The one-piece life…
We’re moving. Moved. Moving.
In between?
Between places. But aren’t we always? As nAnCy said, even when we’re buying, we’re really renting.
I can’t describe to you the feelings swirling around my heart right now, but I’ll try.
Free. Released. Unburdened. Unfettered.Unconstrained. Unenslaved.
Released.
We jumped out on faith two months ago, into the wide deep, dark and unclear.
We trusted.
The Lord, He is good. He is trustworthy. He keeps his promises.
I have a certain grandma, whom I love dearest above all. She was my companion and friend through my younger years- I adored going to her yellow sunflower kitchen, eating the lunch made of her hands. I think heaven drops a little closer to that sun filled space. She has been worrying. She knows she shouldn’t, because we serve a great and wonderful God. But she’s my grandma, and she worries just a teeny bit, as a grandma is wont to do.
This bit scratched out is for her. And for me. And for anyone else who worries, just a wee bit. Who has felt the burden of unforeseen circumstances, bad choices, outright rebellion.
The Lord redeems.
He makes new.
I know I haven’t been long in this space, quick updates, promising to tell the stories that fill my days. But now, the dust settles, and I will tell of His glory.
When we were first married, we were young, young, young. Headstrong. Yes, rebellious.
We made the stupidest financial decisions any young couple could make.
We ran up the credit cards.
We spent more than we earned.
In short, we had no idea how to manage our money.
And then, to add insult to injury, we bought a house.
Of course, at the time, we had no clue just how deep in we were.
James had a job that paid enough to cover our mistakes. We were busy. We were young. There are a million different excuses I could give to try to place blame away from ourselves. I could blame it on the shape shifting economy. That wouldn’t be right. We had a responsibility to know, or find the knowledge, to listen to the wise ones, and we tried to feign ignorance, even though we could feel the crunching bands of debt screw hard around our lives. We knew it didn’t make sense. We knew it wasn’t what God advised his people. That should have stopped us cold and it didn’t.
Five little pairs of feet have crossed our threshold since then.
Five very precious pairs of feet. Feet that need guidance, direction, love. And yes, food and clothing and a roof over their heads.
The debt mounted.
The house grew smaller and smaller.
James’ hours at work dwindled as the economy tanked. Soon, the job disappeared all together in a round of layoffs.
That debt, which was a sort of manageable but much disliked fifth cousin of the family that we tolerated and put up with and tried to ignore, morphed into a monstrous crushing hand that kept us up into the wee hours of the night.
Even then, the Lord sustained.
Through the last year and a half, people from all walks of life supported us. A college community group, tight as their budgets were, paid our mortgage for three months running, keeping a roof over our heads. James’ parents. My parents. They didn’t have to help us. There were a million reasons why they could have said, “not right now.” But they didn’t and we walked the darkest year and a half in the company of some amazing people.
But after a year and a half of joblessness, of financial ruin, of seeking God’s face, of asking His will, and looking for a clear sign, we had none.
(We tend to like to ignore the obvious.)
During one of the coldest and most ruinous storms of this winter season, a few days before Christmas, we took a deep heaving gulp of faith-air and jumped.
We sold our way-too-expensive-massively-too-small-brand-newish minivan and bought a used fifteen passenger van Christmas Eve, greatly reducing our car debt. We still have a little way to go, but it is in the getting-paid-off-in-a-year-and-a-half realm instead of six, seven years down the road when that brand new van would be so much junk. I don’t think we’ll ever buy a brand new car again. As a matter of a fact, I intend to drive the wheels off of this van, all the way through teenage-hood for my children and beyond.
Four days after Christmas, we put our house on the market. In the worst economy since the Great Depression. We felt a little bit crazy. We weren’t in foreclosure or anything, but we could barely make the payments on the house included with all our credit card debt, and suddenly, we felt this heavy pressure that we needed to move now, and we did. (I was terrified. Scared. But there were as a part of us too, that felt that things were going to be okay.) Incidentally, my husband and I had been thinking about doing this separately for almost four months. It was a late Advent season date in which one of us finally had the guts to mention it, and then were presently surprised to see that the other spouse had been thinking long and hard about it too! Don’t ever make a financial move as a couple unless both of you are a one hundred percent in agreement. (Boy, have we learned that lesson.)
There was no job in sight.
You know the rest of the story.
God is good, and His love endures forever.
I have walked through the sorrow of losing a child. Of losing my health for an extended period of time. I have walked through the consequences of bad decisions. Oh, my friends, the way seemed so very dark. There seemed no light, no hope.
I am standing in the blazing warmth of the Son’s light this morning.
