::: for jill :::

Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come,
Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heaven and home,
When Jesus is my portion? My constant friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

I sing because I’m happy,
I sing because I’m free,
For His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know He watches me.

“Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear,
And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears;
Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise,
When songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies,
I draw the closer to Him, from care He sets me free;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

::: sometimes the system goes on the blink and the whole thing turns out wrong :::

Man, I'm pretty doggone frustrated right now.

I mean, I'd like to spend a few paragraphs telling you about our great trip to see Houdin at the discipleship center, but I can't. I just can't.

Instead, I'm thinking about my rotten luck.

We were given a van to test drive, a kind gesture from a friend. A nice van. A 2002 Town and Country. And while it has a lot of miles and a few little issues, it's a better vehicle than anything we currently have.

After a couple of weeks of test driving it, we told our friend that, yes, we would buy the van. He gave us the title and the extra keys. On Friday, I paid $150 for the title transfer and plates and had new tires put on to the tune of $450.

In less than 24 hours, the thing was dead on the side of the road. Apparent transmission failure. It was 7 A.M., we were three hours from home, halfway there to see Houdin's presentation, with three sleeping kids in the car. One minute, we're cruising along, admiring the scenery, making good time. The next minute, bam. Car no worky.

I could say that I'm so glad we were at a place where we could pull over. I could say that I'm glad I packed extra gloves and coats and that I had enough money in the checking account to get a tow truck.

But I don't want to say those things. I want to say:

Dang.

I didn't renew my AAA.
I spent $250 on a tow truck.
I spent $80 on a rental car.
We missed Houdin's presentation.
The car dealership that the tow company recommended for repair was closed.
We have to drive back with the rental (because the only rental place available didn't do one-ways) in five hours, just seven hours after returning home from the trip.
Nothing seemed to go well.
Everything seemed to be stinky.
I'm in a bad mood, and I don't know what to do about it.
I think God's out to get me.

Where I had just made some financial progress and was in the position to pay some of my debts, I am now in the hole by $500. More if we have to fix this vehicle. Like $2,000 more. And we haven't even paid for the vehicle yet.

Man.

So I'll try to settle down, and then I'll write about the rest of the weekend which, unfortunately, seemed to be true to the theme of "stinky."

But we got to see Houdin and Grace. And the hugs from them were sweet.

Goodnight. I'll try not to go much further into debt while I sleep. If I can help it.

::: oh, won't you show me the way, everyday :::

Father in heaven,
here's what I'm tired of:
measuring my days by
the next paycheck,
the next financial output,
and whether the upcoming financial infusion
will cover it.

I'm tired of my waking thoughts,
and my sleeping ones, too,
being overwhelmed by the debts I haven't paid,
and the debts that are racing toward me,
unstoppable obligations.

I need a reprieve.
I need to know that I'm settled with everyone,
and everyone is settled with me.
I need a jubilee.

I don't want welfare.
I don't want charity.
I just want a break
from the worrying
and the figuring
and the guilt
and the comparisons
and the resentment
and the fear.

So, God, how about if you
do something about this black heart of mine?
Help me to find a balance
between the want
and the need?
Fill me with the energy that I need
to do things the right way?
Point me to the tilapia,
that holds in its body the drachma
that will pay both of our debts?

Please,
give me my daily bread,
so that I can rest easy,
love easy,
laugh easy,
and share with those who
are tired, too.

A good thought for this season...

It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don't use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that's how freedom grows. For everything we know about God's Word is summed up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. That's an act of true freedom. If you bite and ravage each other, watch out—in no time at all you will be annihilating each other, and where will your precious freedom be then?

My counsel is this: Live freely, animated and motivated by God's Spirit. Then you won't feed the compulsions of selfishness. For there is a root of sinful self-interest in us that is at odds with a free spirit, just as the free spirit is incompatible with selfishness. These two ways of life are antithetical, so that you cannot live at times one way and at times another way according to how you feel on any given day. Why don't you choose to be led by the Spirit and so escape the erratic compulsions of a law-dominated existence?

