More Sage Advice…

…from Oswald Chambers. I like him, can you tell? This excerpt is from February 19 in My Utmost for His Highest.

If we will arise and shine, drudgery becomes divinely transfigured. Drudgery is one of the finest touchstones of character there is. Drudgery is work that is very far removed from anything to do with the ideal- the utterly mean grubby things; and when we come in contact with them we know instantly whether or not we are spiritually real.

Read John 13. We see the Incarnate God doing the most desperate piece of drudgery, washing fishermen’s feet, and He says- “If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet, ye also ought to wash one another’s feet.”

It requires the inspiration of God to go through drudgery with the light of God upon it. Some people do a certain thing and the way in which they do it hallows that thing for ever afterwards. It may be the most commonplace thing, but after we have seen them do it, it becomes different. When the Lord does a thing through us, He always transfigures it…

I have seen people do ordinary things with great joy and flair. I don’t think I ever associated it with being spiritually real. May Jesus give you joy today, whether you are serving Him by chopping vegetables, washing toilets, sweeping up sawdust, grading papers, or running cash registers. Let’s have fun doing our work. 🙂 It all counts.

“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.” Ecc. 9:10

That sounds just a tad morbid, but I sometimes need to be reminded that I only get one shot at this. Do you have any secrets for learning to enjoy “drudgery”?

My Pre-Monday-Morning Pep Talk…

… from Oswald Chambers, that is. I certainly have plenty to learn about rising and shining. Today we had lunch with friends at our pastor’s house, and we ladies had a discussion about early risers, night owls, is it inborn or trained into us, etc. All of us admitted to leaning toward one direction or another.

I was amused tonight to read this from Oswald Chambers. He first stated that living beings go through natural cycles of depression and happiness; it is only inanimate stuff that has no soaring and crashing of feelings. While we are in this world, there will always be things that are “of the nature of death” that tend to depress us. Things we won’t have in heaven, like huge piles of laundry and long to-do lists and bed sheets that got wet on and mud could come to mind. (My loose paraphrase. Chamber’s is much more eloquent… and wordy. 🙂 ) Then he goes on to show how God gave so many simple admonitions. Take Elijah, sitting under a tree, wishing he were dead due to his unpopularity with the current king and queen. God’s angel came to him and just told him, “Rise and eat.” No profound revelations just then. Only simple instructions.

“He tells us to do the most ordinary things conceivable. Depression is apt to turn us away from the ordinary commonplace things of God’s creation, but whenever God comes, the inspiration is to do the most natural simple things- the things we would never have imagined God was in, and as we do them we find He is there. The inspiration which comes to us in this way is an initiative against depression; we have to do the next thing and do it in the inspiration of God. .. Immediately we arise and obey, we enter on a higher plane of life.” My Utmost for His Highest, Feb. 17 (and yes, I am aware that I am a few days behind. 🙄 )

Well, so there we have it… the way to soar tomorrow!

Never Relax on a Monday

I was sitting, quite inert this morning at 6:45 when Smallest Thing 1 woke up hopping. She immediately found me in my reading spot (all my children have homing devices to find mama) and admonished, “Mama, don’t reyax. Neveh reyax. Just get up with me.” And that was her chipper advice for me on this Monday.

I didn’t take her advice. It took me all morning to get into gear. Maybe the oatmeal wasn’t energizing enough. (Some of you may actually get the pun intended there.) I know it (the oatmeal, not the pun) reduced Olivia to tears. Oatmeal makes Gregory cheer and Olivia cry. What is a mother to do?

This morning I pulled out a frozen tater tot casserole after I got the scholars schooling. No cooking today, every scrap of leftovers licked out of the fridge at lunch. My goal is to do Rita’s photo book in February. I am trying. I really am. I messed with it all day. The stuff is all spread out in our reading room, which is now a verboten room for small children. Stickers, cutters, papers, glue dots, all seem designed to attract little girls with sticky fingers. I am having fun with her book but I can hardly wait to finish it. 🙂

Why did I make two “impossible” goals for February, writing every day and arranging 295 photos in a scrapbook? But I made it half way through both projects and I am not twitching too badly yet. I will “reyax” when I am done.

I Am From

Recently a friend found an old picture of our family and posted it on Facebook, a picture from an era of exceedingly large glasses and hair parted straight down the middle. In the comments my sister mentioned that better haircuts and cuter clothes might have helped, but what can you say, we were secure and happy children. I have been thinking about that and decided to do something I have wanted to do ever since Shari put a link to this template on her blog. I am posting this today in honor of my mom’s birthday! Many happy returns of the day, Mom!

I Am From

I am from a wide, extended table, whistling tea kettle, and chocolate chip cookies.

