Sweet Pea

The garden is growing nicely. Green things will do that when they repeatedly get several inches of rain dumped on them. The spinach was a bit of a loss, and the lettuce is growing crazier than I can keep up with as the sole lettuce eater in the family. But now the best part has arrived; the peas are starting to fill in!

Yesterday in frustration I told a bored and more than slightly irritating Indy to 'go out to the garden and eat some peas'. He was more than happy to oblige. 

 Indy loves to eat things straight from the plant. On Monday at the farm he feasted on peas from the garden, copious amounts of mulberries from the trees. He truly shocked me by eating sour cherries off of the tree and declaring them 'mmmm!'.

I do love my little sweet pea and his produce loving ways! Who could resist a summer smile like that? 

Stormy weather

Photo by El Garza

He ping pongs from one window to the other, practically hyperventilating in his fear. The clouds are still moving in, the thunder rumbles in the distance but the thought of what is to come has sent him over the edge. Too nervous to eat, he begs to check the radar so that he can see how big the storm will be. He begs to go down to his bedroom, but can't stay there because he must continue checking the windows, watching the progression of the storm. The sky turns green. His fear is a tangible presence, a scent in the air that rips at my nerves like no storm ever has. He cannot be comforted, either by prayer or by my arms around him. We give him large headphones to block the thunder. The power goes out. Worry is a beast that claws at his insides, refusing to be distracted by snacks or movies on the battery run DVD player.

The power comes back on, the storm passes. He continues to pace, reporting on the advancing blue sky as if fearing that if he does not keep tabs on it, it will retreat. He begs to know the wind speed. He asks again to check the radar. Fear takes its time in loosening its grip on him. Slowly it retreats, but I know that each day he lives life with his eye on the sky (and the radar) waiting for the next storm.

I am exhausted from over two hours of this emotional upheaval. I want it to stop. I want to say "Peace, be still," and have it be so. But how can I do for my child what so often I cannot even do in my own life?

In my life I often struggle with fear. Fear that holds me back from doing what I should be doing or what I want to be doing. I am a champion worrier. I have been for years. I look to the horizon and I see the clouds. Aspergers. Finances. The shadow of loneliness. Flickers of failure. I begin to focus on the possibilities, the 'what-if's', the sense that something that I'm not going to like might be forming on the radar and I WANT TO KNOW WHAT'S COMING!

Gates and I have a verse that we will often say together when he's afraid of something. The verse is Psalm 56:3 and simply says "But when I am afraid, I will put my trust in you." Time and time again in the Bible we are told not to fear, not to be afraid. I'm not a Biblical scholar, but I don't think God expected us never to experience fear. We're human, with human emotions. I think the key is in that verse. WHEN I am afraid (not 'if'), I will put my trust in God.

I have a hard time with that. Put my trust in God? Rest in the assurance of His care? Oh, no no no! I have to keep my eyes on the horizon! What if the storm moves in and God isn't paying attention? Doesn't He know that I need to know how big it is going to be?
I love the story of Jesus calming the storm (Luke 8:22-25). I can imagine the disciples in the boat, watching the storm roll in, glancing over at Jesus asleep in the boat. Worry begins to creep in. What if God isn't paying attention? Yeah, that's His Son and all, but...what if? Or, what if God plans on plucking Jesus out of a capsizing boat, saving him at the last moment but not them? The waves get higher, water begins spilling over the sides. How can he SLEEP through this? "Master, wake UP! We're going to DROWN!" Jesus awakes, speaks the words and the storm stops. I imagine the disciples continuing to scan the sky, a bit uncertain that it is really over.

Could you have done it, if you were one of them? Could you have sat in the boat with the waves washing over the sides, trusting implicitly that the One who was with you was fully aware of what you were facing? Could you have remained calm when the world around you was in turmoil?

Can you do it today? Can I? Can I lay aside my worries about what is looming on the radar and simply say "Lord, I am afraid but I will trust in you." Can I stop my frenzied preoccupation with my fears and let God do what He wishes with my life? I have learned that preoccupation with what I am afraid of crowds out all ability to do anything else. Just as Gates couldn't concentrate on anything while the storm raged, neither can I accomplish the work God has called me to do if I am busy worrying about the storm that is raging.

