My China Doll

 

I woke up a few minutes ago, after falling asleep in Sophia’s bed with her, her arms tightly wrapped around me, mine tightly wrapped around her.  She asked me to be with her and hold her until she fell asleep, so she would feel comforted. 

She and I have just spent two consecutive nights in the ER.  It’s been quite a while since we’ve made a visit to the ER. So long, in fact, I have begun to feel there is more of a breathing space between those dense, dark woods of her first several years and the bright, wide open pasture we have been enjoying.  Those years when it was the norm for us. 

She was born with a rare “textbook” condition – Congenital Lobar Emphysema.  She seemed fine initially, other than her prematurity – born at 32 weeks with Isabella, both girls weighing less than 4 lbs.- but by day 6, she couldn’t keep her oxygen levels up.  Extreme swelling of her right side necessitated an x-ray, which revealed the unusual condition.  Surgery was 4 hours later – and God was merciful.  She made it.

Having no experience at all with a child with one lung, and a floppy airway, Glenn and I took a crash course the first few years.  Her first major hospitalization was at 6 months old.  I remember trying to get her to nurse at the hospital  – which she was desperate to do, but could only do with short, forceful pulls, turning away after each attempt with frustration and deep gasps, flailing her arms and kicking her tiny legs.  Sweat dampening her entire body with the effort, while Isabella lay crying next to us on the vinyl hospital couch waiting for her turn.  Glenn at home taking care of the other kids – aged 3,4,6,8.  The kind nurses sent a young hospital volunteer to our room to ask if I needed help.  Of course I said, “No thank you, we’re fine!”

Looking back now – 10 years later, my ignorance is almost embarrassing to me.  How little we knew then.  How much we know now.  Yet still not quite enough.

She’s had innumerable x-rays, bronchoscopies, surgeries, breathing treatments, medications, and ouches. We’ve met intensely dedicated, compassionate, smart hospital people. 

Her last surgery was 4 years ago – when a cardiac surgeon stitched the pericardium of her heart to her sternum, that narrow bone at the top of your chest.  He had to do this to keep her lung from continuing to herniate over into the space where her right lung used to be.  Where the second saline implant sits now.  Doing this provides necessary structural support to her chest area, so the left lung won’t grow too large again and squeeze her still-too-soft airway against her spine.

It was especially during that time period we began to see some of the compassion and insight which God was using these experiences to give to her.  After one of our trips to Cincinnati Children’s Hospital for a scope, Isabella and Sophia were sitting together on the sofa in the family room.  Izzy was admiring the little stuffed animals and trinkets the hospital staff had given Soph while we were there that day.  She must have made a comment about them, because suddenly I heard Sophia telling her, “Izzy, it’s ok to want my things, but don’t ever want to be me.  Today people hurt me, and took me away from Mommy and Daddy, and it was scary.  So you can want my things, but just don’t want to be me.”       

She was just shy of seven years old.

 

But God is still merciful, and after so many years of hospitals and doctors, things are easier.  

Until something like now happens.  When I look at her and see her slender body working harder than usual to breathe. 

Because she has a cold. 

 

We’ve done all the usual things the past 10 days, watch for a fever, begin 4 hour breathing treatments, extra Vitamin C, Ibuprofin to prevent that dreadful pleurisy which she seems prone to get now, and monitor her oxygen levels.  But still it’s not enough, and we have to make decisions about what to do.

And then at the hospital, we have to make decisions about what to do.  Again.  Because the ER doctors don’t know her, I do.  And although they have a protocol for children with two lungs, they are unsure and a little intimidated about what to do with her.

I have never yet heard any doctor or nurse tell me they have seen a patient like her before.  Instead they say they have never seen anyone like her. 

So as she sits next to me, drawing quietly on a piece of paper, little pieces of clothing and accessories for our pencil people, and she tells the doctor we are “shopping for free”, decisions have to be made.  Hard decisions about IV’s, and ambulances, and what is the safest and best thing for her.

