11:23 p.m.  All good daddies, mommies and  babies are tucked away in bed.

But I feel excited about blogging again and I curled up beside Dan with my mind whirling.  I tried to pray the minutes away but kept coming back to writing posts in my head.  Sometimes the only way to get rid of these thoughts is to get up and write until I’m too tired to keep going and to read over what I wrote and think, “Trash.  Total trash.  Close this thing out and go to bed, Luci.”

It was good for me to step back from Facebook and Xanga for a week.  To realize that life goes on and I don’t wither up and die if I’m not up on the latest in my little cyber world.  I guess I’m kind of an all or nothing type of person.  When I don’t do the online thing I don’t miss it terribly, but once I’m back on I just get so involved.  I have yet to find a method for just controlling it like I wish I could.  I set myself time limits but don’t keep them, stay up too late, or take precious work/quiet time and then regret it all later. 

 I did miss you, though.  Some of the longer snowier days seemed especially long and snowy with silent email checks and no delicious posts to read.

Late one night I read some non-xangan blogs.  Like that Jenny Miller Kauffman at baileyandme2.  What a lady.  She’s so fascinating and funny.  And the way she flips around these terms about décor that I have No Clue about…! 

 I read some uh-MAZING photography blogs too.  The ones with 30  shots of the beautiful baby in her stripy leg-warmers and cutey cute pink shoes with the sun shining just right on her little self.

I’m constantly trying to analyze this whole bloggedy-blogging thing.  And I know there are others out there doing the same.  Like Christy at http://twofus-1.xanga.com/743887462/item/

or Jessica at http://virginiadawn.xanga.com/743975827/to-be-or-not-to-be/.

I think if you blog often you could start to sound the same every time.

Like my blog could be summed up:  “Northern Canadian pastor’s wife fights the winter blues and the isolation of her small church and community.   Has a good strong husband.  Loves her large family.  Believes in vulnerability and honesty.  Sometimes spouts off to the www things that should be saved for her journal.  Deals with a lot of self-doubt.  Compares herself with others way too much.  Has a lot of questions and few answers.  Did I mention that she struggles with depression?  Has a cheap camera with which she takes photos of her children in her messy house.  Is overwhelmed with motherhood and is forever trying to be more organized.   And she’s still hung up on a death in her family that happened three years ago.”

In an effort to keep from running on that same old track I am determined to keep this light.

Because this week I decided to tell my children how much I love them.  Every day.  Big ones and small ones.  I’m singing “I love you so much” to Liesl and she fills in the words when I stop.  It’s so sweet.  And I’m singing “You are my sunshine” and telling Andre that he’s my favoritest 3 year old in the whole world.  I’m hugging Bryant and telling him I love him when he’s mad at me for making him go to bed earlier than he thinks necessary.

This was the fashion at our house one cold day last week.

Natalia in her too-small white leggings, the shirt that Aunt Kim sent to go with a different jumper, her old blue jumper that’s too small now, and my old black veil.

Andre, who wears summer pants whenever possible.

And Liesl, whom I’m attempting to potty train.  It’s not going.  (Whoever said that boys were harder than girls was wrong.  My girls have all been more difficult.)  Here she is wearing training pants and some old rubber pants from my first years as a conscientious little mom who used cloth diapers.  I want her to feel the extreme wetness when she has an accident, but I was getting tired of scrubbing puddles from the carpet.  She talks very well, waits a long time between pee episodes, and tells me every single time “Pee-pee da potty” after the fact.

(I never know the appropriateness of talking about potty training online.  I’m kind of fastidious about a few things and I hate anything vulgar.  And who cares about my potty training trials, anyway?)

I came back from a walk the other day and Liesl had a sticker in her hair that said Awesome Work.  She adores ‘tickers’ and somehow it struck me funny, though it’s not really a bit funny when I go to write it here.

Natalia said the other day:  MOM!  I’m just 18 and I already have THREE babies.  Whatever, dear child.

Tonight we had a PTA meeting at school. 

You have to be there to understand our way of doing things at Bay Tree.

To know us is to love us. (J )

We talked about a date for the last day of school.

We talked about the field trip.

We discussed how the time-out system is working for students too wild and free with the hockey puck or their hockey sticks.

Somehow we got to talking about Canadian citizenship and RCMPs and immigration to Switzerland.

We drank hot coffee and ate cookies and looked at our students’ desks.

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

This is what the swing set looks like in our backyard.

And the tree that looked like this in June

Looks like this this March.

I know the springy new header doesn’t fit here yet.  But it gives me hope.

And today it was warm and melty instead of cold and snowy.

I am looking for Answers.  I’m seeking out Truth.  I sometimes wish God would speak to me like He did to Moses.  It seems like I have been in a long season of Silence from the heavens.