Free to walk in the one-piece life. To pursue Him. To give freely, because hasn’t He given so much the more? No longer will Satan hold us tied in the inactivity and inability of debt.
Whole cloth, one-piece, room to breathe.
For with our house selling, we have moved into a place of freedom from debt, and it is good.
The Lord is good, and His love endures forever.
Daybook: Moving Day
Outside my window…
A light dusting of snow. I am trying to act as if this is a good thing, but I am done with snow this year. It has made a mucky, muddy mess of our area (an area that rarely gets snow) and the county has been ill-equipped to deal with its’ effects. Blech. Where is spring?
I am thinking…
Of a sweet friend going through a move herself. Praying for her and her sweet kiddos- it’s been a tough season for them.
I am thankful for…
Banker’s boxes. New beginnings. Bigger rooms and places to run, a real, actual kitchen with a window over the sink. Space to breathe. For my wonderful, amazing husband, jack of all trades, mover of all things heavy. We got wonderful news about his job Friday, so to say we are over the moon right now even in the midst of moving chaos is just about right.
From the learning rooms…
We are in a bare bones, catch as catch can school schedule. Math happens just about every morning, and we are reading lots and lots. Real life learning going on right now. You know, spatial awareness- will that mattress fit through that door and how heavy is it- and let’s take bets on how long it is until mommy and daddy drop it- that sort of thing. heeeee
From the kitchen…
You know, I’m excited. We sort of got into this buy frozen family meals type routine the last two or three weeks in all the craziness of James moving to second shift. It always helps, but I am ready to cook again. And in a nice kitchen to boot! We’re only renting, but it feels a bit like Christmas right now.
I am wearing…
Jeans and t-shirt. Only notable because the last few weeks I have been living in sweats. Not exactly on purpose, but when my days started early and ended late, I often would look down at three in the afternoon and realize I never got “dressed”. Going to try to change that trend after the move is over.
I am creating…
Mess upon mess upon mess. I can’t believe how messy the kitchen was- and I am very diligent in making sure it is cleaned top to bottom at least once a week. Blech, blech, blech, yuck. Thoroughly grossed out.
I am going…
To not miss all the *loud* traffic that files past our house each night. We are moving to a lovely barn house in the middle of the country with fantastic, amazing, over the top (yes, I will take pictures and share) views of the mountain ridge. Where it is blissfully *quiet*.
I am reading…
Sort of reading three books at once, and I can’t remember any of their names right now. Ha! But it is nice to be able to read again, and be able to remember and absorb what I have read. Sleep deprivation is not stealing brain cells any more. *grins*
I am hoping…
That this move goes well, that the kids find the transition somewhat smooth, and that the family moving into this house will be blessed.
I am hearing…
Josiah babble and talk, and blow rassberries. He’s suddenly discovered he can make noise, and it is so funny to watch him feel out the sounds in his mouth. We live to make him laugh right now- what’s sunnier than a baby giggle? He definitely brightens our days.
Around the house…
You know, I’ve purged and purged and purged the last two years, and I am still amazed and the simple amount of stuff- equipment- that it takes to manage and run a large family. I don’t know how extra large (10+) families travel, let alone move. I am overwhelmed at the amount of things needed just on the first day to keep the kids going in the midst of the move!
One of my favorite things…
Nursing. I have passed quite a milestone today- 7 months. Well, so has he for growing, but I digress. This is the longest I have gone breastfeeding, with no signs of stopping so far. I wonder why it took me till number five to finally “get” it…the times we have together are sweet and quiet in the midst of noise and messes. A peaceful place.
Here is picture for thought I am sharing…
You can find more daybooks here:http://thesimplewomansdaybook.blogspot.com/
Finding Home…
We are moving.
In a week.
To say that my brain is struggling to wrap around this idea is a bit of an understatement.
My childhood in the military would lead one to think that a transition such as this would be easy for me. I know the fine art of packed boxes and labels- what goes where and how; I know how much is too much and when to let it all go, out to the curb, to bless another family. I know all this. I even know how to do it alone, as my mother has done with countless moves–a reality with the month of March being the busiest month of the entire year for the business, and everyone required to work weekends. Moving, in and of itself, is not especially difficult.
Finding home…that’s the difficult part. It’s what makes it hard to watch a wee little dress pass through your hands, remembering the sweet little legs and arms that fit through it, countless times, now grown so small it fits her favorite baby doll. It’s breaking the crib down, realizing that you might never pass this way again. It is looking at four walls, one roof, doors and windows, and seeing so much more. Whispered confidences, daring prayers. Songs and songs and words upon words, every night, tucking one child after another in to downy warmth and sweetest dreams.
