The True Vyne

Monotonous

2012-01-02T21:02:00.000-06:00

I answer the phone
Sweetly
Conjuring interest in an unknown caller

I may know this soul,
or it may be a stranger.

Today I am a receptionist.

May I help you?
With whom would you like to speak?
One moment please.
Certainly.
Fascinated for the second of connection.
Lingering is not accomplishing.
Friendly, only brief.
I am not permitted tbe time to
ask about the wife
who has cancer,
or the child's graduation.
That would gum up the whole process
now wouldn't it?
Love must be given in a snapshot.
No feature length films today.

2011-11-22T21:42:00.000-06:00

I have the time and will to write for the first time in a long while and I've cut my finger badly tonight. Ironic. My children have flown the coop to see their dad suddenly, and I have the evening alone. I have thanksgiving fixings to tend, but it's a rare thing not to have a young person about to tend these days.
It's been a challenging day having gotten a call from the high school that one of my sons is suspended from school...third time in a year and half...for skipping class and breaking a mirror in the rest room. I don't even know what to say except, "His dad will be at the disciplinary hearing next week." My hands are utterly tied and my spirit hurts for my son. Without proper support I've nowhere to mend with him.
A friend at work asked me about divorce and children. I told him it was the worst possible thing to do to them. No doubt about it. I also explained in my case that I would have to have given up personhood to stay married. He looked at me with a question mark clearly between his eyes, but it's all I could or would muster. My children suffer deeply. In the last year, I nearly lost everything with another of my sons, Thanks to an incredible family's support and loving care, the same young man smiles and enjoys life everyday now, whereas last year he spent the year in such a dark place. I'm so very grateful to spend thanksgiving in brighter space with him.

2011-05-15T09:06:00.001-05:00

Need to clear the cloudy fish tank of my mind with some writing. My blog is a place where I write lessons learned, and I'm learning some big new things about myself lately. First of all, I figured out in the last few weeks that I'm not as healed as I thought. In exploring friendships with men in particular, I've got a long way to go. I wouldn't allow myself male friendships to protect my marriage which I believe is appropriate, but somewhere along the line I stopped being open to any depth with the opposite sex. Thankfully, I have a few good men around who are kind enough to work with me now. In some ways, it's torn open some old deep wounds, and now I'm am figuring out how to stop the bleeding. I am conflicted about how to proceed. Last week in church, I was listening about one friendship in particular and God clearly spoke, "This is a gift for your healing." Really? How can this be? I know it's stirred up a hornet's nest in me of lack I'd experienced in marriage. I've doubted myself as a woman through heartbreaking words and actions done there. Last week, I was told I needed to wipe that slate clean, and believe and trust in the lovely person that I am. I'm trying. I really am. I ask every day, "How can this be?"
And on another subject, a while back in early April, my faith began to return. Claire, J, and Dreamer gave a symphony of "I know you are mad at God, but it's time to get up and over." They don't speak to one another, and I found it astounding they spoke to me in the same way in the very same week. A voice of three had to be a Spirit thing, and I listened. So, I dusted myself off from my four month long pity party, and stopped holding God responsible for all things hard or negative. I've sunk back into listening prayer and spiritual growth like a familiar old comfy easy chair. It's a relief to allow myself to be a friend of God. In hating God, I hated myself. In loving God, I can look at my untidy self with the perspective of kindness again.

2011-02-10T06:05:00.001-06:00

Where's the snow? The promise of an unplanned break for tired children?
I suppose it blew all around us but not here. I hear Nashville got lucky.

I'm putting on the discipline to write, but not here. Here are my constant thought these days.

I struggle spiritually. everyday. A friend suggested I'm joining the Saints in the
Dark Night of the Soul. If that means the closeness I have always felt with God is gone, then it
must be so. There wasn't a day in my life I didn't know I was God's favorite. until now. Everyone
else seems to fit the bill. but not me. I'm mired in the mundane without condolensces. One day is not
better than another. It's always the same. day after day. The care I once felt is no longer present.

My pastor wondered in a lecture at the awe of how God holds every tiny atom together, and how if He let go, matter would simply fly into infinity. I know he wasn't trying to suggest this, but all I could think was, "Oh, God. Please just let go of mine. I don't mind to spread across the universe in a million little pieces."

If I have any faith, which is questionable, it is by pure force of will.

I need shelter.

2011-01-25T20:35:00.001-06:00

I need shelter.

This home I make,
it is shelter.

But inside and outdoors noisy.
It’s beautiful,
(but or is it and?)
always a bit imperfect.

The artistry of the saints surrounds me
in the woodwork,
silver spickets,
mosaic, paintings.
Talents shared.

I want to be swallowed up in

joy

here.

Sometimes, instead I’m tears.

My table, please
be rich,
blessed.
Each spoon prepared with love.
I don’t want to settle for bearable.

Beds bid fresh and warm as toast.
Sleep wraps my exhausted body.
My nightstand full of books,
And good intentions.
The clock reminds me to commit.

Colors whisper welcome.
Squash to greet.
A hint of lavender gravity.
Blue sky to soothe.

My children behave politely,
engaged
on good days. Other days,
some
Hate me.

The black wiry dog pants adorable.
I sweep mounds enough of his hair
to
Create
an entirely new creature.

My beloved
fireplace
burns peace,
A blanket for my empty arms.

Only baths and creams caress and care for my
aging skin.

The white porch swing shivers in the
Wind.
I’ll only spend time with her
in the warm weather,
After daffodils.

Birds twitter to the feeder. I don’t need to see them. It makes
My heart
Glad that they visit.
My grandmother’s spirit dwells there
as well.

Don’t ask me about
My work.
It weighs
Heavy.

I don’t share the longings of my heart
With any person
who can share them
Intimately.

2011-01-16T21:45:00.000-06:00

I met with my spiritual adviser this afternoon. I have to force myself to believe it was a gift from God to his daughter- a daughter who feels like God shouldn't be giving her gifts. My spiritual adviser is an old friend I've known for a hundred years, and thankfully I knew it was highly unlikely that I could offend him with the content of my current dark thoughts. And very importantly, I knew he wouldn't care if I cried ugly. Apparently, crying is the new important spiritual work I need to be about now. My friend doesn't judge and condemn in these kind of matters; he's a rare gift of a person. He can listen and hear with his heart. I explained to him the precarious state of my faith. I spoke out loud, maybe the first time in my life, "I am angry with God. Why did He make me like this? Why can't I be a person who isn't so..." But I am that person. I am angry with God and the way I'm made. And this horrible hand of cards I've been dealt. I've never been happy to just go along with the crowd in bliss. I'm not satisfied. I want to

change....the....world....with who I am,

but I am not. I've merely been surviving. Not grieving. Not growing. My friend told me it was time to begin to dream again, and most of me staggered internally. I can't live my dreams, so I've shoved them down completely. Shut the door, put on my big girl pants, and walked away into the what-I-have-to-do-world. The kind of atmosphere where I need to provide my own health insurance and retirement. There's no room for theological study and contemplation or writing. I have only time for work, menu planning, grocery shopping, laundry, times tables memorization, cross country meets, football games, vaulting practice, teenage pep talks, reading aloud and spelling words. Recently, I've opened my packed schedule for regular bouts of sobbing. After all that, there is no sacred space- only exhaustion.

All I can manage now is hope deferred, and that's never a good thing.

My assignments from this spiritual advising session seem to be meet again, read some inspiration, write and cry. And somehow, this makes me feel a wee bit better.

2011-01-08T23:17:00.000-06:00

Made it through the holiday season- barely. Wise One took an emotional nose dive somewhere in November, and it has rocked, shaken, and tested my faith like never before. It's official- not one of kids is "resilient" as they say. Pooh Bear is the only one who hasn't gone through a time of utter hate for me and what I've done to our family. She may some day when she is older. It became completely overwhelming when all three boys hit that I-can't-stand-my-mom thing all at once. I can't stand me either. I'm emotionally and physically exhausted, and it shows in every way.

Wise One desperately needed an adolescent counselor, making a total of three kids in therapy with different counselors. His counselor recommended Buck move to his own place to give Wise One a more definite sense of divorce. Dr. G. explained kids are way more black and white, and it might help dig Wise One out the hole of depression he'd entered if he had more normalcy. So, Buck and Tater have moved. Surprisingly, it has helped me enter some deeper healing I hadn't let myself do. I can imagine it is the same for Wise One as well. After two months of full on disgust with me, he gave me permission to clean his room tonight. No small accomplishment, since he was sure he couldn't trust me with his stuff until now. I spent hours weeding out clothes, sorting things, and collecting trash. I wonder what his response will be tomorrow when he gets home from his dad's?

Tater comes to visit a few times a week, and makes mayhem. He spend the entire time saying, "That is stupid. Dad lets me do that, and I don't have to do what you say anymore." Terrific. Hopefully, this will get better with time, since I tow the same line I always have.

Peace drove himself to work for the first time tonight. He called me when he got there safely and when he left to come home. God bless his conscientious heart! I love his caution and carefulness. His work is just a few miles down the road, but this is such a big accomplishment and relief to me to have another driver coming up in the ranks. Last night, it worked out that I could take him to dinner alone, and we had the best heart to heart talk we've had in a long time. I got to see a clear picture again that his compassion and kindness are still rooted firmly in place.

At times I wonder if the damage done to my children will be redeemed. Makes the gap, the chasm, in my faith more visible doesn't it? If my children are redeemed, it obviously won't have anything to do with me- only the grace of God. Peace's conversation with me last night shined a little light on my dark heart.

I'm reading Angela Thomas' book My Single Mom Life which a thoughtful friend gave to me along with a basketful of goodies for Christmas. I am amazed at her insight and perspective. She's spot on when it comes to feelings, and I'm trying my best to learn from her "lessons learned". I'll pass the book on to the next single mom who asks...let me know if you think you'd like this type of good read.

2010-11-06T22:07:00.000-05:00

Thinking things through lately about this different and beautiful life I'm creating and feeling like it's not where I'd like to be. I've tied up a few loose ends this week knowing there is more end tying to come. Still haven't sold the farm- not a great market for sellers at present. It's a dangling bit of unfinished business I'd give anything to resolve. Then there are the constant unraveling issues which arise with children and their needs.

I cannot be the mom I want to be.

Peace needs to be looking seriously at colleges, and I don't have time to invest in that like I'd hoped. I see him trying to be responsible for far too much, and I can't stop it. Tater is in an okay place now but not much is being asked of him. He's trying on his skin and issues surrounding his race for the first time lately. He's raised questions about having siblings he doesn't know. Wise One shows shades of darkness I've never seen before, and I don't know where to go with that. Pooh Bear says her stomach hurts all. the. time. She didn't have any issues over the summer, but boy howdy, when school hit, she began hurting like the previous school year. And it's not to get out of anything- it's her absorbing the stress and harshness of school.

Thankfully, we have good counselors, but lately the amount feels overwhelming. Three recent session in the last week and a half makes for other things going undone. I knew divorce would not be good for my children, and it is not.

I want more time with my sons and daughter.

Last week, when I left work to watch Peace's last cross country race, he thanked me three. separate. times. I eat lunch at school with Pooh Bear once a week, and that in itself breaks my heart. We had all our meals together just last year. If I want a conversation with Wise One, I have to ask him to remove his ipod headphones. He's always been introverted, but I worry he's holding in too much. Tater at least needs me to give him rides to and from his plethora of sports and other activities, and he talks more than a girl to me. However, his adoption issues get in his way daily.

I miss the time I could devote to them, and now I have to tell myself, "God will have to take care of that" with not as much faith with which I'd like to pray. And there is the general reduction of time for remembering my own spirit to boot.

In so many ways, I'm blessed. The boys are making it solidly through the teen years without hitting the big problems so far. All are strong and decently centered people. May God keep it so.

2010-10-23T11:04:00.000-05:00

I didn't even know I needed to hear them. I didn't know how simple words could be so healing, and I didn't expect them. In fact, I told myself that I couldn't need them, because one can't need what another might not have to offer. But to my surprise, she gave her words away like the balm of Gilead applied to my hidden and grieving soul.

"I'm so, so sorry."

I would not allow myself to sink fully into that apology at the moment, because I only wanted part in it if it were true and sincere. And after consideration and prayer, to whatever extent she could offer, the words are true and sincere.

It's enough for now. Like daily bread. And I'll allow myself to eat something wholesome and good for me.

Sundry Lessons Learned Lately

2010-10-17T18:48:00.000-05:00

Squeaky toy + puppy + netflix= unsatisfying movie viewing experience.

Ipods can come back from the dead after being washed if placed in the freezer covered in dry rice.

Children are never too old to embarrass you at the store.

Fireplaces in the chill of fall are miraculous.

Brave people are rare.

Sometimes people don't take responsibility for their own actions.

Sometimes justice isn't.

A river and a run give me peace.

Teenagers are the most hilarious inventions ever.

I wish I'd have watched LOST when it was on television.

School can be rough on kids.

Freshmen football is kinda fun to watch, but I'm hoping for varsity games next year.

Make no bones about it, AP history is a college course even if taken in high school.

2010-09-30T20:08:00.000-05:00

I bought a basil plant in Rugby, TN this spring and brought some inside. I stuck it in a glass jar to use as needed in cooking, and it rooted without me asking it to or anything. It doesn't flower, therefore it's always usable. Who thinks it will remain alive for me all winter in my kitchen?

Tomorrow is October and I still have zinnias (and tomatoes growing madly) in my yard.

Hagrid, my very cute and precocious puppy.

2010-09-26T20:05:00.000-05:00

So, what's with the elderly lady who stopped Pooh Bear and I on my way out of a restaurant yesterday to ask about my GRANDDAUGHTER? Really? "Nope, not my granddaughter," I announced looking over my shoulder.

"A niece?", she called a bit louder.

"Unh-uh," I stopped.

"Little friend?" she ventured.

I faced the inquiring person. "My daughter. She's my daughter." You can stop guessing now. I'm insulted enough. She looks like a mini-me, and besides, do I really look that old? No.

Her husband chided her while catching my eye, "That was mean. She's obviously not happy you called her a grandma."

You got that right, old man. I mean, I could be a grandma technically. I'm sure there are plenty my age, right?

Pooh Bear explained to me as we exited, "When we get home you can dye your roots, Mom."

So, it was a grooming issue after all.

2010-09-15T21:19:00.002-05:00

There is something so magical when a perfect stranger meets ones son and after an entire minute of talking declares something I'd already spoken. Last night I took Peace to see Amadeus at the Clarence Brown. A little opera, a lot of terrific acting, amazing dialogue, and a beautiful mix of the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra made up a fabulous evening to share with my son.

We were seated beside a woman we did not know. She began to discuss texting and high school with my son. She'd read about his school in the paper...it's getting rave reviews....She and Peace had lots to say about how he refuses to abbreviate and must use proper grammar while text messaging. She blurted out, "Do you like to write? Are you a writer?" to which he answered, "Yes." Then she looked straight at him and asked, "Would you think about becoming a journalist?" I know Peace thought I'd secretly met her previously, bought her seat beside us at the play, and paid her to propose this question, because I've been talking to him about this very career for a year now.

Just last week, we talked to Barishynikov, a family friend, who has a degree in journalism. Bary advised Peace to pursue something else as he sees the world of journalism has fallen mercilessly into the hands of blogger and other shady such characters.

I find it remarkable that Peace could get such a direct question from a stranger at a play in such a brief conversation. I enjoy his writing. Always have. His depth astonishes me. I admire who he is becoming. I pray he finds his path, and it's straight to the heart of God and impacts humanity in the way he is made.

And on a completely different note: how is that this happened at the play as well? Another woman let us pass by on the way to our assigned seats, and I bellowed a nice friendly and confident, "Hello, where do I know you from?"

She replied, "I work at St. Mary's."