Oops.  Instead of going there tonight I will post a Ginger Beef recipe that one of the youth girls, Janice,  brought to a fellowship meal at church.  It was so good that I got the recipe.  It’s a lot like the ginger beef you get if you eat Chinese.

2-3 small steaks—minute steaks are the best.  Tenderloin is nice too.  Cut into bite-sized strips.

1-2 eggs, beaten

Dip steaks in egg, then in cornstarch.

Fry in oil till brown.

Place in glass casserole and cover with the following sauce:

½ cup sugar

¼ cup vinegar

3 T. soy sauce

1 tsp. ginger

1 minced garlic clove

Pour sauce over meat.  Bake uncovered at 350 for 45-60 minutes until crystallized.  (I like it to be a little saucy, though.) 

We eat it over brown rice.

A happy day to each of you.  A day that is full of more answers than questions.

*I almost deleted this post this morning because of writing (again!) of my lack of Answers because I felt challenged by two facebook statuses from friends:

Meghan: “”Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord and has made the Lord his hope and confidence.” Jer. 17:7″

and Kathy:

“Prayerlessness is an expression of our meager confidence in God’s ability to provide, and our strong confidence in our ability to take care of ourselves without God’s help.” 

I’m needing God today for my confidence and answers.

I have always admired *cute little noses* curves at just the right places*  serene people*  wittiness*  thick glossy hair*  tiny and pretty* efficiency*  organizational skills*  people who sleep well every night*  ambience in decor*  popularity that hasn’t gone to someone’s head*  symmetrical faces*  athletic people*  straight white teeth* writers that pack so much punch into just a few words*  a positive outlook* tall and regal*  lovely soprano voices* organized simplicity* and *mothers who do lots of crafts with their children*.

It’s natural to long for what we have not or are not.

Just lately Victoria of the thick glossy hair and straight A report card and musical ability and beautiful brown skin that has had people asking us if she’s adopted has been obsessing over her crooked bottom teeth, her winter bout with some kind of strange cold sore (that never comes to a head but just sits and gets wide and red and burning) and her petite size.  She also deals with insomnia sometimes and of course this looks huge to her. 

I sympathize on all points.  She will get braces when the dentist says it’s time.  I’ve talked to the doctor about her mouth sores and need to take her in to see him some time when she has a full-fledged one.  I promise her that she will grow and if she stays small she will be the envy of other girls who struggle with extra weight or height.  We pray and talk about the sleeping problem, she reassuring me that there’s nothing bothering her EXCEPT the fact that she’s afraid she won’t be able to sleep.  And the other night when she was crying and saying, “Why am I the only person with this problem?” we went online for ideas and found articles that said things like “Many adolescents and teens deal with insomnia”, proving that she is not alone. 

When she was telling me that she’s the only child with this problem, I started asking her things like:  Would you rather have a facial deformity?  Would you rather have to struggle all day in school and then bring home piles of homework and still fail your grade?  Would you rather have lost your parents to the tsunami in Japan? 

Of course her answer was no on all counts.

(ok, maybe my comparisons are a little off here, but I get desperate sometimes.)

I went on to say that we all have our own personal problems to deal with.  She’s been blessed with so many gifts and talents and maybe this is her little issue—like obesity or cerebral palsy might be for someone else.

(And I hope I am not divulging personal family secrets here.  How DO you write about your adolescent children without embarrassing them, even though Victoria will probably never read this?   I am open to suggestions on the insomnia issue too.  It’s disturbing for one so young, but I come from a family with sensitive sleep genes so I feel like I don’t have a lot of answers.  We do warm milk and melatonin {sometimes} and backrubs and prayers.  She asks us for ideas of what to think about and we tell her to plan her future house and family or imagine heaven or recite Bible verses or plan another trip to Belize.  She’s always been a child who doesn’t seem to need a lot of sleep, so we let her read late and try to just relax about it all, but she gets worked up over it and I feel so helpless sometimes.)

What I started out to say in all this was that in my sermonizing her about acceptance of herself and her quirks I need to listen up myself.

Ugh.

I have lived a life of such covetousness.  Actually, I think some of this ugliness has become almost worse since I am a mother than it was when I was a little teenager.  I work at it.  But self-acceptance has never been easy for me.  Is it easy for anyone?

So maybe my nose is big and I never had braces and I am neither tall and regal or sweetly petite.  Maybe I am inefficient and too serious and never could play volleyball.

Maybe instead I find it easy to talk to strangers and usually tan instead of burn and have lots of company and care about the church being clean and can eat 4 cookies at bedtime and not gain weight—though this is changing as I get closer to 40. J 

How uncannily often lately I find myself trying to teach my children lessons that I have not learned, even though I have lived for nearly 37 years.   And in my little sermons where I see my needs so glaringly I come away saying, “Lord, help me to get this so they can see it working in my life.”

