I’m a terrible parent.
No, no, before you try and come to my defense, let me just tell it to you straight. I am.
But being a terrible parent is such a large topic, I think it’s important to break it down for you.
Where to start… wait a second… I think I just heard Owen drop something in the toilet…
…no worries. He was just licking the toilet bowl. Perrrrrfect. Now where were we?
Oh ya. I was talking about being a bad parent.
Reason #1 Why I Feel Like A Bad Parent: I’m selfish.
Georgia, please quit interrupting me. I’m trying to get this done.
Stuart, can you change the diaper? I’m obviously quite busy on Pinterest at the moment…
Owen, I need you to keep taking your morning naps. Don’t you know that it’s my gotta-do-stuff-so-I-can-feel-better-about-my-accomplishments time? I neeeeeed it.
There is no defense. I am a selfish human being. I savor my time spent working on the blog, baking in the kitchen, or planning the spring garden. And when I become focused or fixated on these projects, I tend to get particularly selfish about my time and exactly how I’d like to spend it. Poopy diapers? Broken plates? Missing socks? Ain’t nobody got time for that. Don’t these kids know I’m on MY schedule?
Reason #2 Why I Feel Like A Bad Parent: I’m short-tempered.
If I could grasp my husband’s temperament and somehow implant it into my body via some form of Frankenstein science, I would totally do it. Praise God that I was given a level-headed, cool-under-pressure man. Because I’m anything but. And when you’ve redressed your daughter for the fifteenth time before eight in the morning, filled so many sippy cups with milk your head could explode, cleaned far too many floating turds out of the bathtub, and brought the dog in just so he could lick the spilt applesauce up off the floor (hey man, one less chore for me) you may understand where I’m coming from. Children. Require. PATIENCE. And lots, and lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of it. Because they’re not all rainbows and sunshine, my friends. They test you. And tear you. And manipulate you. And break you down.
Don’t believe me? You must not have children.
Unfortunately, in this world, we all have our struggles. Patience is mine. And when Georgia is screaming over the broken crayon (that she purposefully broke) that she can’t find (while she’s holding it in her hand), I’ll admit – sometimes, my emotions get the better of me.
Reason #3 Why I Feel Like A Bad Parent: I’m short on grace. For my children, my husband, and myself.
Anyone else out there quick to throw stones at the ones they love?
Why can’t you just help me more? Can’t you see I need someone to wash the dishes?
Why are they being so difficult?
I’m so horrible at this, why would the Lord even give me children in the first place? I’m just going to mess them up!
Sometimes, I feel alone in these thoughts. But I know that I’m not. Giving others grace, as well as giving ourselves grace, is a difficult thing to do. And when one is in the trenches of the little years it’s even more difficult. I’m so quick to expect things out of my children that I’m not even able to do myself (am I not still selfish? lazy? disobedient to my Father?). We all are in need of grace and so desperately long to receive it – from the Lord and from others – and yet, we are so slow to dish it out to the ones we love. Instead, we expect them to earn it by acting right, treating us well, and doing what we wish them to do.
Oh ye of little faith.
When my husband was at his school the other day, he was approached by a reader of the blog (whom I don’t know, personally). She said to him “your wife is like Superwoman!”. Stuart replied (as I would have wished him to) with a kind “thank you, but she would be upset to know you thought of her that way”.
Hear my, dear readers: I am not superwoman. Just because I make cheese and raise chickens does not make me the coolest person on the planet. It doesn’t even make me the coolest person in this room (and the only other one in here with me right now is my dog). If you could see the ins and outs of my daily life, you would see that it’s monotonous, difficult, frustrating, challenging, and messy. I loose my temper towards my children and have to ask for their forgivesness all the time. I burn supper. I loose bills on my desk. I pick pieces of crayon of my baby’s nose. I clean up dog throw up off the floor. I slip on the snow going down to the chicken coop and dump a bucket of water all over myself.
And somedays, I feel like a really horrible parent.
BUT.
Yes, fear not, there is a but. And a big one.
Not a big butt. Just a big BUT…
But God does not leave me in the trenches, covered in poo, soured milk, and baby drool, alone. He doesn’t give me disobedient children and then throw me to the wolves. He doesn’t give me frustrating circumstances without giving me the tools to work through them. Because somewhere between the tantrums and the pile of dirty diapers, there’s a glimmer of hope in my children. There’s a “yes ma’am” or a smile in obedience that brings me hope.
Even when I don’t have grace or patience for my children, my King does. He sees them, in their filth and frustration, and loves them. He sees ME, in my filth and frustration, and loves ME. Even though I “feel” like a bad parent because of my selfishness, my short-temper, and my shortness of grace, I’m not. Because the Lord promises that He loves my children as much as He loves me. When the cirumstances in life are too much to bear, the Lord bears them with me. And if the entire purpose of parenthood is to bring me to my knees in utter dependence on the Lord… well… then I’ve officially “arrived”.
Isn’t that what the Lord hopes for? That we learn how to love others and extend them grace? That we come to recognize our dependence on him? That we actually LIVE the gospel each day in our homes by recognizing our sinfulness and our need for forgiveness and a Savior?
I’m going to be straight: left on my own, I’m a sinner. And not that great of a parent. See reasons #1, #2, and #3 above.
But PRAISE GOD I’m not left on my own. The Lord equips me for the service He has called me to!
I’m forgiven and I get to pass that joy of forgiveness onto my children. I’m a sinner and I can recognize that in my actions as well as in my children. I’m also a child of God and I get to celebrate in that mercy for myself, as well as for my children. As our Pastor reminds us: The Lord can draw straight lines with crooked sticks. And Praise God for that, too! Because I can trust that despite my feelings and despite my crookedness, the Lord can (and will!) accomplish his great purpose in my children, in our family, and in the world.
