A Road Less Travelled

James and Theresa were in Atlanta from Thursday to Saturday last week. I was home with six children. Now, you should understand that the five older children are all capable of being more help than they are bother. Not they always are, but they’re capable of it. All I really had to do was step up a little in my general awareness of what needed to be done around the house, make sure it got done while constantly maintaining an awareness of who was watching Margary, and make monumental efforts which only kind of worked not to get annoyed with the children over the odd noises they constantly make or the silly arguments I kept having to break up. How hard could that be?

About Friday afternoon I knew I could make it through until James and Theresa got back, but I was having serious doubts about my ability to do this for the rest of my life. I mean, this is what I’ve always planned to do with my life–stay-at-home mom, homeschool mom, homemaker… But somehow in my plans I was always better at it. I was only just getting done everything that needed to be done, and that was with five children who were big enough to help. I remembered in the morning that I needed to brush Elsie’s hair and finally got around to it at four in the afternoon. And that was doing pretty well with my time magangement–a lot better than I normally do when Theresa’s home. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t want to do this for the rest of my life; I was just pretty sure I’d never be able to handle it.

Saturday afternoon I realized that I’d just about made it through. I’d been the equivalent of a single mom of six children (though at least I didn’t have to have an outside job…) for three days, and I’d even kept the kitchen mostly clean. I learned once again that what I can or can’t do is irrelevant to what God calls me to do, because even when I can’t handle it He has it completely under control.

Now if I could just remember that for more than five seconds at a time….

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I went to church yesterday. It was Sunday and in our world this isn’t unusual, but it was the first time I’d been in two weeks. It’s amazing what two weeks away from the worship of the Almighty and the fellowship of the saints will do to one’s week.

Sunday afternoon at home was a bit more stressful than normal because we were watching two extra children for some friends. And after all the children were either returned or in bed Seth, Crystal and I sat down to play a game. Loud funny music, a couple rum and Cokes, and some tired, stressed out people don’t make for a really intense game, but it made for a fun time. At one point Seth got laughing so hard about a passage in the Bible he started crying. A jar of pickles later I had won the day and the game. For a full-contact, in your face, rules crunchy economics game I do pretty well. This time, though, I crushed my opponents like circus peanuts. Crush, crush crush!!

It was a good Sabbath. It was restful and delightful. I can’t wait to do it forever.

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Things break. That’s hardly a deep thought. Things break. Moths eat cloth. Rust corrodes steel. Thieves steal valuables. (Sound familiar?) Add to the list: toddlers rip paper, floors (with a little help from gravity) shatter glass. Etc, etc, etc.

This small and obvious fact has been brought to my attention quite often lately. Like when my favorite nifty pen slips out of my bag and shatters on the floor almost before I knew it had dropped. And I just sigh, because it’s a familiar sound that doesn’t surprise me at all. But for some reason I stand there and think about how often I drop things. Or how often my tongue trips and the words slip away and just a split second too late I try to catch them, but can only wait to hear the shatter on the floor.

And as I look back at all the things I’ve broken I can only wonder why there weren’t more. As often as my tongue slips, why do have any friends left? And I realize how often God must step in at that vital split second before the friendship shatters, and He catches it, and then hands it back to let me slip and drop it all over again.

And I sweep the shards of ceramic into the trash without a second glance.

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Well, it’s about that time again; the time when I don’t want to bother composing an interesting blog post about my life, but have found a song which fits well with my life right now (i.e. is smacking me upside the head about something), and therefore post the lyrics for everyone to mark as read on their rss feed reader.

My favorite line right now is: “You don’t have to change the world, just trust in Me.” Being rather inclined to want to go change the world, I get frustrated with my life way too easily. I get frustrated that I’m not doing anything big, and then I get frustrated that I couldn’t anyway, because I’m not doing so well at the small things. I think, I’m supposed to do better than this, because I’m supposed to go change the world, right? Um. No.

So, that’s the short version of the post I wasn’t planning to write… And here are the lyrics:

No Lord, he said, you’ve got the wrong guy.
Simple conversation gets me tongue-tied.
And you’re telling me to speak with a maniac king.
Could it be I’ve lost my mind?
And besides, I am weak, don’t you want someone strong,
To lead them out of Egypt when they’ve been there so long?
And anyway, they wont believe You ever spoke to me.
That’s not your problem, God replied.
And the rest is history.

‘Cause, there’s a bigger picture,
And you don’t have to change the world.
I’m your creator, I am working out my plan.
And through you, I will show them,
There’s a bigger picture, you can’t see.
You don’t have to change the world, just trust in me.
I’m your creator, I am working out my plan,
And through you, I will show them, I Am.

