Go Light Your World (Without Apology)

I have seen people who seem to think the world is a flower garden in which they can bumble around and take indiscriminate sips of nectar wherever they please. This is rather common among those who were raised like I described yesterday, who felt stonewalled in a system and were not taught to be discerning. When they leave the “protection” of the system, they run willy-nilly, trying to make up for lost time. (source)

I think we all agree that the world is a sorry, broken place, not at all an innocent riot of pansies and sweet peas. The spirits that govern the world are not righteous. They are evil. Yet we are in it. We need a way to navigate some very murky waters, a way that does not involve joining a cloistered monastery. If we live mindlessly as though nothing matters, we are staking everything on that nonchalance.

(I personally have disdain for the “art” in pop culture. Here is just one line from the song “Dark Horse”. “She will eat your heart out, like Jeffrey Dahmer.” Seriously. How can anyone hear that and think, “Wow, what creativity!”? I pick on Katy Perry because of the internet storm over her recent half time show during the Super Bowl. Honestly, I didn’t know anything about her until I googled her lyrics and read them in utter disbelief. This. is art??? Actually, I don’t even know who played in the Super Bowl. Because I just don’t care. I credit that upbringing of mine, in which I was not taught to worship the idols of sports. 🙂 I wouldn’t feel wicked watching the Super Bowl, but it has never seemed important enough to get in a bother about. But I digress…)

My husband and I have had many discussions about how we want to raise our children. It looks different from how we were raised in some ways because the world is a very different place. For example, as a child I didn’t watch any movies at all. We did other things, like play games and read. Now we often supplement our homeschool with documentaries. We have no qualms about that or even the occasional comedy. Disney? Nope. Afraid not, kids. There is a lot of glitzy stuff… a lot of grey borderline… a lot of sweet poison. Instead of Rules That Never Change, we need values that are ageless, don’t we?

John, the Beloved Apostle said this, “Do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world.” 1 John 4:1 Then we have it again in 1 Thessalonians 5:21 from Paul, “…test everything; hold fast what is good. Abstain from every form of evil. Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it.”

They wouldn’t have instructed us to test things if it weren’t possible to know the difference between good and evil. Notice that they didn’t say, “Let the preachers test things and then do what they say.” In fact, there were prophets telling them false things. This call to thoughtful decision-making is a personal responsibility for every Christian.

While a reactionary “If it is excruciating, God probably wants me to do it,” is a flawed premise upon which to base our decisions, we cannot argue with Jesus, who said this:

“Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.” Matthew 7:13,14

“If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you. If you were of the world, the world would love you as its own; but because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you.” John 15:18-20

Right there we have it. We aren’t supposed to be apologetic when our choices look different from the normal in mainstream society. It isn’t something to be embarrassed about. When I read stories of hostages, I am astounded at how the human spirit can survive while living in hostile circumstances. Infuse that spirit with the spirit of God, surround it with darkness in an alien kingdom, and watch it shine!

(I feel a little bewildered as to how I got here from there. I will switch gears now. 🙂 )

Five Reasons to Adopt Pop Culture

You can let someone else think for you. It will be very easy to choose your music/movies/books. Just check out the top ten lists and you will be in.
You will not have to exert yourself, swimming against the current and all that. No more feeling different. Your clothing options will skyrocket when you switch the criteria from “Is it decent?” to “Is it sexy?”.
You can say and do whatever you feel like and chalk it up to free speech, the in-thing, whatever. Stop worrying about what other people think. If they don’t affirm your lifestyle, they don’t belong in your life.
You can relax your parenting. Let the government decide what your children should learn. Give them unlimited screen time. Don’t be so concerned about their innocence. They will figure things out.
You will now be accepted as normal by the general population. Did I mention that you will no longer have to think? Someone else will do that for you and you can just imitate them.

I was raised in a culture that was deeply suspicious of any other culture. Many decisions about the rightness/wrongness of things seemed to be made by knee-jerk reactions. If someone “kosher” said it’s okay, it was okay, but we were not taught the “why” of things. It was a very insulated way to live and did not necessarily give us good tools for being discerning outside of our world.

Why do we live the way we do? What actually matters? I don’t want to mindlessly follow a way that seems right to me just because it is normal to me. Sometimes I find it very tiresome, being different in my core values. I am not afraid to examine them, to see whether they are really truth. (I am speaking in first person here, but my husband and I do these examinings together. Just so you know. 🙂 )

A teacher from my youthful days told us, “When faced with a choice, the person who loves God usually has to take the harder route. The easier way is rarely the right way.”

