My Dream House

I found another pouf.

Even more on sale than the first one.

Malachi thinks they are both just for him.

He backs up to his chosen pouf carefully, and perches comfortably on the edge.

Last night we drove up to The Land again, where Nate's brother and his wife are building a house.
We destroyed our recent car wash in the muddy driveway.
The drive there is beautiful, through winding country roads, but it takes so long that every time we go, my heart sinks a little. I want to arrive in eight minutes, not eighteen.
And yet once again, we are leaning towards building a new house on a grassy hill, with woods and ponds all around...
It would be a shared house with Nate's mom, with her part of it on the other side of the garage.
I got to thinking about my Dream House.

Before the recession, before a long period of unemployment in our family, before the children were grown, we thought a lot about dream houses. Everyone did. Imagining them was a luxury that all of us could partake in.

But I've decided that my dream house has little to do with square footage or bedrooms or views.
My dream house is where my dreams come true.
And it's in this house, this inconvenient, ordinary house, where my dreams have come true.
We've had some bad moments here, but mostly the moments have been good.
It's hard to leave a place that holds all the memories of my babies, my children, my maturing marriage.
It's hard to leave a place that has held so much love. 

So why move?
~For one thing, we could have three bedrooms on one level, and Malachi could finally have his own room.
He does not want his own room. He likes sleeping in mama's bed. But mama thinks that a room for his stuff, at least, is a good idea.
~We'd have more space in the living room, for the times we're all together.
~Finally, a master bathroom. And a closet. It's been so good for me to have a tiny closet, it keeps me weeding out the stuff I don't wear or need. But it's a crowded mess no matter how much I toss out.
~We'd move for the peace and quiet, for the space, for the country life.
~I am so fed up with my overwhelming gardens, I'm ready to ditch them and start over. I am never caught up. It would be nice to have a simpler yard with more fruiting trees.
~And you guys, I have to admit: I would love decorating a new house. We'd have a strict budget, but still I imagine a bit of marble in the kitchen, soft natural wood tones, white cabinets and distressed-wood shelves, big windows and simple curtains drifting to the floor. Something like this fresh country kitchen.

And what has to happen first? Well for starters, my husband has to find work in the area. He doesn't want to drive two hours every day back and forth from the Cities. We would have to either rent or sell our house (I'd rather rent it. Then I can sneak into this yard and take perennials as needed).

And no matter where I live, if the ones I love are with me, it's going to be home.

Strawberry Trifle and More

On my mind this week:

Strawberry Trifle (recipe at end of post)

This post on the meaning of love

The overwhelming weeds in my garden beds

The possibility that we might move. We go back and forth, back and forth. Right now we're leaning forth.

These words from the introduction to Ephesians: "The greatest adventure in life is discovering the purpose for our lives. 'Why am I here?' The answer may astound you. We have been created to walk in harmony with our God and with fellow believers." This is so simple. Why is it so hard?

 

Continued overwhelming gratitude for this little guy. Here he is on the Fourth of July, next to Grampa Murphy's (broken) tractor. We miss Grampa.

The upcoming wedding of Caleb and Krista. It's a whole new covenant, a new couple beginning their story together. It's a letting go, and a gathering in. It's a mystery that I don't think I'll ever figure out, but it's blessed by God, and  for that I give thanks. 

All the versions of it on Youtube sounds sort of dorky, but oh you guys, the words, "I need no other argument, I need no other plea, it is enough that Jesus died, and that He died for me," have been running through my head since a friend reminded me of that song. It's so perfect. Can somebody please make a cheerful version of it? The best version I found was a woman from Ghana, she sounded good, but the video was blurry. 

Somebody loves his big brother. This was taken after Isaac finally arrived, after Malachi had fallen off the sofa, after the tears had dried. Joy. It's on its way, and it's often unbidden, in the quiet moments when we are at peace with Jesus and with each other.

And now here's that recipe:

Strawberry Trifle

(with thanks to my Aunt Bea for the original recipe)

1 angel food cake, made from a box mix, cooled and torn into 1-inch chunks

Many strawberries, at least 4 cups, but 6 cups is better, hulled and sliced into quarters

Cream filling:

1 box instant vanilla pudding

1 cup milk

1 cup sour cream (I use half sour cream, half plain yogurt)

3 cups whipped cream (about 1-1/2 cups whips up to the right amount. I add a bit of vanilla and a spoonful of powdered sugar, but you don't have to).

Pour milk into a large bowl, whisk in pudding mix till smooth and thick. Add sour cream and yogurt, stir to blend. Gently fold in the whipped cream.

To assemble the trifle:

1/2 the cake pieces

1/2 the cream filling

2 cups berries

Repeat, but put tons of berries on top if you have enough. This is the healthiest part of the recipe and you don't want to be stingy about it.

Chill for a few hours and then enjoy!

How to Be Happy

Here's my little guy with our 48-star flag, no offense to Alaska and Hawaii.
Yesterday he stood on this same sofa, so he could see out the big window, as soon as I told him that Isaac was coming home. He ran to the sofa, climbed up as fast as he could, and chattered and laughed and expected Isaac to show up that very minute. Seconds later (I was making dinner in the next room), he fell ingloriously onto the hard floor. He cried to break your heart. He has a big goose-egg on his already square-ish head.

And such is life. One minute we're laughing and looking forward to something with great joy. The next minute we've been knocked off our perch and we're badly hurt, crying even, and surprised by how much pain hurts.

Sometimes when I'm setting out to write something here, certain faces drift across my mind. I think of these precious faces and the hearts that beat near those faces, and I just want to reach through the screen and offer up huge helpings of encouragement and support.

