The adventures of the last week have left me spinning, dizzy from the fun and learning.

First, I abandoned Buck and took the children to Dyersburg, TN. Never heard of it? I hadn't either until my dear friend Mac moved her family there. We piled our eight children together in her lovely new home on the lake and had a blast. Five of the children are stinky teenaged boys with Wise One as the eleven year old exception. Every time I opened the door to the boy's room to check on them, I gasped for lack of fresh air among the stifling body odor from boys who tromped through the woods and paddled canoes all weekend with little regard to personal hygiene. Mac and I forced a parade of showers a few times. The girls played dolls and led canoe adventures to mysterious islands as well.

We had one expensive fatality. Mac asked Peace to keep his cellphone with him, so we could literally call the mob of young men in for dinner. At some point, Wise One caught Peace off balance in the canoe, and Peace fell into the lake rendering his cell phone useless forevermore.

Mac cooked an awful lot for the masses and let me rest many times over the visit. We held a weenie and s'more roast over a fire in the crisp autumn air. She and her husband grilled a celebratory sabbath meal of shark, swordfish, and steak on our last evening. We shared prayer and communion together.

Mac also helped me pull together a bit of remaining choreography for a dance I prepared for the conference the following weekend. She and I figured out a dance language together some years ago, and it didn't take long to sew up the details I lacked for a lovely presentation.

Our group also visited Reelfoot Lake. It's a lake which was created by an earthquake and the Mississippi River flowing backwards for the first known time in history from the disruption of the tremors into a newly formed indention in the earth. Cool stuff, huh?

Parting was sweet sorrow, but our children demanded we schedule another visit for spring or summer.

We had an evening to at home to get Peace rested for his final cross country meet. That day I spent packing for my conference called "Weaving our Gifts". I enjoyed many workshops, a few lectures, and presented my own workshop as well. Our dance was well received in Sunday worship. Maybe sometime I'll blog about the meaningful information on teenagers I learned.

Buck has gently brought me back to real life with lots of care and nurture for me and our young people. What a gift to have someone keeping us on track and afloat.

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Heading out of town today for more than a week with one stop at home for a cross country meet. Hope all of you in bloggy world have a great one.

Last night, Tater found a brand spanking new clutch of eight chicks with a broody hen. She was sitting on six more eggs, and this morning there are three more tiny babies. Doesn't this momma hen know that two days before the fall weather dips down into the 50's at night is not the time to bring new chicks into this world? Buck and Tater put the proud hen, eleven peeping and adorable chicks, and the three remaining smooth eggs into a rather crowded box. Once Buck put the heat lamp on, the babies gravitated right to it. I wonder, since the timing is so off, if this bunch will make it.

Gorgeous photo taken by Tater

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I've wanted to write just the right words about this week's experience. However, nouns, verbs, adjectives, prepositional phrases prove inadequate to convey the amazement I've felt as my son's friend lingered a few days, enough for Tater to say, "Goodbye" and was gone in a flash, like a bright flash of lightening across a black night sky. Yes, Tater was afforded the privilege of touching, smelling, talking to his unconscious friend the day before Zach entered his final rest.

The evening of his death, Zach's parents surprised us all by attending a prayer service given in support of their struggle. When the couple arrived, the children- Zach's friends, swarmed to cling to Sally and Shawn. Sally was 10 kid deep in a sobbing throng in all directions when the director asked for us to pray prayers of comfort for her. After the second sweet prayer, a strong voiced Sally stopped everyone suddenly in their tracks with something like this, "Just so you know, I already have the comfort of the Lord. I am covered with His peace. I know you have been praying for Zach, and prayers maybe did not seem to have the outcome you may have wanted. I know you wanted Zach back. I wanted him so much myself, but we have a good God. And His plan was different. I ask that you, children, not doubt God. I suppose you'll need to question Him because we are still human, but know that He is good. Zach is with Jesus in such a beautiful and better place. Please run to God and not away from Him, because Zach wants you with him one day. So, if we could please pray for these hurting children to be comforted, that is what I'd like us to do now." And as you can imagine, that is precisely what we did. Many children, including two of mine, witnessed the horrible accident. One young person hung on the zip line for several minutes while Zach was taken down from the line beside. Another young man shared his regret for letting Zach have his place in line ahead of him. A camp staff member will have to live with his mistake. Others live in unshared pain. I'll be praying for all concerned for a while to come.

