Author: lifewithesther15

I'm a stay-at-home mom with 10 kids and a wonderful husband. I'm a follower of Jesus and I am also a second generation missionary kid who grew up in Kentucky, Haiti, and Alaska. I have a lot of stories and I enjoy sharing them.

He Leads me by Still Waters

Today has been a busy day. My husband invited some people over for supper and I have spent the last two days preparing for that. Not that I’m doing some fancy dinner party, but more that I have been having to clean an entire summer’s worth of clutter and mess. I haven’t had any guests inside my house in a couple months and it shows. We only have AC in the bedrooms so our house isn’t the best place to entertain in the summer, and fortunately it’s been a cool summer so I’ve been able to do get-togethers out on my back deck without being miserable. Also, my kids adopted the living room as their playroom this summer and I’ve got a lego city set up on the coffee table and have had various block houses with all kinds of interesting characters scattered all over the living room floor. We have several different building sets and they’ve all been used and then not put away properly. Then one of my teen boys gave his younger siblings his lego collection that he doesn’t use any more and it has been a lego bonanza all over the downstairs. (Which doesn’t really make sense. The kids have AC in their bedrooms, why don’t they want to play with their toys in their bedrooms?)

All that to say, cleaning up was a project. I am happy to announce that I now have all the building blocks sorted into their own containers, legos are put away (except for the city on the coffee table), random bits and pieces have been sent upstairs to toy boxes and my house is wonderfully clean. I have been snapping left and right as my whole family tries to undo all the work. That doesn’t go there! Put it away! Don’t leave that there! Don’t eat that in the living room! Just give me one day with everything clean!!

I was standing by the kitchen sink later, peeling ten pounds of potatoes and I found myself humming the old Sunday school song, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I’ll follow him always, he leads me by still waters, I’ll follow him always. Always, Always, I’ll follow him always, Always, Always, I’ll follow him always…” And I thought about the line, He leads me by still waters, and I felt very much like that was what Jesus was doing for me right then. Leading me by still waters. My house was clean. I was preparing food for my family and friends. We had all worked hard and now I could move at a leisurely pace as I prepared a meal. It felt very peaceful. Restful. Fulfilling.

I know the last time I wrote about “He Restores My Soul” and how that happened through having a vacation that wasn’t always comfortable and relaxing. And I find it funny that “He leads me by still waters” also has nothing to do with peaceful inactivity and leisure. But rather through meaningful hard work that benefits me and a whole bunch of other people.

So often I interpret God blessing me to mean that he is going to remove me from this human experience and transport me to paradise. And instead he invites me to enter into this human experience more deeply. See the good and the beauty that is tangled up with the bad and the ugly. Find joy in experiencing all the emotions, joy and pain, instead of keeping everything sterile and safe, and deadened. Get restored by facing some challenges. Find peace by doing a job well and blessing others with the work of your hands.

I love how God does things so different from how I imagine it should go. I love looking up from peeling potatoes and realizing that Jesus is taking care of me and has unexpectedly gifted me with peace.

He leads me by still waters, I’ll follow him always.

He Restores My Soul

Our family just got back from four days at the beach. We went to Hunting Island State Park in South Carolina and got a primitive tent site. When I was making reservations I just took the only site available for four days. And then took another site that was available for two days, since our family is too big to be in one site. Well, it turned out that site 25 and site 11 are right next to each other, so our family wasn’t spread out all over the campground. Also both sites were right next to the bathhouse and right next to the very short path that led to the beach. 

I loved being in the ocean. I grew up in Haiti and the sounds and smells of the beach feel like all the good things about childhood. The water was very warm, it wasn’t crowded, there were waves for the kids to play in, but it  stayed calm enough that they could swim safely. There was a brisk wind that blew all day. And our tent and the bathhouse were literally a sixty second walk away, so it was easy to go back to our site for lunch and snacks and bathroom breaks. 

The beach was awesome. 

Tent camping was not that great. 