Usually I just tell my own story, sometimes a fraction of my story, and most of the time I try to focus on joy.

But some days are hard. Here, in this house, some days are hard. Sometimes I find myself injured by those closest to me. And sometimes, what is so much harder to bear, I find that I have caused the injury.

It's a long and delicate dance, waltzing through life in community with other humans. Without them we are miserable. With them, we are subject to discomfort. Here are some of the ways I pick myself up and dust myself off when the dance becomes awkward and I find myself tripping. Here are the things I do to be happy.

~ Avoid introspection. For me, this means to take my mind off my injury (or my perceived injury) and firmly place my mind on Jesus. This can be so hard to do. It helps to say out loud, Jesus, help me take my eyes off myself and just look at you. Worship music can help (although I struggle mightily with some modern worship songs, so it has to be the right kind of music or I get even more grumpy).

~Be quick to apologize. This one is pure freedom. It's so, so difficult for me. Its difficulty reveals my pride. Those closest to me have noticed this and pointed it out and ugh, I hate it. But the more I do it, the easier it becomes. Every time, I go into apology with dread and pride clinging to me. But every time, it's such a relief to humbly ask forgiveness. Wow, I should do this more.

~ Be the first to forgive. Yes, this one is hard too! Again, it helps to speak forgiveness out loud, every day if necessary. The forgiveness is for my own freedom. It's the forgiveness of Christ. It's nothing I have to feel or manufacture. It's all a gift from Him. He completes the action.

~ Rest in His approval. Do I seek the approval of men, or of God? I thought I sought the approval of God, until I started writing this blog. Suddenly I cared what other people thought of my writing. I was quick to pick up an offense when a friend (I didn't mind at all with a stranger) said they never read my blog. (Yes, this happened). I had to lay down that offense, repeatedly if needed, and remember that I have an Audience of One. He loves me so much. He loves you so much. Nothing, nothing we do can separate us from his love. It is an inexhaustible well. It is enough to fill the gaps when human love fails. It is enough to heal me of any wound. It is enough to make me want to breathe deeply again, after hours of shallow breaths of anxiety. It is enough.

So rest in that, beloved friend, and I will try to do the same.

I love this encouraging song from Need to Breathe. Listen to it here.

Dear June

 

Dear June,

Please don't go away. You have been glorious. Your days have slipped by like nearly perfect pearls on a string. Now we are down to the last pearl, and I want to knot the string and hold it still for awhile longer.

What I have loved best about you is that everything is growing. Growing so fast that from one day to the next, seeds burst into life, leaves burst into green, flowers burst into beauty.

Maybe the reason I want you to hold still is that my baby is growing, too. He is a big boy, running everywhere, not talking much but understanding almost everything we say. I have had four other babies, and they have each and every one insisted on growing up. But those babies were born when I was a young mama, and I welcomed their independence. This baby came to us late in life. I want to cradle him longer, sing to him more, stare at his face while it is yet soft and dimpled. And even though I treasure all these moments with him, still he grows and grows.

I am not going to ask for the impossible thing. I know these early summer days are giving way to mid-summer, with heat and harvest and in our family, a wedding. I know that July will be memorable.

But Oh! June. I am going to miss  you.

(The soundtrack to our summer has been "Rivers in the Wasteland," the newest album from Need to Breathe. Caleb took Julia to the concert when, at the last minute, Krista couldn't go. Julia was overjoyed. I told her - It's a good thing you were vocal about how much you like that band. Ask for what you want. In particular, ask God for what you want. He delights in giving us the desires of our heart!)

Listen to one of my fave tracks  here.

From Good Stock

For twenty-four years, I've been parenting children with this man.
In the early days, we look like kids ourselves.
The moments have tumbled by, faster and faster with each baby,
and we have been blessed to always have a little hand to hold.         

It's not always been easy.
We've been, some years, poor and exhausted and impatient and immature.
Many times, our energy ran out before the day ran out.
Somehow we hung on.
 

When he was born, it seemed as though Malachi was a kind of reward,
a prize of untold worth, a treasure that arrived, unbidden, after years of famine.   

His tee shirt is from his aunt who lives in Germany.
When she gave it to him, she translated the words: "From Good Stock."
Then she laughed and said, "Literally, it translates, 'The Parents are Not Bad.'"

And my friends, that about sums it up.
The parents are not bad.
We've made many mistakes, we promise we'll make more.
That's the way of parenting, even with the shreds of wisdom we've earned.

Happy Father's Day.

While I was pregnant with Malachi, we decided to read the book of Malachi. These are the words that amazed us. They seemed to give context to the wonder of our late-in-life, late-in-marriage, baby. We were seeing the reward of our covenant. "Another thing you do: You flood the LORD's altar with tears. You weep and wail because he no longer pays attention to your offerings or accepts them with pleasure from your hands. 14 You ask, "Why?" It is because the LORD is acting as the witness between you and the wife of your youth, because you have broken faith with her, though she is your partner, the wife of your marriage covenant. 15 Has not [the LORD] made them one? In flesh and spirit they are his. And why one? Because he was seeking godly offspring. So guard yourself in your spirit, and do not break faith with the wife of your youth." (from the book of Malachi, Chapter 2)

Two

Somebody turned two.
And it's surreal, how fast his babyhood is tripping by.
The interrupted nights and frantic days are blurring into a rollicking childhood.

I want to bottle these moments, slow them into something I can sip instead of gulp.
I want to remember the dawning wonder of the early days of pregnancy,
when I was filled with terror that slowly turned into acceptance and then, joy.

