It’s a rare quiet moment on a Monday morning, somewhere between pleaseohplease would you guys just leave each other alone and no-you-may-not-have-another-freezie-before lunch. Washer is humming. The youngest 4 were actually *playing church* very nicely a few minutes ago. Their singing and preaching was music to my ears after so much getting up on the wrong side of bed attitude this morning.

I’ve been blogging for a little over a year now and in all the ups and downs of this place where I say my little piece I keep coming back. It is good that life keeps me so busy. I would come a lot more often but there just isn’t time.

I usually like Mondays. (apologies to those of you who don’t) This morning I resolved:

*to think straight enough to call my children by their correct names. (i.e. not calling Tori by her little sister’s nickname, which is Tillie)

*to smile if it rains again

*to help Andre & Natalia practice riding bike

*to see that all of the laundry is washed & put away by this evening

*to stop comparing myself to other bloggers (i.e. reading Dorcas Smucker’s poignant and humorous posts and thinking “I’m just not even going to try writing again.”) I realize this is a recurring issue when I post.  Thanks for bearing with me.

*to stave off the melancholy I feel about it being June 27 and already on the countdown to shorter days

*to put away the leaves that make our table 13 feet long that we had in for guests at lunch yesterday before the end of the week.

*to LISTEN when someone says, “Mom”……. (I’ve been getting a lot of: “MOM, you’re not answering me” and “Mom, why don’t you listen?” and it breaks my heart.) How easily I zone out, ensconced in in my own thoughts.

*not to roll my eyes when the fresh batch of cookies is half gone by the end of the day

*to trust. Just to take Him at His word. I find myself trying to understand God, moving Him down to a level where I ‘get’ what He does. It doesn’t work-ever! Because the “foolish” plan of God is far wiser than the wisest of human plans, and God’s weakness is far stronger than the greatest of human strength. (I Cor. 1:25)

I want to blog about our trip to Idaho before that news is stale but I don’t know if it will happen. I started a post called “A child left to himself” and I hope I can finish it soon.

I love summertime.

It rained something like 8 inches in the past week, which I didn’t particularly enjoy. But complaining doesn’t help at all. Dan has made a lot of progress in teaching me that. So has being a mom. I can’t stand whining and complaining in my children and they love to catch me at it, so I am treading carefully when it comes to complaints.

The horse Teddy Bear had a new baby.

Happy Monday and a God-led week to each of you.

It was in the teeny tiny first and second grade classroom at Northwoods Mennonite School in Wisconsin.  It was before they built their beautiful new church and the school was all crowded into the basement.  I was having morning devotions with my students.  They were the sweetest bunch that year and I have happy, happy memories of that place and time.

“Sometimes,” I said, “we meet people and think Oh my, they’re not very nice looking!  Maybe they’re even so ugly that we aren’t sure we want to be friends with them. But then we learn to know them and pretty soon we think they’re beautiful because their beautiful hearts shine through.  And we forget that we ever thought them ugly.”

Pretty, sensitive, impulsive 2^nd grade LeeAnne waved her hand and when I called on her she burst out, “I know someone like that!  It’s you!”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  I hope I thanked her graciously.

I know.  Beauty is only skin deep and it’s character that counts and what is the definition of what’s beautiful anyway.

But face it.  There are Beautiful people.  There are Average People.  There are Homely People.  There are Ugly People.  (You could argue the ugly and say that God doesn’t make anyone ugly—and you’re right.  But there ARE people who are not blessed with any many redeeming outward qualities.)

My 3 and 5 year olds already pick up on the whole pretty/ugly thing.  I’ve tried really hard not to classify people that way when I’m talking with my children, but it doesn’t take them long to see for themselves who’s goodlooking and who’s not.

I have read that even small babies respond more pleasantly to a beautiful face than to a plain one.  I’ve also read that one thing that makes people more pleasing to look at is symmetry of features.  The closer one side of your face is to matching the other side, the more appealing you are, I guess.

My personal evaluation of beauty somehow involves straight white teeth and small cute noses on ladies.  Straight white teeth and nice noses on men.  Probably because I have not been blessed with either straight teeth or a cute nose.

Anyhow….

I was going to keep this light. 

And come to think of it, I can’t really think of any person I know personally that I would say is ugly.

But this is Friday’s Featured Question:

Why DID God make some people so much more attractive than others?

(This does not burn in my soul like it used to.  I am {usually} okay with how I am made.  Well-except for when I see photos of myself or sit by a very beautiful lady.)

And puh-LEASE if you answer my featured question, do not try to tell me I am beautiful or make any comments to that effect.  Because that would defeat the purpose of what was supposed to be fun and make me feel silly and stupid.

 I know we can’t know why the Creator does things the way He does.

The Bible talks often about people who must have had special attractiveness—at least enough that they were taken note of.  We know that Sarah was beautiful and David was handsome and Leah was (probably) plain and Rachel was beautiful and Joseph was a head-turner. 