It is obvious what kind of life develops out of trying to get your own way all the time: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community. I could go on.

But what happens when we live God's way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity.

Galations 5, The Message

::: of god and gas cans :::

My friend Catherine reminded me that I hadn't told my sappy, almost-unbelievable miracle story. Actually, she and her mom have reminded me repeatedly. And on Tuesday, I promised her that I'd have it up the next day.

Guess what I didn't do?

Better really, really late than never ever.

So here's my tale...

In early November, a silly mother named Thicket Dweller was fighting with her checkbook. It seemed that no matter how she counted her pennies, there wasn't enough to go around. There was always a washing machine breaking down, or a car tire going flat, or a surprise expense of some sort that would zap her budget. But she knew that she needed to get very busy thanking God for what she did have, because there was always food available, and her children were healthy, and she lived in a beautiful farmhouse on the top of the loveliest hill in all the county. But, even so, she was feeling sad because Thanksgiving was coming, and she had just used all of her spendable money on real estate taxes. That was another reason to thank God! Just a month before, she had been certain that they would not be able to pay those taxes, but through the intervention of God and the kindness of others, that bill had been paid. Even still, as is the nature of Thicket Dweller, she was a pitiful soul, feeling sorry for herself because she knew that her kids were really looking forward to a Thanksgiving feast, and, as we all know, Christmas comes right on the heels of November.

Thicket Dweller knew that her regular grocery budget would never cover the extra groceries that her family's traditional Thanksgiving would require, and it certainly wouldn't cover the upcoming Christmas tradition. Even if she did what she'd done in past years, which was scour the thrift and used bookstores for appropriate gifts for her children, buy nothing for her husband and extended family, and make cookies or candies for neighbors, she knew that she wouldn't be able to stretch this budget far enough to buy a real tree or purchase the new Christmas Eve pajamas her children had become accustomed to opening. She might not even be able to hit the thrift stores.

It was Wednesday morning when her husband told her that the decision for the week would be to pay the mortgage or buy groceries. She knew that paying the mortgage was the right thing to do, the necessary thing, but she didn't feel like baking bread and eating rice all week. What's more, she had volunteered to teach a women's history class for her local homeschool group on Wednesday, and the needle on her gas tank was teetering just below the "empty" line. The gas for her vehicle usually came from the grocery budget. If she could scrounge up enough change, she might be able to make it to the closest gas station. So, with her syllabus in hand and her head hanging a bit lower than usual, she made her way to the car, knowing that just having a vehicle was a privilege.

Thicket Dweller's the sort who always runs herself short of time. One more phone call. One more load of laundry. One more check of the e-mail. And then there would be something she couldn't have expected. A flat tire. A broken tie rod. A sick or inconsolable child. And then, she would find herself panicked and hurried, certain that someone would be waiting for her angrily, deeming her irresponsible or thoughtless. This Wednesday was no exception, for she had taken the phone call of a friend who was feeling very down. They talked for a while, and Thicket Dweller tried hard not to watch the clock as her friend told her that she had a box for her waiting in her garage. Could she pick it up today? While Thicket Dweller loved her friend dearly and so wanted to stop and see her, she knew that she wouldn't have time. But she said she'd try, hurriedly hung up the phone, and raced to the car, cringing as she watched the gas needle barely quiver forward as she started the engine. She found herself fighting against the temptation to go just a teensy weensy bit above the speed limit. But knowing that she had only a handful of change, and knowing that the faster she would drive, the more gas her car would consume, she had just enough incentive to keep her commitment to driving the speed limit.

As she rolled into the parking lot of the closest station, she couldn't believe her eyes. All of the guns were covered with ghostly white plastic bags, and the sign above the station stood void of numbers. No gas. Now what? The closest station from here was beyond the history class site! And she surely didn't have enough gas to get to that station, anyway!

With no cell phone to call home, she decided she would just make her way to class and pray that God would see her there safely. Once there, maybe she could find someone to run her to a station to fill up a gas can. And so, she eased out of the parking lot and crept along the road towards the classes.