The beach had wind, but there was a big sand dune separating the campground from the beach and it blocked all the breeze. Early in the morning and in the evening there were swarms of no-see-ums and mosquitoes. Our site had very little shade and our canopy with mosquito netting  was just tall enough that all the sun came in on the sides and we were constantly having to move our chairs to stay in the shade. At night there was no breeze and the temperature never went lower than the 80s. And the kids and I were not able to take the time to get the sand off our feet when we went into the tent because we were hurling ourselves through the barely unzipped opening to try and escape the swarms of bugs chasing us. Which meant that by the second night, my air mattress was covered in a fine silty layer of sand that, with the help of sweat, stuck to our whole bodies. 

Fortunately, we have friends who live in the area that we were also visiting and the second night my oldest child abandoned camp and went and slept at their house, then the third night the next four oldest joined them, and the last night, we said, forget this, and we all went and slept at their house. 😀 Hurray for friends. 

I loved being on the water, but on our last day, I was able to say confidently that I did not want to live near the beach. It was great for a visit, but it was really nice to get back to the mountains of East Tennessee. 

A verse has been going through my head the last week or so from Psalm 23. “He restores my soul.” I approached this vacation feeling like this trip was going to be part of the process of God restoring my soul. 

What I expected was paradise. 

As I lay in my bed the first night, so hot I couldn’t sleep. I thought about other people having beach vacations, staying in nice air conditioned hotels. And I thought, YES! But are they building character on their vacation??? We are building character by gum! And that really was what a lot of the trip was about. Being hot and tired and irritated and having to stop being snippy and be patient instead. Trying to keep a sense of humor. Not letting things slide into a complain-fest. It was a weird mix of unbridled joy as we frolicked on the sand and then everyone tired and grumpy as we tried to feed people and clean up for bed. I failed often, but I kept trying. 

Sitting back at home now, I do feel restored. More energetic, more purposeful. I think my path to restoration was getting unplugged (no phone service at camp!) and being immersed in all the senses and all the emotions. Feeling things strongly. Good things and bad things. Getting back into my body and mind instead of staying in a constant distracted or zoned out state. 

It was good. I’m thankful. 

The Lord is my Shepherd. He knows what I need. 

Having a Bad Day? Go to Bed.

You  know, there is something powerful about going to bed and waking up the next day and starting fresh.

Yesterday, I was tired. Feeling overwhelmed. Feeling very uncertain about my ability to do anything. It’s July, and I had a big list of things I had been putting off until July. Like thinking about the next school year and buying school clothes, and shoes, and supplies. Getting ready to teach piano lessons in August. Preparing for a beach camping trip. And thinking more in depth on my own future. 

I was also feeling defeated because I continue to struggle with my blood sugar. My fasting blood sugar has come way down, (yay) but I can’t get my morning numbers down. And I’ve tried every combination I can think of. Fasting. Eating a small amount of protein early in the morning. Eating a small carb and protein. Exercising first thing. Not exercising. 

Last night I was feeling very grumpy. I hadn’t done my exercise for the day, more because I felt so exhausted I could hardly move. I had to take my teens to youth group since my driving teen is out of town. And I didn’t feel like leaving the house. And if I was going to take them to youth it made sense to just go to the park and take a long walk while I was waiting to bring them home. And while that sounded sensible and healthy, it didn’t sound fun. 

I went to the park anyway and walked 3.5 miles. And I felt better about life afterwards. And this morning I woke up feeling hopeful. A lot more energy. Better perspective. 

You know how when your computer or your phone just suddenly stop working properly and so you turn it off and then turn it back on again. I think that’s what going to bed and waking up the next day is for us. Shut down. Turn it back on. It’s working again. Who knows why. It’s magic. 🙂 

So, this is my advice. Having a bad day? Power through the best you can (Take a walk if possible!), and wait for tomorrow.

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23

Master of the Mundane

My husband and seventeen year old just got back from a ten day trip to Columbia. They went to serve a community there by running a VBS for the kids, a women’s night out, a men’s night out, and a weekend retreat for the youth. They were busy. During this same time, my fifteen, fourteen, twelve, and ten year old joined YWAM Knoxville for a six day outreach to some remote Appalachian communities where they ran a day camp for kids and had evening VBS in several locations. They were up early, went to bed late, and worked hard all day. I was really glad that all my family members were able to participate in these things.