–I Am, Ginny Owens

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overwhelming beauty
words fail me
‘it’s pretty’

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When we went to Silver Dollar City James was clear that there were two non-negotiables- the blacksmith demonstration and the glassblower demonstration. We were on our way out of the park when James remembered about the blacksmith, but we made sure we saw the glassblower on our first day.

I’d seen a glassblower demonstration once before at a Renaissance fair, but the crowd was bigger and there wasn’t really a chance for questions. When this demonstration started we were the only ones watching, thought that still makes for quite a crowd in most people’s estimation. The glassblower told us that he majored in theater and history in college so he can walk and chew bubble gum at the same time. He was very good about answering our questions and even let the children pick the color of the piece he was making.

I love watching someone do something he loves. I also love watching someone do something he excels at. This man has been making glassware for 32 years and he loves doing it. I watched him manipulate molten glass that was between 2000 and 2400 degrees hot with ease. He made it look so easy I started thinking “Hey, I could do that.” Then I started thinking about the level of heat and care required and I returned to my senses. But watching him was a joy.

Towards the beginning of the demonstration I asked a question I have wondered for years. How, I asked, does one go about making a plate? I’d seen a vase made and understood how cylindrical shapes were made, but I was totally lost as to how a cylinder became flat. The glassblower said that he would make this piece into a plate just so he could show me how it was done. I was flattered. He made a beautiful plate with a wavy edge on a small pedestal. The main color was cranberry red as chosen by Samuel Lansberry and the accent color was blue which was Moriah’s choice. When the plate was finished I asked a question I had been pondering purely for curiosity’s sake. “How much will you sell it for?”, I asked, expecting something in the neighborhood of fifty to sixty dollars. He said that they would probably price it between thirty-five to forty dollars.

I sat back and thought for a bit. I had forty dollars. I had forty dollars that were set aside to spend on this vacation. How many times in my life would I be able to buy a plate made by a master craftsman at my request? So I beat up James and James’s mom and asked the glassblower to hold the plate for me. It had to cool for fifteen hours so I was supposed to come back around noon and buy it.

I was excited for several hours. Well, I would have been, but I got distracted. But whenever I remembered to be I was excited. The next day I went back to the store with Raquel and asked for the cranberry red plate. The glassblower remembered me and signed the bottom of the plate for me. They wrapped it in tissue paper, newspaper, and then bubble wrap. When I paid for the plate they told me it was twenty-three dollars. I was shocked. Twenty-three dollars is not a lot of money to pay for something so pretty. I paid it gladly and talked about it for the rest of the day. When I stopped by the shop at the end of the day to pick my plate up I bought a bright orange vase I’d fallen in love with, too. James’s parents offered to transport my purchases home in their RV so I wouldn’t have to pack it into a van with ten people.

I now have a handcrafted glass plate in my room. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it, but it was made for me and now it’s mine. It is by far the best souvenir I’ve ever bought.

Oh, and the blacksmith demonstration was cool, too.

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I went, I had fun, I came back tired. That sounds pretty typical for a vacation to me. It was great to get away and stop and think. And then I stopped thinking and went on some roller coasters.

I kept a journal of sorts of what I was pondering while I was traveling, but after we left our rural paradise hide-away I wasn’t writing as much so you’ll get my slow, sleepy thoughts from the beginning of the trip and then nothing from the end. Sorry. My bad. I also decided to include the musings on my life I mused. Enjoy!

May 12, 2008

What is it about rural hideawaya that attract me so? I am a diehard city girl. I love the city and find much that is beautiful about it. And yet whenever the time comes for me to take a vacation I end up out in the middle of no where in some rural paradise. Through no fault of my own, either. I have no say whatsoever is where we go, but I end up out here anyway. I shouldn’t like it so much. I should be totally freaked out by all the different noises and by the quality of silence you find. I should be freaked out by the wide open spaces and by being surrounded by trees and not buildings. The aloneness, the separation, the isolation should bother me. But it’s so green here.

It’s not silent just like the city is never silent, but you can find a sort of silence in the noise. Right now the wind is playing with a set of large wind chimes which is something I could find in the city, but behind the wind chimes is some sort of frog out on the pond. The winds sounds different when it moves through the trees; the light slants differently when it hits nothing man-made. The whole world smells of green and water, the smell of a pond well circulated. The wind has more space to play with as it comes to caress my skin. It’s lovely out here. It’s a different lovely than my beloved city and it is perfect for a vacation. Tomorrow I hope to romp through those trees I see over there and there is talk of fishing in that pond. I see tall grass and I hear a cow off somewhere. Maybe I’ll go find it tomorrow and ask it to describe the day to me. This city girl would love to get a native’s opinion of rural paradise.

