Sometimes, the driveway declares the glory of God...

Our older four children are away on a trip, so this week, driving the weekly trash to the corner fell to me. And since the oldest three boys home were helping me with the task, I couldn't leave the youngest four alone in the house. We all piled into the van. Adventure ensued as the kids, gloriously free from seat belts on our own long driveway, huddled in the back to make sure the two bungee-corded, wheeled-trashbins continued to follow the van down to the corner. A minute later, the boys jumped out, set the bins neatly on the side of the road and hopped back in, laughing, and proud of their work. 

It's been good for them to be the "older kids" this week. 

A glorious evening. 

We decided to drive a hundred yards further to visit our 91-year-old neighbor for a few minutes. The long way round to turn the van back to home. 

Our neighbor and I watched the kids play tag, and run shouting around the house, as beams of slanting sun shot long shadows at their feet. Moments like this I always turn to smile at our neighbor and try to imagine him running barefoot in the grass at dusk as well. He was ninth of ten growing up in that house after all. 

On the way back home, I drove, blinded by the sun, back to the west then turned right to go up our long gravel driveway. Trees, and weeds, and all manner of wild have grown up along the left side of the drive and I was struck by the darkness of the path. Here and there a beam of light would break through and shine a patch of shining light upon the ground. But largely, night had claimed the drive. If anything, the few beams of light only intensified the darkness.

I slowed before continuing back home, and thought... "Too bad we have to take this path, with all that sun still filling up the fields." 

Immediately, I thought of the past two years. 

We had to take that path. It was the only road. And although the sun still shone as bright as ever in the fields, sometimes the glimpses of light we saw only accentuated the darkness and the length of the road, curving on ahead to points unknown. And now, once having gotten used to the dimness of the path, it's a little hard to believe we have the freedom to get out again and walk back into the field and feel the heat of sun, and have even a minute to breathe again. We're shy and uncertain, even in the gentle evening light. 

I had someone send me a note the first year, urging me to write again, besides the CaringBridge reports. A kind note intended to encourage me. But, I just couldn't. I remembered all the promises of God, believed them more than ever in my bones, knew He was Good and True and Eternally Shining like the sun. Like the sun that shines the same whether we are blinded with glory facing West, or resting in the sunny field, or trudging down a dim uncertain road. But it's hard to speak that Praise out loud, or write it down, when hidden in the shade. 

Sometimes, even a driveway declares the glory of God.

                                                                                ~Sara~

The heavens declare the glory of God,
     and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.
Day to day pours out speech,
     and night to night reveals knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words,
     whose voice is not heard.
                 ~Psalm 19:1-3~

So Teach Us to Number Our Days

One day, several months after our ninth baby Zac was born, I managed to get my four oldest kids close to tears after starting what seemed to be a happy conversation.

"Do you know that Mr. Friend was the ninth of ten children in his family?  He's just like baby Zac!  They lived right there in that house where he lives now.  They had even numbers, too–five boys and five girls, pretty close to our family."

Oh, everyone thought that was wonderful.  We all looked at Zac and made him laugh.  We thought about 87-year-old Mr. Friend being a happy baby with lots of big brothers and sisters. And they remembered happy and funny stories, too, that he has told us about his growing up time.

We talked about that for a while, and then 6-year-old Ben asked "But, if he's got all those brothers and sisters, why does he live alone?"

"Well, he never got married and he loved farming, so he lived with his mother and father all his life and helped them farm until they died a long time ago, and his brothers and sisters all got married and moved to homes of their own.  He ran that farm by himself for over thirty years.  And now eight of them have died and he has one brother still living, but he (we've met him) hasn't been feeling well lately and can't come over to visit anymore."

Ben took this in matter-of-factly and went on his way, but I looked up to see my older four children standing there wide-eyed and silent.  They were feeling it in their gut for the first time that eventually they too will grow up, their lives will unfold and they will be separated by time and place and circumstance and some way or another all of them would die.  And Mom and Dad, too!

Lydia broke the silence.  "But . . . that's so . . . sad!"

And there they were. Four children aged 15, 11, 10 and 8, near tears, looking at me and me looking back at them. Thinking.

It's rare that I sit across the table from my old friend in that quiet house, that tidy house, that bachelor's house, where he lives alone– and not try to imagine that space filled with five young men and five young women talking and laughing while they eat their meals. Their mother sitting to the side and watching her growing and grown children, catching most of their words while she turns to comment in Swedish to her husband.  In my mind the empty barn is filled again with sixty dairy cows and fifty, or sixty or one-hundred chickens and a dozen pigs are over in the yard. The diesel tractors parked in his garage are gently replaced by three teams of horses–the six of them the only animals with names on the farm. Except for the dogs, of course.

My friend grows young before my eyes as I hear stories from his youth–jumping from wood beam to wood beam on the lawn while his older brothers and father and friends built that big red barn in 1929 when he was 7-years-old. Or later, strong from daily work, when he could carry ten-gallon-pails of water in each hand to the pig pen fifty yards away from the pump. Or back further when he was a small boy, and his sister fell through the soggy land shelf by the stream in the wild area and they thought she'd drown–but they got her out safe and sound after all. Or when they'd all try to look busy doing something all the time (or at least keep out of sight) lest their dad would find some job for them to do, even the youngest set to work in the yard digging dandelions to get out every root. Or when four brothers were called up to serve in World War II, but the local draft board decided that my friend should stay at home and help their father farm, so our country would have enough to eat during the war.

Can you imagine the joy around that table the first time they ate together after all four brothers came back home alive from that war?

He tells me where they slept when they were all still living at home–here, there and everywhere in the house depending on the hunting season or the harvest and who needed to get up at 3:00am and who could sleep in until 5:00 or even 6:00.