I want to cradle his newborn body again, and smell the top of his head,
and stare at his perfect little square face.
He was so cute that I couldn't stare at him enough.

But I get today.
Today I have a sturdy boy who dances to the music of Little Big Town.
Today I get to hear him say "Mama." He's only been saying it for a few weeks.
Talking is not his strong suit.  

Today, when I pull his shirt over his head,
he'll giggle and squirm because he knows I like to kiss his armpits.
Trust me, they're the only armpits in this house worth kissing.  

Today, if we're in the kitchen and I stoop down to his level and say,
"Should we go outside?"
His face will wreath in smiles and grins,
he'll be overcome with excitement,
and we'll be off to the grand outdoors,
his favorite place to be.

Happy birthday, little man.

(Here is the first post I wrote after Malachi was born).

These Busy, Boring Years

If a perfect weekend around here includes time with our older kids, lovely weather, good music, and some fun and frolic thrown in for good measure, then no.  
This was not a perfect weekend.
It started strong. On Thursday night, Anna Kate and I went to a Gospel concert. One of my  friends sings in the only all-female Southern Gospel quartet in the nation. Based right here in Minnesota. What a delight to hear their rich voices lifted up in praise. I'm already starting a song list of requests for their next album.
To add to the excitement of going to a concert, a real concert - the first I've gone to since Josh Garrels was here a year ago - my husband watched the baby all by himself. He balked at the idea. He wanted Anna Kate here for back-up, he knew he'd have a long night of it. He got pep-talk texts from my friend Vicki, who is so kind and gentle. "Tell him I know he can on the dad sitting! He's done much harder things in his life I would think! He can do it!"
Me: "He doesn't want to be stuck here."
Vicki: "Tell him it's good character building for him. It will be real handy down the road for something! Good male bonding time with son too!"

Yep. They stayed, they played, they bonded.

But after the concert, things devolved.
Meaning, my comfort was compromised.
Meaning, I was bored and busy at the same time.

On Saturday, I would have liked to tackle the perennial beds, but instead I played basketball with Malachi. This is how we play: he chases down the six basketballs, judiciously going from ball to ball in turn. As he brings them to me, I lift him as high as I can, which is not high enough. Then I hoist the basketball and try to make a basket, while struggling to keep a grip on my 32-pound boy. Then I set him down, he trundles off for the next ball, and we do it again. And again. There is no limit to the fun he has. He could do this all. day. long.

As for me, the fun  has a limit. On the low side. Maybe after about five baskets, I'm ready to move on. 

Here are Caleb and Malachi on Resurrection Sunday. You betcha, I miss my big kids. They are fantastic with the baby, they know how to talk, they can reach the hoop. You would think I'd be over the moon that Caleb is in med school. Sure, it's great, it's an answer to prayer, he's going to be an excellent doctor. But when I see this picture, I am just so grateful that I raised a young man who can play basketball, all by himself.  

Oh this face, this adorable face. These years are as fleeting as those pretty flowers he's smelling. 
And you know, there are days when I want to freeze time. When it's all so wonderful and beautiful that I want this moment, this exact little slice of time, the one that whoops! just passed me by, to last forever.

When we're all together and Malachi hears us laughing, and he does whatever he's doing again and again, thinking we were laughing at him.(and now, we are).

When his sturdy little body is napping next to me, and I can smell his soft clean baby smell.

When he strangles my neck by draping across me as I try to do Pilates. Oh wait. That's the part I don't actually want to freeze. It's painful (though kinda funny). It means that another thing on my list is not going to get done today.

It's almost embarrassing, how much I want to make my life comfortable and easy. Even after five kids, I wrestle with letting go of my schedule, my desires, my avenues of amusement. I feel like this life is a long exercise in loosening my grip. The Lord is continually prying my fingers off the things that I hold so tightly. (Yah, now you're singing "Let it Go" from Frozen. Nope, I'm not gonna give you that song. I'm leaving you with one from my friend's quartet, Sweetwater Revival).

Here's to the week ahead, my friends. To what we get done, and to what gets done in us.

"Our Lord Jesus did the will of His Father with delight. He hated the iniquity which so often tries to dominate us -- selfishness, surrender to the easy, and so on. Therefore He was the gladdest of all the sons of men. The same law applies to His followers. Who among us can be counted on for happiness? It is those who never take self into consideration at all. They are the happy ones of a family." (Amy Carmichael)

And now for some Southern Gospel: here is "Blessed Assurance," sung by  Sweetwater Revival.
 

April Musings

Easter morning. Julia had put a golf ball in his shirt pocket.

We had a beautiful Resurrection Sunday. At church, the light from the big windows fell right across our row, flooding us with light so bright that I had to shield my eyes in order to see anything. I wish they would leave those windows open all the time.

I can't remember what songs we sang, but I do remember the song during the offering. It was "Man of Sorrows," and it was lovely. At home and during the day, I sang "Christ the Lord is Risen Today, Hallelujah," and "Up From the Grave He Arose!" Oh how I love the old hymns of resurrection.

Yesterday we drove three hours for a toothbrush. Honestly. Nate had tracked down a dentist who is specially trained in a method called "air ablation," and we hoped he could fix Malachi's cavities this way. But when he got a gander into our baby's mouth, he said the cavities (especially one of them) were so deep that they would need a pulpotomy and filling and crowns. He did not charge us anything for the consult, which was kind, and his assistant gave Malachi a new toothbrush. Our little guy now has toothbrushes all over the house. He has an appointment for a filling with a pediatric dentist. It will involve what they call a papoose, which sounds to me like a strait-jacket. If that proves too traumatic, we'll schedule his other fillings at the hospital with anesthesia.