As she climbed the hill a half-mile before the class site, she remembered the conversation she'd had that morning with her friend who had asked her to please stop by. She had a box of things for Thicket Dweller that she would leave in the garage, some garden seeds and books she no longer needed. The house was right there, directly on her route to classes. Thicket Dweller knew that she should stop, but she was feeling rushed and stressed, so she told herself she'd stop later. This decision just didn't settle with her, and she tried to justify why she should keep moving. She would be late for class. If she ran out of gas, and her friend wasn't home, she'd be stuck there with no phone and no way to let her students or husband know she was stranded. If her friend was home, she might get into a meaningful conversation and run herself even later.

But no matter what she told herself, she couldn't agree. Reluctantly, she found herself turning the steering wheel and swinging into the friend's drive; her only comfort was believing that she was obeying something she couldn't see. What she could see was that there were no cars sitting there; her friend was not home.

Just as her car pulled fully into the drive, it sputtered. Out of gas. She was able to coax the car just a few more feet before it refused to move another inch. She let her head drop back against the seat and closed her eyes in disbelief and defeat.

Not knowing what else to do, she opened the door of the car and swung her feet out. There, beside her feet, was a five-gallon gas can. She could hardly believe her eyes. She rushed to the can and lifted it. Yes! It was heavy with gas! Knowing that her friend would offer her the gas if she were home, Thicket Dweller put some of it in her tank, listening with amazement to the glug, glug, glug that the fluid made as it left the can.

Oh yeah, she thought, I need to get that box she has for me. There it was, in front of the garage, a box full of beautiful books, a gift for her soul. Here was one on Tasha Tudor's garden, and here was another on herbs, and yet another on edible flowers. It was like her friend knew that she needed a bit of spoiling, that he heart was dragging a bit and needed to be lifted. On the top sat a bundle of garden seeds that she would gladly plant the following Spring, and, on top of that, an envelope. Likely a card or a note explaining what the seeds were, why she was giving her the books.

Thicket Dweller carried the box to the car and climbed in. How good God is, she thought, that He knew just what I needed today! Even as she said it, she knew how sappy it sounded. But it was so true!

Starting the car, she coasted to the bottom of the drive. The traffic was heavy, so she sat waiting, knowing that even though her class would be starting very soon, it would all be okay. She could be patient. She could wait.

The envelope sat on the top of the box, inviting her to open it, so she put the car in park and ran her finger along the inside seam of the flap, exposing the note inside.

Along with a bundle of cash.

Thicket Dweller could not believe her eyes. She checked the front of the envelope. Yes, it had her name on it. Tearing open the card, she read the note from her friend, explaining that she had found this money in a dresser drawer while doing some cleaning, money she had forgotten was there, and felt compelled to give it to Thicket Dweller. A Christmas gift, she wrote. Buy some nice dishes, the note said. Buy something nice for yourself and a gift for each of the kids, it said. Pulling the money from the envelope, she counted.

There was enough there for the mortgage. There was enough for groceries. There was enough for a tankful of gas.

Thicket threw her head back and cried out loud. "God, why? What have I done to deserve this?" Tears sprung from her eyes, and soon she was sobbing uncontrollably, crying out, "I don't deserve you! I don't deserve this!"

And she was right. She had done nothing to deserve it.

The truth was that her friend loved and obeyed God, and that God was very, very good. It wasn't a reward. It wasn't payment. It was a gift.

So, Catherine, there's the story. I know it took me a long time to write it, and I didn't do it justice, but I know that God's timing is perfect, and that this is a story someone needed to read today.

How People Affect Me, Part Three

I had only been wandering around the bead shop for a half-hour or so when I heard a siren sounding, the kind of wail that emits from an ambulance and causes every mother to stop dead in her tracks. I tried to ignore it, but my mother-heart kept hurling itself into terrible fits of imagination. It had me convinced that my four-year-old was dead in the middle of town square, that she'd slipped from her older brother's clutches and had darted out into traffic.

Or that the eleven-year-old had been too exuberant with his new Heelies and ended up on the sidewalk in some unnatural position, his head cracked open, calling my name with his last few breaths.