And suddenly, after 4 hours, things begin to change and we can all see that this time it is mucous plugs.  And they have finally moved themselves out of the way, letting her oxygen levels raise back up to normal, and slightly easing the retractions in her throat.  X-ray is clear.  Breathing treatment has been given.  Our options are changing.

I had already told her there was going to be an IV, which had brought uncontrollable, quiet tears from her.  Now, an hour later, plans had changed, and we could go home.   But the ER doctor had noticed her tears from before, and although I had evaluated that he was a pragmatic kind of man, he was moved by her.  He reached out towards her shoulder lightly as he left the room, saying, “It’s gonna be OK, China Doll.  You’re going home.”

 

I woke up a few minutes ago, after falling asleep in Sophia’s bed with her, her arms tightly wrapped around me, mine tightly wrapped around her.  I wanted to write this down because I want a memorial for her.  A memorial of God’s faithfulness to her, and His kindness to her.  Last night as we talked before she fell asleep, she said, “I wish I didn’t get sick.”  And I reminded her (and myself) that it was the trial God has given to her, and I sometimes wish I could take it from her.  But then she wouldn’t know so well His loving care for her, and how He is using every minute of every sick time to draw her closer to Himself, and grow her faithful and strong – in her soul.

I’m going back up to her now, my little China Doll.  I want to keep my eye on her tonight.  And my arms wrapped tightly around her.  Just counting my blessings.

 

Step by Step

 

I think from the time we started having children, we have had medical bills.  So it seems we have been paying medical bills, all the time, for a long time. 

There are always at least 3 or more medical bills we are paying at a time. We pay one off.  We accrue more.  It’s been a continual cycle.  Especially with a child who has had unique medical issues from birth, and has regular visits to specialists.  But she’s only one of seven. So the others have taken their turns at the doctor’s office and in the ER as well.  And even Glenn and I occasionally have something that pops up, necessitating a visit with the doctor.

But for the first time in almost 12 years, we are medically debt-free.  It’s huge!  We had a celebratory dinner the day I called and paid the last bill, just a few weeks ago.

Here you can see all the scribbles I made as we paid down one of the last bills we owed.  It was over $3500 initially!  But every two weeks, I made a payment.  Sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on how many other medical bills we were also paying.  I began to keep track of the balance, at some point, for visual encouragement. 

And when we paid it off, it was a tangible memorial for all of us, that step by step, little by little, God gives us the ability to accomplish big things, sometimes overwhelming things, in our lives.  And in the midst of it, we should not lose faith.

 

“Faith- the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not yet seen.”  Hebrews 11:1

Contentment

 

It may seem odd that I have picked such a theme for this post.  And the day before Christmas Eve, too!  But I have been reading a book written in 1645 by a very wise man.  The book, The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment, is one I’ve read before.  And it’s one I hope to read many more times throughout my life.

It is a small book, composed of sermons preached by Jeremiah Burroughs to his congregation in the mid-1600’s.  Yet its theme, contentment, is one that has immense benefit for anyone, no matter what time period.

I highly encourage you to read it, but until you do, I hope you won’t mind if I share an excerpt from it that the children and I have talked about more than once, especially as they have grown older. 

The knowledge of our own hearts. 

Burroughs exhorts us that if we do not learn this, we will never learn contentment. 

Why?  Listen to his words:

“By studying your heart you will come soon to discover wherein your discontent lies.  When you are discontented you will find out the root of any discontent if you study your heart well.  Many men and women are discontented, and the truth is they do not know why;  they think this and the other thing is the cause.  But a man or woman who knows their own heart will soon find out where the root of their discontent lies.”

He gives the example of a child who is fussing and whining.  A stranger in the house could not possibly know what is the matter with the child; why he is fussing.  But the nurse, or nowadays, the mother comes into the room, knows the temper and disposition of the child, and therefore knows how to calm them. 