I'm thankful that we drove so far yesterday for one reason: the dentist assured me the the cavities are not our fault, but that Malachi's teeth have deep crevices which make them all but impossible to clean thoroughly. Have you brushed a baby's teeth lately? It's so difficult. And it turns out that we eat all the time, we are constantly munching on food around here. So brushing after every  meal means brushing about eight times a day.

Today I needed to get much work done, so for the first time, I set Malachi to watching "VeggieTales" while I paid bills, helped Anna Kate with grammar, did laundry, and caught up on some cleaning.  He lasted for about five minutes. If anyone out there wants to know how we raised an engineer and a doctor (well he's not a doctor yet, but that's the goal), I assure you, that budding engineer and doctor (and later, their little sisters) watched TV. A lot of TV. They remember watching TV for hours and hours. This was how I kept my sanity and Got Things Done. I adore Getting Things Done. But we also spent many hours reading and playing. And our kids say now that their Dad always talked above them, rattling on about things they knew not of. Eventually, when they were about ten, it all started to make sense. So in short, I recommend television, books, Legos, and sophisticated vocabulary as the method for raising achievers.

The reason today was so busy is that I've been lost in a good book. It's one I've read at least twice before, Christy by Catherine Marshall. Anna Kate just finished it, and she also fell into it as though into a chasm. I knew how it ended and still I could not put it down. It's important to read old favorites again and again. As we grow up into Christ (the only way to grow up), words and truths land on us afresh.

The book is about a young woman who decides, on impulse, to teach school in Appalachia. The descriptions of poverty and filth are disturbing. I got to thinking about my soft clean bed, covered every week with freshly washed sheets (always white). I was reading late into the night, and the squalor of the mountain cabins seemed close. I could almost smell the pigs and sweat and unwashed hair, as I climbed into my perfect bed. My husband just bought a memory-foam topper, although I protested that we didn't need it and we should at the least wait for it to go on sale. But this memory foam, it is a wonder. My tired body, which aches all the time, falls into the mattress as if into a deep dream. It's so comfortable that I almost can't roll over. The aches and pains are going away.

I couldn't read Christy without thinking of the native people of Peru, living in jungle shacks, with pigs scraping under their floors. They sleep on pona, which is a springy bark, cut off the tree and unrolled. It splits easily. It's not comfortable, but it's the best they can do. They place it on platforms, and they sleep in family beds. Which is just how we're sleeping. I do often think of the Chayahuita people that I lived with as a child, and I pray for them to continue to grow in the Lord.  I would like to visit those villages again. I would like to bring my children there, to the remote Amazon jungle of Peru, so they could see the best piece of my childhood.
     

It's a strange world we live in, with countries that are chock-full of dentists and excellent mattresses, and other countries where people can't imagine a dentist, or a soft clean bed, or running water. For all my days, I will feel bonded to that other world. It's not so far away. It's close enough to pray for, and close enough to carry in my heart. This planet is a cozy place, my friends.

Lists and Dreams

If you had asked me five years ago where our family would be today,
I could not have told you.
I might have made a wild, hopeful guess that included gainful employment,
health all around, and a vague continuation of education for our children.

If you had showed me this picture, of a sugar-sand beach with my feet and a baby's feet,
and told me that the baby was mine, I'd have laughed you off (with a note of hysteria in my voice).

I believe that God knows our deepest dreams.
All of us have a dim picture in our minds of how we hope things will turn out.

One of our sons has the excellent habit of writing down his goals every year.
One year I saw his list. It was so specific.
It included "Work out four times a week,"
and "Read the Bible every day."

It made me realize that I have never done this.
I have never vocalized my goals, never written out my dreams.
The days and years have unfolded before me with very little planning.
I am constantly surprised by my own life.

Some of the surprises have been lovely.
By the grace of God, I married a kind person when we were only 21 and 22.
And guys, we are so not perfect.
Yet we've been able to stumble through marriage, parenting, years of plenty, years of want,
stretches of good health and mires of illness.

Though we often felt like we were staggering along,
none too gracefully, just pretending to be adults,
we generally made forward motion,
and we were hand in hand.
This is a blessing I do not take for granted.

I'm not going to catalog the surprises that undid me, disappointed me,
filled my mouth with the bitter taste of regret.
But there have been a few of those, too.
If you've lived to a certain age, say 12, you know what I'm talking about.
On various cloudy, cursed days, we want to hide from our own lives.
We say,
"This is not what I thought it would be like.
This is too hard."

"This was not on my list."

Well okay, I can't say that.
I was too lazy to write a list.

But I want to remind you of something.
This one precious life of yours is not random, scattered or haphazard.
It is planned.
And although you may have set detours or potholes in the path,
and sin makes everything hard,
and on bad days you want a different life, somebody else's life,
this is your real life, and it is beautiful.

You may think you are too tattered and bruised to retain any value.
(I have felt this way).
But there is One who loves you so much,
loves me so much,
and He can do anything.
What He does is not usually what is on our list
(if we've had the foresight to write a list).
It will often include a surprise or two.
You'll survey your life one day and say,
"Well would you look at that.
Not what I expected. Not what I asked for.
Not what I planned."

Nope.
It might look more strangely beautiful
than anything you could have dreamed.  

God is amazing that way.

"God is always working to make His children aware of a dream that remains alive beneath the rubble of every shattered dream, a new dream that when realized will release a new song, sung with tears, till God wipes them away and we sing with nothing but joy in our hearts." (Larry Crabb)

   

Only Connect

photograph by BeesKnees

"Only connect!.....
Live in fragments no longer."
(E.M. Forster, Howard's End)

The year I was pregnant with Malachi (yes, it felt like a year), my word was "fearful." I wanted a different word, and I prayed and wrestled to get past it, but when I look back, my journey during those months was marked by fear.
  
