes a mess, and I groan when he wants to help, but I kind of like to see him interested in culinary things. 

I sat in church yesterday and ate food at the fellowship dinner with some really nice people that I am proud to call friends.  They are down to earth and honest people.  And while we all really wish we had a few more people at church, it’s a good thing to be able to get along and work together.  There’s not another option, really.

People who are real and don’t make apologies inspire me.  Like Katie, whose house we visited on Sunday night.  She doesn’t worry about everything being in place, but her house is so comfortable.  It’s one of our children’s favorite places to go.  The coffee is hot and the laughs are many and I want to be more like her.

*Brag alert*:  (yes, I got that from someone else’s blog)

Natalia is 4 and ½ and she plays the piano all the time.  She’ll be sitting at the table with a faraway look and then she’ll say:  “I’m going to go try to play that.”  And she tries all kinds of songs.  Like the song she heard Laurie play on Little Women CDs.  Or My Heart Will Go On because she hears Victoria play it.  Granted, Mary Had a Little Lamb and Oh Be Careful Little Eyes are her greatest hits, but she really has an ear for music and that makes me happy.

And sometimes when Victoria plays For Balmy Sunshine or The Rose I am so happy-proud that I cry.

I have been slogging through my one year NIV Bible and it has been good.  But it was getting really heavy.  And I was so struggling with all the wrath and damnation in the Old Testament that my underlying questions about God’s love were growing greater.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.  I gave up my resolve to read the Bible through in one year.  I hope I can go back and finish it sometime.  But right now I’m looking into God’s love.  The verses that are unconditional.  Because even there I was getting tied up in knots.  So many O.T. verses seem conditional.  “IF you love Me and obey I will love you and bless you.”

And the truth is, my love for God lacks. 

Please don’t write me off as heretical.  Someday I might tell you the rest of the story.

But for now I am planning to take a rest.   A rest in His love for me.  Because I have struggled and questioned and ranted for far too long.

Dan?  He’s off to saw lumber with his brother who is here visiting from Wisconsin.

Alec, Victoria and Bryant are at school.

Natalia is drawing.

Andre is popping bubble wrap from a package that came yesterday.

Liesl:  Checking out her brother’s monster truck.

Luci hung towels on the line, swept the floor and mixed up cookies amidst a few tears and a lot of questions about the complexities of life. 

Why do I seem to have more questions than answers?

How do I reconcile the God of wrath and judgment in the Old Testament with the God who so loved the world that He gave His only Son?

Why is poor Haiti expecting another storm?

Why is there such a gap in me and others between profession and living it out?

What can I say that will bless my neighbor who is mad at God because her husband was killed?

When will I learn to be a respectful wife and a happy mother?

I have on ongoing struggle with negativity and doubt.  And some days it is soooo strong.  That old devil knows my weak points ever so well.

Please pray for me. 

I know the answers are all wrapped up in thankfulness and faith and looking to Jesus instead of people.  And resting in His grace.

But sometimes I wish life was simple and I could just sit and pop bubble wrap.