So let’s talk about Beautiful—or Not.  And does it affect your life?  Your self-image?  How you view others?  Do you (like me) sometimes classify the Very Beautiful as probably being proud or snobbish before you even learn to know them? How unfair is that? 

And how do you define true beauty?

Today we are planning to clean toilets, scrub iced tea and chocolate syrup off the floors, touch up the kitchen window, clean the crumbs out from under the toaster and say a final goodbye to this week’s laundry.   Maybe time in the water will take the dandelion stains from my hands and the dirt from my fingernails.

I will have dark circles under my eyes from staying up too late.  My teeth will not be straight today.  I hope I will be smiling every minute, but it’s not likely.

And what about you?

If I would have the power to mix up a special formula for making little girls I would have put one together just like this for us. Actually, I wouldn’t have–because I’m just not that clever.

“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above.” So I know Who (or should that be Whom?) to thank for her.

Liesl Deanna was born the day after the birthday of my brother who died with a brain tumor three years ago. His name was Kevin Dean and ‘Deanna’ is in his memory. The baby name book says Liesl is a German form of Elizabeth. My friend Conny who is Swiss and speaks German says Liesl is kind of a pet name or nickname for Elizabeth. We pronounce her name LEE-sl. After seeing The Sound of Music for the first time at our piano teacher’s house when I was pregnant with our 6th baby, Dan said he wanted a little girl named Liesl if a girl was what I was carrying. And I was happy with the choice because I always had stranger name ideas than he did and it was one we both thought was pretty and fascinating. Not everyone does, though. We get a lot of “What was that again?” and “Where did you find that name?” and “How do you pronounce that again?”

This is little brown squishy kissable mosquito-bitten Liesl (with apologies to those of you who already saw these photos on facebook and with apologies to you lovely photographers who could do so much more with this little person than I can. Often I take photos and think I’ll post them and then I realize that the counter is too cluttered behind the cuteness or the floor is too messy or the shabby decor shows or the lighting is so bad and I scrap the idea. Yes. I know. It’s pride.)

This is the girl who gets into more scrapes than all 5 of the others put together. The dirt eater. The chapstick chomper. The one who gets herself onto the top of the piano and then yells, “MOM! Come get me down!” She is the toothpaste princess, sucking the toothpast-ed brushes I have ready for the littlest 3 after baths. She’s the one who finds the cinnamon left on the table from cinnamon/sugar toast and carries it to the computer desk, where we later find it sprinkled about on the mouse pad. She has learned to open almost any container with her teeth. (Oh me.) She loves strawberries and chewing gum, her daddy, books, playing with water, shoes, hats, jackets, purses, calves, boots, and tiny babies. She loves 4 wheelers and mud and rough and tumble play and shaking hands with elderly friends at the nursing home.

This little Liesl. She is the one who has challenged all the tried and true child training methods. Maybe it’s because she’s the youngest. Maybe it’s because we’re busier all the time. Maybe it’s because God knew I needed to be brought down a notch or two and can no longer say things like “All of my children were well potty trained before they were two.” Or think thoughts like Why in the world can’t they teach that baby to stay out of my plants?

She makes me sigh in exasperation and laugh in delight.

Little unplanned 6th baby, we love you! When I kiss your beautiful sun-browned cheeks and laugh into your amazing brown eyes my heart is full thanks. And a love and pride so huge it hurts. I pray that you will someday pursue God with the amazing energy you put into everything else you do.

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

Just a few more words to add to my last post:

Can a person be too honest? Or at least too honest for public scrutiny? I write and pray and post and then rethink and wonder and go to delete and leave it there and think what do I really have to lose? …and maybe  someone else is struggling with similar things and needs to hear this.

And then I feel extremely narcissistic and wonder if I think the whole world is leaning in to hear what Luci has to say. (Ok, I kind of got that line from lin789 and I really wish she would blog again. And I also wish I knew how to link her without doing the whole long http thingy. You know, just the little blue word that sends you to someone’s site.)

And I also think:  Get a grip, woman.  Stop thinking about believing.  Get out and help someone.  Show the love of Jesus.  Smile for your family.  Just LIVE–and love–and believe. 

But for me it boils down to this: Lord, I do believe. Help my unbelief.

I really like Philip Yancey’s words about doubt that go something like “Put your doubts under the same scrutiny that you do your faith.” (in my late-night tiredness I am too lazy to go look these words up in Reaching for the Invisible God, which is one of the best books ever, in my humble opinion.)

I also like how he talks about teaching a Bible class and saying, “I wish I could tell you that I believe everything we’re going to look at. But frankly, I’m struggling myself right now.” I think we need that kind of honesty and freedom.

Job and David, special men and loved of God asked a lot of questions and they didn’t seem to bother God a bit.

But I am not here to glorify doubt.

And I know that you are not all leaning in to hear what I have to say anyway.

