You wanna save money? Drink water.

This one is sort of a no brainer, but I have been crunching some numbers just for fun. With a family our size, we could easily drink a half gallon of fruit juice every morning at breakfast. Even at a very conservative estimate of 2 dollars for a can of concentrate, we could consume $730 a year just in juice. If we bought the high end stuff, fresh from the grove and all that, the number would double. I won’t even go into all the pure sugar calories, but here is a link for free if you want.

Then there is the soft drink issue, which in America borders on ridiculous. I absolutely cannot believe the numbers when I research, but I found them in multiple places. According to this site, the average soda consumption in America is 216 liters a year, per person. Our local grocery store has a sale on Coke this week. You can buy 2 liters for $1.33 . If you buy all your soda in 2 liter bottles when they are on sale, you can scrape by with $143.64  on one person’s soft drinks per year. Or, in a family of seven, it would tally to $1005.48 spent on an addiction to “poison”. Does anyone else notice a bit of insanity here? Obviously, there are a lot of people drinking more than their fair share, because I am sure we are not the only people who avoid soft drinks except for very special occasions. I won’t open the obesity can of worms.

Anyway, let’s get back to water, pure (we hope) and free and plentiful. Drink water if you want to save money (or if you would like to stay healthy) (unless you live near a chemical dump and therefore have to pay for bottled water) (in which case you won’t save money buying water) (except on your hospital bills). Dear me, the qualifications are getting to me. The uncertainty about the use of so many pairs of parentheses in one sentence is also getting to me. Oh well, moving on.

I can’t really get on too high a horse, because I am a dedicated tea drinker. We drink prodigious amounts of tea, gallons and gallons of it. One cup at a time, of course. If there is a study on The Health Benefits of Tea when I am old, I will volunteer for it. I should be properly steeped in it by then, with a touch of sugar and a splash of cream in my daily Earl Grey. To be fair, here are the numbers on tea consumption. I spend about 10 cents per tea bag, which at a rate of one a day comes to $36.50 in a year. Not everybody in our family drinks tea, but we often use 3 tea bags in a day. That brings our cost up to $109.50 in a year. Even nursing students can almost afford that. 🙂

Occasionally I like to brew coffee, but not often enough to know how to figure the numbers. I find that regular caffeine kills me with migraines, a great incentive to keep my intake down. On the mornings that I drink coffee, I look down my nose at my tea drinking self, and on the mornings I have tea, I feel superior to my coffee drinking self. My mind supposes this big divide between the two kinds of individuals: coffee drinkers are urban and sophisticated while tea drinkers are tweedy and contemplative. It amuses me to be both.

But mostly I drink water.

Today a conversation at church reminded me of a conversation I had with your mother about 14 years ago. She was describing the antics of her very “determined” little girl, shaking her head in bewilderment, not sure how to handle this little lady with her zeal for life and her strong opinions. At the time I had proven absolutely nothing in the area of child rearing, although I had plenty of ideas, and this is what popped out of my mouth, “Channel that determination in the right direction and it will be a real asset to her in life.” I remember the slightly startled look on your mother’s face as she conceded that I might be right. In retrospect, I think maybe she was startled at this bit of unsolicited advice from a green horn.

Now that I know you as a gracious young lady, I see that you still have determination. You are not a push over. You keep working at a thing to get it finished, but you are kind and thoughtful in the process. You don’t run over other people to get the thing you want.  You don’t sway in the breezes of every trend that comes and goes.  You are gracious in your opinions, yet you are not afraid to speak them. Here’s the thing: I do believe I was right when I said that to your mother so many years ago.

I look at my own small daughter, the determined one. Some days I use adjectives less kind to describe her willfulness. I understand now what your mother was saying, firsthand.  I see you, with your will surrendered to Jesus, and I see the loveliness of that. Then I take courage. “Channel that in the right direction and it will be a real asset to her in life.” Blessings to you today!