I look at all the neatly placed cookware on the shelves, and pretty plates set up above, and the place where the pipe went through the wall when they used an old cook stove and wonder if his mother could ever imagine a time when that house would be still, and quiet, and tidy, and chores all finally, finally done and the house–now home to just one aged son–would nearly echo with the lack of busyness.  A dish or two a day now washed in that sink, and one glass used all day long. And though the laundry is no longer done by hand, the machine is only needed once a week or so.

Five sons and five daughters and a man and a wife once occupied these rooms where my friend has lived every day of his life and where he continues to live since he retired from farming but not from life. Just my friend and one older brother are left from that generation that built that house and farm.  But a patient  stream of nieces, nephews, neighbors and friends pull in and out of the yard through all his days.

And as I think these things, I remember that I really should not talk so long–for my own kids are back in our house around the curve in the road. A house not quiet, or tidy and with many chores still needing to be done! This is my time to go home and live it. I look over at the ninth child born to his house, while I hold the ninth child born to my house in my lap. Old, sparkling, blue-eyes are bringing laughter into young, blue-eyes from across the table top. Laughing myself, I rise to go.

It's hard to imagine a moment, let alone day after day when my house could ever be quiet, tidy and chores all finally, finally done.

Yet, it is a certain thing that this life is fleeting. Kevin helped me realize this from the start. When we were first left alone with minutes-old, firstborn Grace in the hospital, we were both looking at her sleeping in my arms with tears in our eyes. Then he quietly said, with his hand on her head, "Tomorrow she will be burying us." It was jarring. At first I couldn't even fit that into that moment, couldn't understand his words.  But I keep that in mind now that the days seem long, and the years seem short.  And as much as I want my children to grow up in the shelter and safe harbor of a happy and loving home, much more do I want their foundation and source of joy and security to rest upon unshakable and eternal realities so that when their life unfolds with its joys and trials and inevitable loss they will rest upon our sure hope in God.

O Lord, teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom. (Psalm 90:12)

                                  ~Sara~

This is our 9th baby Zac and my dear friend Mr. Irwin Falk (a.k.a. Mr. Friend) on one of our many visits to his home, a short-walk country next-door to ours. Zac was born in the summer of 2009. Zac is less than one-year-old in this picture. Irwin was 87-years-old. Irwin was the 9th of 10 in his family and lived in this home his entire life.

In loving memory: Irwin Falk  (September 27, 1922-August 3, 2019) 

So Teach Us to Number Our Days was included in the Chapel column of The Old Schoolhouse ® Magazine, Summer 2011. My writing agreement stipulated that I had to remove this article from my blog until six months after publication. I'm happy to be able to share it here again with friends and family. 

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God's power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls."  1 Peter 1:3-9

No Child Left Inside

We had a bit of fun yesterday on Facebook, of all places.  For those of you who missed it, and for the sake of posterity and remembrance, I'm going to share it here.   ~Sara~

ps. a big thank you to more than a dozen friends who chimed in on the original conversation, adding much delight to my afternoon. 

Status Post:

Younger kids aged 8,6,5,3 and 2 outside enthusiastically and cheerfully building a village with outlined foundations of leaves, artifacts gathered from here and there, and much imagination. In light of the six months of winter just ahead and the coffee on the table in my peaceful dining room... having trouble mustering up the will power to call them inside to "do school." 

Comments:

Ms. Shull, 

I see that your students are not in their classroom today. 

Could you please explain... ;-) 

Sincerely, 

Mr. Shull

Principal Shull, 

You'll please notice that I have followed the guidelines set forth by your own policy established in 1998, entiltled "No Child Left Inside" - item 503.1 (Not Squandering Autumn in Minnesota). :) 

Sincerely,

Ms. Shull


Ms. Shull, 

I am well aware of item 503.1 and grateful for your close adherence to this most important value in our schooling system. My significant concern was that you had failed to follow through with subpoint 503.1.34 ensuring that, and I quote, "students will be appropriately dressed in pajamas and barefoot during outdoor activities when said activities occur before the school day has commenced." Can you please explain?

Sincerely,

Mr. Shull


Oh, dear. Mr. Shull, 

I do see that I failed in that respect. I had insisted on outdoor clothing prior to letting them go outdoors - thus the confusion regarding whether I was in fact complying with and appealing to 503.1 or intending to "do school". The majority however, were indeed barefoot, and a good time was had by all which I believe was the original spirit, if not the letter, of the law. I promise to review all the subpoints of 503.1 so as to ensure that all the children have the most benefit of the No Child Left Inside policy as established in 1998. 

Sincerely, 

Ms. Shull.


Ms. Shull, 

It was a relief to hear your response and to know that you are indeed complying with, as you say, the spirit of our "No Child Left Inside" initiative. Thank you for kindly seeing to full compliance in the future. And what pleases me perhaps most in this matter is to know that you will still be eligible to be nominated by your students for the Teacher of the Year award. 

Sincerely, 

Principal Shull

These are the good old days. (Part 2)

(Continued from Part 1)

The Barn Removal Project.

Or as we've come to call it, the Barn Razing (as in completely destroy and remove all traces of existence).

When we moved to this house and property, seven years ago, there was an old barn standing on its last legs. A barn with a leaking wooden roof, rotten beams, and due to the (now wet) straw insulating the walls, rotten everything. When we had our inspection prior to buying this house, the inspector told us the barn was condemned and we should not let anyone go in it. As a matter of fact, I never did go in it. We put a barrier of snow fencing around it to keep the kids away. Our insurance company had no problem with having us sign an "exclusion" of that building and so over the past years we've let trees and grass and weeds grow up around and through that old barn while it slowly and then finally sank to its knees. Old steel siding folded in, then covered the fallen barn as if with a blanket for its last sleep. In the Summer, it was hidden by the wild of green. In the Winter, it was covered with snow. Other than glancing at it over in a corner of the now non-existent farm yard in a nostalgic sort of way, we never thought of it at all.

Until the letter came. The letter explaining that we had 30 days to remove (or rebuild!) the barn or our insurance would drop us. Really? What about that exclusion? Well, that was then and this is now. The barn must go.