In the meantime, I stayed home with my two little boys, and my oldest, and took care of the mundane things. Grocery shopping. Meals. Dishes. Feed the animals. We’ve had a flea problem with our pets so I spent several days working on de-fleaing my home. Church. Laundry. Pretty mundane stuff. We had some trips to Grandma’s house to break up the monotony which was nice, but even that we kept low-key.

I thought about writing a blog about the Power of the Mundane. How it’s an important job to have someone home tending the fires, keeping things running. How, without someone doing the mundane stuff, it wouldn’t be possible for other people to go do the adventurous and exciting stuff. How our role in the home is often unseen, but so very important. But, I didn’t write about that, because I wasn’t feeling it. I was feeling tired. Irritated. Wanting a break. And when my husband texted me on his last day in Columbia to say they were able to go to the beach, I was genuinely glad that he was getting to do something fun, but at the same time feeling hot and bothered that I had family members on the beach in Columbia, while my schedule for the day was to vacuum and sweep and mop my entire house.

Just being real here. 😏

But, I was able to get some perspective.

Someone asked me if I wished I could have gone with my husband. And I thought about it and the answer was genuinely, No. All of my family spent their entire time gone talking and interacting with new people. Making connections. Reaching out to others. As an introvert and someone who has been feeling emotionally depleted for a while now, spending a big chunk of time talking to other people does not sound good. I know that I don’t have that in me at the moment.

I think what has surprised me about this time has been the peace I have felt despite all the irritation. I know that God has good things for me too, that I don’t have to resign myself to just being a dishwasher and laundry folder for the rest of my life. There are adventures and excitement out there for me too. And they’ll come at the right time and be the right kind of adventure that suits me, my personality, and where I am at in life.

In the meantime, I will continue to do the tasks set in front of me. Be Master of the Mundane. Keep the household running, and really enjoy the fact that most of my family is home now.

Sunday Morning Memories

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning. Sun is up. Birds are singing. Most of my kids are still asleep. It’s cool outside. I’m reminded of a Sunday morning from my childhood. I can’t remember why, but my brother and I were staying at my Grandparnt’s house on the 4VEH missionary compound in Vaudreuil, Haiti. I was twelve years old. I always woke up with the sunrise in Haiti. You could hear birds singing, roosters crowing. Maybe some donkeys braying. I could hear movement in the house as my Grandmother bustled around, getting breakfast on the table.

My Grandmother was a very scheduled person. Before we went to bed, the night before, she would have told us the exact time that breakfast would be served, and no one would even think of being late. The table was in the dining room that also opened into the living room on one side, and a doorway into the kitchen on another side. The table was always set very precisely. Cloth napkins with napkin rings. My Grandma really liked napkin rings and she had an individualized napkin ring for each member of the family, including grandkids. She used a label machine to print tiny neat labels for her and Grandpa’s napkin ring. No confusing who’s ring belonged to whom.

She always had two glasses at her and Grandpa’s table setting. A small glass for juice, and a larger glass for water. I remember eating pancakes and watching with great interest as my Grandpa would take a mango, cut it neatly into cubes and then put the cubes on his pancakes, along with a big dollop of homemade plain yogurt. It did not look appetizing to me. Maybe mango by itself, but on pancakes?? My brother, across the table, would spend a great deal of time spreading rich Haitian peanut butter on his pancakes, before he covered them with syrup. I shook my head and opted for the traditional syrup and butter.

We would eat and then wait until my Grandmother took out her Bible and read a Psalm for the day. The rhythmic clicking of the ceiling fans, the constant tick tock of the wall clock, birds singing, and scripture being read aloud, this was a Sunday morning.

After breakfast had been cleaned up there was a bustle to get ready for church. Make sure your hair is brushed neatly. Do you have your Bible? My Grandmother would walk out of her room and hand cardboard fans to my brother and I so we could fan ourselves during the service. She had a whole collection of cardboard fans and fancy women’s fans. The cardboard fans might have a pretty picture of flowers and scripture written on it. (If you haven’t seen these before, imagine a rectangle of thin cardboard, glued to a popsicle stick, voila, personal air conditioning at its best.)