I keep thinking about this. Is it true? Does God want us to make choices that way?

Tomorrow: Believe it or not, there is more… just one more post, I think.

Going in Deeper

“Normal” is a subjective idea, based on my feelings, opinions, and surroundings.

For some, it is totally ordinary to drive a horse and buggy to get to the store, while others hop into their personal jet to go to the conference. Yet others pile the whole family on a motor scooter, but I am more of the Suburban full of kids variety.

On a farm you are considered a slacker if you don’t get up at the crack of dawn to go milk the cows, while many would think that hauling out of bed at 7 AM to buy milk for breakfast is bad enough. I have a farmer friend who supplies us with raw milk that I haul home, 5 gallons at a time.

Those who attend Mennonite churches are quite used to the idea of a church service ordered by invisible cues of cultural norm, while Lutherans carefully follow their liturgy and Quakers, I am told, have no set order in their service.

Some people decide to vaccinate their children while others insist that they will not allow any of those poisons to be injected into their babies. Personally, I think the worst best thing is slugging it out on the internet. 😉

In Europe, mothers think babies need lots of fresh air to stay healthy so they give them daily jaunts in the stroller, even in the grip of winter. Many women I know keep their little babies inside and out of drafts as much as possible.

So. Big deal. People live different lives.

Yes, it is a big deal. Many of our norms are completely harmless, neither here nor there. And yet.

The construction worker who doesn’t curse on the job in likely the odd man out on the crew. There are lots of people who cannot say a sentence without polluting it with obscenities.

Teens today have been conditioned to think it is their right to have an eye-rolling, mouthing-off rebellion to any authority. The respectful, considerate young adult stands out as refreshingly odd. Ever hear of the Rebelution?

In colleges, it is much more normal to sleep with a series of partners than it is to stay sexually abstinent until marriage. That is despite the fact that studies have shown greater happiness in the marriages of those who did abstain.

Some parents decide that yelling and meanness in their home is an acceptable way to live and let live. Many don’t talk to each other at all. Others do not stoop to arguing with their spouse nor do they allow their children to act ugly to their siblings.

You see, you get to choose your normal. If you think at all, you know where you draw the lines. Your beliefs lead the way to where you settle in and feel comfortable.

Tomorrow: Five Reasons to Embrace Pop Culture.

Normal: Usual, Regular, Average

When I wrote my friend Naomi a few years ago, telling her that I think we are so far from normal that we will never get there again, she replied something like this: “Normal is over-rated anyway.”

Last night I had a conversation with another friend who knows that feeling. Her parting text was, “Keep calm.” I replied, “And Carry On.” Then I thought about it for a long time after I should have been sleeping.

(photo source)

We like to be comfortably like other people, at least most of the time. We don’t especially enjoy looking odd, making decisions that raise eyebrows, or having to live differently from our particular herd. I have a lot of theories about why this is, especially in Mennonite church settings, but that is much too complicated. Let’s just pretend you are in a situation that is not normal. What can you expect to take away from this?

You can expect to learn compassion. There is nothing like immersion in a situation for sudden epiphanies. “Ohhh. So that is how it feels…?” You will always be able to connect with others in your particular brand of abnormal.
You will learn to think carefully about your choices. It is not possibly to skate along easily when the wind is against you and the sun is not shining warm on your back.
You learn to be vulnerable and accessible (human). Somewhere along the line, everyone hits a spot where they are needy and have to admit it. “Umm, I need help here. I am stuck in this mud, and I need your strength to help me get out.”
You learn not to take simple, ordinary, everyday stuff for granted. Living with the strain of life on the edge helps you to appreciate this moment of sitting on the couch, having tea with a loved one.
You will begin to feel the confidence that you can stretch much farther and accomplish more than you thought. Because you are not too afraid to try.
Best of all, you will learn about grace. You will feel it from other people, and you will start to think more graciously about everyone else you meet. You will experience endless supply from God and know for real that it cannot be exhausted.

Don’t panic when life hurtles you out of normal. It is just a setting on your dryer anyway. (Thanks, Patsy Clairmont.)

Navel Gazing About Being Real

It’s a funny thing that sometimes stuff I write that I feel is distinctly un-stellar ends up encouraging someone else. My sister in law told me that the post wrapping up January is one of the best I have written, yet I nearly scrapped it. Twice. It didn’t seem sparkly or even very interesting. But it was honest. I suppose that may have helped. (Also she has been sitting in her little house with two tots and a newborn, all of whom have been sick.)