I’m free in Christ (of reasons #1, #2, and #3 above). And I’m forgiven! And I’m loved! And that knowledge, belief, and understanding is the only thing that makes me a GOOD parent.
And that joy is worth sharing.
Posts by Category: Faith
The golfball incident.
I may have had my worst parenting moment to date.
Actually, I’ve had quite a few of them in a row it seems.
But let’s start with the golf ball. Yes, the golf ball.
Sure, it sits there all simple and easy, like it’s just chillin’ and sipping a mojito poolside. But oh, the horror that such a small object can bring.
Where to start… Oh yes, how about Monday. Monday was a day spent scrubbing toilets and washing linens, after dear Georgia spent the better part of the day vomiting into a bowl held by her loving father. When she first woke up that morning, we teased about her getting up on the wrong side of the bed and told her she needed to go climb back in to take the “sharkness” of the attitude away. Twenty minutes later, she was hunched over the toilet. Bless her heart.
Vomit, being my number one fear, caused me to instantly (in a very composed and ladylike way mind you), beg Stuart to stay home with me. Please call in a sub! Please! I beg you! I beg you!!!! I can’t do it alone! I can’t handle it!
Now, I like to think of myself as a pretty strong person. I can handle the butchering, the cleaning, the blood. But the vomit just gets the better of me – we all have our strengths, no? Handling vomit is not one of mine.
My loving husband agreed to handle the vomit and called in for a sub. Thank you, Jesus!
Throughout the remainder of the day, Georgia lay in a coma-like-state with Stuart by her side. She woke up every so often and I smeared a big more garlic salve on her chest. She took a few baths and watched countless Disney movies while curled up under her favorite blanket. It was the epitomy of a pathetic, sickly child that you just wanted to scoop up in your arms and comfort.
Until you remembered that she’d been vomiting all day. At which point I passed the duty on to her Daddy.
Anyway, the point of the story is that after being up through the night two nights in a row with the sick littles and after frantically cleaning the house of vomit the day before, by the time Tuesday morning rolled around, I was pretty exhausted.
After breakfast, I stuck the littles into a warm bath tub to play while I cleaned up the kitchen. I could hear them, splashing about and the inevitable crying while “someone who shall not be named” grabbed the toys out of a much-younger-and-defenseless hobbit’s hands. After policing their interactions for a few minutes while I scrubbed the egg yolk from a plate, I was caught off guard by a naked Georgia running through the kitchen, soaking wet, shouting:
DER’S POOP IN THE YA-TER! DER’S POOP IN THE YA-TER!
Allow me to translate:
There’s poop in the water! There’s poop in the water!
I quickly ran into the bathroom to find Owen swimming amongst a bathtub full of poo pieces. And I’m not talking a floating log here. I’m talking about millions of little poo pieces, following the current of the water set about by his splashing.
GAG.
I quickly rolled up my sleeve, plunged my hand into the water, and pulled out the drain. Then, I went to grab him out. But wait? Why wasn’t the tub draining?
I reached in again to see if I could dislodge the toy that was blocking the drain, a seemingly likely scenario considering there are currently 279 Little Pet Shop toys littering the tub.
If only I’d been so lucky.
No, what I quickly discovered was blocking the drain was a golf ball. A ball of golf. A perfect sphere that had wedged itself so tightly into the drain via suction that it was unshakable. Holding stronger than the Hoover Dam, that ‘ol golfball.
I ran to the kitchen, grabbed a butter knife, and sat down on the bathroom floor, certain that if I could wedge the knife between the ball and the wall of the drain, I’d be able to break the suction and lift up the ball.
Ten minutes later, my shirt was entirely soaked up to the armpits with poo water and the golfball remained as lodged as ever.
I’d like to say that at this point, I offered thanks to Jesus for the opportunity to practice patience and grace and all that other super-cool stuff He’d taught me to do (ahem) but instead, I grew furious. Absolutely furious. Stuart says that sometimes I tend to lash out in anger at objects that aren’t doing what I’d like them to do. And again, I’d like to say that I proved him wrong.
But lash out I did.
Sure, it sounds stupid to type it out now. Really, Shaye? Loosing your cool over a golf ball? Way to be, like, super holy.
But it’s the truth. Not only was I have gagging at the floating chunks that kept touching my hands, and not only did I have two naked babies running about, but I also had this danged golfball that refused to move.
I ran to the kitchen, once again, only this time opted for a paring knife. Super sharp. Super deadly. If you’re a golfball, that is. I was ready for war.
I went into the tub and once again plunged my hands into the luke warm poo water. I stabbed and scrapped and gripped and pryed as best as I could. By this point, I’m pretty sure I was screaming in anger and cursing the golfball for being from hell and questioning a God that would put such horrible circumstances in front of a, quite obviously, tired, weary, and short-tempered Mother.
Why, God, Why!!?!?
Again, it sounds pretty stupid it type it out. And sure, after the moment passed, I could easily see the stupidity of it all. But the truth of the matter is that that suctioned golfball brought up rage inside of me that should only be reserved for Satan himself.
I thought about leaving it and letting Stuart deal with the poo water. But then I thought how horrible it would be to come home from school to find your wife in disarray, your children still not clean after their poo filled bath, and (the worst part, I’d say) is a now-cold-bathtub-of-water awaiting you to drain it. Poor Stuart. I couldn’t be that cruel.
