Irrational Fears

Sometimes I lose confidence and start wondering how I can do anything -- even things we desire. How can I move out west? How can I leave my friends, my church, my familiar environment? How can I start a new life in a place I've never been?
We would like to have another baby some day, but I wonder how can I ever have a baby again? How can I go through labor? The fear creeps in and clouds my judgment -- making me feel hesitant.
Today at church our pastor spoke about how Jesus is the Prince of Peace. Great peace have those that love God's law. It is in God's law that we learn of His character, His power, and His promises.
Even right now I feel a little uneasiness in my stomach. How silly. At this moment nothing is even happening. I am in my bedroom, warm under my blankets. There is no new church or new house. My friends are here. I am completely comfortable. It is the future that I am afraid of now. And the future is so uncertain.
God says that I shouldn't worry about tomorrow because each day has enough trouble of its own. As I love God's law and meditate in it I learn that God cares for me, He has a plan, nothing can separate me from His love, He will never leave me, He will give me the strength I need when I am weak. The list could go on and on. Sometimes it's hard to change your feelings even when you know what is true. Peace can be hard work our pastor says. But if I keep fighting my fearful thoughts, it will be worth it.

Look, It's a Book

I seem to always have trouble with titles. This title idea is my husband's idea. Perhaps it is a little cheesy, but since I am at a loss, and his other ideas were "The Library Fairy" and "Books, Who Needs Them?", I decided it would work fine.
I love the library! I get so excited looking through the shelves of books -- wondering what information and stories they tell. It's like I'm on a treasure quest and the books are like the jewels. I must admit the children's section lures me the most. Adult books just have too many words and not enough pictures. Who can resist a page of bright photos or creative drawings? It's great to see real pictures from a person's life when reading through a biography. I learn so much from reading to my boys. I remember more about George Washington and the Revolutionary War from teaching grade school history than I do from any college history class. And tonight I found books on Paul Revere and King George to supplement our history lessons. The library is a great resource.
Living near Mt. Hood sparked the boys' interest in mountains, so we started talking about Mt. Everest and checked out some books that I am so eager to read. Already I've learned things I didn't know about the climbers of Mt. Everest. In Oregon we could also see Mt. St.Helens on the drive into town. I tried to squeeze a little admiration out of the boys and told them that I climbed that mountain. They weren't too impressed with my climb, but they did want to find a book about Mt. St.Helens too. We chose a book about volcanoes and Shiloh says he can't wait to read it.
I've learned about Super Hornets and hummers, Vincent Van Gogh and Annie Oakley. The TITANIC sinking has come alive as we read about the people and looked through many pictures. I've been mystified along with the audience as we read about The Great Houdini.
Then there are the stories. Returning from the library we made hot chocolate and curled up under blankets around the twinkling Christmas tree. What a special time just being together and reading Christmas stories.
I like the funny stories too -- like Grandpa's Lost Teeth and Duck for President.
We've spent hours as a family reading.
Books are a gift -- full of wonder, discovery, and adventure.

Mt.Hood Climbers

I have been following the news story of the three climbers on Mt. Hood. How could I not? For the past month I have lived with Mt.Hood in my backyard. One climber's body had been found the other two were missing. Search and rescue attempts began, but were limited because of avalanche danger. I stared up at the mountain's icy white cliffs and canyons and ridges. So beautiful and so deadly. One night I lay in my bed warm under blankets with a hot fire crackling in the wood stove, I kept thinking about how those two missing climbers were possibly fighting to survive in the falling snow. How could I be so warm and comfortable and they be so cold and lost. I prayed for them to be found. I prayed for them to be alive.
Days have gone by and still no sign of them. Search and rescue efforts have been halted. The sinking feeling that a person tries to push back, the truth that you try to ignore and claim is false, starts settling securely. They are gone. And to not even know how they died or where they are -- where is the closure.
While searching for more information on the missing climbers I came across a blog written by a family member of a climber that had died on Mt. Hood three years ago. The story had been so similar. Three climbers, one body found, two missing still, to this day. The blogger wrote of intense pain, probing, honest questions, and yet a faith in a God who is loving and Who's way is perfect. What troubles me though is in one of the comments written in response to the post, God was referred to as "characteristically silent" and prayer is "doing nothing, thinking you are helping someone."
This bothers me, not because I am offended that anyone would say that about God. (Although it was insensitive to the one who lost a brother.) But it bothers me because I know God knows where those climbers are. I know He see the pain of those waiting for any good news. And what is more, I know He is love. Those climbers were believers in Jesus the newspaper said, and I know God loves them -- they are His children. Why does He seem so silent?
I remember the Israelites who for years were oppressed by their cruel taskmasters in Egypt. Hundreds of years if I remember correctly. And they cried and groaned and God was silent.
But He says, "I have surely seen the oppression of My people who are in Egypt...I know their sorrows...I have remembered my covenant...I will rescue you...I will redeem you." And He did.
How can I comprehend the mind, the plans, and yes, the timing of One Who sees from beginning to end and beyond? So perhaps God is not silent? Perhaps it is just I who at times does not like the sound of His voice?
There are safe, Shari. They are rescued. They are in Heaven with me.
I can say that I am looking forward to sitting down with them and hearing the rest of the story when we are together with Jesus in Heaven.

Little Wyatt, Little Warrior

Sometimes we like attention, especially when we are hurting. I am inspired by the selflessness of my cousin Fawne. While we were at the funeral she still wanted to serve others, and if you talk to her now, she will probably tell you about how great her Father's love is for her -- How she wishes through Wyatt she could show at least one person a fraction of how deep God's love is for them. She would talk about how God has taught her so much about who He is and that He is amazing. I know she misses Wyatt. I know it is hard, because she has said that it is, and how could it not be? But she is not consumed by self-pity. She does not expect everyone to feel sorry for her or jump to serve her.
The following is a poem that my aunt Blossom wrote for Wyatt when he was born. It is interesting that as they chose the name Wyatt (which means "Warrior"), they never knew just how much of a warrior he would be his whole short life.

LITTLE WYATT, LITTLE WARRIOR

Little Wyatt, little warrior, little messenger from God
Oh the lessons God will teach us....about Himself...about life
You were fashioned and created by your Maker
For a far greater purpose than the average child
You are perfect in every way for the mission God intended

We embrace your coming with acceptance, love and joy

Little Wyatt, little warrior, little messenger from God
Oh the lessons God will teach us...about ourselves...about time
You are given as a gift...priceless, precious and totally fragile
We are honored to be guardians of your body and soul
In partnership with God....to leave a legacy of faith

We embrace your heritage....you belong to God.

Little Wyatt, little warrior....little messenger from God.
O the lessons God will teach us...about ourselves and one another
You come with many needs which we do not understand
Your cried for nourishment and comfort bring your parents
Whose cries for wisdom and encouragment....bring their God.

We embrace your needs....they bring us humility and grace.

Little Wyatt, little warrior....little messenger from God.
O the lessons you will teach us...about the battle...about prayer
You, Little Warrior, will be victor over the kingdom of darkness
And bring many to the kingdom of light....without a word
For in God's kingdom....the weak are stong.

We embrace your name....it reminds us to persevere.

Woman's Work

I wonder what is the woman's role in the family. Is she destined to be a wife and a mother? I was recently talking with someone whose daughter has a few different jobs in public relations. She takes care of the grandchildren and the housework during the day and then her daughter comes home in the evening and spends some time with her children. She told me that her daughter never really pictured herself being a full-time mom. Honestly, it does seem a little strange to me. Why have kids if you don't want to be with them? But I also think of my husband and I. He wants to open a computer store, and I think working in a camp ministry would be one of the best jobs. Computer stores bore me -- not him! He said it would be so great -- he would get to be the first to try out new software/hardware. But what I wonder is if because I am a wife and mother it doesn't matter what I desire or where I might be gifted because I will always be a wife and mother whatever my husband chooses for his career. I certainly wouldn't want him to be miserable doing what I wanted. Shouldn't God just lead us so clearly that where we are suppose to be will be somewhere that both of us want and are gifted for?

Happy Birthday Ian!

Today you are three years old. When I get home I am going to bake you a three layer chocolate cake. It will be so rich and moist. Maybe I will even heat it up. The chocolate frosting will pool around the cake at the edges of my plate. It will melt in my mouth -- warm and gooey and chocolaty. It will paralyze my immune system, but I don't care. It's really a lousy cake for a three year old. No candy sprinkles. No trucks or dogs or balls or dinosaurs. But I guess you won't care either, because you aren't even here. The cake is for me. Then I will look at your pictures. You don't smile in any of them. Come to think of it, neither do I. Then I will visit you. Daddy will come too. But you won't call our names. You won't climb into our lap or laugh at the silly things Dad does. He's really not that funny anyways, but your brothers think he is. We will look at the headstone marking your tiny grave. It doesn't sound like a birthday at all.
Ian Jonathan we love you. You are God's gift.

The Lord is Gracious

Today my sister-in-law had her baby. Today our son would have been 3 years old. I don't understand why God had her be born the same day as Ian. Of all the days she could have been born, what are the chances that it would be the exact same day. I miss our son. It feels like he is washed away like the sand by the seashore and forgotten even more than before. Who remembers a dead child in the midst of the joy of new birth. Yet it makes my emptiness seem even more pronounced. It makes me feel even more barren. I am not barren. I have four boys. But it still feels like something is missing. Recently my husband was sitting at the dinner table looking around at our family. He was sure someone wasn't there and started calling one of the boys. We were all at the table, but my husband was right -- someone wasn't there. But we can't call him. He won't come.
The family congratulates them. Not one of them mentions our loss. Rejoice with those that rejoice, but my heart just wants to weep.
I am reminded of a story my aunt told. She and my uncle were driving home from their ultrasound. They were having a girl. My aunt could tell that my uncle was a little disappointed. This was their third girl and he was hoping for a boy. But he told her, "God's purposes could not have been accomplished with a boy." God is good and had decided what He knew was best for them and His plan. Can God do anything? Yes, He can do all His holy will. Their next child was a boy, but he died at about 5 months. Does God make sense? No, not really. But somehow He accomplishes His holy, perfect will. Somehow He is still good.