Because:  How uncannily often lately they are wise to where I don’t practice what I preach. 

It has been a long and brutal winter.  And it’s not over yet.  I can only imagine what is going to happen when All This Snow begins to Melt! 

I am happy that the robins have visited Pennsylvania and the trees are blossoming in Georgia.  (I’m generous that way. J )

It has been a long and brutal winter in a figurative sense as well.   I feel a weariness in my spirit that I cannot shake.  It is a weariness that will lift only with the warm breeze of spring and the new green of budding trees. 

This is what Bryant wrote in school yesterday:

Spring is here.

Hurrah, hurrah!

The sky is clear.

Hurrah!

I love the spring time.

And I’m not just trying

To make this rhyme.

Tori found this note in my old Bible the other night.  It was written to me by my sister Linda.  It may have been written over one of the (many) times in our courtship experience when I was wondering if Dan was the right guy for me.  Or maybe Linda was just feeling a splash of goodwill towards me and my boyfriend.  Obviously written in church, maybe when he was up front having a devotional or leading songs:  “He looks very handsome tonight.  Congratulations!”  It was a fun find.

Happy Spring to all of you who are unearthing tulips and hearing the birds.  Please send it north speedily.  Thank you.

In the real world.

Where the small bit of February Belizean tan fades

before the mosquito bites stop itching…

I am grateful that Dan loves me even in my winter paleness.

In the real world.

Where the little face you smiled at in the rearview mirror

now has a fringe of hair on its upper lip. (Eek.)

And its return smile is sometimes replaced by an adolescent glower…

I say, “God, I’m going to have to leave it up to You to make a fine specimen out of that boy.  I care so much, but this is a painful time for both of us.”

In the real world

Where the kitchen trash can is always full. Every-time-you-turn-around. No-matter-how-many-times-you-empty-it.

I need to remember that it means we are eating well. 

In the real world

When the things I like best– reading, writing, conversation and coffee

Don’t seem to cut it for facing the pressing issues of life

I am happy to go to bed with a tidy house, a clean fridge, and fresh strawberry jam (that I finally made out of those frozen berries) cooling on the counter.

In the real world a 4 year old chews an entire pack of gum in one day if you let her.

In my dreams last night I was pregnant with our 7^th child.  It was so real that I was feeling that little baby kicking inside of me.  (Which was cool.  But I was saying, “Please Lord. I’m just not ready for this!”)

Reality gave me gladness this morning.

In the real world

There has been way too much negativism in our house lately.

I am determined to combat it with something different.  Something that doesn’t come easily for this pessimistic little soul.

I am purposing and resolving to be be intentional and resolute in my determination to look for the good–and say it.  {So help me, Father.}  (The cause of the redundancy in that last paragraph?  I looked up “purpose” in the thesaurus:  intention, determination, resolution, resolve.)

In his dreams, Alec snowmobiles.  He eats and breathes snowmobiles.  He pores over the magazines and gazes out at the white fields and imagines them covered with tracks.  His tracks.  (Somehow this hunger cuts at my heart.)

In reality he draws snowmobiles and rides his 4 wheeler and makes tracks on the snow-covered lawn with Lego snowmobiles.  He looks them up online and drools over them.

When the real world gets too heavy, sometimes you just need to read Erma Bombeck.  I usually don’t like humor that is so far out that it couldn’t even be true.  But that woman is hilarious!

In the real world, there is nothing so cute as a little denim dress on my baby and red tights on fat little legs. 

When I am in a black slump of depression

And my ugly thoughts tell me that I am a bad mom

Because I don’t do enough special projects with my children

Because I struggle to stay happy

And I struggle to keep up with the housework

And I struggle with something so simple as facing the day

And sometimes I just can’t cope with discipline and the decisions it requires of me so I turn my back on the misdemeanor

And I struggle with understanding and loving God

Jesus and friends and family tell me different things.

They remind me that I bake chocolate chip cookies

And color

And read stories

And take good care that my children have decent clothes to wear

And go to the library with them

And make them rice and beans and chicken, which is their favorite meal

And in my heart I love them more than I can ever express to them or to you.

They tell me that I still have faith even when it seems like it’s gone.

In the real world

My mind is often spinning

Over warring opinions.

I read *certain authors*

And sometimes I am touched to the core.

But they go so against my tradional Mennonite upbringing.

And I get confused and worried.

And then I have to get back to certain truths:

The ways of Jesus work.

I am where I am for a reason.

I am not the judge.  (Thank You, Lord!)

God is so much bigger and better than I realize He is.