This letter coincided with a letter from our insurance agent telling us that our insurance company had become difficult to work with in the rural areas, she would no longer be representing them . . . and would we like to switch to a new company, one that would save us hundreds of dollars in the process?  "Why, yes indeed.  How convenient!" we thought.  Then we discovered that the new, friendly company also required removal of the barn––in fact all companies were now in agreement that the potentially dangerous old building would need to be removed.  And soon. Within 30 days of our new policy's start date.  By the end of August.

We literally stood staring at that thing, completely hidden by overgrowth, wondering how on earth we could solve this problem. Our preference for an easy answer . . .  professional demo, sorting, removal, hauling and dumping was looking to cost many thousands of dollars. So that was not an option.  We heard lots of advice . . . "People love that old barnwood! They'll even remove it for you!" Or . . . "Dig a big hole and just shove it in there - that's what the old farmers do." Or . . . "Have the fire department burn it for practice! That's only $600-800." Or . .  "Wait until winter, push it all into a field and just burn the whole thing."  Dear Mr. Friend suggested shoving it just ten feet north of the property line (through a few trees) and then claim it was his problem!  All intriguing ideas, but things we couldn't well achieve on a shoe-string budget, no large equipment, nearby flammable buildings and trees, those pesky new environmental rules about burying things, and a 30-day timeline.|

Finally, we thought of one possibility. It seemed a bit too easy and so probably wouldn't work. Could we burn it gradually on a campfire sized fire, piece by piece, sorting and saving the good to give away, and burning the bad? Working on it all of August? With a five-dollar burn permit? At times we thought- "Yes! We can do it!" A minute later we thought of other details - "No! This is impossible!" After all, this was completely not on the agenda this year. How could we spend that much time on it, all of us working, even if it worked? Three weeks ago, just before the date we were set to begin, we were very discouraged. The type of discouragement that makes your eyes fly wide open in the middle of the night with anxiety, but also causes you to cry out to the Lord for help.  The type of discouragement you see in each other that makes you want to smile and be brave and say out loud "It's all going to be OK."

I started mentioning this "barn project" to friends and the response was always the same.  A surprising enthusiasm, encouragement to ask others to help, and even to think of it as a party. A definite intrigue with the idea of an old barn whether it was going up or coming down. A universal desire to be a part of such old-fashioned, hard, manual work. A desire for their kids to have a chance to do that sort of "real" work. An outpouring of love and offers from many, and genuine sadness on the part of those who had other plans and couldn't come help. After all, that barn was put together by hand (and we imagine with the help of friends and family), why not pull it apart piece by piece with the help of friends and family? It sounds like The Good Old Days.

So we asked for help. And help came.  Mr. Friend came with his backhoe and his skilled use of it, and what we would have done without him I don't know. He has come early (accommodating us by waiting until 6:30am, when he'd been up since 4:00), and late–when Kevin got home from his city job. Whenever the big machine and his expertise would be of assistance. Fathers and sons have come to help, moms and a kid or two, entire families, and men alone or in pairs.  One day of particular progress we had two adult men in the morning, rain in the afternoon, and then a family with six children came to help in the mud of the evening. All these friends along with our own work crew did remove that barn.  I expected it to take every bit of that 30 days.  I was expecting to be rushed in the end. But that's not what happened.


In just six days the major work was done––and we had even taken one day off for sheer exhaustion, and the good excuse of rain. We breathed a sigh of relief and scheduled one more work day and more help arrived, just at the right time, even after we turned a few away because we thought rain would ruin the day. Now, just the odds and ends of splintered wood and dirt remain. Sorted wood, still good for use, is sitting here and there, but the barn is gone. We can prove it with photos for our insurance file. We are so thankful for the answer to our prayers that came through our Brothers and Sisters and good hard (but doable) work for our family.  The type of answer that teaches us all (not just the children) that the Lord still moves mountains.

Which is what reminds me that these are The Good Old Days, the days the Lord has planned for us. I want to recognize it as we go along, and not just with hindsight of years to come or through the romantic lens that doesn't see the grit in these good days.  I want to see it all and still feel the goodness.  The days of family, friends, and children still at home. Of hard work, too, and impossible needs. The days full of challenges that answer our prayers that our children will be prepared for lives of their own. Lessons provided by floods, and vans breaking down, and mothers on crutches when the house guests arrive, and hard work on barns, and depending on Brothers and Sisters when we'd rather not be in need. Lessons from hearing mom and dad praying for something to work out, with a feeble sort of faith. Praying themselves because they know it's something we really need, something really important that we can't make happen on our own. And then seeing the answers come one after another. And after that, seeing the greater provision of the Lord's design in all of these things, better than any plan we would have made for this Summer––back when we thought coffee on the deck, family bike rides, and maybe building a tree house (to teach the kids how to work a bit) was the best plan. The plan that defines and meets our needs, burns away the chaff, and draws us closer to Him.

I've looked at that barn coming down, looked at the friends coming together to offer hours of hard work, looked at the pieces of old wood and the old-time nails, looked at beams of the barn made of unmilled logs, and thought of that time of tremendous hard work on this farm 100 years ago when that barn was new. Work without machines and nearly without rest.  Work without a hot shower at the end of the day. An exhausted sleep on a hot summer night without fans or A/C.  A tenacity to build from the ground up, with no guarantee of success, that we can hardly imagine. Building projects, hoping for a good crop, investing in animals and newfangled machines.  Thousands of days preparing meals and feeding animals and cleaning up and making do. Marriages and children. Gains and loss. Hard times and good times and daily chores. Times spent on knees in prayer and times asking friends for help.  Answers and help provided.

The Good Old Days.

Lord, let me lean into these days and live life to the full as it unfolds . . . with thankfulness, trusting in You for the plan.