Then he was born, and although things were rocky at first, with extra days in the hospital due to severe jaundice, eventually we settled into a peaceful routine. The whole next year was marked by gratitude. Everything seemed too good to be true: the helpful big sisters, the beautiful baby boy, the relaxing schedule of home schooling. The wilderness of illness and joblessness that our family had wandered in for seven long years seemed to be coming to an end. I was tired, taking care of a new baby, but in a lot of ways that mattered, I was rested. Deeply rested. And the word that I most often flung up to heaven was, "Thank you."

Yesterday something happened, a small thing, but it made me stop and notice. I noticed a new feeling, one that's been sneaking up on me, but that I disregarded until now. The feeling was isolation. I explored it as one explores a sore tooth, tentatively, worrying it, nudging it. Drat. I am most definitely feeling isolated.

As I write this, my daughter is enjoying a day with one of her oldest friends. I'm the one who gets the ball rolling on these play dates. I've been concerned since she started home schooling that she wouldn't have enough time with friends. She's perfectly happy to be home with me, as long as she gets to see her cousin and her big sister every week or so. But friend time is important. Friends don't have to choose us. Around them, we learn to be a bit more careful, a tad more polite, a lot more forgiving. A friend cannot be taken for granted.

I remember 22 years ago, when we were frantic, frazzled young moms, my friend Michele asked in desperation, "Where are all the fifty-year-old women? Can't they help us?" Well, I'm not quite that age yet, but I'll tell you where they are. They're working. They're busy making money to pay for their kids' college bills. They're going to Bible Studies. They're exercising. In short, they're making up for the years they spent with young children, when they couldn't go anywhere easily.

So here I stand, with one foot in the Young Mommy Club, and one foot in the Older Mom Club. I thought I would belong to both clubs, and happily skip between my older friends and my younger friends, but that has proven a difficult dance. It seems like I'm in a club all by myself. My attempts to go to Bible Study at my church have been dismal, because I was too nervous to spend the money to put Malachi in nursery. On rare Tuesdays, I convince Anna Kate to come with me, and she plays with the baby for a half hour while I pop in on my small group and reconnect. It's not ideal. I feel guilty for taking her away from schoolwork, and I hardly get any time with my wonderful group.

I don't know what next year will look like. I don't know if we'll move, and if we do, if my friends will be willing to drive that far to see me. I do know that I'm learning a bit more about living life with eyes wide open, looking around to see if maybe there are others who are feeling the way I am. I'm sure there are, because we live in fragmented times.

Here's a song for you, to bless your friendships and your weekend.

March Forward

It's been a busy month, busy in the way that life with a toddler keeps me on my toes all day long.
The days are slowly warming up (although today is a set-back, we're in the single digits again),
so in this picture, Malachi is sporting a new pair of shorts.

Our March has been both quiet and eventful, with stretches of boredom interspersed with warrior prayer sessions. 

~Our kitchen island is covered with a flurry of house plans. Nate's mom is a house designer, and she keeps reworking our ideas (she's so patient). Then Nate and Anna Kate and I peruse her plans and dream up changes. I haven't wanted to move. I love our location and I'm fond of our house. But as we pray about it, I slowly feel my heart softening. If we move, it will be about a half-hour north (farther from church, farther from friends, farther from Red Wing, farther from our kids' universities). That thought makes me feel lonely. But on the other hand, as Tevye would say, we could finally get a house that fits our needs. And that thought makes my heart soar.

~Caleb, our second son, asked his lovely girlfriend Krista to marry him. She said yes! They are planning a summer wedding. I am a fan of short engagements. It will be a small family wedding. Soon we will begin coaching Malachi on walking a straight line so he can be a proper ring-bearer. (Malachi lost out to Isaac for best man honors).

~We always have plenty to pray for, but right now the list is especially long. At the very top is our earnest request for healing for a close family member. If you want to pray with us, we are calling on the Lord to restore our nephew's health. He is very young and he has Type 1 Diabetes. Sometimes when we don't know how to pray, I remember the words from Jesus and I ask, "Make this on earth as it is in heaven." In heaven there is no diabetes, no fear, no dread that the other shoe is going to drop.     

~Malachi got a bed. Now this is a pointless bed, since he sleeps with Mommy and Daddy and probably thinks he always will. We placed it at the foot of our bed and covered it with a beautiful quilt made by our talented niece. He had so much fun watching Daddy and Anna Kate put it together. He keeps climbing on it and jumping on it. I know a day will come when he will sleep in this bed. In fact, maybe we will build a new house and he will have his own bedroom. Then I can decorate it with grays and blues pulled from the quilt, and maybe, finally, get a full night's sleep. I can't even imagine what that must be like.                 
 

(Quilt by Lisa, bear by Great-Grandma)   

This might be a reading nook, or a jumping place, or a cute little bench. It's certainly not where Malachi plans to rest his weary head every night.

The Scary Years

    
Here is the knife drawer that Malachi can reach.     

Here is the new home for our knives, an oval platter placed well back on the counter.  
 

Here is our adorable toddler, busily marching back and forth from the knife drawer to the dining room, placing objects on the chair.
You can see some of my favorite kitchen tools: a Swedish cheese slicer (no wire slicers here, thanks to my friend Gretchen. We've used this one for over 15 years and it still slices beautifully); a flat cheese grater (perfect for block parmesan); a small cookie scoop.