I am not skilled to understand
What God hath willed, what God hath planned;
I only know at His right hand
Stands One who is my Savior.
---Aaron Shust

Homeless

Where is home? Today home is Oregon. Next month home will be Michigan. Soon after that home will be Florida. I guess I am homeless, but I do feel like I am rich with friends. They add so many unique personalities and interests and perspectives to a life.
This afternoon I spent time plastering a room with my aunt in their house. I enjoyed talking with her. I enjoy their kids too. Their son is running laps to win a trophey. I am amazed at his perseverance. He traced a picture of a tiger for me. Their daughter made me a card. Another one just climbs onto my lap. These are my friends.
Tonight we went for dinner at the home of someone here in Oregon that is a friend of my aunt and uncle. They didn't even know us, but Eric was going over to help with their computer and then they invited us for supper. I felt at home with them. Some people know how to love genuinely. It is so refreshing. They could be my friends too.
This weekend we are visiting more family in western Oregon. I am looking forward to time renewing relationships -- talking and laughing. More friends.
Then of course we will be heading back to Michigan for Christmas. My mom, and sister and brother-in-law, and even my sister-in-law from Pennsylvania will be there. My husband's brother and his family. Friends with a new baby. Friends that we share life with. All of them so different. Each adding a beautiful facet to our lives.
Then Florida, different friends, different interests, different conversations. We accept it all and enjoy each part of our friendships. Each person is so unique and yet each person is a brother or sister in Christ that I will spend eternity with.
I visit my aunt and uncle's church here in Oregon and I think -- this is part of my family too. Each person has a story and some day we will be together for eternity sharing life together.
Of course I think it is best to choose a spot to actually stay for awhile. A month really isn't long enough to really come along side someone during trials, or to really be an active part of a church. But where should our home be?

I Need Help

I don't know how to parent. Why did God give me children? I am afraid I am just hurting them. I am so demanding, and expect so much. Will they think that I love them or that they always had to earn my love? Most parents think their kids are the greatest. I feel like I can see all the faults in my children. I've heard it said that a mother is very possessive of her children and gets upset if anyone bothers them in some way -- The idea that it's better to meet an angry bear than an angry mother. Or the example of a parent who will always take his child's side. That is not me. Are my children missing out?
How does God love me?
I think I will ponder that as I fall asleep.

Will I Reach 50?

Tonight during dinner my husband told me he thought I would die before him. Strange conversation, I suppose. Even stranger, last night I was thinking the same thing. Logically he should die before me. I'm the one who exercises and drinks water regularly and usually eats healthier food. But he is still stronger and healthier than me. My body is deteriorating, and I am so young still.

The Truth

I want to be a hero? Why did I write that? I want to be a princess. I want to have what I want. I want peace and quiet. I want servants. I want romance and adventure and entertainment and less work. Let the other women be the heroes.
I guess God says that He gives the desire and the ability. It is God that works in us both to will and to do of His good pleasure. He has a lot of work with me.

For Better or For Worse

I hear women say, "My husband is wonderful." Do they mean that their husband is wonderful or that they think their husband is wonderful. Splitting hairs perhaps. But I think there is a crucial difference. Not to discredit all the wonderful qualities that someone might have, but which is harder -- to admire someone who fits the perfect husband mold or to admire someone whom you have chosen to love regardless of his flaws.
I have a friend who was hurt deeply by her husband. Her sister would gush about how great her husband was, and her heart cried out in pain. Pain is hard. I think she said something about how her sister hasn't faced what she has. True perhaps, but definitely not the bottomline; the concluding statement.
A heart is delicate, maybe it's the spirit. Sometimes I think I can almost feel pain radiating from someone's whole body. I can relate to pain that feels so consuming you wonder why you don't just fall in a heap to the floor. Like the Psalmist so eloquently writes, "I am poured out like water. All my bones are out of joint. My heart is like wax; it is melted within me."
But who has the greater opportunity to show love? Which love is unconditional? Which love is like Christ's? I remember a difficult time in our marriage when I was hurt so deeply that it seemed I couldn't feel any love; pain overwhelmed my emotions. God brought me to Nehemiah. I am in awe of the love of God. His faithfulness is astounding. Perhaps someone can forgive when they are betrayed once, but God's people continually turned their backs on God. Still Nehemiah says, "Yet when they returned and cried out to You, You heard from heaven...delivered them according to your mercies...for many years You had patience with them... You are God, gracious and merciful."
A love that is tried is a love that is strong. It is unconditional. It is like Christ.
Other times I just want my own way. I'm tired of working. Tired of being the servant. Will I choose to love then? Again, will I have a love that is easy -- that loves the man who goes out of his way to show me how special I am to him, provides the things I think I need, leads the way I think he should lead? Or will I have a love that is unconditional? Will I choose to be like Christ then? Will I follow His example of sacrifice?
I think of women faithfully serving their husbands and their families -- regardless of what is given in return. Each day they are like soldiers going out to battle. Fighting enemies and entanglements on all sides, yet they press on. Determined to win this war for their Master -- to lay down their lives if necessary. These women are heroes.
I want to be a hero.

Another Reason to Love Heaven

For five years we have attended our church. Our friends have been there from the start. So much has happened in five short years. And now they are moving to Florida. My mind will not accept it. I just expect them to be there. If not this week, then maybe next. Maybe they are on vacation, or maybe someone is sick. What is wrong with me that I can't seem to accept reality? And then I wonder, why do I plan on leaving? How can I cause my friends that I leave behind the same pain?
And yet another part of me feels that the world is smaller than it use to be. That even in Florida they are still close. We will travel; we will see them again.
Each of us may take up different residence here on Earth, but one day we will all be together again. One day in Heaven when all things are made new, we will have all of eternity together.

New Rules

I think there is a rule in this house -- No person is allowed more than 5 minutes of personal, uninterrupted time. As I write this I am tense. I feel like any second someone is going to come upstairs to the living room and ask me how to spell a word, or give me some "mail" to read. My oldest son came carrying a small plastic bag. Inside he had placed a few rolled up a few sheets of paper. His package looked like our newspaper when it is delivered in the morning. He wanted me to read the news. I opened the package. He had written headlines on the papers. Quite interesting actually -- everything was some tragedy or another -- it was realistic. He left, and I tried to write again. This time Zac wanted to know how to spell a word. Then Shiloh came and sat beside me and kept talking. Then he jumped down and walked through my cord and unplugged it. Then a child sat on the book cupboard beside me and the book cupboard began to fall apart under the weight. He got off and I pushed the sides back together. My cord got pulled out again. Someone else wanted to talk to me. Then Micah and Zac came up and delivered more mail. Finally I retreated to the bathroom where my husband was trying to shower. I told him that I thought there must be some rule in this house that no one can have time alone. Perhaps the door didn't latch on the way out or maybe another child opened it, but shortly after our one year old pushed open the door and crawled into the bathroom. I could hear my husband say, "Who's there?... This is a shower... I'm suppose to have some privacy." Doesn't he know that he already used up his 5 minute quota? I laughed inside. Fortunately for me, Caden somehow shut the door, trapping himself in the bathroom. One down, three to go.
I get too focused on myself. My son comes up -- interrupting what I want to do again. He hands me an envelope. Inside he has written a thank you note for something that we did for him earlier that day. I felt special. My cord came undone again, as my one year old, released from the bathroom, just took about 9 steps and walked through it. I couldn't help but clap -- I was so excited. I guess sometimes it's just a matter of perspective.

Edible World

I think that the Garden of Eden was like Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. We just finished reading Charlie and The Chocolate Factory to our boys. I think about the first large room they enter -- everything was edible. Willy Wonka urged them to try a blade of grass, then a buttercup. The children ate flowers and trees; even the river was chocolate.
I imagine Adam and Eve walking through the garden. First Adam plucks a peach off a leafy green branch and hands it to Eve. The Eve bends down and tears a piece of a beet green and munches on that. She pulls again and the whole plant comes up in her hand. Then she tries the beet. "Adam this is good too!" she says as she hands some to Adam. They nibble things on the trees, things on the ground, things under the ground. Food was everywhere. The whole garden was edible (well, almost).
I think this parallel is especially obvious to me lately because I feel like we are just eating plants. We have been trying to eat more nutrient dense foods since reading a nutrition book a friend lent us. We really enjoy it -- except for the greens. I have a hard time with them. They taste like grass or weeds smell. This week I was out clipping and pulling weeds in the flower bed and I thought it smelled just like the greens I ate for supper. My husbands jokes at dinner that it's time to graze. I guess, according to the book, it's better to be a cow, than eat one.