This got me to thinking this morning about the ways we portray ourselves to others. I don’t think it is a conscious thing, but more of “let’s not peel under the layers too much.” Yet when we dare to be quite transparent with each other, it becomes safer and safer to be transparent. The relief of finding our human struggles to be, indeed, quite common to man, is nearly palpable. “You mean you actually have days like that too?”

(I love those Pinterest Versus Real Life photos. If you need to feel normal, go there. I admit to scrolling through until I have tears rolling.)

Sisters are like this, and friends are supposed to be like this. You don’t have to bleed on a blog to be real, but you cannot have healthy relationships with others if you refuse to let them into your life. This is a no-brainer for married couples, but it applies to friends as well. I know this doesn’t feel safe to many people, and I have had very little experience with betrayal of trust, yet I know this to be true. When I started blogging, I made a pact with myself and God that I would not try to pretty up things to make myself look better. I want to make Him look good by finding the path that appears from walking day after day after day in the same mundane things.

And yet. There is such a thing as Too Much Information. I read some of my archives last night and started to squirm. Man, I am just always messing up and writing about it. This is the world wide web, for crying out loud. I would like to be an effortless PollyAnna, but I bet that would get on your nerves sometimes. So I will do what I know… I will continue to be a realist and bring you honest humor. All bets are off when I am processing a nugly (nasty/ugly) day. Thanks, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, THANKS for being my friends!

Airy Plans

My last post sounds a little dull to me. I did stuff in the last month. I just can’t quite… remember what. If I were to go back through my little one sentence diary, in which I recorded something every day, I would probably be reminded of how we filled the days. But that is in the bedroom and I am sitting on the couch, so we will let January slide into the past.

Today I recalled that I wrote a post every day last February, and, on a whim, decided to try it again. I am not promising anything, but it helps me to be motivated when I have semi-goals, at least. The lethargy will dissipate with the first sign of spring, I know, but for now, I need outside motivation. I haven’t even bought a 2015 planner yet. My husband did buy me a nifty new phone with my own calendar on it to sync with his calendar, but it is much more satisfying to ink out a list than to touch a little checkmark on a screen.

Here is how it happens: when I write “defrost freezer” on my whiteboard, it needs to get crossed off; if I just think about it, it bugs me too much and I quickly let the thought slip away to a more convenient time. Admittedly, I have been avoiding making lists because then I am obligated to do something about them. There is some scrapple in my freezer right now that has become so iced in I can’t budge it. What a shame.

I am dubbing February “declutter house and write every day month”. It collects and collects, the stuff that smothers and drives me batty. Last year, in August I think it was, I suddenly noticed a pine cone on top of a book shelf. It had been there since Christmas. I had even dusted under it a few times. I don’t want that to happen again.

Here is to a new month, with a little fire under it. 🙂

It’s Midwinter

Need I say more? One does not tend to great feats of achievement when afflicted by lethargy. One does not write overmuch or think overmuch, even. One keeps a mug of tea or coffee close to hand and prays short and heartfelt prayers for patience as one steps over the Suspend sticks and picks up the 9th strand of embroidery floss and searches again for the lost needle on the couch.

Since January is almost over already, I thought it might be appropriate to recap the month. It has been near record cold in Pennsylvania they say. It has been really grey and barren. Also cold. Hibernating weather. Finally this past week we have been blanketed by a snowfall that has lifted all of us. I have thought that in another life I would like to be like a squirrel, curled up with my tail over my face on frigid days, only scampering out for nuts when the sun shines brightly. Come to think of it, this year I did have a rather long period of enforced low activity due to the knee injury. But the people still needed their nuts on a regular schedule, so it wasn’t really all it’s cracked up to be.

January feels sad this year, with the losses of friends on my mind. It also gives me a feeling of slow-motion busyness, in that way that creeps up when I don’t ever seem to accomplish much even though I keep doing stuff and doing stuff all day. Long ago I figured out that projects and accomplishments are not as big a deal as people are. It continues to be a learning process, but in the midwinter, I don’t really care about accomplishments.

So why is it that the things that don’t matter very much are so glaringly obvious, like mud on the floor or pancake syrup on the window? We can’t really see smudges on our souls or wrinkles in our spirits, yet an hour in our own company would likely reveal them. Yesterday I actually heard myself muttering, “I used to have all these buttons and snaps organized, but now I guess I have a thorn in the flesh that doesn’t put stuff away.” It’s embarrassing to admit, but there it was, a huge old stain that needed some cleansing.