Storm clouds of insecurity are dotting the horizon. What if all of my words are for nothing? Does any of this matter? Will God use the words I thought He put into my heart? I can only rest on the words of Paul in Philippians 4:4-9:

Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy–think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me–put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.

Stormy weather lies all around us. But the God of peace is with us.

It Came from the Black Lagoon

After dropping Gates off at daycamp this morning I did some strawberry picking and then headed to the farm to hang out until it was time to go get him. It has been raining pretty steadily for about 5 days now (around 8 inches in the area of the in-law's farm) but finally we had a beautiful sunny day. So my mother-in-law and I decided to go check on our garden.

I guess we didn't really think about what 8 inches of rain would do on all that nice, soft soil. But we figured it out pretty quickly one step in. At least we had our boots on.

Those boots are actually looking pretty clean; I think at one point I had about ten pounds of mud clinging to each foot. If we stopped and stood still to look out over the rows (because we couldn't actually walk out into them) we started to sink. Walking was an exercise in staying vertical and keeping our boots from being sucked off of our feet. I think that the only reason we didn't fall might be because we were clinging for dear life to the row of pine trees planted along the edge of the garden. I always enjoy spending time with my mother-in-law, but I think this is probably the most hilarity that we have ever experienced together.

My father-in-law just shook his head and turned the water on so that we could hose ourselves off.

I think it bears noting, however, that before we left he took Indy out for a 4-wheeler ride that involved more than a little mud of their own...

Through His eyes

I originally wrote this post back in October of 2008. Lately this song has been coming to mind AGAIN because of another Bible study I'm doing. So I thought it might be time to revisit it.

I've just finished my Bible study for the day. These past two days the study has been about laying aside our judgment of others. I struggle with this sometimes, because I love to be right and if I lay aside my judgment it means I'm laying down the desire to PROVE that I'm right. Most of all, it means I'm laying down my pride, the pride that tends to ignore all of the broken parts of myself, all of the repair work that God has had to do on my life, all of the forgiveness and mercy I've been granted. I lay down my pride and I look in the eyes of another person and see myself. More than that, I see the potential for God to move in their lives in the way he's moved in mine.


The past few days this song has been echoing in my head and it seems appropriate. If I'm to lay aside my judgment I need to see people the way God sees them. And so my prayer echoes the words of Brandon Heath's song "Give Me Your Eyes":

Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
Ones that are far beyond my reach.
Give me your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see







Update 2010:

I was thinking about this song again last night at Bible study, and guess what was playing on my radio when I woke up this morning.

Here's what I'm learning about having His eyes. It hurts. It hurts with a pain that is very nearly physical, the pain of a heart that is breaking along with God's. Having His eyes is one thing to ask, it is another thing to move beyond just having His eyes to asking "What do you want me to do, God?"

The study we are doing now is the popular "Experiencing God" by Henry Blackaby. We learn to experience God by joining Him in His work around us. In order to join Him where He is at work I NEED to have His eyes. But when I see through them I see broken people, I see pain. I see past the shell of someone I don't like and into a heart that is crushed beneath the weight of life, of choices made and unmade, of waiting for love that seems elusive. And it hurts.

But I wouldn't have it any other way, because one thing I know is that I am loved greatly, deeply, unendingly by the One who gave His only child for me. If I can plant the seeds in someone's life that grow into an understanding of that same love for them, then it is worth it. So I cry out with every breath I take "Lord, give me YOUR eyes."

Bitten

I have never considered myself a crafty person. Despite a stint in 4H that had me sewing from 3rd Grade through my senior year in high school my sewing projects were pretty much relegated to those few summer months when I attacked it with the ferocity of an adolescent girl determined to win a blue ribbon. Yep, it was pretty much all about the glory and the possibility of being selected to go to the State Fair. (Which never happened, by the way, not even in the Year of Laura Ashley in which I sewed not one, but TWO prairie skirts complete with a million buttonholes (because everyone knows that the prairie girl look requires two full skirts containing a gazillion yards of fabric) and a coordinating corseted top complete with princess seams and an actual lace up bodice.