There may be in some of us a sense of superiority in the questioning, the reasoning, the not-just-blindly-accepting. And that’s just plain ugly.

Jesus spoke very highly of faith that took Him at His word.

I do not want to be an Eve with a “Yea hath God said?” about everything.

I long to know God my Father in a more personal way.

There are two things that make me ache to have a living, breathing, moving, working faith. They are 1) My children and 2) Several friends I have who are hurting and bitter and want absolutely nothing to do with God. Because maybe I can bumble along and sort of get by alone–but I want something that stands the test and the scrutiny and is appealing and strong enough to pass on.

And I know that the answers are all wrapped up in Him–but getting it into my heart and words and actions is where it’s all tested.

Maybe your fight today is anger or unforgiveness or lust or pride or self-pity or ungratefulness–or maybe it goes back to the basics and you’re just having trouble believing. And that makes all the other uglies loom larger than life because it needs to be settled first and foremost.

Andrew at church is fond of this saying: “What you feed grows and what you starve dies.” I think this applies. I need to feed my faith and not my doubts.

He also says that we’re all just beggars showing other beggars where to find bread.

Enough said. Time to turn it over to the preachers and stop trying to do it here on xanga.

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

Meanwhile I have questions to answer like:

“Mom, can you tell me the reason that it’s snowing?” This was on a day in June and came from Andre and I had a hard time coming up with an answer. But the snow didn’t stay at all and our beans & corn had a touch of frost that night but I think they’ll come out of it.

And from Natalia: “Who made mosquitoes-God or Satan?”

I saw Andre pawing around on the freshly-washed livingroom window and said, “Please don’t mess with that window. I just washed it.” And he said, “Aw MOoom–I was just tryin to find a bug and drive over it.” (ok, that’s one that seemed hilarious to me at the time but really is NOT when I write it down.)

Victoria has been making some meals and I love it that I have a girl old enough to turn loose in the kitchen. Because I really like weeding the garden (it’s usually a sweet and quiet spot to think) and puttering around with plants and flowers and I hate to put down my gardening tools and come in to make a meal. I constantly fight the urge to feed my family toasted cheese sandwiches or hot dogs for every meal all summer long.

I mentioned 3 jars of tadpoles on the end of the kitchen table on Facebook. They are being fed dandelion seeds and quackgrass and getting fresh oxygen blown carefully through straws.

I also mentioned getting together to clean up the little country cemetery at Bonanza today.  Graveyards both fascinate me and make me cry.

I’m sewing a crinkly dress for Tori and I wonder how to iron it without uncrinkling it.

It’s 12:00 a.m. and the sky is light yet.

Thanks for listening to all of this.

I wonder why a farm wife who gardens bought two folding chairs with light grey upholstery.

I wonder if my whole family will die young from all the sugar we drink in mint iced tea every summer.

I wonder if heart attacks will take us instead because we sometimes eat at McDonalds.

I wonder if I would have learned to be a good volleyball player if I had gone to a big Mennonite high school in Pennsylvania and played every day.

I wonder if know that I still spend too much time on Facebook and Xanga.

I wonder why the shampoo guaranteed to give gloss and body does nothing for my thin frizzies.

I wonder if Andre will ever learn to say “May I please have a drink of water?” Instead of “Can I have a drink of water?” without my prompting.

I wonder if this sad specimen

will look like this by July.

Oh the things I wonder.

I’m okay with no answers to questions like these.

But what about wondering

…. why I can’t truthfully sing “Redeemed and so happy in Jesus no language my rapture can tell” or “I never shall fail Him. He’s never failed me.”

…why the sarcasm comes so naturally and the positive affirmation is so difficult. And I have been praying about and working on this problem for what feels like forever.

…if I will ever shake this feeling of never quite getting it right–as I told my church family the other night. (And yes, I do believe in and claim grace. Every.single.day.)

…why some people have had such sad and lonely lives and mine has been so rich.

…why one of my brothers has never found Jesus and another has nearly lost his faith because of questions similar to mine.

…why there is rape and murder and war and untimely death.  Why some people lose their children to cancer and I still have mine.  Why some daddies die when they have 4 year old sons who need them.

…why someone new to faith in Christ and someone who has gone through testing and trial beyond my comprehension seems to have a stronger faith than my own.

…if some personalities struggle more with simple faith than others.

…why I cannot speak confidently of hearing God talking to me. I cannot tell you of the direction God whispers for my life.

…why thousands die who do not know of Jesus.

…why so many of the lovely promises of God seem conditional. {“Whoever has my commands and obeys them, he is the one who loves me. He who loves me will be loved by my Father.”}

My doubting-overthinking- perfectionistic soul has a lot of unanswered questions. Questions that it sometimes feels like every other Christian but me has found in God.

I have been a Christian for 20-plus year. I was raised in a good home and have had a relatively easy life. I am a pastor’s wife with six children who are watching me live my faith.

