Rise and Swine

 Written 2/18/21 February - I would be delighted if this month never existed. In reality it’s the shortest of the year, but each day can feel tormenting to walk through...this week in particular.    2/18/10 was the day we found out those 2 little ones we planned to adopt would never be ours.  The room we had made in our hearts would remain empty.  The crib empty.  The clothes newly washed and hanging were packed back into tubs. Closet and drawers empty. Dreams lost.  Hearts shattered. 2/16/17 was Miriam’s due date. Instead of snuggling and breathing in a fresh babe our perfect girl lay cradled in dirt.  She would have been 4 this year...4.  It’s the first year Kai didn’t remember...didn’t ask to make her birthday cupcakes or take her flowers.  I didn’t remind him.  His little heart needs to heal and move on.  As her mom, I’ll never forget. Even though I move forward a part of my heart was lost, and I will never be the same. 2/1...

 I was seven when I stepped foot into the Tel Aviv Airport accompanied by my stepdad - a Palestinian. The Israeli soldiers stood armed as they ripped through each of our suitcases, pulled my dad into a room for questioning, and detained us for several hours. We were not there as tourists. We were on our way to Jericho to visit family... but we were the enemy. Even at seven the hatred between all was undeniable. As a child I did not comprehend fully but I remember...fear. Walking the roads of that country for a month is an experience I will never forget. I remember once being at a family member's home while they argued over who was right, the Jews or Palestinians. I remember the tears, the anger, and shouting. I can't recall most of the words spoken that day. I don't know whose argument was stronger. What I do know is...what the Bible says about God's chosen people, and that in war... no one wins...even when it is necessary there is always suffering for both sides. The J...

That mischievous red-head...he knows my heart. He tromps in on a December noon...hands me a brown paper bag and tells me to peek inside. He's gotten me something. Paper whites - six of them. Well, at the moment they're just bulbs but soon they will grow into those gorgeous blooms. He knows I love to grow things...love seeing the earthy roots dangle about...love having a sprinkle of life in the midst of winter. I walk to the kitchen. Pull the vessel from above and force the delicate roots into a stony foundation. I fill it with water, just enough for the roots thirst to be quenched, and place them next to a window but days later - nothing.  A few more days go by - still nothing. Upon inspection the bulbs had molded.  "Throw them out. They're useless now." He says in a frustrated tone. Everything seems hurried to this young man.  He gets it from me.  But age, and time, and heartache, teaches patience.  I wait.  Maybe all they need is a bit of time? Per...

Buying this farm has been an adventure...a long awaited dream come true...we've been given our hearts desire...and I don't take it for granted. Everyday I wake thankful for what God has given us, but it requires a ton of work and most nights I fall in a heap of exhaustion from it all. In our 25 years of marriage we've called four places home. When we got married we lived in my grandparents basement for exactly five months. Dreaming of a place of our own, I brought my man to a 1890's farmhouse. It had charm galore. A beautiful front porch with columns, moldings, attic rooms, a winding staircase to the second floor, claw foot tub, root cellar, floor to ceiling windows, and of course a horse stable. I was in love! It was perfect. Except - it was trashed! My man took 2 steps up that winding staircase and his foot went right through. That claw foot tub was about to crash through the kitchen ceiling. The electrical was in conduit on the outside of the walls. "Why ar...

It pushes it's way down the path, arousing leaves from their autumn slumber. Dancing it's way through the hanging chimes the music grows louder. With each passing moment it's power intensifies. Lying in bed I listen to it's howling...beating against the barn door...looking for it's weakness...it's way in. I don't always think of it's existence although it surrounds me daily. Most of the time it's quiet. It's affects invisible. Something to just breath in...breath in without any thought. Sometimes it comes as a gentle welcomed breeze in the midst of July heat or the crisp coolness on an autumn eve, but in the midst of a storm the wind can not be denied. With violence it beats it's way through destroying anything in it's path. Like our enemy.   The enemy of our soul.  All to often I forget he's there.   Most of the time he's quiet, subtle, clever. At times I welcome his presence. Not intentionally of course - but if I'm hone...