I tried to fight these thoughts. I tried to tell myself that I was being ridiculous. I tried to concentrate on the beads before me, to focus on the beautiful hummingbird earrings I was attempting to create. But I couldn't do it. All of the "what-ifs" piled on top of my head and I just had to find out if my children were okay.

Setting my tin full of beads aside, I nonchalantly announced, "I have to go check on my children. I'll be right back." And then I stepped out the door onto the sidewalk and strolled ever-so-quickly towards the bookstore. Bard told me later how priceless was the expression of the bead shoppe woman.

I didn't see a crowd gathered along the sides of the road, so I felt a bit reassured, but then my mother-heart was nagging me with other, more probable scenarios. The bookstore was being torn apart, shelf-by-shelf, but my littlest darling while the boys fought over a comic book. Or the uptight bookstore clerk was timing my absense, prepared to call children's services any moment. Or the children hadn't gone into the bookstore at all. They were instead doing a standup routine on the corner with their hats out for tips. My busking boys.

I couldn't believe how long of a walk it was to the bookstore. It hadn't seemed that long before, and now I was questioning my sanity at letting my children walk so far away from me. Anything could happen in the time it takes a person to walk two blocks!

And then I was at the door of the bookstore, holding the handle in my hand, swinging it open, casting my eyes about the intimate bookshelf-lined room. I heard no shrieking. I saw no glaring employee. This was almost more eerie than my nightmarish thoughts.

When I rounded the corner, I found fifteen-year-old Houdin curled up on a chair with a big, thick book. A few feet away, The Baby was cuddled up on a couch next to a neatly-dressed woman who couldn't have looked more like the kind of lady who would work in a bookstore. Beside them stood a stack of books, and it was clear that had read or were intending to read every one of them. Dramatically.

The Baby barely noticed my entrance, and I'm not sure the bookstore lady gave much pause, either. They just read merrily along so that I almost wondered if I were having an Ebeneezer Scrooge moment.

But when the book was finished and the covers snapped shut, I was acknowledged ever-so-slightly. And then another book was begun.

A second bookstore lady stood in a little island in the middle of the store, near the register, and called to me that they'd been happily enjoying the children's company, and I knew then that I was in love. At that moment, I would have handed them my entire life's savings, I was so grateful. I took my time browsing the books until a nagging feeling overcame me. My beads were waiting. I had to return to finish my bead transactions.

So I let The Baby choose her favorite book from the pile they'd read, laughed as she and the bookstore ladies fought noisily over The Baby's purple shearling coat, and made a mental promise that I'd be back soon.

Those ladies were a balm to my soul. I want to be like them. I want to take life like they do, happily drinking it up and being right where they are, loving what they do. What could be more important than being kind to little girls and teenaged boys and tired mamas?

We finished our bead transaction and returned to the bookstore, where the second bookstore lady plopped herself right back down on the couch and read more books to The Baby and Sweetheart. Not lightweight books, either. These were long, wordy, time-consuming books. And the girls listened to every drop.

And I shopped.

As a thank-you for being such wonderful people, I made a large purchase at the bookstore. Large for me, that is.

Considering the service, I think it was the best deal I ever got.

::: what a month! :::

My first instinct is to tell you what a terrible month it's been. I mean, if these things happened to you, you'd probably think it pretty terrible, too.

After all, it's not everyday that you see your life flash before your eyes. That kind of thing tends to happen when you're taking a trip, round a dark corner in your minivan stuffed with all of your children, half of their belongings, and your husband at the helm and suddenly become blinded by the oncoming headlights of a semi-truck. In our case, the occupants of our vehicle became silent. Wide-eyed and silent. As if that weren't scary enough, once the semi-driver realized that he was in our lane, approaching our vehicle in a very wrong way, he jerked himself back into his lane, leaving his trailer to struggle to follow suit around the curve. I watched as our lane grew more and more narrow, the semi-trailer approaching on our left, a steep drop-off and dense forest loomin on our right. My husband kept his wits, drove steady-on, and we were soon (though it felt like years) on the other side of the whole ordeal, breathing deeply and fighting the urge to vomit. After I was able to speak, I asked Bo, "What were your thoughts just then?"