Yet I’ve gone through such unbelievable doubts in my journey with God in the last few years. Sometimes I wonder if there is anything left in the scarred remnants of what I once thought I knew.

But I am not giving up. Oh no.

Because the God-Man Jesus is still the Answer.

I see that He still changes lives.

I see that His ways work for others.

I see that forgiveness is so much more beautiful than bitterness.

I see that the world is a better place because of Him.

I know that people are delivered from lives of horror because they have chosen Him.

I am still swept away by HIM and all He stands for.

Because of Jesus I never worry that Dan will divorce me.

Our home, though not a place of bliss, has spots of peace and tranquility and blessing.

Because of Him I am a lover of peace and will go to great lengths to make it happen.

Apart from Jesus and left to my own selfish devices I would be a someone you couldn’t stand to live with.

I see Him in the incredible brown eyes of my children, the green of springtime, and the positive growth and change in the handful of people I go to church with.  I see him in the man I love who has helped me get a little bit of a grasp on grace.

Maybe all these things could be dismissed by the one whose heart is against God. Maybe in our humanistic reasoning we could say that it’s within us to make the world a better place and think positively and love each other.

All that aside, if I turn my back on Him, where DO I go?

Sweet vacation time has come.

No lessons till fall.

I am so happy that the gruelling get-lunches-packed and teeth-brushed and would-you-please-clear-that-table and wash-up-the-dishes (quickly!) and where-are-my-gloves and see-you and love-you and have-a-good-day mornings are over.

Not to mention not having to wake up sleeping babies to make the afternoon drive to school.

I love my children. It’s good to have them all here.

But.

With six children at home I feel like I need to become more organized, more careful of how I spend my own time.

They are quick to catch on if I lounge around too long at the computer.

There is the constant job of trying to keep them from exterminating each other, making sure they have a balance of chores and play time, and feeding their voracious appetites. (Yes.  I know that you lovely homeschool moms deal with these issues every single day.  I am open to suggestions.)

You know what? I wish I would know more about parenting adolescents and toddlers at the same time. I wish I could hear the nitty-gritty details of how other moms relate to 13 year old sons and daughters who are starting to take everything personally and cry at the drop of a hat. (Just like I did at that age.)

Sometimes I feel like I’m just bumbling along.  Please Lord…I need wisdom—and quickly.

I remember reading one time that hypocrisy in a parent is one of the things that turns a child away the most. I agree. I want to be a teachable and honest parent, quick to apologize and admit my mistakes.

But somehow in the desperate hope that I am not a hypocrite, expecting things of my children that I don’t of myself, I have begun to second-guess my decisons as a mom. Too often I do nothing because I’m afraid I’ll do it wrong. And all that instability does nothing to gain respect.

But how did I manage to go here? This was supposed to be a quick, fun post while they’re all asleep in their beds. Even Dan has crashed. He was extra tired tonight from wrestling cattle to dehorn and vaccinate them.

For the last day of school the teachers assigned each of the children a person from history to research. They needed to answer interview-like questions about them and present a report. The best part of all was that they needed to dress like them for their presentation.

My pictures from that flurried morning are anything but classy. But here they are.

Alec is Abraham Lincoln in his top hat that looks more like a magician’s hat–and the obviously fake beard.

Victoria is Sacagawea, the Indian girl who traveled with the Lewis and Clark expedition.

And Bryant is Johnny Appleseed of the ragged pants and the apple basket and the bag of seeds tucked under his arm.

(Sadly, I didn’t even get photos of their full costumes.)

And here is a shot of the whole school. From Florence Nightingale to Henry Ford. (Cute little first graders didn’t dress up. Instead they read us a story from their CLE readers.)

It was a fun morning.

It’s been a very good school year.

And who doesn’t love summer vacation? Tra-la. Tra-lee!

I want to come to this place and be

A) inspirational

B) or brilliant

C) or wise

D) or clever

E) or funny

F) or insightful

F) or original

And then I ask myself why the drive to be any of the above?

Most of all, I want God-honoring to be at the Very Top of that list.

Then again, why bother writing at all? There are so many fascinating blogs out there. I almost hate to discover new ones because I just don’t have time to read them all.

So my love/hate saga with Facebook and blogging wars on.

I hate the competition of it. Not that I aspire to be great. But there’s an underlying feeling that I can’t put my finger on when I read around and then try to write. Jealousy seems too strong a term. Comparison is more like it.

But still….

I like to come here. Oh I like it a lot. Said the Cat in the Hat to the Fish in the Pot.

So while I bake cupcakes I will write for 15 minutes.

I thought of tributes last Mother’s Day weekend. To my mom–a strong lady whose values are rooted deep in my heart. We are so different in our personalities and how we handle life. But I love her.

And to my mother-in-law, whose tongue is governed by the law of kindness.

And these moments that make my mommy heart happy.