And so, I carried on. Cursing the day, cursing the golfball, cursing the kids for having a golfball in the bath in the first place (let’s not point fingers at the Mother who put it in there for them, shall we?), cursing the now-extremely-bent paring knife, and cursing… well… pretty much cursing it all.
Another 10 minutes of struggling, I did eventually pry the golfball loose. Yes. That means that for 20 minutes, I floundered around in poo water, sulking like some poor fool.
Afterwords, I threw the golfball away and prayed out loud to the Lord. “Lord, why have you made me this way? Why am I so short-tempered? Why am I so quick to anger? And so slow to practice patience? Why do I feel this rage inside me towards all golfers now?”
Just kidding about the last part. But the rest is pretty much true.
The Lord, no doubt, has made us all uniquly different. Strengths and weakness are easily viewed in each individual. My weakness just happens to be patience towards stupid and frustrating things.
Wait. Is that the wrong attitude to have again?
Fine.
My weakness just happens to be patience in general. I am a sinner, no doubt.
“But who are you, O man, to talk back to God? Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’ Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use? What if God, choosing to show his wrath and make his power known, bore with great patience the objects of his wrath – prepared for destruction? What if he did this to make the riches of his glory known to the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory…” Romans 9: 20-23
The Lord HAS made me like this, with my own particular strengths and struggles. But the Lord has also called me to bear fruit of righteousness.
Lashing out at golfballs in poo filled bathtubs like a caged rattlesnack is not the fruit of righteousness. And praise God that He loves me far too much to leave me there, curled up in fetal position on the bathroom floor crying out for His mercy.
The moment did pass.
His mercies were renewed.
I was continually humbled and reminded of my need for an ever-loving God.
And then, I ran across this. I smiled. And cried. And once again curled up in fetal position. And then thanked God for his goodness:
The good news is that Jesus does not call you to control everything, nor does He expect you to. Actually, He wants you to be okay with the fact that you can’t. Your “success” as a mom is not measured by your capacity to keep everything in order; it’s determined by your ability to trust that even in the chaos Jesus is beautiful – and even in the mess, so are you.
At least the corn is growing.
On Saturday morning, once Stuart and I realized that we’d run out of coffee beans, we took the “oppurtunity” to visit my parents for breakfast. Seeing as they only live about ten minutes over in the next canyon, it seemed like a very good idea. And it was. We were welcomed with fresh buttermilk pancakes, delicious grilled sausage, and fresh fried eggs. What a wonderful way to say good morning. Mmm. Hello, Mom and Dad. Thank you for breakfast. I’d starve without you.
As we sat around the breakfast table, we all began to chuckle at the current state of Beatha Fonn.
Our dairy cow, as you know, is in the process of being artificially inseminated. Currently, she is not pregnant. Not pregnant = no calf. No calf = no milk. To put it simply, our dairy cow is dry. Ain’t no dairy.
Our seventeen chickens are on the brink of beginning to lay, though at this point, I feel as if they never will. Each morning, as I sprinkle out their homemade chicken feed, I anxiously check their nesting boxes for the first-golden-egg that will soon be laying there. And yet, I continue to wait. Cause it sure ain’t laying there yet.
Our 576 square foot garden bed is finally build and finished – after a lot of sweat and manual labor. We’ve hauled in five yards of old horse manure and an additional four yards of compost. And yet, besides a few chive seeds planted in the left hand corner, it’s bare. There isn’t a lot of winter gardening here in North Central Washington and besides a few rows of greens and garlic, it will remain an unproductive garden bed until next spring when it can be put to use. The thus, the garden is yet another seed that has been sow but has not yet been harvested.
But seriously. I went to a vintage flea market this weekend and I’ll be danged if I find the cutest little garden gate in the entire world. It was $30. And it inspired us to construct this entire fenced garden area on Saturday. I’ve always wanted a garden gate. They make my heart happy.
This week, we’re going to construct a loose arch over the gate from curly willow trimmings – it’s going to blow ya mind. Blow. Ya. Mind.
We have labored over our dear farm these past few months. Corrals have been build, pastures have been fenced, gardens have been established, chicken coops have been rebuilt, weeds have been mowed, berries and honeysuckle have been planted, chicken tractors have been built, our cow has been loved on, our laying hens have been happily enjoying their newly expanded space. And yet, it’s not our season for reaping.
It is still the season of sowing.
We are laboring especially hard in these last few days before Stuart goes back to teaching next week. Once he’s gone full time again, the process on the farm will slow greatly, as myself and two children are not nearly capable of the tasks that he can so easily complete by himself.
He’s, like, so strong and capable.
I’m, like, totally not.
Mine and the kids’ focus will instead shift to maintaining the animals, caring for the fifty meat chickens that will arrive next week, and completing some more inside projects that we’ve been anxious to get started on (though, let’s be honest, by myself I don’t make much progress on projects).
There is still much work to be done before fall and winter completely set in – even before we begin to reap *hopefully* the fruit of our labors next spring and summer. After all, there are still fifty meat chickens to raise and harvest before Thanksgiving. There is also a dairy cow that will be bred on September 4th and 5th, which we are praying settles that whole matter (Dear Lord, please help my cow get pregnant!). There is still lettuce, shallots, flowers, and garlic to be planted, gardens to mulch, and one more pasture to build for Kula. There is orchard grass to be sewn and grape trellises to build.
The fruit of these labors will not be seen for many, many months. Which frankly, is sort of funny to laugh at. By worldy standards, we are no doubt in a laughable situation – pouring time, money, and effort into a farm that is not currently providing us anything besides a heart full of potential and promise. And yet we sleep with smiles on our faces, loving the work that the Lord has put on our hearts to complete here on Beatha Fonn.