"Nope, that's not it.....ummm.....did I sit by you at the circus in the winter while you took pictures for your grandkids?"

"Yes. How on earth did you remember that?"

Long silence....

"I have no earthly idea, but nice to see you again. I'm a little dumbfounded."

2010-09-09T18:38:00.003-05:00

A dear friend of mine explained some things to me over dinner the other evening. She told me she drew strength from my strength over this year. Her being such a capable, creative and beautiful person, I took this as an amazing compliment. In our conversation, she observed how she had personally struggled with being down, and was looking for a way out to something better. She met with a counselor who jarred her into turning from seeing the sadness and moving toward gratitude instead.

I've wondered since our conversation if I had I put this principle intentionally into practice myself during my rough patch. After consideration, I think I have. From the start of August 23, 2009, I adopted a way to make gratitude a way of living. I realized fearful, hopeless, or blaming thoughts could get stuck me in the mud, spinning my wheels madly over something or someone I could not change. So, I began to take the proverb of "No one can change anyone else. One can only change oneself." to heart. In fact, I bought myself a ring to replace my wedding band with the Ghandi quote, "Be the change you wish to see in the world."

Here's something of the thought life plan I implemented. If I was stuck and finally realized it, I'd identify the feeling. Next, I'd examine it (if I had the luxury of time) and allow myself to say, "Yes, this hurts. I'm angry or incredibly sad that I'm in this position." I understood if I ignored the feeling, that it stayed with me- stuffed waiting like a snake in the bushes to strike at the next person who irritated an already irritable me. Next, I'd capture the thought each time it came again, and sent it away more and more quickly. Usually, I prayed for a "what next?" step to take instead. For example, a thought of one of the participants in the demise of my marriage would haunt and I'd find myself trapped in "what I'd tell them if..." I'd take time to get to the bottom of the feeling, sad, mad, hurt and allow myself to feel it, "Is this what you wanted for me God? Do these people not understand what they have wrought with their hands? I am angry for what they have done to me personally. How could..." Eventually, I'd realize how no good fruit could come of the thought, much less the action, and I'd say, "God, what should I work on next?". The answers were simple, "True, cull your all your stuff. Everything you keep will be something you'll have to care for besides your children. Things all need attention and these precious people will need all you've got." This was a big work, a long work, consuming....daunting at times. I goodwilled a googob of boxes, bags, and sold precious books thinking of a simple life with my children in the center. This active process took my mind quickly from revenge toward creating my own beautiful life.

When I've found myself down, I'll journal new things I wish to make of my life, or I'll return to previous notes I've made and work toward them. It's a way to be active for my own good. So, in a way, I set myself toward the positive, which I believe is related toward gratitude.

I am so very grateful for all that I am and have.

Crash Course in Compassion

2010-09-04T12:03:00.001-05:00

So, this year has put me through a crash course in compassion.

There are many reasons haven't talked or blogged at all about my divorce. One has been simply the embarassment of it all. I heard many a version of "I saw that comin'" which only brought me greater pain than I was already experiencing. I needed to hear at times, because it clued me into the depth of the issues. Other times, I took the snide remarks concerning Buck as hurtful personal insults though I kept it all to myself. I wanted nothing to do with bitterness which is where any amount of Buck bashing would have led. I've found myself encouraging him in genuine ways instead, because divorce is such an ugly, harsh thing. I've found my own encouragement in my faith, and God's grace seems to have been more than sufficient for me...sustaining and ever-present better describe His many gifts to me along the way. And then there are the precious friends who have always been right alongside me, who never wavered in giving me much needed doses of love, respect, kindness, joy.

But I've always had a chink in my armor- I have a big problem with pity. I loathe self pity. Pitiful people do not bring out the best in me, and I have to work very hard internally to be kind. I suppose I define pitiful people as adults who expect someone to take care of them and all their problems without personal action. The last thing I'd ever like to be is pitied, and divorce is a swirling cauldron of gossip, blame and worse. Divorced stay-at-home moms are an ultimate target of pity, "Poor True! Are you going to have to WORK now and send all those children to the INSTITUTION of school? Are you going to have to be apart from your children? How will you make it financially? Won't you be very lonely? Can you make it without a husband? If you are a Christian, why can't you just forgive him and stay married for your children?" Upon hearing about my news, some well intentioned women felt compelled to explain to me how divorce could never happen to them. I suppose the women weren't thinking how this shifts blame squarely upon me, as if I'd should been a better wife like them. I did and still do lots of listening, little talking in these circumstances. I'd already known for nine years there was no such thing as a fireproof marriage for me.

And I did some serious soul searching, as one might suppose. I had to find a way out from all that pity to the surface where I could breathe. From the start, I kept much to myself to stop all the chatter and suggestion for my life. Only with three friends and Jesus could and would I explore the depths of the "why me? and how?". It has truly been enough to show me a clear path to my very own beautiful life. No time or room for self pity.

In my examination of pity, I stumbled upon compassion. I wondered why compassion seemed to work for me. It certainly did not not leave the same bitter taste in my mouth. Was it the element of sympathy or empathy at play which makes compassion something I'll allow for myself? One day I posed the question to God who was faithful to answer. The root of pity is paternalistic..."I'm in a better place than you that I'll never have to visit, and I feel sorry for you". The root of compassion is community plus passion....:"let me walk beside you in community and have the same passion for your pain". In pity, I am the lesser. In compassion, I am an equal. I felt tons lighter with this revelation. I've known and still know the comfort of dear friends, especially my friendship with Jesus, walking beside me in my difficult circumstance, acknowledging the injustice done to me, encouraging me toward strength, not dehumanizing Buck or minimizing my pain to reassure themselves. What a gift. I strive toward this gift for others instead. May it be the work of us all.

Mosaic

2010-08-28T18:29:00.002-05:00

After a year of keeping things under wraps here on my blog, I wonder if it's time to be more open. Monday was the one year anniversary of the day the wheels fell completely off the old painted wagon of my twenty-one year marriage. That day, I had to decide between looking square at myself with dignity each morning in the mirror, or sucking it up, again, and finding a way to live without having the value of a full fledged human being. I'd already lived through humiliation and horror for all the years before, and for me, I couldn't imagine staying with something even God Himself gave permission for me to let go.

One cannot fathom the circumstances, weeping, and counseling which would lead a woman of faith like myself to choose divorce. I'll spare you the details; some are simply unspeakable.

Though it was right and good for me to divorce, I know the worst of it always lands smack dab on children. My boys and girl have been no exception. I have never bought the idea that children are resilient, and I get hoppin' mad when people suggest such a thing. Divorce is damaging every. single. time. My three young men have struggled with their idea of a biblical manhood being shoved over a rocky cliff and shattered into a million little pieces. I've watched my oldest change from wide-eyed and hopeful to cynical and somewhat jaded. He's going to have to shelve all he once knew and find a faith of his very own amidst deep pain. My middle son with attachment issues has jumped off the deep end and gone places I'd always feared. Imagine the fragmentation of one family, and then a second. My youngest son holds it all in and explodes likes fireworks on the fourth of July on rare occasions. My daughter desperately wants one thing- parents who genuinely love one another in every way...something she'll never have. What did any child of mine ever do to deserve having his or her world torn asunder, only to watch while the two formative adults in their lives tape broken hearts and lives into separate pieces? It's incredibly unfair and utterly disorienting.

Of course, being who I am, I have not done things the normal way 'round in hope and prayer. Though it sounds absurd, I was so glad to have TV Jon and Kate providing a way for me to think outside of the box. Jon and Kate made a permanent residence for their eight kids, so the children would have a HOME while the parents moved in and out themselves for visitation. Buck and I struck an agreement to provide something less Hollywood for our children under strict guidelines. Buck lives in an apartment in my new house, and we share parenting as our work schedules dictate.

I've lived in a state of grace this year. God has faithfully whispered His Will to me as I intently listened, and He has provided all I have needed. Buck and I are daily respectful of one another. We seek family counseling. The cooperation between us has lead many to question the sincerity of my divorce. Make no mistake. Just because I will not undermine the father of my children, I am divorced and have no intention of reconciliation. If anyone besides my children hopes or thinks otherwise, it is heaping insult to injury to me, and I will have none of it.

Now that I've come out with the story behind the story of the new mosaic of my life, perhaps I'll share more. I have walked the road less taken of kindness and compassion in a world where revenge is the well traveled lane. Perhaps I can lead others toward a better path. Who knows?

Two Three Letter Words from a New Puppy Owner

2010-08-08T13:28:00.000-05:00

PEE

and

Joy!

Things I've forgotten

2010-07-31T11:02:00.002-05:00

1. Dogs eat poop.
2. Puppies don't sleep through the night, just like babies.
3. Puppies need to be taken outside a million times a day and night for potty training.
4. Puppies don't naturally match your pace when running. They must be trained to heel.
5. Puppies lick everything.
6. Puppies chew everything.
7. Puppies want constant attention.
8. Dogs look dead when they sleep.

It's quite alright that I'd forgotten these things. Just makes me remember baby days with my children and be thankful for the conclusion. I'm altogether grateful for my new dog.

Hagrid is a gift. While some dogs are hyper, this one is docile and obedient with a sweet disposition. He's definitely not the alpha. Hagrid is a rescue 4 or 5 month old laberdoodle- something my children insisted would never be found, "Mom, it is a designer dog. Why would anyone abandon a laberdoodle?" I faithfully quoted, "God will give me just the dog I need without having to buy one from a dog dealer for lots of money. I expect a dog will walk right up to our front door. That way I'll know it's mine." It didn't happen just like that, but he did come from a rescue.

I am already in love and won't take for granted my loyal friend.

2010-07-24T09:46:00.000-05:00

Oh, my. I have time to sit down and blog for the first time in a long while. What shall I say? How about what pops into my head?

My garden. I have the most lovely garden beds here at Clifford. I've harvested a blue million tomatoes and zinnias, my favorites. I've placed vases of brightly colored flowers on every available surface and given away several boquets. I've made fried green tomatoes approximately twenty times for whomever stops by and for a few of my children who appreciate the finer things in life. I've cooked squash and green beans a few times. I've used my basil and oregano in homemade spaghetti sauce. I haven't needed to purchase a single bell pepper since May. I gave away my first eggplant of the season today. I've included a sunflower in an arrangement this week. The only thing left is to harvest and consume some of the hot pepper Tater wanted me to plant. Two things I planted this year have failed- lavendar and thyme. I suppose I didn't put them in the right location and will try again next spring. Overall, I am pleased and proud of my gardening endeavors this year since transitioning from farm life.

My washer. I had a snazzy Maytag Neptune for which we'd paid a pretty penny which marked my clothes with black stains and actually ripped fabric. When we paid a repairman $100 to look at it, he gave no good advice on how to fix it and as a bonus, told us our dryer was done. Kaput. Finito. So, I invested a ton of cash in an gorgeous LG washer. The only it doesn't do is go to my children's room to collect the dirty laundry and load itself. Rats! I'm still the laundry slave after all, but the results are much more promising these days than rips and streaks after washing.

My work. I'm very much enjoying my job as a wrangler of truck drivers. I've gotten to know many by voice and face, and I've seen them come around to actually considering hours of service instead of ignoring regulations. Occasionally, we run into a mean old cuss, but I'm surrounded by people willing to help when I'm in over my head. It's an occupation where I really do feel like I can make a difference.

My children. I hit a terribly rough patch with my boys, but I'm starting to see some light. Peace went to cross country camp and on vacation and returned a much happier human being. I realized he'd couldn't get relief from the same issues I struggle with without just plain getting away. I'm going to be sure to make space for that always. He's working in a neighborhood grocery store and on pulling himself together to make Eagle in Scouts. Wise One turned the corner back to a positive place after one night of yelling out during a family meeting, "I hate it here. I'm going to find somewhere else to live!" He walked out the door into the rain. When he got tired of the rain he went to Pooh Bear's vaulting shed and went to sleep on her practice barrel for a few hours. He came in with a sheepish grin on his face. A few days later, he told me he was thinking of moving to Chicago when he stormed out that night, but he didn't really know anyone there. He wasn't sure how he'd live. I told him if he ever needed to run away, he might pick somewhere like Grandma's 'cause she'd let him sleep in a bed and feed him. We both laughed good hard belly laughs during that conversation. Today Wise One is rock climbing in the Obed with his best friend. I can't begin to express how much I love that young man. Tater is another story. It seems everything we worked for in counseling and therapeutic parenting has vanished and for me, he's an all out kid suffering with RAD. He practically drips with anger and mistrust of me. I'm not surprised given our circumstances, but I'd hoped and prayed for better. My support people and my soul are telling me it's too much. I'm looking for what might work as always, and holding on for a terribly bumpy ride. Pooh Bear is in a very good place with me. We are hang out buddies who cook, clean, shop, kick back, read, and play together. It's so very lovely to have a nine year old who adores me and whom I adore.

My Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. I'm an so very happy to say the new church I'm attending is allowing me to train adults this summer to begin atrium in the fall. I struggle with giving up teaching in Atlanta and getting together for continuing formation of my own with other catechists, but maybe these things will come again one day. I know when training adults this week, I felt that peace that comes with the prepared environment which beckons the Holy Spirit.

Highlights of late. I held a birthday party celebration for a friend here. We shared a meal and stories in honor of Angel for an evening. A delightful blogger whom I hope to get to know better someday attended. Pooh Bear ate with family at my favorite restaurant on earth, swan in the ocean, visited Raymond's new diggs, and completely enjoyed the foot-stomping Flemenco dancers at Columbia in Florida. I went shopping last weekend and found some pretties with Slesa. Piper and a few of her children spent the night, and words can't express how much her friendship means to me. Claire, Meredith Lee, Lizbeth, and Jo continue to be big supporters of me. I couldn't ask for more.

There is a challenging event on queue this week, but it'll be over soon enough. Still need to sell the farm. Can't wait to sell the farm. It will close some necessary doors for me.

2010-06-27T17:20:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I sit around thinking about stars. I go outside at night, especially in the heat of summer just to look at the shimmery night sky. On my farm, I'd lay on the front sidewalk after I put the kids to bed and stare up into the heavens waiting for my eyes to adjust, my vision to clear. Haven't made the time or a way to do that here in the city, but I still walk into the night to see what I can see. What makes stars shine? Did God place those stars in order by speaking? How can the universe have no end or beginning? Stars make me happy. Summer makes me happy.

Other times I sit around and think about hands. I ponder the work of the hand and the amazing value of all things handmade. I consider the amazing task of the fingers. At church this morning, my daughter held my hand today in her palm and traced the lines inside both of our palms. It seemed our lines matched and I wondered if these lines are the same among most people, or is it our shared DNA? My mind wandered to gypsies and palm readers during Blue Bear's (she came up with this new name for herself instead of Pooh Bear) examination. I thought of how hands may show industry or leisure. I use my hands to drum to songs on the steering wheel and dash as I sing (loudly) in my car. I intentionally conjure new ways to nudge, beat (nicely), shove my teenage boys to meet their mom touch quota. I rub my little girl's sore back after her long vaulting practice. I make art and write with these digits. I madly swat mosquitoes I encounter on my evening runs. Hands are not something to take for granted. Hands make me happy.

So, today when I following along to a new-to-me song during liturgy:

Come see His hands and His feet,
The scars that speak of sacrifice;

The next line I stopped singing and hung suspended in full awe.

Hand that flung stars into space

My mind's eye created a beautiful picture of The Christ laughing out loud as he pitched glowing shapes upward into the black like a frisbee or in the manner of a discus thrower. I wish I'd been there that day!

The next words pierced my very heart. They were quite unexpected- Happy Jesus now turned somber and willing to submit those same hands which made the beautiful sky to penetrating iron.