I also thought of posts about how this little fellow

(first day of school.  Carmelita, Belize)

 is now a young man who goes with his friend Michael and Michael’s dad to places called Bull Moose to snowmobile in April when there’s still lots of snow in the mountains.

Or how this little baby

is now a magical almost 2 year old with sweet curls.  And she won’t stay in her bed.

But nothing comes together and there is no time to write and instead I clean away spring mud with a passion. Because it has actually dried up around here and I am starting to remember again why we live in Bay Tree, Alberta. Especially on a golden evening when the sun sets at 9:45.

Other randomness:

After a 5 year wait for a baby from China, my sister Alta and her husband Dennis and their little girl Rebecca from Saskatchewan are looking forward to going to China to meet a little fellow named Xintan as early as June and bring him home. Getting a boy from China is almost unheard of, they say. Dennis & Alta said they’d take either a boy or a girl, but just assumed they would be getting a girl. Now they are scrambling to come up with a Canadian name for him (they’ll use his Chinese name as a middle name) and toddler-proof their house. This is really fun and exciting news for the Peachey family. Because we love children. And who doesn’t want a little son/brother/nephew/grandson who is “Irish Canadian Chinese Mennonite”–in the words of Dennis?

Andre was singing “Like a cow without horns” in place of “Like a bird without wings” the other day.

I bought Dorcas Smucker’s three books the other day on Amazon, along with Ann Voskamp’s 1000 Gifts, which has the Christian lady’s blogging world abuzz with admiration. I have this slightly rebellious side to my nature that makes me think I won’t like a book or person or restaurant for the simple fact that Everyone Else does. So I feel a little that way about the lovely Ann. But if gratitude can change my negative outlook and help me to be a joyful mother of 6 I am ready to listen. I even started a thankful list already. It’s a good thing and I look forward to reading the book.

Dan & I have planted garden together for 14 springs now. (Minus our years in Belize, when he planted a few watermelons and pineapples instead of peas and corn.) Last night we were out there at 10 p.m. putting in the last pea seeds before dark, he making the rows and covering them, me putting in the little dried peas covered with black innoculant. There is something intensely appealing about a man with a hoe who’s humming under his breath.

The restless Peachey (or is it Baer?) side of my nature is always seeking, groping,searching for something beyond. I dream of a place where we can be more useful or fulfilled (or noticed *cough. ugh*.) Surely we should be working with inner-city kids or singing in prisons or heading to Ethiopia.

I hope God leads us to one or all of the above. Or to something else totally far out and beyond our comfort zone. We want to be ready and listening.

But as surely as He led us back here to Bay Tree from Belize He is here. Right here. Caring. Guiding. Noticing. Blessing.

He’s where you are today too. Your life is not in vain.

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”

I don’t know what an inheritance from the Lord looks like, but He’s rich.  That much I know.

*Disclaimer to all these words about mud: We live in a beautiful, open country. If you can handle a long cold winter you would love it here. We are free from burning heat and hurricanes and poisonous snakes and venomous spiders. We don’t even have potato bugs. Our roads are wide and long. The huge ditches hold the snow. Gravel roads dry quickly. It’s all the corners and field roads of a farm where the mud that I speak of is an issue. Jobs are plentiful because of all the oilfield activity. We’ve hardly felt the economic crunch that many places have had the last few years. It is a sweet, clean country. (Minus the oil wells.) And if you read Amber’s blog at grace2be and think that all Canadian gas stations have pumps where you have to stand out in the cold and hold down the handle, you are wrong. Sit in your warm 4X4 and let the gas flow, then ease out onto a wide and flat highway and cruise where the cops are few. OR enjoy a golden summer day in mid-June when the sun doesn’t set until 10:45 p.m. )

I wrote the post below last weekend and didn’t get it posted because our internet crashed:

All day long the words begged to be written.

But 18 pairs of jeans needed to be washed and hung out to dry. And I’d told my children that I would do the dishes all day. For SPECIAL. Because it was Good Friday.

I thought later that maybe just maybe that sacrifice would help them remember what Jesus did for them. But really. Would you put things like that together when you’re 11 and just happy that you don’t have dishes to do for one whole day?

Ah yes. The lofty thoughts I dreamed of writing today.

But tonight it’s not in me to say what i wanted to say. So I leave you with these beautiful words from Ann Voskamp. Because I’m still dealing with mud.

How do the Christ-followers seek Beauty?  A week on a beauty hunt and I’m taken by the ways of the God-Man, Beauty Incarnate, who didn’t tramp this sod seeking reflections of Glory in the pristine and the manicured, the elegant and tasteful. I read through the Gospels and find Him: Jesus seeking out the lepers and demon-possessed. Jesus pursuing intimate conversations with adulteresses, having lunch with the corrupt embezzlers. Jesus touching the bleeding woman, spitting in the dirt, making mud, laying it across eyes of the blind man.Can I let Him take the dirt of my own life, lay it on my eyes, and let the mud itself give me sight into the colored world?