And dang man. One day. There will be an egg in that nesting box.
And Lawd have mercy. One day. There will be milk from Kula in my pail.
And I’m trusting that one day. There will be vegetables from my super-rad garden in my basket and in my storage cellar.
In the meanwhile, the Lord is teaching us difficult (but wonderful) lessons in animal husbandry, irrigation trouble-shooting, fence building, patience…
…and most importantly, perseverance!
Hey. At least the corn is growing.
Recover my brain.
It’s not often that I find it difficult to put our life into words, but the last few days have just blown by and taken me with them. If you follow us on Facebook, you were no-doubt witness to the play-by-play that I was giving of an enormous wildlife that *barely* missed us. While we sat on the deck at night, watching the fire line creep closer and closer to us down the ridge, it was pretty surreal. Especially since that night brought with it an incredible lightning storm that quite literally shook my world. All night long.
Get it? ACDC?
*crickets*
It was a long night.
Between planning our fire-escape route with the animals, dodging floods, sweeping ash, and dealing with a brief power outage…
…I’ll be danged if my mind is just pretty focused on survival, man.
But God is good and just as the fire was really getting too close for comfort (at this point we were on Level 3 evacuation…which means you should be leaving, like, now) He sent a magnificent rain storm. I was so thankful for that rain. Even though it came when we had friends over for dinner and were grilling pizzas outside. And despite the almost-disastrous-pizza-grilling-party, all was well. The fires were all but put out.
Whoop whoop!
That’s a first. I’ve never had to contemplate moving a cow through a wildfire before.
Farm Lesson #5091: Be prepared for everything. EVERY. THING.
Oh, and since we’re on the subject of farm lessons, I have a few more for ya:
1. Don’t build a corral out of 1×6 lumber. Build it out of the biggest, thickest, most incredibly strong lumber that you can. Because cows are fat and aggressive and playful and they will snap your lumber like …well… something that snaps really easy.
2. Don’t expect to ever complete any projects on budget or within any specific time frame.
3. Always be prepared for something to break.
4. Always make sure to pack snacks when making the big trip into town from the farm. Seven miles away from home at lunch time = hangry (hunger + angry) Shaye. Ain’t nobody like hangry Shaye. I’m hangry enough to make Lord Voldemort (excuse me, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) seem like a sweet, cuddly Poodle.
5. Always make sure to have a Veterinarian confirm that your cow is pregnant before you actually pay for a bred cow.
Oh wait. We already talked about that last one, didn’t we?
Speaking of which, the Vet will be coming by this week to check up on the ‘ol girl. I’m trying to not get my hopes up and am planning on scheduling for an AI technician to visit her shortly. I’ll be pleasantly surprised if she is bred. Is it weird that I’ve been praying for my cow to be bred?
No doubt, the Lord has much bigger problems than my open cow.
But it’s just that I love milk.
And in order to make milk, she needs to make a baby.
And in order to make a baby, she needs… well…
Fu-get-about-it.
What was this post supposed to be about anyway? Wildfires? Cows making babies? Who is this blogger? What is she thinking? She has no constant train of thought. She makes no sense and anytime she can’t figure out how to connect sentences, she just starts a new paragraph.
…
Thanks for lovin’ me anyway, friends. I’m going to go and try to recover my brain.
We don’t need any more.
Mankind is sinful. And if you doubt that statement, you can easily look around at the world to see how crooked and wretched our human hearts can be.
No doubt, our hearts can easily be bent towards sin. It really doesn’t take much convincing.
Coveting. Slandering. Lusting. Manipulating. Cheating. Selfishness. Laziness.
My heart is no different.
Although I’ve been given new life through the Lord, my sinful nature still pulls me towards the world, persuading me to give in to the temptation of it all. And truth be told, it’s a constant battle to fight against such a powerful force.
One of the biggest lies that we’ve been sold as a culture is the idea that (quit simply) we need more things.
More money.
More bedrooms in our home.
More luxurious clothing.
More pairs of shoes.
More food.
More insurance.
More toys.
More vacation time.
More rest.
More of it ALL.
And why, you ask? Because as the commercials so unapologetically state: “we deserve it”.
Well, this is awkward to say… but NO. We don’t deserve it. We don’t deserve any of it.
If I got what I deserved, I’d be bound for hell. And I mean that. I know my heart and I know it’s state. It’s always fighting to be selfish and misleading. It wants to put others down and build myself up. It wants glory. It wants whatever it is that “they have”. It wants to be lazy. It wants to lust after the luxuries of the world . It wants things to be easier on it and harder on everyone else. It’s twisted. Self-seeking. Selfish. Ugly. Bitter. Resentful. Unforgiving.
And that’s just the start.
I fear, my friends, that we’ve been misguided when we’re told to “listen to our hearts”. In fact, I think that’s some of the worst advice to give another. Lord have mercy on my soul as soon as I start listening to my heart. That ain’t a place any woman of God belongs.
When we look to God for wisdom and discernment we can be satisfied. God is not lazy. Or twisted. Or selfish. Or ugly. Or bitter. Or unforgiving. His heart is the opposite of mine – it is perfectly righteous and good.
THAT is where we must look.
Satisfaction in this life will not come from more of anything – except for more of a relationship with Jesus. Our perfect Prophet, Priest, and King.
Do you think you could say, right now, that you’re satisfied with what the Lord has laid out for you?