“It is just the same here:  when we are strangers to our own hearts we are powerfully discontented, and do not know how to quiet ourselves, because we do not know wherein the disquiet lies, but if we are very well versed in our own hearts, when anything happens to unsettle us, we soon find out the cause of it, and so quickly become quiet.”

So “this knowledge of our hearts will help us to contentment, because by it we shall come to know what best suits our condition.”

And why is this helpful?…  The next part is so revealing..

“A man who does not know his own heart does not think what need he has of affliction, and for that reason is uneasy, but when God comes with afflictions to the man or woman who have studied their own hearts, they can say, ‘I would not have been without this affliction for anything in the world, God has so suited this affliction to my condition, and has come in such a way that if this affliction had not come I am afraid I should have fallen into sin.’”

We have affliction.  We all have had trials given to us by God, which aren’t comfortable, which stretch us, or which cause us to squirm.  Sometimes I have wished just to hurry time along, so that the trial would just be over and done with.  But then, I would not have learned more about my own heart. 

Some of my hardest trials have been miscarriage, financial burdens, strife with friends or family, and probably the most difficult… knowing that the life of one my children has a thread more fragile than most.  I have seen her at death’s door several times, helpless to do anything for her.  Except pray and trust.

I don’t know what your trials are, but I am sure you’ve had them.  Maybe even now.  But I hope you find Burroughs’ words as comforting and helpful as I do. 

What is the blessing of knowing your own heart?  Listen:

“By knowing their own hearts they know what they are able to manage, and by this means they come to be content.”

I can look at the trials God has given to me, and clearly see things I needed to know.  Ways I needed to change.  And I can see how those trials were the perfect way to bring about change, to work sanctification in me.  To help me think less of myself and more of others.  To help me see the ways I had been insensitive, and how I could be more considerate.  To help me understand better how to be a source of comfort when I see another in a trial I have known especially well.

And of course it isn’t finished yet. There are still times I am surprised by my heart.  And not especially in a gratifying way.  But I am learning to be a student of my heart.  I am learning what I can manage, and what I can’t.  I am learning to be content.  And it is a very good thing.

I pray you have a wonderful Christmas with your loved ones, and that you too are learning like I am, to be a student of your own heart.  To learn what it is to be content.

Girl Time

 

I recently shared the story of our trip to Virginia to help my sister paint her kitchen cabinets and shared the before and after pictures.  And then I told you about the fun that Glenn and the other kids had while I was away in Virginia.  But I haven’t yet told you about how the trip blessed me through the time I had with Alix and Kate.

One of the things I most looked forward to when I thought about the trip, was the long car ride with my girls.  Alix is 16, Kate is 14, and they are wonderful companions.  We had some very meaningful conversations.  And we had comfortable quiet.

                                               

Lately we’ve had a lot of talk around our house regarding courtship, marriage, relating to boys and girls, etc.  Since we have 4 teen children, thoughts naturally begin to head that way.  And they aren’t the only ones who think about it.  Glenn and I can’t help but think about whether our kids will marry, what kind of homes their potential spouses are being raised in, and what type of people they might be. 

So the girls and I decided to take our Biblical Courtship cd’s to listen to during the drive.  The sermons are so good!  They stimulated a lot of conversation during, as well as after we listened to them. 

But that wasn’t all we talked about!  We talked about many things, admired the beautiful scenery, enjoyed some snacks we took along.  (like peanut M&M’s and licorice)   For dinner, we stopped at a Roy Roger’s restaurant in Virginia.  Alix was thrilled.  Oh my goodness, Roy Rogers is one of her heroes!  She has watched many old episodes of his television show.  Although Kate wasn’t as excited as Alix, she was still very appreciative and raved about the biscuit she and Alix shared.  In fact, they liked the food so much they begged to stop there again on the way home the next week.  So we did.