I set out broom corn-become-bouquets and mudded eyes see the real: for Christ-followers, beauty is more than seeing the lovely. “Do not even the consumers and collectors do the same?”As a Christ-follower, the pursuit of the beautiful is an act of redemption.

Like Christ, His followers thrill in repurposing the ugly as beautiful, in believing in grace possibilities for the disdained. Christ-followers radically use mud as glasses to see Glory.

I light candles and fill vases but as a Jesus-disciple, the real thrill of the hunt isn’t in purusing beauty in the blatant — it’s in seeking to redeem beauty from the broken.

Every morning I wake, a seeker.Lord God, You know how broken I am, how muddy this place. So here’s the perfect place for redemptive beauty. Let me thrill in the hunt.

We went for a walk in the mud to the house across the field. Unwittingly I told Natalia to put on her white leggings because her orange T-shirt dress is getting too short. That was mistake number 1. Other mistakes involved the baby getting stuck and almost losing her boot and Andre having so much mud on his jeans that I didn’t know if he should enter Joanna’s house for tea and cookies.

(Another day, Alec lost a pair of boots in the mud. Truly. He declares they cannot be retrieved.

And 18 pairs of jeans in the laundry basket have a lot to do with mud too.)

As we slopped through mud on our way home from the neighbor’s house, the air was balmy and the sun was setting. An Alberta sunset is worth a whole truckload of mud.

Andre cheerfully heads for all the puddles he can find. As we neared home, he tramped through an especially big one. “Okay, my last puddle for da day.”

And even through my mud-clouded eyes, with forever stained white leggings and irretrievable boots, I saw beauty.

Kind of like the pixie beauty of little baby number 6 wearing her sister’s new shoes in the mud this afternoon.

Could there actually be beauty somewhere in greying hair and the face that the $15 Neutrogena anti-wrinkle cream doesn’t seem to be working miracles on? (I found Liesl crouched in the bathroom cupboard with the aforementioned cream in her hands the other day, looking unspeakably guilty.)

I stand outside the grocery store waiting for Dan to pick me up. Leaning on my overflowing cart, I watch people. How easily I find myself admiring the orderly and well-kept and elegant. How I shy away from the unkempt, the needy, those who appear to my small world as strange or different.

But somehow I want to see deeper than that. Beyond the elegant and manicured to the beauty in the broken and the messy. To the winter months that were a sea of despair for me and seemed like a waste. To the untidiness of differing personalities trying to work together. To the work God is doing in someone I write off as hopeless. To the amazing grace in the disorder.

Christ-followers radically use mud as glasses to see Glory.

Please join me in the thrill of the hunt.

(And excuse the major addition to the few beautiful words from Ann.)

*In farm news we now have another horse named Teddy Bear.  Also in farm news: 20/90ths of the calving is completed.*

It is 10:56 p.m. in Bay Tree, Alberta and I will keep this short.

I don’t know why I periodically get this urge to write. 

Especially when I don’t have a lot to say, really. 

Like tonight.

But maybe if I post a little more often I won’t get so long and random-y. 

But then random seems to be who I am.

Dan is studying for his sermon tomorrow.  Yukon The Dog is barking and I wish he’d shut up…er…be quiet.  (We do not use ‘shut up’ in this house.)  Alec is drinking hot tea for his sore throat.  Just now I asked him what kind it is and he said, “I don’t know” rather carelessly.  He made it in the semi-dark kitchen.  But how could you not know what kind of tea you made?

I am feeling sad about taking baby clothes to the Salvation Army.  What if we adopt twins from Haiti someday?

McDonalds’ Cadbury chocolate egg McFlurry is okay, but I won’t eat another one.  I had one today. 

My sister who is here to help me clean works circles around me.  She is all organization and pressing forward to finish.  I’m all haphazard and let’s take a break and catch a nap.  Funny that we have the same genes.  I love having her here.  We talk a lot while we work and the basement is a changed place, as is the garage.  A strong feeling of indebtedness is growing in my heart towards her.

Here is Dan at the salon for 37 year old dads:

Yesterday when there were beans pressuring on the stove and I was patting out tortillas for one of our favorite Belizean meals I was overwhelmed with memories of Belize.  I could feel the sweat trickling down my back and feel the hot breeze coming in through the shuttered windows.  I could see a brown face appearing at the screen door and someone calling “Afta-noon, Miss Luci.”  I could taste the cilantro and habanero in the fresh salsa.  Sigh.  I miss that place so badly.

Cooking evokes memories in me.  Making beef stew reminds me of my mom, as does chocolate cake with caramel sauce, which always made me happy as a child.

White chili makes me think of my good friend Margie and her clean, pretty house because one time when I visited her she was cooking it for supper and I got the recipe, which we’ve loved ever since.