It is where you were brought low, built up, released and renewed.
And while you know that it is time, the walls grown close, the square footage crowded with the needs of five growing pairs of feet, you find yourself staring off, wondering if you will ever find home again.
For a home is not made of timber and mud, but of heart and sinew and love, and the physical things remind us of that. A random dress would mean nothing to another, but to me is priceless for the daring princess girl who filled its folds. And the difficult part of moving is always- wondering, hoping, remembering. With the physical exertion of lifted box, we lift memory too.
It is time, I know. But this sweet tiny house will always be my House of Dreams- it was where my life as mama and wife began, where I began to learn the gentle art of becoming woman, little girl no longer.
I’ll even miss the way the washer likes to eat infant socks and nursing camisoles, I swear. The strange trill that the refrigerator has always made. The funky whoosh of sound that shuddered through the house when the HVAC turned on. The mountain view. But mostly I’ll miss knowing that no more toddlers will learn to walk down the hallway perfect for leaning on as unsteady feet gambol about, for the laughter and joyful chaos often ringing in the rafters of the ceiling, for the many late nights of prayer and learning, nursing wee ones while I rest in the arms of the Father.
This is my little signpost, my Ebenezer. I am taking the moment to grieve and yet find joy in the excitement and change. We will find home again, I know it- for home is made of heart, and hand, and love, and faith- and these we have in abundance, no matter our physical location.
Love you, little white house with blue shutters. Thank you for the time we have spent within your walls.
Love Story: Redemption…
I was tracing the faux granite strands in the countertop as he was speaking. My finger rubbed across the gash in the laminate where knife had slipped, spilling onion entrails everywhere and permanently scaring the hard-worked surface.
I remember the day well. My eyes wet with false tears from overpowering onion scent, I misjudged the slice and sent the knife flying. It caught in the countertop, thankfully, or it would have gone careening into a toddler girl and boy sitting upon the stools, watching mama prepare dinner. I caught it barely in time. As I attempted to clean up the mess, I brushed eye with hand thoughtlessly. I was blinded. My tears were in earnest now- I could not see for overactive tear ducts, upset at the slipped knife, worried by the divot in the countertop. I was overcome by the fact that one of my children brushed close with danger at my own hand. It had been a long day of overactive tempers, upset toys, and worried conversations. I lost it, slipping to floor between counters, sobbing, shoving the knife on to the oven to get it out of reach of littles’ hands.
He found me there, crumpled and broken, like so many days before and so many since. He grabbed clean kitchen towel and gently dabbed at my eyes, blowing at the ducts to remove the offending allergen. My eyes began to clear, my sobs turned into airy, shuddering sighs.
“Why can’t I get anything right, beloved? It seems I am always at odds, always dropping, always broken or breaking something or someone else.”
He wordlessly wrapped me in arms, much like he had done this fear-filled morning, and reminded me of truths I always seemed to forget. And he ended with the question he always asked, and I always sidestepped and danced away from: “Why, Angel, are you so very hard on yourself? Do you not remember that you are mine? You are His?”
His statement this morning was the same variation of the battle cry. You need to remember redemption.
I struggle in the grasp of the obvious watch care and love of both my husband and my Lord. I want to turn away, want to slump shoulders, turn tail. I do not want to go into battle this day, face my fears. It would be easier to stay in the drowning deep, head barely above water, than emerge into the glorious air of redemption, gasping at grace. Because in between the deep and the air is the wrenching wave of pain, detritus of life slamming about.
Why indeed?
It was hard to stare at it, bald-faced like that. My husband stood in quiet, loving patience. Waiting for me to process, waiting for me to speak.
Why indeed?
Why give in to the yellow-faced Fear? Why give in to the mangling tentacles of bitterness?
Had not my Lord and Father proved more than faithful, more than worthy of my trust?
I eyed Fear, standing off beyond my husband’s left shoulder, elbow leaning casually on clock as if to say, you don’t have time for this. My gaze returned to my husband, feeling for his hands as I began to speak.
Battle lines were going to be drawn this day. No going back. No retreat.
“He is good. Our Lord is good, beloved. How can I deny it? How we have seen His hand moving in our lives together over these months! The strain of new paths to mark out is difficult. I will not deny that. But you are right. I need to remember His gifts.
