Be Mine, part 4

 

There was a weekend of quietness, of deep thinking. Those fears she had… if he really thought about how old she was, nearly 24, heavens! he would rethink his request to court her.

It was an irrational fear. She should have known him well enough to know he didn’t make impulsive decisions, but of all the things they had talked about after hours at school, they had never discussed marriage. That would have been too weird. When he assured her that marriage really was in his dreams too, and that she fit into them like she was created for the part, she was almost giddy with relief. She no longer thought of him as too young, but of herself as too old. He didn’t care a fig.

All right then! How about a date at Red Lobster? Sure. Tomorrow night.

She ordered the coconut shrimp, he got fish. Cheddar bay biscuits became for them the food of delight. They talked and listened and lingered so long that the waitress seemed unsure what to do with them. When the coconut shrimp were barely touched an hour into the meal, she asked if everything was all right. Oh yes, they said. Just more water, please. Eventually they left with most of the meal in a take-out box. She shrugged. Communication was more important than food, apparently.

It was important not to let the romance overshadow the work at school. They tried hard to stay as neutral as possible while the students were around, but as soon as the last one was out the door, the tea got brewed and the day got hashed over with the frankness of best friends rapidly turning into lovers. The upper grade teacher was engaged to his girlfriend, and all around there were a lot of heads in the clouds those days.

Her siblings rolled their eyes and trotted out those strong-minded phrases she used to say. The girl just laughed because she knew better now. They said she was sunk. She agreed and swallowed her words cheerfully. A friend suggested that it was just proximity, after all, that causes so many to fall in love. Well, thank God for proximity, she said, because she believed with all her heart that this particular case was arranged by Providence.

It was an exhilarating time. Soul mates, that is what they felt they were discovering about each other. They were definitely traveling the same direction! Made for each other! Love covered them in a blanket of bliss. It wasn’t that they were just infatuated, forging ahead. It was the joy of feeling the smile of God on them, His fingerprints on their story. They already had a strong groundwork laid. She knew what he believed and how he responded to life. He knew the things that she carried in her heart, how she wanted to live. They had similar backgrounds. There simply were no huge hurdles.

Six weeks of this brought them to a sunny evening in June, sitting on the porch of the family camping cabin, the sun slowly sinking toward the horizon. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?” he asked. “Because I have something on my mind yet… Will you marry me?”

“Yes! Yes, I will!” she said once she recovered from her surprise. There may be some details that would bore the general public, but that is the path that they walked from being two to becoming one.

The wedding day was just a few months more than a year after she had shown him those stacks of text books in the school closet. He was 20, she was 24. They came back from their honeymoon pretty much broke, moved into a little grey house, and had a bunch of babies. It hasn’t always been “happy ever after” but you didn’t expect that, did you?  Of course, they discovered some discrepancies, such as his preference for mayo instead of Miracle Whip, her aversion to onions that he ate in great raw slabs on butter bread, the temperature in the car, and a few things of more consequence. The promise was to love ever after. It has been a journey they have never regretted and they certainly hope to be granted the privilege to grow old together.

Want to see their engagement photo?

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Be Mine, Part 3

Just friends. About six weeks before the school term ended, the girl was straightening her classroom, watering the plants by the window, mentally preparing herself to grade an enormous stack of worksheets when he appeared at the door.

“This is for you,” he said, as he handed her an envelope.

She sort of sagged against the wall, “Is this what I think it is?”

He seemed in a bit of a hurry, grinned, wished her a good evening, and left.

“Duh, duh, duh… Is it what I think it is? What kind of dumb thing is that to say? What if it’s a thank-you note?” She beat her forehead with her palm. Then she laid the envelope on her desk, did every bit of that grading, passed out the papers, prepped the next day’s lessons, and cleared everything away. Slowly she picked up the letter, studied the flourish under her name.

It wasn’t a thank-you note. In fact, it was a rather eloquent request for a deeper relationship focused on seeing if they were suited to get married. He did not try to assure her that he knew this was God’s will; he did not say that he had fasted and prayed for years; he did not even say that she was the only one for him in the world, etc. She appreciated the simplicity of his request. Apparently she made him happy. He liked her! He thought they were heading in the same direction in life. So let’s seek God together, how about it?