While we were at Minda’s house in Virginia, they were a huge help.  They helped us prime and clean all the cabinet doors, and some unpainted baseboard trim, too.  They helped make many of the meals and some fun desserts.  They had a great time playing with their cousins, swimming and jumping on the trampoline, and watching a few movies.  On Saturday, they even did some household cleaning jobs for Minda while she and I were painting top coats on the cabinets.  That night at dinner, when we were sitting down to dinner, my 7 year old nephew asked the girls what they had done that day. When they told him the various things, including cleaning the bathrooms, he replied, “Did you want to?”   Ha!  They moved furniture with us, went shopping with us, and laughed with us.  There was a whole lot of laughing.

    Alix and Kate and Cousin Jordan:

   Here are some funny pictures Kate and Cousin Cameron took of themselves:

 

 

It was an opportunity that doesn’t often come along.  A chance to spend concentrated time with two of my girls.  For them to get to know their long-distance cousins better, as well as my sister, and vice versa.  A chance to serve others and yet have so much fun at the same time.  A chance to learn new things – and see new things, especially at the Museum of Natural History which we visited one day while we were there. 

It was a gift! 

One which the three of us will be able to look back on and feel thankful for, always.

Perspective

 

From a young age, Alix has enjoyed writing down the events of her days.  Like most people, she often wrote in spurts, and then got busy with life and forgot about the journals for periods of time.

A few months ago, she picked up one of the journals she had kept as a girl.  This particular journal covered an entire year, with gaps of time here and there throughout. 

She brought the journal to me that day  and suggested I read it, saying she thought I would enjoy it.

That night, after climbing into bed, I opened the journal and began to read.

The pages were filled with stories of her days.  Stories about games she played with the other kids, gifts she had given them and that they gave to her, and details of a typical day in her life.  On some of the pages, she drew pictures.  Pictures of beautiful ladies, mermaids brushing their hair, and a pony named Samwise, which she sometimes rode at that time.

 

 

And as I read her words, something surprising began to dawn on me.  She talked about the events and happenings in her days, including things about her interactions with her sisters and brothers, with Glenn and me.   Things we all did together, like school and trips and church and friends over for meals.  And most of those things I remembered, too. 

But she also wrote about books she read, conversations with Kate or Luke, games she played with the little girls or books she read to them, and playing with her cousins or friends.  Things I hadn’t done with her.

And I realized that although she was living life in the same house as me, at the same time as me, often she was doing one thing and I was doing something else. And even when we were doing things together, one thing we weren’t sharing was perspective.  

We were living life together, yet with different eyes. With a different perspective.

This may sound obvious and unexciting to you.  But to me, it was like an epiphany.

 

It made me realize that for the most part,  I have seen our family life so subjectively that often, I have not remembered that although the kids were children, they had their own, equally subjective, viewpoint.  Which means that although as their mom, I have been the Director of their days, ordering most of their time – like school and meals and naps and play – they have not been without their own individual and unique thoughts about those events.  Their own individual perspectives. Even when they were very young.

And I suppose the most significant impact of realizing this, was realizing that the way I asked them, or told them, to do things they needed to do, wasn’t being received by someone who felt the same way I did about those things.  That my tone, my facial expressions, my emotions about things were being received by them, and they had their own inner response to all of it, even if they gave no outward indication.

Does that make sense?

They weren’t just my children – who needed to be taught so many things, who needed to be disciplined when they disobeyed, to whom I read books, hugged throughout a day, became impatient with, laughed with or talked with, fed meals to…they were people.  Growing, learning, changing, wanting to please, needing love and encouragement, as well as discipline and correction, and thinking.  About all sorts of things.  Things they shared with me and things they thought to themselves.

And I thought about the times I didn’t remember their frames.  When I didn’t remember that they are little people.  Times I was harsh or demanding or I didn’t consider how my words and actions affected them in ways they weren’t able to express back to me. 

