You Do Not Know

 "He who observes the wind 

will not sow,

And he who regards the clouds

will not reap.

As you do not know 

what is the way of the wind,

Or how the bones grow 

in the womb of her 

who is with child,

So you do not know 

the works of God 

who makes everything.

In the morning sow your seed,

And in the evening 

do not withhold your hand;

For you do not know 

which will prosper,

Either this or that,

Or whether both alike 

will be good."

(Ecclesiastes 11:4-6)

It's easy to look around at our circumstances 

and cease the labor that is ours. 

The conditions don't look good. 

The weather may not cooperate. 

Maybe my seed will go to waste. 

Maybe my harvest 

will be ruined by a storm. 

I may miscarry the child. 

I don't know how God works. 

But He does. 

And He has placed me 

in a specific place 

with specific tasks. 

My business is to do 

what He's given me to do. 

The conditions are His to govern. 

The rain or the lack of it 

is in His hands. 

The wind is His to direct. 

The growing of the seed 

is His handiwork, not mine. 

Mine is just to sow. 

And it may be that the early seed

is not the one that grows. 

But the seed thrown out 

at evening might. 

Perhaps the harvest 

will come from both. 

The one who plants 

and the one who waters 

aren't the ones to look to here --

but God who gives the increase. 

We are to not grow weary 

in well-doing. 

Whatever the sky looks like 

in your neighborhood, 

put your hand to the work 

He has for you. 

In due time, 

there will be a harvest. 

"It pleased the Lord 

to send us contrary winds." 

(From George Whitefield's journal)

Who Handles His Dishes

After naming a tribe for service,
the Lord went on to call out families in it by name for specific duties.
He said where He wanted each one to camp in relation to the tabernacle.
God concerns Himself with even our temporary dwelling places.

"The duties of the children of Gershon 
in the tabernacle of meeting included the tabernacle, 
the tent with its covering, 
the screen for the door of the court, 
the hangings of the court which are around the tabernacle and the altar, 
and their cords, according to all the work relating to them."
This family's entire ministry
was related to maintaining and transporting
the large leather and fabric pieces
that the tabernacle was constructed of.
Brushing off dust,
and washing, and folding,
and oiling the leather to keep it pliable,
and storing them carefully when they moved.
"This is the service of the families of the Gershonites,
in serving and carrying." 

The Kohathites "duty included the ark, 
the table, the lampstand, the altars, 
the utensils of the sanctuary with which they ministered, 
the screen, and all the work relating to them."
An interesting detail related to the Kohathites' duties
explains how the sons of Aaron are to cover
and prepare every item they are responsible for handling
and the Kohathites "are not to go in and watch 
while the holy things are being covered, lest they die."
They were expected to bear holy things
with a reverence that did not touch them,
and did not get to see them.

"The appointed duty of the children of Merari 
included the boards of the tabernacle, 
its bars, its pillars, its sockets, its utensils,
all the work relating to them, 
and the pillars of the court all around, 
with their sockets, their pegs, and their cords...
And this is what they must carry 
as all their service for the tabernacle of meeting...
and you shall assign to each man by name the items he must carry.

Each one of these duties are particular to the family and to the individual,
but in concluding each catalog of tasks, it repeats, 
"And their duties shall be under the authority of Ithamar the son of Aaron the priest."

"According to the commandment of the Lord 
they were numbered by the hand of Moses, 
each according to his service and according to his task; 
thus were they numbered by him, as the Lord commanded Moses."

The Lord called out a specific tribe, specific families,
and specific men for particular tasks.
And their duties were holy and appointed only to them.
Every one of them was known by name to the Lord,
and called to a particular care for the Lord's things.
No one else could do their job.

In ministering to the Lord, I may find I am carrying holy things I may not see.
I am doing Him service
even though that service means busying myself
with tables and lamps, bowls and forks.
God cares who handles His dishes.

The Mind-Numbing Work of Redemption

I do the same things All The Time.
I pick up the dirty clothes, and sort them into the hampers.
I button the buttons, and turn the socks right side out.
I spray the stains, and I fill the washing machine.
I take the wet clothes out, and straighten them,
and hang them on the clothesline to dry.
I take them down, and fold them, and send them to be put away.
And then I sort them out into the hampers again.

I rinse dirty plates, and stack them,
and I fill the dishwasher with them.
I unload the clean dishes, and put them in the cupboards,
and then do it again.
Sometimes three times a day.

I nurse the baby in the middle of the night,
and I feed him again in the morning.
In the late morning.
At noontime.
In the afternoon.
In the late afternoon.
At dinner.
In the late evening, just before he goes to bed.