"I knew it was over. I knew it would be quick and no one would be left behind. A truck hitting us at 60 is like hitting a brick wall at 120. It would have happened very quickly and painlessly."

"Then after the cab passed, what did you think then?"

"Then I was scared. We'd either hit the trailer, or we'd go off into the trees. And that...that would have been painful."

The rest of the drive to my sister-in-law's house was relatively uneventful, but those few moments kept my heart racing and my mind turning.

These are the kinds of moments that have peppered the last few weeks. A missing toddler; an emergency brake that didn't release and cost over $700 in repairs; triplet kids born to a nanny goat who decided that one of them wasn't worth worrying about so she rejected it, leaving it to die; time on the treadmill that made it feel like I'd been regressing instead of progressing; an close to midnight discovery of a fire in our laundry room that almost burned out of control and could have taken our whole house.

All of this packed into less than a month. Less than three weeks, actually.

And my first reaction is to tell you how horrible these three weeks have been.

But I can't do that, can I?

Because the semi-truck missed us. The toddler was found. The brakes didn't give out until we got home from Cincinatti. The goat kid was brought to health thanks to a very knowledgeable friend and goat-lover. I was able to hit the trail instead of the treadmill and do better than I'd thought I would. My husband was able to put out the fire, and only a dryer and a few items of clothing were lost.

In addition, we didn't owe money in income tax. Neither did our daughter, or my live-in father. We actually got money back! I've begun working at the greenhouse, and my first paycheck went towards paying for the brake repairs. A distant family member sent $1300 for the children's education, just in time to make a decision about Bard's trip to Germany this summer, though the family member knew nothing about the Germany trip. And several people have sent Bard money for her trip, so she will indeed get to go. Bo turned forty, and his family gave him a wonderful surprise party, blessing him with their time and gifts.

How can I focus on the near-tragedies, when God has made them all into miracles?

It's been a fabulous month, and I thank God for it.

Drawing of the church by Monet when he was 9.

A Cheap Profitable Date

Go on a date, get free pizza, and get paid twenty bucks. How cool is that?

I, for one, thought it was pretty cool.

See, every weekend, Bo and I try to decide what we'll do for a date. We generally end up going to a movie and out to dinner where we either share a meal or eat cheap. Then we wander around the Bigger City, which is about 25 miles away, and try to figure out what else we can do with our time together. Then we spend a half-hour trudging through Stuf*Mart discovering things we didn't know we needed.

A couple of weeks ago, I ran into a neighbor while coming out of the library. Don't worry; he was fine. During the course of our very enjoyable conversation, he told me about his part-time job--delivering pizzas. He said that he and his family go out on Saturday nights and deliver pizzas for a local independent pizza shop. He also told me how much they make a night. He said he enjoys it, that he and his wife or one of his kids will take the evening and drive around, spending time together, listening to books on CD (or maybe I'm embellishing here. Maybe I just thought that would be a good idea), and they make their hourly wage, plus mileage, plus tips, plus half-price food.

So I asked him to put in a good word for us, and, soon enough, I got a phone call from the pizza guy.

Tonight, Bo and I went in to the pizza place to get acquainted with the system and we ended up delivering pizzas for the evening. At one point, it started to get a little stressful because of the tip situation. While the Amish may be great at barnraising and baking, they are not good tippers. Some of them aren't tippers at all. So, while we had to search pretty hard to find some of their houses (the addresses weren't posted on their houses and some of them have more than one house on a lane) and several of them had six or more pizzas, totalling over $100, only two of them actually tipped us. For about ten deliveries, we made exactly three dollars and fifty cents in tips. And the Amish make up about 95% of the pizza shop's business.

Still, when we took into account the three pizzas that we got for half-price and how we would have driven the same distance tonight in order to spend money on pizza and a movie, it really started to sound appealing. We were done in three hours, had three pizzas to show for it, and had twenty bucks on top of it. Plus, we got to listen to a book-on-iPod while we drove.

