There are always things to miss

I remember first listening to the audio version of Patricia MacLachlan's Sarah, Plain and Tall while we drew scores of paper dolls at the little table by the wood stove.


"Did Mama sing every day?  Every single day?"


We listened to it last nearly one year ago, in February, as we made our way home from MI, the trip we thought might help change Dad's mind but didn't.


Sarah comes from Maine wearing a yellow bonnet, and Caleb and Anna wonder if she will stay and be their mother.  Sarah misses the sea.  Sarah goes to town by herself one day, and Caleb is scared that she's not going to come back.  When she does, he cries and tells her how he had worried that she had gone home to the sea.  And Sarah says, "I will always miss my old home.  But there are always things to miss, no matter where you are...and the truth is, I would miss you more."


I'm going to miss waking to the creak of the wood stove as my husband starts the fire each winter morning; and the sunrise I can watch with nothing in the way but the ol' Chinese Elm that lords it over the front yard, scattering sticks each time a breeze blows.


I'm going to miss how at dusk in late June over Teunissen's field there are fireflies as far as the eye can see, twinkling like sequins in green gossamer.


I'm going to miss the way the kids chant "Lord, bless this food and grant that we..." in unison at dinner every other Sunday at Mom's, watching my Mom and sisters file into church, and all those familiar faces I love lining the pews.


I'm going to miss Shadow roaming the four acres on which this house sits, hunting the ditches for asparagus each spring, and walking up the road to Mom and Dad's or down the road to Mud Crik on summer nights.


I'm going to miss debating with Dr. J. and having this baby in the same room in which the others were born.


I'm going to miss seeing Jerron almost every day, watching him grow up, and hearing the putt-putt of Dad's Honda coming up the driveway, him and Jer just stopping because they've got nothing else to do.


I'm going to miss chapels, graduations, singspirations, and mid-week lunches with Erin and Michelle, chatting about discipline or food prep or whatever else happens to be on one or more of our minds.


I'm going to miss the way I can sit in the kiddie pool in the middle of summer in my old bathing suit and not have to wonder who's going to drive by, because rarely does anyone take this road, and afternoons at River's Bend with the sun beating down and sand in everyone's snacks.


The chicken coop I've cared for since the third grade and the crop dusters that put on private air shows just for us.  And the way, come autumn, the kids watch combines as intently as they would a circus. 


But there are always things to miss, no matter where you are.


And if I didn't go, I would miss life in another part of God's beautiful world, in another congregation of His people.


I would miss watching my husband give his all to a position about which he's very excited, and leaving and cleaving to him like I never have before.


I would miss watching our family learn and grow together in a new-to-us place upheld by the love of new-to-us people, and I would miss seeing how God made us just the right shape to fit needs there that need to be filled.


I would miss all this growing and sanctifying that He's working as we walk this path, trusting in Him with all our hearts rather than leaning on our own limited understanding.


And the truth is...I would miss that more.

Pow wow

Thursday was a gloriously slushy day.

A snow-packin',

man-makin',

ball-throwin',

sled-ridin'

kind of a day.

So when Jer came over after school we stayed outside and made four Indian chiefs gathered for a pow wow.  

Maybe you know how it goes when one of the children outside is not yet two and can't keeps his boots on and hates his mittens wet.  The finishing touches to our Indian chiefs, the arms and the faces, they were hasty, and accompanied with the shrieks of a little man who'd had enough

snow-packin',

man makin',

ball-throwin',

sled-ridin'

for the day.

As I cleared breakfast this morning, I peeked out at our pow wow and laughed aloud.  It seems the meeting must have broken up overnight, all these Indian chiefs smiling and skipping, slipping away

like children at play.

on moving and dying

It was just over a week ago, we sat down to Haiti casserole and applesauce.  Silence ruled our supper.  Even Leah noted the quiet.


"So...what are your latest thoughts on moving?"  My husband's question flickers across the candle in the center of the table, full of the heat of all the words we haven't spoken.  I put my forehead in my fist, finger the napkin in my lap.


"I think..."
"I think...moving is a lot like dying."


B.J.'s shoulders sag, his brows rise.  My statement demands an explanation.


"It's like this.  Let's say I've been diagnosed with a terminal illness.  I believe Heaven is glorious.  I want to go there.  But it's still an unknown place, while everything here is familiar, and much of it is dear to me.  And there are the good-byes and the pain that comes with dying...and with moving.  I believe we're being called to go, just like you do.  And I know the Lord will bless us there, though we'll have our share of struggles, too.  It's the thought of leaving that terrifies me...that hurts so bad I don't want to go, just so I can avoid the pain."