We say we love when people are real.  We don’t like hypocrisy and facades.  I read this this week:  “Our churches are filled with people who outwardly look contented and at peace but inwardly are crying out for someone to love them…just as they are-confused, frustrated, often frightened, guilty, and often unable to communicate even within their own families.  But the other people in church look so happy and contented that one seldom has the courage to admit his own deep needs before such a self-sufficient group as the average church meeting appears to be.”

The real world is broken and ugly.

There are people battling addictions and remorse and horror that I know nothing about from my sheltered and comfortable little spot.  I don’t want to be naïve and smug and self-righteous.

I want to face the real world with love and grace and understanding.

The real world is also beautiful.

It holds laughter and promise.  It holds depth and meaning.  It holds friendship and music.  It holds the cunning of a 3 year old’s perspective.  It holds good food and fellowship, warm fires and needed rest.  It holds Springtime after a long and brutal winter.

“Let heaven fill your thoughts….” Col 3:2

In the realness of my small world we just bought a four-slice toaster—finally!  These children of ours are downing the toast in huge proportions and our two-slicer just couldn’t keep up anymore.

And I cook huge amounts of food and think I’ll have enough for two meals, but there’s often just enough for Dan & I and the three little ones to have for lunch the next day.

Bryant is 8 and he loves deep questions like:  “What started the Great Depression anyway?” and “How does a guy do it when he wants to ask a girl?”

Andre is 3.  He’s into sweeping lately.  I think he spent 1/3 of the day pushing a broom around the kitchen and rearranging wood chips and toast crumbs that way.  He also vacuumed our bedroom-kind of.

Victoria and I are missing Belize badly since our trip.  She drowns her feelings with piano playing.  I read blogs.  Tonight we took a walk in the cold wind and hurried back before we had gone very far.

I was thanking God for Friday this morning.  I knew that I could.not.handle one more morning of getting children out of bed and packing lunches.  Saturdays mornings are so delicious.

There is an angel who takes the children to school every morning for me.  He leaves his employees a half hour into the workday and comes down to make the run so I don’t have to bundle up three babies and take them out into the cold.  His name is Dan and I love him.

Natalia was afraid when she saw that Liesl had a string wrapped tightly around her arm last night and told me worriedly, “She’s choking her arm, Mom!”

After all playing hide and seek tonight (which we n.e.v.e.r do, so I have to document it) we started looking at my old Maranatha Bible School photo albums.  Folks, I went to MBS 20 years ago.  If that doesn’t make me feel old, I don’t know what does.  I got so nostalgic, looking back at my happy, carefree self.  Bryant got a bang out of reading what the guys wrote on the backs of their pictures to me and Victoria & Alec laughed at the styles back then.

Thanks for your comments online, both Xangans and Facebook friends.  I love them!  I wish I could just forget about who might read this and be noble enough to post anyway, but I’m afraid things would soon close down here if it weren’t for you all.  So thank you.  From the bottom of my heart.  J

Good night.  Dan & I are such night owls and I wish I could relax and accept it, but mornings are hard when you don’t get your rest.  Now isn’t that profound?  Ok, I’m rambling, so it’s time to quit.  It was time to quit a while ago.

P.S. Is anyone else having issues with xanga not linking your posts to Facebook?  This one will not link.  It sits on ‘please wait’ forever….and nothing happens.

You know her.  That organized and efficient lady who gets up early and does her work with clock-like precision.  She deep cleans her house every spring.  She makes fresh bread on Thursday mornings and has her laundry all washed and put away on Monday nights.  She puts her feet up at the end of a long day because she so deserves the rest.  She doesn’t go to bed without tidying the corners.  She doesn’t fear unexpected company at her door because she ‘keeps up’ on a continual basis.  She makes up the Elizabeth Georges and Donna Kauffmans (The Treasury of Careful Planning) of life.  I admire her.  She was epitomized in my mother and in (most of) my 5 sisters.  I have a good friend Laura who is like her.  I (kind of) used to be like her myself. 

And then there’s that lady on the other end of the spectrum.  She just goes with the flow.  She crafts with her children even though her house is a disaster.  She gets out the flavored coffee when you come to see her and wipes the eggs off the chair to make a spot for you to sit.  She seems so happy even in the chaos.  She makes no apologies if she invites you to Sunday lunch and you need to clear the breakfast dishes off the table before you can help her get lunch on.  There’s a ring in her tub that hasn’t been cleaned in ages, but that doesn’t keep her from enjoying life.  She can read a book or appreciate a flower in the midst of the chaos.  If you are looking for something under her couch cushions you’ll realize quickly that cleaning there is not a high priority.  I admire this lady too.  I have good friends like her.  She seems to have her vision set on better things.

