A refreshing break

I'm feeling good tonight. You really can't understand how good a normal day feels to me without knowing how miserable I've been recently. My general feelings of despondency the last few months were heightened immediately by pregnancy (in fact, my emotions were the first clue - I became pregnant in early May). This hasn’t had much to do with circumstances as much as my own, um, “inner turmoil.” The best of circumstances look bleak when you don’t care to give thanks for them. I prayed daily for strength to put one foot in front of another.


There is one circumstance, however, the heat, which has had a tremendous affect on me. I have experienced the worse morning-afternoon-evening sickness I’ve ever had. I have felt overwhelmed by everything. Just... everything. I have awakened every morning (except this last Sabbath, which was a deliciously cool, fall-like 66°) in absolute dread of the day, especially the heat. My stomach turns with nausea, cramps with the heat, my back has been hurting and I can’t help but think how much worse it will get as pregnancy progresses.......

It’s been bad.

I’ve been tempted to write, but have had nothing uplifting to say, only complaints and despairing emotions. Not a fun place to be. I've had bright spots; phone conversations with dear sisters, refreshing visits with friends, but as soon as they leave or I hang up the phone, the glow fades.

My faith has not been shaken, but strengthened. A friend shared with me yesterday something that encouraged her - the difference between faith and optimism. Just think on that for a bit. A light went on in my head. Yes! My optimism has taken a leave of absence, my ability to brush off the present with "this too shall pass," but my faith remains. Things might not get better, but I will always trust Yahweh, I will always hope in his Kingdom. I hope you can wrap your mind around the difference, even if my words don't do it justice.

Today, as usual, I awoke with dread. Another long, hot day ahead. I was sweating and feeling ill within ten minutes of rising. I went through the motions - barn chores, breakfast, then a short rest in the bedroom, with the fan on high. Crying softly as I looked out the window at the overgrown garden, the beautiful flowers and butterflies that I don't have the heart to enjoy (the garden is my sore point, I guess. A visible, obvious sign of my weakness, my inability to "get it together"). Crying softly over this pregnancy and feeling guilty, wishing I could focus on the blessed child ahead and not on the pain. Crying to my elohim, "I will not let you go. Please... do this work in me. I love you and trust you."

How do I explain this? This has not been a hopeless sort of, "Life sucks, kill me now" sort of despair. I wish I could say I have suffered strongly, quietly, without taking it out on those around me, but I can't. It feels like I'm riding out a storm. In the ocean. The ship has wrecked and all I have is the end of a rope (the hem of his garment). Waves crash on me, all I can do is hold on. I can scream and kick, weep and moan, but it doesn't change anything. The waves calm sometimes and the sun beats down and I'm too tired to move, not that there's anything I can do to change my situation. I just hold onto the rope. Don't let go of the rope. The rope is my lifeline, the substance of things hoped for. I didn't know faith could be so tangible, until now.

Back to today. No particular thing happened, but my burden began to lighten (sorry, changing allegories here). I ran some errands in town and realized, on the way in, that the heat didn't seem as hot (though it was). I saw past my discomfort and took genuine pleasure in my surroundings, the handsome countryside. Slowly. Gradually. There were a few little things that happened in town that helped, but... I dunno. I've had plenty of little things, it's just that today I was more receptive, for reasons I suppose only my Father knows. I like to think on these things... they make me smile. I have been entirely too focused on the bad things.

...The fact that I can send my 10yr old daughter into the feed store to buy a couple bales of hay. They know us and love us there. I can't say we are good friends, because those are so few and far between, but they are good acquaintances. Casual. Reliable. And the fact that my daughter is willing and eager to do this - I was terrified to go into a gas station to pay for gas when I was 18 (when I finally got up the guts to get my license). I hid in my mom's proverbial skirts when I was Farra's age.

... An older man in Walmart surprised us, made us laugh out loud in sheer delight. This was absolute silliness (right up our alley), but as we approached him from behind (he was in one of those motorized carts) to pass him - he hadn't even turned to look at us, mind you - he spoke to each one of the children as though he knew them and was thrilled to see them. He quickly assigned them each a name as we passed. "George! Fred! Clancy! Elwood! Burt! Louise!" That was it. It happened in just a moment and we turned the corner of the aisle in stitches, having rewarded him with smiles all around. (Commit REGULAR acts of kindness. Commit random acts of silliness.)