And I felt incredibly thankful for Alix’s journal.  Thankful for the Lord reminding me, through her eyes, that in addition to all the things they really do need to learn in school and in relationships and at church and in society, that they need to be listened to.  And that even when they are very young, they need me to remember they also have a perspective.  That my words – encouraging and discouraging are being heard by little people who love me and want to please me.   And that remembering their perspective, whether they can voice it nor not, would help me be a better mother, and as they grow older – a better friend to them.

Suddenly the passage from Colossians 3:21 became a lot more clear to me

“Fathers (and mothers), do not provoke your children lest they become discouraged.”

 

Maybe you have already realized this and are wondering what took me so long.  

Old Frames, New Prints

 

I bought these framed prints years and years ago.  I loved the softness of the flowers and the detail on the gold frames.

 

 

But lately, I’ve wanted a change in that spot.  I couldn’t quite put my finger on what I wanted, except I knew I still really liked the frames, but was tired of the flowers.

One day, it hit me that I could keep the frames and put something else inside of them.  Because the prints came with paper glued over the back of the frames, I had always kind of mentally seen a stop sign.  I couldn’t change the print because there was paper glued over the back, right?  But it struck me that there was really no reason I couldn’t tear away the paper.  There would surely be no Print Police frowning at me or telling me I was doing it wrong; that I wasn’t supposed to replace a print that had paper glued over the back of it.

So I took out a meat knife and cut away the paper backing all around the frame edge on the backside of the print.

 

It was easy.  And fast.

And I didn’t get a single ticket. 

 

Last year, around Christmas time, one of Glenn’s sisters gave me some old piano sheet music that had been their mother’s.  I put most of it in the piano bench, and it has sat there ever since, other than a couple that I recognized and have played now and again.

 

 

I took one of them, gently pulled it apart down the center crease, placed each piece of paper under the cardboard I had popped out of the frame, and traced around it lightly with a pencil.

 

Each piece of the sheet music fit perfectly inside the frames.

 

 

I love it!  Without spending any money at all, I changed something that was so simple, yet made the impact I wanted.

 

 

Have you found yourself wishing you could do a little something, without spending money, to make changes here or there in your home?  I bet if you look around your house, and try to thing outside of the box, you might be surprised at the difference those little changes could make.

 

       

Mom’s Folly?

 

For some time now, I’ve pictured a long, low, rock wall across the front yard.  Just like the ones we saw all over England and Wales. 

Like this one.

Last Fall, I talked with Glenn’s brother, Clint, about us going over to his farm this Spring and starting what I assumed would be a very long task – as in months of effort - gathering the rocks.  Clint is a farmer. Each Spring, before the corn gets too tall, he picks rocks out of his fields so that when his combine machines harvest the crops in the Fall, the machines don’t get clogged or broken. 

A couple of weeks ago, Clint said they were picking rocks in the fields and loading them in a dump truck for me.  His teen kids and their friends were doing the picking.  He was planning to bring the rocks to me!  Needless to say, I was completely surprised – and immensely grateful.  We live almost an hour from him, so his offer was incredibly generous.  I really wanted to show my appreciation by helping out as much as possible.  So the kids and I have walked Clint’s fields a couple of times, with old screwdrivers, picking rocks out of the field and tossing them into the loader of a tractor as we walk along.  One of Clint’s farmhands drives the tractor slowly while each of us scans about 4 rows of corn per person.  Olivia was in charge of 2 rows.   

It’s a hot, tiring job.  One trip up the field is a mile, and after 4 lengths or so, most of our little ones were ready to be done.  But I was so proud of them!  They didn’t complain, even though they were dusty, hot, and tired.  (of course I told them ahead of time they weren’t allowed to ask when we would be done)  Afterwards we stopped for special drinks on the way home.

When the farmhand came and dumped the first load of rocks last Thursday, everyone was very excited.  We took pictures of the dump truck,

the rocks being dumped,

the kids climbing up the pile. 

the kids holding up rocks, 

and then hiding behind them after we started moving them.

 

Woo hoo!  We were all pretty excited.

At first.

 

But somewhere along the line, maybe after 2 hours, maybe it was after 4.  The thrill waned.