Then my Grandmother would hand my brother and I a Haitian hymnbook. In Haiti, at that time, there was one standard hymnbook. Everyone was responsible to buy their own hymnbook and bring it to church every Sunday. I am presuming that all the churches used the same hymnbook, no matter what denomination, as I know our family visited many different types of churches, but it was always the same hymn book. (If I’ve got that wrong, forgive me, I was a kid, not paying attention to a lot of details.)

Armed with a Bible, hymnbook and fan, we were now ready for church. The church my Grandparents attended was only a couple minutes walk away, but by that time, my Grandparents were moving slower so we would pile into their light blue peugot and drive the short distance to the church. Then the endurance game began.

I was not fluent in Creole, and even my mom, who spoke Creole very well, had a hard time following along in a Haitian church service. Everyone spoke so fast. Our job as missionary kids was to sit quietly and pretend like we were paying attention.

The hymn singing was at least interesting. The words were printed out so I could gather the meaning better and I always loved singing. But then finally it was sermon time.

Let me set the scene first though. The church was made of concrete block. It had high ceilings and a large cavernous sanctuary. The walls were covered in windows (the kind that is made by simply leaving artistic spaces unblocked) and the doorways were all open, trying to let as much airflow as possible happen. The space was crammed full of long wooden benches. The benches in the front of the church had backs, but the farther back you went, the more basic the benches became, just a long wooden plank. There were bright banners and ribbons hung everywhere. The church was packed, and everyone was in their Sunday best.

My Grandparents were considered honored members so they got to sit up front, which meant my brother and I had to sit up front, which meant we had to be on even better behavior. Everyone was crammed in as close together as possible to make room for everyone else.

Once the sermon started in earnest, I would pull out my English Bible. I figured out, early on, that you can get away with inattention, if you are reading your Bible. I eyed my Grandmother who was patiently fanning herself with her fancy blue lace fan, eyes forward, seeming to be completely caught up in the sermon. I pulled out my cardboard fan and gave a couple waves and then gave up. Flipped my Bible open to the Old Testament, (should I read Genesis, Joshua, Ruth, Kings?) and slowly lost myself in all the old stories. I think I can credit my great familiarity with the Old Testament with Haitian church. Trapped on a bench in blistering heat, nothing else to do except read my Bible.

Finally, several hours later, the service ended. The last speech, the last special music, the last prayer. Everyone stood up and started milling around. I stood patiently by my Grandmother while she greeted all the people around her, until she had a minute, and then whispered in her ear, can we walk back to your house and meet you there? She nodded her agreement, I nodded at my brother who was also waiting for permission, and we carefully edged ourselves out of the crowd and took off for my Grandparents house.

The rest of the day would be a big Sunday dinner, followed by my Grandparents taking a long nap. We were on our own for entertainment for the rest of the day. Read a book. Walk around outside. Nothing loud or too boisterous. A day of rest. Something I didn’t appreciate at that age, but now, it sounds wonderful.

P.S. One of my Grandma’s fans I inherited.

Job Moments

Our church is doing a reading plan together on a Bible App. We are reading through the Old Testament. Every day it gives you your chapters to read and at the end there is a place you can make comments and see what everyone has to say about the daily reading.

On Sunday morning I followed my normal routine of laying in bed, checking my email, the news, and then going to see what the daily Bible reading was for the day. We were starting the book of Job and I groaned and shut off my phone. I did not feel like reading Job. My husband was out of town and I was feeling physically sick. There was a bug running through the house and I had not escaped it. Job felt a little too close to home at the moment.

By lunchtime on Sunday I couldn’t pretend I was Ok any more. I climbed into bed and proceeded to have a fever and nausea and horrible sore throat for the next 24 hrs. My oldest took care of the household and everyone was fine, but I was miserable. Then the next day, my oldest got sick and I had to pass on responsibility to the next kids in line as I was still too sick to get out of bed.