Then there are those of us caught in the middle.  Forever trying to get organized.  Falling behind.  Overwhelmed.  Stacking stuff up in the corner for the day we can get to it.    Being called bad names by the family room as we kick a path through the toys to the children’s bedrooms.  Being called bad names by the closets that need to be dejunked and the drawers where we put the stuff that we don’t know what to do with.  Feeling guilty when we relax.  Apologizing when others see our mess.  Muddled.  Disgruntled.  Always striving but never arriving.  Not at all okay with the chaos, but unable to make headway in dealing with it.  Perfectionist enough to wish it were different.  Disorganized enough that it doesn’t happen.  Therein lies the indignity.  Therein lies the sting.  I have become this lady.

{Disclaimer:  If you were come to my house (especially if I knew ahead of time) it wouldn’t look bad.  The toilets and the stove are reasonably clean.  We would give you an orderly room and clean sheets and nice meals.  But please don’t investigate the drawers and the catch-all closet and the freezers and the sewing corner and the garage.  And don’t go anywhere near the 100 toy boxes and project boxes and stuff-that-kiddies-stash boxes and clothes-that-are-too-small-or-need-mended piles.  Thank you kindly. (And yes, I am feeling a little bitter today.  Forgive me.}

We’re home from Belize.

The fire is cozy and I feel content. 

I’m grateful that I’m not sitting on a crowded airplane trying to keep a travel weary baby quiet by feeding her mints.

This morning we traded the flip flops for tights and shoes because we were off to church in the great white north.

The laundry piles are huge.

And as usual after a trip I am struck anew with the fact that I’m responsible for  cooking three meals a day for this household.

Added to the usual catching-up-after-being-away is the slew of great posts that I missed on Xanga and Facebook.  How difficult we make life for ourselves sometimes.  I probably won’t try the catch up.  I am sad that I missed all the good stuff that you wrote.  Sorry if I missed your birthday.

I kept meaning to take a quick walk down the white-maul streets of Carmelita last week and post a bit from the Lanza house, where they have high speed wireless internet.  But there wasn’t a spare moment between visiting and washing and ironing and visiting and shopping and visiting.

It was chilly and rainy over the only weekend we were there.  Hence the jackets on these fine people.

It was wonderful.  Really.  There are things about Belize that never change.  The smell. The sunshine.  The rice and beans and chicken.  The warmth of friends.   The huge part that laundry plays in life there.  The slower pace.  The speed bumps.  The Creole.  The ants.  The fans.   The hammocks.  The buses.

OK.  I’ll stop now.

I miss it all.

I don’t really have the words to tell you about our time there.

And we didn’t get very many good pictures.  I hate to be conspicuous with a camera.  I have some seriously special friends there who are camera shy.  I’m usually too busy talking to take pictures.  But now I’m sad that I missed the opportunities.

The stay was too short.  The fellowship was sweet.  Friends provided us with a van to drive while there, a cell phone, and a house to ourselves.  That made us feel like royalty.  The house was a God-send.  It took away that worry that our big family would be overwhelming someone.  We ate a lot of meals with friends and the rare times when we were at “home” were great opportunities to catch our breaths before going out again.  Best of all, it was the house we lived in for six months before returning to Canada, so it was familiar and homey to us.  The couple living in it presently had to go to the US and it just happened to be empty.

The older children went to school and loved it.  They easily got reacquainted with their old friends and made new ones.  They’d come home for lunch hot and sunburned, scarf down their food, and rush away again to play or ‘go buy’ at the shop, where Mexican Takis chips that burn your mouth were the big hit.

We took in Caye Caulker one day, where the turquoise water reached into the depths of my beauty starved soul.  The sun-baked American skin we saw there did not have the same effect.  We had great fun watching sharks and sting rays from our glass-bottomed boat.  The more adventurous of us snorkeled too. 

No time for romantic beach shots.  Here we are at the end of a long day on the water.

The little guys were not quite as enthralled with Belize as the rest of us.  The heat and the scratching of ant and mosquito bites and the sandals that rubbed and the constant running around made for some negative drama.  But they made out okay and had good times too.

The traveling was the horror of the package.

Mostly because my baby is high strung and not as well trained as she should be.  And everyone’s nerves are on edge when we’re trying to stay together and pull carry-on luggage and make close flight connections.  And any kind of travel with a family of 8 is no picnic.

It was stressful to try to keep Liesl’s legs from bumping the seat in front of us after the lady in it turned around and asked me if I could please keep my daughter’s feet away from her seat back.  Talk about 3 hours of tension.  (And please tell me how you keep baby feet from knocking the seat in front of them in a crowded airplane.)  Liesl is not a good eater and I resorted to feeding her the things she will eat without complaining to keep her quiet.  Like candy.  With juice to drink on the side.  Imagine the sugar overload.  No wonder she wouldn’t sleep and acted like a caged tiger half the time.