To Him Be the Glory

I am the LORD, that is My name; and my glory I will not give to another
--Isaiah 42:8

Recently our pastor used this verse in a sermon. I love the passages in I Samuel where God defends his glory. The Israelites thought the Ark of the Covenant would save them in battle, but to their horror they were defeated and the Ark stolen. The Philistines, thinking their god, Dagon, had triumphed, put the Ark next to Dagon. The next morning, there was Dagon, fallen on its face to the earth before the Ark of the Lord. They set Dagon back up, but the next morning he was broken in pieces before the Ark. Then God struck the Philistines with plagues. In the end they willingly gave back the Ark knowing that God had brought these troubles to their land. God didn't need an army. God didn't need the Israelites. God can defend Himself. He is the Lord. No one could say that they had saved the Ark from the Philistines -- God brought it back.
So to not take any of God's glory, let me say -- He has somehow sustained us for about half a year. Of course God has sustained us our whole lives! How can I just talk about the last 6 months? God brought us through the winter -- a time when the work is slim. God provided for us for years when we owned the tree service. God provided for my college tuition. God kept me fed and clothed as I grew up in a family without my father. God gives me my very breath; in Him I live and move and have my being. But let me highlight the last six months.
First, as I mentioned earlier, I am not buying any new clothes. But because of God moving through the generosity of friends, I feel like I have nicer clothes now than I did six months ago. We have been given food. My sister shared from the bountiful supply of canned goods her mother-in-law gave to them. Friends stopped by after a trip to Walmart. We were able to pick corn for free at my brother-in-law's friend's field, and glean blueberries from the fields of a friend from church. My mom has shared countless leftovers from Sunday dinner.
The Bible says having food and clothing we can be content. My mom says that in Michigan, shelter is a necessity too. I think I would agree. Every month God has paid our mortgage, even when we were making less than our monthly expenses. When my husband lost his job, in some ways it was a relief, because he didn't like it at all. Now he is self-employed. We keep trying different ways to bring in money. Still we do not consistently have our monthly expenses covered, but somehow we pay all the bills. We do not use credit cards. I don't want to be robbed of a miracle. (Come to think of it, I don't want to be robbed of my money in interest either.)
We are not sure where all the money comes from! I know a distant friend sent a large sum of money because God told him in a dream to send it. Then God provided quite a bit of work for my husband in web design. We had also been talking about contacting one of my uncles, who earlier had mentioned wanting some long-distance accounting work done. A few weeks ago I found a voicemail message on my phone. It was my uncle and he wanted us to call about some work. I hadn't talked to him in months. We haven't gotten the job yet, but I shouldn't worry, if this is how God wants to provide for us -- He will make it happen. I wondered if my mom had mentioned anything to my uncle about us still being interested in the work, but she hadn't. I guess it was my Father, not my mother, that prompted him to call.
A couple weeks ago my husband picked up a new leather couch from the side of the road. This to me is embarrassing. I suppose that's just my pride. It had a big "FREE" sign next to it. It came apart in sections, so he loaded it into the back of our small pickup and off we drove. My son wanted to honk as we drove past our church, I would rather hide. Why? I don't want to admit that I am poor? I should be waving and pointing -- "Look, look, at this couch God gave us." Trust me, it is much better than the old couch. So, now we have a nice new leather couch.
Not too long ago my husband was complaining how everything was junk. Everything kept breaking -- our van, our truck, our camera, our windows, our roof. Finally he came to the point of contentment, and said, "God this is Your junk. If you don't like it, You'll have to provide the money to fix it, or provide something else, because I can't do anything." To our astonishment, money started pouring in! I can hardly believe it. We got a thousand dollar refund from our escrow account. A few days later I checked the mail again and there was a thousand dollars in refund checks again. (Part from our gas company, part from our school taxes) It was so fun to tell Eric that we just got $1000 dollars in the mail. He didn't believe me. Then my uncle had a small tree job that he didn't want to be bothered with, Eric did it for him. We received a check for $150. My mom gave us some money. Eric received a good sized check from his web designing, and a couple other small sums. We decided to make a list of things that we should fix. I haven't balanced the bank account for September yet; but if my calculations are correct we should be able to put aside savings for months when we have no income, fix some things around the home, and pay our bills.
Oh, we've also been able to take a few trips this year. Utah, of course, then this month we are going to Pennsylvania to visit family, then possibly Oregon for some work.
God is amazing. There is none besides Him; His glory I will not give to another.

A New Way to Talk

I was just thinking as I was brushing my teeth this afternoon that I should communicate with all people how I communicate with my hygienist. She talks, but can I answer? No, because she's working on my teeth. So I am forced to stop and think about what I am going to say. I have no choice. Sometimes she is on to a new topic before my mouth is free. I guess it makes me a good listener. Sometimes I lay there and pray for her. What else can I do? I can't respond. I can't think of one thing I've said to her that I wish I hadn't said.
How can I communicate like this with my friends without them sticking tools in my mouth?

Bus Ride Home

On Saturday our tickets weren’t listed again, and we wouldn’t be able to authorize changes until Monday. So, we decided to take the bus home because we would be home by Monday if we did.
I have never taken the bus before. It was an experience.
It was a very different atmosphere. In the airport you are surrounded by businessmen and businesswomen; hurriedly walking through the airport wheeling their black luggage, sipping their Starbucks coffee. At the bus station people are very casual. They are tired. Perhaps they have been driving all night. The limits on luggage are generous and the waiting area is strewn with bags, pillows, blankets, people sitting on the floor or resting in a chair.
I gave my ticket to the bus driver before I bordered the bus. I wasn’t sure on the exact protocol, which was obvious, because I broke it. Right before I handed my ticket to the bus driver I separated the ticket from the stub. Oops! “You can’t get on the bus”, the driver gruffly told me. “You have to buy a new ticket.” I told him I was sorry, I was just trying to be helpful. “Don’t be helpful!” he retorted. Maybe he had pity because I looked about to cry. Doubtfully, but he did let me get on the bus. “I’ll let you on the bus this time, but if you do that again someone else isn’t going to let you get on,” he warned. I guess he was trying to be helpful too.
Then the customary announcements. No drinking, no smoking, no feet in aisles, etc.. But his delivery wasn’t customary. “There will be absolutely NO drinking. ZERO tolerance. If I find you, you are out. There will be NO smoking. ZERO tolerance. No feet in aisle. If I see you, you are out! I don’t care if it’s the middle of the freeway. We are leaving you behind!”
Perhaps the drivers feel they have to be rude to keep everyone in line. I could hear the man behind us talking to his fiancée on his cell. He was telling her, the bus driver runs a pretty tight ship. Reminds him of how he use to run his preschool class.
During the night a few hours into the trip, we heard from our friendly bus driver again, “Someone is spraying perfume. Stop it! I have allergies. Don’t do it again!” It was actually comical, because he was so openly lacking in relational skills.
At one stop a different bus driver got off the bus, and walked over to the Wendy’s. A few passengers trickled off to stretch their legs and have a quick smoke. She came back upset, “Get back on the bus. Who told you you could get off?” Strange, what made them think they could get off a parked bus?
We had one friendly driver, out of the four. Nevertheless, they got us to Chicago.
We had been traveling for about 36 hours. I was exhausted and irritable. Maybe that’s why the drivers are rude. We rode the train to our truck, and drove the last four hours home – Finally!
When we saw our boys again, I was surprised how noisy they were. How quickly I forget. I am also amazed how quickly I can become accustomed to only caring for myself (and other adults). It took a little time to adjust back to the demanding needs of small children.
It was sad to see our vacation come to an end. As my sister said, “That was the most relaxing vacation I have ever taken.”

Tourists in Utah

We left Birkenfeld, Oregon late Monday afternoon. We knew we should have left earlier, but it was too hard to pull away – we were having such a good time visiting with friends that we hadn’t seen for years. It was a 13 hour drive back to Salt Lake City – unless, of course, my sister drove. We drove up the Columbia River gorge, awed by scenes of mountains, trees, waterfalls and the mighty Columbia.
We still wanted to stop and visit with my uncle and aunt in The Dalles. It would add a few more hours to the trip putting us in Salt Lake City after the first two flights on Tuesday. (Leaving only one flight to Chicago that day.) We decided it was worth the risk. We left their house around midnight, and drove through the night to SLC.
Looking back, we should have spent the night with my aunt and uncle. We rushed to Salt Lake, but there was no rush. We spent the next four nights there.
My sister Mel was kind enough to share her anniversary with us. Yes, very romantic. We took her out to Olive Garden; then walked around downtown Salt Lake City. I felt a little awkward walking around in Mormon country with Eric and my sister. Here we are – Eric and his two wives. Eric of course thought I was funny. He kept loudly making comments at the restaurant, such as: “Sister, what would you like to eat?” “Wife, I am so glad we could be here with your Sister.” And to the waiter, “My wife will be sharing with her Sister.” He gets so much pleasure out of teasing me.
On Thursday Mel got on a flight. We watched her plane fly off above the mountains. It was an emotional time – Like the prize at the end of a long race. You did it, Mel! You did it. You are going home. We felt more urgency to get home when Mel was still with us because her husband was working and trying to find babysitters for the times when he was gone. When she flew away, the weight lifted. We relaxed a little more, and decided to tour Utah a little. Of course, Mel thinks we were just waiting for her to leave so we could have some time alone. I told her we made out just fine with her there… umm, did that come out right?
We had been riding the city bus around town, but that night we rented a car. It’s amazing how having your own transportation can make you feel free. We drove to Antelope Island National Park in Great Salt Lake. We hiked to the top of one of the bluffs and sat together on huge boulders watching the sun set over the water. We could see tiny spots on the plains below. We knew they were buffalo grazing. It was beautiful.
The next day, still having ticket problems, we left the airport again. We visited the home site of Brigham Young. I can't believe the hardships the first settlers faced! Some even came out with handcarts. Can you imagine just walking across the United States? Life is so comfortable now. I don’t know if I could have done it.
After driving through the canyon we walked through a local park. We stopped to get a couple pictures of the playground equipment for our boys; then cooled our feet off wading in a small tree-lined creek.
As I write this I wonder how we fit everything into the day. Airport, historical sites, canyons, parks, and after a late lunch a visit to a nearby national forest. The national forest was also in the mountains, and the views were breathtaking! Everything seemed big and grand, rugged and wild. We stopped at one of the trailheads and hiked two miles to Stewart Falls. I just cannot describe the beauty of this land. We sat on the mountain side at the top of the smaller falls, looking out over the valley and the mountains in the distance. I just felt like singing. -- I will lift my eyes to the Maker of the mountains I can't climb.... How great Thou art!
We hiked the two miles back to our car and drove back to Salt Lake City for another late dinner. I had seen an Indian Restaurant I wanted to try. I think Eric learned something that day. Never look for restaurants in unfamiliar cities when you are starving, that Shari just vaguely remembers driving past once. After driving about 45 minutes looking where I thought it had been, Eric finally said, "We are stopping at the next restaurant we drive past!" The next one looked like my mom's favorite restaurant back home – good, old-fashioned, home-cookin’. Eric broke the rules and kept driving. We found something that we both liked not too long after that.