I know it’s not easy. While we struggled painfully through the financial difficulties we faced last year, I often thought how if we just had a “little more”, we’d be fine. Instead of trusting in God’s sovereignty and control, I fought the hardship. At first, I wasn’t willing to bend to the situation and yield to the lessons being taught through the pain. My sinful temptation was to covet those who had more than we did. But the beauty of the Lord’s work is that each of our stories are different and each of them are good – even though we are not.
And despite my best efforts, I know that I will continually long for more of everything. But nothing on this earth will cure the craving in our souls to feel complete satisfaction.
Because satisfaction doesn’t live in more money.
Or a marriage.
Or a farm.
Or even a dairy cow.
It lives in knowing that our sinful nature is continually dying and our new life in Christ is blooming. It lives in knowing that God himself came down from Heaven in the form of a man, who lived and died a servant to the lost, ugly, selfish, forsaken, widowed, self-seeking, abandoned, sick, and homeless. Christ has been found righteous by a just and holy God so that I don’t have to be – because I can’t be.
Christ righteousness and goodness has been given to me. A sinner.
AND PRAISE GOD.
It all started with a phone call.
Welp, I certainly never thought that it would take me so long to write this story, but as I’ve painfully learned over the past few days, many things do not work out in the time (or the way) that I expect.
It all started with a phone call on Wednesday from the moving company.
“Ello, diss is de moving company. Zer is za problem with de schedule. Can we peek up de houze stuff today?”
After living in such messy chaos for the weeks prior to our move, I was pretty excited at the prospect of getting all the boxes out of the house earlier than expected. It meant we had to book it, but Stuart and I quickly finished packing the last minute boxes of kitchen goods and were ready by noon for the moving company.
Four house later, they arrived.
We reviewed the contract and because the entire house was already packed and prepared for them, the loading was quick and painless. They packed up boxes for a few hours and then, well, all hell broke loose.
The lead packer, a large, older Russian man, came into the house in a tizzy. He explained that he is very good at his job and that even despite his efforts to consolidate our stuff into the 900 cubic feet that we had originally been quoted for, he now estimated that it would take about 1,500 cubic feet of truck space for our house. He then explained that the price would nearly triple. I had to run to our friends house to put the kids to bed and feed Owen, but left Stuart with the movers to try and figure out how much space our furniture would actually take.
But then they decided not to finish packing and instead drove off for the night, with a quick explanation that they would return in the morning to finish the process. We spent the night at a friend’s house nearby so that we could be back at the house at 7 a.m. when they said they would return.
But they never did.
What followed is too complicated, and frankly still too painful, to write about. Perhaps one day it will be a good story to tell, but after them threatening to drive off with our furniture unless we paid them $1,800 in cash, us threatening (and actually having) to call the police, and the $900 it took us in cash to finally have our stuff returned and unpacked, I’m still at a lose for words.
Y’all, we got scammed, threatened, and extorted. Big time.
Even though we had a signed contract, and our inventory had not changed (by the way, 900 cubic feet was accurate), we were at their mercy. We had to fight to even get the boxes returned to our house. I was so thankful when they arrived in the truck – there was a point when I really thought we’d never see our things again.
It was an expensive lesson. Don’t ever, ever, ever use Nationwide Movers. Even though my sales-rep was super helpful, she was in on it, quickly guilting me about her “lost commission” when I explained the situation to her in a panic.
Yes, I panicked. There were tears. Lots of them. And even an expletive or two. Forgive me, Lord.
After the panic and fear passed, I felt overwhelming thanks that even though we lost $900 in the process, we were safe and had our goods in our possession.
What followed was a tangled web of Budget truck rentals, trailer rentals, car shuffling, and nights spent at a friend’s house. Messy? Yes. Sloppy? Yes. Frustrating? Beyond imagination. Despite my best attempts to trouble-shoot the move and keep it all organized, it *imploded*. Still, by late Friday afternoon, we were on the road to Atlanta – where we were to spend the weekend with Stuart’s family before heading out west.
But then…
Two miles from our house, after a whopping four minutes on the road, the Budget truck broke down. In the middle of the highway.
We were able to eventually get it off the road, into the parking lot of a gas station. After a long call to Customer Service, and a series of elevator music, I was finally able to have a mechanic dispatched to our wreckage.
Two hours of waiting with the little babies in a hot parking lot, the mechanic arrived. He guessed it was the fuel filter. So he ran to O’Reilly’s to pick up a filter. He arrived. Got ready to put it in. And then realized O’Reilly’s gave him the wrong one. Of course they did.
Sorry for the sinical attitude, but girlfriend was pretty exhausted at this moment.
Thank God, the mechanic did eventually get the truck fixed, and relatively easy, but it still put us too far late in the day to make it to Atlanta. We drove a few minutes up the road to a parent of one of Stuart’s students who was willing to put us for the night. A warm meal, hot shower, and glass of wine helped to ease the pain of the day.
After a breakfast of coffee, grits, and sausage, we did eventually get on the road once again to Atlanta. Owen and I drove in the van while Stuart and Georgia drove the 40 feet of Budget truck and car trailer that were now in our possession. Eight hours later, we arrived at the home of my sister-in-law and brother-in-law.
Friends, the past few days have been some of the most emotionally challenging and frustrating days of my life. I know in the grand scheme it is still small, and I thank God for that, but it was still exhausting. I felt so violated. So exposed. So vulnerable. And so naive!
The coolest part of this sloppy mess was the incredibly, mind-blowing support and love we received from our friends and church body. When word spread about our situation, we had a car load of teenage boys (and their teacher!) roll up to the house with able bodies to load the Budget truck and bags of Chick-Fil-A.
Another Mom brought us bottles of cold water.