Church staff and volunteers have led the middle and high schoolers through many days of grief together. A grief counselor spoke to parents and youth. I loved that our children's pastor distinguished between feeling and truth in a session with the kids. He called attention to the fact that all feelings are very real, but they may not always be true. The leader had them call out things they had thought and felt but they knew were not God's truth, "God doesn't care. He didn't love Zach. God doesn't protect. God took Zach away. I'm not safe." Then he had then voice true words about God, "Good. Loving. Kind. Compassionate. Safe. Strong." Very powerful.

Instead of a funeral, the family and church held a celebration of Zach's life. They requested no black clothing. Nineteen dozen crisp yellow sunflowers adorned our reception area.

Now it's back to the life of a mother for me and the student roles for my brood. Though I imagine we'll never be the same.

Sometimes the veil between death and life is so very thin like a piece of yellowed tissue paper tossed in the corner of an attic. The young man, Zachary Weimer, has passed through that fragile veil to be in the Arms of God.

No words. Just tears and prayers.

I find myself fighting tears for the tenth time today. The sun has set, and there has been no peaceful resolution to the day's unsettling news. A friend of Tater's was airlifted from camp after an accident on the zip line. I'm told that though he wore a helmet, his skull is fractured, and he remains unconscious.

Yesterday I faintly remember an irk inside me as I filled out the medical information for the zillionth time for my own sons who are also on the camping trip, "Why do I have to always fill these things out. Nothing ever happens, and I have to round up my insurance numbers for nothing."

Yes, things do happen. We are not guaranteed another breath past this one. Every day, every moment is a gift.

The young man was taken to a hospital which I am intimately acquainted with though it is two solid driving hours away. It's where my Aunt Nell died, my Aunt Francis endured several serious surgeries, and my cousin Nadine was taken after she fell suddenly into her constant vegetative state. I've slept in the same chairs this boy's parents very likely occupy tonight as they pray their son will soon wake. I've eaten too many free dinners hosted by local churches while waiting for news of recovery or progress. I've run the breath holding gauntlet to my car through chain smokers just outside the trauma doors.

It is a mercy that this child has not awakened in one sense- the pain of a fractured skull must be unimaginable. But what his parents wouldn't give for one wink, a stir, one word, a stroke of a single finger. How dare the sun go down before he rouses?

My heart breaks. My soul prays. We want you back whole and soon, friend.

Updates can be found in the journals here if you type in his name: ZacharyWeimer (no spaces).

Quiet Morning

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The youth minister at our church lobbied hard for Peace to come to fall camp this weekend and won. Wise One tagged along as well. Tater and Buck scattered early to help a young man in our scout troop with his eagle project. Pooh Bear and her overnight guest much prefer the outdoors, so I'm inside a perfectly quiet house all. by. myself. I hear only the hum of the dryer tumbling my Saturday morning fresh sheets. I head out Friday to teach in Atlanta again, so I've got work to prepare.

I'm praying just now for my dear friend Jo who has been commissioned by her fancy church in Belle Meade to introduce Catechesis of the Good Shepherd to a simple church in Soweto, South Africa for the next two weeks. May her excellent work be received with joy. May her precious heart for children to connect to Jesus be imparted to the South African church. God bless all those with her, including her guide, Desmond Tutu's daughter. Let the work of their hands please God and bless His name.

This year has taken the Vyne family in unexplored directions.

I haven't found the right words to blog about a particular ongoing struggle with one of our children, Tater. Buck and I continue to lay down our lives on his behalf, and I have to say I'm disappointed with the results for him but not for Buck and I. Tater experiences life differently, through the jaded lens of early pre-adoption trauma which has crippled him emotionally. As a mother, I know that if his perspective doesn't change, he will be one of those people who has to learn the hard way. And I am painfully aware that the hard way will not be pleasant to watch as a mom.