Written a few years ago. I've been a mom for almost 24 years now. No one told me the hardest part would be when my children grew up. I remember the sleepless nights of crying babes, the never-ending poop and laundry, the chaotic days of having 4 little ones underfoot. I remember the guilt that I wasn't doing anything right or enough. The moments behind the locked bathroom door with faucet running so no one would hear my sobs.  I remember... The season I find myself in now is strange. With two grown children already gone, two more on the way out the door, a pre-teen, preschooler, and toddler, I now have a different perspective than I did so long ago. Now, when I scoop up those precious little ones my heart aches a bit in knowing the hard part is yet to come. I stand at the sink washing dinner dishes when he hugs me - towers over me. That little boy I used to wrap in my arms now wraps me in his man-sized frame. It's been this way for years, but I never get used to it. ...

Fresh powder, leaks quiet from the heavens, dressing the barren branches white. Moon's light spills across snowflakes...each one unique. Pure. Perfect. Beautiful. But soon humanity will make its mark and all that will be left is a muddied mess to gaze upon. In a matter of days the hustle and bustle of the kitchen will commence. Each soul within these walls-unique; each one bringing to the table their own scrumptious creations, gifts, brokenness. Ironstone will line the planks while hungry men in collar shirts jump into chairs and wide-eyed little ones wait for pie. We'll gobble Jell-o with cheese, argue about the correct way to smother potatoes with gravy. Votes will be cast for the annual pie contest. Laughter will ring as bellies and hearts fill. At the close of the day we may play a game of Monopoly that will last until the wee hours. But the best part will be when each one sits in the middle of the circle and words of love, grace, and life ar...

This post is about when I lost Miriam but it's in honor of all the babies I have in Heaven. Alexandria Joy - February 1995 Jeremiah Michael - September 2012 Hope Isabella - October 2014 Miriam Grace - July 2016 The flowers they brought sit on the counter. Untouched. They're beautiful, and I'm grateful, but they're not for pleasure they're for the dead. To touch them somehow means to accept that she's...dead. For two days they sit. Finally, one by one the stems are arranged and into that corner of my darkness they bring the beauty I needed. I know tomorrow is the day - so I curl into the cushion as if it's a mothers embrace. Lap heaped with a mess of cream and I weave a blanket for our baby to be wrapped in. Buried in. With each stitch my heart is torn right through. The loss of dreams. Nights I'll never have to hold her close. No tickles. No laughter. No kisses or prayers or bedtime stories. No unruly hair to brush in the morning. No tea pa...

Overcast. The air hangs crisp. Leaves dance beyond the pane - still summer green yet they play peek-a-boo with a hint of caramel and crimson. Autumn is upon us ushering in plump pumpkins, spiced cider, scarves, boots, woolen blankets and those brilliantly colored leaves that will soon crunch under foot. It's my favorite time of year but in my corner of the world it doesn't last long. Before I blink, the trees will stretch forth their barren limbs as white blankets the earth, and I will hibernate as much as possible. Enjoying the peaceful white from my comfortably heated home - coffee in hand. Knowing this, I always do some fall cleaning. Just like spring cleaning opens it all to new and fresh I prepare for the confinement of the dreary months ahead. I wash the windows knowing they will soon be dirty again but I want to enjoy the glistening of a winter wonderland for as long as I can. Funny how distorted our view becomes when we're looking through layers of grime. It...

She strolled beneath the cherry blossoms. Marveled at their beauty and remembered... On a cool April eve, her arm stretched slow across the table to pull plastic off brownies.  When the words poured out "I like your tattoo.  Does it have a special meaning?"  That familiar lump formed in her throat. "Yes, it does...it's a long story...maybe I'll tell you about it someday." Someday. If she got up enough nerve to pull the plastic off herself. It was a cool April morn, ten years before, that marked the reason for the ink upon her wrist. A beautiful spring day filled with life and promise but she didn't...couldn't... see it.  She let the words escape that morning "I don't want to live...not even for five more minutes." Her heart had been broken countless times before but each time she would bend down...pick up the shattered pieces and put it back together.  It never was the same of course.  Pieces missing here and there but overal...