Other friends put our entire family up, last minute, for two days. They fed us, prayed for us, advised us, and loved on us.
Yet another family opened their home to us, fed us, and comforted us on our journey.
The Budget truck manager, Charlie, practically saved my life. He talked me off the edge and helped me to put the broken pieces of our trip back together.
When I prayed for peace and joy amongst my heavy heart, he sent me his Church body to grant me just that.
It may be too early to learn lessons from this, the wound is still too fresh, but immediately this is quite obvious: ain’t no way any of us can do this alone.
We need others. We need support. We need the body of Christ!
I’ve written myself a list of the wonderful ways in which people have lifted us up and helped us throughout this journey. I don’t want to forget. I want to do the same for others! I never would have imagined the important role we can play in each other’s lives.
Even y’all have been an incredible support. All the thoughtful prayers and love you’ve been sending me through Facebook and through my email have been overwhelmingly encouraging and helpful. Thank you for that!
Tuesday morning, the kiddos and I will be flying from Atlanta to Seattle on a non-stop flight. Stuart, his Dad, and his brother will begin the 2,800 mile trek back to Washington. My heart is worried for them – please pray for safe travels. It’s hard to know they face such a strenuous journey.
All this being said, Lord willing, by next weekend our entire family will be united once again on the new homestead. And yes, Kula will be arriving then too. Good gravy, things are about to get crazy.
Though, let’s face it, they’ve been crazy for awhile.
Maybe crazy is the new normal for us.
It’s the final countdown.
Today, well, today I thought you may need a little confidence boost.
Want to see the state of things? Allow me to forever make you feel like a better housekeeper than I:
As many of you are aware, in less than 24 hours we are leaving Alabama. Moving out west, as they say. After a four day trip to Atlanta, that is. Toby’s excited:
But we will be none-the-less driving away from our home tomorrow – from a town and people we have grown to love very much over this past year.
I never thought I’d ever leave Washington to move to Alabama.
And I certainly never thought that just a year later, the Lord’s providence would lead us right back to Washington.
As I anxiously, but sadly, packed up boxes yesterday a hymn came into my head out of nowhere. In my best fake-soprano-opera voice (totally not kidding), I began singing loudly the words to Great Is Thy Faithfulness:
“Great is Thy faithfulness!” “Great is Thy faithfulness!“
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
“Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!
The Lord has been so faithful in his provisions for us – both in our uprooting, moving across the country, and beginning a life down South, as well as the decision making and process of moving back west. My friend Casie recently asked me what I would miss the most about the South.
I hesitated. Contemplated.
And then the answer sprung to my heart: THE PEOPLE.
He has provided us with beautiful people like my dear friend Kate:
When we first moved to Fairhope, Kate was one of the first people to invite me to a playdate. We enjoyed fellowship together in a small circle group at church she encouraged me to join.
She watched Georgia for me for Doctor’s appointments and let G have her first sleep over at their home the night Owen was born. She brought me meals. And took us swimming. And trick-or-treating. She invited us over for our first Thanksgiving away from home. And eagerly shared her resources for local kid activities and treats. She encouraged and prayed for me. She made me feel welcomed… and not only welcomed, but loved.
And then there’s my partner-in-crime Casie. We just have one of those relationships that makes you feel like you’ve been friends forever. She came make me laugh so hard that I snort. And then cry. And then keep laughing. Andrew (her husband) and Casie have become one of our dearest couple friends – I think it stems from our enthusiasm for sausage, beer… and well… food in general. Casie loves the Lord but is so encouraging and real about her walk with Him. She openly shares her triumphs, her worries, and her struggles, which I so much appreciate. Girlfriend is real. And I will miss seeing her sweet face.
Amanda. Who helped me through the worst of it. My first few months here were so emotionally difficult and Amanda was the Lord’s life-raft to me. She pulled me through the worst of it. I will forever cherish the peace she brought to the storm.
Sarah. A dear friend who had her daughter only a week before I had Owen. We both relocated to Fairhope last summer, both our husbands taught at the school, and we were both super pregnant – grounds for a wonderful friendship indeed. I feel like no one will quite understand my pregnancy and birthing experience quite like Sarah – she was such a part of it all and such an encouragement. I told Stuart that I feel like Sarah was my sister-in-arms… like we’d gone to battle together and shared in an experience that was unforgettable. The Lord gave me a great gift in her and I am thankful.
Speaking of birth, even though we’d only been in Fairhope four short months when Owen was born, I still had the encouragement of some of my most favorite ladies here while I was in labor:
Lisa. Priscilla. Mary Evelyn.
They brought me carrot ginger soup and turkey sandwiches. They lent me their chapstick. And rubbed my back. They drove us to the airport at 4:00 in the morning. And shared their produce (that’s how you really know they love you!).
So many have shared in this experience with us – the ups and the downs of it all. They have encouraged us, given us incredible gifts, and showered us with love. I have never seen a people so eager to do the work of the Lord – to truly be His hands and feet. Friends, take great encouragement from this, the body of Christ is alive and vibrant!
There are so many souls here I am taking a piece of with me when I go. Lessons I will never forget, mountains I thought incapable of climbing, tasks I thought would surely be my death, and challenges I would have avoided had it been up to me.
But thankfully, the Lord’s ways are not my ways. His plans are so much better.
If it had been up to me, I never would have journeyed to Southern Alabama last year. I never would have chosen to face the emotional and financial challenges we were presented with.
And in my desire to always be comfortable, complacent, and at ease, I would have missed one of the most wonderful experiences I could have ever hoped for. Were there rocky moments? Moments of doubt? Moments of frustration? Moments of sadness? Of course.