Potato soup with hard-boiled eggs remind me of Mom again.  She’d come hurrying in from the garden to peel and cook potatoes and onions, mash them up a bit, add milk and salt and pepper and hard-boiled eggs.  Maybe some hot dogs sometimes.  The grandchildren still love grandma’s egg soup.

Baked macaroni and cheese made with Velveeta reminds me of Dan’s mom, who patiently taught me some of her favorite recipes so Dan would have a few familiar foods in this out of the way place where he moved.  I think of her when I make pumpkin bars with cream cheese frosting too.

What foods evoke memories for you?

A happy Sunday to all.  May the songs be joyful, the Sunday school meaningful, and the sermon soul-stirring if you go to church.  If not—may you hear from Him in a real way and worship too. 

When you turn 5 life is so uncomplicated  and happy.

You tell Mom on Tuesday that you want a star birthday cake.   On Wednesday you order a bunny.  On Friday you change your mind again and want a heart cake just like the one Mommy had for her birthday a few weeks ago.  You even want it pink with red raspberry gummies.  Yes.  You insist that’s what you want.  No stars or bunnies or flowers made with cupcakes.  Just a beautiful pink heart because you never had one before. 

Fine, sweetheart.  Easy-peasy.  Simple-dimple. 

When you turn 5 and your cousin gives you 5 sparkly little gel pens and a kitten notebook your life is complete.

And when Mom & Dad are happy with you for remembering and being brave enough to say thank you after the birthday song in church on Sunday morning you are elated.

Natalia Brooke Martin. 

Above is little (9 lb. 8 oz.!) newborn Natalia with Aunt Michele and Victoria. Dresses made by Aunt Michele.

You may have been born on a muddy April morning but you are a breath of sweetness  and sunshine.  Add a lot of bossiness. Many strong little opinions.  Busyness.  A love for all things pink.  The budding of girly friendships.  Notes and cards galore.  Chewing gum.   Bags and purses full of fun stashes.  Determination and femininity. And that makes YoU. 

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

I promised you and myself that I wouldn’t complain about mud. 

But after rescuing Liesl from a mudhole in which she lost her boot and then sat down

…. And cleaning church on Friday night

….. And Alec’s Saturday, which included 5 pairs of jeans

 … And sweeping the entry way for the 4^th time in one day

…. And wiping up more muddy tracks than you can imagine….

I have had it. 

On Sunday I was ready to tie Alec to the piano for half the day and make him study catechism for the remainder of it.

I am ready to move somewhere like Wisconsin where the soil is so much sandier. 

As I clean up mud I am trying to remember:

-crippled nuclear plants and aftershocks in Japan

-people who miscarried their babies recently

-my friend Kim who just opened an orphanage in Haiti

-friends whose little son is having scary seizures many times a day

-civil war in Libya

-the upcoming elections

But still I simmer quietly.  I HATE mud.

The long range forecast is for two weeks of rain.  This morning it’s white out there again.  The new white of fresh snow.  Remember me in your prayers.

Thank God for running water.

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

The pastor whose deodorant I buy and whose shirts I wash weekly spoke on Kindness yesterday morning.  Such a simple topic, with some good little illustrations of that beautiful virtue.  And of course-the focus was on Jesus.  Wasn’t he the kindest man we can think of?  I am inspired to practice more random acts of senseless kindness.  Kindness like I have received.  Like gift certificates for massages and mysterious Sony cameras that arrive in the mail.  I do wish givers like this would identify themselves so I could thank them properly.  I am humbly grateful.

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

I love the people who live close to me.

I love my brother and his colorful family who live nearby.

I love my sweet and wise sister-in-law, Barb.

I love my faithful church friends.

I love my nieces and nieces-in-law, with whom I have a new and growing relationship.

I love my brother and his wife who live an hour from here.

But a visit from my parents is very special.  Because after mom leaves my sunroom looks like this again: 

(This is a mug shot of my folks, for those of you still asking for a photo of Dad full in the face with The Beard.  Yes, Lela, I’m thinking especially of you.)

And a two week visit from my big sister Julia who is 11 years older than me makes me excited.

We are preparing ourselves to tackle the organization of clutter in this house.  Because somewhere after about baby #4 I lost the ability to make decisions and deal with the stuff of life.

I have been praying for ruthlessness in attacking the clutter and giving or throwing stuff away.  I hope that is not trite of me.

And if very little clutter gets attacked and we have time to take walks and drink coffee I will still be happy.

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

When I read Facebook or Xanga I seldom take time to read a lot of links or listen to songs.  I am interested in the lives of my friends, not the people who bless them, wonderfully blessed as they may be. 

There is just so much good stuff out there.  How do you sift through it all and choose where to spend your precious time?

But last week I randomly listened to a song posted by my good friend Kathy who scrapbooks and sews instead of blogging.  And I fell in love with it.  Here…for your listening pleasure…if you have/take the time. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SGniRk_GcLs

(I am not even really a contemporary music fan at present.  Right now I’m not a fan of much music at all.  When no story tape is being played and the piano is silent I bask in the quiet.)  But this song got a hold of me and it consumes my thoughts. 