To cruel nails surrendered

The cross remains a scene I contemplate over and over again in my brain. The gift for me bound up in pain. Awe leads me easily to the place I rarely visit, humility.

2010-06-18T17:42:00.000-05:00

Three teenage boys. Who don't particularly like me.

I can't say I blame them. It's not easy to live with someone who used to listen well, who used to look out for academic, spiritual and social needs. Now I'm rushing these young men out the door or shuttling from this practice to that meeting. And I find myself telling them to pick up, sweep up, or clean up. I don't have time to listen closely, because I just need things done. So, I tell them more. Louder. I resort the weak or non-parenting strategy of arguing. Some years ago I realized that too doing too much contributes to an ill temper. So, I cut out the doing and began being present for my children. Now as a working person, the "being present" has ended, and the ill temper returns. The teen years are not the best time for a mom to become short. Nevertheless, I'm working diligently with white knuckles to stay positive at best or at least neutral. If you're the praying kind, I'll take 'em.

2010-05-14T19:30:00.000-05:00

Really. Challenging. Week. But I've made it to Friday and am home enjoying what I'd hope to keep a very simple life and home. Nothing like explaining and helping my children through real life drama. I expect a call from Jerry Springer any moment, but I promise not to answer the phone. At the end of the day, I feel like justice wins. It's not always like that, but I will take it when it's offered.

And on a completely different note..

In the ordinary, I am taking a class on parables offered by a gentle teacher. This week we studied the weeds and the wheat. It's probably been there all the time for others, but some meaning went deep inside me as we pondered.

1. The wheat, God's people, could not withstand to be near the weeds being uprooted and destroyed in the days before harvest. Somehow, this might destroy the good in us. Could we bear to see evil ripped away without it hurting us to see it happen? Wouldn't we question the goodness of the One who made us if we had to watch full on justice? In His great gentleness, He allows both good and evil to come to harvest and does the sorting in the end.

2. Sometimes evil and good look so very similar. IOver time, this similarity will be one day be undone with the bearing of fruit.

3. This parable shows us suffering is best gone through rather than avoided.

2010-05-09T14:49:00.001-05:00

Pooh Bear announced Thursday that she'd removed the all the contents from under her bed, in her closet, and in drawers and had put them in the middle of her floor for me to sort. I've always helped my children dejunkify a few times a year, but this was the first time a child initiated. I thanked her and told her I'd get to it when the time was right. Inwardly, I calculated hours of service to the project. She mentioned, "Mom, there is no room to walk in my room. Won't you do it now?"
My reply, "Not tonight, Love. Going to my class. I'll get to it soon." Yesterday was the day to get down to it. I spent six solid hours weeding clothes, hair bows, headbands, jewelery, stuffed animals, barbies, art projects and supplies, books, littlest pet shops, doll clothes, and keepsakes. I came up with three full trash bags and two rubbermaid containers of give-aways. She was left with only one rubbermaid box of special toys and some prized stuffed animals given to her as presents. I'm so proud of how she lets go of things so easily.

Thankfully, it's never been a battle with any of my children. When they were too little to be willing to part with things, I did cleaning while they were away. Only once did I make a terrible mistake. I got rid of a truck that looked like a dinosaur (only to my son, Wise One)- and he loved dinosaurs more than life. A few years ago, Wise One gave his entire dinosaur collection, kit and kaboodle, to a dear little boys who was astonished at such a great blessing.

I'm proud of my givers. I think it will serve them well the rest of their lives.

I warned that these posts would not be in form....but I must write

2010-05-02T17:38:00.001-05:00

Patches, the one-eyed cat, passed away yesterday. For a few weeks he's looked like he was wasting away, and God, in His Great Mercy, let Patches go from any suffering. Buck found him barely breathing and asked anyone who wanted said goodbyes though Peace and Wise One were hiking Mt. LeConte with friends and did not have this chance. Patches is buried under a new raised garden bed in the back yard. We wanted even Patches' death to mean new life.

After the boys returned from their three day hike, we celebrated Derby Day with old friends at Svetlana and Baryshinkov's home. Applause to Calvin. Again.

After the party, I found my car had been a victim of a hit-and-run. Things get broken. Things get fixed.

This morning at church I could not stop tears when a dear old friend, whom I consider a living and breathing saint, text read scripture. Before he read he spoke.

"I know commentary is frowned upon during this part of the liturgy. But, folks, you really want to listen to this. It's so good. You're going to love it."

He proceeded to proclaim from The Revelation as if it were now and today. The thing which touched me so deeply was that when I read this particular scripture about the Coming of Christ and the elders falling at His Precious Feet in my own studies, I'd always pictured this man in my imagination being of the elders bowing at the throne. It was a moment of Heaven touching Earth for me personally.

Planted tomatoes, peppers, marigolds, snap dragons, basil, oregano and a white crepe myrtle from Stanley's this afternoon in the raised beds. Gotta plant bean, squash, and zinnia seeds soon.

And a happy elopement and honeymoon to my sister and her new husband. Best wishes.

Maybe all my posts will be random from now on...

2010-04-30T19:56:00.000-05:00

I edited my life today. Okay, it was just my bio on a website, but it felt so odd to have an entirely different story now. Thinking of it as a clean slate, new beginning. Chin up. Face toward the sun. All that.

This week was the most busy (and happy) week for me. The company in which I work "like a little mine mule" as my sweetheart of a boss says, bought a program which released all driver safety scores from Comprehensive Safety Analysis 2010. We were slammed with drivers wanting to know their rankings. If you don't know it, the trucking industry is about to change radically in November and further into next year when CSA 2010 goes into full swing. That is, if it is not postponed again. Drivers will be ranked next to their peers, and violations will actually appear on their commercial driver's license for the first time ever. Top violators will be at risk of losing their livelihood right away. I know because I have watched the Keller CSA 2010 video and given the quiz to drivers. Ten. Thousand. Times.

In case you didn't know this about me, I love, love, love the truck drivers with whom I work. Their personalities differ like winter snowflakes and every day, they'll surprise me in some new way. On any given morning, I'll get nastily chewed out and brilliantly complimented. Even though I work in the Safety and Compliance Dept., and my main job is crack the whip on violations, my co-worker and I have drivers who have been in the hot seat before and now stop by just to visit. It's impressive. Believe me.

Yesterday, a driver called me to give me the what-for concerning his opinion of an new requirement. "I'm just going to quit! I'll bring my keys to you personally and walk away!" Not sure what I would do with those keys as I couldn't even engage something as dauntingly huge as a cargo haulin' Volvo. I think this young man actually wanted me to beg him to stay, but owner/operators come and go like trains at Grand Central Station. That's just how it is.

Today he called and said in the sweetest voice ever, "Hey, Ms. True."

"Hey, Mr. H. Did you call to make nice after how mean you were to me yesterday?" I laughed as I spoke. He did too, "Just called to tell you I sent the paper you asked me to."

"I knew you would, man. You take care and drive safely. K?"

"You know I will."

Another thing I love about my job is that it changes everyday. I teach Safety classes, look over logs, call drivers, meet with drivers, pull spread sheets, make new databases, and put together power points. I blushed one day when I was searching google for "rear end collisions" video clips to illustrate a power point and was banned from a site for "adult content". My, my, my.

I also even get to write on occasion. Yup, I love report writing days. I get to evaluate strategies for effectiveness. My job in particular keeps me working closely with all departments, because safety touches all issues in some way. It's such a joy to get to know these folks.

I work with excellent people who make me laugh all day. The dispatchers have now begun to give me a hard time for being a Yankee 'cause I'm from Kentucky. They're a bunch of good ole' Tennessee boys.

I just can't believe that I landed plumb in the middle of an unexpected field of lillies with my work and get to play there everyday. How exactly does a former special ed teacher, inner city youth minister, catehcist and stay-at-home mom find the trucking world to be so compelling? It's a true blue mystery.

Evenings and mornings are spent with my children and their plethora of activities in scouts, church, and sports. It's tough to squeeze in supper.

Bliss.

Nothing in particular, really

2010-04-25T17:17:00.000-05:00

So, I dug my fingers deep into soil this weekend recovering a flower bed from an invasive hummingbird vine. I used to like hummingbird vine much like I used to admire morning glories. Not so much anymore.

I am surprised at how little I sit down to write these days. I have many thoughts I've considered worthy of writing, but I don't. I think letters to people, and I don't send them. I've abdicated my computer time to homework projects and my children's Facebook friends.

My life is nothing like it was last spring at this time. And I'm ever so glad in some ways. In others, not so much. Unknown awful things were happening to me and mine and those things are no longer on the table; this makes me grateful. I have flower beds not gardens. I have far fewer chores without goats kidding and baby chicks hatching. This does not make me happy, because there is nothing like waking up to fresh new leaping life compared to mundane suburb life. I'm putting three of my children in day camp this summer, because I'll be working. No more summer swim team, trips to the Cove, weekday overnights with me. I hope I treasured those times enough while I had them. I won't get a vacation until I've worked at this particular job for an entire year. I suppose I'll just plan to make it a good one when that time rolls around summer next.

I've prayerfully found a new church for my self. I asked God for thoughts and signs when I found just the right one, and He did not disappoint. This past week, I met with a pastor and children's minister to talk turkey and Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. All looks promising there thanks to the good deed of a friend who put in a good word for me. It will bring me great joy to have that opportunity again, and it has been one of my most severe losses over the last few months. Maybe there'll come a day I'll be able to make it my life's full time work, but it's not valued like that in Knoxville as of yet.

Here's something which made me giggle all day yesterday. I met Helen and her daughter for prom dress shopping. On the way into the store, I passed a display of Spanx. It actually crossed my mind that I could just give up trying to fit in exercise and just buy lots of undergarments instead. What an incredibly goofy thought.

My farm is still for sale, but I gladly have caretakers there, so the land and home are getting the proper love she needs.

Clifford is in good shape. A few things left I'd like to do like get a porch swing and change the frankenstein sink in my bathroom.

Still enjoying my job though I see big change on the horizon. What will the future hold there?

I'm sharing much heartbreak in the lives of dear friends lately. Perhaps it's just the time of life when things start falling to pieces? Keeps me prayerful, humble, and awake.

RAD and adoption

2010-04-15T12:18:00.004-05:00

Dear friends of mine are featured in a news story today. The Skeirik's adopted Sier from China some years ago, and the road has been difficult. I am proud of ABC for publishing this at such a volatile time.

Hail Mary, Full of Grace

2010-03-28T15:42:00.001-05:00

This week Pooh Bear reminded me that she's cut from the same cloth: she's a feminist. As we waited for her bus one morning she struck up the following conversation.

"Mom, I wonder why women didn't count in the Bible," she questions.

"What do you mean, Pooh Bear?" I ask back.

"Well, when the Bible counted people, they didn't count women OR children. It just doesn't seem fair, like we're not people or something," she ventures.

"Hmm. Well, we are people aren't we, and we should always be counted, huh," I summarize.

"Yep."

"Yep. I just filled out our U.S. census, and we're counted now. You and I both on there fair and square. It took a long, long time after Bible times for people to let women be counted and even vote. Some countries still don't count women or let them vote. I love that we have that kind of freedom here now. The people who wrote the Bible down didn't know any better, but God does. God made girls and loves us."

"Yep. So, I'm kinda mad about somethin' else. Why did God have to send a son instead of a daughter?" she inquired.

"There are only two choices to pick from, and God had to pick one. I like Jesus pretty well. In fact, I'm crazy about him. If God had sent a daughter, I'd have loved her just the same. I have to say I'm not disappointed, but it's okay if you feel that way though. You want to feel girls are important, and we are."

"I know," she states in her matter of fact, old soul way.

2010-03-19T16:51:00.003-05:00

image
The thirty minute writing assignment started "Like a fish" but the students were prohibited from using words like swim, water, and wet. Here's what Peace came out with:

Like a fish, I spent my weekend squirming and flopping about from place to place. My parents died in a car accident on the same day I was born. I never knew them. I am, of sorts, different in the head. People have been handing me off to the home of some other person. During the accident my brain got damaged. Dr. Lawson says that I'll never recover. I don't mind though. My brain don't work right. I tend to repeat myself due to short term memory loss. My head got hit in the accident. My memory is not its best. This weekend, I spent like a fish would- flopping around from home to home, because no one wants me. And my parents died.

2010-03-14T18:31:00.000-05:00

I didn't realize I'd actually take time to read every weekend now, but it seems to be true for now. I finished, more accurately devoured Jenny Sanford's Staying True last weekend. Her faith and life instruct mine. Nothing like hanging out the laundry, and the fact is that her wash is clean, sparkly white. I admire her commitment to family, deep love and respectful way of letting go. Well done, Jenny.

This weekend Helen lent me her favorite book, The Time Traveler's Wife. Enjoying the story immensely so far.

Anyone have any recommended must reads, so I can have some things on queue?

And in the movie department. Thumbs down to Shutter Island and Precious. Sorry, Martin and Oprah. I wasn't inspired due to predictable yet depressing content.

2010-03-08T16:53:00.001-06:00

Hurt Locker? Really?

I rented it Saturday from Redbox to watch with my son, Peace. Last week, Peace told me of his re-emerging interest in the military, so I set out to get that boy a war education by acquiring realistic blood and gut films for him to peruse. I nearly stopped breathing last Sunday when we had a where-are-you-headed-in-life talk and service to our country reappeared on the radar. I love this country. I love our soldiers. I am so grateful every. single. day. for how they put their lives on the line for me, but I'm not interested in this particular son heading to the Air Force unless he can convince me it's a word from God for his life. Just needs to hear the voice of God on it- that's all.

While viewing Hurt Locker Saturday, I spent the entire time in agony over the risks. I sucked in my breath and let it out with "Ooh, ohh, ooh. No, no, no, no. Ew, Eeee. Man!" the entire time the movie was on the screen. Imagine me thinking in the back of my head about my son in the risky positions of the characters.

And what to do with my own personal anti-gun and anti-war thoughts?

I think I won't worry about this today, and see where time takes us all. I mean, it can all change in a moment anyway.

2010-02-27T09:44:00.001-06:00

I'm writing a story, only I didn't know it. I reckon it's not the kind of story which will ever be published. It's the story of my life, and it's such a good story because that's who I am. I've been writing it since I was born.

Thicket Dweller generously gave me a book which I'm now devouring called A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller. No stones thrown please when I say I did not go crazy for his Blue Like Jazz, but this book is about a million miles and a thousand years better for me. In Million, Donald mentions his previous lack of direction, and perhaps I caught onto that rather the snippets which vaulted his Blue to such fame. Makes me wonder if random and ADD weren't so darn popular these days, if Blue could have hit any printing press. Anyhow, all is forgiven as I fall head over heels into Million.

Here's the quote which sunk smack into my soul this morning, but first, let me set it up. Donald describes how a buddy of his, a dad, started living a better story in order to woo his teenage daughter back from a bad boyfriend. The dad took out a second mortgage and started building an orphanage in Mexico after finding poverty in the thoughtless way he'd been living. The daughter asked the dad if her family could go to Mexico together and take pictures in order to involve other people. And she dumps the jerk.

No girl who plays the role of a hero dates a guy who uses her. She knows who she is. She just forgot for a little while.

I haven't forgotten who I am, but I'm encouraged to be the hero of my own novel. Hope it ends well. Though my plot has changed drastically these last six months, I'm working towards the best possible conclusion at the end of the days God gives me. Right now the outcome looks much less like a Nicholas Sparks book and more like Come be my Light, but it's all good.

Dispatch from a Log Dog

2010-02-27T06:46:00.001-06:00

In my new position at work, I have a variety of interesting tasks to do each day. My coworker, Puddin', is great, great, great at handling all our data. Even more importantly, she works well with people, drivers in particular. I think we've become quite a team. Our sweetheart of a boss had a sketch of two bird dogs hung in our office, and I mentioned how very apropos. Puddin' and I set to the task of sniffing out violations and are now known together as the log dogs.