February is the month when our longing for spring becomes palpable. Like Gregory said, “Just thinking about spring coming in one month makes me all shivery.” 🙂

I spent most of the night attending to the needs of a sick little girl. This is the first throwing-up sickness for all seven of us, all winter! I guess she decided to make up for lost time, because I lost count after 9 times of cleaning out the bucket and comforting the sick one. It became a sort of hazy routine: Mama, please may I have some water? Against better judgment, Mama has mercy. Sip, sip. Mama falls asleep. Olivia starts making those noises and scrabbles madly for the bucket. Mama drags off the couch and does what needs to be done.

School is plodding along. I find myself bribing using all sorts of incentives to keep the ball rolling. I would feel guilty, except I distinctly remember  using all sorts of things to prod my [bricksandmortar] students along pleasantly when we hit February. We are now the proud caretakers of an elderly encyclopedia set, which really pleases my trivia loving Greg. “These books are for getting information, not picture books,” he importantly informed his little sisters. I am constantly amused at the flights of fancy that trail out of the right side of his brain. How can someone give you ten random facts about the electric eels he drew, yet ask, “Is before after?” I thought he was joking and started laughing, but he was aggrieved. “If you thought like I do, you would know what I mean.” Ah, yes, that is the thing.

I think about my second grade self, trying to explain to an exceedingly busy teacher why it was that all my subtraction problems were wrong by one digit. I had some complicated reason, which she just didn’t get, so she brought me an abacus to help me out. I remember how insulted I was, and I try to afford my little boy the dignity of at least listening to his case as to why it is confusing that Monday comes after Sunday because he can’t remember the difference between after and before. I would be quite open to suggestions as to how to clear up the confusion. This also explains the recurring problem with prefixes and suffixes. I thought I was so very clear about where they are applied to the root word. I made charts. I illustrated! I told him over and over that “pre” is like “preschool”. You do it before you go to school. But now I understand that his frustration went a little deeper to the whole after/before issue. If you see us playing Follow the Leader around and around the back yard, chalk it up to learning!

Addy is delighting us with her growing language skills. She just hit the repeating stage, which gives the older children lots of amusement when they ask her to say long, funny words. She has chosen our large, illustrated dictionary as her favorite book. It is quite hilarious to see her hefting it onto her lap and paging through with such an important expression. I think it makes her feel big, like she is catching up with the rest of the crew. When you are fifth in line, catching up seems to be really important. She reminds us of Petunia, the silly goose, who carried a book around under her wing to make her wise.

Well, it is lunchtime. We have three kinds of soup left over in the fridge. Long live soup!

I figure that I spent almost exactly 23 hours of the last 46 hours on the road. Last night when I stopped for yet one more coffee at 2:30 AM, I found that I actually couldn’t drink it. My body seems to have a defense mechanism that pleads, “Do not kill me. I will not tolerate yet another artificial spike in energy that is totally unrelated to hours of sleep.” I decided, instead, to curl up in my blanket for a bit of refreshment in the brightly lit Sheetz parking lot. Unfortunately, that decision coincided with a blue Jeep hitting and running from a UPS truck, as well as an over zealous fire chief who blasted his fog-hornish siren for ten minutes. Sleep was out of the question and anyway, I was quite refreshed. Irritation, I discovered, was quite as stimulating as a cup of coffee. That was also about where the snow started, so I granny-drove the last stretch home, both hands on the wheel, concentrating on the dry tire tracks of the only others on the road, the big trucks. The homely Osterburg exit never looked so good as it did at 4:15 on this blitzing cold morning.

My aunt Ruth, who lived in KY, died this week. She of the faltering steps, inarticulate tongue and wistful smile. Aunt Ruth had a debilitating disease that wasted away her cerebellum over the years. Her condition was not diagnosed until it was in the later stages. Now it makes me sad that she didn’t get much respect in life because she baked bread with baking powder instead of yeast and made cherry delight with lime jello and canned pineapple. I wanted to show her at least the respect of going to her funeral, which of course, was a gesture I doubt she appreciated, but my dad and the other uncles and aunts did. So I drove 3 1/2 hours to a rendezvous with my sister and her baby. Enroute, I found out that my brothers were also traveling together to the funeral without their spouses, so there we were, all four grown kids and our mom and dad, back in the land of our birth. It was strange!