I've attempted various crafts since then. Out of college and out of work I took up cross stitch, which lasted the six months it took me to find a full-time job. Just long enough for me to buy a 10 x 20 cross stitch art piece which languished less than half done for at least ten years before vanishing somewhere into the land of abandoned crafts.

When Gates was born my husband gave me the supplies to make a baby scrapbook; this was back when Creative Memories was a new phenomenon sweeping the nation, before the emergence of scrabook supplies in every store on the planet. I tackled it with all the gusto of a new mother energized by the change in her daily routine. Which is to say, it pretty much sat there for almost a year. I did finish up Year One finally and started a new book for Year Two. I also started a book for Indy when he was born. I'm pretty sure I haven't touched them in at least two years. I'm not even sure that I know where they are. Oh, wait, they're over there, on the Shelves of Unused Craft Supplies.

Last summer I started knitting, which I must say has been the most rewarding crafting yen yet. I am, however, incredibly slow so there isn't much instant gratification there.

Then, this week we painted our living room. And in the aftermath I was left with some fabric I had ordered to cover the piano bench which turned out to be not quite what I had in mind. Suddenly, without warning, the crafting bug struck.

"I know!" I thought. "I will cleverly and artfully cover the bulletin board in the kitchen thus creating something both functional and beautiful!" So I went to Michael's and bought a hot glue gun, an invention which I now wonder how I ever lived without.

First I painted the edges of my old board with one of the rejected wall colors from our painting project.

Then, using my sharp little cutting tool thing from my scrapbooking days I carefully trimmed the fabric to the size of the cork board.

Next, the edges were taped off and the board was sprayed with tacky spray. Working quickly I placed the fabric back on the board and smoothed it out. I will just say, I'm glad I bought the tacky spray that said you can reposition things, because I'd hate to imagine the impossible bond that would have been formed by the kind that DOESN'T let you reposition things. Nonetheless, I managed to get the fabric on and smoothed.

Then came the fun step, the hot glue gun! I glued ribbon all the way around the edge of the fabric, thus hiding the edges and pretending that I'm better at cutting straight lines than I really am.

Voila! (Which I think is French for 'Holy Cow, I can't believe I finished this!) The finished product.

Yes, it will eventually be hung on the wall. But if I took a picture of it hanging on the wall you'd see our other project-in-progess, the replacing of our kitchen countertop after someone broke it by very cleverly trying to reach the refrigerator by leaping over the counter. Because sometimes my brilliance just astounds me.

So, I now have a hot glue gun, tacky spray, and the insatiable urge to go craft something. I'm not sure I know this person...

Home Sweet Home!

Remember the rather drab living room that we were finally going to do something about this week? It's finished! Finished in spite of my last minute 2-hours-before-we-bought-the-paint change of mind on the wall colors. Finished in spite of my decision to wash the curtains while they were down which ended in them shrinking at least 9 inches and a quick trip to Lowes to buy new ones. Finished in spite of the painter's tape that let paint bleed through onto the adjoining walls/ceiling.

I think my children summed up my feelings best. Indy said "Whoa!" Gates said, "I think I might just stay in this room forever because it is so nice." Indeed, I might. It has become a place that I want to hang out, to curl up with tea and a book, to snuggle with my boys.

Thankfully I had the sense to make a last minute change from the pink walls to something in the brown family. Antique Farmhouse, to be exact. Gates refers to it as 'a color that kids don't understand'. You know, because it isn't the name of a color on a marker or anything. And I have been forbidden to use colors that kids don't understand when/if I get around to painting their room.

What used to be an empty corner has become cozy by moving the chair into it. Eventually I'll add some plant shelves beside the railing to add a little greenery to the room. You will notice that I am subscribing to the 'wait to see if the wrinkles hang out' theory with the new curtains. One thing is certain, none of my draperies are ever going near a dryer or ironing board again. I'll spring for the dry-cleaner.

We still need some artwork on this wall, but moving the couch closer to the window helps take advantage of some of the natural light.

This shows you a bit of the contrast between the two walls, although in reality it doesn't show up that clearly. The blue piano bench still needs help; I had ordered some fabric that ended up being too light, but I turned it into another project which will be shown tomorrow.

Much darker, but much more cozy. Did I mention I love my new curtains? Did I mention that if I get bored, I can flip them so the brown part is at the bottom?