Anyhow, yesterday we watched something painfully beautiful. One of our oldest drivers needed to come in, and he didn't recognize office staff he should have known. Though he's something of an old codger, he was handled gingerly. He was given a hotel room though his truck is his home, taken out for a big lunch, escorted personally by an extremely kind owner to the physician and disqualified temporarily from service until he could get home and get more help. The company found a couple of married drivers to drive his truck home for him. This man was treated with kindness and dignity through what must be a most difficult time for him. I am so proud and impressed with my company. I imagine other truck liners might have handled the situation much differently throwing around ugly words involving liability and termination. Instead, our man received the best from each person he encountered. Makes my heart sing and cry at the same time.

2010-02-07T09:09:00.000-06:00

I have the sweetest sweet peas of children. I might not be saying so tomorrow, so I figure I better blog this while I feel it. Remember, I've got three real teenage boys and something of a spicy little girl. Here's the why behind my sweet thoughts today.

Claudette the Chicken was hand-raised from a chick by us in her own personal little single clutch of humans. She became a true pet more than a valuable hen, as I can't remember the last time she actually laid an egg. The kids would wildly swing on the swing-set with her in their laps and walk around with her perched on their heads. When we moved from the farm, friends sold us a red barn chicken tractor to match Clifford perfectly which became Claudette's new home in the city, all at Pooh Bear's request.

Here comes the sad part. Claudette was completely enclosed and safe in her abode, I thought. However, we were working on a fence and only the gates hadn't been installed when the crazy (I'm told but have never met her) neighbor's dogs somehow violently liberated our pet from her house, and you can guess what happened next. What's worse, is that Pooh Bear came home from school found the dogs and Claudette being eaten in progress.

Pooh Bear fell to pieces as you might imagine. She informed me that she would ask her second grade teacher to exempt her from any upcoming chicken projects at school. I asked Pooh Bear, "Exactly how many chicken related work is coming up next in class?"

Pooh Bear replied, "I have no idea, but just in case, I'm telling Ms. Long that I shouldn't have to do any of them. It will make me too sad."

As her brothers heard the news, they were also grieved. Claudette represented a significant part of their childhood and the loss of our farm life. I watched in awe as Peace offered Pooh Bear the rest of his beloved cat, Patches.

This sacrifice may not make sense to anyone but me, so let me explain. Peace's best friend is Patches. Patches came to him as a child via a lady at our church, Francis. Francis auditioned Peace to see that he would make an appropriate pet owner for her very fat and sassy "stray". Upon Peace and Patches first meeting, Patches rolled to his back and let Peace stroke his belly which made Francis gasp, "It took that cat a year to trust me like that!" It was love at first sight.

When we were selling the goats, baby goats, chickens, dogs, Pooh Bear and I cried together as each precious beast made it's way down our driveway and out of sight.
Peace found us sobbing after Ripley and Sarah had departed and responded with compassion, "Pooh Bear, I'll share Patches with you. He can be half yours and half mine."

I asked, "Pooh Bear, which half would you like? The front or the back? I highly recommend the front!" Peace and Pooh Bear sealed the deal that he'd clean the litter (oh, how I wish this were true), and she would do the feeding which seemed to so lighten the mood, and they would both be proud owners of a one-eyed, one-toothed geriatric cat.

So when Claudette passed away, Peace's tender response to Pooh Bear's heartache touched me deeply. I so pray Peace's generosity and kindness grows and spreads to make this world a better place.

Pooh Bear's friend also offered to give her a pretty new hen named Pudgy when we are ready. What a blessing.

Is God Big Enough?

2010-01-29T16:57:00.001-06:00

It's so sweet. People worry about me. When I call with a need, folks lay down their lives on a moment's notice and take up my cause. These people are the hands, feet, ears, voices of Jesus to me, and I am so grateful. I am overwhelmed with the generosity and kindness of mankind and God Himself. So, I don't want anyone to fret about what I'm about to write. It's just my feelings at this time.

I always thought I was so busy in my former life, and I was. I took Tater to football, attended Peace's cross country meets, made sure Wise One got friend time, and played lots of Uno with Pooh Bear. While I still do these things and work, it's in a much smaller window than I'd ever dreamed, and I hope and pray it's enough. Having three determined teen boys and a strong-willed, beautiful little girl in the house feels like the perfect storm at times. I ask myself frequently, "Is God big enough to take on these broken hearts?" My head says,"Yes", but I admit that my heart has doubts. This is especially true when my oldest states with all honesty, "The only thing I want, I'll never have." I wonder if I'm selfish and sacrificing my children at some level for simply wanting dignity following a tragedy. It's a terrifying thought. This is where I try to lean into the knowledge that God is quite big enough to cover me and all my mistakes.

I determined when I was twenty-two or so to have a life so well-lived that I'd never have regrets. I naively thought I could make it happen, but then life hit like a hundred ton steam train screeching off the tracks. I have regrets stacked like red bricks around an untended secret garden. I promise I don't look at them and agonize all the time. In fact, I'm learning to let go, really let go and move on. I can't tell you how many times when a new horrible consequence pops up, I answer the question of a concerned friend, "How are you doing after..." I say, "It's not happening right now, so I'm fine." Kinda like Scarlet O'Hara saying, "I'll think about that another day" but really meaning it. I just don't want more bricks of regret in my stack if I can help it. It's not easy watching my children suffer from my choices- though they may be very healthy choices for me.

2010-01-20T06:39:00.000-06:00

This morning I woke for my morning prayers. I found myself approaching God with an an agenda, my agenda, and of course, it wasn't going well. I felt like I was trying to force God to answer me without being willing to listen. How would that ever work? So, I laid my thoughts aside and struggled just to be, just to remain in the Healing Presence. Man, I must have some big issues under all the junk on my brain, but apparently I'm not ready to deal.

I'm currently wrestling with the fine line between disappointment, mourning and resentment. I am stumped about what constitutes resentment. Wouldn't it include feelings of revenge or getting in a jab? I just don't have that in me. or at least I believe I don't. Hurting someone else in my own pain doesn't make sense. However, I was born with an unsinkable sense of justice, and I worry I hide resentment under the guise of healthy boundaries taking form in the wide-legged stance of "Don't tread on me."

If you have any thoughts or stories on resentment, I'd like you to share. I'm looking for clarity.

New Beginnings Again

2010-01-16T09:24:00.000-06:00

I feel like such a big girl now. I worked a forty hour work week for the first time since before the personal cell phone came into fashion. Everyday I dress up like a grown up, get the kids up and on a school bus, and drive ten minutes tops to an office. I pull records, make phone calls, invite folks into to sit down beside me and talk about truck driving. Do you think the drivers know that I have never been behind the wheel of an eighteen wheeler? Oh, yeah. It's obvious, but I have learned some new things about another world I'd never known this week. It's like Avatar for me on so many levels. I put on my Avatar trucking self, by the way which I think will be named Catfish (wink to Kayce), and explore a brand new culture. Drivers are from all walks of life, and I have a new respect for the smarts it takes to drive safely and wisely. These people work so hard and so long away from home for long stretches of time.

Now onto the home front.

My children are quite into the school routine now after 2 1/2 months, even the two who never set foot inside a public school before. I am so grateful I did not have to spit them into the system the day I got a job, because no routine would have been established. The timing on finding work is impeccably God's. I squeezed in an entire Christmas season before employment with my young 'uns as well. I will try to look back on the treasure of sixteen years at home with joy instead of dwelling on the abrupt, unplanned end. It's a force of sheer will for me not to nit pick all the things I do not appreciate concerning the disservices done to children sometimes in an institution. I advocate and work hard to keep a positive attitude instead. Time home and homeschooling has been a sweet ride, and I've been one lucky woman to have had it.

Clifford is a perfectly beautiful home now. The blessings and handyman skilz of Andy, Buddy, Jack, and Don have created showers, kitchens, closets, walls where none had been before. I and an army of friends have covered the walls in paint with more colors than present in a rainbow. I look forward at to spring and creating a new truevyne garden. Stop on by for dinner if you're close.

2010-01-12T20:44:00.002-06:00

I am loving my new job. It's such an answer to prayer for me. It includes things like:

cultural diversity
challenging work
helping sometimes reluctant people
great hours
good pay and benefits

I especially like that the two people I work closest with love to laugh.

I'm looking for a CB handle for myself. Any suggestions? It has to be trucker savvy.

Life is good.

2010-01-10T19:42:00.000-06:00

Starting a full time job tomorrow. I haven't held a job in literally sixteen years, besides being a trainer for CGS and writing. Though even I couldn't be more surprised, I'll be working in the trucking industry helping with driving logs. I think it will be interesting. Maybe some good blog tales may come of it.

Wish me luck.

The Fifth Season by Frederick Ohler

2010-01-02T11:22:00.002-06:00

For four seasons
and all the cycles within them
within us and without us
for periods, tides, phases
for birth and growth and decline and death
thank You, God.
To live is to have rhythm
and time is the signature on all Your compositions.

Forgive us that
too often we fight against the rhythm
trying to be twenty when we’re fifty,
craving adulthood when we're still children
coveting summer when it’s winter,
detesting the heat when it’s July,
too often unwilling
to let go and let You be
in. Your good time.

Forgive us no less when we worship Chronos,
cower before clocks
schedule surprises
and tick our lives to death.

We are not Canaanites, we are Christians
and for us there is a fifth season.
You became flesh
that flesh might become You.
Love invaded time
and love is the fifth season
not bound by daylight time
or standard time
or Pacific time
or troubled time
or any time.
always seasoned, always seasoning
as old as ‘in the beginning’
as permanent as forever,
as new
as now
as possible as Christ.
Make Him possible in us.
Amen.

This is my prayer for the New Year. Would you like to join me?

2010-01-01T22:51:00.001-06:00

Peace turns 16 tomorrow. Um, really? Someone find the brakes and put them on time. Fast.

We're celebrating Pooh Bear's birthday instead with a huge little girl birthday party. Hardly seems fair.

Attended my usual DeLo New Year's Eve party. I can't remember laughing so long and so hard in a very long time. Something to do with that crazy SNL skit about the woman with baby hands on Lawrence Welk and Helen's dance moves to "Don't Stop Believin'". She totally rocked it. Picture a serious expression, full body sway, jerking head, and dramatic arm waving during "up and down the boulevard". Then there was the overheard comment during our slam dance to the Ramones about what that kind of dancing does to women's bodies who have given birth too many times.

I'm seriously looking for a job in Knoxville. Call me with leads in town friends.
Tough time to enter the job market after sixteen years of stay-at-home momness.

2009-12-28T09:22:00.000-06:00

Oh to grace
how great a debtor,
daily I'm constrained to be.

Let Thy Goodness
Like a fetter
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

Prone to wander,
Lord I feel it.
Prone to leave the One I love.

Here's my heart, Lord.
O, Take and seal it.
Seal it for Thy courts above.

2009-12-24T20:46:00.000-06:00

Just to be sure I wrote a simple message to my blogging friends...

Merry Christmas.

May this be an especially lovely and peaceful time for you and yours.

2009-12-22T08:15:00.000-06:00

It's official. I now have three teenage boys. Wise One turned thirteen. It's also official that I am an all out geek. I took the boys to see Avatar and loved it. Anyone else see it?

Yesterday, I spent the day at Shands Hospital in Gainesville mostly waiting to get my son's toe re-examined. It had turned nice and black. Those who knew anything about it were concerned the part of the toe became a mass of necrotic tissue which needed to be removed by painful scraping. Can I say how delighted I am that we were wrong? It wasn't certain until the site was opened and drained that it was a "runners hematoma" which is simply a nasty blood blister with a few infected spots. As long as the site stays clean it will heal quickly!

Tonight Christmas lights. Happy Holidays, friends.

2009-12-17T16:50:00.000-06:00

Peace stayed home from finals yesterday, but attended today. He'll make up the other two tomorrow (saying prayers/crossing fingers). He would say he's a bit better. The toe looks pretty awful, blue and swollen, but it seems more localized to one place on the big toe rather than a flaming red foot. Could this be good news? I'm hoping so. So far, it doesn't look bitten by zombies, but I'm positively sure I wouldn't want it to be my toe.

A Memorial For Tina Lillig

2009-12-17T10:19:00.000-06:00

I am not surprised at how moved I am by this.

2009-12-16T11:24:00.000-06:00

It wasn't a jammed toe after all. Peace has an awful spider bite- we think from a brown recluse. Peace called me from school saying, "Something is about to explode in my toe. Come get me."

The doc loaded the boy with antibiotics, steroids, and hydrocodone. He stressed the fact that the antibiotic and steroids probably wouldn't do a thing, but he was giving them anyway, just in case.

"Mostly, you just try and make it through the pain with the pain meds till it's over," he said. Great.

Peace explained, "I have finals tomorrow. Will I be able to think?"

"Nope. This pain stuff isn't so great for studying or taking tests. I'll give you a note," he answered.

Um. A note for skipping finals. Not a great plan, but it's what we've got to work with. We headed back to his school and the secretary called the principal.

Peace whispered, "We're taking this to the top, Mom!" Love that sense of humor.

The principal in all her grace assured us the school would do whatever was necessary including letting him make up finals after Christmas. Oh, I so hope it's not necessary.

Prayers for him please. He's really torn up about skipping his first two finals today. They are his hardest subjects.

Retreat and Tina Lillig

2009-12-14T18:13:00.005-06:00

I retreated this last weekend with four remarkable, beautiful, courageous, talented, amazing women. I'm stunned every. single. time. I receive an invitation to live art and prayer with them. Yet they ask, and I show up and stand in awe of who they are and how they are made. Meredith Lee and Almost hauled art materials, and a creative frenzy followed. Francesca packed some great wine, and Crow captured my heart with cookies. I'm easy that way. I laid out my Advent prayer stations for one evening prayer. Pics may follow on Almost's blog.

The hostesses at the retreat center showered us with incredible meals, hospitality to perfection, and delicious readings.

The last evening away, Francesca let me know through her cellphone email of the loss of a precious friend and saint, Tina Lillig. I put my head in my hands and sobbed a while knowing this world has lost a Great Light for now. As I said in my Facebook status, her Light is now stronger than death, but we mortals will miss her splendid company. She has been the National Director of Catechesis of the Good Shepherd for many years. Her life is a testament to peace and strong advocacy for humanity, especially children. She opened her heart to me through the years, and though she'd never understand why in her unmatchable humility, she was a hero to me. In my opinion, replacing her in the National Association will be tantamount to finding a successor to Ghandi or MLK among our catechist community.

She wrote , dedicated her life to listening to God with children, and kept house for us, but her greatest attribute to me manifested in that she was one of the most gifted listeners I've ever met.

Please lift up prayers for her family and friends. She wished for donations to the National Association instead of flowers for her funeral. Figures that even in her death she'd give.

I'm home now to the repugnant smell of cat urine from the geriatric cat, Patches, and a quick ER trip for Peace regarding a painfully swollen toe he jammed, but happily did not break after all.

Art.Life. Death. Love. Stink. Healing. That's what it's all about.

Sundry meandering thoughts

2009-12-10T11:03:00.002-06:00

I should have stayed in girl scouts, because this morning I'm regretting my poor fire making skills. I had my boy scouts explain it to me and get a fire started in Clifford's new and improved fireplace, but the guys are now at school, and the fire wanes.

It caused me think about my year in Brownies. I think I was just learning to read when I got my Brownie handbook, and I dreamed I could be the brownie girl in the play found at the front of the book. I poured over that play time and again, because the lead role looked into a fairy pond and said magical words. When my best friend's mom asked me to take the part in our troop, I nearly fainted with joy. Her mother literally created a set including a mirror with greenery around it for the pond. It is a blissful memory of mine from childhood to have performed for all the parents.

