Moments in the Chaos

The morning air has been pierced with wails. Not enough milk. He's nor sharing. I want this not that. Why can't I eat crayons? Fists clenched and jaw set there is no debating his thoughts on these matters.
My nerves twinge with over stimulation and I scoop him up and pull him close. We head upstairs to the boy's bedroom where older brother has been playing quietly.
It's naptime, I singsong, intentionally sweet, for it has been a rough few hours. Older brother nods and is generous with hugs and kisses and "goodnight" and "we'll see you in a little while" and "sleep well". In a rush of words he leaves and the room echoes quiet. I take that small bear of David's and hold him up. A smile creeps up and he sighs contentedly, wrapping his arm tightly around the furry bear-neck. He cuddles down under the warm blanket I have wrapped around him and we rock...quiet, silent, listening to small breaths and letting that sweet peace come over us both. What a gift, this silence following such strife.
A low rumble outside pulls and makes my heart leap- who is it coming down that road of ours? I lay down child, still awake but calm and ready to fall asleep, and head to search windows.
No one.
Immediately I am sad I put him down, for all of the busy-ness of a one-point-five-year old those times to simply sit and wonder at the beauty of him are so fleeting and small. These gifts, this enormous gift of precious child and smaller gift of the moment to cherish him, are both profound and simple.
While we are called to rush about and do more and more, there is that small (sometimes loud) voice calling us to slow, to enjoy, to simply be, experiencing His grace, His love, His peace once more.
Blessings to you - may you savor the simple that surrounds you today.

Home for Christmas

Her words strike through to my heart.
She, too, is a mom of two young boys. She, too, is a wife of few but meaningful years. She, too, is displaced from all she has known and held dear.
In a strange new land her heart cries out for normalcy, constancy, familiarity. She yearns for home...and struggles with the reality that she is to create one here.
Immediately I am drawn to her- her light, her transparency, the way I know that story- that history.
She is me, minus three years in Iowa.
I watch her and can scarcely believe my eyes. Her struggles are ones I know intimately- the fears and frustrations and hurts and joys and guilt and love and triumph and overwhelm...I can speak her language and she also, can speak mine.
And my soul thanks the Lord that I have something to offer her, that she has something to offer me.
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"How was it?" I asked her, wondering about her first trip back "home" since she and her husband moved here three months earlier.
"It was good. Both easier and harder than I had expected."
And then she recounts the moment, this moment that reminded me of how far I have yet to come. For none of us, not one, has arrived.
"T. told me how much he missed home. And here I thought he meant his previous home, the one I long for always. But no, he missed this new home, the one I have worked so hard to make him. And that warmed my heart, settled my fears, and allowed me to start settling in myself."
And I stand back in marvel.
How? How does that wisdom sink in so quickly? She went on to tell me of how she had been so pouring her time and efforts into creating a home for her two sons, that when this two year old told her he missed that place, she wept. It was all she wanted- for him to feel at home.
So often I get wrapped up in what I need. What I want. What would make me more comfortable here. And I lose perspective that I am a mom- I create, I serve, I inspire, I build for my family what someday my own kids will think back on as "home." I want them to remember not what this place was to their mom, but what this place meant to them. I want them to aspire to create wonderful Christmas mornings of their own, filled with joy and peace and goodness; days foreshadowed by those we hold in this house for them.
But this means turning my idea of home on its head. Letting go of my longings and desires to the extent that it allows me to build up for them...and for myself...a place worthy of being called home. And that goes so far beyond this furnishing or that meal. No, a home is built with the heart- the wholehearted love and care of a mom not clinging desperately in her deepest being to someplace else.
That sounds strange, you may say.
I know. It would, until you have been so far, wept for home, yearned for that place. And then you would know how that piece of you, though invisible for most days, does show itself in strange ways. Pictures don't get hung on the walls. I don't plant trees. Permanence, they mean permanence: these nails in walls and roots in ground. Friendships are shallow and meant for temporary happiness instead of deep, lasting growth. Whether or not I know it there is that piece of me that works against my whole self being here. And that creeps into how I build this place for my kids, for my husband, for myself.
I watch her yearn to create that sense of home for her kids and I want to have that heart for my family. To worry more about the home I am making for them than for my own comfort. Because this place, any earthly home, is here for but a breath of time. A sanctuary, a resting place. It is not the ultimate. It is not the end. We are but travelers, each one, setting our hearts toward the one true Home worthy of our unabashed longing. Here, on this journey, I am called to build up this home in Iowa worthy of comforting, teaching, transforming souls, and that doesn't happen one foot in and one foot out.
And I can say it and know it in my mind, but to live it out in my heart- that is where the battle takes place.
And so, in this month of Christmas, she gave me an unexpected gift. She renewed my focus, reminding me that I am here not for myself but for others. And I am setting out ready to create "home" for those boys in my life closest to me.
Truly, my prayer is that we will be home for the holidays this year. And that you will be, too, wherever you are.

The Making of Memories

This morning Phil stated looking back at some of our old posts here. Oh, the trips down memory lane! Though I have always used this blog as a way to connect with people back in Washington, the secondary reasons of chronicling our lives here has always been a side-benefit I could look forward to.
But what a journey to recall where we have been. We read this, which was my first post on this blog. And marvelled at this, our three year old back when he was only one. We remembered crock-pot eating for three months and total room transformations. Traveling down memory lane we laughed at Millie, our large, bossy two year old sheep when she was just a bottle lamb. All this and we were just scratching the surface.
This three year journey has been a wild one. And, truly, continues to be. What a gift to look back and reminisce. And, what encouragement to continue writing about this journey.

Not the Sharpest Crayons...

As we watched our chicken flock dwindle dramatically this past summer, we eventually decided that "flock fortification" would be necessary. We ordered two types of birds to add to our remaining three layers.

The first kind is a heavy breed- the ladies from which will weigh upwards of 9 pounds(!). They have small combs and feathered feet, making them ideal for winter in Iowa.

The second breed we ordered was my choice- they are called Easter Egg layers, for the beautiful blue and green hued eggs they produce. Understandably, I was quite excited about this prospect! While Phil's choice may be more practical, certainly I have chosen the more aesthetically pleasing!

As they have been growing these past few months,one thing has become clear- Phil's "large" birds are lazy. That, or they are lacking a few important brain cells.

Let me explain

There is a house we drive past on our way to the "big city" that has free range hens. These hens hunt and peck all the way out to the ditch, and right next to (but never on) the main highway. We marvelled at how these unfenced hens could roam, but never meet a car with unpleasant results.

Did the owners train them? How did they learn to stay close to home? How did they know to go back in the coop at night? Was this a lengthy training process?

And then we got our own chickens, and found out that this is normal. Chickens love to roam and look for food, but will rarely go more than 100-200 feet from their coop. Come dusk, they will fly home and roost on the highest possible location out of harms way. No intensive training program needed!

But these hens? They don't go inside at night. While the Easter Egg chickens and our three older layers were inside rustling and jostling for a comfy nighttime spot, these ladies were hunkered in a ball outside the coop. This time I had my camera, because it was the fourth night in a row I had picked them up by hand and delivered them into the door of their coop.

The first night I found them along the coop's fence, barely visible because they were all smashed together as low as they could get, murmuring shivers against the cold winter winds.

Can't you just see them freezing? Waiting for the elevator? What are they doing? Didn't they get the memo about all chickens hunkering down in the coop at night? Oh ladies...

Go inside! Aren't you cold?