...When I stopped in our small, totally personable hardware store for some 1/2 gallon jars, it was again impressed on me... I love these small town stores, these reliable, comfortable people and relationships. Awhile back I had them order lye for me so I could try my hand at making soap. One older employee thought that was really neat and requested a bar to try out. He wasn't in when I delivered it, so today was the first time I'd seen him since. "Are you the lady that brought me the soap." Yes. "I really liked it."

... Our new librarian is a very interesting dear of a man. He is eager to get books for us and even suggests things we might find interesting. We've been discussing the lives of Laura Ingalls Wilder and her daughter. When I stopped by today I parked out front and let the older girls run in to drop off books and request some they knew he could get from another library. They came back smiling from their short visit with Bill and had a handful of papers for me with a sticky note on it, "For Kaleesha Williams." It was an article Bill had told me of, about Laura and her daughter, Rose. It was pretty interesting, but I was just very uplifted that he had thought to print it for me. It's a pleasant feeling to know people are thinking about you. And not thinking bad things.

We had quick junk food for lunch and I put a roast in the crockpot for dinner, then took a nap. It was hot, but the heat still wasn't bothering me very much. We do have an AC in the bedroom upstairs, but it doesn't do a very good job when it gets this hot. However, it does take the edge off for naptime, so we keep it going from morning until after naps, and I just stretch out on one of the kids bunk beds. Royal and Little went to sleep without much ado (Little usually throws everything out of her crib, including her bottom sheet, and runs around and sings and does belly flops and all sorts of antics to make Royal laugh. Cute, but hard to sleep through).

Bobby and the older kids worked on cleaning up the yard while I rested. After naps, a snack, moving kinda slow because of the heat but feeling noticeably better than usual, then I grabbed my apron and sunhat, a jug of ice water, and we headed out to the garden. With dinner in the crockpot it freed me up considerably. I'm going to try to this more often because it's only cool enough to work in the garden in the morning, when my back hurts too much, and the evening, when I'm usually busy with dinner and barn chores, clean up and bedtime.

I'm pleased to announce that we have reclaimed our tomato patch. Bobby mowed all the paths down, I cut suckers and pulled weeds while Farra tied plants to stakes. Atira and Seth laid down a nice, thick mulch of straw to keep the weeds down. (The littlest Willies splashed in the kiddie pool.) The plants were seriously set back by their neglect, but I feel pretty good about them now. The plants are heavy with green fruit and I found myself daydreaming about fresh tomatoes, especially on pizza! I had forgotten that all the garden work pays off in delicious food. (Well... I admit to thinking of the potatoes and corn and how I wouldn't get to eat much of them because of the gestational diabetes.) We harvested our red cabbage - again, a little too late and the heads were starting to open and get tough, but enough for our meager cabbage needs. And the goats loved the extra leaves.

I actually ENJOYED working in the garden this evening. When dinner was set on the table and everyone seated but me (of course), Seth, unbidden, jumped up to pull my chair out for me to sit down. I don't know if he's ever even seen this done! My heart swelled at this sweet gesture. Even Bobby was touched. As Bobby blessed the meal, tears of overwhelming gratitude began to fall from my eyes and I had to excuse myself for a few minutes. I wept and wept in my bedroom, though much different from the sad tears of this morning. A floodgate of thanksgiving to my Father for his many blessings, for lifting my burdens this day. And repentance for my ingratitude. A deep part of this was an understanding that tomorrow I may be lost in the stormy sea again, but that that's okay, as long as I cling to that faith. It's alright, if he's in control. If this is what I need, it's what I need, and I will rest and learn and grow in Him.

Now, it's eleven o'clock and I should be sleeping. Farra's evening report on our hugely pregnant heifer is that she is leaking milk. Her bag has just gotten bigger and bigger and every night we expect a calf (Farra sleeps out in her hammock, near her, determined not to miss a thing), and we have had no other signs - and no calf! So, I should get some sleep, just in case I have to get up in the wee hours.....

Goodnight, people!

A Peek At MO's Raw Milk Battle

I don't get out much and certainly don't watch TV news and unless I'm looking for something I don't even read internet news, so I'm a little slow in learning about the battle regarding raw milk, right here in my own state.  It came to my attention first when I read a recent article in the Countryside & Small Stock Journal.  The author reported the specifics of a few cases, one of which involved a family here in Missouri, the Berchards.  When I lived in the Springfield area, I had the chance to visit the Berchard farm with a friend and was blessed by this sweet family who had a passion for good, home-grown food.  This same family is now under attack for selling raw milk, which is perfectly legal in our state.  I just found the following blog post and thought I'd share the link, for those interested in the story or the battle:   Berchard Family Under Attack

Laura Ingalls Wilder on being a farm wife

I love our new librarian, Bill.  He has been eager to get to know us and help us enjoy the library.   It's a small library and so we make good use of the inter-library loan system.   He's always asking what he can get for us next and recommending books and authors he thinks we might enjoy.  One day when we were in there browsing he approached me with a book called  "Farm Journalist," a collection of Laura Ingalls Wilder's writings from the Missouri Ruralist.  "Thought you might be interested in this."