But the peace of the Lord, which surpasses all comprehension, guarded my heart and mind – just as He promises it will.
The Lord was faithful, just as He promises.
The Lord was merciful, just as He promises.
The Lord always provided, just as He promises.
I am leaving Alabama with a heart that has grown to love the Lord’s ways and His beautiful people more than I ever thought possible. To all of you – students, staff, friends, parents, church members, community members – THANK YOU for caring for us over this past year. Your love and support speaks so true to the awesome God we serve. And we will not forget it.
Tear.
All that being said, I won’t be sad about leaving the fire ants. Just sayin’.
Goodbye, sweet Fairhope. We love you!
The Elliott Farm. It’s BIG NEWS!
I must admit, I’ve written this post 1,000 times in my head already.
In fact, as I was trying to sleep last night listening to the thunder storm, I quietly typed it out in my head. Almost the entire thing! But alas, mentally typing something isn’t the same as actually typing it, so here I am. Typing. To share some incredibly big, sweet, difficult, life-changing news with you.
Did you hear me? I said BIG NEWS.
Where do I even start? Where did I start in my head last night? I forget. Dangit. Anyway.
Well…
We’re moving. Many of you know via Facebook that I’ve been purging and cleaning like crazy as I begin to pack up our belongings from the rental house. Our last will be up at the end of the month and we long contemplated where we would land after it was time to renew.
We knew we really wanted a piece of land.
We wanted a place, even if it was a rental, to establish and invest and grow.
And so we prayed.
What we didn’t expect was the Lord to answer our prayers in quite this way.
You see…the Lord did decide to bless us with a piece of land. But that piece of land is back in Washington State. 2500 miles from our current location. Y’all remember Washington, right? That beautiful state we just moved from last year?
Well…as the good Lord would have it…that is where we will be moving back to.
*The audience gasps*
I know. I know. It’s frickin’ crazy, people. I’ve been eager to share the news with you for some time, but this sort of big decision requires a lot of prayerful consideration and time. After all, this will mean moving across the country again. And more significantly, leaving the people that we have grown to love here in Alabama.
Beh. Here come the tears.
Stuart was offered a job back in Wenatchee at another Classical Christian school. As we contemplated the offer, we were torn. Tormented, really, by the weight of the decision. While the desire to be close to my family in undoubtedly significant, I also felt such peace with being here in this little, beautiful life that has developed from our move down South. I’ve developed community and friendships in a way that I never have before. I’ve been vulnerable and raw and open to lessons, charity, and opportunities. The experience of such a significant move is never one I would take back – the growth, knowledge, and experience is so incredibly valuable.
Last summer, after we first moved down, I remember be on my knees in prayer. Sobbing. “Lord, I can’t do it. I can’t survive. Please take this burden away.”
Little did I know what a huge blessing that ‘burden’ would blossom into.
Friends. Church members. Small groups. Play groups. Students. Parents. Faculty. Farmers. Community. Not a single aspect of our lives haven’t been wonderfully shaped and changed by the beautiful people of Alabama. So much so that when the time came to make the decision, I was able to peacefully and quite easily leave it in Stuart’s hands. After my visit home in February, I no doubt longed to be close to my family once again, but I remember distinctly landing at the Pensacola Airport and thinking “Ah, we’re home. This is where we belong.”
And for a short year, this is where we belonged.
We have been surrounded and lifted up by the hands and feet of Christ like I’ve never experienced before. Even though we’d only been here for a few short months by the time I was in labor with Owen, I still had the most wonderful and loving women at my side to help me. We had visitors, bringing us meals and gifts and praying over us constantly. We had been welcomed into homes for meals and holidays. We’d gone sailing, berry picking, crawfish boiling, exploring, and experiencing with such spiritually rich people – the contagiousness of their love for Christ was as thick and consuming as this humid, deep Southern air.
Oh their sweet faces and fellowship. How I will miss it so.
It was with both a heavy and happy heart that the decision was finally made to move back. And after sitting with that decision for a few weeks, I can feel at peace with the pain I know it will inevitably cause. For us and for others.
Seriously tears. Stop now.
I just love this place. I love the people. I love the rain. I love the spanish moss trailing from the giant oaks that line the roads.
Hate the fire ants though. And the roaches. But let’s not get hung up on details, now.
All that being said, I would pray you would allow me the grace to be a complete emotional basket case like I am planning on being for the next four weeks. Please and thank you.
And all THAT being said, I would like to introduce you to our new home:
I think I’ll call it, The Elliott Farm.
I will tell you the long and incredibly God-ordained story of how this little nugget of farm came to us another day, but in the meantime, let’s just PRAISE GOD! He has given us (okay fine, he’s allowed us to rent) the most wonderful little sliver of Central Washington I could have ever hoped for.
5 acres. To garden. To graze. To raise our dairy cow on. To keep chickens. And rabbits. And a beef steer. And bees. And plant grapes. And… And…
Whatever else our little hearts can possibly imagine!
There is much work to be done. Landscaping to complete. Retaining walls to build. Herb gardens to plant. Large vegetable beds to be layed out. Rabbit cages to be installed. Shops to be filled. Chicken coops to decorate, revamp, and clean. Pasture to be fenced. Animal outbuildings to be refurbished and revived. Y’all – there is seriously a LOT to do.
But there is nothing I would rather do than work on The Elliott Farm.
Did I mention it’s five minutes from a local winery? But that’s neither here-nor-there.
Dream with me, won’t you?
I feel like we’ve been through a lot together, my friends, and I’m very thankful y’all will get to make this journey back home with me.
Our Homestead.