 

And we started looking a little more closely at the distance we had yet to travel;

moving, piling, and stacking rocks.

 

 

We worked like crazy and spread the entire load in about 4 hours, weeding out some trash and pieces of metal that were mixed in with the rocks.

 

And then……

later that evening…..

came another load of rocks.

 

We didn’t take any pictures of that load.

 

We all went outside after dinner, as a family, and began moving the rocks.  Some of the kids were singing, some made a chain and passed rocks down one by one while Luke kneeled and stacked them.  We finished that load of rocks the next day. 

And doubt set in my mind. 

If you know me, you know that this sometimes happens to me.  I get a great idea, I enlist helpers for a job which is dirty, messy, and completely overwhelming.  And then about halfway through, or a little before, I think…

uh oh.

Is this going to look ok? 

Is this going to be worth all the effort? 

I lose sleep and agonize over what I’ve started, wondering how I can undo it and put it all back the way it was.  But at that point, there is no turning back.

The worst thing about it this time was the amount of effort I had already required of the kids.  I don’t like to waste time.  Especially with something so time-consuming as this rock wall.  The kids weren’t out for hours working on this rock wall because they thought it was a great idea.  No, they were doing it because they love me and I wanted a rock wall.  Well, and because I told them they were going to help.  But mostly, because they love me.

At my SIL’s suggestion, we took a drive last night to a home nearby that has a low rock wall. We’ve seen it many times before now, but I wanted to see it firsthand again, hoping it would be helpful for all of us to see a finished rock wall with our own eyes.

And it was.

 

Last night, the fourth load of rocks was dumped.  It is a huge pile!

But now that we’ve seen that other wall, we are all encouraged.  We can see that we really are going to love the finished product of all our effort.  Just seeing that other rock wall has given me, especially, a boost. 

We may be working on this rock wall all summer.  But now I don’t feel doubtful about whether or not we will feel the effort is worth it in the end.  Plus it’s this kind of opportunity for hard, menial labor that help us appreciate the hard work of others. 

And we’re making memories together.  And that matters.

In a way, the rock wall is comparable to other hurdles or problems I’ve faced in my life.  Sometimes, in the middle of a problem or trial, doubt or fear creeps in.  And it would be nice if I could hop in the car and just drive a little ways down the road to get a glimpse of what the outcome might look like.  But that’s where faith comes in. 

“The substance of things hoped for; the evidence of things not yet seen.”

In the meantime, while I wait to see how God moves the piles of rocks in my own and my children’s lives, continuously, into a long, strong wall,

 

I know the best thing to do is look at the piles He gives me with faith and acceptance. 

Watch Him weed out doubt, weed out sin. 

And Lord willing, He will strengthen me not to grow weary in well-doing.

Like a Weaned Child is My Soul Within Me

 

On this beautiful Lord’s Day, I’m here at home with my girl, Sophia.  Glenn and the kids have left for church, but Sophia hasn’t been feeling well. 

She’s been coughing and crackling for about a week now.  Nothing serious enough to warrant a trip to the doctor.  But in the last couple of years, when she has a respiratory virus, involving extended periods of coughing, she has tended to wind up with pleurisy.  Pleurisy is inflammation of the pleural lining around the lungs.  Inflammation can occur due to excessive and extreme coughing, usually associated with a virus, of course.  I’m not sure, but maybe she is susceptible to it more now than when she was little because she coughs harder.  The first time it happened, I didn’t realize what was going on.  I think it was Colleen who suggested pleurisy.  The doctor agreed after an examination, and since then, we treat her preventatively a few days into a virus.  The cure is simple – Ibuprofin. 

Last night I turned in bed and woke up.  Within a few seconds, I heard Sophi breathing loudly and sighing over the monitor. Then she said, “I need you, Mommy. Can you come here, please.”  I hurried upstairs, but I figured it was going to be chest pain, since she’d had a little off and on the last few days.  Sure enough, it was.  It wasn’t too terrible at this point, and after a dose of Ibuprofin and a breathing treatment, I read to her and she fell asleep.