B.J. nods.  "I know what you mean."


And then my lips start feeling rubbery, swollen.  I close my eyes, and all that heat runs over.  


I feel this way now, like I'm dying.  I rewrite Dickison in my head.  Small things are counted sweetest by those about to leave.  To comprehend your blessings requires sorest need.


I run for my camera just to capture Marie's curls clinging to her cap.

And though there are lunches to pack, breakfast to make, a diaper to change, and I'm still wrapped up in my pink terry robe, I pause at the window and watch the sun climb the sky over the place my childhood plays.

And when the kids dress-up or catch chickens for the umpteenth day in a row and beg me to take a photo, I comply, though it's nearly dark and we've not begun supper.  What if, I wonder, this is the last time?

And when Leah sings in chapel with her kindergarten classmates, and Marie tells me that Kara is her favorite girl in the world to see, I can't swallow for the lump large in my throat.

But is this not how we are called to live each day, thanking God today for the gifts that He gives?


For right from the start of our life, we are dying.

Like as a father pitieth his children,

so the LORD pitieth them that fear Him.

 For He knoweth our frame;

He remembereth that we are dust.

 As for man, his days are as grass:

as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth.

 For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone;

and the place thereof shall know it no more.

 But the mercy of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting

upon them that fear Him,

and His righteousness unto children's children;

 To such as keep His covenant,

and to those that remember His commandments to do them.

Psalm 103:13-18

CO

3)  Make that Colorado.  Our Bartholomew would be the first one in the state of Colorado.

I sent this earlier to my family, but I want to say the same things to you who are our dear friends, too:

B.J. received the contract to Loveland last weekend, and Wednesday night he signed it with the intention of "sitting on it” for a few days.  Last night he contacted the school board in Colorado and told them that he had signed it.  We have been lead to make this decision not just by looking at external factors (“The ‘pros’ and ‘cons’ are pretty much a wash in the end,” B.J. kept saying), but by an internal peace that comes only when one follows the path of life that the Lord has prepared for him.

Thank you all for your love, your prayers, your advice, and your encouragement.  Anna, B.J. suspects you had something to do with all the students that contacted him this week – thank you.  We cherish every note, every conversation.  I know that you do not all understand our reasoning, but that’s OK.  God knows our desire to honor Him and follow His leading:  “I will bless the LORD, who hath given me counsel: my reins also instruct me in the night seasons.  I have set the LORD always before me: because He is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.  Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoices: my flesh also shall rest in hope.  For Thou wilt not leave my soul in hell; neither wilt Thou suffer thine Holy One to see corruption.  Thou wilt show me the path of life: in Thy presence is fullness of joy; at Thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore” Psalm 16:7-11.

B.J. and I have often talked about moving somewhere new.  We believe – as Rev. Bruinsma’s recent SB articles emphasize – that not only pastors and missionaries but also lay people and school teachers must sometimes be willing to move for the good of God’s Church.  So even though part of me thinks, “This is crazy!” part of me is excited, too, to experience all that lays before us.

That is not to say that this decision is not a painful one.  Sometimes I lay awake at night, tears flowing, feeling like someone’s kicked me hard in the stomach, it hurts so much to think of leaving the people and the places that I know and love.  For Leah and Willem, too, there are sometimes anxious thoughts and tears.  Yet B.J. and I have peace with our decision, peace that passes human understanding (Philippians 4:7).

My prayer is that you’ll have that peace, too.  We trust that God works good even through this decision: good for us, good for those to whom we go, good for those we leave behind, good for the little ones we bring along.  He knows the thoughts that He thinks toward His people, and they are thoughts of peace, not of evil, thoughts to bring us to an expected end.  Then we’ll all be together, in Father’s house, to stay.

With much love,

Sarah

Elias

Spent today with my dear friend Jennie and her children.  You just don't get any sweeter than Elias!

(His name is pronounced "Eh-lee-ahs," the way they pronounce "Elijah" in Mexico).

The Name Game

Well, Will laid out it at lunch today.


If our baby is a boy, his name will be...are you ready?  


Bartholomew.