There had been a lot of pressure to discern God’s will concerning marriage before ever going out with someone, like you shouldn’t just get to know each other, but really know that you are supposed to be together for life before you ever take a step. The girl had been terribly afraid of making an error in judgement that would hurt another person. She had been afraid that she would never be certain enough about a guy to dare to be “in a relationship”. She had prayed many prayers that God would give her clarity concerning who she should marry, like when she was twenty-eight or thirty, preferably. Writing in the sky, maybe? She just never expected it to hit her like it did, all unaware.

She sat at her desk until it grew dark outside, thinking, thinking. So God knew just how scared she was of making a mistake. He let her fall for someone that she never even thought of in a romantic way until after they were good friends. He got past her prejudices about someone younger by letting it be someone so much younger that she hadn’t even considered him possible husband material. It was really kind of funny.

She went home and talked to her parents, who already knew about her letter, because the young man had done the respectful thing and asked her dad for permission to court his daughter. They had only blessings for her, no reservations, provided that she was clear that this was a person she was genuinely attracted to and could have confidence in. “A spark,” her parents said. “More than just feeling like it’s a good thing, there has to be a spark.”

It was customary to fast and pray and agonize over this sort of decision, but it seemed silly. She knew. There was a spark, all right. Deep in her heart she already knew what she wanted to say. There was just one thing that seemed big to her. How could it not be big to him? The age discrepancy.

She wrote a letter back, because writing was how she processed all the big things in her life. “What about your dreams of adventure, of travel, of higher education? I don’t want to go into a relationship that will cramp what you want to do with your life. I don’t want you to ever resent marrying young…” and more in that vein. She told him that she was honored, that she really did like him, but she put the ball squarely back in his court.

 

Be Mine, part 2

The first thing the girl had to admit was that her co-teacher had gotten past her defenses before she could figure out an appropriate course of action. It was a little hard for her to believe, because those things she used to say to her siblings… one of them was that she would not marry someone younger than her. Four years! It was even worse than she had anticipated it could be.

Oh, the irony. Because she had to admit that she liked him, as in really enjoyed spending time with him, hearing what he had to say and giving her opinions in turn. He was an exceptionally good listener. It was quite dangerous, because she found herself confiding ideas and thoughts that were actually sort of private.

She squirmed to think that he might catch on just how much she liked him, and feel pity for the desperate older girl. There was only one thing to do: retreat and rebuild her walls. She quit the casual conversations for a while, staying at her own desk, doing her checking. It was boring, but it worked. After about six weeks of this, they had fallen into the habit of easy camaraderie again. She wrote in her journal, “I doubt he is actually interested in me, because I am too old for him, but if I do marry, I want someone like Gabe.” It was as much as she would admit.

About this time, the upper grade teacher took the younger one out and gently suggested that he be careful not to make the girl teacher like him too much. He didn’t think it was fair to be such buddies and enjoy her company without any plan to pursue her further. That was when the younger teacher said, “What if I told you the feeling is mutual?” So right there in the coffee shop the beans were spilled between the two guys, but the girl had no idea what was going on.

At Bible school that spring she told a circle of her friends that she didn’t think her future husband was even on the horizon yet, because really, her co-teacher had treated her so respectfully that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking in the line of love. She couldn’t imagine that the age difference didn’t make her practically a spinster in his mind. He had a lot of dreams, things he wanted to do and places he wanted to go.

Just friends. That was the mantra she kept repeating to herself.

Be Mine

It’s the season of celebrating love, like it or not, in cheesy ways or thoughtful poems. You can take your pick. Recently I saw a tutorial for making the perfect bacon rose for your man. Excuse me while I laugh a little, because who ever thought of bacon and roses together? I just love the diversity of humanity.