The best part of the funeral was imagining Aunt Ruth giggling at being free of her wheelchair and hospital bed, able to say exactly what she means with her new tongue, whole and full of vitality. My brain got pretty scrambled, trying to keep up with translating the mixture of German, PA Dutch and sprinkling of English words that comprise an Amish sermon. To my surprise, although I was only nine years old when our family left the Amish, I still knew the German words for “grace” and “peace”, etc. I sat beside my brother, and found it is probably better not to think about how much the row of solemn long-bearded preachers look like the seven dwarves in Snow White. As my brother pointed out, there was even a Sleepy.

We spent the night in the great big farmhouse that my grandpa built, the one that we children spent so many happy hours in, romping with the cousins. My grandpa built a number of houses, and all of them had a cubby hole under the stairway with doors and shelves inside for the toys. The “Spiel-Eck”, or Play-corner. Sorry, I don’t know how to spell in Dutch. This house also has a long, deep pantry, the mysterious place where Grandma stored the special toys out of reach, where our Aunt Ruth of healthier days would go fetch them for us, but only if we stayed at the kitchen table to play.

When we were ready to leave yesterday, I convinced my sister to drive me past the school and our house so I could take pictures to show my children as a point of reference for my stories. It is pretty astounding to them that their Mama used to ride to church in a horse drawn buggy and walk to school with a black bonnet on, just like Henner’s Lydia. I find the Amish heritage to be rich and exceedingly interesting, but I really am grateful that my parents decided to steer us down a different path.

In our hours of driving together, my sister and I unearthed our very different views on following a GPS to go and come. Let’s just say we uncovered both the triumphs and disadvantages of the system, and leave it at that. 🙂 At any rate, I am so very grateful to be in my own home again, safe and sound.

Last week I had an unexpected chance to ride along with my dad on a business trip, leaving a few children with my mom and taking a few along to Ohio. I walked into the comfort of my sister’s house and realized that this is one of those houses that has welcoming arms. The coffee was fresh, the room was warm, and the toys were all new for my little girls. I pulled my feet up onto the softness of the couch and just soaked it in. It was lovely.

We looked at pictures, catching up with each other’s friends. We watched our little girls interact and helped them work out their occasional turf wars over books and dolls. We gave each other advice, and no, you probably don’t want to know what advice. We went on a walk and we made donuts and drank more coffee. A day and a night, basically, but such a reprieve from ordinary days in my little grey house.

I thought again about the marvel of connections, of being unconditionally loved without pretense, of having people. I feel so sad when Gabe talks about meeting people who are deathly sick, and they don’t have anyone. Nobody to hold your hand. Nobody to watch your back. Nobody to keep reminding God about you when you are needy. Nobody, even when things are going well, who lets you raid their fridge when you are hungry.

I simply cannot imagine. Yes, one has a certain claim on blood relatives, but I have so many others who are “my people”. While I might not put my feet on their furniture, I know that I am warmly welcomed into their lives. It is one of the most beautiful aspects of belonging to Jesus, belonging also to this vast family.

I think maybe this is why Jesus spoke the parables about inviting wayfarers to one’s banquet, extending gracious invitations to those who don’t belong. Imagine what would happen if all of His children would extend the arms of their homes to those who don’t have people of their own, offering the comfort of a hot, cheesy lasagna… and love. How could that be resisted?

The sun came out today, finally! I decided to go on a walk for a dose of what we like to call Vitamin Sunshine. I invited my energetic male offspring to bike alongside me. Here is how the walk went from my boys’ view.

Before we ever started, “Go back inside for gloves and socks. It’s colder than it looks.”

“And zip your coat!”

Begin walk. Pedal, pedal, pedal. Skiiiiiiidddd. “Wow! Did you see that long skid mark I made?” Pedal, pedal, skiiiidddd. Pedal, skiiiddd.

“Watch out or I am gonna rear end you! I guess then I will just have to pay the damages.” Veer around Mama, pedal frantically, SSKKKKIIIIDDD. Mama is suitably impressed and laughs. SSSKKKIIIDDD.