Utah, the Beautiful

I think I am infatuated with Utah. We picked up a Utah travel guide in the airport and I still have it on our end table in our living room. I pick it and look at the pictures. It's a well-designed book, so to compare the states fairly I suppose I should have a book designed by the same people for each state. But since I don't -- Utah is one of the best!
I cannot get over the beauty of the state. In the opening pages of the travel guide the writers make this lofty claim,
"Exclamations, superlatives, declarations...
Words used to evoke sentiments, feelings and remembrances
of a place so visual, so unique, so compelling that words alone
can never quite live up to the experience of having visited.

We have a word for this place...UTAH
Where your emotions are stirred,
your spirit if lifted.
Your senses rise. You soar. Life elevated.
In Utah you will discover...
A part of yourself you never knew existed.
Your life is changed.
You are elevated."

Ha! A little over the top? But I sit nodding over each phrase. It is so beautiful and rugged and unique. I've brought this book in the van to look through while my husband drives. I've dreamed about Utah. We've checked real estate in Utah. Last Sunday we were driving home from church and noticed in front of us a Utah license plate. Probably the only one in the whole city and it drove in front of us. Utah is calling.

Take Heart

I was looking for an answer to a curriculum question on the Covenant Home website. As I was browsing through the message board I came across a question from a lady who named herself "Overwhelmed Mom". Her question is something I have pondered often.

She asked, "How do you balance activities and outside demands without neglecting school obligations? Sometimes the demands/activities are for a very good cause, like helping others. I feel like I am constantly having to choose between a "good work" and remaining focused so as to not get behind in school. Not everyone understands how much time it takes to do a thorough job in schooling our children. Any wisdom in this area would be greatly appreciated!"

I thought the reply she received was so encouraging to moms who are home trying to educate, train and disciple their children, I posted a portion of it below.


"Your question is one I have thought long and hard about over the past 19 years. As part of discipling my children, I desire greatly that they learn to serve and minister to others. After all, Jesus did say that He came not to be served, but to serve, and we are also told in Scripture that knowledge passes away, but love lasts forever. So I have thought much about what it means to be a very large family, be responsible for academically training my children, and serve others. Here are my thoughts on the issue:
>
> As women, we are told in Titus that we need to be managers of our homes and lovers of our husbands and children. When you are a mother of many children, that directive is a full time job. To me, loving my family needs to look like I Cor 13 type of love: love is patient, kind, gentle, not easily provoked,etc. Maybe it's just me, but I really struggle with that kind of love to those nearest and dearest to my heart when I am harried and overwhelmed with commitments (even great ones) outside my home. This is a beautiful season of our lives that will pass so quickly. I can speak from experience; it seemed like yesterday that Erika was a toddler. Someday we will have time to have extra ministries in service to others, but right now, our energy needs to be serving those at home. Now, there are ways that we can serve others as the Holy Spirit leads such as a casserole to a new mother, a homemade plate of cookies/visit to shut in or elderly, etc, but those are ministries you can do with your children. I think even the church in our culture puts a great deal of pressure on women to be busy with things outside the home. You need to realize that other people will not understand. There is no way that others know the time/energy demands on your day from sun-up to sundown and during the night unless they are in your shoes. But Jesus does, and He sees your heart, He hears the prayer you pray for others when you don't have the time to actually "do something", He knows your fatigue, and He understands. And someday He will say to you, "Well done, thou faithful servant." And as we train our children to serve each other in the home, they will take that server's spirit out of the home as teenagers. My husband often reminds me when I completely choose to forget everything I have just shared with you, that my teen children are now serving in my place. You will be there someday."
>
Post by Heidi on Covenant Home Message Board

Man v. Mess

Today is a sad day for our family, as my husband does what the majority of husbands all across America do every day -- He leaves for work. Usually he works from his office in the basement, but today his brother needs his help. His brother fell and broke his ankle. It's healing, but he is unable to finish his window washing jobs, so Eric is washing windows today.
My sister-in-law Liisa wrote about the little things that remind her Danny is not there anymore. Like a friend teaching the boys to ride a bike, or starting home-schooling with no one coming home at the end of the day to mark the switch from work to play. When I first read that I was in the midst of switching the summer clothes to winter clothes, unpacking from camping, trying to get through the mountain of laundry, preparing for the first day of school, and needing the yard mowed. My basement had flooded (just the boys accidentally unplugging the sump pump). Now I had mold to clean up from all the extra moisture. My husband picked up a broken free dehumidifier he planned to fix to help with the moisture, so far it is still in pieces. Bags and piles of clothes scattered the basement. My school books were out. Also, for some strange reason that only a crazy person would understand, I decided to sort through all the boys' toys, books and papers. Every room in the house was a mess from sorting, unpacking, switching clothes, laundry, books and school supplies, and broken electronics waiting to be fixed. It was overwhelming!
My husband sat in his office working. His door protected him from the chaos.
I thought of Liisa. I thought of her friend teaching the boys to ride their bikes. I remembered running behind my own boys teaching them. She went on to write of all the other ways friends had stepped in to fill some of the hole Danny left. Someone mowed her grass. I thought of my yard. A friend had said "It would be good for raising goats", -- I guess a lot of long grass for grazing. It needed mowing. She was given a double washer. I thought of my washer and dryer running almost solid for about two days just trying to catch up. Someone came and took a couple of her younger children so she could settle in to the new school routine. I thought how nice that would be as I faced the task of preparing and trying to schedule and teach two second grade students and one kindergarten student, and still feed and change the baby.
Then I thought, wouldn't she trade it all? Wouldn't I? Wouldn't I choose to keep the mess and chaos if I were given a choice? My sister-in-law has more help and a nicer house now than when her husband was alive, but it's just not worth losing a husband. It helped me to think of this as I faced the daunting projects waiting for me. It helped me to focus on the things that really matter -- like the people we love -- not a clean, organized house and a well-kept yard. We don't love our husbands or our children for what they can give us. It's not the help that matters. We just love them.
Also, I am happy to say that by God's strength the toys are sorted, the clothes are washed and put away, the winter clothes are in the drawers and closets, the basement is clean, and the lawn is mowed.

Sick with Sweets

Tonight my son Zac asked me for a healthy snack. I gave him some frozen strawberries. It reminded me of when he told me, "A righteous man always eats his fruits and vegetables first." We told him that although fruits and vegetables are healthy, "righteous" is taking it a little too far.
I was just reading the other day about "studies" that had shown the effects of sugar. Studies sounds so like the ambiguous "they", I did not see a source cited. They claimed that sugar actually paralyzes the white blood cells of the immune system for up to half an hour.
So I found a source...

In the book "Get The Sugar Out" by Ann Louise Gittleman M.S. C.N.S Ms. Gittleman says, "No matter what form it takes, sugar paralyzes the immune system in a variety of ways:

Sugar has been proven to destroy the germ-killing ability of white blood cells for up to five hours after ingestion.
http://www.immunesystemetc.com/Sugar.html

Why do I have to like sugar so much? I know it's bad for me. It slowly kills me, yet I keep eating it.

Camping

Tomorrow we leave to go camping again. I hope it isn't cold and rainy like the last time.

How to Make a Cake...Or Not

During our trip to Oregon my cousin and I were talking about my love for cooking. She eagerly told me of a recipe book she had discovered. She had not tasted one bad recipe yet. We talked about her husband's particular, maybe slightly exotic tastes. We laughed at her brother who said he was happy with beans and sour cream -- that would never go over well with either of our husbands.
This past week I received a package from my cousin with the recipe book she had been raving about. It was full of healthy recipes, and nutrition tips, but at the end the authors had included one "triple-layer, triple-decadent, Died-and-gone-to-Heaven Chocolate Layer Cake" Of course I wanted to try it. (And it was my mom's birthday, so it was the perfect excuse.)

I tasted a crumb of the cake fresh and hot from the oven. It was awesome! It was so moist and chocolaty! Then i don't know if i left it out too long to cool, but it became drier and tasted like normal chocolate cake when i served it.
But the problems started long before serving time.
It was one of those days when I had a hard time getting motivated in the morning, so it was almost 2pm when I started getting lunch out. I still had to go shopping for the ingredients for the cake and my mom was coming between 5 and 5:30pm. I was running out of time. I decided to leave the boys in charge of lunch and went shopping. (Eric was in his office in the basement working.)
When I returned, I cautiously stepped into my kitchen. This was not the kitchen I left. Everyone did get some food, so I guess I should be happy about that. Caden was still in his high chair, still eating. They had given him a bowl and let him feed himself -- BBQ chicken and rice casserole. He had food and red sauce all over him, the tray, the chair and the floor. The dishes and food were still out on the stove and on the counter, but there was no time to clean -- we had to bake the cake!
I set my shopping bags full of ingredients down on the table and started giving instructions.
Zac started mixing the dry ingredients, which he managed to spill on the counter and down the front of my right pant leg. Micah started mixing the wet ingredients. We did get all the egg shells out. Shiloh started stirring the melting chocolate, which he spilled on the burner. Caden was still eating in the middle of the kitchen while we worked around him. Occasionally I spooned some more casserole into his bowl. I think he ate most of the afternoon. He was happy and we kept working.
Finally the cakes were in the oven. Time to begin the frosting. It had everything you might put in frosting that's delicious and bad for you in it -- butter, cream cheese, whipping cream, chocolate -- Yum.
Zac was mixing the butter and cream cheese when the bowl went spinning and crashing to the floor. Luckily most of the cheese mixture stuck to the bowl, which, of course, landed upside down. Caden decided to throw his bowl on the floor also. It broke into pieces. Food and ceramic splattered across the kitchen.
The boys began licking bowls while I whipped the frosting and then added it to the cream cheese mixture. As you can imagine they became covered with chocolate, but do they wash? Of course not. While I was busy mixing the frosting, they were busy climbing on our ledge between the kitchen and living room and jumping onto the couch. They grabbed the beam at the ceiling to steady themselves before they jumped and left little chocolate fingermarks up there too. More mess, no time to clean.
I finished the frosting, and put it into the fridge to chill. Caden was still eating, or maybe just playing with his food by this time.
Unfortuately my mom was coming VERY soon now, and I had to start assembling the cake or I wouldn't finish before she arrived. I took the frosting out of the fridge, but it wasn't stiff enough. Now this is sad. I added powdered sugar to make it stiffer so I could create the cake. It was still good, but not so amazing. The cake though, was beautiful! I used raspberries, slivered almonds, coconut and some ivy to garnish it. It looked great.
I thought about if someone showed up at our door right then. That thought was very humorous. You would think it would be embarrassing, but the kitchen was beyond embarrassment! It was so unbelievable, it was comical. The counters were covered with bowls, utensils, eggs shells, wrappers, chocolate, and cream cheese mess. Caden was still in his high chair, with food smeared and squished and splattered around him. The unused groceries still sat on the benches. Chocolate was on the ceiling, the wall, the floor where Zac spilled earlier. Then there was me -- my pants were dirty from Zac's accident earlier, but now my shirt was splattered too. It was so unbelievable you had to laugh.
I called my sister and asked her -- please STALL our mom!
Caden went to the bathtub and we tackled the kitchen. Eric came up to help too. I try to leave him undisturbed because even though he is home, he is working; but as desperation started to settle in, we called for help.
My mom was late and surprisingly we got the kitchen and myself cleaned.
Needless to say, I might have to try the cake again.