                                          ~Sara~

ps.  Kevin just came home and said a friend of ours (that we haven't seen in months) offered us a load of oak firewood, already cut, that they really have no use of.  Could we use it? My eyes are glistening. More answers to prayer.  One concern of the barn project was that Kevin and the kids had no time to begin to work on cutting the free firewood available from Mr. Friend's land for this winter (which we use for the major source of heat for our home).  This friend, with no knowledge of our need, offers an answer to a prayer barely asked in passing. Whispered lest we ask for too much. I am thankful and amazed. (The "load" turned out to be THREE cords.)

It's all humor and poetry.

Sometimes people get the impression that life at our house must be all humor and poetry.  I'm here with proof that this is, indeed, true.

This summer has been a big one for big storms. 

We've had storms that did damage with 70 mph straight line winds. Some of it quite severe. In our little area of Minnesota, thousands of trees went down in not one, but two separate storms. Huge, old towering trees pulled up from the roots.  Oaks snapped off ten feet above the ground.  Four of Mr. Friend's tree line pines, planted in 1950, fell thunderously to the ground just missing his house. We ourselves lost a few trees-including a much beloved old orchard apple tree.  It fell and smashed a younger tree we were hoping would take its place. 

The orchard apple tree, old already in 2005

We've seen crazy winds toss the big outdoor playhouse about 40 feet to a new location, random objects fly through the air, and heard that loud hail pounding the house. We've lost power on hot humid nights and a couple of times, we've had to make our way down to the old cellar for tornado warnings.  

Did I mention the time we ran from a tornado in our van? That was last year, but still fresh in our minds.  It was like a scene from a movie, with a tree limb falling across the road right in front of our path as Dad slammed on the brakes to avoid a major collision, just as it came into focus, huge in the illumination of the headlights.  The screaming in the van was soundtrack perfect. We sheltered that one out actually in the vehicle, parked close up to an L corner behind a big building. 

Anyway, perhaps it's not surprising that some of the kids have gotten a bit skittish about the weather and (mildly) obsessed with watching the radar for potential danger.  We suspect this may actually lead our nearly 12-year-old Nat to become a TV weather man. He's got the smile, the personality, and now he's talking weather all the time. In any case, he has not yet made peace with his weather interest, though he has learned a ton about weather patterns and is frequently looking up weather news on the internet this summer.

Today, he was a bit freaked out by the big storm system headed our way on the radar.  It was one of those long lines of stormfront with a big area of red in the middle, surrounded by a lot of yellow, and a fringe of green.  Of course, our house is a pin on that computerized radar map, and that monster was headed right towards us. Pretty much a bulls-eye.  The fact that the accompanying text info included no warnings for severe weather, and the forecast called only for several hours of very heavy rain, did little to reassure him.  That thing did look serious. "What if their interpretation of the data is just wrong?" he asked with a nervous half-laugh.

What, indeed? 

Teasing him, I said, “Nat, you shouldn’t be scared. It’s beautiful! It’s powerful! You should write poetry about it! That’s what I do… (wink)”  

Nat’s quick deadpan response, “OK, how about a Haiku…" and as he counted off the syllables on his fingers, out came the following gem on his first try. 

The storm is coming

And it is really scary

I’m going to die

At this point everyone, including him, burst into laughter.  His sisters begged him to let me share this and he readily agreed.  After all, the storm came and it was nothing but a lot of rain. He is most likely going to survive until morning.  But if not? At least he has left this poem as a legacy.

See what I mean? It's all humor and poetry.

                                            ~Sara~

These are the good old days. (Part 1)

At the beginning of May this year, we were looking forward to the Summer, just amazed at how wide open the days looked.  We had two greatly anticipated trips on the calendar.  Otherwise, it looked like a long lazy Summer was in store for our family.  We dreamed of family bike rides, coffee on the deck, reading outside on the big swing, painting sheds, and building a chicken coop, or perhaps a tree house, with all that extra time.

Turns out, the days the LORD had planned for us were not exactly what we had in mind.

Just after returning home from our first whirlwind trip (a wonderful family wedding weekend) we discovered our basement contained a lake.  Yes, with all the rain this year, our basement was now sitting IN the water table.  Eighteen inches of water surprised me when I went down to get something out of storage.  All of our plastic bins containing off season and hand me down clothes had floated and turned over and leaked (requiring drying outside on the old fashioned laundry lines while waiting for a wash and dry inside, fifteen extra loads of laundry in our big machines) and the bottom of our furnace, a dehumidifier, and a fan were underwater. Lots of shoes, old toys, and miscellaneous stuff (junk) ruined. That same day, our main breaker went out (as we turned it off to be safe in the water) and it needed to be replaced.  Without electricity, our well pump doesn't work, so no running water.  The hot water was out anyway, and we had visions of propane bubbling up through the water. Better women than myself could have cleaned up from this in a few days.  It took me, even with everyone helping, the better part of three weeks.



I was officially done with flood clean-up the day before we left for a two week road trip. That trip, too, was full of the unexpected.  A break-down on the Great Plains on a 100 degree day on a Sunday morning with no repairs in sight. A limping, unsteady 70 mile drive that (thankfully!) returned us safely to Grandmom's welcoming, air conditioned home. A drive in a borrowed car, five hours round trip, to get the only rental van available in the state of Kansas.  A nice beautiful new rental van that wouldn't haul our trailer. A four hour re-packing job to pare down our carefully selected originally packed items (plenty of room in that trailer) down to an amount that would fit inside the rental van with us (a sight to behold).  We left at least half our stuff in our trailer in Grandmom's driveway, ready to pick up, along with our repaired van, on our way back home.

Hearing the details of 'the-day-we-drove-eight-hours-and-went-nowhere' my mother (on the phone, waiting for us at our destination in beautiful Colorado) cheerfully commented "I hear a blog entry in all this!" It was hard to laugh along in the crabby, sweaty, tired atmosphere of that evening while we repacked in the hot and humid evening air.