Olivia came to me with her memory verse marked in her Bible last night and whispered in my ear, “I thought maybe this would encourage you, Mama.” It was the place in Matthew where Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me.” Yes, dear little girl, I do like those verses.

Because that is pretty much what I did in the past month. I invested in my children and cried tears of private frustration and I felt like the Grinch of Homework. I prayed and corrected and encouraged them in the right way, then I stepped aside and let them decide which way they were going to take. Sometimes they messed up and often I messed up. Then we apologized and I doled out rewards and penalties in pretty much equal amounts.

This morning Alex recited his memory verses to me.

Luke 16:10-13 starts out with, “He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much: and he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much.”

It hasn’t been a brilliant month, but I hope that I have been found faithful. The little things, the little people, the little attitudes: I want to remember that they are where it is really at. So will it be walnuts or hazelnuts tonight, my little squirrels?

Not Your Average Weekend

So we have been out of water for a few days. Our hick-town water company is working hard to find the problem, but meanwhile we walk to the faucets multiple times a day and turn them on. Nothing. Last night a company volunteer called and explained that there was no water coming out of the spring; they had been digging all day to try to find the problem; the earth may have shifted in the freezing weather and redirected the water. It wasn’t especially reassuring, but we still had drinking water because as soon as we noticed it starting to trickle, we swiftly filled dishpans and pitchers. Happily Addy had just gotten out of the tub and didn’t remember to drain it, so we could dip out of that for flushing the toilet.

Still. This morning Gabe had to go to work with just a spit bath. I didn’t begrudge him the half gallon of water he used, but there was no way I could get five children presentable for church with the remaining half gallon.

I told the little guys to eat cereal while I gathered up their good clothes and shoes to go over to my parents’ house for baths before church. Olivia objects to cereal. She wanted to fry an egg for herself but I said, “No extra dishes. We can’t wash them.” So she ended up going to church with only a banana to sustain her.

After the service, we came home, checked the spigots. Nothing again. We couldn’t wash hands or dishes or laundry. I had enough. Okay, kids, let’s gather up our stuff and go over to Doddy’s house again. Gregory collected all the dirty laundry. Addy whined about being hungry, so I gave her an apple while I assembled food for our lunch. I knew there was little in my mom’s fridge because they have been away for awhile. Olivia whined about being hungry. Eat an apple. But I don’t like apples. Well then you just have to be hungry until the lunch is served. She settled for another banana.

Meanwhile Alex was unloading all the ski gear out of the back of the Suburban: poles, Gabe’s patrol pack, helmets, boots. Everything got piled inside the basement door so that we would have room to take the puppy’s portable kennel and all our wash and food. A few of the children thought they would want to go skating, so in went the skates. It was snowing at the time and I thought I should probably throw in their gloves. I gathered up a basketful of muddy snow clothes, discovered that Addy was coatless and barefooted in her car seat, grabbed my purse and the laptop and the puppy food.

Deep breath. Are we all in the car? Yes. But someone was weeping. Another person was refusing to buckle and Gregory was repeatedly admonishing her that she would fly out and die if we crashed. Someone was upset because another person whacked his nose. The puppy was extremely nervous.

Another deep breath. “Children, we are going to reset here. Nobody may say anything while we are driving unless it is pleasant.”

There was blessed quietness for a few minutes until Addy piped up, “Mama? Something seems to be bothering me.”

I said, “Really, and what is that?”

“I think that I need a horse. I just really need a horse. To ride.”

Sometimes you have to just seize the moment and have a good belly laugh. The day got much better, especially once the hangry (hungry-angry) people were fed.

I did laundry all afternoon with my mom’s old-fashioned washer that agitates like no tomorrow. I want one like that again. Eight loads in a high-efficiency set up would take all day.

The water company says they hope to have things flowing after midnight tonight. Apparently there was a tree root interfering with the pipe that comes from the spring. It seemed a little vague, but I am truly grateful that the spring was just diverted, not dried up.

And I get to start my Monday with the laundry all done. It should be an interesting sensation. Not only that, Gabe has off! We are going to have Saturday on Monday! Have a great week, everybody.

The Things That Remain

It isn’t that I am not going to write this year. I have had things on my mind, places to go, laundry to do, all jumbled and busy. Then, as so often happens, something came up that put the important things in life into sharp perspective. One of those people who is always there, who is always dependable, who is unfailingly kind and wise, stepped into heaven while he was sleeping.