The Egg or the Chicken

I have wondered which came first -- the actual tax or the definition. Did people realize that tax meant "to lay a burden on; make serious demands on" but had no idea that tax would also be money given to the government? They would say, "I taxed my wagon yesterday. I thought it might break on the way into town, but we made it." But they wouldn't say, "I paid my taxes." Maybe they called it tribute. Then eventually people began to see tribute as such a burden, they began to call it a "tax" as they had taxed their wagon or oxen.
Or was it the other way around? Tax was always the money given to a government and someone said, "Hey, your donkey pulling that cart looks like I feel when I pay my taxes, why do you 'tax' him so much?" They realized they just came up with a new way to use the word "tax" and thought themselves very witty.
Just this morning I was reading about when Jesus says to give to Caesar what is Caesar's and to God what is God's. Does Caesar think he owns it all? I suppose his picture is on it all. Is Jesus saying that we shouldn't be bothered by taxes? Or that he really doesn't need money to accomplish His work or provide for His children? Or was that just His answer to men who were trying to trap Him?
God does talk often of injustice and robbing the poor. Some would argue that taxes aren't robbing or injustice.
I am reminded of an old movie of Robin Hood that my mom owned. The sheriff comes to take more taxes and the conversation goes something like this.
"I don't have the tax," the farmer says.
"Sell your chickens!" answers the tax collector.
The farmer replies, "I sold my chickens to pay for the feather tax. I sold my
eggs to pay for the barn tax. I sold my barn to pay for the house tax. I sold my
furniture to pay for the property tax. I have nothing left."
"To jail then!" responds the tax collector.

I find it humorous that the Pharisees complained that Jesus was a friend of "tax collectors and sinners", or that if a brother refuses to be reconciled he becomes like a "heathen or a tax collector". I guess people have never liked taxes.

All that said, Jesus did receive a humble tax collectors' prayer instead of a prideful Pharisee, a religious leader. He was a friend to tax collectors. He called them for service, and ate at their homes.
Pray for our government.

Corn Picking

Today I went with my sister-in-law to pick corn in a field belonging to her family's friend. The owner came out to the field and kept expressing his desire to share, for us to take as much as we possibly wanted. I felt like Ruth. I imagined Boaz coming out to the field as the benevolent master of the field. Of course I am not Ruth, because although I also was blessed by this man's kindness, I will not be coming to the threshing floor! Oh, and Ruth's face probably didn't swell like a balloon. I am having an allergic reaction, my eyes are disappearing as my face expands around them. We did get a lot of corn, so it was worth it.

Happy Anniversary

August 21, 2009 -- Today marks one of the best days of my life.
Happy Anniversary to us!

Money and Miracles

"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination."
-- Oscar Wilde, Irish dramatist and novelist

I do not agree with this, I just thought it was funny. Although if anyone couldn't think of more ways to spend money (even if they didn't actually spend the money), I would probably think they suffered from a lack of imagination.
I was reading through various blogs with monthly financial goals. It was a little disappointing, because I have goals that I feel like I cannot reach.
But I suppose I can get so caught up on my goals that I miss the daily miracle.
We pay our bills another month. We eat another day. Where does the money come from? It's kind of a mystery.
I think God taught me a couple things about money while we owned the tree service.
First, I really think God will provide. And it usually is never when you want it. Maybe this is just for me, but it seems like God likes to stretch me to the point of breaking before he actually gives relief.
Second, things seem worse the first time -- then you get use to them and can handle them without fear, knowing it will work out. When the government first levies your account it's shocking. You hurriedly call the bank, trying to deal with all the checks you have written on the thousands that were just taken. The next time you are prepared. At first when you receive threatening letters from the IRS you are a little unnerved. Later, you realize there's really nothing you have that they even want. But more than that, you realize that there is nothing they can do, or take that will rob you of what is most important. Life is adventure and God holds us each step of the way. He will provide. He will never leave.
Third, never say you have no money. It's just not true. (Although I do agree it is definitely more true for some than others!) I have heard this often. I have heard it from people that then bought a brand new bed for hundreds of dollars. I have heard it from people that then bought airline tickets for Hawaii. I hear it from people that cannot give. Money is a matter of priorities. Someone may take their family on a two week vacation. It doesn't necessarily mean they have more money, just that that was a high priority for them. Money is also a matter of perspective. Someone that is use to making $80K will have no money making $50K. (which would sound like a lot to someone else). Personally, I think most of us are incredibly rich in America.
I was talking with a friend about my desire to give more money to the poor, and she mentioned that must be her. (That giving to the poor for her meant giving to her family.) Maybe she has a point, but I still think the poorest of us here have a lot more than the poor in other countries.
Fourth... (will I ever stop)... always do what needs to be done for others regardless of the cost. It's easy to look at what we have left in our meager bank accounts, and think logically we should not give. And that is probably right. But God is not logical! Well, His kingdom is different than this world. I think if it's something that you think God wants you to do or give towards, He will add more to your bank account later when you need it. We have seen this many times.
I am reminded of my Grandpa. He lived so cheaply because he and his wife wanted to give all they could to missions. Some think they are crazy. But I wonder what his treasure in Heaven will be like. It's fascinating to me to listen to his stories of how God provided. Looking back it's easy to see how God was providing. It's hard when you are going through it. If we could only remember that God's already looking back.
This is long, but I'll end with one story.
Sometimes you wonder if God has forgotten you. A couple weeks ago we were again reminded that he remembers.
A friend of ours had a dream that he should give us some money. This was someone we hardly ever talk to or even see. He woke up and remembered the dream, but thought it was only a dream and decided to forget it. All through the day he kept thinking about that dream. It kept coming to mind. Finally he started to wonder if God really was talking to him, and he wrote the check and mailed it.
We received the check during a very bleak time. Everything we tried seemed to fail. We couldn't seem to hear God leading one way or the other. Dead end after dead end. We wondered if we had been left to flounder with no direction. God was so silent. That check was like His voice shouting to us. Yes, the money was extremely helpful. (It was even the amount that I had been thinking earlier that we needed.) But more than that it was God saying, I am still here. I will never forget you. See I placed you in someone else's dream because I will always take care of you. I will guide you. You are not alone. Trust me.

Cleaning Up

I fixed the fence. I didn't want to do it, but now it is done. The broken boards are replaced. The fence is still rather junky, but I'll put a cheap coat of paint on and see if that helps the look of the yard. Paint is less expensive than boards. Really I should take the whole fence down and replace it.
Speaking of junk...I think Eric needs a pole barn. He can keep all his tools, building supplies, projects, experiments in there. Then we will need another pole barn for the boys. They want to save the strangest things. Sometimes when they are not looking I burn their treasures. How could I be so cruel! Good thing the mailman keeps bringing more junk mail. I also try to keep their scraps of boards and strings and spears in their tree fort. They even want to keep the empty Tums bottle and twist-ties and little pieces of paper they cut into squares.

I am obsessive about brushing teeth. Eric says we can't have any more children because I wouldn't have time to brush their teeth. He says it takes an hour to get them ready for bed. I timed it though, it's only about 15 minutes. Then Eric was eating candy tonight. When I told him he should brush, he said the next thing I'll be doing is not allowing food to be eaten. Good idea. No food, no dirty teeth.

If We Could Live Without Feelings

As I mentioned earlier, it was actually quite relaxing sitting in the airport. We were able to spend some time talking. I was able finish a book. We played some games. We only had to take care of ourselves. But then enter all these feelings. If I could only live without feelings. The feelings of frustration at the blocked goals. Why can't we just get to Oregon? The same blocked goal leading to despair. Confusion -- Did we do the right thing? Should we have turned down the tickets and decided to drive? Should we keep waiting or just go? I felt like my life was up in the air. Wondering if we should give up, but not able to because there was always that hope that kept being rekindled that maybe we would get on the next flight. We laughed at people we overheard commenting on how bad it was for a flight to be delayed an hour and a half.
Then I kept thinking about little Wyatt, and Fawne, and the grief and pain would come, and again discouragement that I could not get out to Oregon for a dear cousin's son's funeral.
And we kept talking about what we should do. First we would decide to wait, then we would decide to rent a car (our truck was unreliable, originally we were going to borrow my mom's car), then we kept thinking about the cost and the time, and we would decide to wait again, then we would decide to drive home, then we talked about driving home and picking up my mom's car and then leaving again. We were crazy and desperate.
Fawne and Ben buried their son while we sat in the airport on Friday. I sat alone in the restroom and cried. I was so helpless to do anything. The demand for tickets was causing the prices to soar. I felt trapped. I felt that money could solve my problems, and I was so discouraged that something that would be so little to someone else was keeping me from going. That we had almost nothing. I had tried so hard and failed.
As Eric likes to say, "God draws a crooked line." I think he heard that somewhere. We thought the goal was to get from point A to point B. God looks at all the space in-between, crooked space. He presses and asks, "Will you choose to be thankful during this?", "Will you be content with where you are in life?", "Will you see that it is better to have Me than to have money?", "Will you believe I can do the impossible?" Perhaps it meant more to Fawne and Ben that we had such a hard time getting out, that we wouldn't give up because they were that important, because Wyatt's life was important. God knows. He grinds off a few more rough edges.