Plans that we had made weeks in advance had to be canceled. Disappointment had to be dealt with. Groceries had to be ordered for delivery, as there was no one well enough to drive. And on the edge of all that was Job waiting to be read.

I’ve read Job many times before and each time I come away with something different. This time, I lay in bed, set my App to read aloud the passages for me and lay there kind of listening as my body ached, my throat was in agony, and I tried to fight off nausea.

For me, I think my simplest explanation of the book of Job is of a man who suffers horrible things, wants to know why he is suffering, has a bunch of friends give him a bunch of reasons for why he’s suffering, and then he finally talks to God, and walks away knowing that the “why” is not what he’s supposed to focus on. The focus is God and who He is. God’s ways are not our ways and we are not Big enough to comprehend it all. We are simply asked to trust him.

Reading Job while sick has been helpful. A good reminder to not sink into gloom and despair as all my carefully laid plans got unraveled with a rather horrible virus. My daughter was very upset about her special events having to be canceled and she wanted to know WHY DID I HAVE TO GET SICK NOW??? And of course there is no answer for that question. Rather, we can rest in knowing that our God is good and we can trust our lives in his hands.

You are Loved

One week ago I was at the end of myself. My self-loathing was high and I felt hopeless. I lay in bed Saturday night and talked to God about it. Essentially the conversation was, Lord, you gave me this wonderful body and I have not taken care of it. I have broken it. And no matter how many times I swear I’m going to do better, in my own strength I cannot change. I’ve tried and failed so many times I’ve lost count. I can not fix this in my own strength. And as I lay there, exposing my sin to God, I just wanted him to do something. Yell at me. Tell me how disappointed you are in me, agree that I’ve really messed things up. Punish me. Anything. Just do anything to get me out of this horrible place of stuckness and failure. As I lay there I was exhausted and feeling so low. I started to drift off to sleep and there was a whisper in my mind, “You are Loved” and a peace came over me and I fell asleep. In the morning, those words came right back to me and I repeated them over and over again in my head as I got ready to head to church. Maybe there would be some answers for me in the service.

We had a guest speaker, Clem Ferris, and his sermon had me sitting on the edge of my seat, as it felt like God was speaking directly to me through his words. He was talking about grace. And there were two things he said that have stuck with me all week. First, he told a story about how his dad let him “drive the car” when he was seven. He sat on his dad’s lap, held the steering wheel and “drove” the car into the garage from the driveway. He was so excited about his big accomplishment. But the truth was, his Dad had his hand firmly on the bottom of the steering wheel and it had been his father who actually drove the car. He pointed out that our sanctification is like that. We think that we are doing everything in our own strength, but God is the one that is making the changes in us, it’s his strength that accomplishes things in our lives, not our own. Second, he told about how his perspective changed on the story in the Bible where a woman caught in adultery is brought before Jesus. The crowd is ready to stone her and Jesus says, whoever has never stoned, throw the first stone. The crowd slowly leaves without throwing any stones. Jesus asks the woman where her accusers are, didn’t even one of them condemn you? She says no and he says, Neither do I, go and sin no more. Clem said that his interpretation before used to be, Jesus not condemning her was grace. And then of course, she needed to go and work hard at not sinning any more. But now, his view was, Jesus didn’t condemn her because of the work he was about to do on the cross which would cover all of her sins. The grace in the story was telling her to go and sin no more. That is something that is accomplished with the help of the Holy Spirit. God doing the work in us. After the sermon, our church always has a prayer team at the front of the church so you can get special prayer for whatever you need. As the service was over and people were starting to stand up to leave, one of the pastors reminded everyone about the prayer team and said they felt like there was a special call for those who were needing freedom. I went up. And was met by two dear ladies that I know and I trust. I talked to them about my inability and seeming undesire to care for my body in the way that I know I should and my inability to fix the problem. They prayed over me. And while I can’t remember all that they said, the theme was love. You are loved. There is no condemnation. God is the one steering the boat, not you. I went home and ended up having most of the day to myself as my family scattered all over the place. I took a really long walk, thinking about the sermon. I went to bed several hours earlier than normal and slept a lot. In the morning, I was still thinking. I ate my normal, not so great for me, bowl of cereal. Not sure what to do now. And then somewhere around lunch time I felt a surge of hope and suddenly had a plan.