Having a child with special medical needs can be a little overwhelming at times.  Especially when she was a baby, and we had so much to learn about her.  We spent much of her first few years in the hospital.  She’s had many surgeries and illnesses and although she’s so much stronger now at 10 than she ever has been, she is still considered medically fragile.  Her pulmonologist and other doctors say they don’t know of other children like Sophia.  She’s unique!  So it’s hard for them to predict what her needs or issues may be in the future. 

But we’re not afraid of her future.  We trust that the merciful God Who created her in such a special way, and has taken miraculous care of her all her life, will continue to do so.

Recently we learned that a friend of a friend has a terminal form of cancer.  The girls are making cards to send to her.  I read Sophia’s last night.  It caused such a swell of gratitude in me!  Gratitude for how God has been teaching her empathy and compassion for others that comes from her own experiences of pain and illness, and knowing the Lord’s compassion herself.

She wrote sweet encouraging words of comfort and hope. 

 

Psalm 131:2

“Surely I have calmed and quieted my soul. 

Like a weaned child with its mother.

Like a weaned child is my soul within me.”

 

 

I pray your Lord’s Day today is full of refreshment and gratitude.

Life and Living

 

We’ve had a busy few weeks here!

Several of us came down with a respiratory virus which has been a real hanger-on-er.  But we’re getting there! 

 

We’ve had more snow,

 

more time outside,

        (Alix and our neighbor riding right up to the front door!)

   

 

more time with family and friends,

  

 

and more school. Of course.

 

Although the kids are often hoping for a good reason to do only part of school, or maybe none (!) at least once a week, I am a stickler and we keep on keeping on.  I usually remind them that Spring and warm weather will be here, sooner or later, and then they will be glad they kept up with school because they will have more time to be outside.

School has been the main focus of my days for so many years now!  14 years so far! 

Although certain aspects of our school day have changed here and there, some things have stayed the same.  Like reading the Proverbs.  When the older kids were little, I read a chapter from Proverbs to them each day at the beginning of our school time.  But over time, it has moved to all of them reading it as well.  As each new reader has gained the ability to make out the majority of words, they have been added to the rotation.  We go in order of age, to keep it easy, and read one chapter every day.  Then the kids will say which verse stuck out to them that day.  This is sometimes harder than it sounds!

When we finish all 31 chapters, we start over! 

It’s amazing to me how this has impacted us.  The Proverbs contain so much wisdom and instruction, and much of it is repeated over and over throughout the chapters.   I don’t think there’s a day that goes by where someone doesn’t repeat something they’ve learned from reading Proverbs.  They either say it for themselves, or as a reminder to one another. 

 

Last week, while Kate was reading, Izzy scooted close to her for a better view of the words.

 

 

 

I loved how sweet they looked together, but I was suddenly struck with the importance of what we were doing.  The wisdom of Proverbs is wisdom for life, and for living.  Lord willing, they will reap blessings from these years of reading the Proverbs, in ways not visible to them now; and God will use it all for Himself.

 

 

“I have no greater joy than this, to hear of my children walking in the truth.”  3 John 1

 

 

Have a wonderful day!

The Winter of Our Contentment

 

It has been an unusually cold and snowy winter here in the Midwest.  The snow is beautiful, sparkly and white – who couldn’t appreciate looking out the window and seeing it?

 

 

Boxwood bushes covered with dollops of white floof,

 

 

snow forts and frozen snow perfect for scooting and sledding and sliding,

 

 

ice-covered branches with sunshine glinting through them, reminding us of a winter wonderland,

 

 

cozy nights and afternoons reading or doing school in front a warm fire, lots of hot chocolate.

 

 

But there has been a somewhat seedy side to all of this beauty.  Frozen pipes, high energy bills, frantic runs to the store for milk or toilet paper, furnace issues, and a mouse. 