I am from the teeny yellow cottage by the creek and the square farmhouse in Dutch Corner.

I am from restoring a log cabin on the hill overlooking the sunset.

I am from the ancient apple tree whose brittle limbs threatened to drop us on the ground every time we picked its bounty.

I am from a crackling fireplace and praying every night before bed.

From three siblings and many “adopted” little ones.

I’m from coffee with creamer and dunking donuts and from “hols hocka” which is fried batter in hot salted milk.

I’m from you may not ever pout, we don’t work on Sunday, and it’ll heal before the cat lays an egg.

I’m from Saturday night games of chase and give-away chess.

I’m from Indiana and Ohio blended in Kentucky, from ancestors ages ago in Switzerland,

From homemade scrapple and creamy mac n cheese.

I am from Aunt Ruth’s cherry delight made with lime jello and Uncle Tim eating his noodles.

From The Ten Commandments hung on the living room wall, carven camels from the Holy Land marching in a row, wobbly stacks of books on every nightstand.

I’m from relentless teasing, laughter, and inside jokes.

I am from a secure and happy place.

Assignments

Our moderator/superintendent at church has been challenging us to look for the appointments God has set up for us during the week, those chance meetings, the few words exchanged with strangers, the “coincidences” that come up in the course of the days.

I thought to myself, “I have been inside my house or on our property this whole week, with the exception of a short jaunt to Save a Lot. All week. How would I have appointments with other people?” I didn’t even get to talk with anybody after church because the service ended later than usual and then it was time to scoot off home so Gabe could go to work.

But I had assignments. Oh did I ever. “Feed the hungry.” I did that a number of times. “Pay attention to the needy.” (I even wiped their bottoms.) “As much as is possible, live in peace…” You wouldn’t want to know the kinds of battles that break out when all the little people are housebound for long stretches of time. “Be kindly affectioned.” I wonder if that would include not yelling when they wash the lettuce with Palmolive while I am doing laundry downstairs.

What do you think? Are assignments as important as appointments?

Interrupting Myself

I should be cleaning the cornstarch play goo off the kitchen table and floor, but first I wish to describe to you the meandering journey I sometimes make through the house.

It is 10 A.M.

The scholars are schooling, the littles have a snack to feed their dolls and now I need to Get Something Done, AKA Beat Aside the Chaos.

I start with the bathroom, because for me personally, chaos in the bathroom is terribly disheartening.

One boy already took the dirty laundry downstairs for me, but he dribbled a few socks and missed the towels hanging on the hooks, so I pick them up and take them down to add to the laundry piles.

I notice that one load is finished washing, throw it into the dryer, put in another load.

Oh, I am low on soap, need to write that on the grocery list.

I look over the shoulders of students, correct sloppy handwriting, encourage accuracy in math.

On the way back upstairs, I see that the tot has taken all the Laura Ingalls Wilder books off the shelf again, and I put them back into their spot.

Hey! There is that extra owl button I need to replace the one we lost so I put it in a safe place.

I am walking past the freezers so I think about supper, naturally, and take out a pack of hamburger.

I hear a squabble in the girls’ room, drop the burger into the sink, and go to settle it.

Sit here, little girl, and look at these books. And you, sit over there and look at those books.

Okay. Where was I?

Oh, the bathroom!

Yeah, the toothpaste splatters on the mirrors are really getting to me. I wash them off.

As long as I am cleaning glass surfaces, I might as well go shine the appliances, especially the spot on the dishwasher where gravy dribbled last night at supper.

Speaking of gravy, I should use that leftover gravy with meatballs tonight instead of making a spaghetti sauce.

I check the cupboard for rice. Almost out. Shopping list.

What was that other thing I was going to write down?

I can’t remember for anything! Oh well, it will come to me.

Hey, is that a trail of ants carrying off crumbs?

Get the broom, quickly!

I am gonna have to set outsome traps again.

I open the closet door, nearly get beaned on the head by my box of household tools.

“Boys!” I have a few choice admonitions for them on getting a stool to put the tools properly back on the shelf so that other unsuspecting folks don’t get hammered and wrenched when all they wanted was an ant trap.

I set the trap carefully in a spot only readily accessible by ants.

There is a hair bow under the table. I pick it up and take it to the bathroom.

I am right back where I started.

A half hour has passed and I have been very busy, but it doesn’t look as thought I have accomplished anything, really, except to cause myself to feel a little dizzy.

I don’t think I am ADD. At least I didn’t use to be. I used to pride myself on being so efficient I took my own breath away. 🙂

I think that I get so used to being interrupted that I even do it to myself. This goes way beyond multitasking to plain downright silly. I sort of hope I am not the only one who does this.