Two years ago, when I had been working really hard to get healthy again, I had used a personal trainer app where a personal trainer gives you a workout to do every day and you record everything you eat on the app and the trainer is available to give dietary advice. I still had the contact info for my old trainer and I texted her, telling her I’d like to get started again. Within half an hour I was all signed up and already had a workout assigned to me. I went ahead and did it. Then I decided I might as well record what I was eating, so I put my info in, then I decided that I should probably start checking my blood sugar with my glucometer (something my doctor told me to do but I’ve been avoiding for over half a year) and I might as well record my numbers on the fitness app so my trainer could help keep me accountable. So I did that. Which was an unpleasant reality check, but it was also motivating. Ok. What can I change so I can get those numbers lower? In the past week I have been exercising a lot, made major changes in my diet, and I’m already seeing improvement in my blood sugar numbers. I have been filled with hope and peace and I haven’t felt once like cheating or stopping. And that is a miracle. A week ago I truly felt dead in my sins, completely unable to help myself. And today I feel alive in Christ, set free from bondage.

I think the takeaway point I want to make is that this has come about from a fresh revelation of God’s love for me. His love for me now, as a broken person who doesn’t have the strength to help herself. Not as a perfect person who is doing everything right. There are two things I’ve been repeating to myself all week. You are loved. And Jesus is the one driving the car, not you.

Comments on “The Good Place”

I find it really interesting when pop culture lines up with a Biblical worldview. I just started watching the show “The Good Place” on Netflix. I’ve only seen two episodes. (Because I decided that this show was going to be my exercise show that I would only watch when I go on my elliptical. So far I’ve seen two episodes. 🙂 But, I’m planning on being a lot more consistent now!) Ok, lots of spoiler alerts. I’m about to talk indepth about those two episodes… 

The premise of the show is that when people die they either go to the “good place” or the “bad place”. We don’t get any details about the bad place except that we hear a short sound bite of people screaming in agony. The good place on the other hand is a paradise with everyone getting a home that suits their personality and likes and dislikes, and everyone gets introduced to their soul mate so they can have harmonious romance for the rest of eternity. The way you get into the good place is to have all your good deeds and bad deeds measured. (This brings to mind all kinds of world religions.) If you’ve done enough good things and are a morally good person, then you get to be in the good place. Only problem is, due to some kind of clerical error, a bad person is accidentally allowed in. Someone who shares the same name as a morally good person, but they brought the wrong one. Her presence immediately causes things to start going wrong. She is desperate to stay and trys to get the help of her supposed soulmate to help her learn how to be a good person so she can stay. 

Up front, none of this lines up with a Biblical worldview. But you start digging a little deeper and suddenly it does. First of all, the people who are morally good, are actually not all that great. Some are very condescending, back biting, two faced. Romans 3 talks about how everyone is a sinner. Everyone. “…for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God…” Romans 3:23. 

Second, the bad person seems pretty helpless in her efforts to turn herself into a good person. Ephesians 2:1 says, “As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins…”  Dead means you do not have the power to fix the problem. The lady in the show tries to make better choices, but it is a very surface change. 

Now, I have no idea how the show is going to progress. I imagine they will have her go through a character change where she will eventually, by sheer willpower, turn herself into a morally good person. And maybe some people do manage to do that. Change their actions. But there are two problems with that. First, if you do morally good things, but your heart is still full of anger, bad motives, pride, etc, are you actually a good person? Second, what about all the things that you did in your past? Do they just slowly cancel out, one by one? Each good thing you do knocks one bad thing off your record? 

It sounds like a very stressful way to live. Every day wondering if you’ve done enough good things to make it. The truth is that every single one of us are sinners. Even the most holy people or morally good people you can think of. God is Holy and his standard is perfection. The show, without even realizing it,  gives a nod to God and his goodness. Where does morality come from? How do we determine what is good and what is bad? It’s pretty apparent that the show has decided to follow a Biblical definition of good as it defines good deeds in the terms of helping others and being self-sacrificing. The Bible actually spells out a much more detailed version of what Good is. God gave the law to Moses and it was a very detailed list of how to live. Follow the law, you are good. Don’t follow the law, you are bad. Romans 3:20 explains the purpose of the law.