The Airport -- Our Home

The airport did begin to feel like a home to us. While everyone was rushing we were taking our time just hanging out. Plug-ins for laptops were very scarce. But we knew where the best ones were, and if someone was using them, we knew we could out-wait anyone. One of our plug-ins was close to a Chili's, right beside a pillar. The pillar offered some privacy, but there were no chairs at this outlet. We did use this spot for a large portion of the time, because it was available. But as we toured our home more, we discovered the ideal spot. Chairs in the corner, with a whole wall of stations set up for laptops. Close to the drinking fountain, the bathrooms, and for Mel, a Starbucks, of course. I think Mel knew where all the Starbucks were in concourse B and C. Eric was able to stretch out on the floor at our new spot and take a nap without disturbing anyone. Although, I guess he wasn't intimidated to sleep wherever we were sitting.
Eric found an abandoned luggage cart, so now it was much easier moving from gate to gate. We thought if we had to be in the airport another day, maybe we would visit the children's museum.
I started picking up garbage that the people boarding the plane had left behind. Why did they leave that in our home?
Besides wandering around the airport, we spent our time talking, reading, playing Diner Dash, and using the internet.
It was relaxing.

The Next Day and the Next

The next day we woke up early. The first flight left before 8am and we had to have time to ride the shuttle to the airport and get through security. We made it. But it wouldn't have mattered. We missed that flight, and the next, and the next, and the next. I think there was one flight left that day. We didn't think the plane would have room for us, so we started checking into flights to any city west of Denver. We actually thought of Denver too, but it was only halfway and we would still have 20 hours of driving left. We wondered if we should rent a car and start driving. We wondered if we should just go home.
Then as a final effort we decided to talk to the customer service representative one last time. Surprisingly she said there were three seats left on a plane to Salt Lake City. But the plane left in ten minutes -- And it was in a different concourse -- And we had to call our sponsor and get approval for the ticket change. We rushed across the airport. Eric was talking on the phone as we went. Another amazing thing, we got a hold of the one who had given us the tickets. He just happened to be in his hotel room in front of his computer. Not only that but he was able to talk to his contact and get our flight change approved by the time we got to the new gate. This approval process could take days, but we had just been approved in less than 10 minutes!
There were five people on standby, maybe it was six. We were so nervous. We had never been this close before. Then the shock came -- they actually called our names! We were getting on the plane! There was one seat left in first class. Lucky Eric got that one. He did have the longest legs. Mel and I headed to the back of the plane. Our seats were in the very back row, but when we got there, my heart sank. There was a man sitting in my seat. I knew there must be a mistake -- that the attendant shouldn't have called my name -- that I was getting off the plane. But to my relief she had one more seat in the middle of the plane that the man moved to and Mel and I sat together.
It was a small plane. Our seats could not recline at all because we were next to the back wall, but worse than that the seats leaned forward slightly. We didn't think it was a big deal, but four hours later when we got off the plane we realized our backs were sore, molded into the shape of a "c". The plane was delayed for about an hour because of weather. We were afraid we weren't going to leave. Although when we finally did leave, Mel said she felt a slight sadness as we left the airport that had become like a home to us.
I tried to sleep on the flight because I knew it would go faster, but it was hard to sleep because it was not comfortable. It was late when we arrived in Salt Lake. We were eager to get off the plane and excited about being that much farther west and not looking forward to the twelve hour drive ahead of us.
Eric started asking about our trip. He said he had such a relaxing trip. He was able to sleep, to stretch out. He was given a snack pack with about five different snacks (Mel and I had skipped dinner.) They kept offering him drinks. That's when we couldn't associate with him any more. We walked away toward the baggage claim with our hunched backs, ringed eyes and gnawing stomachs. Class envy, he said.
We tried to rent a car one way, but it was five times as much, so we decided round trip would be fine. We would fly out of Salt Lake again on the way home. When we finally left the airport it was after 1am. We looked for something open where we could get food, eventually we found a gas station and found some junk food. Which I ended throwing up later along the road in the wilderness of Utah. Eric drove through the night while Mel and I tried to sleep. Mel drove in the morning. I actually didn't drive the car at all until the trip home. By morning we were in Oregon, but Oregon is a large state, so we still had a lot of driving. It is also sparsely populated with fewer restaurants, compared to the east, so we ended up finding something to eat at a gas station again.
Mel lived on her coffee. Even Eric was becoming addicted.
We arrived in Westport Saturday afternoon.

Reading Prizes

My boys joined the summer reading club at our local library. This is the last week to hand in their reading charts. There are five charts total -- each with five hours of reading. They are given a prize as they complete each chart.
Today I read to them for about two hours because they really wanted to finish the chart they were working on. Now it is almost 11pm and my seven year old son says he will not sleep tonight because he wants to finish the new chart he just got today. He has no concept of how long five hours of reading is.
My six year old was falling asleep on his bed, but when I went in to check on him, he opened his eyes and asked me to read to him. Although he could barely keep his eyes open while he asked. I told him I would read to him tomorrow.
Such motivation. For what? A notebook! I will probably read to them for hours tomorrow so that they can get a notebook! I could go to the Dollar Store. I could go to Walmart and get a notebook for five cents with all the back to school sales. The last prize was a book, which has been, in my mind, the most valuable prize. But maybe it's not the prize that motivates, but that they really want to finish. They want to complete the goal -- to color in all the little pictures on the page. I bet if I asked them they wouldn't even know what prize they were getting.
But the thing I am wondering is -- Where is my prize? This is a lot of work!
On the other hand, I have enjoyed the time we've spent together. I really think reading is important for a child. Also, some of the books have been interesting and educational. I should sleep -- I have a long day of reading tomorrow.

Airport Adventures

Hopes were high. We felt the need to rush. My sister, Mel, my husband and I were on our way to Chicago to catch a flight to Seattle, Washington for my cousin's son's funeral. It's about a 3 hour drive to where a different cousin has offered to let us park the truck. Then we planned to walk to the subway and ride for about an hour to the airport. We left at 4:00am after about two and a half hours of sleep. We had dropped our children off at Grandpa and Grandma's house the night before and didn't get back until late, then we wanted to shower so we wouldn't have to in the morning.
We called my sister when we left our house to pick her up. No answer. When we arrived at her house it was dark. We called again, no answer. I tried the door. Locked. Shortly she came to the door and let me in. She had just woken up. It didn't take her long to get ready and we were on our way.
This was when things started getting silly. Early that morning, before we had slept for our two and a half hours, Eric was headed to his office in the basement, so trying to save some time, I asked if he could drop a couple things in the washer on the way. I had started the load earlier, but had stopped it before it finished the cycle so I could add the clothes I wanted to wear to the airport. He was willing to help and left with the clothes. I continued to dry my hair and get ready for bed. When it was time to switch the load to the dryer, I realized the clothes were still on the floor by the washer. I started the load. Later Eric came up and wondered why I wasn't going to bed. I told him I was waiting to put the clothes in the dryer. He commented, "You should have started that earlier, that wasn't very good planning, was it?" For some reason, as we told Mel our story at 4 something in the morning we thought this was hilarious. In fact with so little sleep, we pretty much thought everything was funny.
The roads were clear and we made good time. Just as we were parking our truck in Chicago, Mel's cousin came out of her house on her way to an early morning swim and offered us a ride to the subway. It wasn't a far walk, but this would save us some time and we were grateful for the help and amazed that we had arrived at almost the exact time that she was leaving her house. Sometimes it seems like God works things together and smooths the way for us. It sure seemed that way with the airline tickets. We had looked into the prices for flying, and had eventually decided to drive because flying was too expensive for us. I was not looking forward to 70 plus hours of driving in 4 days. Then one of our friends who works for an airline offered us 3 standby tickets. All we had to pay was some taxes. He said he's never had anyone not get a flight. They might miss the first one, but then get on the next. We were shocked, and so thankful.
The first of our airport troubles began as we checked the kiosk for our tickets and attempted to print. We were informed we needed to see a flight representative for assistance. Our flight had been canceled. And not only our flight, but also a flight last night to Portland, Oregon. Now there were about 400 passengers on standby who wanted to reach the west coast.
We moved from concourse to concourse, gate to gate, hoping for an empty seat. We would expectantly watch the screen where the passenger information was displayed. Each flight hoping that we would get on -- even though the standby list was long! At one time we were standby passengers 53 through 55, I think. And yet we still hoped? I guess hope can defy logic. After the passengers had boarded for each flight we would hear the attendant make that so familiar announcement -- "The standby list will be transferred to the next available flight." And so we waited. We waited until after the last flight that day. Then decided to find a cheap hotel to sleep for a few hours before we tried again the next day. Then we waited some more for the hotel shuttle. And we waited, and we waited. The driver eventually showed and gave some explanation which I didn't believe. Then we sat in the van and waited and waited some more. Ten more minutes, he told us. He said he was waiting for someone. The ten turned into twenty, or was it thirty? Eventually he drove us away, and continued telling stories. He reminded me of my 4 year old son, Shiloh, -- "...And we were walking on the ocean and we said 'ocean, turn into a house' and it did, and then we flew to the sky with a shark..." You get the picture.

Musings on "Lament" -- Last One

I hate to think of my son's body rotting in his casket. I use to treat graves as sacred, maybe I still should; I would walk around people's plots reading the headstones, but in a sense it has become common. I do not mind if someone walks over my son's grave. It is just grass. It is just a white box. It is not him. And yet it is him. It's not much, but it's what I have. Rotting.