I scratched it out right there upon the slate - words to live by.  But somewhere between then and nightfall I had failed every word that was written. When your wound a bit tight, have a mess of kids, and plenty of furry creatures...it can be a recipe for disaster even on a good day. BUT... When the toilet is clogged...again. The coffee maker is broken. She's crying over math lessons. They're bickering over whose turn it is to sweep the floor. Kai is screaming as he watches the dog eat his favorite car. That sweet little bundle of ours is spewing from every open cavity. Dishes and laundry are piled high. Chickens have grazed the garden. The dog's footprints dust the hardwoods...10 seconds after I've scrubbed them. Oh, yeah, dinner.  Kinda forgot about that one - soup anyone? By evening I'm spent. Of course, this means nothing to the toddler who has a complete and utter meltdown as I'm trying to take off his clothes and put on his pajamas.  He w...

She flips through that old box pulling out the stained tattered piece of parchment.  The one her dearest friend had scribbled out instructions upon.  It's one of the few tangible things she has left.  Lying it on the granite before her, she pulls from the pantry.  She labors to grind the wheat.  Runs the water paying close attention to it's temperature.  Too cold - the loaves won't rise.  Too hot - she'll kill the yeast and the loaves won't rise.  Either way she'll have bread good for nothing but pig slop.  Carefully, she stirs.  Waits.  Eventually it comes: the turning out of cool dough.  Then the work begins as she kneads the mound into something pliable.  Her hands consumed with the sticky mess.  More waiting.  Finally, the shaping of loaves.  She places them in the cast iron and lowers them into the heat until they're golden, beautiful and ring hollow.  The process takes time but it's therapeutic to...

He told her his plan and she laughed wild. He said he could do it with such conviction. He said he had been praying and knew this was the answer God had given him. "Please, just trust me." Who can argue with that, even if fear begins to strangle. She believed in him. So they took the little they had...all they had... and bought two fifty-three foot trailers full of insulation. That was the beginning... Years before they had made a deal. Not one she liked but the deal was done. They would have one more child. Try for a girl. That was it. They got a girl. Audrey. She cradled her close... her answer to prayer and he ran fast to make sure no more little ones ran about. As time scrolled on she knew it was a mistake. She prayed hard for years that God would change his heart. Finally, He did. Once that man became a Christian he knew it was a mistake too. So they looked into a reversal but the cost - astronomical. Soon adoption fell into their laps. Excited. They began to pre...

It was my Thirtieth birthday and my mom wanted to take me out for a night on the town.  After hours of shoe shopping we had worked up some hearty appetites.  So, with bags in hand we made our way to our favorite little Mexican restaurant.  We shared those belly laughs while enjoying every bite. Until...my mom poked at her tostada.  Out from under a ribbon of lettuce a nasty umber colored critter scurried frantically across the table straight towards me!  Immediately my mom began to gag and I shrieked shoving my chair back as if I were being attacked by the creature.  Stunned.  We both watched in horror as our server, void of any emotion, picked up my ice tea and smashed the varmint with the bottom of the glass.  Quietly we sat for a moment until the reality of what just happened washed over us.  Looking up I took one glance at our servers stoic face and erupted with laughter.  Seriously.  At that point what else is there to do....

When it's the 10th anniversary of the worst day of your life.  The day that stole the breath right out of you...left you bleeding and questioning everything.  BUT you wake and it's NOT the first thought.  In fact, the memories don't visit for hours...It's a good day.  Filled with God's gifts! Blue skies and snow capped mountains Warm rays of sunshine poured upon my face His kiss goodbye Smoked Butterscotch Lattes Tumbleweeds prancing across country roads with as much grace as I usually display The dog didn't puke in the car today...we're making progress His excitement when the train blew its whistle Her beaming smile as she flew out the front door from dance Walking through the door to find that tall one came home early Tickling her chunky rolls and hearing her laugh and coo Her smiles as she "talks" to her daddy Watching her sleep Cornbread smothered in butter and honey made by this one Freckled face boy gro...