We have plans to deliver a few more weekend-nights. The other employees said it was a slow night because of a couple of basketball games and being the New Year's Eve weekend. But it went pretty quickly for me.

I may even use it for an incentive when we start lessons back up. Do all of your schoolwork and chores, and you get to help deliver pizza.

You might even get to keep the tips. All three dollars and fifty cents of it.

Early Morning Sunrises

Winter gives us the most beautiful sunrises here on the hilltop. It's shortly after 7 here, and I had to push back my computer cabinet door to see outside the window. I wish I had a digital camera sho I could show you. From the third floor of our house, I have a view of the treetops, the misty valley, the rolling hills, and little dots of light that glow from miles away. The dark jagged outline of distant trees contrasts with the grey-orange glow of the rising sun, the colors fading from that grey to a bit more orange, then to a most amazing orange that relects off of the contrails which are zig-zagging and expanding and filling the sky with interesting geometric shapes. And there's pink in there, too, and bits of gold. And they all dissolve into the graduating blues of the waking sky. When there's snow on the ground, which there currently isn't (yesterday felt like SPRING here!), everything glows with pinkness, somewhat like my banner above, but much more amazing than a photograph can capture.

I was reflecting on my year this morning, thanks to some prodding from Donna over at Quiet Life and I felt like an real pessimist when she asked me to sum up my year in three words. My words? Very Financially Challenging.

Well, I'm sorry. But it has been.

I really wanted to be all happy-happy and find the fabulous things about my year that would show what a grateful and gracious person I am, but I couldn't. It has definitely been a very financially challenging year. Even now, the mortage is late, the taxes are way late, Bard's choir payments are way, way late, and the Christmas spirit is gone, so all of this is very real to me.

That's not to say that I'm NOT grateful for anything. Oh, yes indeedy, I am grateful. Sitting here watching this sunrise reminds me why the financial part is so difficult for me. I really love this house, this community, this hilltop. I feel at home here like I've never felt before. I don't want to lose it. The sunrise, and my view of it, is why all of the financial stuff even matters.

For that reason, our Christmas was a simple one. Yes, we did spend more money than we would during other seasons (except, maybe, the home-improvement season), but it was still very meager compared to others we know who bought large, high-dollar items for their families and purchased for everyone in their extended family (like we used to do, before we had five kids and a house). The majority of what we gave came from the thrift store. Hours of scanning the shelves for the right gift. Three huge bags of blocks for $1 a bag. Beanie Babies with tags for .25 each. Hand-embroidered pillowcases for .35 each. Pink Converse tennies for .75. Yet what did the kids say they liked the most? The new Playmobil toys and the new DVD. The high-ticket items. It's not their fault. They were among my favorite gifts, too. I guess the other things, like the big cotton quilt ($8), and the stacks of books (.25-.50 each), and the sweaters ($1 each) are just as loved, because they're using them every day. Houdin looks so nice in the mossy green sweater I bought him, and he snuggles under his quilt every night. Bard now has a fully-functioning computer in her room, one that works better than mine, thanks to my mother-in-law who scored some that were on their way out of the office. For free. Sweetheart carries that vintage leather purse around the house with everything from oranges to markers tucked inside. And Monet is loving the computer program that was installed on our computer. Those are fabulous gifts. Even though the kids don't list them as favorites, they are. They're quiet favorites. The kind of favorites a person just kind of takes for granted.

So maybe I should change what three words I use to describe my 2006. Maybe I should change it to Early Morning Sunrises. Those beautiful things that you take for granted every day, that keep you alive and warm and awake and moving, that you just know are going to always be there, like a fuzzy sweater or a cozy quilt, but they quietly take the back burner to the Bigger Looking, Noisier, In-Your-Face Things like taxes and mortgages and choir payments.

I see a little orange sphere climbing up above that jagged horizon now and little dashes of contrails lit up white, like a barely-visible thread of spider silk hanging from tree branch to tree branch. What an amazing orange that is. So bright and reliable, washing my whole bedroom in its pinkish-orange glow.

Early Morning Sunrises.