We did have a great vacation. Interspersed with the beauty and excitement of that Mountain trip (which was given to us as a gift, including that rental van, by generous grandparents) were a few more misadventures.  We lost track of a child in Vail, CO, who was found by the nice local police before we even knew he had left the big Pirate Ship playground.  He, just six-years-old, mistakenly thought we had left him behind and had run for the car (far away in a parking garage) while the rest of us (five adults, two teens, eleven younger kids ) continued to enjoy the playground full of children and a stream nearby.

By the time we were packing up and commenting "Hey, where is Sam . . . has anyone seen Sam?" the above-mentioned nice police man came up and asked me, "Are you looking for a boy in a red shirt."

Me, cheerfully, "Why, Yes!"

His serious response, "We've had him for ten minutes."

Oh no!

Though they told us he'd been so upset he was unable to talk much, once they brought him back to us, right where we'd been all along, he settled down after a few minutes of being strongly held by Dad.  It turns out for this particular boy, believing you've been forgotten is quite traumatic, but finding out you just made a mistake about that and thus discovered you have an uncanny ability to make your way back through the winding streets of a village to the place where your parents parked the van, meeting nice people who help you out, and policemen who take you right back where you started is just an adventure. Of course, we are extremely thankful things turned out so well and I did have several panic attacks about the whole thing later that night.  And I'm giving up my nomination for Mother of the Year.

Did I mention I got thrown from a horse?  Yep, about a minute after I was taking deep breaths of cool mountain air, praising God for the truly awesome view, and thinking how peaceful and quiet it is to travel on horseback.  I didn't even have that moment where you think 'Oh, no! I'm falling!" Nope. One second I see the horse getting kicked by one of his horsey friends and without any time passing . . . my face is resting in dust and my only thought, "I'm on the ground," was accompanied by small explosions of pain in my shoulder, hip and knee. I didn't notice the cuts on my hands or broken fingernails at first. But, with 18 anxious members of my family watching and calling out in concern, and not wanting to miss or ruin that ride and campfire dinner adventure, I did get back up on that horse, and thankfully there were no serious injuries.  I was rewarded with one particularly impressive bruise on my hip, and a limp which eventually required crutches . . . the week we had four extra great kids stay with us for a much anticipated "Camp" week at our own house, beginning two days after we got home from vacation.

Fast forward a few more days through 4th of July back at Grandmom's (her basement flooded, too!) and past County Fair week (I guess I didn't have that on the calendar way back in May) which brings us to...

 . . . the BIG unexpected, impossible, and nearly overwhelming task that we did not once think we'd have to face this Summer–which we discovered we would have to accomplish one way or another before the end of August . . .  and my point for bringing up all this in the first place.


The part that makes me remember that these ARE the good old days.

But it's getting late, so I think I'd better leave that for a second entry.  I'll try to write it soon.

                                           ~Sara~

(Part 2 can be found here)

Journal Snapshots ~ Summer Catch-Up 2011

Hello Family, Friends, and die-hard Shull Family Fans everywhere . . . it's time for another episode of Journal Snapshots! An insider's look at the more lighthearted moments in our household, at least from my point of view.

                                                ~Sara~

Dad to a grinning 10-year-old who started off a round of family Bananagrams with a nine letter word, "It's really not fun playing with people like you." :)



Baby Daniel is experiencing his first day of 90s and humidity. He doesn't seem too impressed.



Today is the third time Minneapolis went over 100 degrees in the past century. This historic event makes the snow boots in our front porch look a bit odd.



I do realize that most of the world has little interest in the moodiness of the weather in Minnesota–but I just realized the temp has plunged to 65 though it is still sunny. Everyone has to change clothes before we head to the church picnic! (Local friends... grab a jacket and meet us there?)



‎Grace just received a college recruiting letter trying to convince her that their college (whose name we shall not reveal) was the right place for her to live out her college dreams. We became suspicious they might not actually possess the key to her future as we read the beginning of the letter: 

      Hello [NAME]...



Ah, Juneuary! Perhaps a little fire in the fireplace?

Helpful tip for boys: While it is manly and exciting to see how far one can throw, it is best not to use one's siblings' rubber boots for the purpose, especially when throwing into the hayfield and the grass is taller than one's head. Thank you. (Yes, Dear, our boys . . . they've found all but one)



Big brother Nat (age 11), thinking of the explosive properties of propane when he went outside to find his 4-year-old brother standing on top of the big outdoor tank: "Jon, what are you doing?! Get down! You shouldn't be up there!" 

Jon scrambling down, looking concerned: "Is that a Ten Commandment!???" 

Singing this in my head today: How deep the Father's love for us, how vast beyond all measure...



At Grandmom Joan's, where fireworks are legal . . . I walk outside to find Dad with all the kids huddled around various smoking, sparkling, crackling and snapping items. 

Ruthie greets me with a huge grin: 

     "Oooooo Mom! We're blowin' stuff up!"



Last night's winner for Funniest Dinner Table Comment: 6-year-old Sam, after staring out into space over his half-eaten supper for a few moments, suddenly asked, "Can I have a snack?"



Windows all open, listening to that peaceful rain. 

    That smell, that sound, that cool breeze... 

          A gift in July.



County Fair Dog Show this morning for Grace and Lydia (and Boaz and Tipper). Perhaps the predicted 100 plus heat index will have a calming effect on teenage puppy Boaz during his first show? Go girls!

Me to four kids (8, 6, 4, 3) at the County Fair's Kids' Day: "Ok, we're not going to use the stroller so I don't want to carry a lot of water bottles. I'll keep one in my purse that we can share, and if it's so hot you're dying, we can refill it or find a drinking fountain."


Jon's reply: "Mom, you don't need a drink if you're dying. You need a drink if your tongue is dry."

Sticks out tongue and touches it, to illustrate.



After a particularly exasperating day with our exuberant little Ruthie, she just came up to me and threw her arms around my neck: "You're my best mom! You put my underwear on and you scratch my back."



Big sister Grace was just admiring 2-year-old Zac's very curly hair, "You have gold for hair!" she said to him. And then as he casually walked away, oblivious of the attention, she said in a hilarious accent, "My hair is currency in certain parts of Europe..." (which apparently is a movie quote, but completely cracked me up in any case.)