Oh, this little lamp is one of my favorite details. I fell in love with it at Lowes but didn't think it was big enough for my end table. After moving things around I realized I didn't need a lamp there, but I did need something on the piano to finish it off. The colors and design are perfect. You can't tell it from this picture, but now that they are up against a darker background my Willow Tree figures are much more visually appealing.

Of course I wouldn't be complete without a corner for my ladder. Just one of those details that marks this as MY space. It also still gives Indy a little nook to hide in when he's mad at me.

And last, but not least...the apple crate. This thing has been with me ever since it was the first piece of furniture I could call my own, back in my very first attic apartment in Virginia. It has seen a good twenty years of use, but it still has a few years left in it to house library books for the boys. There's something nice about having continuity from one stage of my life to the next.

So, that's it! The results of my very first venture into painting the space we live in. Now that it's complete I wonder how I ever survived all those years without color. I'm glad I took a leap and ventured into the land of non-white/beige. If you will excuse me now, I'm going to go curl up and admire it some more.

How to cook for thirty children

Several weeks ago I and two of my friends were in charge of cooking the evening meal for our church's Vacation Bible School. If you know anything about me you know that my food philosophy would absolutely cringe at the thought of just heating up hot dogs for the group. So, every day for five days we prepared a meal for about thirty to forty kids and twenty or so adult/teen volunteers.

Maybe you'll never have the opportunity to cook for that many, but just in case you do (or just in case you are curious), these are my helpful 'works for me' tips on how to cook for a crowd.

1. Be really, really sure that you want to.

2. Have a great kitchen team. Bring Wii games and lots of activities for your children to play while you cook.

3. Buy the 5 pound bag of baby carrots at the beginning of the week. Childen eat more carrots than is commonly believed.

4. Keep it simple.

5. Have helpers to assist smaller children in carrying plates, pouring drinks, and monitoring the dessert table.

6. Either be prepared to do math, or pick your recipes from a website that recalculates servings and ingredients for you.

7. Serve dishes that come in parts so that selective eaters have more options. In other words, serve the spaghetti with the pasta sauce on the side. Serve the penne noodles, the alfredo sauce, the chicken and the broccoli all in separate roasters so that you can customize the plate for each individual. Serving takes longer but is worth the savings in food not wasted.

8. Never, ever, ever put the pasta on too early to cook. If you think it is time, take a deep breath, look at the clock...and then wait a few minutes longer.

9. After draining the pasta spray the dickens out of it with cooking spray as you dump it into the roaster. You can never spray it too much. Really.

10. Children eat more broccoli when their parents are around.

11. Never leave the chocolate chip cookies out after dinner or the 4th and 5th graders will swarm them as they move between activities.

12. A teenage boy is capable of eating inhaling more sub sandwiches than should be humanly possible. He is your secret weapon in getting rid of leftovers.

13. No matter how eco-conscious you are, use the disposable plates on the last night so that you can sit back and enjoy the program instead of spending all of your time in the kitchen. Saving 80 plates is not worth missing seeing your children up on stage.

14. It doesn't matter if you are wearing a t-shirt with your church's logo and shopping for Bible school food, it will not make your children behave better in Sam's Club. In fact, you will seriously consider hiding behind the nearest pallet of oversized cereal boxes and turning the shirt inside out. Your incredibly selective eight year old WILL, however, surprise you by picking the oddest food available on the little sample stands and declaring that he likes it. This will prove that you have been transported to a parallel universe.

15. There will always be enough food. Don't ask me how this works, it just does. Even when you have NO idea how many people are coming, there will be enough.

16. Cookies magically multiply. Resist the temptation to send your pastor out on a panic run to the store during the program because you think there won't be enough to feed everyone. There will be. Repeat to yourself, there will be. It is the Rule of Cookies.

17. Have fun! Enjoy all the little smiles as the kids go through the serving line. Don't take it personally when they turn down half the meal...oh, wait, those were MY kids.

Just a little list of what Works for Me. For more Works for Me Wednesday visit Kristen at We Are That Family.

Pink! No?

We've lived in this house for almost exactly five years. Five years of really changing very little. We bought a couch and a chair, hung about 3 pictures on the walls and that's as far as we got. Quite frankly, it's getting a little dull.