I would love to tell you about my other fave kitchen tools, but I have no time, because my days are filled with chasing this baby boy. Keeping him safe and alive has become my main task. I haven't had a little boy in the house for many years. They are different than girls. Girls are talkative and can be active, but Malachi has a yearning to reach and conquer and figure things out mechanically, that our daughters didn't have. In this way he reminds us of Isaac, our oldest, who is a freshly minted engineer.    

We are trying to remember that these frantic years do not last forever, that we successfully kept four other toddlers alive, and that all this energy can be corralled into something that benefits society.

In the mean time, watching him want things that are terrible for him is a fantastic spiritual lesson.

"So, since we're out from under the old tyranny, does that mean we can live any old way we want? Since we're free in the freedom of God, can we do anything that comes to mind? Hardly. You know well enough from your own experience that there are some acts of so-called freedom that destroy freedom. Offer yourselves to sin, for instance, and it's your last free act. But offer yourselves to the ways of God and the freedom never quits. All your lives you've let sin tell you what to do. But thank God you've started listening to a new master, one whose commands set you free to live openly in his freedom!" (from Romans 6, The Message)

Here's to following the ways of God, asking for strength for each day, and encouraging each other along the way.

If you have any tips or advice on keeping toddlers safe, I'm all ears!

Christmas Week

Our Christmas:
-Attending Isaac's college graduation on December 20th. He now has his undergrad in Math and Engineering and is interviewing for jobs.
-Going to the Murphy Christmas, always a large, loud crowd, but missing Grampa.
-Having all five of our kids home, and seeing that the baby is loving it. He has so many people to relate to. Anna Kate and I suspected he got bored with us, and now we're sure of it.
-Worshiping at our church's candlelight ceremony on Christmas Eve. It's probably my favorite night of the year. We drove through something resembling a snowstorm, and wondered if it was worth it to drive 45 minutes each way in such conditions. But when the candles are lit (with Malachi saying, "Hot! Hot!" the entire time) and a thousand people are softly singing "Silent Night," then yes. It's worth it.
-Hosting my parents, Nate's mom, and my sister's family here on Christmas Day. The weather was warm and the kids played outside for hours, sledding on our hill and building a snow fort. The annual tradition we most anticipate is Isaac's crocheted gift to Caleb. It's beyond description every time. Photographs do not do it justice. Also, photos could get somebody arrested. This year, Isaac decided that Caleb's trousseau was complete, and the torch was passed to Malachi. I can text a photo upon request.
-Going to my aunt and uncle's lake home for the Daggett Christmas party. Again, the weather was unseasonably warm and the kids played outside for hours. They skated on the lake and started another snow fort. During the day a few of us went on a little field trip to see my cousin Sarah's remodeled 1920's farmhouse. I love looking at houses, especially at houses like this one. Sarah's husband gutted the house, working during weekends and after his carpentry day job. They designed little sleeping alcoves in the upstairs bedrooms that are perfectly charming. The kids' bedrooms have a common area, but under the eaves, behind a wall, is just enough space for the beds. It's cozy and wonderful.

At each family gathering, we handed out the lyrics to "All Glory Be to Christ," and each group sang this new/old song with feeling. I mostly cried. I cried at the Murphy Christmas because I was reminded of Dad's legacy and how much he cared for all of us. I cried at our house because the room was filled with the people I love best in the whole world. And I cried at the Daggett gathering because the song was sung by my dear relatives, most of them gifted singers, and the music sounded just as it was meant to sound. All glory be to Christ.    

Some songs should be longer, and "Auld Land Syne" is one of those songs. Now with these lyrics, it's the right length, and it is worshipful.   

Cuddling with my toddler and reading one of his new books.      

We are in a deep chill again, so all the kids have their nose in a book. In fact, I can't always get help with the baby. Everyone is reading.    

A snowy day and a warm little guy.
A beautiful, memorable Christmas.
I hope yours was, too.
Happy New Year, and here are the new lyrics I wrote about.


All Glory Be to Christ
lyrics by Dustin Kensrue
traditional Scot folk melody

Should nothing of our efforts stand
No legacy survive
Unless the Lord does raise the house
In vain its builders strive.

To you who boast tomorrow's gain
Tell me what is your life?
A mist that vanishes at dawn
All glory be to Christ!

Chorus
All glory be to Christ our King!
All glory be to Christ!
His rule and reign we'll ever sing
All glory be to Christ!

His will be done
His kingdom come
On earth as is above,
Who is himself our daily bread,
Praise him the Lord of love.

Let living water satisfy
The thirsty without price
We'll take a cup of kindness yet
All glory be to Christ!

(Chorus)

When on the day the great I Am
The faithful and the true
The Lamb who was for sinners slain
Is making all things new.

Behold our God shall live with us
And be our steadfast light
And we shall e're his people be
All glory be to Christ!

(Chorus)

A Snow Day

Thanks to our fresh snowfall yesterday, we now live inside a Christmas postcard.
I walked to the woodpile last night, hoping to pull some white pine branches for decorating the front porch.
I got so excited, walking through the fresh deep snow, that I had to run.
The yard glowed dim and blue, the pine trees bowed down heavy with their soft blanket.
I was alone for the only time all day.
It's wonderful to be alone, if only for ten minutes.

The white pine boughs were frozen solid to the earth,
so I gave up on that idea and trudged back to the house,
trying to step in my footprints, so as not to smudge the perfect surface of snow.