Feeling bad for 10-year-old Essie that my “quick stop” at the store was dragging on and on, I turned to her and said, “I’m sorry this is taking so long, are you getting impatient?” Her sweet reply, “Well, It’s hard to be impatient when you are doing something this fun.” That really improved my views of shopping at Walmart.

Jonathan pulled away and made a face when I leaned in for a quick kiss on the cheek after helping him tie his shoes. “What, no kisses this morning?” I asked. 

Jon’s reply, looking at me patiently, “Mom, kisses are for nighttime.”

                                          ~ to be continued!

What are we doing?

Sometimes I am extra thankful for a dose of laughter.

We've had two days of rain here, maybe more, it's hard to remember. I thought it might be gone by this morning, but instead it was darker than ever. Raining that type of soaking, thunder-rumbly, straight down pouring, way-too-much-lightning-to-go-out sort of rain. My own ten kids, plus the four great kids staying with us this week (yes, 14 total), all seemed to have that mournful look on their face so well captured at the beginning of The Cat in the Hat with the boy and the girl looking out the window saying "so we sat in the house all that cold, cold wet day."

Except that my kids were not sitting still looking out the windows in a neat and tidy house.  Especially the little ones–they were running around both getting into mischief while not finding anything to do AND interrupting and making life difficult for the older kids who had decided to script and shoot a funny commercial on this inside type of day.  A bad combination.

Then The Breeze came and pushed that rain right out of here, the sun came out and shined right into my mommy heart as I realized suddenly everyone could go outside!  The wind was even so strong that, if we were lucky, the mosquitoes and deer flies might stay at bay for a little while. Yippee!

I opened wide the door to the deck and the breeze blew into the house.  Soon, two amigos and a princess (ages 4, 2, and 3) were out dancing on the deck and hopping in the little puddles and yelling reminders to me that I'd forgotten to take in the tablecloth and it is really, really soaked.  The wind was suddenly full of adventure as I saw them clinging to the deck posts like sailors holding on for dear life on a ship at sea, screaming for help from other sailors holding fast to their masts.  Smiling, I went back to preparing lunch.  Glancing out the window, I saw them across the yard, marching in the big puddle in the baby pool that had been knocked over by the storm.  March (splash), march (splash), march (splash).

Oh, my happy heart that Outside was a playroom once again.

Back on the deck again, the warm wind was stronger than ever, and Ruthie's long hair was streaming out nearly sideways to the East.  Suddenly Jonathan had an idea, "Hey guys, do this!" he said as he put his index finger up in the air. Without question, two other little index fingers went up, pointing to the sky.

8-year-old Ben came out and saw them standing there and told them, "You have to lick your finger, like this." He showed them, lick, and again point to the sky.

Everyone quite agreeably then licked and pointed their fingers to the sky.  Then again, lick and point. Lick and point.  The wind was now so strong that they were leaning to the West to keep from being blown to the East.

For a few seconds they just stood there, four kids pointing at the sky.

Suddenly Ruthie asked (yelled, really, because of the wind), "What are we doing?"

Good homeschool mom that I am, my hopes for an impromptu lesson by my scientifically-minded son explaining the detection of wind direction by sensing the cooling effects of evaporation when more technological methods are unavailable were dashed as Jonathan shrugged and looked at Ben who said...

"Oh, I don't know–it's just something you do with the wind."

                                                 ~Sara~

Journal Snapshots ~ Spring 2011

Hello Family, Friends, and die-hard Shull Family Fans everywhere . . . it's time for another episode of Journal Snapshots!  An insider's look at the more lighthearted moments in our household, at least from my point of view.  

                                             ~Sara~

In honor of the three distinct illnesses which have invaded our home, we are taking a holiday from school.



Enjoyed a breakfast birthday party for our newest sweet teenager, Lydia, who is turning 13 today! What a blessing to have her as a daughter... much joy for this mother to watch her children unfold and blossom like flowers in the springtime, to see more and more the uniqueness and beauty in each one.



Just sorted Mt. Washmore with the help of the three amigos. Turns out doing the laundry is a lot more fun when wrestling, giggling, and tug-o-war is involved. Who knew?



A bit annoyed that my middle-aged eyes required me to get my reading glasses before I could help Jonathan, I sat back down with a sigh. Jon lifted up my chin and looked at me seriously. Thinking he'd find it funny to see me in glasses (which I don't usually wear), I was prepared for anything but what he said, "Hmm, you look real pretty."



The birds are singing Springtime songs . . . choosing to see the sunshine and ignore the snow.



The third time the boys spilled through the door to the living room, laughing and tussling like a pile of puppies, it finally caught my attention. "What on earth are you guys doing?!?"
     Nat popped up and grinned, "What? Oh! We're cleaning."



Mud Season 101: The brown stuff that is appearing in spots as the snow melts is called "the ground." No, you can't change your clothes every time you get a teaspoon of mud on your jeans. Note: Although 40 degrees feels "so hot", as long as there is ice in the yard, its best not to go barefoot.



Signs that your child will grow up to have a cleaner house than they grew up in. You say "Hey, let's clean up your room a bit." (ie. put a few toys away) they say "Oh yeah! Let's pull out the extra mattress out from under the bed, get all the toys out from there, find the legos and vacuum under there!" Oh. I guess that is a good idea, Sam.



Kevin, to a dramatically crabby Ruthie after she was untimely waked from a nap in the van on the way home from church . . . (spoken quite cheerfully), "Boy, Ruthie, you sure are whiney . . . did you get up on the wrong side of the carseat?"



I just heard Nat humming that ol' preschool favorite... "If You're Happy and You Know It, Clap Your Hands." Then he stopped and turned to me, "Well, I'm happy... but I'm not sure I know it."



Proof-reading Grace's BU application today. It is sweet to read her essays and glimpse the heart of emerging womanhood. Joining the chorus of mothers across time and space saying "Wow, the days may be long, but the years fly by."