Pooh Bear remains steady and on a good path. We plod through reading one baby step at a time, and she's coming along slowly as she always has. Her love for dance grows with her Thursday class. She thoroughly enjoys an entire day at school on Tuesdays through a friend's home school enrichment program. Pooh has quickly made friends there as she does wherever she goes. Lately, I'm mulling over future navigation of a daughter through the wily road of becoming her own person among a den of challenging girl peers who exercise exclusion. It's in nearly every circle I've encountered as a woman. May God bless Pooh Bear with the kind of centering friendships I've had to get through those tight places.

Wise One exhibits the signs of growing up while still clinging to boyhood amidst teen-aged brothers. His best friend, Peace, has flown off to high school and a whirl of school activity leaving Wise One to forge new relationships. He has three particular buddies he prefers. Wise One has made leaps and bounds in physical and mental development through occupational and visual therapy this year. Many "gaps" I'd been concerned about in learning are now filled in. Just to give you a glimpse into his sweet soul, Buck found five Bibles under his bed this summer. Wise One remains most interested in his incredible relationship with God.

Peace is loving his first year of public high school after seven years of homeschooling. Though he's learning organizational and study skills he'd never been challenged with before, he's doing well in every class. It is a college prep school, and I couldn't be more pleased with the high academic expectations. I'm busting with pride sometimes when Peace talks about standing up for the underdog or putting the g'nosh on trash talk around him. He works very hard on cross country team as well. It's something to juggle a sport and the everyday challenges of homework for the first time. Peace has finally hit the maturity marker of needing to make tough decisions of setting priorities, and he's making good choices.

Buck is hanging in there with the mighty strength of a man. He's been an amazing husband and father.

The whole "keeping a school schedule after seven years of my own time", has kicked my tail. Six a.m. comes all too early. I actually wake up in the night thinking about the support Peace needs for the coming day, "What's Peace going to need to ask from his teachers when he misses school for his meet Friday?" Homeschooling the other three children and needing a nap at 2:00 in the afternoon isn't quite working out the way I hoped. I've found myself in a hard place spiritually with all the activity of doing and not so much time for just being. How can this constant motion please God? Yet He made me a mother with many needs to continually meet. Any advice?

There it is- the Vyne family update.

My Aunt sent this video to me. I am probably NOT going to show it to my sons, so they won't get any ideas at dinner.

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Gas?

When I arrived in Atlanta this past weekend, Piper asked, "How full is your gas tank after your drive?"

"Fairly low. I didn't fill up before I came, and it's a long drive," I replied nonchalantly.

Little did I know that Atlantians must spend a good part of their days now in search of a fuel station which actually has very expensive petrol in its tanks to sell. Apparently the population of five million created far too much pollution and recently legislation kicked in which mandates a less lethal emissions from a cleaner mix of fuel. Piper's husband took his sweet little boys on a ride in my car on a crazy hunt for a station with product and stayed in a line for 1/2 an hour to fill my tank for me while Piper and I taught. God bless him! I passed at least 10 gas stations tooling around from training to Piper's and none were open either Friday or Saturday.

Here in the Greater Knoxville area, we had one or two days of a rush to the pumps which seemed like a fleeting blip on the big screen of life- the cause attributed to conversion to a new mixture of some kind including more ethanol. As a pretend farmer, I'm am bugged and honestly worried that a food source for humans and animals forms the wave of this present future.

My Atlanta weekend experience amounted to something far more eye opening. I heard more chat about alternate fuel sources in my two days further south than if I'd have struck up a conversation with Al Gore himself. I suppose this tactic of unavailability would change Americans gas guzzling habits quicker than a jack rabbit hopping from a hungry fox. And I don't have wiggle room to bash others about fuel consumption, because as I've said before- I live in heaven and drive everywhere else. The drive to my son's high school is 45 minutes one way. When I ponder moving back anywhere closer to the city though, I cringe and gasp for air at the thought. I'd have...neighbors. Gulp. And I'm the world's worst neighbor. My current neighbors, cows, don't mind my reclusive and introverted nature a bit.

Buck sent me this link concerning the gas crisis in Nashville, and it had me howling. It's rated R for language and might not make any sense unless you know a bit about Nashville.

Peter goes to Bollywood

My dear husband likes to surprise and delight me by giving me new music. He knows exactly what will make me happy and burns a cd. Today, Buck slid a new cd into my hands which we both were sure to begin a long new tunes love affair for me with Peter Gabriel's Big Blue Ball album.