May 13, 2008

It’s breakfast time. I was thinking I would write a tale from an idea I had, but the outside is calling me. It’s odd because the outside doesn’t usually call me. Maybe because there isn’t really much to do once I get outside back home. Here there are trees and there is green, green grass.

May 13, 2008 Later

I think the thing I like most about vacation is the ability to do one thing at a time. I’m so used to doing two, three or more things at a time that doing one thing is pure luxury. I went fishing today and I just stood on a pier and watched a bobber in the water. I watched that bobber with an intensity and focus that I would not have thought quite possible. The only thing on my mind was that bobber and any fish that might be munching on my hook. I was doing one thing and one thing only. Just now I was outside watching lightning. And that was all I was doing.

May 13, 2008 Blog Post Idea

I caught a fish today. Actually I caught three. And then I learned how to clean a fish and I cleaned two. It was really slimy.

I think I could get used to fishing. When I was younger we’d go fishing when we were camping and I didn’t like it, but I really liked it today. I think it’s because I only had one thing to do and I could focus everything on that one thing. With five children running around our house I usually end up doing two, three or more things at a time. And then multi-tasking like that becomes habit and it’s hard to only do one thing. Sure there were still things going on around me when I was fishing and every now and then I had to stop what I was doing and help with something or other, but there were large chunks of time when I had a rod in my hands that I just had to stand and watch a bright colored bobber. It was delightful. Even my thoughts slowed down until I was only thinking about fish and even that was lethargic and slow. It was delightful. I could get used to it.

May 15, 2008

It’s a peculiar feeling to be on vacation. I have to watch myself sometimes because if I get back into the habit of doing then I’m not sure I’ll be able to snap back out and Theresa so wants me to have a vacation. I changed Margary’s diaper this evening and I felt like maybe I shouldn’t have because Theresa didn’t want me to. It was a quick thing and I don’t think it did any irreparable harm so I’m not going to fret about it, but it was a bizarre feeling.

Yesterday I took Samuel fishing. We weren’t going to keep the fish, but he enjoyed catching them so much that we went anyway. I was in charge of pulling the fish hooks out. It was not fun. It is a new and a not entirely pleasant feeling to have to pull a barbed hook out of a living creatures mouth. I tried to be gentle, but there’s only so much I could do sometimes. And when the fish had gotten it stuck in his nostril I almost threw it back, hook and all just so I wouldn’t have to pull it out. After three or four fish I told Samuel I was done and that if he wanted to catch anymore he would have to pull the hook out himself.He was totally fine with this and even caught and dehooked one more, but then he accidentally caught the hook in the tree and Peter, in an effort to be helpful, hopelessly snarled the line. We agreed that we were done fishing and packed it away.

–

I like being useful. I like how people look at me when I’m helpful and I like surprising people. I like the startled look when I hand someone exactly what he wanted before he finishes or even starts the request. I like going over a to-do list with someone and saying “I got that” to everything. Because I enjoy the feeling I get from the action does that make the action less holy or good somehow? I try to help people because people need help and I was given a gift to see, but is it still ministry if I enjoy the feeling I get afterwards? Do I push myself so hard because I have a calling or because I’m chasing a buzz?

It’s tricky and it feels like it all comes back to being able to do the work without carrying the responsibility and being able to enjoy the happy glow without chasing it as an end.

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PURGE, v.t. purj. [L. purgo.]
1. To cleanse or purify by separating and carrying off whatever is impure, heterogeneous,foreign or superfluous; as, to purge the body by evacuation; to purge the Augean stable. It is followed by away, of, or off. We say, to purge away or to purge off filth, and to purge a liquor of its scum.Webster’s 1828 Dictionary online

Purge is a good word. For one thing, it’s fun to say. It has a good solid beginning, flows smoothly along, and suddenly cuts off with a sharp ‘j’ as if to say, “We’re done now–let’s not add any superfluous sounds at the end.