I also recalled my one year in girl scouts with my sister. I don't think she and I were ever in a single club together of any kind after that, but we joined the same girl scout troop at Woodfill Elementary School. My fondest memory of that experience came about by my sister telling the girl scout leader how disappointed she was with her Christmas gift swap, so I held out my present to my sister in exchange. My sister happily handed me her miniature wooden angel ornament which I found exquisite for whatever unmemorable present I'd gotten in the exchange. Apparently the girl scout leader took this as some big sacrifice on my part though I don't remember it being so. Later, the leader came to me with a nifty girl scout coin purse, and whispered, "I saw what you did for your sister, and I thought you deserved something better." I turned that fabulous little forest green pouch over and over in my little girl hands thinking I was the luckiest person in the whole wide world that day. It's funny to me thinking back on that knowing how very satisfied with the tiny angel I was and astounded at a further gift.

Helps me remember that ya never know what a child is really thinking.

This morning my daughter and I arrived at our bus stop the minute the bus occasionally arrives, and I explained to her, "If we've missed the bus then I'll make sure the boys catch their and drive you on to school."

She burst into tears, "I don't WANT to be LATE! Please take me now. The bus never comes at sunrise, and look. There's the sun."

"Let not worry about what might happen just yet. We'll wait here ten more minutes..." I replied, "but oh, look, there's your bus now."

She dried her tears instantly and popped out the car with a lilt in her step.

When I was in second grade, my mom woke my sister and I in the middle of the night on a school night and stealthily took us to a friend's house far from our neighborhood after a she became afraid of dreadful things. The next morning, my mom let us all sleep in, and much to my horror, I arrived to Miss Bohn's class after 10 a.m. Miss Bohn must have noticed my tear stained face for I was ashamed that I was late. She spoke gently to me, "It doesn't matter what time you get here. I'm just always glad to see you." That woman had no idea how comforting and memorable her words were for me that day.

I've literally been trying diligently to live in the moment these days and not worry about the "what ifs" of the future. I can tell it's going to be a hard lesson for my girl as it is for all of us.

RAD stuff

2009-12-06T05:35:00.003-06:00

Just in case friends with RAD kids read my blog, I'm sharing an email I sent to my son's new principal. I think it's empowering to advocate for our kids. I'll let you know how it turns out.

To Whom it may concern:

I am very apprehensive as a parent at the reports my son, Tater Vyne, is giving me about his experience at ________ Middle School. After asking for a meeting several times, I have finally been given a date in two weeks. I would prefer to be more proactive before things escalate further, so I'm writing to take swift action on his behalf.

Before Tater was born, he was exposed to cocaine, marijuana, alcohol and untold violence in the womb. His birthmother was in fostercare herself and gave birth to him at age 14. The trauma of this beginning has led Tater into having attachment issues which takes the form of not being able to trust. Our family was able to adopt him after some years, and he's in specialized therapy now with __________. Please call her if you need further insight (phone). We have also had intensive family therapy in 2008 for him with ___________ (phone) in North Carolina. _______is a wonderful resource for our family as well.

February 2009, after many years of homeschooling, our family decided to put Tater in school.

We met with __________ at North Middle in _____________ and met with his teachers regularly to check on his progress. His teachers and administrators gave glowing reports. He hit one rough patch one day that I know of in his time at North Middle. He struggled in pre-algebra but did well academically otherwise. The cooperation and communication with North Middle couldn't have been better.

When we moved here in October, Tater asked to transfer to your school though his North principal told him and us something like, “We don't want to lose you. We hope you will be able to finish this year with us!” __________, assistant principal, may also have input for you concerning Tater (phone). From what his teachers told us, Tater chose friends very well and was a good student.

Now that Tater has transferred to your school, it appears this is no longer the case. Tater reported to me that he was on some kind of “bad kid list”. He understands this to be a list of children the school is watching to fail or kick out. I'm also concerned that he said his “new best friend” was arrested for “being set up” with oregano in an Altoids can in his locker. I haven't met this young man, but I worry that Tater has suddenly started choosing friends poorly. Furthermore, if this “bad kid” list exists, why is the school asking to meet with us immediately? Wouldn't working with parents be the first step in helping children get on the right path? I haven't taken my son out of the chaos of fostercare to adopt him into our good home with a loving family, only to have him be walk into drugs and violence introduced at school. We have nothing of that in our home.

As you know, Tater's first introduction to ______ Middle was a bully on the bus who slapped him the first week and threatened him for several weeks after. Hopefully, this has all been dealt with, but all my children were terrified when the police came to our house asking for statements. Our family has never had any cause to have the police intervene. Imagine my eight year old daughter asking, “Is it safe in our new home? Will that boy bring a gun here tonight before the police can come back to help us?” Imagine what this experience does to a boy with trust and safety issues? When my husband followed the bus to school the day after the slapping, Buck was told at the office, “Just tell your son not to make friends with that boy.” Buck and I asked for meetings with teachers to open communication and were told more than once, “Wait until your son has some grades to discuss.”

This is what I consider a negative start, and my hopes in writing and meeting is to turn it around. I hope to start working together with you. I hope to let you know, as his parents, we see a trend developing which must be addressed right away. We are open to suggestions on how to proceed, and look forward to working through to a positive experience with you on behalf Tater at ______ Middle School.

Sincerely,

True Vyne

**Update: The principal called me and chatted for quite awhile last night. I told her my concerns, and she asked how the school could help. She apologized for how the school has fallen short. I asked her to talk with her teachers about advocating for my son: putting him in the front in classes in which he's not succeeding, moving him away from people with whom he might make trouble, calling me when he's not choosing friends well, calling me when he's not living up to his potential academically. She told me to email her anytime and said she'd meet with me or any other parent when asked. She begged patience as this is her first year, and she needs time to learn and understand the culture. I'm impressed again with her humility and care for parents and children.

kinda boring personal update

2009-12-05T08:04:00.007-06:00

Clifford is decorated for the holidays, but she's got many construction projects underway- so she looks a bit messy while in progress. My buddy, Andy, showed me how to tile this week, and I'm part way through tiling the walls around my master bath tub. Who ever heard of a master bath with a giant tub and no shower? Andy is taking care of adding the shower head part with his "mad plumbing skilz". Another friend, Dan, constructed a perfect wall at the end of the tub. I've found creating a shower takes lots more and longer than the snap of a finger. Wishing I was a faster, more confident tiler, but, hey, it's my first job ever. Andy added an electrical box yesterday. He promised as he left, "If you want to put in some outlets while I'm away, at least it wouldn't be a slow death if you mess up." Gotta like that sense of humor. Today he'll return with our friend Jake, who I know will encourage me while I tile. Last time he came over, he called out as I worked, "That looks really good. You are doing well." I know Jake would help if he could, but he has severely limited muscular use, so his cheering means the world to me.

When these folks come over to help, I know I'm blessed. It's going to be a different kind of Christmas for my family, and this blessing makes all the difference to keep me positive and looking up.

I haven't found a job yet which is somewhat frustrating. However, there must be a correlation in God's economy of going to full-time work after the many house projects are complete rather than having it all hanging over my head. I know Pooh Bear is really having a rough time of it at school with so many hours away from home, and a job will mean even more time away from me. Sigh. Thank God she's a tough cookie. She says regularly, "I'm just going to school, because I know it is better for you." I keep reminding her that we could work something else out if it gets to hard, but she won't have it.

Tater says, "I'm on the 'bad kid' list at school." Whatever that is. Apparently, the teachers made a "watch out for these top 25 troublemakers list", and Tater thinks he's on it. Could be that he was part of the bullying incident, and someone he considered his new best friend was suspended for 60 days when the drug sniffing dog found oregano in an Altoids can in his locker. We talked about walking away from friendships with kids who seem to have something up to ones with less drama surrounding. I finally was "allowed" to make an appointment to talk with Tater's teachers. The school gatekeepers kept saying, "You need to wait to see his progress before you meet with his teachers. It doesn't make sense to meet before we know how he's going to perform." Eye roll. Haven't these people ever heard of being proactive? I've taken Tater back to attachment therapy now that we're more settled. Since the huge changes in our fam, Tater has hit some big all time lows in terms of being a family guy. It was like living with Darth Vader for a about two months- the dark side of the force was strong. Thankfully, he's come back around in the last month to something more like a cussing and manipulative Dennis the Menace. I also wonder if he's made a habit of cussing at school which would definitely land him squarely on the "suspicious kid list" for me if I was a teacher and uniformed about attachment disorder.

Peace is plodding through Latin II, the bane of his existence. He's running track. Yeah, the track season doesn't start till March, but hey, coach needs them conditioned, right? Peace had two migraines this week. I know it's the pressure of accepting our new circumstances and keeping up with school with which his momma no can no longer help. Math facts memorization I can handle. Vis, vida, vimas, vitere- way beyond me.

Wise One continues to adjust to school with mostly pleasure. However, he tells me sordid tales about the horrible acts of middle schoolers and the unprofessional responses of teachers. Sigh. I only wish the teachers knew how incredibly honest this child is, and that he could actually tell them the whole truth instead of the teachers losing their tempers and screaming at children, hoping somehow to get to the bottom of crazy behavior. In our house, we call that fantasyland- using out-of-control behavior to bring control. Wise One is having a weekend of caving with his best friend, Eli. Thank God for Eli's family and all the help they send my way.

Personally, I struggle with adjusting to a new sort of life. I positively hate to watch my children wrestle with things from which I'd hope to shelter. I'm ever so glad they aren't little ones anymore and have their mom's Vyne determination behind them. I also struggle personally with keeping my life quiet and peaceful while storms rage all around. One thing I'm considering is sitting in Adoration to soak in some rays of Grace.

2009-11-28T07:44:00.001-06:00

I'm only gonna tell you this once. Gather together everybody you know, just like you did for New Moon, only this time, go see something that will touch your soul, because it's absolutely true-

The Blind Side.

I took my bunch o' children yesterday and some friends followed. Learn somethin' from Mrs. Oher. Her good heart made a difference on this planet earth. Isn't it time we all make a difference here too?

2009-11-25T15:54:00.002-06:00

It's not that I don't have anything to say. I do. I just having been making the time for it.

So, here's a snapshot of Nadine's Funeral service. Her gorgeous sixteen year old daughter picked out music to be played. Aerosmith, LifeHouse, Dream Boat Annie, Sarah McLachlan. Yep, they were a rock and roll family. In fact, Nadine's daughter wrote an incredible eulogy for her mother- articulate, beautiful words that would make the Grinch with the tiny heart break. She wrote about how her mother's strength would keep her strong. She ended with a quip about how her mom was in a place where she could, "Rock and roll all night, and party every day."

My cousin Rosey's husband, Cowboy, was asked to preach by Nadine's husband. Cowboy came dressed with a Western riding suit coat, fancy pants, boots, a big ole' yet very nice felt cowboy hat, and of course, a worn Bible tucked under his arm. His sermon rang with honesty and gentleness. In the southern tradition, he ended with his own quip, "When Nadine asked Jesus into her life on that day, she put her foot on the Rock and got her name on the role." Yes, my family makes me laugh and cry all at the same time.

Cowboy told me his own story soaked with Vietnam, rodeo, arms dealing, drugs, jail, addiction and most of all, Redemption. I admire his soft spoken nature and open heart. Rosie and he have been down a long road. Rosie and I talked after dinner together. She grew up mostly in Nadine's family and has lost something much more like a sister than a cousin. She's also lost her mother, Nadine's mom and dad, a brotherish cousin and niece. Even though neither of us are old women, we pondered how much loss we've had and how hard it is wait to join those in the better place.

The most comforting moment for me was when Nadine's brother, Jay stood with me at the coffin. He told me he'd visited with her at the nursing home and hospice care. He whispered in her ear, "If you see, Leah (her daughter who died as a young person a few years ago from spinal menangitis), run like the wind to her."
I pictured Nadine spying Leah's slight figure and radiant red curls in the light and tearing off like there was no tomorrow to greet her girl. Yes, so comforting to consider them together forever now.

2009-11-17T18:53:00.000-06:00

My cousin, Nadine, was finally released from her suffering yesterday. It makes me a little blue to think she's not ever gonna giggle with me or recommend another good read here on this big old earth. Then again, she hasn't been able to do so for years now, but I always hoped one day something like Awakenings would happen for her. I'm hoping and praying she is truly in a better place. Tomorrow is her visitation, and Thursday is her funeral. The thang about funerals is that it's one of the only times my family gets together on my dad's side, and I really do enjoy hanging with these folks. They are colorful, spunky and usually give me side splitting laughter.

I'm taking Nadine's death as a symbol of some personal endings and beginnings. The limbo of being here but unable to communicate was such a struggle for her. I believe she may very well be in the Hands of God and able to say what she's wanted and needed all these years. I believe I'm in God's Hands as well, and He's giving me what I've needed all these years of a different kind of limbo in my life.

2009-11-16T13:58:00.000-06:00

Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.
C.S. Lewis

Call the Law

2009-11-12T07:51:00.001-06:00

People have their own bus woes, like my friend whose daughter was hit by a car driven by an inattentive young lady on her cellphone after exiting her bus. Now I have mine.

Day one of my children riding the bus to public school bus led me to chat with the boys about sitting in the front by the driver. They naively explained how the first day, one boy on the bus screamed and yelled out as the bus drove. Wise One, who heeds my advice, extolled my wisdom when the second day, Tater, who does not necessarily think I know anything whatsoever, got slapped in the face by the screamer- because he was not in the front of the bus with Wise One. Buck went to talk with the school and sadly was placated by a administrative assistant. I, however, have been waiting for the troubled young man to blow it big. My only hope was that it wouldn't involve my children, but unfortunately, it did. Tater and Wise One came home with another crazy tale involving extremely dangerous behavior on the bus and in class. Last night, I was making my plan to go sit in the school office this morning until I could get a resolution when my cell phone rang. I found myself speaking to the principal and listening as my son spoke with her. I explained how fearful both boys were about things said, and how I trusted the school was handling the situation, since she was calling. I was impressed by her forthright nature and sensitivity.

"I asked your son to report any problems to me before things reach this point again," she guided.

"My husband came to intervene two weeks ago and was simply told to have our children not be friends with the child. I'm sure you have had many interactions with this young man and his family and understand the depth of his issues," I responded.

I heard the regret and a touch of anger in her voice, "No, mam. I am sorry to say that I have not as my staff has apparently been handling him. I want you to know how sorry I am, and that this is not acceptable to me."

I ended by telling her we were prayerful and cautious about the situation as the boy lives a few streets away.
She must have called the police to file a report, because the police came over later. The gentlemen were sweet and assured the children of our safety. Nothing like uniformed men showing up unannounced to spark a little insecurity. Golly, I was glad my house was tidy.

Before bed, I could see something in Tater's eyes which is rarely there- gratitude. The terrible fear of trust associated reactive attachment disorder was stirred up for him, and he watched me handle it all with grace on his behalf.

2009-11-11T11:44:00.000-06:00

Tis a strange thing to put all children on a school bus for a mom who drove all over the world everyday and homeschooled in the middle. After the little and not so little people departed, I got to work on chores.

One great discovery in this new house has been hardwood floors in a room we are changing to an efficiency kitchen. It was under two layers of linoleum, plywood, primer, and one million hard-to-remove staples, Over the past week, my hands have grown horribly sore and quite banged up from scraping and muscling up nails committed to a lifelong stay in the floor. I spent the morning cleaning the area. Now it's positively gorgeous having been sanded and minwaxed.

I took off for the gym and enjoyed weights and pool laps afterward.