Yes, a mouse.  Seems our kitties have become too attached to their warm kitty house to go out and hunt as diligently as usual. 

He’s under there.  Somewhere.  We will find him.

 

Despite these inconveniences, it really has been easy still to be thankful that we have food and a shelter from the weather.  Even if our shelter is only 44 degrees because our furnace stopped working last week.  It is still a shelter!  We still have power, and food, and running water, and warm clothes, and a sense of humor. 

 

 

Think of our pioneer forefathers – 44 would have seemed amazingly comfortable to them.  They surely wouldn’t have complained, would they?  And it is fun and hilarious to watch mom kneading this week’s bread while wearing Dad’s winter hat. 

 

 

Olivia discovered that the waterproof inserts in kids’ boots make perfectly warm winter slippers when you take them out of the boots. 

Pancakes are great for breakfast, especially when you’re wearing your outside winter wear inside.

 

 

The bedrooms and school room have space heaters which keep them quite cozy.

 

 

In just a few days, Valentine’s Day will be here.  We’re planning on heart-shaped pizzas for dinner, peppermint ice cream, and the kids are already working on the Valentine cards they are going to give to each other.   And of course there are the delicious heart-shaped cookies we love to make, and eat.

 

 

You can sing no matter how cold it is.  Beautiful hymns like Fairest Lord Jesus and Be Thou My Vision, which warm us right up. 

 

And school can still be accomplished – it’s never too cold for that!

 

 

Memories.  That’s what we’re making. 

 

 

And if anyone complains about how hot it is when the warm summer days of July and August roll around, we may all take a stroll down memory lane together.

Just for fun.

 

Hope you are warm and cozy!

The Difference a Year Makes

 

So much has changed around here over the last year! 

But one thing I didn’t expect to be so different is the way some of the plants have taken off.

 

Here is a picture of the east side of Kenilworth, taken the day we obtained possession on March 12 last year.

 

 

Granted it looks a little barren without leaves on the trees, but then here is what it looked like by May.

 

 

You can see we had replaced the picture window in the dining room by then with the two newer windows.  But the sedum were small and uneven looking, and there was a huge, wild spirea and a couple of other random bushes.  And although you can’t see them from this picture, there were tons of wild strawberry vines going crazy with weeds near the house.

 

Toward the end of last summer, Luke and I pulled out the scraggly spirea and the weed-infested strawberry vines, and transplanted the other two bushes.  We lay down a new layer of soil, mixed with aged horse compost that we acquired from the generosity of some good friends.  (who had plenty of compost to spare us)

 

Now, I can hardly believe how full the sedum are!  And the three limelight hydrangeas we planted behind them this Spring have thrived, too.

 

I thought you might like to see how they’re all coming along.

 

 

 

 

Such a difference, don’t you think? 

 

 

 

The neat thing about this “before and after” is that essentially all we did was prepare the soil.  We ripped out weeds and wild plants, and gave the dirt something good to eat.  We planted new plants in the newly incorporated soil, and hoped for the best.

And then aside from watering occasionally, we watched God grow those little plants.

I know it sounds so cliché, but I can’t help but compare it to what God is doing with us and our children.  We try to keep out the ugly, the ungodly, the prideful and the weedy.  We look for aged compost, for wisdom and maturity.  His Word is abundant with it, and plenty to spare.  We do our best to get it well incorporated – we read, pray.

We put forth effort, sometimes more, sometimes less, to prepare the soil, and then we wait and watch and suddenly we realize that God has been at work in us, in our children. 

He is stretching out roots that are becoming strong and long. 

He is flowering us, and filling us out.

He is growing us into maturity and strengthening our faith in Him.

We can look back to “before”… and see an “after”. 

And, grateful, we keep on reading and praying, digging and planting, and we keep hoping for the best. 

In ourselves. In our kids.

 

And we’ve been given a wonderful promise that we won’t be disappointed.

 

“The substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not yet seen”  Hebrews 11:1