Leaving you here with the lyrics:

And don’t forget to spread kindness today.

 I started a post called ‘Serene’.   Because I really love that word.  And one day when I was patting out tortillas I felt so peaceful.  Then I thought about how so many of my Belizean friends are serene.  And I got to thinking about the differences in our cultures and wondered whether that has anything to do with serenity. 

But peace and tranquility and serenity are not coming together for me right now.

 I also want to write about Guilt and Stuff and Junk and Simplifying.  And how some days I long to sell everything and move with my family to Ethiopia and live the words of Jesus by helping to feed the hungry.  I am ready.  If only God would speak from the heavens and tell us to go. 

But maybe I am being called to serenity here at muddy Bay Tree in our rich oilfield community instead.

And maybe instead of writing tidy, meaningful posts I just ramble.

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

I promised myself that I wouldn’t complain about the mud this spring.  Because you all know how anxious I was for spring.  The sunshine IS glorious.  The sunsets are amazing.  The boys are wild with joy about puddles to go four-wheeling in.  The muddier the helmet the cooler you are.

We still have many feet of snow.  There is a bank at the bottom of our driveway that may not be gone till June.  But tonight the little guys are outside in their jackets, bare feet in rubber boots, sloshing in slushy ice water.  They’re wearing spring jackets and mittens.  It’s that time of year when everything is MUD.  Muddy snow pants, muddy gloves, muddy porch, muddy winter coats, muddy spring jackets, muddy rubber boots, muddy snow boots, muddy smudges on the doors, muddy feet on the dog and cat.  You haven’t met mud unless you have lived in Alberta.  You still need your winter coats in the chilly mornings.  You need your snow pants for building snow forts.  You need your gloves but they get muddy.  I just have to walk away from the main entrance to the house sometimes.  We are not at our finest in these weeks of spring. 

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

Turning 37 was fun.  I felt so loved.

This is Mickeyla Lucinda Miller, who shares my birthday.

I’m actually looking forward to 40.  One of my friends said 40 was just the best age for her.   Life settled down and the work became manageable again.  I look forward to my baby being 5 and the house being cleaner. J

Twice lately we visited an older gentleman from our community who is in the hospital with a broken hip.  Both times we happened to be there when he got his dinner.  Before eating, he bowed his head and prayed aloud the most delightful, thankful prayers.  They brought tears to my eyes.   This dear man is really mixed up and he’d get off the subject of what he was praying about, but somehow his grateful heart always shone brightly and he’d come back to thanking and blessing the Lord.  Talk about being challenged.  I think gratefulness is the most beautiful of all virtues.  It makes a person pleasant to live with and produces inner joy that no one can take away.

I am dreaming paint colors lately.  I dream of a clean, organized home.  I dream of the riddance of floral wallpaper and doilies and ivy and smooth, spacious grace instead.  There is a delicious color of green somewhere between sage and lime that I want on a living room wall.  I haven’t even looked for it.  I only see it in my head.

But right now I am trying to be serene in the presence of disorganization and floral wallpaper.  Oh…I am whittling slowly away at the junk and the dirt.  Ever so slowly I am whittling.

And then I think of my mud hut in Africa and wonder at my inconsistency–obsessing over paint colors and decor. J

My dad grew a big beard.  And when he and Mom surprised us at the door the other day I hardly knew him.  If you are like me and cannot picture him with a beard, here is proof!

Mom didn’t want a manicured little Mennonite beard.  She wanted a beard like my Grandpa Rufus Peachey’s beard.  Grandpa Rufus was an Amish man from Belleville, PA.  It’s coming along, but she’d like it just a bit longer yet.  (And we are desperate to picnic.  We had a snow hot dog roast last night.)

Our camera met its end the other day when certain children in the house were tussling and trying to take silly pictures of each other and accidentally bumped the camera hard.  The zoom thing will not go in now.  I’m sure there is a technical term for that piece of the camera, but I don’t know what it is.  The shutter will not close.  It is a fairly new camera, a $178 Sony from Walmart.  I was not happy with this loss, but neither was I terribly happy about the photos this camera took.  If we replace it, can someone who knows cameras tell me what brand is good…something for about $200 for someone who just wants good clear shots and never takes time to mess around with options?  Maybe you can’t buy a good camera for $200.  Thankfully we have an even cheaper camera that still works so we are not totally camera-less right now.

While I am asking questions:  Is there a way to visit someone’s blog and snoop at their comments and enjoy their pictures but not leave your footprints?  I know about reading subscriptions from my home page, but when I visit a site and don’t know what to comment I feel bad to just go in and out if they see I was there. 

And because summer is the best time of all:

This is 10 p.m. on a June night in Bay Tree, Alberta.  Yes they slept out there all night long.