As I sit here and nibble the chocolate chips out of my homemade banana ice cream, I can’t help but think about all the wonderful things in the world. It is, after all, Sunday afternoon. And the sun is shining through the jungle outside, slowly warming my core temperature up (which is currently about 15 degrees from eating so much said ice cream).
Point being = it’s a sweet moment.
I’m slowly getting better at savoring the sweet moments, as it seems all too often the Lord allows uncomfortable circumstances to come into our lives. But those moments, those sweet moments, when all is calm and wonderful – those are to be savored.
Notice I didn’t say all is ‘clean’ or all is ‘organized’. Oh no. The house is filthy, dishes are stacked in the sink, I’m out of grocery money for the month with no clue as to what I’m going to make for the next ten days of dinner.
But such is life. And regardless, it’s still a sweet moment.
I’ve been allowing my mind to daydream the past few days – a trail of these sweet moments when I feel passionate and inspired. I’ve let it wander to….wait for it….wait for it…
Our homestead.
I know. Shocker, right?
I can feel it – a new season is upon us, and it’s time to get serious about this homesteading business. I am trusting that the Lord will make straight the path before us so that our adventure can finally hit full-force.
Chickens, for fresh eggs daily.
Goats, for their delicious raw milk.
Bees, for their sweet honey.
Rabbits, for their meat.
Worms, for their incredible compost.
A vineyard, for grapes.
A garden, for vegetables.
Fruit trees, for…well, ya know. Fruit.
It’s a mindset of resourcefulness and appreciation. A slower pace that pairs enjoyment with hard work.
A time where clothes will make their way out to dry on the clothesline.
A time when supper will come almost entirely from the soil of our land and the work of our hands.
A time when flowers will bloom.
And tea will be sipped.
And fellowship will be enjoyed over a day of harvesting.
A time when Georgia will begin carrying a bucket of eggs up from the coop.
And a time when the morning routine will include milking, be it rain, snow, or shine.
Ultimately, my friends, a time is upon us where we will get to witness first-hand the glory of God that is present in this incredible created world.
Perhaps it’s just the way I’ve been designed as a daughter of Adam, longing so desperately to be close with the earth, with it’s animals, with it’s ability to produce such wonderful things. As cliche as it sounds, I’ve discovered the movement of life on the farm to be incredibly harmonious.
Harsh. But harmonious.
I know that farm life isn’t for everyone. And truth be told, I’m sure there will be many a day when I’d rather roll over and fade back to sleep in a warm blanket than head out into the cold air with a milk bucket. In fact, I know there will be those times – I spent many frigid winter mornings in college feeding cattle and horses. Peeling myself away from the Memory Foam was torture.
But I love the work. The dirt. The rewards.
I can really tell it’s time to begin this part of our lives and I’m so excited! So until the day when it will all begin (and soon enough it will), I’ll read through great resources such as this, and this, and this and soak up and learn as much as I can.
I shutter to think of a day when I cease to learn and grow.
Someday, by the grace of God, I’ll be able to milk a goat like it ain’t no thang.
So what if I don’t know how yet!
It’s a process…a journey…
…and a beautiful one at that.
What’s YOUR favorite part about farm life?
Uphill. All the way.
Life is sweet.
And life is hard.
As I type this, I am enjoying a freshly washed pair of flannel pajamas. But my belly is kinda aching from waiting too long to eat. Which then caused me to eat too much when I finally did get around to it. Hence the switch from skinny jeans to flannel pajama bottoms.
I am sipping on a delicious cup of cinnamon tonic, while listening to the storm slowly brewing outside. A seemingly beautiful spring moment (and that it is!). But the sweet smell of cinnamon from my cup is slowly being overridden by the stench coming from a pile of stinky, poopy diapers waiting by the backdoor for their trip to the washing machine.
Yes, friends, there is sweet and there is stinky. There is longing and there is loss. There is relaxation and there is work.
Stuart presented the following poem to his class last week, and I’ve thought of it often since he read it to me over the breakfast table a few days ago.
It sticks with me, in the back of my mind, reminding me that this side of glory there will always be battles alongside peace.
Uphill
Christina Rossetti
Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.
But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.
A lot of people who I know and love dearly are carrying struggles, and burdens, and challenges as I type this. There are struggles with money. With jobs. With loss. With sickness. With infertility. With divorce. With infidelity. With addiction. With weary souls.
And this side of glory (that is, this side of heaven) these struggles will always be. Until our very last day, my friends, our walk will be uphill. It will be hard.
But that isn’t where it ends, is it? Even on earth, we can find rest for our weariness. A rest that comes in knowing our Lord and Savior has secured for us a place in Paradise. So no matter how many times I’ve lost my temper today, or how tired my body is, or how difficult of a day I will face tomorrow, at this very moment, there is rest.
A rest found in Christ’s sufficient sacrifice for my sin.
A breath of life.
A revival of spirit.
A break from the painstaking travels.
Though the Lord challenges us, He is gracious enough to keep us from breaking.
I liken the poem to my time spent backpacking through Europe. As I battled thieves, beggars, subways, unfamiliar streets, numerous transportation challenges, exhaustion, and language barriers – that incredible, restful feeling of laying my head down in bed at night consistently refreshed my body and soul after the difficulties. In fact, it was the difficulties of the traveling that made me appreciate that sweet pillow and rest all the more.
Alas, I shouldn’t be surprised that the smell of poopy diapers is lingering in the air. That messiness is part of a challenging life.
But rest is found in Christ.
And eternal rest, free of all poo, will be found at the top of the uphill journey. For all who are willing to keep traveling.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.