And on the 24th year of cupids and candy and hearts she flings the window wide.  She needs a bit of fresh. It's been winter far too long but spring...new life... is panting.  Her heart awaits it and it has nothing to do with the weather. The breeze flows through that open pane like the breath of life she needs.  She stands by the bed folding his laundry and the chimes begin their dance.  A smile spreads her face...their story of the wind-chime.  On the darkest of days... he pulled her close and he whispered it right there in the dark... he had something for her.  He told her every time  it danced to remember he loved her.  He hung it from the eve outside their bedroom window where it stays year round and during the storms it dances the hardest... and never stops.  All those years later she still remembers those words.  At times, clings to those words. She closes her eyes and feels the wind graze across the nape of her neck....

It had been a rough few weeks.  As the insults kept coming from that one whose job was to nurture.  They never did.  Nurture that is.  They're not capable of that kind of love.  She knows this.  Accepted this long ago.  Still - it leaves her wounded.  Despite the pain, she walks another day the best she knows how.  Trying to be to her children what she never got herself.  Trying to keep it all in balance. But the scales of her heart tip when he grumbles impatient about laundry and with her own impatience she snaps back.  What she wanted...needed...was to hear she was good enough.  That she mattered to someone.  That she wasn't a mistake.  She didn't want to hear one more way she just didn't quiet measure up. His searing words were like salt in the wound and she barked loud like a scared wounded dog.  She was looking in the wrong place.  Only God could fill that emptiness but foolishly she pressed...

I glanced over to see where the rasping sound was coming from only to find her wee fingers entwined within the willow.  Her Moses basket is her safe place if she's not in someones arms.  It's her comfort and security, except for the braided trunk that curves with a mind of it's own.  Somehow her hand found it's loop.  Although she hates the texture she continues to grab hold and fight with it.  Exhausting herself.  Still - she fights.  She won't win.  The handle isn't going anywhere.  Eventually I turn her the other direction where she can no longer see it.  Still - it won't be long until her arm rubs against it's rough texture.  Then the fight will begin again. I do the same thing at times.  No.  I don't fight with the handle of a basket.  I fight against circumstances, people, the past, regrets...myself.  I don't like the way it makes me feel.  Yet I keep grabbing hold and wrestling.  Exhausting ...

There in the corner... it sits in all of its tattered glory. Maple marred by generations that have rested upon its arms. Its cushion torn wide exposing the matted horse hair beneath. It's ugly. But - it's comfortable. Acquired by my grandparents while they were missionaries in Mexico. It has been passed down through the ages and somehow took up residence within my walls. For over forty years it has rocked the babies in my family...my brother...myself...all seven of my gifts. We've all had our time being lulled to sleep by the rhythm of it's creak long into the wee hours. Countless prayers have poured from the lips of each mother while holding that precious babe to her chest. It's a family treasure. Yet the years have taken their toll and even though it holds wondrous memories it's an eyesore every time my eyes lay hold of it. I've decided this is the year. The year of it's makeover. It will require time. Time I don't necessarily have but I'm ...

I tiptoe across the wooden planks hoping the creaks won't wake him.  The house sits still.  This is where I find peace.  Here in the solitude...in this sharp black my mind slows and the chaos finds it's place.  This is when I usually write, but tonight I have nothing.  So I sit.  Still.  It doesn't come easy for me.  Vulnerable.  Exposed - is how it makes me feel.  I don't know why God has woken me.  I reminisce about the miracle of that one who sleeps curled within his crib.  The one I tried not to wake on my quest to this quiet place.  The one who makes me roar with laughter.  The one who healed wounds I didn't know existed. Then I think of the one I lost a few months ago. I hang the letters of their name on the wall. Hope. I don't want to forget their life. Even if it was short. Waiting is not something I do well.  Yet, I find myself in the season of waiting.  Advent.  The first ...