I'd never read anything of hers outside the Little House books and was kind of skeptical because I know she was considered somewhat a feminist, as well as being the head of Missouri's Eastern Star oganization (Freemasonry for women, if you will).  But so far I've been quite tickled with the book.  The writing isn't fantastic (I understand her daughter did the majority of the actual writing for the Little House books), but it's not bad.  And feminism a hundred years ago is nothing like what it is today.  Mostly I identify with her as a Missourian (transplants, both of us) and as a busy farm wife.

The following one something that hit the spot, as I'd been contemplating this very thing during the few days before I read it....

From Laura Ingalls Wilder, Farm Journalist, page 25-26


One thing is most important if we (farm wives) expect to keep rested and fit to do our best and that is not to worry over the work nor to try to do it before the time comes. The feeling of worry and strain caused by trying to carry the whole week's work at once is very tiring. It doesn't pay to be like the woman of years ago, in old Vermont, who opened the stairway door at 5 o'clock on Monday morning and called to the hired girl: "Liza! Liza! Hurry up and come down! Today is wash day and the washing not started; tomorrow is ironing day and the ironing not begun; and the next day is Wednesday and here's the week half gone and nothing done yet."

Better for a little while each day to be like the tramp who was not at all afraid of work, yet could lie down right beside it and go to sleep. Slipping away to some quiet place to lie down and relax for 15 minutes, if no longer, each day rests both mind and body surprisingly. This rest does more good if taken at a regular time and the work goes along so much better when we are rested and bright that there is no time lost.

Change is rest! How often have we proved this by going away from our work for a day or even part of a day, thinking of other things and forgetting the daily round for a little while. On coming back the work is taken up with new interest and seems much easier.

If it is not possible to go away, why not let the mind wander a little when the hands can do the task without our strict attention? I have always found that I did not get so tired, and my day seemed shorter when I listened to the birds singing or noticed, from the window, the beauties of the trees or clouds. This is a part of the farm equipment that cannot be improved upon, though it might be increased with advantage. Perhaps some day we will all have kitchens like the club kitchen lately installed in New York, where everything from peeling the potatoes to cooking the dinner and washing the dishes is done by electricity, but the birds' songs will never be any sweeter nor the beauties of field and forest, of cloud and stream, be any more full of delight, and these are already ours.

Interesting

Last week when I was studying the life of Yahshua, I thought about these things...

The good news (gospel) of the kingdom cannot solely be about Yahshua's death and resurrection, as is often taught today, because he was preaching it, as were John the Baptist and the disciples, before his death. So what is the good news?

Likewise, we find forgiveness of sins before his death, even through the old testament.

Summer

It's not officially summer yet, but the summer heat is settling in, here in southeast Missouri.

Things I dislike about summer:

Heat and humidity so high that your clothes constantly stick to you and it makes you too lethargic to do anything not related to cool water. And weeding the garden. And bugs. Especially seed ticks and mosquitoes. And people appearing in public with as much skin showing as possible.


Things I like about summer:

Plants a' growin', making a rich, luscious landscape, pleasant to the eyes, especially contrasting a bright blue sky with fluffy clouds, or a dark stormy one (oh, I love those storms!). Plants, feeding my family and feeding my critters which feeds my family, keeping us pleasantly (and sometimes not-so-pleasantly, admittedly) busy.

Birds singing, even at 5 o'clock in the morning. Especially after seven or eight in the evening when I'm winding down from my day's work and I can sit on the deck and listen to my wood thrushes (I'm sure my Father made them just for me, I love them so) and take in the cool(er) evening air.

Daylight. In the winter time it seems unreal to think of daylight lasting from about 5am to 9pm and I fear that when I have it I take it for granted, missing the sun terribly when it's dreary and grey out.

Not having to bundle up to go outside. Or in the house. The winter coats, hats, mittens, gloves, scarves and boots that clutter up our entry way all get put away and are replaced by "creek clothes" and towels hanging on the deck rail.