“Therefore no one will be declared righteous in God’s sight by the works of the law; rather, through the law we become conscious of our sin.”

Another words, the law didn’t really turn people into Good People. It just acted as a mirror to show people just how bad they were. 

It all sounds rather depressing. We’re all sinners. The law just shows us how badly we mess up. Even if we start acting perfect from here on out, we still have all our past sins to deal with. So what do we do? 

Enter Jesus. Jesus was perfect, never sinned. He was the Son of God. He came and paid the price for all our sins by dying on the cross. All those past sins we’ve committed, now covered, taken care of. When we repent of our sins and put our faith in Jesus, believe he is who says he is, believe he died on the cross for us, we become new people. Our sins are now forgiven and we are covered in Jesus’ goodness. He changes our heart and makes us like him. When we die, we go to heaven, the BEST place, where he has prepared a place for us, and we are there, not on the strength of our own goodness but because of God’s goodness. His forgiveness, his mercy, his grace. 

I imagine the tv show I’m watching will eventually get on my nerves as they try to solve their multitude of problems in their own strength. It seems like a great show to get hijacked by the Gospel. Can you see the story play out with all the crazy machinations of people trying to be good in their own strength, and then in the end, Jesus walks in and says, hey there’s a better way. Come to me, Rest. Let me change your heart, not just your actions. 

I’d love to see that on Netflix!

It’s Been a While

Hello Everyone. It’s been a while. I hope you all are well. I know I’ve not been consistently writing since January. I needed a break, and now I’m excited to have a place to share again. 

It’s summer here and school is out for a couple months. I purposefully did not make a lot of plans for the summer, but despite that, our schedule has still filled up so that my monthly calendar on the kitchen wall is filled with writing. 

This is the first summer in four years that it’s just our family. No foster kids. No other people staying with us. Just us. My oldest daughter came home for the summer which is an added bonus. My son who is in the army is now in Washington State and my seventeen year old is about to launch from the house for a summer of outreach all over the world. But, everyone else is close. It feels decadent. Rich. Luxurious. Just me and my family. It’s not a place I want to stay. I want to be someone who has a heart for people and is always helping in some way. But right now, this feels like a very necessary and very wonderful step in healing and recovering to just have a summer to breathe deeply, move slowly, and enjoy my family. 

This past year was kind of a double whammy for me. My youngest child entered school for the first time, and then after three years, at Christmas, my foster daughter returned to her own home. Two of the big things that identified me, stay-at-home mom of young children, and foster mom, were suddenly gone. Looking back, I can say that I have been mourning the loss of those roles. But, while I was in the middle of it, I wasn’t able to think clearly enough to say, YOU ARE MOURNING, and it’s normal, and you’ll be ok. Instead I just felt a bewildering combination of anger, sadness, depression, and numbness. Lost. 

I hope I can write more about that journey in the future. Right now I still feel like I’m in a discovery phase where I’ve got to figure out what this next stage of life looks like. Still a stay-at-home mom, but the kids need different things now. Not a foster mom any more, but still in contact with my foster daughter. My family still needs me, but I now have bigger chunks of time where I could do other things too. I’m praying for direction. But also feeling that right now I’m still in the resting stage. I’ve signed up to teach piano lessons one day a week at my church’s homeschooling Co-op and that will start in the fall. I’m excited about that. Something to look forward to. But I’m glad I’ve still got summer to enjoy before that begins. 

So, consider this the catch-up blog. I tell you why I’ve been gone and that I plan to start writing again. And then next time, I can just jump back into all the things I’ve thought about sharing with you all over the past months. I’ve read some good books I’d love to rant about. God has been gracious and merciful in so many ways. My kids have been up to the normal funny kid antics. I can’t wait to share! See you again soon. 