The Summy family moved to this area the same summer we did, 29 years ago. Their children were close to my age and we went to school together. Now they are walking through the painfully dark valley of the shadow of losing a husband/father/grandfather. I have always believed that the verse in Psalm 23 is especially for those who go on living. I pray, “Hold them, Jesus. Be with them.” It comforts me to know that in our human failing to be able to make things better, He is there for them.

We have talked a lot about sadness with the children. About death and new bodies and eternal life. Olivia, who is very tenderhearted, said that she kept thinking maybe just any time there will be a miracle and Freddy and Alannah’s grandpa would come alive again. The little girls declared that Leroy did not die. They saw him sleeping. I was reminded of Jesus’ compassionate words to Jairus when his little daughter had died, “Don’t cry. She is sleeping.” He said the same about Lazarus, his friend who was ill and died before he got to his house, “Our friend has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him.” Even though Jesus knew Lazarus would rise from the dead, he wept for the grief of the family, and this is His heart of tenderness to those who are bowed with sorrow.

I keep thinking about the Things That Matter. Why do we forget so quickly? This moment of spilled grape juice does not matter. What matters is the little face crumpled in remorse. It was just an accident and we will wipe it up.

The rip in the coat from sliding down the hill on the ice has no eternal significance, but the child who was wearing it does. I apologize for a scolding that forgot about the heart, and now we will try to mend it.

My limping washer with its fits and starts is of small consequence, but my husband’s weary efforts to understand the repair manual and outsmart it do matter. He deserves the specially blended cup of coffee and the happy wife serving it.

I ask again, why do I forget so easily and become wrinkled in my spirit when it is just cares of this life anyway? When my spirit returns to the One who made it, I want to have lived for eternal values.

I bought myself this little goodie with some Christmas money. It’s a tiny journal with wise quotes at the top of every page and space for 5 years. It is fun discipline to condense a day into just a few lines.

When the boys were little, Gabe would laugh at my stories at the end of the day and say, “You lead a charmed life.” At the time I didn’t really think that was the right adjective, but now I do. Recently I went back through my Facebook statuses and wrote down all the funny moments that I posted about the children. When the boys read them, they said, “No way! I never asked to google ‘How can I be six again’.” They laugh at the Gregisms: “I bet George Washington was named after Curious George.” They love it, going all the way back to when they were little boys, just a few blinks ago.

(I would not remember any of this stuff if I didn’t write it down. You won’t either. Even if you don’t like to write, just go to Amazon and spend 10 dollars for a pretty little diary and make yourself write a sentence every day.)

Last week Rita took upon herself the job of shining the glass door where the puppy paws to get inside. She did a great job, but only a few hours later I noticed muddy prints again. I was working, distracted, when I heard her gasp dramatically, “Ohhh! Look at the window!”

I commiserated without looking up, “I know. It’s all dirty again.”

“No! It’s snowing!!!” she corrected me. I looked out, and sure enough, it was snowing. God had granted her longings for snow. The mud on the glass couldn’t diminish that joy.

Life. How I live it really matters. Let’s cheer the space we share with others. Today.

Retrospective

I found myself thinking back over the year when I wanted to write a Christmas letter to my grandma and I concluded that it was a year of tender mercies… every morning new, just like my fresh cup of tea. The tea was tangible, but the mercies less obvious until I started to think of what could have been.

Looking back over the year, I feel the wonder of ordinary life going on day by day. We have friends whose lives were irrevocably changed by tragic loss of loved ones, by brain tumors, by the bad choices of other people, etc. Here we are, mostly unscathed; it isn’t fair. There is a liturgy where the responses of the congregation are only four words repeated, “Have mercy upon us.” I have pleaded this for our friends many times.

I find myself with fewer answers than ever as to why tragedies happen, yet I know with more assurance than ever that God is good. This is not to say that I never question His ways, but He remains good. Like breathing, I live in this confidence. There are aspects of faith that remain mysteries, yet are evidence, just as real as actual substantive things.

We grew this year. What is the point of living if we aren’t learning? The children show the most evidence of this. It’s astounding to look at photos just 12 months ago and see what all those green beans and peanut butter sandwiches and cups of milk have done to them physically. We find ourselves on the edge of parenting adolescents and I am scared spitless. The threes and fours and fives are familiar territory, but this teen thing looks like a different ball of wax. Did someone mention relationships? I anticipate a steep learning curve through this phase of parenting. Like the insatiable desire to be treated like an adult while still having the liberty to act like a little kid whenever that desire dictates… What is up with that? I distinctly remember that mixed up feeling when I was 12-13, so I can appreciate the justice in experiencing the parenting end of the stick. I am sorry I ever rolled my eyes at you, Mom.