A hundred years ago in 1986, I was asked to a Peter Gabriel concert by an unsavory character during the "So" tour. I liked Gabriel's sound and was curious about his presentation, so I was left with a dilemma of attending the event with someone I considered a sociopath. I conjured a plan B which included but was not limited to psyching myself up to leap out of a speeding car if necessary to brave the performance. I am so glad I did, because I will never be the same. The music and delivery moved me beyond words, so I cannot possibly do it justice with words. From the opening notes, an African band led a journey into an unfathomable array of musical and visual experiences twined together by an artist like no other, Gabriel. There were thousands in the audience, but I felt a complete immersion into the depth of the moment- forgive my sappiness here- as if Gabriel was singing just to me. I totally lost all sense that I had come with a companion. I remember hoping the guy wouldn't chat with me afterward, so I could linger in that space of contentment created during the concert. In a few short hours, I moved from liking Gabriel's stuff into a sincere fan, and I've stayed there all these years.

When I popped Big Blue Ball into my van's cd player this morning, the first song convinced me I had a delicious new love. The next few songs assured me my first impression was not all that accurate. It's much more of a World Music endeavor than songs delivered by Peter himself. I truly like cross cultural arrangements, but I was hoping for quality time with that raspy meaningful lyric only Gabriel can produce. I'll have to be somewhat satisfied with the few Gabriel gems planted among the Egyptian, African, Spanish, Hungarian collage of other artists.

I came up with my own alternate title. No, not Frankie goes to Hollywood- Peter goes to Bollywood. You might get me within listening the first four songs...

I got a prescription for reading glasses at my last eye exam. Anyone out there surprised? It's a symbol of descent into, I don't know, elderlyness. I also plunge my toes into the cushiest slippers around my house, because my feet hurt from plantar fasciitis most of the time. I don't like loud music anymore(except David Crowder, of course). Next thing you know, I'll start popping Geritol, because I'm already taking B complex for energy. How do I stave off the rushing flood of ailments I was so certain would never happen to me? I experimented with keeping the flavor of youth close to my tongue this morning.

On my very slow run at the start of the day, I determined to skip like a giddy five year old girl no matter who was around when an Irish song come across my ipod- just during the jig parts of the music. I haven't skipped in a long time. Have you? I decided not to look into the eyes of passerbys, so as not to heap their possible disapproval on my child-like experience. I let myself ponder how much I loved childhood and it's freedoms. Nothing like giving in and seizing the joy of movement if only for a fleeting moment. I really can still skip a bit even with a bum knee, and it made me happy as a long hot shower after a full day weeding an overgrown garden.

I wonder what other forgotten trick I can still do? What makes you content as you grow older? I'd like to know.

Announcing a new real life friend's blog:

Wisdom Pursuit

This woman and I share many every day experiences, and I know the fresh perspective and insight she can offer.

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So, have you ever been to a high school cross country meet? I hadn't until recently, and I am enlightened on yet another sport's quirks. I've never been to a golf tournament either, but I think I gather, for the first time, how the crowd moves to optimum watching spots during the course of the game. Fortunately, I am not shy to ask about such things to strangers as the experienced mothers of other runners explained where exactly to stand or walk to catch a glimpse of the young people as they plow by huffing and pouring sweat. Some runners look completely composed, while others look like it may be their last moment among the living.

On rainy or muddy days, the runner's bottom halves become spattered with polka dots and splashes of muck feet to thigh as they clomp down the natural worn paths.

The real shocker of the event comes at the end. I observed an interesting man, just past the finish line, who had a very specific job. His sole purpose was to grab fainting runners by the arm and force them to remain upright until the faltering athletes made it to the open field some distance away from the finish. Otherwise, the next strong finishers would have had to leap over a dog pile of entirely exhausted bodies. And yet another surprise awaited spectators in the open field just past the end- many of the runners threw up (oh, yes, everywhere) and collapsed in an pained heap at the next available spot in the grass. I watched one young man wheeze and gasp in an asthmatic attack limping about with his mother. It all reminded me of the some kind of strange steaming battlefield minutes after the conclusion of a relentless attack- all moaning and agony.