Then there was the time on our final flight when Andre declared loudly (over and over) that he had to pee Really Bad but we couldn’t take him because the plane was getting ready for take-off and we were all supposed to be in our seats with our seatbelts securely fastened.  Never mind that we sat there for 20 minutes before moving an inch.  I prayed hard that no puddle would appear and tried to keep him distracted by looking at the Sky Mall magazine where we could buy the Always Cool Pillow for $69.95 or the Indoor Dog Restroom for $99.95.  I thought fleetingly of buying The Head Spa Massager for $49.95—“healthier stress relief.  Alleviates stress & tension.  Relaxes away migraines and more, without drugs.  Soothes your problems away.” (If I ever took the time to learn how to link posts I would link a hilarious one here written by Andrea at writersblock02 who gave a commentary on Sky Mall offers.)

I should have purchased it.  I still have a tension headache from lugging bags and babies and worrying about my airplane neighbors.

But we made it.  Thank You, Lord.

And we’d do it again next month.  Well, maybe not the packing and flying.

I’m finishing this up on Monday morning after the older children were herded off to school laden with books and skates and gloves and Belize chips and pepper sweets for their classmates.  While the Littles play with forgotten toys and the washer swishes recado-stained clothes and the dryer tries to revive limp wrinkled pieces that were packed into suitcases.

Someday I should write about our two years in Belize and the decision of whether to stay and pastor the church in Carmelita or come home to our little church at Bay Tree.  The decision so agonizing that we asked for a public lot to decide it.

The lot fell to come back to the North.  Which is why I take solitary walks on cold quiet roads instead of hailing my village friends on the hot white streets of Carmelita.

Which explains why a piece of our hearts stayed in the Caribbean. 

I love this big land where I grew up.  I love its tough and independent people and even its huge diesel pickups.  Right now I know it’s where God wants us to be.

But how can a heart be stretched to reach across two vastly different cultures and stay intact?

I have tendencies to become too emotionally attached to people and places.  Maybe it’s insecurity or something.  I don’t know.  It would sound nicer described as loyalty.

I get attached to my online friends too.  Even ones that I don’t know in real life.

The other week when I was really busy getting ready for our trip and didn’t have much time for Facebook and Xanga I came to this realization:  I really don’t owe anyone anything on here.  Because my insecure/loyal self can feel like I owe comments and affirmation and all manner of good things and then I feel frustration and guilt when I can’t reach around to give it.

Actually, what I do owe everyone is love.  And because love is usually spelled out in words to me that’s the way I want to give it to others.

The other thing I realized was this:   I am not indispensable.  People function quite well without me in their online lives.

Because I have got to find a new balance.  I have babies in dire need of post-trip training.  This house needs to be dejunked in a bad, bad way.  I am tired of functioning in a necessities-only mode.

As usual, it’s going to take the grace of God and some heavy discipline on my part to prioritize my time.   I would love to hear how you long time bloggers balance this part of your life.

And this post puts closure on tripping and my whirling thoughts on blogging and the whole social networking business.  The laundry is calling my name.  Loud and clear.

Sometimes I long to travel the world.  The lure of other cultures and peoples fascinates me.  It lifts me out of the smallness of my little corner and miniscule problems.  It helps me to see God differently when I consider Him working beyond my small place.

Far-flung places like Ireland and Liberia call my name.  I want to see  BoraBora and Japan.  Australia and Chile.

I doubt that I ever will.

But sometimes it really feels like God has been extravagant with me when it comes to travel.

We may have lived in the boondocks, but my parents believed in us “getting out”.  Hence my childhood memories include many trips to Pennsylvania to see the relatives and Oregon for church meetings.  I remember our neighbor laughing at our family one time when he met us heading out for a long trip to PA.  “Where are you off to?” he asked Dad.   And he couldn’t believe how casually Dad answered Pennsylvania.  To him 3000 miles away meant a lot of planning and saving.  But for us it was simply a part of life.

In Pennsylvania we took buggy rides with our Amish cousins.  I remember eating grape nut ice cream for the first and only time.

My teen years took me to Bible schools in Minnesota & Missouri.  I taught school in Wisconsin and Oregon.   I found that most American people are just as nice as Canadians, even if they DO call toques “stocking caps” and  Canadian provinces “providences”.

 I visited my sister who was teaching in Belize when I was 21.  It was there that I fell in love with hot dark nights and dewy mornings and the brightly colored shops of Orangewalk town where rows of flipflops shone and cheap dishes begged to be purchased.  That was the trip where I of the olive skin who never got sunburned started peeling so badly on the airplane that I was ashamed to see my boyfriend who came to pick me up in Minneapolis and even more ashamed to spend the night at Maranatha where the whole student body was sure to see the ugly patches on my forehead and nose.