If our long driveway gets any muddier, I think we may need to install a chair lift to get to the house and just park out on the road. Either that or install monster truck tires on the van.



Happy kids playing outside on this early Spring day has provided time for a much needed attempt to conquer Mt. Washmore. Though it occurs to me, as I look at the kids in all their muddy glory upon the return from their adventures, that this was perhaps a counter productive laundry strategy.



Story writing in the field. Reading on the deck. Tadpole and frog egg hunting coming up, as the sound of frogs a courtin' are ringing in the neighborhood. Brothers playing baseball and basketball and getting math done with greatest speed. Collecting maple sap with Mr. Friend. Homeschool in the Springtime.



Oh, dear. I've convinced a sweet editor that an idea I have for a new article is "pure gold." Now they want to see a first draft. Unfortunately, I'm having trouble actually getting my idea out of my head and down on paper. Perhaps I'm distracted by the words "Writing" and "Easy as Pie" in the working title.



Kevin surprised me by instantly appearing with a load of firewood when I just casually mentioned it would be nice to have a fire in the fireplace. When I thanked him, he smiled "Your wish is my command . . . when I feel like it." Ah, yes, an honest Prince Charming.



Jon did not understand why we were all insisting he come inside and change his clothes again. His first selection of a new outfit after his play clothes were drenched from top to bottom in the big mud puddle? Red pajama pants and a nice dressy red sweater vest (no shirt underneath) - both inside out. And last year's green flip flops.



You know you're talking to a country girl when you say . . .
     "Hold still! There's a tick crawling on your neck!"
           And she smiles and replies, "Oh, good! A sign of Spring!"



Psalm 1, "Blessed is the man... his delight is in the law of the Lord and on this law he meditates day and night." Just pondering - That word we translate as blessed . . . we don't actually have a word that means what the original language means . . . divine joy and perfect happiness ? Pierced with godlike joy? O brain cloud, fly away so that I may abide in the Word, in Jesus, this week leading up to Resurrection Sunday.



Jon was sticking his tongue out in various directions and making hilarious, cartoon-like faces as he tried out different positions. Kevin asked him if his tongue tasted good, and he nodded 'yes' and continued to move his tongue around with comedic charm. After watching him for a few moments, Kevin asked, “Well . . . what’s it taste like?”
     Jon stopped and thought for a moment before replying seriously, “Fresh toast!”



Today at breakfast I mentioned, "Well, the royal wedding is tomorrow."
Jonathan nearly fell off his stool with excitement as he thought I was talking about a wedding in which he will be the ring bearer (in a few more weeks). First, he was happy that "the wedding" is tomorrow, and secondly... discovering that his cousin (the bride) is a princess was quite surprising.




The older kids got up as planned at 4am this morning to watch the royal wedding. Dad surprised them (and me) by obtaining and setting out English tea, shortbread, English chocolates, English muffin, proper toast, (donuts, too!) AND by getting up to join them (while I slept in 'til 8). My own Prince Charming!



Me: "Hurry up and go outside or the sun will go down!"
     A smiling teenager: "Wow Mom, good job figuring out a way to keep the sun from setting!"



Me, calling from the bathroom: "Jon, come brush your teeth!"
     Jon, from his bedroom:"I did!"
           Me:"Your toothbrush isn't wet."
                Jon:"Oh!"
He dashes into the bathroom, picks up his toothbrush, gets it wet with running water, gives it a little shake, touches it to make sure it is wet and puts it back in the cup before dashing back to his bedroom! Um... nevermind.



Happy Birthday to our beautiful Esther Rose! A spectacular bike wipe-out this morning (which destroyed a pair of pants and required much cleansing and an impressive bandage) has most likely provided a scar to commemorate her 10th birthday for years to come. Happy Birthday sweet Essie!



Me: "How about we have a new law, Thou Shalt Not Drop Things on the Floor and Leave Them Where They Lie."
      Essie: "Wow, there's going to be a lot of crimes around here!"



Exciting News! Grace got an acceptance letter from BU for the PSEO program in the mail today! Somehow this makes me feel like singing Tangled's "When Will My Life Begin..." in her honor.



Thinking through pre-registration for BU.
Me: "Ok, for electives, think of what sounds most interesting and fun without worrying about heading for degree requirements." (I'm thinking photography, bowling, underwater basket weaving, etc).
Grace, thinking for a few moments: "Well, I don't know . . . sometime I'd really like to take genetics."



Oh my. 18 inches of standing water in the basement. Looks like flotsam and jetsam down there. SuperDad is on his way home. In the meantime, pump is off so no water in the house and we'll have to turn off all the house electricity to go down there. Water table flooding or pipe break?



It's a true flood from the rising water table in our neighborhood. Our 88-year-old neighbor, Mr. Friend, says it's never been this high before. Power still off.  Learned about generators and powerful rental pumps. We got it pumped out and it is rising again from the floor up. Still much to figure out, lots of ruined junk, trying to save many bins of wet clothes that floated and tipped over. Hoping the furnace and water heater are not ruined. Pumping out one more time, then sleep.



Turns out there are a limited number of times you can turn off a main breaker before it needs to be replaced. Power and water from our electric well pump back on now.  Plus we met a nice electrician.



Today: SuperDad to install new sump pump, restore hot water (if hot water heater is OK), throw away junk, dry clothes to save them, return rented generator and pump. Bonus: piano lessons, lib. books due, and 4H dog training. Realized last night Kevin was "this close" to being in Singapore this week. So thankful he is home!



Hot water's back! Now to wash the flooded clothing we dried outside on the old wash lines. Looks like a poor quality yard sale on the front lawn with everything out of the basement. The furnace had important parts submerged so that is not looking good. Many mercies: glorious cool sunny weather, friends praying and bringing dinner, several important things were above water, good excuse to throw away junk, etc!



Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. --James 1:2-3



It's a little-known fact that the traditional gift for a 22nd anniversary is a sump pump. Thankful to be celebrating 22 years of marriage through floods and fair weather!

                                            ~to be continued!

Dandelion love

Dandelion love,

     brought to me in chubby fists

         with glowing smiles today.

A barefoot prince brings 

     violet treasures, too.  

 Sweetness gathered, 

       new each springtime morn.

Jars of captured sunlight

      line my windowsill.

         

A day of childhood marked with each bouquet.

                               ~Sara~

Journal Snapshots ~ Mid-Winter 2011

Hello Family, Friends, and die-hard Shull Family Fans everywhere . . . it's time for another episode of Journal Snapshots!  An insider's look at the more lighthearted moments in our household, at least from my point of view.  

                                    ~Sara~

Watching Sam and Ben engaged in some intense sword fighting with light sabers accompanied by curious back and forth dialogue: 

     Nat, “What are you guys playing?”

         One boy took the time to cry out a reply . . . “Binoculars!”  

Oh. Well that clears that up.

Looking for Ruthie at naptime -- I found her crouched behind the bathroom door wearing my reading glasses. When I moved the door to see her and asked what she was doing, she looked up in the most natural way and replied . . . "Mom, is that you?" 

"Mom! Mom! Ruthie is bleeding!!!" yells Jon as he skids into the kitchen. 

     Not hearing any crying in the distance, I ask, "What kind of bleeding?" 

          Jon looks at me seriously and replies, "Red." 

Grace showed 6-year-old Sam a picture of Pastor John and asked him if he knew who it was.

      "Yep," Sam replied, "That's our actor!" 

The Academy of the Three Amigos is officially back in session. On the agenda today: My Father's Dragon, clock time, tying shoelaces, trees, a few workbooks and advanced light saber techniques with sound effects.

So it's true. Sleep does make a difference. What shall I do with my mind today, while it's here for a visit?

Sunshine and dripping icicles.

      Frozen trees half-exhale in the warming air 

             ~ a hint of springtime mixed with woodsmoke in the air. 

Reminders in the bleak midwinter that Life will triumph in the end. 

This morning, I opened my eyes to find Ruthie about eight inches from my face. I started to say something when she interrupted, "Shushhhh. Go back to sleep Mom." 

     It's hard to sleep and laugh at the same time, but I gave it a shot. 

Martin Luther King Jr. was only 39 years old when he was killed. Somehow I didn't realize that. "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." 
— MLK Jr. 

Sub-zero windchills are leading to an epidemic of excessive and potentially furniture-destroying, Tigger-like bouncing around here. All that sun and snow and too cold to play. Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce . . . 

There is an old outhouse on our property, I can see it out there in the trees when I look out of my kitchen window . . . and after a night of 27 below and a day with a high of zero, I'm more happy than ever that it is no longer in use. 

Morning sun on Winter's snow, 
so bright it hurts the eyes 

     ~
hinting of Glory so radiant we need new eyes to see. 

Gripped by Psalm 46 this morning. 

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. 

     Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way (!) . . ." 

            "Be still and know that I am God . . ."

 The whole Psalm, rich words to dwell upon. 

Happy Birthday, dear Ruthie! The princess is taking a bit 'o a nap and will be back for more festivities later . . . 3 years old! 

Sam just brought me a heart-shaped Valentine he made for me. It has a picture of the two of us running the 22-ton wood splitter together. Ah, romance is in his future! 

Dedicated baby Daniel Roy this morning at church. 

     Got home safe and sound, before the storm hit. 

          Let it snow! 

Ben's quick quip after laughing at his own misunderstanding of my excitement about having a snow day: "Oh! (laughing) I thought you said a NO day! You know . . .

      'Mom, can I watch TV?' NO

             'Mom, can I play computer?' NO

                     'Mom, will you play a board game?' NO 

                             'Mom, can I have a cookie?' NO..." 

Ruthie just appeared beside me, big tears and wailing. What's wrong dear? (shudder, sniffle) "Sam was really not playing with me and my nose got into Boaz's mouth!" 

I was sitting unsuspecting on the couch when Ruthie jumping up and down suddenly pelted a ball directly at me and yelled, "Hey Mom! FETCH!" 

In trying to defrost some frozen laundry room pipes, I have overloaded the outlet with a heater and a blowdryer and plunged the circuit into darkness. The breaker, however has not tripped, and I can't restore power. Electrical advice anyone? Or is the house about to blow up . . .

OK. Now a hot water pipe burst. Did you know that massive amounts of steam will set off a fire alarm? It will. We got the flood turned off, but now have no hot water anywhere. Twas a blessing the electricity previously went out, however, or I would have had a blow dryer on in the midst of the flood. Thankful nothing dangerous happened. 

I fixed the pipe! My do-it-yourself show starts next week. And the pipes are thawed, thanks to this nice weather. Still can't figure out the electrical circuit thing, but at this point, I'm willing to run my laundry machine with a heavy duty power cord to the hall. But actually, I've lost enthusiasm for doing the laundry today. Strange. 

In honor of the three distinct illnesses which have invaded our home, we are taking a holiday from school. 

Enjoyed a breakfast birthday party for our newest sweet teenager, Lydia, who is turning 13 today! What a blessing to have her as a daughter... much joy for this mother to watch her children unfold and blossom like flowers in the springtime, to see more and more the uniqueness and beauty in each one. 

Just sorted Mt. Washmore with the help of the three amigos. Turns out doing the laundry is a lot more fun when wrestling, giggling, and tug-o-war is involved. Who knew? 

A bit annoyed that my middle-aged eyes required me to get my reading glasses before I could help Jonathan, I sat back down with a sigh. Jon lifted up my chin and looked at me seriously. Thinking he'd find it funny to see me in glasses (which I don't usually wear), I was prepared for anything but what he said, "Hm, you look real pretty." 

This is the day that the Lord has made! Let us rejoice and be glad in it! 

                                                        ~Sara~