Last night I watched a young man stagger out of Walmart with a gi-normous teddy bear. The older man with him asked in disbelief, “How much did you pay for that thing?” to which he replied a little glumly, “Forty bucks!” I sure hope his girl likes it.

I had a flashback to a younger me who declared to my brothers that if I ever have a boyfriend who gives me a teddy bear, I will not marry him. This was in the era of the journal that nearly killed me. 🙂 Fortunately Gabe gave me mugs and chocolates and handwritten letters and such like. I was sunk. Once he even brought me a used copy of an out-of-print book that I had wanted badly and he happened to see it in a library sale. That was worth about 10 Valentine’s teddies to me. Anyhow, here’s to individuality and thoughtful love. Me being me, I don’t mind getting roses at some time when nobody else has them 😛 but there are ladies who feel very neglected if they don’t get their dozen in February. A wise man knows these things about his woman. (Poor guys.)

I thought you all might enjoy a love story, one that nearly didn’t happen. Yes?

There was once a girl who decided that she wouldn’t get married for a very, very long time. She would put up high defenses and pour out her heart in teaching elementary students. Maybe by the time she was about thirty a total stranger would catch her eye. Or maybe her husband had died in infancy. Most of her immediate circle of friends had either gotten married or headed off to various posts of voluntary service by the time she was 23. Even her best friend brother had taken off to the mountains of North Carolina with her best girl friend. There was nothing to distract her, really.

The year that she had the first through third grade classroom, the school board had a sudden crisis of needing a teacher for the next grades. One of the board members had a nineteen year old son who really wanted to teach, and this was his chance. The girl teacher felt sorry for him, stepping in with so little time to prepare, so she helped him figure out the schedule and showed him around the school cubbies and store closets.

He showed a real aptitude for the job, a natural teacher, even though she thought he was really young. The students respected him, and because the school was small, their classrooms shared recess time. He did well with organizing playground time and she gladly let him go ahead with that. There was the matter of him getting a bigger paycheck, just because he was a guy. That irritated her a little, but otherwise, school went along just swimmingly.

There was an upper grade classroom, and that teacher had a girlfriend. Sometimes they all played Mille Bornes after school, leaving the checking for later. It was really a lot of fun. She had not expected to have such jolly times with her co-teachers, seeing as there were no other ladies on staff, but it turned out to be okay. There were many conversations about the students, about how to reach the needy ones and how to keep learning exciting, and does learning always have to be exciting, or should one just keep plowing through.

By midterms the girl realized that she had a very high respect for that co-teacher, that she valued his opinions much more than she ever would have expected. She was astounded. This was her kid brother’s friend. He was four years younger than she, and how in the world had he breached those high defenses that she had put up???

To be continued…

Good to Know…

All was quiet. Outside was still pitch black, but I had a soft pool of light from the lamp beside the couch. I am always very, very quiet when I get up because my early risers hop out of bed at the first sound of stirring. Then the quiet hour that I sacrificed my sleep for is gone and we are launched into the day. The early risers are the hungry ones. They seem to have this connection from their stomachs to their brains the instant their feet hit the floor. For myself, a fried egg before 9 o’clock has always been kind of gross. I just know God enjoyed the joke when he gave me these children who rise and shine so effortlessly.

This morning the kitchen floor squeaked and maybe I banged the tea kettle a little when I started water a-boiling for my tea. I soon heard stealthy creeping and a small face appeared in the doorway, poised to head back to bed because sometimes I instruct her to go back to sleep! Right behind her the smallest, loudest child peeked out and I sighed. If I send that one back to bed, everybody will be up in minutes.

“You can bring your blankets and snuggle with me, girls, if you hold very still and do not mention breakfast.” They scampered over and wiggled like excited puppies arranging nests. Oh well. Never mind the quiet hour. We will snuggle and visit. They had things on their minds. Dreams, very odd dreams that the small one makes up as she goes. “I saw a dinosaur that got unplugged from its wires that God put in it.” Oh.

From her blanket cocoon, Olivia changed the subject, “Mama, I think other people will die before you do.”