For another thing, it carries the satisfaction of streamlining one’s superfluous stuff much better than just ‘getting rid of’. I’ve gotten rid of stuff before. It’s a continual process of realizing that I have odd bits of things hanging around that I really don’t need anymore. This week, however, I have systemically purged my dresser and closet of each redundant, unused, disliked or otherwise superfluous article of clothing. For instance, I realized for the first time that I owned five pairs of black pants and two pairs of gray pants. Even I find seven pairs of black or gray pants to be excessive, and therefore decisively purged… um, one pair… Yeah. Really, though, I’m working on narrowing it down.

Actually, most of the purging process has gone quite well, and I have removed numerous bags of stuff from my room, to be whisked away to go clutter someone else’s–er, that is to say, be donated to some worthy recipients. In the process of eliminating the superfluous, I have discovered how very female I really am when it comes to collecting clothing and accessories. I got rid of some shoes, but yes, there really are ten pairs I use fairly regularly. (Augh! I’m one of the shoe people!) And I won’t even go into the number of headcoverings I own. (Okay, so I’m a particularly conservative brand of girly female.)

Next thing you know, someone’s going to claim I’m good at Egyptian shopping games, and I’ll completely lose my reputation of being a logical and rational type female…

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 I heard a story once about a preschool that had a nicely fenced in play yard for the children. They had this brilliant idea that if they took down the fence it would encourage the children to explore and open their horizons. So they took down the fence, and instead of playing in the whole yard as they used to, the children all clumped together in the middle where it felt safer. As I recall they put the fence back up.

I’ve just realized that my budget is a lot like a fence. I’ve always assumed it was there to keep me in reasonable boundaries and prevent me from overspending. But, while this is a very useful function it does serve, there’s something else it does that might be even more useful for me. My budget gives me permission to spend money on things I’ve budgeted for.

I keep starting to freak out because I feel like I’ve spent a lot of money over the past few weeks. And between some good deals I found online recently, thrift-storing (yes, I just verbed ‘thrift store’–deal with it) to find some needed clothes for my summer wardrobe, and splurging on an fancy restaurant one evening with Gabrielle (which we’d planned beforehand and saved up for, and also probably deserves a write-up of it’s own, if only to review the restaurant), I suppose it’s true that I’ve spent a lot of money.

A part of my brain keeps spluttering at me that I’m spending far too much money, and no one cares if these are all good and reasonable purchases, the point is the final price tag! But then I look at my budget and all the money that’s been building up in various categories because I ‘didn’t want to spend too much money’. Am I still within budget? “Well, yes,” that part of my brain splutters, “but, but…”

“Good,” says the rest of my brain, “so shut up already.” Aren’t boundaries great?

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So. Hi. I’m still alive. Just in case you were wondering. I can’t even claim extraordinary busyness as an excuse for not posting. (Well, except for maybe last week when we were trying to get ready for Liberty Day.)

So why haven’t I posted? Well, I could refer back to the boring thoughts post. That’s part of it. But mostly it’s because I’ve been in my least favorite state of life. This is the state where my life is chugging along just fine, and I can’t point to anything that’s wrong, but I just can’t get it together.

I much prefer it when my life is outwardly crazy and I have a great attitude about it. It’s much easier to answer difficult questions such as, “How was your week?” when I can reel off a string of events and finish with “but it was lots of fun”. When life is fine but I’m not quite, it goes more like this–

“So, how was your week?”

“Oh… okay, I guess.”

“Only okay? Why, what happened?”

I pause and consider. I was fuzzy headed and could never seem to remember what I was doing. I kept snapping at the children and I don’t know why and couldn’t seem to stop no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t get anything done, and I don’t know what I did with my time. I couldn’t seem to muster the energy for what I was supposed to be doing and couldn’t figure out if I was just being lazy or I really was that tired. These all seem like hard to explain answers that make me sound whiny. So I give a true but barely tip of the iceberg response, “I guess I was just tired.”

At least this time I’m having one of those learning-something-I’ve-always known experiences. As all Reformed people know, the Christian walk is not about having an emotional experience. God is faithful independent of our emotions, etc, etc. I think I’ve always assumed that meant we don’t we don’t have to be enthusiastically joyful all the time; being even-keeled is also acceptable. And being sad or low is okay as long as we have a valid reason and it makes us feel dependent on God. Of course it sounds dumb when I actually spell it out in words, but most of my vague impressions do.

So here I am, and I don’t feel like doing any of the things I’m supposed to being doing. And I’d really, really like to–because it’s so much easier to obey when it’s fun, right? But maybe that would be too easy. I don’t feel excited about this opportunity to learn and practice things I should know. But I know that I am completely dependent on God to get me through (even if I feel like I’m just floundering) and I know that His plans are always better than mine. And that’s good enough. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

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