Yesterday, I attended a job fair. The offerings of employment at the Dollar General, Comcast, a security company, the army, a coffee house weren't exactly in my interest range, so I wandered back home. The FBI had a booth set up as well, but after half a second, I decided against trying to become a secret agent since I am forty three and require reading glasses. I spent the entire afternoon applying to a community college for EMT training. Crazy ain't it? Just figuring out how to send transcripts from four previous colleges made me nuts.

Wish me luck on training and finding full time work.

2009-11-09T18:54:00.000-06:00

Today I visited an old friend. At first, I was really nervous. It's been a long time, and this particular friend can be daunting at times-cruel even if you happen to be a 43 year old woman with lots of imperfections and flubber. However, I held my breath, looked both ways, leaped off the sheer cliff; I went back to my old friend, the gym. I haven't been since my little world flipped upside down and inside out in late August. That's the longest break I've ever taken from working out, since I had knee surgery five or six years ago. I started a bit easy, not a whole lotta weight or reps, so I'll be able to stand erect and walk about tomorrow.

I'm back at the Knoxvegas gym where there is a plethora of fancy machines and a pool I adore. Loved swimming laps, but I'm not kidding when I say I'm sad about leaving my little town gym where most everyone greeted me warmly. Miss the theological exchanges with Josh and Randy, the jokes and tricks of Deeder and Will. I miss Regina's drive, Sissy's smile, chats about art with Erin, and Andy's big ol' heart. At this big town gym, I put on my headphones and ignore the testosterone flowing like chocolate rivers in Willy Wonka's factory. I didn't recognize a soul today except a staff member who had never spoken to me all those years ago anyway.

Just so you know, machines and pools don't hold a candle to friends.

2009-11-08T07:12:00.000-06:00

Pooh Bear's very first school experience this week has been interesting. I took her Tuesday and arrived as her class was making preparations for a field trip to see a Junie B. Jones play. I'm not Junie B. Jones fan, but hey, it's public school. I was praying for a positive first day, and I considered how a field trip would be a great friend making opportunity and leave a pleasant first impression. She did make friends. In fact, she exclaimed, "Everyone wants to be my friend. All the girls wanted to sit by me. They all asked to be in my pod."
The second day, she got off the bus with a scowl, and started pouring tears as soon as she got in our car. "What on earth happened today?" I asked.

"I don't FEEL good," she burst out. "My head is killing me, and my throat is sore!"

"Honey, you can always tell the teacher and I could have come to pick you up," I answered.

" I know, Mom. But I didn't get sick till gym at the end of the day."

Her fever spiked that evening, and she slept fitfully from the afternoon till the next morning. Then again in the afternoon the next day the fevered spiked, so she missed the next two days of school. I had gotten a newsletter from the school stating not to call if a child is sick, but write a note within five days of returning siting the illness. I kept thinking, "Man, they don't even want parents to call?" I'm betting the swine flu has made the office staff nuts.

Overall, Pooh Bear likes her class and her teacher. The jury is still our for me.

2009-11-04T07:53:00.001-06:00

Now large crowds were traveling with him; and he turned and said to them, 'Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.

I read this early this morning and found myself pondering. It's as if I've been skipping over this passage and moving on without understanding. I will never hate my mother. Nor my father, or my sister. Especially not my own children. That isn't how God made me, nor is God a hater. What kind of God would that be exactly who asks us to cast off humanity? I took it as hyperbole for loving God more than even family but have remained bothered by the implications left through the word "hate".

Today I found myself stuck on the hating "life itself" words. I thought of how Jesus is the giver of life, loves life, embodies resurrected life. In fact, we know He is the way, the truth, and the life. The contrast struck me between who Jesus is and what he is saying here. So what do these particular words mean? How could I hate life itself? It came to me to that Jesus never intended for us to hate life, because He is life. He only asks that if desperation to hold onto life gets in the way of loving, we should let go of our own life willingly. When I make a statement like, "That would kill me if..." without seeking Jesus, then I'm sunk. I've loved my way, my life better than Him. Therefore, it stands to reason, He also would never have us hate our family, but we must not desperately cling to their lives and let them go when God asks.

Don't get me wrong. When I prayed fervently that God would spare the life of my mother during her brain surgery some time ago, I don't think I was going against this scripture altogether. Yes, I wanted my way. Yes, it was selfish in that I didn't want to live without her on this earth. Yes, I was desperate. However, I know the position of my heart was that even if she did not make it or became irreparably brain damaged, I believed God was and is good and would make all things good through the tragedy. I wasn't attaching my faith to her life saying, "You better heal her God or else!" If my faith had been entwined with the outcome, I could have become bitter against God.

The battle for us all is that we allow God to be and stop trying to control. In fact, I have come to the conclusion that anything we try to control is sin. In which case, I sin a million times a day. For example, in my new home, things are broken and are taking a very long time to fix. I've actually been sobbing over a toilet (how dumb is that?) which has been "fixed" twice, replaced, and is still not working. Why sob? I'm actually worried noone on the face of the earth can or will fix it, and I'll have to live in a moldy, drippy, leaking, falling down house. How's that for lack of faith? Yet I've been consumed. In order to find peace, I must put on the mind of Christ and play the tape in my head that my friend Jenny, a lady construction manager (!), spoke to me, "Look, if I've learned anything from being in construction all these years, is that anything can be fixed." Putting that particular tape on repeat inside my brain is a way of intentionally letting go to find the peace I've unwisely traded for worry for a week now.

As for hating "life itself", I'll reflect on more ways I'm trying to control to let go, so I can get down to the business of real love.

Big

2009-11-02T06:14:00.004-06:00

image
Changes are still happening with the Vynes. Besides leaving a good life entirely behind to begin anew, I shuffled something big around for my children.

Tater's response to this particular project was a whooping, "I'm not doing that! I like the old way better." It's been his response to everything lately- nothing like a upsetting the apple cart of a rad kid's life with new school, new house, new room, new routines.

Here is my radical lifestyle change. I went to the store, laid down a big hunk of money, and bought each person a shower basket like the ones we all used in college. Each child has a their very own stock of deoderant, shampoo, body wash, toothpaste, toothbrush, razors, shaving cream, comb, brush, floss which is kept in his or her own room, probably on the dresser.

Clifford the big red house has four bathrooms, and the old sharing one sink between three bickering boys is old news, like the first horseless carriage. The showering until one's skin becomes a wrinkly pink or brown pickle can happen without anyone else becoming at risk of missing daily grooming. Toothbrushing hypothetically can occur in a another location when a shower hog refuses to open the door. Hair brushing need not be skipped due to a lack of mirror time.

There is only bathroom on the kid's floor, so I have heard the occasional, "I can't brush my teeth. Peace is hogging the shower." So nice to answer, "Where's your shower basket anyhow?"

Works for me.

2009-10-31T20:48:00.002-05:00

image

Yesterday at my hypertufa making party at Almost's house, I was crowned with a new name.
Drum roll, please.

I am now considered The Duchess of Clifford.

Don't be jealous. My friends will rename you with somethin' fancy if you simply ask.

2009-10-29T09:34:00.000-05:00

I wanted to blog about these new days so as to keep a record.

Once we moved into Clifford, I was hoping Wise One and Pooh Bear would allow me to homeschool at least till the end of the semester. Pooh Bear has been very clear that she prefers homeschooling. Wise One was content to stay home as well until Tater decided on a dime to change to his zoned school Tuesday after saying goodbye to friends at his old school Monday. Wise One puts lots of thought and time into his decisions and decided to quit homeschooling after Monday as well. I choked back tears silently at his news and have been for the last three days. I'm actually tired of homeschooling, but I love being with my children. Wise One is especially easy to be around, and he's not here with us anymore. He walks out the door after 7 a.m. and returns at 4:00. Such a long day away.

Buck and I took them both into their new school Tuesday to register. Tater got right in with his paperwork from his previous school. Wise One was asked to wait to enroll till the next day, because the doctor's office had a days delay in shot records/physical record sharing.

Wise One returned home yesterday from his first day full of joy. He's not much of a talker, but he had a few stories to tell. He definately is into the whole school idea. I still get teary missing him.

One day without Wise One here was enough for Pooh Bear to suggest that she'd like to try school. Gasp. Choke. Whimper. She's not ready in so many ways, but some sort of alternate schooling will be necessary sooner or later as I'll be looking for a job. Friends have offered to keep her while I work and allow me to homeschool her on my days off. I just can't wrap my brain around the entire issue of putting that little wisp of a girl into the school machine and letting go. I'm up for letting her try it and then finding alternatives if she's eaten up.

Off to figure hang with my fix-it guy to resolve some of Clifford's flaws.

2009-10-25T12:41:00.000-05:00

Spent the last week painting inside the Clifford Estate with an army of beloved friends. More friends on the way today to scrub floors. I've simplified my life beyond belief, so the move has been easier than any other I've made. I'm not hanging onto anything "just in case".

kids- check
bare necessities for life- check
clutter- gone to Goodwill or the dump

I'll take pictures inside as soon as I unpack and get a little organized.

2009-10-13T13:36:00.001-05:00

Try to hold back the snickers. Yes, she's very RED. Yes, she's awfully odd and awkward for a house. She has lots and lots of work to be done on her.

I'm calling her Clifford, Clifford the Big Red House. If the stars in the heavens align properly, and the unknown banker will allow, we'll buy her Thursday.

Then I'll have to relearn civilization, how to be a friendly neighbor instead of a scowling recluse- that kind of thing. Wish me luck.

Pooh Bear Horse Vaulting

2009-10-13T13:19:00.000-05:00

2009-10-10T09:37:00.005-05:00

I worked on a project yesterday whilst I wait upon unknown realitors and bankers to acquire a certain one paragraph document enabling me to begin a new path on my journey.

I've had an old behind the couch table sitting in our garage collecting junk, spider eggs and spider poo for the last six years. The table's veneer was gummy and peeling up on top. I decided it might do in my new kitchen as an island of sorts. The new kitchen has very limited cabinets unlike my farm kitchen which boasts entirely empty spaces and shelves from overabundance of cabinetry and workspace.

My dear friend Claire now creates mosaics, and I roped her into agreeing to tile the table top with me or for me. She instructed to get the area flat, so the tile would be mounted on something stable. This is precisely how I spent my afternoon after homeschooling. Much of the veneer pulled off by my hands with the exception of a long strip 7 inches wide which had been tightly adhered with God's Super Glue. This sticky strip required a literal chisel to pry loose. With a chisel, I ran the risk of gouging an uneven surface, so the work became meticulously slow. Pooh Bear came out to help with a bucket and brush to scrub off arachnid leftovers. Some water got on God's glue, which we discovered loosened it's bond considerably, and the work became easier.

Once we were finished removing the veneer, I stepped back to admire my work. Yes, the table was smooth and ready for tile. I went for some sandpaper just for the edges which would surely leave splinters if left undone. I went over the top as well in the process and a the beauty of the bare wood caught my eye. The more I sanded, the more I fell in love with the natural grain. After taming all splinters and smoothing over all rough patches, I loaded the table up with help into the back of my van to take it to Claire's knowing I didn't want to tile over that lovely surface any longer.

However, I wanted to learn how to treat the wood in order to make it useful in a kitchen. Claire and I researched the internet. One site would say, "Make sure to use polyurethane," while another would completely disagree and say, "Do not use polyurethane as it is poison." I decided upon shellac which is essentially made of edible non-toxic Indian bug goo. I learned that shellac will rub off with harsh cleansers or alcohol, but can be easily reapplied when necessary.

Claire sent me off with a coupon for Bed, Bath, and Beyond for a new cutting board to put in the middle of the island table. I also purchased shellac from Home Depot.

At home I applied the shellac which after several coats caused the wood to shine like a new copper penny. I wish I could take a picture to post, but I still haven't figured out where the photo option has gone from my blogger tool bar. (thanks to John I added the pic)

Isn't it interesting how I could disregard a piece of furniture for years and transform it into something essential and charming for my next home just by removing a difficult layer of unattractive exterior?

Isn't that just like God to redeem something neglected and unloved and make it new and useful again by revealing its natural beauty from under an ugly coating? Let it be a picture of my life.

Moving

2009-10-07T09:31:00.002-05:00

Hidden under forty-two Russian emails, I got an email I've been waiting for over a week with wild anticipation. It's a single paragraph requiring a banker's signature which held up a loan on a new residence for the Vyne family. We are moving back to civilization though it's not what I want to do. Sometimes it comes down to choices on behalf of others, like my children, that require me to step out of my own will and allow what needs to happen. Our bank is working on closing for tomorrow. Local friends, get your grungies ready for some serious cleanin' and paintin'. This new old house is a fixer upper for sure.
I can't publicize the name of my new road on my blog, but let's just say, it makes me giggle.
I'll be working on making my soon to be suburban home in a neighborhood (cough, gasp, wheeze, take a deep breath) into a place of peace and rest. Is that possible? Any tips out there in bloggerland?

Update: The unknown banker musta had some sort of mad and felt coerced into signing the document, so he:
1. only used his initials
2. did not sign on the seller's line
3. did not date his signature

All of which make the document invalid. I can't imagine this man's disposition when he is asked to resign something he's irked about already. So, it's back to my unfavorite game of "when will the banker decide to sign [correctly]?"

FREE Parenting Tip

2009-10-04T17:34:00.006-05:00

FYI, when one takes her son who struggles with RAD to Wal-mart to buy batterys and cat pan liners,and he tells her a knee slappin' story which he finds utterly hilarious and the mom finds horrifying, a good mom should listen closely. Particularly if the story goes something like this:

"Mom. Dad showed me a video of Mr. Greasy covering his hand with Germ X and lighting it on fire! It was way cool! He didn't even burn his hand. Can you believe it? It just shot flames and went out. Wouldn't you like to see THAT!"

Then a good mom shouldn't just say, "That's not my kind of story. WAY to dangerous and stupid thing to ever try. You get that, don't you?"

Instead, that mom should take a mental note, and immediately drive home, obtain all scattered matches around the house and the bottles of Germ X purchased by Dad during the swine flu in weeks previous, and automatically put them all under lock and key.

Otherwise, hours later after the mom has completely stricken the fearful image of third degree burns on bloody hands from her mind, one might find the spent matches and a nearly empty Germ X in the garage next to the son who struggles with RAD exclaiming, "My hands smell SO much like Germ X! Weird isn't it, Mom?"

2009-10-03T11:50:00.002-05:00

Peace called me from his state championship meet in North Carolina to tell me who he beat, who beat him, and that he'd made a personal best in finishing his race in 19:20. His dear friend, Steve made 18th overall and got a trophy as a FRESHMAN! How awesome is that? Peace said the course was easy, but the weather was muggy.
I stayed home and held the fort to make sure Pooh Bear made it to her horsemanship vaulting clinic with the real deal- judges from Georgia. She informed me she had to wear make-up and make a perfect bun in her hair. Thank God she's an independent person cause I'm not hair and make-up kinda mom.

I'd love to post some pics, but there is no longer a picture option on my dashboard. Hasn't been for weeks now. Anyone know where it went?

An Irish Prayer for today

2009-09-30T07:39:00.000-05:00

In the words of an old Irish prayer:
Three wishes I ask of the King when I part from my body: May I have nothing to confess, may I have no enemy, may I own nothing! Three things I ask this day of the King, ruler of suns: May I have no dignity or honours that may lead me into torment! May I not work without reward before Christ! May God take my soul when it is most pure!

2009-09-29T14:10:00.000-05:00

Hello. My name is True, and I'm a paper addict. I know this, because in cleaning out my drawers and decluttering I have found stacks of card stock, colored, and scrap booking paper in every nook and cranie of my room and closet. Does anyone know of a twelve step program to help kick my unnatural attraction to Office Depot and If it's Paper?