“First, the house and place to live. How unsettled I was when we decided to put the house on the market, four days after Christmas, with no job, no leads in sight. It felt as if I was tearing my heart right out when we did that. I trusted, trusted, big gulps of grace filled air, leap of faith, that you were right, that we were right, that it was a wise decision. I tried not to worry. What would happen? How would we provide? How could we know? And you reminded me that we couldn’t know for sure, but that we would trust.
“The realtor came. She mentioned the eye-popping number that she would offer it for sale, meaning that our equity in the house had more than tripled in the intervening time. My brain could hardly wrap around this, considering the economy, the collapsed housing market, the lost jobs. How could I not consider these things, having lived the roller coaster ride this year and a half past? I remember thinking it would truly be God-given if someone actually bought the house for that price- I could not fathom the entire affair. We had a showing within hours.
“A few days after that, the phone rang. It was a normal every day sort of day. The laundry was flipping in dryer, the kids were squealing and talking in playroom, you searched out job leads on the computer as I sat nursing Josiah. We had been talking, worrisome conversation that was growing stale as we puzzled out just what we were to do with the reality we were faced with. It was the job you had interviewed for the past November. We had all but given up hope on the company, for we had heard nothing, not a peep, in the intervening time of three months. It was a job you had dreamed of doing, the reason you had gone to school; but we had despaired that you had not qualified. You quickly stepped out of the playroom into the frigid garage, so as to hear better. When you came back in the room, your face had a surprised and hopeful look. An interview, by phone, was set for later that week. We found all this strange. When the interview happened, I confess, I was upstairs, pacing floor, praying soundlessly, not daring to hope. You finally came upstairs, almost lunchtime. You were truly perplexed at this point, as was I. We had no idea what would happen- the interview process had been so different from anything we had been used to.
” It was late. The kids were already in bed, some drifted off to sleep; the phone rang and you disappeared into the depths of the basement again, after debating whether or not to answer the unfamilar phone number at such an odd hour. I could tell as soon as the basement door cracked open and you mounted the stairs. The lift of your step was all different; you fairly flew up the stairs as if they weren’t even there. The joy in your face was palpable as you told me the wondrous news. It was more than we dared hoped for, more than we had dreamed. You started the new job soon, and it was just far enough away from our current house that we would have needed to move. We just sat and stared at each other for a while, unable to speak. Then the joy overcame and it was all we could do not to shout, restraining ourselves lest we woke the children.
“How could we have known that the timing of putting our house on the market would have been crucial to the new job? We simply couldn’t have. Only God could have known.
” The next weeks were a blur as we had house showings about every other day. I began to get discouraged because it took so much for me to get out of the house quickly with five children; your new job schedrule was a transition and you were hardly home.
“On one of the craziest days of the whole thing, I got a call from the realty company. Could we be out of the house for a showing at 3:45? It was 2:30. The house was trashed, dirty clothes and toys strewn everywhere, dishes littering the sink, cherrios crunching underfoot. I gulped, said yes, and scrambled. We barely escaped the driveway as the prospective buyer turned in. That night, I fell into exhausted slumber, trying not to cry because I was so overwhelmed and was desperately missing you.
“How shocked I was, how amazed we both were the next morning when our realtor called to tell us that we had an offer for the full price! It seemed grace upon grace.”
I corrected myself.
“It is grace upon grace.”
As I had been speaking, I had seen Fear fade slowly, sometimes holding ear as if in pain. Soon white as a sheet, then barely there. Soon, Fear disappeared from sight entirely.
My husband smiled wide, grin wrapping near around head, and I gratefully slid into his arms for a long embrace, full of grace filled remembrance.
” I remember Beloved, I remember. Thank you. Have I mentioned how much I love you?”
His green-gold eyes said everything.
Hallelujah, for the battle is the Lord’s and no other. I will trust in Him.
—
To read Part 1: And so it begins.
To read Part 2: Morning has broken.
Love story: Morning has broken…
The steam was rising off my coffee in spiral swirls; I had been staring at the airy designs for many minutes, unseeing.
The voice rushed around me with a pop of air.
” Do you really think He’ll come through for you?”
In a whiny insinuating tone, Fear began to recite a laundry list of the many times God had supposedly failed me. It began to take on a droning, bored quality in true Bueller style—and the spell was broken for me.
I laughed a beleaguered chuckle. Addressing the early morning air around me, I spoke aloud.
“You know, the thing I don’t get about you- you seem so much smaller and ever more so annoying in the light of day. And, you always seem to forget yourself.”
” But dear,” the contentious voice responded, “it seems to me that it is you who have forgotten. You’ve forgotten how much you’ve screwed up, face first in the mud. Why on earth would anyone want to touch you, let alone Him?”