The Old Trailer

When I was a child, my grandparents owned a forty acre farm in Eastern Kentucky. It was in Knipp Hollow (prounounced hollar). Morehead was the closest town. My grandparents owned the old farmhouse that was down by the main road, at the mouth of the Hollar. My Uncle had been given a piece of land on top of the mountain (just a large hill, but as a child, walking up the gravel driveway to the top in the summer, it was a mountain), and my parents had carved out a terrace a little ways up the hill and also had access to a large field down by the creek where we planted a big vegetable garden every summer. 

Our family came and went from the missionfield, but two different times, when we were stateside, we lived in the little trailer perched on the side of the mountain, surrounded by pine trees. There were giant pine trees that grew all over the hillside in front of our home, so tall you strained your neck to see all the way to the top. I was told that my great grandfather had planted those trees. Then the hillside behind our home was covered with smaller pinetrees, all about the size of beautiful Christmas trees. My parents told me they planted those trees the year I was born and I felt the kinship of being the same age, having the same birthday as those beautiful trees. I would often scurry up the embankment behind our trailer and burrow myself in the trees. Invisible to the world, in my own little nest. 

Our trailer was a singlewide (none of those bourgeois doublewides for us). It was white and yellow and green. Old. Creaky. A stove pipe stuck up from the roof and there was alo a large onion-shaped oscillating vent, meant to keep things cooler in the summer, but far too inadequate for the job. In the winter my dad would stuff insulation up in the vent in order to make everything as air tight as possible. He would cover the old one-pane windows with thick plastic sheeting, held in place with silver duct tape, and our dear old Ben Franklin wood stove would work tirelessly all winter to keep us warm. To this day, when I smell woodsmoke, I’m instantly transported back to that old trailer. 

When I was a baby my parents had built a large covered porch that ran almost the entire length of the trailer. It was made with two by fours, and thin logs I presume my dad had taken from the woods. The roof was made out of green fiberglass roof panels. Translucent enough that a beautiful green light came through. There was a railing around the entire porch that was filled in with what looked a bit like plastic coated chicken wire. All the spaces were filled with wire because apparently, when I was a baby, the porch was my favorite place to play. Because the trailer was on the side of a steep hill, the porch hung out into the air and there was room under the porch for kids to play if they felt like it. Many a summer day found me under that porch, digging around in the cool dirt, making fancy mud pies with my little tin dishes. 

The trailer had three bedrooms. A separate room each for me and my brother on one end of the trailer and a room for my parents on the other end of the trailer. The rooms were so small. My brother and I each had a bunk bed and a dresser in our rooms. I had enough space to open my drawers and a narrow path from the doorway to my little corner closet, and that was it. It was truly a bed-room. A room for my bed. Nothing else. When I played in my room, I sat on top of my bright patchwork quilt on my bed to play. There was no floor room. I had one window that looked out onto the hill rising almost straight up behind us, only feet away, covered with all my pine trees. Not much of a view, but it felt cozy to me.

The walls of the trailer were all dark, fake wood paneling. Just google images of “wood paneling 70s and 80s” and you will see exactly what I mean. The old shag green carpet had been torn up and replaced with a beautiful beige, but really you could hardly see the carpet because the furniture covered everything. The living room was tiny but it had a large couch, a buffet with a large tv covering half of it, a big bookshelf that sat on top of a small cupboard, a dining room table and four chairs. The next room was the kitchen. Yellow linoleum. Yellow fridge. Brown wooden cabinets and yellow formica counters. The woodstove took up half of the floor space of the kitchen. Then down a narrow hallway, made even more narrow by all the coats hanging up on hooks on one side, a bathroom just big enough to hold a yellow tub, more yellow formica, yellow linoleum, and an old washer and dryer. You could only access the washer if you went all the way into the bathroom and closed the door. Then finally my parents room at the end. 

During my childhood I lived in twelve different homes. The trailer was probably the most humble one, but it’s the home I remember the fondest. Cozy, warm, bright and cheerful. Tucked safely in the woods, deep in the hollar, surrounded by tall hills and trees, a creek at the bottom of the hill. I count myself a rich woman to have had that as part of my childhood.