We have found our preferred style of vacation to be camping, (4 times this summer) particularly in those nifty cabins at state parks. Perfection for me is a book, a chair beside a campfire, a mug of coffee in hand. The children only want monkey bars, bikes on trails, snacks, frisbees, soccer balls, food cooked on sticks, late night stories, more snacks, early breakfasts, hikes to look-out points. Obviously, not all of us can have our way. Either they have perfection or I do, and since I can’t beat em, I join em. (Why do they never beg their father for food? Hmm?) I can’t believe how often kids from other campsites join ours to play for hours without their parents even once coming to look for them. Probably they are reading beside their campfires…

We are getting better at the packing of stuff when we go away. Each child gets a backpack of their own along with a list of non-negotiable items. What doesn’t fit doesn’t go along. I have to check Rita’s pack for stray fabric scraps and a funny ratio of 5 undies to every play outfit. The boys tend to forget things like towels and toothbrushes, but they never go anywhere without pocket knives and flashlights, paracord bracelets and lighters. Yup, we are learning.

Speaking of paracord, we bought a thousand foot roll of it to use in constructing teepees or clubhouses or in tying down loose stuff. Seems you can never have too much rope or string. It has been a lot of fun for the boys to do youtube tutorials for weaving the cord in compact ways to carry it along outdoors “in case of emergency”. Alex has devised a way to weave 12 feet of cord into one monkey paw keychain. That is the one I want with me in the quite unlikely event that I will need to hang my game high in a tree in the woods after I used the cord to snare it.

If you have ever read The Hatchet, you can only imagine what Brian would have done with a paracord bracelet, especially if he had the kind of clasp that contains a piece of flint. 🙂 I do love my boys.

We got exactly half way through school before our break for Christmas. Both boys prefer reading to all other subjects and they were wallowing around in self pity over their math lessons this morning. Olivia likes math because reading is still pretty hard work for her and Rita is buzzing along in her Kindergarten stuff. She vacillates between speedy efficiency and leisurely putting along, but it is all easy for her. I kind of wish I had put her into the same grade with Olivia to save myself a bit of work, but she is still a dreamy little girl, so I guess we will continue to pace her slowly.

Addy insists on doing “real school” so I looked for some official looking books for her to learn numbers and shapes. She is affronted when I hand her a simple coloring book for school. Part of her growing up this fall included the stowing of the toddler bed. She insisted on the top bunk while the other two girls share the bottom. It actually seems to cut down her night-time ramblings, since it takes a lot of effort to climb out of the bunk in a sleepy state. She just hollers when she has a dream instead of coming to our bedroom to sleep on the floor. Last week one night she was crying in her sleep about stinkbugs, one of the few things in her little world that terrify her.

Since we got our puppy, it has really helped to get the children outdoors. Always Gregory is up first in the morning, so he takes her out of her kennel for a potty break. Sometimes I see him sitting in the backyard, all bundled up, still half-asleep while Lady cavorts around him and licks him excitedly. She has a way of looking soulfully in the door when she is on the deck and we are eating. Gregory says she is being “wismal” which is a combination of dismal and wistful. It describes her expression perfectly. She just cracks up with joy when they take breaks to play with her. I have been pleasantly surprised at how quickly she is being trained. Springer spaniels are very tractable and love to please their masters. We got the right puppy, thank the Lord! I am really glad Gabe researched for weeks, because I would probably have just gotten something free off Craigslist. 🙂

We have learned a few things about washers and the problems that crop up when you fix your own. After Gabe replaced the transmission and I rejoiced that it was humming along again, it worked perfectly for 2 loads. Then it began to drop the spin cycle, after which it refused to rinse. I am currently using three cycles for every load of laundry. One: wash. Two: rinse. Three: spin. It works except for when the lid locks and refuses to open for a whole day, like it did the day after Christmas and I had 7 loads to wash. For your information, it may or may not help to pound on the lid in exasperation. It opened. Who knows why?

Isn’t life just like that? In the impossible circumstances as well as the minute irritations we say, “Have mercy upon us.”

I pray for you a new year full of confidence in that merciful Love!