Mowing. I like to mow. Don't get to do much of it now, because we tie the cow out and she does a mighty fine job (if you don't mind cow pats in the yard, which I don't).

Water... ahh... my favorite. I so love water. I love to stand in the garden and gulp down cool water. I love to trip over to the spigot and let the cold well water splash over my hands, arms, face, or use the hose if I'm in the garden, watering anyway. You just can't beat our sweet well water! I love to sit in the creek and cool off with the children. The older three have been privileged this year with being able to swim in the pool at the bottom of the falls by themselves. It's not even up to the youngest head among them, but it's deep enough to swim and splash and play "Milo and Otis" (their version of the "Marco Polo" of my childhood). They spend an hour or two down there nearly every afternoon and almost all day on Sabbaths in nice weather. I can hear them playing, though I can't see them unless I walk down there, and they can hear me when I whistle for them and promptly reply with a loud, "COMMIIING!" Sometimes I sit on the rocks and watch them play and I just ooze contentment. I am so incredibly thankful for this creek, this property, and we never enjoy it like we do when the weather warms up.

I love having the windows open every day, fresh air circulating the house with ceiling fans and sometimes a box fan and/or the attic fan. No AC for us.

Kid goats born in the spring are still jumping and playing with each other as they follow their mommas around. Any day now we'll have a calf to add to the mix. All this also means gallons of fresh milk a day for gulping down ice cold, cheese making, and ice cream.

Work. Good, physical work for the kids and I that make us sleep so well at night and keep us healthy. Paying work for Bobby that is often scarce in winter when things slow down (drat Christmas).

Good times and noodle salad.  (Name that movie!)

....  I guess summer's not too bad...

Etc., etc....

Scattershooting on a May evening...

Wrote this early last week and intended to write more, but I didn't.  Thought I'd share anyway.
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Scattershooting on a May evening...


The thought occurred to me t' other day that I am among what I suppose to be a significant minority of people in the world... Have YOU ever seen your reflection in a bucket of honey?

I am feeling absolutely, incredibly rich this week. It started with the honey thing. I'd come home from my friend Sharla's health food sort of store with my co-op order and was putting away my grains and things. While I was at it, I thought I'd drag out my 5 gal. bucket of local raw honey and refill my small honey jars. I know this is a common thing for some of you large families, but we'd only bought this, our first bucket of honey, about two months ago. I'd dipped into it a couple times and yet this is the first time I noticed my reflection. I immediately was impressed (good heavens, not by my reflection!). How many people in the world can say they've done that? And better yet, how many people have paused to reflect upon their reflection?

You see, it's not all about what you have. It's what you think about what you have, isn't it?  Do you stop to enjoy the wonderful world around you? Your home, your conveniences, your friends, your family, your grass, your trees, flowers, pets, food, health, books, sights, smells... the list is endless! Do you realize that every little bit of it is a gift from your heavenly Father?

I have often felt very far from Yahweh, often felt that the Bible wasn't enough. Good, great even, but not quite enough. I've recognized his gifts in different ways over the years but lately I feel like I just woke up to the fact that he really, truly delights in me and is expressing it through his creation, through the particulars of my life and my situation. Above all, I consider that because he's placed me where I am (both physically and spiritually)  I have ample opportunity to notice his gifts.

Surely, I hope you know I don't say all this to boast. It is my hope that you, too, will give some thought to his special touch in your life. For me it's the smell of honeysuckle flowers when I walk to the barn with the sun shining on the morning dew, the dogs at my side, the goats eagerly calling, the cow mooing quietly, the chickens clucking contentedly, the ridiculous guineas squawking at nothing.... What a life! I melt inside.  The creek, the rippling water falls, the trees around me, the birds singing in the evening, the cool well water.  My Father knows how I delight in these things. I feel so unworthy of the life I live, the children and spouse he's given me. How many people can say that they are living the very life they would chose to live? I can! I love it!

I'm interested in so many things. If I had 14 lives I'd not exhaust my interests... to travel, to live by the ocean (or on it!) and study it... to study! So many things to learn and explore and try my hand at! And yet I would chose this very existence out of the lot. As a stay-at-home wife and mother in rural USA, there's so little not open to me. My husband, if he doesn't exactly encourage my interests, doesn't mind my many hobbies and routines. He takes a sort of pleasure in them himself, I dare say. And the children! Oh my, with a family at home there are so many people to share life with that it hardly matters what we do, we always learn and enjoy things.

Backyard Book Burning

Had another little book burning today. Have you ever done this? Since I first committed myself to Yahweh I have burned many books, among other things. This may sound radical to some of you.