Will offers 3 reasons:
1) Bartholomew and the Oobleck [Dr. Suess] is "one of my best books."
2) There is a Bartholomew in the Bible.
3) Our Bartholomew would be the first one in the state of Iowa.

Quotable - Maybe this year...

“Will the young woman find a mate? Will the couple have a child? Maybe this year will be the year of desire fulfilled. Perhaps, on the other hand, it will be the year of desire radically transformed, the year of finding, as we have perhaps not yet truly found, Christ to be the All-Sufficient One, Christ the ‘deep sweet well of Love.’” 

~ Elisabeth Elliot, Keep a Quiet Heart

The Word

Last week the blogging world was a abuzz with New Year's resolutions: determinations to lose weight, de-clutter, better organize, eat healthier.  Another idea that many bloggers endorsed was that of choosing one word to give direction to the year 2012.  Like the Chinese and their Year of the Dragon, these resolute individuals proclaimed 2012 the Year of Communion, Faith, Purpose, Temple...  And they write compellingly, convincingly about how or why they have entitled 2012 as they have.

And me?

Not only am I a whole week behind, I'm not even sure what word I would pick to give me the direction I need for today, much less the whole year.  The next few weeks are intimidating enough without considering the eleven months that follow.

But, thank God, I've got the Word.

My one resolution - if you could call it that - is the same passing thought I've had at the beginning of the past several years, which goes to show how good I am with resolutions.  I need to know God's Word.  I need to to be busier reading, meditating, memorizing, praying that Word each day.

Because if I know anything, I know this:  when the Word is my priority, the other things get put into perspective, they fall into place.

It's the Word that fits when I can't find strength to pull off the covers and climb out of bed, when I seek wisdom to discipline my son yet again, when I need patience to meet the dirty stack of another day with a 18-month hold clinging to my pant legs, when I can't quiet my thoughts amid this tumult of kids and pets and grimy floors.  The Word, ultimately, that brings me joy as we play kickball in the face of the setting son, wonder as we watch the golden moon climb the sky over the barn, peace as I unfold the events of another day in a sleepy house, over a basket of still-warm laundry.  The Word that encourages me, reproves me, comforts me when I afraid, makes my heart sing.

The Word that I will need to resolve to whet not just once, but ten thousand times this year.

If you've come here curious what my word for the new year is, I'm sorry to disappoint.
No such inspiration today.

But you and I have the Word to direct us each day of this new year.

And it's all we need.

Christmas break

Tomorrow is the last day of Christmas break.


I haven't posted in some time.  I was too discouraged to publish much for a while, and there's been a lot going on in our family as well.  Following  our birthday weekend, there were last minute Christmas sewing projects, Leah's classroom Christmas party, "Christmas" at Dad and Mom's with all my siblings and their families, a quiet Christmas Eve at home, a bout with a nasty flu bug, and the church Christmas program.  Then B.J. and I spent several days last week in Colorado.  He is interested in the high school position that the PR school there is seeking to fill.  A few of the photos below are from that trip.


With the exception of one brief summer in MI, I have lived here all of my life, and most of my family is here.  We know that we are loved and needed here.  Yet we are seriously considering whether or not God is calling us to move to another place.


In addition to all that, we are also expecting Baby #5.  What a privilege, to be entrusted by Father with this little one also.  Of such is the kingdom of heaven.  Baby isn't due to be born 'til August, though.  We let the news out of the bag early, as I had some trouble with nausea on the trip, and since it is a factor in our consideration of a possible move.  And now I don't have to walk around holding in my tummy for the next month.  :)


What a comfort that you and I enter this new year held in Father's hand, guided with His counsel.  And afterward?  Glory.


God's blessings to you in the New Year.

Christmas party!

Christmas at Grandma's.

A quiet Christmas Eve at home.  (Leah has the camera.)  And I can't help but mention that my husband spent the afternoon grilling a turkey and preparing six delicious sides, which we ate that evening by candlelight.  Thank you, B.J.!

My first Mother's Day, 7+ years ago, I crawled into the backseat of the Monte,

ready for church, and found this Bible cover from B.J.

Who would've guessed - it provided the perfect photo op

for this year's Christmas program bulletin -

"Jesus, the Name Above Every Name," taken from Philippians 2.

My first time in the Rocky Mountains.  I would've taken more photos, I think, if I had been feeling better.  The winding road, altitude, and baby in my tummy

did a number on me that day. 

B.J. and Pastor K. pause on a brief hike.