I had always dreamed of a honeymoon to eastern Canada.  It came true when Dan &  I spent two happy weeks in Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island camping after our wedding in August.  The warmth of eastern Canada’s people, the quaint churches, and the wheat fields nearly touching the sea affected us deeply.  Maybe we’ll retire there someday.

Since we are married we have been to Grenada to visit family with Olive Branch Missions.  That is where I became convinced that brown/black skin is truly more beautiful than white-especially white with a sunburn.

We spent two years with a mission in Belize.  While there we were able to visit wonderful Costa Rica, with its fresh pineapples and melons and lush greenery.  We were at a conservative Amish Mennonite church leaders’ meeting and loved the diversity of people who came.  So many races.  A lot of racial intermarriage.  So many sweet and Godly people.

Guatemala with its pretty Spanish ladies frying up corn tortillas and its steep and rocky roads fascinated us.

And Belize-with its diversity of cultures, its taco stands and amazing Cayes, its hot dry season and mango trees, its tree-ripened avacados and its people who became our friends-changed our lives forever.

After Belize there was Romania, where my sister and her husband lived for seven years.  That was the trip where we left our three little children with Dan’s family in Wisconsin for two weeks.  I still can’t believe I did that to three year old Bryant.  He survived and the people caring for him survived.  But I don’t think we’d do it again. 

But Romana .  Ahhh.  We loved it.  We loved the huge old stone buildings and the stacks of hay and the people who had us to eat with them and insisted that we take second and third and fourth helpings of cabbage rolls and noodle soup and fried chicken.

This week our family of 8 flies to Cancun, Mexico and then takes the bus to Belize.  We are back to see Belizean friends, the missionaries we worked with, and maybe Caye Caulker.

Now by some standards that’s a lot of travel.  By others it is not.

You may think that we are made of money.  Which we are not.

And sometimes when I think of the eight of us heading to Belize on Tuesday morning I worry that we should be using the $$$$ to give to someone who needs food.

Dan had a very good year with his sawmill business and was able to share a lot of that money with people who needed it.  (I hope I don’t sound like I’m tooting any horns here.)

But we still live in the boondocks where I grew up.   The call to Go gets both Dan & I on a regular basis.  We know our children need a broader life than our own little in-grown church and community. 

So the suitcases are packed.  Four pairs of little crocs for ease of going through security in Edmonton and Houston.  Sandals, flipflops, stroller, sunscreen and swimming trunks. Shirts and dresses and underwear and gifts and Tylenol and PaSsPoRtS.

I know that by the time we drag through the Belize border at midnight we will be anything but bright or sweet. 

I know that my dreams of visiting our old haunts will be overshadowed with a baby who will likely be hot and fussy and bothered.  I know that there will be fire ant bites to soothe and 7^th grade boys who will need to be nagged about school books.  And there will be the constant mom-job of keeping everything organized.

But I am up to the challenge.

Because a hug from Mrs. Dorothy

and escabeche with Raquel

and the chance to see the new brown babies

and eating tacos and drinking Fanta

and having coffee with the pastor couples

and going to Bible study at Carmelita

and watching Mrs. Juana bake her tortillas

and sending the children to their old school for a few days

and the heat of that Belizean sun

will make it worth it.

And I am thankful to God, the Giver of extravagant gifts. 

I really feel like this posts spells “Look at what we get to do…na na na boo boo.”

And I don’t mean it that way at all.

 I still want to add a few pictures of my week last week. 

Which was a gift in itself.

Because I do not sew well. 

And if you are my Facebook friend you’ve heard me spouting off about it.

But this is the product of last week.  And I only post this because it is such an unusual occurence.  And proof that I work best under pressure, which I am not proud of.  Not at all.

The 3 little Tshirt dresses were so simple and fun.

And then….

A friend offered to make my share of the food for our monthly fellowship meal today at church.  And she also offered to babysit for a few hours yesterday while I thought I would be frantically packing.  But the packing seemed to be under control and I wasn’t making food, which my life consists of.

So I sewed a dress that I cut out last summer.  Fabric bought in Guatemala four years ago.

Now if the boys wear their bright green and blue shirts.

And if I can convince Dan to wear his yellow shirt (not likely).

We will look like the Truly Tourist family when we hit the Edmonton airport.

Bright white skin.  Wearing loud colors that shout: “We’re off to Mexico, folks!!

I cannot wait.

Words.  Tumbling about in my head.  Knocking each other over.  Vying for first place. 

Thoughts.  Deep.  Shallow.  Incoherent.  Clear as crystal.  Some God-breathed.  Some poisoned by the devil.