Today is going to be cold.
So cold that we might stay in all day.
Yesterday we went sledding with the baby.
He took off his little blue mitts and plunged his chubby hands into the snow,
again and again,
until he was crying from the cold.
Anna Kate took a few runs down the hill in her sled,
then she gave Malachi a ride.
He liked it.
I think he loved it.
But his hands were getting so chilled by then that we lay him down in his sled
and trundled him back to the house.
He cried the whole way.
He looked like a little Michelin Man,
as wide as he was tall,
with a pink nose and red cheeks,
wailing loudly from the sled.

And that was our grand outing.
I did not get any pictures, because the snow was still falling thickly.
Also, getting oneself and a baby stuffed into snowpants,
coat, hat, boots and mittens is a bit of a workout.   

The side yard, before I ruined it with footprints.         

Since we got about eight inches of snow, and our snow blower isn't working,
Nate and Anna Kate spent an hour shoveling.
When she came inside, hungry, she got herself a plate of Christmas cookies
and settled in to watch tv with the baby and me.
I could see right away that wasn't going to work for him.
He started clamoring for her cookies.
I ran to the kitchen to get some, since his sister refused to share,
and when I came back downstairs, he was just succeeding in climbing onto the couch.
She was huddled in the corner, trying to protect her snack,
and he was yammering at top volume as he finally achieved his goal.

She said sadly,
"That was the most unpeaceful cookie I've ever eaten."

Here's to quiet snow days, naps in the afternoon, and evenings filled with peace for eating Christmas cookies.

Let me know what you do on quiet (but busy) days like this.

Here's the recipe for the cookies we cannot stop eating. 

Christmas House 2013

For a week now, Anna Kate and I have been trying to resist decorating for Christmas. We finally caved two days ago, bit by bit, as we started sprinkling the house with the few decorations that we store inside. This year we can't have a big tree. Malachi would pull it right over. We can't even hang the stockings. We tried, and that lasted about five minutes. But the other night I got so excited, thinking about the delight of a little child at Christmas. The line "Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow will find it hard to sleep tonight," filled me with gratitude for our tiny tot. He's busy, messy, and loud, and he still doesn't let me sleep much. But he's the best little guy in the world, and we are so thankful for him. So what if everything beautiful will have to be above shoulder-height this year? Totally worth it.

Here's a short tour of what we've done so far:

Julia will be home this weekend. She will eat these in no time flat. In the mean time, they're gorgeous in vintage silver urns.

I snapped a quick foto of the linen stockings on their antlers.
Moments later, I had to put them away.
Too hazardous with little grabbing hands.

Some of the presents are on top of the cabinet.
We watched a family movie from Christmas 2010, and I was struck by how much I like the way I wrapped presents that year. Simple and cheap, and they match my house. So I dug out those supplies and we're doing the same look again.

Our cabinet. The lower shelf has been re-displayed so as not to appear interesting to a toddler.
This piece is one-of-a-kind, but our piano bars have the same look. And they're both still for sale!
If you forget how nice they are, see them here.

The dining room centerpiece.
I got the rosemary tree at Trader Joe's. It was supposed to be for my son, to help with concentration during his endless studying. But it's so lovely on our table. I think he'll only get a few sprigs. 

I covered up the tiny Christmas balls with acorns.
I prefer the acorns. In fact, the reds and purples of the ornaments aren't my colors,
and if anyone wants them, they're yours.

Here's what I use for wrapping:
Butcher paper from my Gramma
A giant roll of brown kraft paper, about 3 inches wide (from Goodwill, I think)
Brown and silver labels from the dollar section at Target
Home-made tags with burlap string

I like packaging very simple.
I don't go for anything patterned or expensive.
But after wrapping about eight presents, I decided I could branch out a tiny bit.
I scalloped the ends of the kraft paper for the girls' gifts, you can see one on the left.
I started tearing the kraft paper length-wise for some presents.
For the little gift on top, I made a "bow" by curling strips of paper and stapling them together in the middle.

In our living room, I was inspired by the printable we found  here.
Anna Kate and I have been reading Jess and Monica's blog at East Coast Creative,
that's where we found this. As soon as I realized how much printer ink it would take (look at all the background!) I decided to freehand it. It worked out great. It's not as perfect-looking as the printable, and not everybody has a little chalkboard just sitting around, but for me this was fun and easy.

I wonder how long the candy canes will last?

Have a peaceful, simple and joy-filled month, everyone.
And let me know if you have any more ideas for a toddler-friendly Christmas house.

Baby Elephant

Our week:
~A quiet visit with Gramma and Grampa Murphy on Wednesday. We got to tell Grampa how much we love him. He wasn't able to talk, but in the last day or so he has spoken a bit.
~Anna Kate and I came down with the flu. We had a miserable day of it, trying to care for a toddler while almost unable to walk. It's been a decade since I've had to take care of a baby while I was sick. I'm so glad we were only sick for one day.
~At the end of our sick day, we decided we had just enough strength to walk around part of our block with our baby elephant. He was a big hit. This is a costume I made 17 years ago for my friend Maryjo's little girl, and Maryjo graciously gave me the costume after Kendyl wore it. Every one of my parents' grandkids from Julia on down dressed up as the baby elephant.
~Last weekend we saw our big boys when they came to visit their Grampa, and today we will get Julia home for the weekend. She wants to visit Grampa too.
~Nate and I spend lots of time talking about his Dad, remembering some of the ways he has blessed us. We keep the Kleenex handy in every room of the house now.

Malachi Jude, the skeptical elephant. His head is so big that the velcro wouldn't stay fastened under his chin.

I love these baby elephant ears.  And I love the baby elephant! 

Malachi was bent on impressing his big brother Isaac. He said all his words, played peek-a-boo and So Big, walked, danced, and generally showed off everything he knew.