“Really? Don’t you want me to die?” I asked the rhetorical question. I expected her to say that she wouldn’t like if nobody was there to make her breakfast or read her stories, or some such childhood reason.

“NO! I do NOT! I would be so….” She paused, groping for the right word. “BORED!”

Well. That is good to know.

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Sprouting

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A bit of green in February is such a cheerful sight. I got out the screw-on sprouting strainer and a wide mouth mason jar a few weeks ago. So far we have done three batches of alfalfa sprouts and devoured them just about as fast as they can pop out.

Olivia had a science experiment in this period of time, where she was supposed to check the germination of bean seeds. We found some dried kidney beans, put them in a moist environment, and then nearly gave up on them. It was about a week before there was even a noticeable crack in the beans’ seed coats. We peeled one open and saw the embryo starting to put out a shoot inside. So we kept them moist instead of throwing them out. Today we are eating the second round of sprouts since the kidney beans venture started, and they look just like the photo shows, greeny cotyledon and lots of rootlets coming out of the shoot. Olivia is so tickled that the experiment worked after all.

I have been thinking about this, trying to extract the lesson. You saw it coming, didn’t you?

There are just some things that are kidney beans and some that are alfalfa seeds. Many times I feel like chucking out hope for the hard, unchanging bean situations, saving my energy for the quick returns of the alfalfa sprouts. It takes a lot more faith when there are long waiting periods until harvest. I can put alfalfa on my salad in five days, give or take a few. I will have to plant and hoe and watch and pick carefully before the beans are ready to eat.

The most obvious lesson for me in this is my Five Little Sprouts. I remember the panicky moment when I realized that we would never be able to un-parent. This is a lifelong proposition, with varying amounts of investment, true, but it takes a lot of nurture for the seeds to grow into healthy, fruit bearing plants. A lot of patience. A lot of faith. A lot of moments of feeling like a total flop.

We are immersed in this right now. It seems like all I do every day is water and nourish, watch those little green shoots emerge, and pray the roots go deep. I am invested in this venture for the long haul.

Aside from the children, there are other situations that I sometimes wonder if I should just forget. Chuck them into the trash and let them dry out. Faith says, “Keep watering. Set it in the sunshine. You just watch; God is never late.”

Do you ever have those moments when faith speaks in threadbare phrases, but you know it’s true?

 

When the Cat’s Away

Our three older children went on a field trip today with the church school. It made for a very strange void for me. What to do with a whole day off school??? I thought I should really hit some projects that have been languishing for lack of a block of time. One of the things about homeschool that nobody told me is the obvious: there is no substitute. There are no off days. When you aren’t doing school, you are tearing around catching up with all the stuff you don’t get done on school days. It doesn’t always look very graceful. 😀

Last night my sister-in-law texted me about getting together so the children can play and we decided on a play place in Altoona called Slinky’s Action Zone. It was just me and the two smallest tots. They loved it! As it turned out, it was a free day. By the sheer numbers of little children bouncing off the stuff in the soft-play area, it would appear that a lot of people are feeling housebound. I had fun sitting and holding baby Chloe while the girls wore themselves out with their cousins.

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This is what time-to-go-home faces look like. We attempted one group photo outside the door, under the giant Slinky. These nieces and nephew fit neatly into the gaps between our children. They could all be ours, 🙂 except Addy is only 6 months younger than Logan.

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And I will definitely take little Chloe anytime!

Prayers for Monday

Thank you, Lord, for this day full of new opportunities to learn and to get along with each other, even in confined spaces with mud and drippy fog outside the door.

Thank you that the casters for my desk chair are not permanently lost, but simply disassembled by an ambitious small boy. Thank you that my red pen is not lost either, but found in my son’s desk instead of with my stapler which does seem to be lost for real.

Thank you for paper and this smooth gel pen: that I can grip them in my hands and write orderly lines of assignments for the week. Thank you that the days and days have already added up to 7th grade for my one son and 4th for the other.

Thank you for this pile of quizzes and tests all finished last week and ready to file away in portfolios to prove that we are serious about education. Thank you for this new box of sheet protectors that I ordered last week so that I can actually do this filing.