2009-09-18T08:10:00.000-05:00

Pooh Bear Bear contracted the swine flu. She's been such a trooper. She's spiked her "normal" 103.5 fever. All my kids turn to toaster ovens with skins when they get sick. Pooh Bear surprisingly has not grumped around and moaned as she does most of time when she's not feeling great. While we were at the doctor yesterday, she asked him to burn a plantar wart from the bottom of her foot. He couldn't believe her request given she was in such a droopy state, but he did it for her anyway. She thanked me twice for letting her get it removed. The nurse commanded me to get her icecream on the way home, so we stopped at the Jiffy for a waffle cone. The young lady who served Pooh Bear had an armful of jagged skin art. Made me wonder if she was sleeping with a tattoo artist, or if that's how she spent her entire convenience store check-out girl paycheck.

2009-09-16T17:18:00.000-05:00

My daughter is cut from the same cloth as myself. Last night she discovered how very thin our herd of goats is becoming as we slowly sell them, and she fell into a puddle of tears. She's been told it would happen, but when reality hit, it was too much. I feel the same.

Holding on steadily to hope as I walk towards new things and away from the solitude and beauty I've always found here.

2009-09-11T07:46:00.002-05:00

This is a dark time for me, but I can't blog the details. I'll save those for another time. However, I got an encouragement yesterday from a dear friend, Ella. I called her for support, and she came through the way she always does. She told me a timely story about needing to open a gate to a field which has not been bush hogged in a long while. She first sent her son to chop down the overgrowth with a long sharp tool. He began the work but needed to get on the road to college leaving her to finish the job. Ella took that tool and wielded it like nobody's business over the waist high grass. She noticed the vines creeping and intending to swallow up the grass in order to swipe it's potential for life. She began to cry out to God with her grumbles and complaints with terrible force as she hacked down the wild vegetation. God beckoned her quiet her heart and to listen closely. As she stepped on and held the stalks low with her knee to slice, God gave her a picture.

"The way you are bending that grass and holding it is how I'd like for you to pray for the saints. Cover them, throw yourself over them and protect them in prayer from the weeds, the enemies, who intend to devour. The saints need you."

I know that's what she is doing for me, Ella and others. I need it so. Not every moment, but mostly I feel a peace, knowing though things are not all right now, they will be.

I am a woman with great hope.

2009-09-07T15:20:00.001-05:00

Sold one of my goatie girls today, Shannon. She has been my very favorite for all six years of my caprine experience. This lovely lady was the first we ever bought. She's given us tons of love and milk through her years at True Vyne Farm.

We sniffed noses to say, "Goodbye." I considered her shiny black coat, her curious eyes, and frosty ears as we parted.

I remember our first cold morning milkings. I played classical music to calm us both- I, the green farm hand; she, a little jumpy due to her new surroundings my lack of expertise. I nuzzled my curly locks against her furry belly in gratitude for the gifts she gave.

I'll miss you my friend, Shannon.

2009-09-04T07:25:00.005-05:00

You know what I know? That kindness is the better way. Justice can be kind. I mean it- surprisingly gentle even.

Maybe it's crazy to learn from Oprah, but I have. I learned something so valuable to me that it will follow me the rest of my days and give me peace. Last year Oprah had a guest on her show- The Most Hated Woman in America. This lady changed her daily routine and accidently left her gorgeous little towheaded girl in the summer heat inside a closed vehicle. Of course, the precious baby died. I believe there is no greater injustice than the neglect of a parent which causes the death of a child, a child at the complete mercy of his or her care.

At some point in my life, I too would have hated this woman for doing such a thing. How could someone simply forget their own flesh? However, I was surprised at my reaction, because I didn't go there. I felt overwhelming compassion for her brokenness. As she soberly relayed the events of that horrible day, she captured my heart.

Just about the time I was scratching my head with the question, "Why am I not feeling angry with this woman for killing her child? Why don't I want to wail on her?", Oprah turned to the camera. She started to speak on judgment. She said something which made so much sense- something along the lines of "There is no judgment I or anyone else could give which is more harsh than the one this woman has given herself. No one knows the depths of pain and suffering of the loss of a child like a mother. She knows she has done this thing and must live with it the rest of her life." Who exactly am I to hope she pays dearly? To wish she'd go to jail or hell, or pay some huge debt back to society? She will pay dearly with regret for her entire life. When she's on her death bed, her daughter's name will be the one she'll whisper. I bet the mother already wished she'd have been the one to have died. She's getting perfect justice, and all I can think is, "I'm so sorry for her. I wish it hadn't come to this."

Such is the way of one who falls.

This lesson sustains me in a new pursuit in my own life. You may hear things about me soon, and I hope you can see beyond appearance to the kindness and justice mixed up like a strawberry fruit smoothie in me. I may get judgment, but it's not me I'm speaking of who requires kindness. It all boils down to the fact that justice and anything else for that matter is learned best through love. I'm walking down a path I've never been down and never wanted to go down before now. Pray for me. Pray it isn't all regret but an adventure with hope behind every corner.

My Prayer for Today

2009-09-01T08:11:00.000-05:00

Life is messy. My life is messy.
This is my prayer for today.

Let justice and praise become my embrace.

Mary Oliver

2009-08-27T20:19:00.002-05:00

The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice-though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen branches and stones.
but little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,determined to do
the only thing you could do
determined to save
the only life you could save

Mary Oliver

2009-08-26T20:36:00.002-05:00

Molly got into my brain somehow again with this post. I swear I've never even met her. I just read her blog. Honest!

2009-08-25T09:33:00.002-05:00

I don't know if we'll get to attend or not, but the Battle of the Bridge is coming up Thursday. This battle is when the rivalry between two Loudon high school's (Loudon vs. Lenoir City) takes roaring form in the shape of a football game. It's like the face off between two lion prides defending their kingdom, and the Loudon bridge clearly marks territory. I've heard about this game before, but I never had anything at stake. Let's face it, I'm not a sports gal. I've always wished I had the talent to do something physical really well, but the only person I can compete and win against is myself. I can't catch anything, but a cold. I have the athletic ability of a turnip, but by golly, I return to the gym to be the best darn turnip ever!

Now I see the Battle of the Bridge with new eyes- a chance to build a deeper relationship with my son. Tater's other love beside every breathing teenage female on the face of the earth is football, so I'm sucking up my mother's heart that hates to see her son pushing, smashing, crushing, pulling, and squashing other people, and tuning into the love of the game. Slowly but surely, I've begun to forget the manhandling and actually enjoy the sport of it all. That's right, folks. I'm having loads of fun being a football spectator just like the rest of America. And it's sincere.

Still, don't think my heart didn't skip five beats last Friday watching the evening news of the Knoxville kid who dropped dead on the football field. My fears are real.

Though Buck has been gently been poking fun at my football game cheering, "Nice receiving!", when I should have shouted, "Great interception!", I'm surprised at myself letting go of my list of injury statistics and standing for a big play. I love my boy. that. much.

Catechist humor

2009-08-21T09:03:00.004-05:00

image
So, this post is for Catechesis of the Good Shepherd folks, cause noone else on earth would understand.

I've been working on the Level II Blue Strip material. It's a "timeline" to emphasize the three moments in Christian history and set up for typology later:

Creation- the beginning of the our universe, our planet and ourselves,

Redemption- the time Christ was born and now

Parousia- the time Christ comes again, and God will be all in all.

This particular teaching tool is a very long strip of paper with events from each moment depicted in pictures.

Now here's the funny part. I'd stretched the the Blue Strip out across the living room floor and into the hall to glue on the pictures, and of course our two cats quickly found their way to the new surface upon which to lay as all felines must do. Bees...honey. Fishermen...boats. Butterflies...flowers. Cats...paper. Buck walked in on their slumber and announced, "I learned something new from closely examining this time line. Apparently cats were around before the creation of the world and will be present when Christ comes again for all eternity as well."

2009-08-20T08:20:00.004-05:00

Buck took the boys to school and Pooh Bear to the doc for a stuffy yuck nose, and Wise One is quietly occupied. Buck is kind in that often he gives me time and space just to think by taking care of everything. So I'll think here on my keyboard.

School started this week for Peace, and he's got classes which are a good fit. Probably easier than next semester, and he gets to challenge his brain the first half of the day and build things with his hands the second. He's loving cross country team as usual. He's got a better attitude than last week when I was ready to sell him into slavery to the traveling gypsies should they have passed by. He does love school and considers it to be a great opportunity. Peace gets frustrated with kids who are just there and don't appreciate the chance to learn. Last night, he asked me what to do about sitting next to a person quite fond of cussing in Latin II class. Peace observed the teacher noticing bad language from his general direction and worries she'll think it's him. I told him to ask her advice, but he didn't like that idea. I know he'll find his way like he always does.

Tater is loving life. He's surrounded by girls and football with school as the bothersome vehicle to project him into the scene. Amazingly, his RAD is usually not the first thing I think about when I look at him. Since last summer he's been in a positive place for the most part. Not healed but going in a generally good direction. He's middle school varsity on his football team though he's never played in his life before this year. First string defense. Second string offense. First game tonight, and I have to say I'm a bit excited for him.

I've got some issues to work on in myself concerning Tater's "player" attitude towards young women. This week he posted that he is "in a relationship" on his Facebook. Ugh. I met the girl a few days ago at open house, and let's just say, I quickly developed the standard answer, "I like all the girls my son likes". Mostly because if I indicated a strong opposition to anyone, she'd surely end up my daughter-in-law for a while. I don't think there's a setting on FB of "heartbreaker" which is a far more accurate description of my son's relationship status. Double Ugh. Fair warning to all teen girls out there- though he says it's just you he loves, it ain't. He digs you (and you, and you) simply because he likes to be dug. It's all a cover for low self esteem. And just in case you were wondering, moms or girlfriends cannot hand that out like candy and bandaids. It's a long work, a big internal work which takes vast amounts of courage. Hoping and praying for Tater to stay on that road to self acceptance.

Wise One started co-op courses this week, and he's delighted. He knew one person when he walked into class and walked out with a bunch of new friends. No surprise there. Next year, God-willing, I'm putting him in middle school for eighth grade,and these classes are a great step to get him ready. Of all my children, he's got a very best friend, Kole. In fact, I feel like Kole's family is a bit of an extension to ours. They spend nearly every weekend together here, at Kole's house, or on an outing. Since Wise One is my third son who happens to have an easy nature, I feel like I must be more intentional, because he'd be easy to neglect.

Buck called to tell me Pooh Bear has a touch of bronchitis, which makes her irritable. She was downright unpleasant last night. She asked to go to the doctor this morning, because she does not want to miss her horse vaulting Saturday. She got to ride the horse bending in half at weekday practice, but her teacher says she gets to ride standing on the weekend. Good night, what have we gotten ourselves into?

Pooh Bear's schooling is off to a good start though I'm definitely having trouble lighting a fire under her to read and answer math facts with speed. Any suggestions? My boys liked the game of it. She feels offended, like I'm pushing her, when I make it a speed game. Girls. What am I gonna do?

Buck had a birthday yesterday. His quote, "Forty-five is a lot like forty-four, only my shoulder hurts just a little bit more." Uh-huh. When we went to bed last night he explained what a privilege it was for me to sleep with a forty-five year old, since I've never done so before. Uh-huh.

Personally, I'm doing fairly well. The food I've tested in elimination diet for allergies has come back negative except hazelnut. Who needs hazelnuts anyway? The downside is my esophagus in not healing. Stuff still gets stuck. Oh, bother.

Buck and I are in an uncomfortable place with our church lately, because his thing is worship music and mine is children. The worship teams are dropping like flies, and there is no leader to be found. After somewhere around a year on staff, the children's pastor is moving to South Florida to start a church. Once someone new is hired, I'll have to start over again for the third time in three years of preparing a place for the specific work I do with children. Sigh. I'm not sure I want to keep trying at this particular church, since leadership keeps changing like light bulbs. Buck is about to start working Sundays for 16 weeks straight, so we found a nice fit of a Wednesday night study elsewhere in the mean time. It's a precious small congregation, something I've missed after struggling through our current mega-church.

With the start of school and early mornin' alarms, I've gone into "dragging me arse around" mode . I wake up tired and fog through the day. It took me till at least October to become a fully functioning human being when my son started school for the first time last fall. Hopefully, the learning curve will be shorter this time around.

All is well on the pretend True Vyne Farm. I don't want to take this good life for granted.

2009-08-15T16:12:00.001-05:00

image

No worries, grandparents. This is the sport your granddaughter wants to try next!

Horse Vaulting- gymnastics on a horse.

2009-08-14T08:03:00.003-05:00

I'm told Uncle Laughter used to put tiny shells in Aunt Artful's shoes just for fun. He possessed a child-like quality of playfulness which touched every one's heart. I can picture him sneaking to her shoe just before a walk, placing in the shimmering object with great stealth, calling her to the door, and responding with great chuckles as she slips on the footwear announcing, "There's something in here. Just a minute..."

When I visited Aunt Artful this summer, of course we reminisced some of the time about sweet Uncle Laughter. She showed me the memorial video of pictures from his abundant life. He quite literally made friends everywhere he went with his easy manner of being. Buck used to joke with Uncle Laughter that even made friends at the automatic teller.

Over my visit with Aunt Artful, I came to understand better the love between my aunt and uncle. My aunt has always used the phrase, "He worshiped you" and "He worshiped me," and I'll admit, I didn't quite comprehend it. However, this stay with her I caught a glimpse of these phrases. In his boyhood pictures and really all pictures since I noticed a glimmer in his eye that spoke, "I am deeply loved and adored." Aunt Artful attributed that joyful expression to his wonderful mother. She gently spoke about his mother in a reverent manner which she would not have done if it were not so. When Aunt Artful started dating Uncle Laughter, his family's great love spilled over right onto her. His mother bought her a beautiful marble topped desk to study for school, took her places she needed to go, invited her over all while Uncle Artful was in the navy and before they were married.

Aunt Artful told the tale of how she met her husband. She was on a double date with someone when they ran into another group of friends unfamiliar to her. Uncle Laughter was in that bunch, and asked if anyone wanted to play basketball. Aunt Artful's date refused, but she didn't. I can picture Uncle Laughter playfully digging for the ball as Aunt Artful dribbled with the carefree vigor of youth. She said he was just so much fun. They simply laughed and laughed. Fun must have been hard to resist. Their marriage spanned several decades.

I asked later how she became an artist after all, since that wasn't something available to her being from our impoverished family. She pensively answered, "Uncle Laughter truly believed there was nothing I couldn't do. He thought I hung the moon. He believed whatever I did as perfect and made me believe in myself, so I started art school." Acceptance and adoration must have been infectious. You should see the paintings and other my aunt has produced and collected.

Anyhow, I can't even begin to imagine what my aunt's life is like now that he is gone home to be with God. Somehow I like to think he's with us in a different way than simply absent. Aunt Artful must feel the same, because she brought out an alabaster box from her bathroom vanity to show me on my recent visit. When she opened it to reveal the contents, I was taken aback- for there was a tiny pearled shell within. "I didn't put it in there. I think it's his way of saying, 'I'm still with you,'" Aunt Artful explained.

Later that afternoon, I snuggled into a comfy couch to read a book, I reached over to examine a colorful bowl from the Dali museum I'd given for Aunt Artful and Uncle Laughter a few years back on a previous visit. Immediately tears sprang to my eyes. What do you suppose I found inside that piece of art? A tiny shell letting me know Uncle Laughter was also thinking of me.

2009-08-13T08:15:00.004-05:00

I have been hungry for an awfully long time it seems. Hungry to learn. Aching to be in a fresh experience. Wanting new life. In fact, I've been praying for something to open up and inspire me in daily living. I begged at church for in depth study, but I have not come across any offerings. I turned to friends outside my church and asked, "What is filling you? Where can I find it?" The reply? "I've been waiting and praying for something myself. Let me know when you find it, because I might want to join."