OK, a lot dull

OK, really dull.

OK, just plain boring.

Finally, we decided it was time to venture into the world of color. There's just one eensy-teensy problem. I am color challenged. It's not so much that I can't pick out colors that go together; my problem is more that there are so MANY colors that I keep changing my mind before I ever get paint on the wall. Oh, I know which ones I DON'T want. No orange. No beige. No white. No dark brown. Blue won't go with the furniture, and there's too much green to even think about adding more. But that still leaves a surprising number of colors to sort through.

With painting day only weeks away I HAD to make a choice. I scoured decorating books from the library hoping for some brilliance that would help me to pick colors that would magically pull together all of the stuff in my living room and make it look like a place where I live. In one book I finally saw the magic words. "Pick the mood you want first, and THEN the color." A-ha! No problem. I want it to be a calming room.

Umm, but then again, I want just a touch of personality, something that makes it pop. Something that would make people feel happy and talkative if I ever actually got around to having company.

Finally I settled on a palette of pinkish-brown shades that would not only go with the existing wall color (hopefully) but also introduce some soothing femininity into the room.

And then there is the focal wall, the one that reaches its cathedral point from the living room into the kitchen. The wall that needs to tie everything together. Cherry Mocha sounded like the perfect color. It looked like the perfect swatch. After all, if there are two things that I love to eat or drink it would be sweet cherries and coffee.

Leaving nothing to chance I purchased some samples from the store. After all, I'd changed my mind so many times that this time I wanted to be SURE I liked the colors. With just a week to go before P-day, I grabbed my brush in one hand, my beloved Cherry Mocha paint in the other and began to paint. And almost burst into tears of defeat. My lovely dark color, the focal point of the room, was PINK. Undeniably pink.

I spent the afternoon trying to convince myself that it wasn't as pink as I thought it was, that as it dried it was turning a little more brown. But the quickly disguised look of horror on my husband's face when he arrived home banished my denial.

Back to the store I went, still desperate to avoid what now seemed like the inevitable brown. And this is what I ended up with:

The dark shade? Not brown, not pink. It is the color I was hoping for all along. (Note to self, if you think a shade looks brown, hold it up to an actual brown color chip...the difference will immediately become obvious as can be seen by the contrast between the dark color and what I THOUGHT was a dark color immediately to the right of it. Color challenged, remember?) The shade on the right and far left will be the two accent walls. Yes, it is pink, but I like it. So, stay tuned for the final results next week. Unless it turns out horribly, then I'm going to pretend this post never existed.

Promise

It was planting day on the farm on Saturday. While Mike and the boys kicked back and relaxed, riding 4-wheelers, lawn tractors and playing on the rope swings I hauled my seed potatoes and my tomato plants out to the garden behind the house. I love this time of year. The seedlings that have been carefully nurtured through the past few months are in the ground and ready to grow. Bean, corn and pea sprouts are sending up shoots; leafy greens are starting to fill out. Planting time is a season of promise, a season filled with the vision of harvests to come.

Sometimes that promise looks a little wilted.

But with copious amounts of water hauled from the front of the house, around the side, through the tree line and down the field, bucketfull by bucketfull the seedlings began to perk up. Or maybe it has more to do with the sticks holding them in place until I can get more cages.

Two trenches were dug and the rows of potatoes planted. After all the water hauling I was too tired to walk the rest of the way across the garden to take their picture. Envision two trenches dug in the dirt and then partially filled in. Yep, that's what it looks like.

My tomatoes are marching in a nice long line that promises many lovely quarts of tomato and pizza sauce this year. My home garden is filled with the slicers and the little yellow pear tomatoes that beg to be picked and eaten as I walk by.

The only thing missing is the peppers. Once again those promising little sprouts have simply refused to grow into anything garden worthy. I started them early. I babied them with heating pads. I transplanted to give them room to grow. And stubbornly, taunting me, they sit there refusing to change. "We like being little plants," they tell me. "No one puts us out in the hot garden in the hard soil." Little do they know they will soon be relegated to the compost heap if they don't show some serious improvement over the next few days.

I love planting season. So full of promise, so full of waiting for anything to happen.