I am trying to stop it; I am trying to be more productive. I have to discipline myself to actually, literally stay in a room until I am done with it. I pile all the stuff that doesn’t belong in that room outside the door. Then I pick up one pile and take it to its home and stay there until I have done all that needs to be done there before I go back for another pile. I can’t tell you how hard it is to break the habit of suspending what I am doing to pursue yet another partial trail.

Wait… Am I hearing someone in the candy bowl?

Snow Day, 1

You saw this coming, didn’t you? The not-very-prefessional photos of sticky snow on everything… the only kind of snow pictures I take. I love our back yard. My husband has worked long and extremely hard on the slope of gravel and weeds we got when we bought the place. When snow clings to everything, it feels like I got transported to the enchantment of a gingerbread village. That’s why I went outside yesterday, early, with my bright-eyed, chirpy little girl who always gets up first.

We did a little backyard tour, then we topped it off with saucer rides down the playhouse hill, short, but very steep and speedy. When we got back into the house, the rest of the crew was just groggily starting to stir, but we had already seen this:

Window Boxes

Garden Bench

Grapes and Raspberries

Asparagus

Blueberry Bush

The Swimming Hole

Meditation Spot on the Deck, with Flower Pots

Marshmallow Roasting Fire Pit

Playhouse

Cherry Tree (in foreground) Ornamental Plum (background)

Garden Shed Designed by my Husband

Ornamental Apple Tree that Blooms Profusely

I doubt you saw all the things that I saw, but I saw them, and they are real under all that fluff.

February is a Short Month

I have decided to commit myself to writing every day this month, mainly because I have terrible issues with discipline. When we were doing our monthly budget huddle, I told Gabe the money should reach better in such a short month. He gave me that special, patient look reserved for times of dimness. “It’s only 2 days shorter, Hon.” There is also the small matter of having two fewer days to work.

Two days, however, is two days is two days closer to spring! I am hanging on, but I admit that I fantasize about grubbing about in the dirt while I carry water to my three hardy houseplants. I also dream about eating at the picnic table when I am sweeping up a “dirt shovel” (which is how you say it in PA Dutch- how quaint!) full of rice and bread crumbs and stray peas after a meal. And I sigh wistfully when I see how lonely the Monkey Tree is these days, while the children play puppies inside with shallow dishes of dry cheerios for chow. And they bark and bark and growl from the enormous nests of pillows and blankets that their owners have arranged. There are times when an eavesdropper would hear me plead, “Please, do not bark one more time!” That is their cue to switch to kitties.

It has been truly, awfully cold this year. I step outside and feel my skin go taut and kind of dry so I quickly grab the mail and retreat into the warmth of the house. I have been reading Garrison Keillor’s stories about winter in Minnesota/North Dakota and how they had to build a charcoal fire under the car so the oil in the crankcase would warm up enough to start the car and all the thermometers ended at -40 because that was all the colder anyone wanted to know about. The hungry wolves would stalk them on the way to school, which was uphill coming and going through snow drifts higher than a child could see. I laugh and expect that if our global warming trend continues, that is probably how our grandchildren will hear our stories some day. Yeah, we used to build a bonfire on the pond bank so that the skaters wouldn’t freeze their toes and even the ski slopes closed sometimes so that they would not be dealing with prying solid chunks of ice off the lifts at the top of the mountain.

I am glad February is short and usually has some blue skies and now it seems reasonable to browse through the seed catalogs. I will be checking to see what Phil says tomorrow.

Be Kind to Everything and Don’t Say “Stupid”

Nap time. It is so restful when the time comes to settle down quietly after a strenuous morning of striving to be nice to each other despite… everything. That includes the slow start in school, with a wrestling match that abruptly vanished without a trace as soon as my feet hit the staircase to go down to the schoolroom. By the time I hit the bottom step, the boys were busily pulling out math books. It also includes juggling Learning to Read, spelling word lists, grammar quizzes, and laundry for a few hours, secure in the knowledge that the two smallest ones were sweetly playing babies in their room. Later I discovered that in the course of the morning they were also skinning a cucumber and feasting on it in the top bunk bed; they were peeling oranges in the living room; they were eating a lot of sliced lunchmeat and graham crackers. For some reason, they still ate salad like starved bunnies with a ranch dressing love affair at lunchtime. One would think there has been naught but bread and water for days if one didn’t distinctly recall feeding them quite often and well.

So yes, naptime: when all efforts of goodness and mischief are suspended for a while. It is my favorite time of day every day when I lie beside my two year old until she falls asleep. Much of the day I am too distracted to listen closely to the piping little voice that is Addy, but at naptime she unwinds by saying every thought that enters her little head until suddenly she conks, just like that. I get much amusement out of her chatter. There are only seconds between each of these bits of confidences.