Every year save one, since she was eight years old, Anna Kate has been a prairie girl for All Saint's Day (haha, we aren't fans of Halloween...but we love to dress up). This is her current prairie dress. Malachi was deciding that her puzzle was better than his. She was so weak and sick on the 31st that she didn't put on any costume. Honestly, we could hardly drag ourselves the last hundred yards home.

There have been many tears this week, but also some sweet days of making new memories.
Blessings on all of you supportive friends. Thank you for your words of love and encouragement, and for your prayers on our behalf.

Straight to the Heart (and a recipe for Anticuchos)

 My adventurous mom with Malachi.

Yesterday was (for us) full of adventure.
My friend Jamie had invited me to a Women of Hope event to benefit TreeHouse, a local teen ministry.
Our church has been involved with TreeHouse for years, although I haven't heard as much about it recently, but I didn't know what to expect. I had put off finding a sitter for Malachi, vaguely hoping that Nate could be home from work on that day. Suddenly the 24th was upon me, and I had to send out a desperate mass text to friends asking if anyone could watch him. No one could.
But my Julia came through. She usually does. It was her free day at school, and so I dropped Anna Kate and baby Mick off to hang out with their big sister for a few hours.
On the way to Julia's college, I called my mom and dad and invited them to have lunch with my kids. They lost no time (typical of them) and were soon on their way from Red Wing.
Meanwhile, the luncheon was lovely.
For starters, the guest speakers were Gabby Douglas and her mom Natalie, and a TreeHouse teenager named Jozee.
Hearing Gabby tell her story, and listening to her mom's perspective (she saw her daughter for just 30 seconds after Gabby won her individual all-around gold medal), made me unaccountably weepy.
I am often unaccountably weepy. But here was this young girl, who left home at fourteen to train for the Olympics, having no idea if she would ever make the team.
And here were her sisters, cheering her on. And her mother, who had $35 in her bank account when she found out her daughter was on the U.S. Gymnastics team.
But Gabby was full of talent, and she had her family to give her courage when hers ran low.

Then the TreeHouse girl spoke. Jozee doesn't have Gabby's kind of family. She has the same tooth-grinding determination, but she's had to survive by her own wits. The support and love of her mentor at TreeHouse probably saved her life. The mentor told Jozee she was of great worth. She seemed fragile and tattered as she told her story, but she sounded brave. I think all of us in the room sorrowed with her, and rejoiced with her. Peace be on you, precious Jozee.

I thought, it's all about the heart. The heart that we are given at the beginning, that beats regularly at just a few weeks' gestation, and does not stop until we draw our dying breath. Our heart is what He is after.

My son is in his first year of med school, and the students have cadaver work. (I hope this isn't too much for you. I find it fascinating). I asked him if they started slowly, with fine physical details like skin and muscle layers.

"No," he said. "We pretty much dive right into the pectoral and start with the heart."

Start with the heart. It's apparently the best way to begin knowing the mysteries of the human body. It's the place that Jesus wants to know us. He created us the way He wanted to, beautiful, with delicate details and invisible wonders. But when he wants to change us, or heal us, or jolt us back to life, he goes for our hearts.

So that was my day. I returned to Julia's college to find my girls, my parents, and my baby in the Student Center, waiting for me. They had had a fabulous time. The baby had been somewhat terrible at first, then slowly cheered up. We hugged all around, and then we parted ways.

I went to prepare supper, and for the only time all year, because a cow only has one heart, we had true Anticuchos. When I was growing up in Peru, the local cooks would come to our jungle center and set up a barbeque. All day we smelled the astounding fragrance of these marinated beef kabobs. Now I wonder, Why did it take all day? Why did we have to wait so long before we could buy and eat? I can't figure it out, because these only take about three minutes on the grill.

But it's a lovely memory: the lake, the pequi pequis chugging slowly through the water, the smoke and mouth-watering goodness of anticuchos wafting from the shore.

Enjoy!
(Made with regular beef, these are delicious and not quite so alarming. Anna Kate said our meal was "morbid." Nate said it was like something out of Fear Factor. But we ate them all.)

Beef Anticuchos

(We buy half a cow, so we only get half a heart. This recipe is for way more meat than I had, so I didn't use all the marinade).

2 1/2 lbs. fresh beef heart, cut into thin strips
1 cup red wine vinegar
4 T. ground cumin
1 tsp. ground pepper
1 tsp. salt
5 big garlic cloves, crushed and peeled and chopped
2 T. fresh parsley or oregano
4 dried chiles (I used a combination of red pepper flakes and chipotle peppers)
1 1/2 cups oil, divided

Blend all ingredients except the oil in a large bowl.
Take out about half of the mixture.
Add 1/2 cup oil to the remaining mixture to make a soft paste.
Stir the beef strips into the marinade.
Allow to rest for 30 minutes at room temperature.

To reserved spice mixture, add remainder of oil for a basting sauce.

Thread beef onto skewers.
Place on grill.
While the meat grills, brush with marinade.
The recommended brush is made with shredded corn husk, which works great if you're on a picnic, since you can later toss it.
(I used a silicone grill brush).

Allow fire to flame over the meat as you baste.
Cook about 1 1/2 minutes per side.

Best when served alongside corn and potatoes. I was pretty scattered last night, so we didn't have good side dishes. We ate butternut squash soup, anticuchos, mashed potatoes, and rice, all in succession since nothing was ready all at once.

Half a beef heart. I admit this made me a bit queasy.

Marinating beef.

I wish you could smell these. Finicky feelings would vanish, and you'd gobble them up, just like we did.