I could almost imagine him taking a long drag on his cigar, swirling the mint julep, looking at me like a cheshire cat, thinking that he had just won.
His mistake was calling me dear.
” I write to you, dear children, because your sins have been forgiven on account of His name.” (I John 2:12) The verse from 1 John came to mind, and that was it, the battle was over. I had managed to memorize the book a couple of months ago, and verse after verse cascaded through my thoughts. Can you almost see the surprise in Fear’s face? He must have spit his drink out over his coat, I am sure.
Head cocked to the side, I stared into my now-cold coffee.
“Well, I think we’ve had an…er…interesting chat. But as you have no right to be here, I suggest you get a move on, alright? ”
My husband found me like that, head to side, staring down into the inky depths of my coffee as if it held all the answers. His voice and movement made me jump.
“G mornin’ Angel- how’s it goin’?” His sleepy voice drew down deeper into his slow southern drawl. I smiled inwardly- his voice, his drawl are like elixr to me- I still get butterflies when I hear him. It’s half the reason I fell in love with him in the first place. I must have startled and stared at him a bit too long, because his voice edged with concern- “Angel?”
Trying to recover the moment, I answered over-brightly “Great! Didja sleep well?” Cringing, I took note of the banshee screams in the background of two boys carousing, the angry shrill words of my Lorelei fighting with her brother, and a baby making his needs known.
“Angel, beloved- you sound- uh, not yourself. What’s going on?”
I sighed, a near sob. “Do ya have a minute? I’ve got a long list.” A sad, sardonic smile.
He reached across, taking the coffee cup out of my hands and placing it on the kitchen counter, wrapping me up in his arms.
” I know, my Angel. I know. It’s really tough.”
I couldn’t muster a whole lot to say, other than, “I’m scared. No, I’m terrified. I’m incoherent, unable to think.”
His eyes, green, brown, gold, swirled and flipped and focused as he looked at me. I could see the change in him, the square of shoulder.
He knows my history. He has sat quietly, listened, loved me through the dark days. He was and is my safe place to land, and he knew what my admission meant. I was overcome in battle.
“Well, the only way out is to remember, right? Let’s start the list. Let’s tell His story. Let’s remember what He said.”
—-
To read Part 1: And so it begins.
To read Part 3: Redemption.
To be aware…
Perhaps, for many of us, all experience merely defines, so to speak, the shape of that gap where our love of God ought to be. It is not enough. It is something. If we cannot “practice the presence of God,” it is something to practice the absence of God, to become increasingly aware of our unawareness…
C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves: Charity
My house sold yesterday- a praise if there ever was! Soon, I will tell you the story: the hows and whys and wherefores. My husband is working second shift- a deplorable shift for a father of five- and yet a wonderful shift in the same sense. I am learning whole new ways of dancing with my Father these days…if I do not appear for a while, you have your answer as to why. This quote jumped at me, run roughshod through my thoughts today. My prayer, through all of this- is to be aware.
A conversation with Mr. Groundhog…
Now, Mr. Groundhog, we must have a talk.
I know you got the letter from my children, begging that you would see your shadow so that we might have more winter yet. They have a snowman, you see, that they want to see live “till the middle of July!” He is a fine snow man, handsome in stature- we have not seen his kind in these hills for many, many, years.
All this aside, you cute fuzzy animal that lives under the hill-
I won’t complain if you happen not to see your shadow and spring comes soon in all the finery of an Appalachian morning.
I really, truly won’t think less of you.
(And I promise not to tell the children we talked.)
Deal?
A time for…
I have been ever so slowly slipping back into ‘me’. My adult brain. The one that drinks coffee and reads good books, who converses in complete (and hopefully) somewhat intelligent sentences. I’ve come to accept the space between a child’s birth and this milestone as a re mapping of the places of my soul. It fades away in the early morning light of fresh new baby skin and sleep walking hours, and just as slowly slips back in, fresh, new, and yet comfortable and familiar: the part of me that has to create, has to think, has to breathe. I’ve been hanging out with these wonderful people over on twitter, and was inspired to take a small (virtual) artist’s date up to New York City and attend L.L. Barkat’s reading of her poems from Inside Out. She was accompanied by the delightful and lovely Brooke Campbell at the International Arts Movement 38/39 Space. Not too soon after the live webcast wrapped up, I felt that drive and desire I had not felt for some time. It was akin to tearing down a wall and admiring the widened vista. I remember how earlier in the day I had lamented that it had been such a very long time since I had been able to post an Art Friday, and yet here I am now, at close of day, my heart singing. My many thanks to LL for the inspiration tonight!