Make rude noises at the neighbor’s chained dogs, including belches that Mama pretends not to hear.

“Watch out! Here comes a rocket!” Pedal, pedal, pedal, fantastic rocket sssskkkiiiddd.

Inspect tires and comment on how worn the back ones are. Ssskkkiiiddd. Explain to Mama why it is that the back tires wear out sooner.

Make interesting tracks in the snow that lingers in the ditches beside the road.

Turn around at the bottom of the hill and start puffing up, too tired to pedal. Scuff, scuff, scuff along in boots. Discuss Groundhog Day and what is the point and will we have spring soon.

Level off at the top of the hill, just where our lane hits the road. Hop back onto bikes. Pedal, pedal, pedal, sssskkkiiiddd into an abrupt, gravel rearranging stop in front of the porch.

That, my friends, is what going on a walk means to a little boy.

Friday puts me into a gala mood! It shouldn’t, because it is the day I have slated to catch up with housework that hasn’t gotten done all week. We finish up the school week on Saturday mornings. I have one full day to do other stuff! Here is what I want to do today:

• Start my new book,Tears of the Giraffe  
• Finish crocheting my lime green slouch beret
• Sew up that lovely piece of fabric my sister sent me
• Have another crack at mozzarella cheese
• Play Settlers with the boys
• Make granola, chock full of yummy stuff like coconut oil and sunflower seeds and chopped almonds
• Play with my Cricut… cards for Valentine’s Day

Here is what I should do today:

• Scrub my bathroom, top to bottom
• Check yesterday’s school lessons
• Wash the sticky prints off the kitchen windows
• Change all the sheets
• Remove the surface clutter from the horizontal surfaces
• Dust those surfaces

Ughh. I think I will just stop there. Maybe I will light a few candles and sip some coffee while I think about my options. I never can figure out why my lists of want-to-dos and should-dos don’t merge better.

 

As a family, we are memorizing I Peter 4:12, “ Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you.” It goes on to say, “But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed.” I am not good at that rejoicing-in-hard-stuff bit.

Just about a year ago, Gabe and I took a weekend off to celebrate our tenth anniversary (3 months after the fact) at a friend’s cabin. We had a nursling to take along, and my husband was so sick he could hardly carry our luggage or the fat baby. It was raw and damp outside, brown dirt and chopped off cornstalks lining the driveway, a steep slope up the ridge begging to be hiked. I had packed the most tempting foods I could think of for my man, and I grilled and cooked with care. He wasn’t hungry, picked at a few bites, and left the rest for me. We built a fire, played a game of Canasta, then he was tired. I put the baby down for a nap and tramped outside, my heart heavy with forebodings, my spirit rebelling against these circumstances. This was supposed to be our tenth anniversary celebration, after all!

I was mad. Why weren’t our prayers answered? A whole year of nursing school yet… how could it possibly be better that my husband be sick? I clawed my way up that steep ridge, tears stinging my eyes, self pity washing over me. What are we going to do if he never gets better? What if we will never be able to make plans again without adding, “If Gabe feels well enough”? How would we support our family if he can’t work?

The angry questions kept swarming, all the way to the top of the ridge where the turkey trails came out of the woods into the corn field. I stood there, my hands clenched, my heart screaming for answers. I felt the bitter core swelling inside me. “WHY, WHY, WHY?”

Did you know that God’s children can be incredibly rude and demanding sometimes, desperate, afraid, and He doesn’t ever turn His back on them? As I was standing there, miserably waiting for some reassurance that everything was going to get better, I sensed that fact. No matter what (insert worst case scenario), He is there. Slowly my hands unclenched. I still didn’t understand, but I gave up trying and I believed. Slowly my heart softened in worship. I gave up the control I didn’t have anyway. I threw down my worries with my drenched tissues in that forsaken turkey grazing field. They were biodegradable anyway.

Maybe that is what it means, “Rejoice.” Maybe it doesn’t mean, “Feel good.” Maybe it means, “Be glad that you don’t have to be big enough to handle this all by yourself.”