Truly terrible is the mystery of death.
I lament at the sight of the beauty
created for us in the image of God
which lies now in the grave
without shape, without glory, without consideration.
-- John of Damascus

But...

We have seen a great mystery:
We shall all be changed.
We shall be raised in Christ
as we were buried in Christ.
Death is swallowed up in victory.
-- I Cor. 15

Behold, I am making all things new.
I am the Alpha and the Omega,
the beginning and the end.
-- Revelation 21

(Excerpts taken from Requiem: Eric Wolterstorff in Memoriam)

Musings on "Lament" -- One More After This

Without sin there would be no suffering, but what about love? Perhaps without love there would be no suffering. If we didn't love others, we wouldn't be bothered by their pain. If we didn't love ourselves we wouldn't be bothered by that pain either. And if we love God, we cannot help but be bothered by suffering. God is just, to love Him is to hate injustice. God is holy, to love Him is to hate sin. God is love, and to love Him is to be loving. But if God is love and He loves us, then He must suffer? And if He suffers, why prolong His suffering? Why not come back now? He is long-suffering that many would come to repentance. He asks us to know Him in the fellowship of His suffering. Do we wait in this world of suffering for love of many that still have not seen Christ and His glory?
And then the thought that the suffering itself can become a blessing. Now life gets even more confusing. As Wolterstorff questions, "How do I tell my blessings? For what do I give thanks and for what do I lament?... How do I sustain my 'No' to my son's early death while accepting with gratitude the opportunity offered of becoming what otherwise i could never be?"

Blessed are the Mourners

Jesus says, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."
What does He mean? Blessed because God is close to the broken-hearted? Blessed because God will bring comfort?
Nicholas Wolterstorff sheds an interesting light, "Mourners are aching visionaries...Mourners are those who have caught a glimpse of God's new day, who ache with all their being for that day's coming, and who break out into tears when confronted with its absence."
I cannot say it as well as him, so I will continue with his words.
"They are the ones who realize that in God's realm of peace there is no one blind and who ache whenever they see someone unseeing. They are the ones who realize that in God's realm there is no one hungry and who ache whenever they see someone starving. They are the ones who realize that in God's realm there is no one falsely accused and who ache whenever they see someone imprisoned unjustly. They are the ones who realize that in God's realm there is no one who fails to see God and who ache whenever they see someone unbelieving. They are the ones who realize that in God's realm there is no one who suffers oppression and who ache whenever they see someone beat down. They are the ones who realize that in God's realm there is no one without dignity and who ache whenever they see someone treated with indignity. There are the ones who realize that in God's realm of peace there is neither death nor tears and who ache whenever they see someone crying tears over death."
Even so come quickly Lord Jesus! Come bring your Kingdom. Come and bring comfort.

Musings on "Lament" -- Almost Done

Nicholas Wolterstorff felt like he couldn't cry. That crying was for women. Maybe that is why I feel like I am expected to cry. Sometimes the tears don't come. Sometimes they come at unexpected times. Sometimes you have to put it on hold because someone needs you.
Grief is a strange thing. You carry it with you all the time. Not that you are never happy, just that a heaviness has settled. People may ask, "How are you?" and if I say "good" suspect me of not answering honestly or being open and real (as some like to say). But that is not it. Besides the fact that I am still redeemed and because of Jesus I really am good; it's just that this state of pain is my new normal. The heaviness does not lift. As Wolterstorff says, "Sorrow is no longer the island, but the sea." In the midst of happiness, there is still a pulling inside.
"What consolation can there be other than having him back?" -- N.W. It is not consolation to think that his life has affected someone else in a positive way. A good thing that comes from a bad thing does not make the bad thing good. God makes beauty from ashes. But does God make the ashes beautiful or does beauty grow from the ashes?
Life goes on. It has to really, there is no other way. Sometimes I wish it would stop. I remember after our baby died we went to get some food, and I was struck by how normal a day it was for everyone. The twist of that is, their day could also have been shattering and I never knew.
It's hard to believe someone has really died. Even if you see and touch the one that has died. It's hard to know the tricks my sister's mind must play on her because she didn't even see our brother laying in the hospital -- just his ashes. The phone rang on Sunday and I thought it was my brother calling again. It was about a month after Ian died that fresh pain set in again. I realized that this wasn't a joke, that death is final, that we really weren't going to have a baby. There is nothing that can be done. You are completely helpless, and that is one thing that makes death so horrible. It is final. I know because of Jesus we will see those who believe again, but it is the now that hurts. The now that you will never hold them or talk to them or play with them. It is the now that is so hard and so long.
It hurts to have dreams die. All the dreams we had for our child -- gone. The dream of seeing his first step, of hearing his little giggle, of seeing him ride a bike, of learning to read, of graduating, of getting married perhaps, of helping others and being a wise man. Living children can destroy our dreams for them too, but there is always hope that they will turn and do what is right. Life is just so hard.
Then there are the dreams we have while we sleep. Strange. Twisting facts and people. Sometimes the one we love is whole again, sometimes the dream is frighteningly real. For about the first month, between my husband and I, we dreamed every night of our son.
I want to tell people that I have five boys. But I can't. I feel robbed somehow, gipped. One day I was in a grocery store and a lady was commenting on all my boys. She said, "We had all boys too, oh, but we had five." So did I. So did I. My heart yearns to be heard. But I don't have five. Someone stole one of them. The hard thing is that the Someone is God. I do not understand. As Wolterstorff states, "It is not your absence in which I dwell, but Your elusive troubling presence." Did God cause death? God came to destroy death. The last enemy to be destroy is death. But isn't God love? Isn't God all-powerful? Perhaps you cannot say, "God caused his death", but how can you not say "God could have stopped his death." And then I wonder what is the difference? If He allowed it to happen, He could have stopped it. I cannot reconcile this in my mind. I have heard others present their reasoning and theology. Sometimes I can see what they are saying, but still I do not understand God. The questions come up again. But underneath or through it all I believe that God is still good and still cares for me. At times I feel like a dog that keeps running to its owner who kicks him away, but undaunted keeps running back, only to be kick again, but he runs back. Crazy? Yes, I am. I have felt like a fool to believe, but a fool to give up believing.
And yet, faith continues. Faith is refined. Faith grows through lament. But would I choose faith, if given a choice? Or would I choose to have the one I love back? I have to believe that God's mercy doesn't give me a choice because I think I would choose a life of ease and miss the True Treasure.

Miracles

My husband and I watched a movie that said -- The prerequisite for a miracle is an impossibility.
What are the impossibilities in my life? Or even more simply -- what miracles am I praying for? I am reminded of literature I read in college. The man had access to magic and he asked for a bowl of grapes. I think -- Grapes? You could have asked for anything? But maybe that is what I do with God. Not that He is a magician, but am I asking?
Our pastor challenged us last year and this year again to pick one specific thing to ask God for this year. Last year I prayed for salvation for our boys -- I do think at least one of them genuinely believes -- I am still praying. This year I am praying that God will pay off our debt by the end of the year. My faith is small. My husband lost his job.
So many prayer requests are on-going. Things that could begin this year, but take years to complete. For example; that I will have wise boys, that God will strengthen our marriage.
Then there are the things I know I should be praying for God to change in my own heart, but I just don't want to surrender. And then I do. And then I don't.
Emotions change with bad pizza. Why don't I just do what is right.
I am tired.

Temptation

Eric read some tips on blogs and it said to never write about your spouse, your kids, or your pets. Good thing I'm not trying to get a following.
So on that note, here's a thought about my husband.
I really want to clean my wedding ring with my husband's sonic powered toothbrush. The bristles are soft, the sound waves could beat away at stubborn dirt. But I keep thinking -- Love others as you love yourself -- and I think that would be gross if someone did that to my toothbrush.
Still... I am so tempted.

Hair Clipping

Tonight my mom had me cut her hair. I may have just assigned my sister as the new permanent hair stylist. My mom may never let me cut her hair again. She was afraid. I told her not to worry -- if I messed it up there was still time for the good daughter to come and fix it.
Well, this is kind of boring, oh well.

Bike Trip

Recently we went garage saling and replaced our boys' stolen bikes. So today I rode to the park with my boys -- their first trip on the new bikes. I am so worn out! I was behind the entire time, pedaling, pedaling, thinking in my head -- Slow Down! When the light turned red and they had to wait I was excited. Now I can rest. Now I can catch up.
At one point I tried to pedal in sync with Zac. (Micah was even farther ahead of me.) His little legs kept going and going. I thought, doesn't he ever need to take a break? Do his legs ever stop moving? Old commercials of the Energizer Bunny barge into my mind.
Now before I am labeled a complete weeny, I do have a lot in my defense. My tires were a little flat and I was pulling a trailer with two children in it.
I fought the impulse throughout the evening to tell Eric about our trip and how hard I worked. I want him to find out for himself. Next bike ride he will have the trailer and the two younger boys. Oh, poor Eric.

Rip the Coupons!

I am so tired of couponing! I am tired of checking blogs for deals and freebies. I am tired of printing coupons and cutting coupons. I do not want to go to Meijer and spend 10 minutes trying to scan all my coupons, waiting for assistance as the light above the scanner flashes.
I do enjoy sales. I am excited by a good deal, but today I am tired. In the mail today we received two granola bars and one small tube of toothpaste. They were free samples. Shouldn't that inspire me?
I have been trying to spend ten dollars per person per week on supplies and food. It feels a little tight sometimes -- like tonight. We have succeeded for about two months now I think. Even as I write this I am reminded of people that spend about that much per month instead of per week and I wonder, what is the point of my feeble attempts?
So this week I am searching through Taste of Home magazines. I am feasting on the beautiful pictures. Enticed by grilling sensations, summer salads, and warm breads. This week I will not use one coupon. Oh, can I really do it? Can I let the deals slip by? Yes, I must be strong. I will try new recipes. I will grill. I will have fun.