I change diapers.
And again.
And again.
The progress of my days
is marked by piles of used diapers,
moved bookmarks,
dirty dishes, 
and clothes that need another washing.

I told my husband, "I don't know what purpose I have right now."
A friend asked me how I am doing, and I said, "I feel dull."
And I do.
I mean, seriously,
what point is there
in washing and washing and straightening
what is never clean,
and never straightened out?
You would think I do nothing at all
if you looked at the crumbs on my floor.
Because if I vacuum three times a day,
there are still crumbs on my floor.

I have been meditating on the Proverbs 31 woman,
whose equal I am not.
And I've been thinking about how she wraps herself up in food prep,
and laundry maintenance.
And I was contemplating two questions the other morning:
What is God doing in my life?
And how do I join God in His work?

What is God doing in my life?
He's drawing me into fellowship with Himself and with others.
He's refining me.
He's making me new in Christ.
He cares for me and my concerns.
He redeems me.
He washes me.
He comforts me.
He heals me.
He plants, waters, weeds, prunes...
He fills my darkness with His light.
He's working resurrection in me.

And how do I join Him in His work?
Kissing hurts, and healing wounds.
Mending what's broken.
Washing what is dirty.
Straightening what is crooked.
Feeding the hungry.
Planting and weeding and watering.
Bleaching out the stains.
And returning what has become unusable to a state of usefulness. 

Suddenly the laundry stains are meditative.
And the dishes, endlessly worthless with grime,
are also endless reminders of the restorative work He does in me.
The children needing comfort,
and the babies needing baths --
are praiseworthy reminders of the comfort He gives,
and the washing of the Word.

The dishes and the laundry are in constant need of redemption--
as I must constantly be redeemed from the sin that soils me.
My usefulness depends on my washing.

I looked down at the pants I was wearing -- a thrift store purchase.
A cast-off redeemed.
I put the same things back in their places every single day.
I bring order out of chaos.
And while I work in the kitchen, the toddler is trashing the living room.
And the shoes are scattered out of their baskets in the laundry room.
And it isn't going to end.
But as they mature (and we have other areas in disarray to set right),
they'll lend their hands to the work.

The material matters.
These mind-numbing, repetitive tasks that I do again and again
are the very same tasks He has set for Himself in me.

Cream of Sausage-Sauerkraut Soup

When you make bratwurst cooked with sauerkraut,
and serve it with baked or roasted potatoes,
the leftovers are the perfect beginning to soup the next day.

Heat butter in a pan.
Saute onions in it, if you want to.
Add chopped kale or spinach if you have it.
I made it today without either onions, kale, or spinach,
but they really do improve it.
When they are softened,
add chopped sausage (Polish works fine, too),
and all the sauerkraut,
and cook a little before adding a couple of tablespoons of flour.
Stir well, and add a little chicken broth and your chopped leftover potatoes.
Heat to very hot,
then temper cream or milk with it before adding all of it back to your pan.
Stirring often, cook until thick and bubbly.
Even my soup-hater asks for seconds.

If You've Wondered

The toddler has been flipping out for days.
Arching her back.
Banging her head on the floor.
"What does your shirt say?" Talia asks her, in a pleasant voice,
in an attempt to distract her from yet another fit.
"IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!" she screams back at her.
She tries to hang on the open secretary desk.
"No, no," I say gently. "You can't hang on that. It will hurt you."
She melts down, slapping my leg and weeping,
and then attempts to climb me.

Her third tooth is in,
birthed through another sleepless night of thrashing and much Orajel.
She still has her charmingly sociable personality,
only it's been joined by an alter ego that is furious and mean.
She runs like a whirlwind through the house,
climbing things that scare me, and undoing all order.
She tries to climb the bookshelf.
She's taken down, and flings herself angrily at the ground.
When I try to read out loud, as our homeschooling lifestyle demands,
she yells through the whole experience.

She does not want her hair combed.
She does not want her diaper changed.
She does not want her nose wiped or her face washed.
She wants to eat, and rejects all offered food.
She spent several days in a war between her mouth,
which didn't want to put anything in it,
and her tummy, which cried for hunger.
She would only eat enough to take the edge off,
and then would be crying again shortly because it wasn't enough.

Nap times are respites.
Except we are reading through most of them lately,
since she interrupts so much of it earlier.
Why am I writing this?
Because maybe you wondered where I am.
Why I write so little lately.