Makes me curious about the completion of the Boston Marathon. Is it a wall of ambulances rushing fatigued and half dead people off toward oxygen and ice baths? At least marathoners get pavement instead of turf.

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The most inspiring story I've heard all week concerned the Spanish explorer from the 1500's, Cortes. He was a man with a serious plan; he sought the treasure of Mexico. Though many other military leaders and countries had set their minds on prying the great gold riches from these strong natives, no one had ever been successful. That is until Cortes plotted an unheard of scheme. He formed an army, sailed to the shore of Mexico, gathered all his soldiers, and ordered the ships to be stripped of anything valuable. Then he commanded something extraordinary and quite unexpected, "Burn the ships!" I suppose this is where "do or die" became literal. With no possible means of retreat, the soldiers were forced to victory.

What do I want more than anything? It's certainly not gold.
The whole "burn the ships" thing makes me wonder about my faith. Do I run for the prize set before me every day as if I can surely scoop up the laurel wreath on my red curly head for a victory lap? No hesitation, no turning back, no giving up? Or am I living more of some lame back-up plan? Am I in or out? I consider the ships I need to burn today.

Buck thinks he knows who the nation is leaning toward in this election from standing in the check out line perusing this week's copy of US Magazine.

Buck explained the emphasis of the publication on Michelle Obama's beautiful fashions and style. On the other hand, the same reading material stressed former co-workers who found Sarah Palin difficult to work with.

Everyone knows the presidency is about depth and substance, so I'm quite sure it was a compliment to Sarah to bring out skeletons from her career closet. And what an obvious slam to Michelle, that her clothes, not the content of her character, were noteworthy.

Michelle, I'm sorry the press is being so utterly unfair to you. Perhaps the political tide will turn your way soon.

Our entire household is totally digging the Coldplay Viva la Vida and the Switchfoot Oh,Gravity CD's. Maybe it's because everyone is just very so glad I'm off my John Mayer kick. He still rocks.

Got a new dog Saturday through rescue. She's another Great Pyrenees who is to be a doggy friend and running mate to our previously rescued Pyr, Ripley. Of course, we named her Sarah Palin. We aren't sure if she has any young daughters who are pregnant, or if she can moose hunt. We're pretty sure she likes icy cold weather, and we hope she's a winner.

fan club

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so, tonight i'm studying vocab with peace for a quiz tomorrow. he comes to the word
"coquette", and i ask, "peace, who's the flirtiest girl you know to help you remember the definition of this word?"

peace replies after some thought, "mom, I don't know any girls like that."

i internally grin, because he's not so cognizant of the feminine gender besides the ones he considers friends. i've been told by a few sweet older girls that he's so very obviously crush material, but i have my doubts. he does not try in any way to impress anyone. i'm red-faced to say it, and i socially die a little each time he does it; peace still makes a mourning dove bird calls with cupped hands when he's walking in public.

after another pause peace continued our conversation, "well, there is the peace fan club..."

"what?? what fan club? you have a fan club?"

"uh huh," he mutters.

i grill him with my eyes squinting and wagging my pointer finger, "come on. you are joking me,"

"no, i'm not. in honors physics there is a group of girls who call themselves peace's fan club," he defends himself.

get out! it could be some tortuous mean girl joke, which fortunately he'll totally miss, or peace has something girls like: a scientific mind.

we'll just see won't we?

maybe i should start sniffin' his backpack for perfume.

Real Church

Softly the rain caresses the tin roof in the beloved silence.
Noone need speak though there is a small hungry crowd.
Together we are moved in the Presence.
Tears fall, but we cannot know all behind the workings and the whys.

A shout, “Let it rain” breaks the quiet.

Melody creeps into the sacred moment.
It starts to rise and build, like the spire on a cathedral.
Still no words are necessary as we hold the song in our flowing hearts.
The music begins to thunder and crash under the Weight.
I've experienced nothing like it before, and it is a wonder.

Lyrics become essential suddenly in the swell, “Let it rain.”

Time stands still.

We cry out together, “Let it rain!”
One proclaims, "Lift up your heads, oh ye gates, that the King of Glory may come in!"

We drink deeply from the Well.