"Lament" -- Part 5

I suppose these death commentaries are getting long, but it's hard to read a book and not say something. Reading others' thoughts makes me want to write my thoughts too.

Why? That is the question we ask. Not that we really want an answer.
"Is there no one who can slow it down, make it stop, turn it back?... It keeps on going, unforgiving, unrelenting."
Life just keeps going. We want it to stop. We want everyone to stay in this earth-stopping moment. But it wasn't earth-stopping. Because life does not slow. Back to work. Back to church. Back to school. Back to raising kids.
Some may be puzzled at how a person keeps going. It may seem they are not in pain, but really they have no choice. Everything must go on. Those moments of grief where there is nothing to focus on but the memories and the pain, become precious. Life is unrelenting. No mercy. It keeps hurting and pressing and not giving up. No break.
"Must we all be swept forever on...until the measure of our losses has been filled?"

"Lament" -- Part 4

"It's so wrong, so profoundly wrong, for a child to die before its parents. It's hard enough to bury our parents. But that we expect. Our parents belong to our past, our children belong to our future. We do not visual our future without them. How can I bury my son, my future, one of the next in line? He was meant to bury me!"

My thoughts exactly. As my husband tossed shovelfuls of dirt over the tiny white casket, I inwardly screamed -- NO! Perhaps if there where not so many people around I would have totally snapped and started digging up the coffin and ripping it open like I wanted to. But what would that leave me with? A broken, dead body, and a pile of dirt.

Musings on "Lament" Continued

"It's the neverness that is so painful." How true.
"Never again to be here with us -- never to sit with us at the table, never to travel with us, never to laugh with us, never to cry with us..."
There is no pain that I have experienced like death. Other pain is painful. I might even choose death over something else, if it weren't for the pain of the "neverness".
It goes on and on. There is nothing you can do to bring someone back. There is no hope of ever seeing or talking to them again on this earth. You are completely helpless. It is so final.
"Only our death can stop the pain of his death. A month, a year, five years -- with that I could live. But not this forever."
It is true that this is not the forever and we will be together in Heaven which is the true forever, but the pain, the longing continues.

Musings on "Lament"

"Born on a snowy night in New Haven, he died twenty-five years later on a snowy slope of the Kaisergebirger."
Strange how death makes us think of the beginning again.
"When we gather now, there's always someone missing"
Exactly. Always someone missing. People will tell me I have a big family. That I have a lot of boys. But it feels so small to me. I think I might just be starting to know how many children are in our family. Usually if I am asked, I actually have to stop and think and count. The numbers just don't seem right.

Musings on "Lament for a Son" by Nicholas Wolterstorff

Loss becomes part of who you are.
As Nicholas Wolterstorff says, "If someone ask, 'Who are you, tell me about yourself,' I say -- not immediately, but shortly -- I am one who lost a son."
In a way I envy him. I wish that was something I could say about myself. Recently I was talking with two ladies who had lost their sons. One was my mother and she was talking about my brother, the other was a friend whose son died when he was sixteen. Death is a part of their lives, as it is a part of Nicholas Wolterstorff's life. But what they don't realize is that death is also a part of my life. Our friend was talking about a locket she found for herself and her daughters with a special poem to help bring comfort when they were especially missing their son/brother.
My mom was interested and so was I, but my mom thought I might want one for my brother.
I wear a locket almost every day with a picture of my son Ian. He was part of me. He still is. It connects me to him in some strange way. A way for me to remember even though the world cannot see him. A way to keep him with me. I may hold the locket, hurting, remembering, sometimes opening it, sometimes it's enough to just know it's there. I do not need that for my brother. Not that I do not miss him. Not that it does not hurt. That day, talking with those ladies, I felt like I was standing there as a woman who had also lost a son, but it was only in my mind.
I cannot tell people that my son died, because a stillborn child (even at nine months) is not considered a real child.
But they are wrong. My son has died. In the words of Wolterstorff -- I am one who has lost a son. It is part of who I am.

The Camping Trip -- Part 7

The sun came out the day we left. I finally took my coat off and put it in the back of the truck. Later it flew out and got caught under a vehicle. We stopped to look for it. We found it a mile or two down the road, oily, ripped with fluff pouring out.
Now we are home, and the funny thing is, we want to go on another camping trip.

The Camping Trip -- Part 6

It was warm when we kept moving. We hiked a mile out to the beach. The boys actually played in the water. BRRRR. We climbed the 110 foot Dune Climb and ran down. Even Caden came. Eric carried him up. Eric was warm. We did see the sun for a few minutes at the top of the dunes. We buried all the boys in the sand. Lake Michigan was absolutely beautiful! We drove the scenic Pierce Stocking Hwy. and stopped to walk and see the Sleeping Bear and the panoramic view of Lake Michigan. It was incredible. Rolling tree-covered hills, next to white dunes, and sharp cliffs dropping to the huge Lake with white surf, tossed by the wind. Glen Lakes glistened in the distance.
We tried to find the fish hatchery, but to no avail.
We tried to find a place to pick cherries. It was the cherry capital during the cherry festival, so I thought there would be some. But after driving for 2 hours with directions and a map, we gave up on that. I read to the boys some while we drove.
Our tent only leaked the first night. My cell phone seemed to have gotten wet. I hope it will work again when it dries out.

The Camping Trip -- Part 5

It was still cold. The air mattress quickly lost air. Shiloh woke up three times crying because he needed to use the potty. We couldn't get the tent unzipped. It was too late.
I didn't want to change into my pajamas because it was so cold I didn't want to take anything off even for a brief moment.
I slept in my jeans and wore them everyday for three days. When I finally took them off at home, I noticed my toenails were painted. That surprised me, somehow painted toenails just didn't belong.
Shiloh and I were the first ones up. It was still cold and rainy. We walked the 300 yards back to the parking lot where there was a restroom with running water.
We used the hand drier to feel warm for a little. Shiloh stood with his head right under it. His hair went flying straight out to the sides.
Finally I decided we should go back and try to light a fire.
Success! We actually started a blazing fire! We did have tin foil, so it was time to be creative and start cooking. We wrapped vegetables, cheese, and shredded ham into a tin foil packet and put it in the fire. It was quite good.
Our other cooking experiments -- We formed a pan with the tin foil, melted some butter and scrambled some eggs. We roasted mushrooms with BBQ sauce. We cut up potatoes and threw them in the fire, also wrapped in tin foil.
It was kind of fun looking in the cooler to see what we could find and trying to decide how we would cook it.

The Camping Trip -- Part 4

Well we didn't run out of gas -- just a dead battery. Eric jumped it in the rain.
My mom had packed most of the food in the coolers in the back of our pickup, just in case we decided to stay somewhere on the way home. Eric had made a spot in the front seat for me. He just had two boys share one seat belt. I was glad. I was a little traumatized by the earlier ride. The sinking feeling every time I got in the truck slowly disappeared.
It was still cold and rainy, but when we stopped on the other side of the Mackinac Bridge it was just cold. Still cloudy though, but we thought we'd chance it and find a place to camp. This was rather spur of the moment, so although we did have the food from my mom, we didn't have a campsite or any pans to cook our food.
While the boys played in the park we had stopped at, we searched the internet using Eric's phone for a campground. I thought we could head to Sleeping Bear Dunes area, but I didn't realize that was still three hours away.
We decided to go anyway, because we knew there were things in the area that would be fun to do.
Three hours somehow turned into many more. We did see the sun once while we were driving.
It was late when we arrived. We were hungry and tired. Earlier we had searched for the crackers my sister said she had put in our truck. Eric kept saying they just weren't in there. I kept insisting they must be somewhere -- my sister said she put them in. We never did find the crackers.
They had walk-in sites available. If you are not familiar with walk-in sites, it's pretty easy to figure out -- it means you walk in! No vehicles. Our site was 300 yards through the woods up and down the hills. 300 yards! That's 3 football fields!
We carried the food, the cooler, the tent, suitcases, pillows, the sleeping bags, the camp chairs, even Caden's playpen -- everything. Yes, we are crazy.
We roasted hot dogs that night. The wood wasn't burning well, so we finally tired of smoke and burning eyes, and sought warmth in our sleeping bags instead.

The Camping Trip -- Part 3

It was cheap driving the truck. Later talking with my sister I discovered that they used a full tank more than us, just on the way up, and we still needed to return and drive around sight-seeing.
My sister and brother-in-law were kind to set up our tent before we arrived, so we didn't need to set it up at 2am.
But then the storm came. No problem really, because the tent was next to the house that my mom and uncle rented, so we just moved inside.
The bed was so soft. It felt great to stretch out!
It was still raining in the morning. We tried to venture out and see Pictured Rocks and some waterfalls. It was too foggy to see the rocks, but we did have a nice hike through the rain to Horseshoe Falls. We fed some starving fish in the fish pond along the way. That was almost scary -- they were so aggressive.
We returned to the cottage to eat our picnic lunch, and spent most of the rest of the day playing games inside.
The next day I decided that even though it was windy, rainy, and cold, I was going outside. (And taking any others I could persuade with me.)
The kids had so much fun. We played many group games, rode bikes, climbed trees, and went out on the canoe.
My mom was worried that I was taking the boat out on the lake in the current weather, but mothers do tend to forget that their children are now adults. But when my Grandpa came rushing out of the house, without a coat, I started to question my decision. (We joke that my Grandpa wears long johns almost all year long, so to have no coat really caught my attention.)
Eric came with me and I think that made people feel better, although it probably shouldn't have. He purposely tried to scare me, making the boat rock.
All in all it was an enjoyable trip -- I spent time with my family, I read a good book, ate lots of good food, and didn't have to clean. (Except when it was time to leave.)
I did break our camera though. :( It fell out of my pocket while I was riding Micah's bike.
I do feel bad for my mom also, because she had so many plans that were ruined. Sight-seeing that we couldn't see. Campfires that were too wet. Grills that were broken. Outside activities that only the crazy ventured out to do -- braving the wind, cold, and mosquitoes.