I’ve been dying to write, but I could not.

Today the words might come together.  But I don’t have time for them.  The sun is shining with blinding brightness.  The wind carries hope.  I want to sew and book tickets and go for long walks.  I want to hear my baby try to say elephant (effa-nunt) and be Grandma to these little guys who today are Hannah and James.  (By the time I am a real grandma I should be a good one.  I am a pretend grandma almost every day.  How honorable.)

Defining moments or words of the last two weeks include:

Music.  I love how she picks up these songs (no lessons yet) and adds her own little chords. (brag)

Snow.

.

A visit from Dan’s parents and sister Monica.  They are fine people, making the trip up here to see us about once a year.  My family couldn’t be more different from Dan’s, but since we got used to each other we work together quite harmoniously.  Dan’s mom is the epitome of patience, his dad is a social being who enjoys telling stories and jokes, and Monica read aloud to the children till her head ached.

This brave hunter, who invites me to watch him shoot his “buff”–short for buffalo.  He has loved these glasses for months.  The little pen light at his belt is an important part of the hunting getup.

Depression:  that “debilitating gloom of the phsyche that renders one nonfunctional. 

I quote:  “I am not referring to vague feelings of discontent or to having a lousy mood.  I mean waking in the morning and barely being able to lift one’s head from a pillow, feeling the heavy hood of some medieval falconer blinding my soul’s eyes, his rope tethering my emotions.  I mean facing the day with dread because the minor functions seem to be impossible.  Making beds and doing dishes and combing one’s hair are vehicles for a confusing desperation.  The made bed looks lumpy and welted, corrugated with wrinkles.  The washed dish is spotted and sooted, the dishwater slime.  Combed hair is a web of cobstrands, dusty and lusterless.  The mirror reveals splotches and ugliness.”  -Karen Burton Mains-  ( I wish so badly that I could pass this paragraph off as my own because it says my thoughts exactly.  But I WILL not.)

Walking.  I am doing it with vengeance.  A half hour a day.  I’m doing it for my mental health and for the thickening of my waist that I have never had to deal with before unless I was growing a baby.  The other part of my workout plan is bundling up children to go play in the snow.  It beats aerobics, I am sure.

Learning to drive this new Suburban, which Natalia already affectionately calls the burby. 

Visitors—my big brother Jon, whom I really love. He told us about his time in Romania volunteering at a clinic for sick children. And Heather my niece-in-law came one afternoon.  We talked a mile a minute over the chocolate caramel brownie coffee from Wisconsin.  What a day-brightener.

Facades build competition.  Honesty and vulnerability build community.  I read a really good paragraph about this in The Purpose Driven Life, but I can’t for the life of me find it right now.

Sunday’s church service.  It’s a defining moment when I can sit on the ancient wooden benches of Bay Tree Mennonite Church and sing I Would Love Thee and be truly touched.  Thirty-some untrained voices singing.  Ordinary, flawed people.  And me feeling like the most flawed of all after the failures of the week.

I would love Thee, God & Father

My Redeemer and my King.

I would love Thee for without Thee

Life is but a bitter thing.

I would love Thee; every blessing

Flows to me from out Thy throne;

I would love Thee;he who loves Thee

Never feels himself alone.

I would love Thee; look upon me

Ever guide me with Thine eye:

I would love Thee; if not nourished

By Thy love, my soul would die.

I would love Thee; I have vowed it;

On Thy love my heart is set;

While I love Thee I will never

My Redeemer’s blood forget.

Snow cream.  Fill large bowl with clean snow.  Add enough creamy milk to make it the consistency of freshly churned homemade ice cream.  Add sugar and vanilla to taste.  It’s bland, but it makes children very happy.  And it makes me feel like I’m about 8 again.

Fasting.  I am the lousiest fast-er you ever saw, but I did it a bit this week.  No excuses of carrying or nursing babies anymore.  I prayed that God would show Himself strong on my behalf.  I think He did.  Not in huge ways, but in quiet ones.

And dreams.  I try to be happy with white and grey, but by January I am consumed with summer hunger.

(All credits for any really good photos go to my brother in law, Dennis.)

I often struggle with how I am made.  But this week a friend told me that her life is more even keel and she’d describe it in drab colors.  She went on to say that the brights in my life are very colorful and the darks are very dark.  Kind of “when it was good it was very, very good.  And when it was bad it was horrid.”

I could use a lot of muting and softening in my personality.  Sometimes I long for the more steadfast nature of my friend.  But when the darkness is gone, the colors are so bright that I soar.  And that is a wonderful moment. 

*This post was a disclaimer to my last sad one.  But I deleted it somehow and it no longer disclaims anything. *