I like dogs, mama. Do you like dogs?”

Mmmhmm.

Little dogs. Not big dogs. Do you like big dogs?

Hhhmmm.

We just like little dogs, right, Mama?

I have lots of excuses, Mama.

I’m sorry. I’m a little tired in the bed.

Mmmhmm. Me too.

Lollipops are sour, Mama.

But we don’t have any lollipops, do we, Mama?

Huhuh.

Maybe I could have some candy when I wake up?

That would be fun.

We don’t have any candy, do we, Mama?

Do you like candy?

You shouldn’t snip yourself. You might get hurt.

And then you would cry. You would cry for a bandaid.

Do you know where the bandaids are, Mama?

Mmmhmm.

When I have a bleeding owie, I cry for a bandaid.

And then I need a Mama.

If I eat too much toothpaste, I might get sick.

Then I would have to go to the doctor. And pump my belly out.

Yeah. Now shhhh.

(Quiet little whisper) I can talk, Mama.

No kidding.

The Bible says be kind to everything. And don’t hit.

And be kind and don’t say “stupid”.

We like little dogs. But we don’t have a dog.

We just have cats.

Mmmhmm.

And a rabbit at Jakes.

But no dogs, Mama.

Am I your baby, Mama?

Mmmhmm.

Be quiet now.

I love you, Mama.

I love you, too. But no more talking.

Okay, Mama.

ZZZZZZ.

Why I Need Coffee Today

This morning I stirred a bit and mumbled a good bye when Gabe left for work at 5:15. It may have been a little while before I got up and thought about the day. This is what I thought, “I need coffee. Nice and strong. Coffee.” I have a percolator just like this, and I really like it because it fits into my cupboard, thus saving valuable counter space. When I picked up the stem thingy that holds up the cup for the grounds, I discovered that the spring thingy that keeps the cup at just the right level so that the hot water runs over the grounds and not straight down the sides was missing. Wait, what did I just explain? Oh, yes, the spring was missing, which causes the end-result of coffee to be weak and sorry.

So there was nothing for it but to ask the children, one of whom was already awake and said she saw Gregory playing with it. Here is what I did. I woke Gregory and he said, “No, it was Rita, and she was playing with it when she was making stuff with clay and all I did was put it back on the counter.” I kneaded the clay, but didn’t find the missing part. Rita was still pretty sleepy, but she insisted that she had no idea where the spring went. I gave up on their dubious trail of breadcrumbs and brewed without the spring. It was weak and sorry. When Alex emerged for breakfast, he remembered having played with the spring last night before we went to church. I assured him that he would be spending some time looking for it before school.

Everybody ate their eggs and toast like the chipper little devouring chickies that they are. All except me, since you may recall that I am on a diet that says toast is bad. Coffee, yes, toast, no. And then Alex did find the spring and he also gathered the dirty laundry, of which there was a considerable amount, what with church twice yesterday. There were also a number of perfectly clean things that got chucked into the girls’ hamper when someone zealously cleaned up their room.

We started school with me checking the last three days’ worth of assignments and especially tests. I discovered that my 6th grade boy totally did not get the chapter in History on the government with its three main branches and numerous obscure sub-branches, therefore bombing the test. I feel really bad about this because I had planned to tutor him on it before he does the test, since he had also bombed the quiz, but I forgot and what’s more: I never really understood it myself. DVD school does not fix all problems, that is for sure. There was also the little matter of skipped stuff in math lessons for both boys, necessitating penalties and a pep talk.

The wind is not in my sails this morning, so I am at a dead-calm, sitting in the water, writing. I have encountered 2 little clay snakes placed in strategic locations by my second boy and I have not even blinked, much less screamed. This is his idea of a joke, but it isn’t working on a half-asleep mom with only weak coffee. I am on the third load of laundry, resolutely plowing through the loads, grateful for a dryer on this damp and raw day.

Eventually I will deal with the watery tea party that the little girls set up on the sofa while I was busy checking tests and feeling bad. We will likely be sitting on towels for a few days. I will put away the dishes that they cleared out of the dishwasher and I will supervise a major clean-up of all areas, but especially the places where I like to walk. Tripping does tend to hamper progress and frustrate productivity, I have found. In due course I will fix my bed and figure out lunch and dinner.

Probably what I will do next is go fix the children mochas with the weak coffee and I will put whipped cream on top. They will think it is amazing and give me lots of compliments. I may just feel a gust of airy ambition flowing toward me; the sails are starting to flap.

Anybody else need coffee today?