I remember the first time.  I stood in my yard, burning my vampire related role-playing-game books in my back yard BBQ grill. They were worth a good deal of money and I had several acquaintances that would have taken them off my hands, but I felt they had to burn. Conviction about the RPGs was the second most prominent in my life when I surrendered my life and said, "Not my will, but yours," (the first was fornication). I believed then, and feel even more strongly about it today, that the escapist aspect of such RPGs as well as the occult nature of the ones I played in particular, are detrimental. Especially to teens. I've been there, I've had friends there, I know. Although not about to go out and set fire to every copy of every RPG book I could find, my conscience wouldn't allow me to let these copies into the hands of anyone else to do any more damage, so they burned. Poorly, I might add. Took quite a bit of page-tearing and stirring.

If we receive children’s books, as we often do by the box, from acquaintances or what have you, I usually pre-read them for my children (voracious readers, those who are able). Farra is getting old enough for me to let her read some things without my pre-reading. Usually I’m somewhat familiar with the story (classics - like Swiss Family Robinson, which she just finished), or if we’ve read and enjoyed other things by the same author. We talk about what she reads and so far it’s been a good situation and stimulated great conversations.

We burned most of the last box we got. I remembered most of them from my childhood. I read TONS of books as a child, with no screening whatsoever. Some simply poorly written twaddle, some about brats disrespecting parents, boy-girl crushes, that sort of thing. I keep a close eye out for “follow your heart, be good to yourself” kind of “inspirational” junk, too.

Before you go thinking we’re entirely rigid, I’ll let you know that we all love the Chronicles of Narnia. I understand the camp is clearly divided regarding these books, but I personally think Lewis does a fine job of introducing morals, faith and responsibilities in a good light, even if he uses fantasy. I don’t mind the works of Tolkien, either. I don’t care for any of the movies, however, with all their made-up love interest garbage. Besides, they just don’t fully capture those qualities listed above that I find in the pages of the books. That said, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend them. There are much better books out there without having to wade through satyrs, witches, goblins and gollums. I just happened to have a fondness of them from my own youth and maybe I’m justifying that when I shouldn’t. At any rate...

I don’t approve of Harry Potter and that’s a whole other story! I’ll spare you my opinion on that point unless asked .(Surprised?  I give it so freely on other issues!  Time doens't allow me today, you see.)

My younger sister spent more time than I did reading classics during her teen and pre-teen years. When I was in the fifth grade I devoured my first Stephen King book (I think my brother was about that age when he began reading them), “Pet Cemetery,” and from there I was hooked. Within a couple years I had read all of the King books at the library and moved onto other horror/suspense authors. I cringe to admit that I read my share of romance novels, as well, them being so plentiful and easy to get my hands on. Yeah, I read Shakespeare and some other classic stuff, which really impressed the adults in my life, but mostly I ate up the juicy trash, spending so many sleepless nights (and days, as I was no longer in public school and had little else to do) receiving an education in drugs, murder, torture, aliens, theft, sex, the occult, what the world calls “love,” and goodness knows what else. I burned some of those books later, too.

I don’t read much fiction anymore. It’s a wonder I find time to read at all! On my nightstand and in the bathroom are stacks of books, mostly “how-to” books, homesteading stuff, and from time to time a “Christian living” book (most of them make me nauseous, but there are a few gems). I think I read more children’s books than anything! Over the years I’ve picked up a few titles I recognized as being considered classics, or a new book by a familiar, loved author, and Id take a chance. Usually I read it when I have a new baby and have to stay in bed anyway.

Last week I made what, for me, was a terrible mistake. I started one of these “classics.” I couldn’t put it down. I had this gnawing sense that I should. I pushed that feeling aside. Though I did learn some interesting history from an angle I’d never considered, the history was NOT the main thrust of the story and I just HAD to find out what happened to the characters and can’t you kids go play by yourselves for a little while and make yourselves some sandwiches for lunch and I guess the garden can wait and Bobby, why do you laugh at me like that when you see me with my nose in this book again? Uggggghhhh! I feel so dreadful! Spare me having to tell you the name of the book, but it was a long one and has a sequel just as long and I finished the first today and burned them both a couple hours ago without reading a page of the second, repenting, in tears, to Yahweh and my family, for spending so many hours this past week with fictional characters in a trashy novel instead of them.

My point is this: Just because it’s a classic, doesn’t mean it’s worth your time. Be careful what you read and why. This goes for “Christian living” literature, too, for that matter.