If the stars align properly, I meet with a out-of-town friend, Jo, on the phone for accountability and prayer once a week. Jo is in an incredibly rich season of faith. Each morning she wakes up to meet with God on her front porch, and apparently they've really been enjoying one an other's company. Yet she never criticizes or judge when I say for millionth time, "Still pray for me. I got nothing on spiritual growth. Dry. Dry. Dry." And she does pray for me. Faithfully.

Next week, I got something better to say to her. In fact, it might knock her socks off. First of all, I found a study group of folks and attended last night with my entire family. It's a refresher on basic Bible study. The pastor even gave homework without obligation which had me in a happy place with God in my own home for the first time in a long time, and that's not for lack of trying before. It's that I have a communal direction, and someone else is sailing the ship while I delight in the ride.

I have to wonder if God was just waiting for this particular moment, because of the earth shattering events of last weekend. The "what ifs" of that situation remain, yet I've found peace in not going ahead of what is present.

I also have another thing to tell Jo. I've begun making materials for the children which I teach spiritual formation through Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. I've been stuck for years literally on how to proceed in teaching older children, because of the denominational barriers. Will I offend those who have graciously passed the work onto me in original form by essential adaptation to meet the need of parents and children who express Christianity in another particular way? It's been a question I've not been brave enough to really answer by following all the way through with all necessary materials.

At the formation leaders conference I got an incredible amount of encouragement to dive in from friends and through God-given ideas. Once I began construction this week, I've found the work in itself to be utterly fulfilling. In a way it's like Dorothy always having the ruby red slippers, yet never knowing she's a always been a few heel clicks of the way home. How could I have forgotten the method of work of the hands leading to God? Yet it does.

Here's something of the discovery made in the delightful time I had this morning. The homework from our study focused on examining each phrase and getting as much meaning as possible from each verse in Mark 8:22-30 where Jesus heals a blind man and then asks the disciples who they think He is. He leaves Bethsaidia to head for another town to have this conversation with His followers and enters Caesarea Philippi. I became curious about each city,and the search turned up some interesting things. Turns out Caesarea Philippi was a particularly pagan town in which the god Pan was enshrined. I looked up Pan and was surprised to have found he was known for being in charge of fields, herds, shepherds. In fact, he was half goat, half man. Satanic ritual borrows the image of Pan for services. Interesting since Jesus went to Caesarea Philippi as the Good Shepherd and all. Pan, in his capriciousness, frightened his worshipers by evil stunts in lonely places. Believe it or not, his name is the origin for the word "panic". I think of Jesus as the exact opposite- peaceful, always good, always loving. Pan played the pipes and was known for music- sometimes erotic and other times to strike panic. Such a contrast to the comfort and glory of hymns and spiritual songs of Jesus we sing. Curiously, Pan was the only Greek god to have died. Another contradiction in that Jesus conquered death forever. In this very city, Jesus allowed His disciples uncover and assert His position as the Christ.

Here's to digging for more hidden treasure in days to come.

2009-08-08T09:36:00.002-05:00

The first person I've ever known in real life to have a blog is my cousin, Wes. He took a photo of something different everyday for a year and posted it on his blog. Then he took a break. Noticed on his Facebook today that his blog is up and running again. His work is very inspiring, so you might want to check it out.

mind of the photographer

Humility given flesh

2009-08-07T08:43:00.005-05:00

There are some disadvantages to being a Protestant Evangelical hanging out and working in a Catholic and Episcopal community. I don't understand the obvious, because my experience is so vastly different. At my Catechesis of the Good Shepherd formation leader events I tend to "get it" later than sooner.

Here's an example.

Many nuns have joined the work. I've had the privilege of sharing meals and deep conversation with many in my journey. Being slow on the draw, I figured out after a few years that Sr. indicated "Sister" not senior or senator or senorita. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to single out these saints. They look and act in the same dignity and elegance as the formation leaders who have not married Jesus in a literal and intimate way. So, this week I simply did not grasp when the speakers at our formation leaders conference were going on and on with the excitement of a little girl given her first set of jacks about a particular group of Sisters being trained in Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, "It would be such a privilege if the Sisters would come here to join our meeting." In my small mind, I thought, "Yes, that would be lovely to share with more holy women."

I'm embarrassed to say that I wondered if I'd be able to pick them out in the crowd to greet, because I hadn't ever been able to before. I should not have worried. At some point a quiet bustle erupted and hush during the conference. I turned my head, and I privately blushed at what my eyes were taking in. A Red Sea of participants parted to allow a group of the most humble and beautiful women I'll ever see make their way to chairs. Their heads and eyes were bowed, but their garments and faces spoke volumes. It was as if new rays of bright sunlight stepped into our room. I can only say I haven't seen any persons (besides sleeping babies) look so, well, so pure and utterly peaceful. As people spoke softly to them as they walked, the sisters deliberately and solemnly pressed their palms together and bowed to the persons talking with a quiet, "Thank you." The particular Sisters were the Missionaries of Charity from the same order as Mother Teresa, and I only figured it out from their impeccable white habits with the distinguished thin blue stripes. With every movement each made, their bodies spoke, "I respect the humanity of each living being before me." I'm not exaggerating, and I've never seen anything like it- humility given flesh. The leading Sister looked downright pained and became red from her collar up when asked to say a few words. I could plainly visualize addressing and being acknowledged in a crowd did not suit their work.

One primary theme present in CGS proposes that the things that are small and unassuming, the least of these- mangers, children, the poor, mustard seeds, stinkin' shepherds, little countries like Israel are made great and honored in God's eyes. From this one might draw the conclusion of the significance of including The Missionaries of Charity in our work. Their mission is truly unto the least, and now these join our work with children. I'm lost in amazement and wonder.

Apparently I'm not the only one. When our quite elderly Sofa Cavalletti, the writer and founder of CGS, heard that the Missionaries of Charity desired training in CGS, she immediately responded in Simeon's prayer, "Now Lord, You are releasing Your bond-servant to depart in peace, According to Your word; For my eyes have seen Your salvation, which You have prepared in the presence of all peoples". Luke 2:29-30. She followed in conversation with something, "Now Catechesis of the Good Shepherd will go those whom it has always been intended."

Amen to that.

2009-08-06T16:17:00.002-05:00

Twenty-one years of marriage. It's our anniversary today, and I have to say, things have never been better. We're celebrating with a simple dinner out, but it'll be sweet. Buck is the love of my life, my best friend, and I'm the luckiest woman around.

We accomplished other mundane things today. Talked to Tater's new vice principal and homeroom teacher to set up meetings. Also registered him for school. Got Peace's schedule changes finalized at his high school. Nice balance on it. In the hall, we ran into his physics teacher from last year and chatted for a long while. Peace will have her again this year for honor's chemistry, and it's nice to have her be so friendly and complimentary of him.

Gonna scram for now. Have a blessed day.

2009-08-05T21:53:00.002-05:00

Today as I was about to enter security check point at Chicago O'hare on my way home from a conference, I got a call which left me gulping for breath. When the surprise caller identified himself/herself, I immediately moved behind a partition between the swelling crowds to hide my shocked and awed expressions. During the conversation, I was comforted as a Muslim woman laid down her mat and prostrated herself for evening prayer beside me and out of the airport bustle. Forgive me. I can't talk about any of it just yet in fact, but that phone call could influence the rest of my family's life. I don't want my children to get even a whiff of wind or even sense anything is afoot, so it's got to stay completely under the radar.

In some ways, the new development been a ticking time bomb, and at least, I know where it's located. Buck and I have some serious prayer and counsel to seek.

My intentions were to come home and blog about my Chicago adventures and learning experience, but now my mind has been riveted in a completely direction.

School Sundries

2009-07-31T09:24:00.004-05:00

Just when I think I have all materials and kids ready for the upcoming school year, I come across something else.

Peace had three tough books for honors summer reading and an algebra review packet. One of the books I bought on cd, because it got rave reviews- Three Cups of Tea. I wanted our whole family to get in on it due to the hype. Honestly, we're about halfway through and it's certainly not going on my "favorite books of all time" shelf. Think I'll resell it at McKay's. To be fair, at least Peace and the other boys like it because of the adventure- lotsa mountain climbing.

Peace's high school schedule came messed up. I met with the guidance counselor July 1 and have emailed her, but we still don't have word if it's fixed or not. I'm told the computer system keeps being down. In that case, the first days of school will be chaos.

Pooh Bear is still struggling with reading. I let her have several weeks off this summer hoping the same thing which happened with Wise One will happen with her. After his summer break before third grade, he finally "took off" on reading. Right now every. single. word. is a phonetic challenge for Pooh Bear, and reading is not fun. We have an extra hurdle with Pooh Bear in that she does not like reading unless we are reading to her. That she'd let us do all day, everyday. Wise One was so naive, he didn't understand he was having difficulty.

Wise One still hasn't finished all his school work for last year. Argh. He's making me nuts with the dilly dallying. I waited on hold forever and finally talked to our homeschool materials company. Yup, they messed up our order again and did not take responsibility. Fortunately, the rep let me buy the materials I'd ask for in May at the May discount, but it's always such a big hassle getting what I need from them when I need it.

I have asked for a meeting with teachers and principal on behalf of Tater, but the principal still hasn't contacted me. I wonder how this fresh set of teachers is going to react to the family therapists recommendation of "no homework help from parents"? Tater's long on talk about how well he'll do in school, and short on accomplishment. God help us all get through the academic year with this guy. Already his middle school football practice schedule is over the top. Monday was a nine hour practice, and the night practices are everyday including Saturday. Pulleease. It's middle school folks! Maybe I should start watching Friday Night Lights to prepare for high school football.

2009-07-29T11:17:00.004-05:00

Hey! Noone invited ME to the Blogher conference! What am I? Chopped liver? Or maybe it's that I don't advertise or do anything at all with my blog except post when I darn well please. Just wishing I could have met a few more of you in real life.

Gotta a new Triton phone from Buck yesterday. I'm going to need techie lessons just to answer a call now. Is it fair that I finally got a tiny keyboard on my phone right at the same time I need reading glasses? Furthermore, Buck and I were exploring ring tones together this morning. When he hit "voice of the nature" both of agreed the song+rushing water made us both want to pee.

2009-07-28T13:43:00.002-05:00

Took my chillins to volunteer at the animal shelter today, because the boys need scout service hours. The worker let us do a ton of chores. We cleaned out cages, mopped, laundered,folded,tamed kittens, scrubbed dishes, walked dogs. I haven't cleaned up that amount of poop since my progeny were in diapers. Three hours well spent.

At present the boys have friends over, and in a bit we're off to the season finale of swim team.

Over the weekend, three of our children competed in the ginormous city swim meet (Wise One was away). The entire team did very well. A couple of my children made the finals. Our team is still very little, but we actually scored points and did not tie for last place. Go Tarpons!

School starts for Tater in less than two weeks and for Peace in three. Peace acquired his learner's permit, because he's taking driver's ed this year. And, no, he's not excited about it. He's very cautious and not anxious at all to get behind the wheel of a car. In fact, he hasn't yet, so you can still stay on the road for a little while at least.

Vacation pics

2009-07-23T20:29:00.002-05:00

A few vacation pics. Peace is missing 'cause he was at cross country camp running half marathons every. single. day. Yikes!

new pics

2009-07-23T20:15:00.001-05:00

Sarah the dog being very patient with the baby does, Francis and Edith.

My new "do" as of today.

And baby doe, Jessica Boots.

2009-07-20T16:37:00.000-05:00

This one is for John.

Dropping a note

2009-07-20T13:28:00.004-05:00

After our whirlwind tour of the South, we've come home to three new beautiful baby does. One of them sounds kinda squishy, maybe pneumonia, so I'm giving her antibiotics along with the two goats who needed help kidding. So what do all these antibiotics do to a goatie? Same as people, they all have diarrhea. And yup, it's that's messy.

I'll post pics of the new kids when my husband rounds up the computer photo input thingy he may have lost on vacation.

Grateful to Jess and Herman for delivering. The new babies came out as mature as Henry and Zaccheous which leads me to believe my girls were late to deliver. That's a woman for ya, always making others wait.

My aunt told some fantastic stories concerning her beginnings. I'm still trying to figure out how to move to Ludowici(pronounced "ludawissy"), Georgia, because I think the name of the town is bug ear cute.

Wise One stayed behind and is living it up with grandparents as an only child for the first time in his 12 year old life.

The rest of us are finishing up swim team and summer reading. Except Pooh Bear. She's scratching like a dog with mean fleas due to the webs of poison ivy hives forming over her little girl skin.

Life is good.

2009-07-09T19:48:00.001-05:00

Thought I'd share some cute pics from today. The one of Buck proves he's a true ladies' man.

2009-07-09T09:10:00.002-05:00

I have been all out pining over when the remaining two does would kid knowing we had a short window of time to ensure smooth births and bonding with mommies. You see, we're leaving on a tour of the southern relatives very soon, and the goats were already supposed to be nursing their young, not still can't-get-comfortable-fat with pregnancy. Borrowed Mac Daddy Goat must not have gotten it on right away with Shannon and Ginger, because we're nearing the end of a three week kidding cycle. I've posted how these gals have been lookin' ready for weeks.

I've been obsessively going out in the field checking goat butts for mucous plugs every few hours. Do you think my compulsive behavior has sped up the labor process? Not on your life. Buck says, "I noticed Shannon's making noises when she lies down." to which I answer, "Honey, she's been doing that for two weeks."

I say, "Does it look like Ginger's udder could get any fuller?" to which Buck replies, "It's looked like that forever."

All I've thought about was that if our does needed help during kidding while we are away, they'd die along with the new babies. Our friends who always take care of our goaties during our vacation might feel terrible if that happens. And what if something happens that the mother needs milking and babies need to be bottle fed every three hours? So much trouble!

So, as much as it sounds selfish, I've have been praying fervently for those mommas to get 'er done. One of my prays-like-Mother-Teresa friends even picked up intercession for us. She and I were convinced Wednesday would be the day, but no birth happened. However, another miracle, if I can call this a miracle, happened Wednesday. Buck called our goat friend Ella and asked if her family could help in some way. Her answer? "Why don't my twenty something son and daughter come farm sit?"

Um, yeah! Great idea. These guys have been present for goat births since they were wee little ones. Herman and Jess know how to milk if necessary. They can suction out a kid's mouth to help it breathe. They know exactly what to be on the lookout for in terms of labor. So, I'm saying, "God is good all the time. All the time God is good." I could come up with people on my own who would house sit and even feed the animals, but who in the world but God could come up with people chalk full of goat skills available for an entire week mid kidding?

Buck and I showed them the ropes, and Herman and Jess are good to go. I'm finally at peace with the plane tickets I had been glaring at indignantly on my desk for the last few days.

2009-07-06T16:11:00.004-05:00

Here's how it works in my house. My children ask me to make dental and other various medical appointments for them. It's so sad that I don't think of essential things like this on my own. I think something very important in my how-to-be-a-decent-mother kit went missing. Pooh Bear had to beg me for two months, but today I finally managed to get her to Dr. Devine's for a check-up. Love. That. Name. A devine dentist. Our now former family dentist for the past 20 years, Dr. Chambers, couldn't put us on the schedule in for the summer though I called in early June. In fact,Chambers couldn't squeeze us in till November or January. I'm gonna miss his humming along to Musak versions of Madonna, but not enough to wait a hundred years to get on his calendar. And thank goodness for friends like Cecily who knows her way medically speaking 'round these parts; she gave us this excellent recommendation.

Dr. Devine got us in within a few weeks. Bless his heart. Pooh Bear thinks he is fantastic.

Dr. Devine is located in the little historic town of Sweetwater, so Pooh Bear and I took in antiques and ice cream afterwards. Is it another breech of the mother contract to feed a child sweets directly after a cleaning? Probably. Maybe I should attend a babysitter's course somewhere and learn a handy skill for hanging out with children.