Thank you for the pages and pages of original artwork that are windows into my children’s thought processes and into the creativity that You have placed in them. Thank you for the paper snibbles and the yarn strings and the puzzles on the kitchen floor that she is clever enough to do on her own now.

Thank you for eggs, scrambled for lunch because the fridge contains only condiments and ingredients.

Thank you for a washer that hums along efficiently so that I only have to toss things into and out of it. Thank you that I get to be domestic and help my 10 year old fold laundry into neat piles. Thank you for the boots and the single glove that are lost no longer.

Thank you for a nap sneaked in while lying on the bed with the smallest tot, and for the audio books that keep my girlies interested for the entire quiet time hour.

Thank you for the puppy that entertains the boys with her antics, and the kitten that the little ones managed to catch and coddle for hours this afternoon. Thank you that the suspicious smell wasn’t what we thought it might be.

Thank you that my first grader can read mostly on her own and enjoy the subtle poetry in “The Little Grey Pony”. Thank you for the astounding motivational power of stickers.

Thank you for a big boy who can mix up granola while I stir the dinner roll dough and the crock pot cooks supper.

Thank you for a long evening with my husband home, reading stories with the girls before tucking them into their nests.

Thank you for bedtime!

Amen.

 

I Can Do It Myself

My dad’s deck building business got a call recently from a highly educated professional woman who needed someone to come change a doorknob at her house. Even conceding that doorknobs can be very tricky things, you have to wonder if 8 or 10 years of higher education should not include the simple process of wielding a screw driver and reading directions.

Remember our washer deal, where the repairman gave us coupons for a new one, without even picking up a wrench or taking off a single part of the washer? My husband didn’t really have time to trouble shoot with the terribly boring repairman’s manual that was taped inside the washer frame, but he worked and worked at it, one computer panel at a time. After he replaced the transmission, there were still glitches, with it running perfectly sometimes and dropping the rinse cycles at other times, or refusing to spin, or even locking the lid and not opening it for 6 hours.

It was maddening. Our elderly neighbor had given us an enormous can of salted peanuts for Christmas. We stored them on the dryer so that Gabe could chew peanuts while he messed with that recalcitrant washer. He researched online a lot, while I, not unlike Job’s wife, kind of thought it was the computer and maybe we should give up. Just before he scraped the bottom of the peanuts can, Gabe replaced a simple little part that actually fixed all the problems. It was very, very gratifying.

I remembered this when the dishwasher started giving me grief, leaving many of the dishes on the top rack with a sandy, disgusting residue of food and detergent. I knew Gabe could probably fix it once he ever had a free weekend, but I decided to Little Red Hen it, with Youtube for my crutch. On Friday after the children were started on their lessons, I began to take it apart, one piece at a time. I found tutorials, and by lunchtime, I was down to the sump, digging my fingers gingerly in its bowels for anything that might be clogging it. Two toothpicks, about 7 popcorn kernels, a bunch of grapefruit seeds, some indescribable grey matter, and a shard of glass later, it was all cleared out. Alex helped me assemble it all and we loaded our dishes for a trial run that produced sparkling clean dishes! It was very, very gratifying.

It might be my imagination, but it seems to be louder than before. Think I should call the local deck builders about that?

A Little Fun

Two things happened last week when I was uncluttering. I found an old journal and I found an old photo that fit the era of the journal.

Dorcas, 18 years old

I spent a few hours just reading, and while people don’t die of mortification, it isn’t uncommon to have it humble them significantly. So here I am now, about 20 years later, and I am so grateful for a God who has been oh, so kind.

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I wonder if, in another 2o years, I will feel just as astounded at the things that seem so large now, the things I mull over and stress about….

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Oh, wait, that’s my mom. 😀

I did find an age progression website, but I didn’t think it was a very good job. Apparently I can expect my eyebrows to get bushier. It’s a safe bet that the glasses will not be this style, but I suppose they can’t predict that 20 years ahead.

Here’s to growing! Change is good, folks!

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