I am tired.
We've had company,
and while I know they are people who love us, and aren't expecting the Hilton,
it seems reasonable to me that sheets be washed and basic cleaning be done.
And I can't keep up.
We are pressing on to finish school,
because that is one of our very top priorities in life.
And we are doing the dishes and feeding people.
And we are trying to keep from drowning in laundry.
And please don't even talk to me about my children's bedrooms.
Just shut the door.

As if drowning in dirty laundry wasn't bad enough,
WHY are the clean clothes being put back into the laundry again?
Please explain how the hampers in your bedrooms, 
the three hamper sorter in the hall outside your bedrooms, 
AND the large basket hamper in your bathroom just off the hall 
ARE NOT ENOUGH HAMPERS TO DEPOSIT YOUR DIRTY CLOTHES IN?

Life operates in seasons, and this is one of exhaustion.
When I have a few minutes, I mostly stare at a wall.
I miss writing more often.
I miss not stepping on toys and discarded food.
I miss time to think.
I miss reading books of my own choosing while not falling asleep.

To Be Their Mom

I scroll down through my Facebook feed, and I see so many mothers.
Sporty mothers cheering on young athletes.
Baking mothers who make my mouth water.
The ones who stay home
long after other mothers have taken up the soccer and ballet rounds
because they have one with special needs.
Moms with the beginning of a clan,
and some with just one little chick.
I see moms
who traveled to China and Guatemala and Ethiopia
to gather up their babies.
I know two who had children they weren't looking for handed to them.
I see my friends with empty arms, whose babies are not with them.
They had to lay them down to rest long before they wanted to.

There are busy ones, who race from one activity to the next.
Bookworm moms, who inhabit the couches with their kids and a good book.
Tatooed and pierced,
in overalls,
or dressed like tea party ladies,
we all have this in common:
We've opened our lives to our children.

Becoming a mother is to become vulnerable.
We don't know what we will end up with.
Whether it's carrying a burden for many long years,
as we work to lift children who can't carry themselves;
or bearing the grief of a loss too strong for words.
Will it be joy?
Yes, it will. Some joy.
Will it be struggle?
Yes, it will. And with the same child who brought the joy.
There will be years of chaos,
even if it's only Cheerios scattered over the entire house.
There will be messy faces and messy bodies.
There will be tears, and not just from the children.
Their pain is going to hurt you.

The kids are going to fail.
And you are going to fail your kids.
And if you do it right, there will be apologies and forgivenesses.
And they'll learn that love means hope for future good.
That love covers a multitude of sin,
and grace allows us to begin again.

And you don't have to be a cookie-cutter mom to be their Mom.
Each one of us is uniquely made,
and uniquely challenged with this sanctified relationship.
Our children don't match.
Our lives don't match.
But we are one in Christ,
and the goal is to hear, "Well, done, you good and faithful servant."
I can't help but think about Jesus's conversation with Peter
where Peter asked about John, "What about him?"
And Jesus replied to him, "What is it to you...? You follow Me."

Never mind the other mamas.
Each of us has our own race to run.
But follow Him where He leads you.
It's your own Master you have to answer to.
And He is able to make you stand.

High and Low

I could be doing something important with my life,
instead of living out the normal --
feeding, sleeping,
working, playing,
going, staying,
fixing, and correcting.
But then I read:
"Do not set your mind on high things, 
but associate with the humble."
And who is more humble than a child?
Their self-importance does not stop them from dancing
when the music plays,
crying when they hurt,
eating when they are hungry,
even though they might get food in their teeth.
When I give them gifts, they wiggle in delight,
and let their faces share the joy with me.
They don't hide their drawings
to save themselves from criticism.
They leave their scraps of poetry littered through my house,
instead of shoved into a binder
in the back of a private shelf.

Perhaps it is for the important people to say,
"I could be wiping someone's nose right now,
or coaching them through using a toilet.
Why didn't I take that chance
to read a book to a five-year-old when I had it?
I could have had conversations about crayons and Play-doh
instead of these mundane philosophies
I have occupied my time with.
My life has been wasted in high places,
when I might have learned more
tying shoes,
and helping people out of their jackets,
and putting lotion on rashes,
and lying on my stomach watching ants,
and rubbing my hands on the bark of a tree,
and folding underwear."

But Today

If you didn't already know, we are a homeschooling family -- which means that my house is messier than I would like, because we have to get to work on school, and when we finish school, I am often drained. We're regularly behind on laundry. We don't have a dishwasher in the house, so I do dishes three times a day. If I skip a time or two, there are a lot of dishes to catch up on. We moved less than a year ago, and my dining room is still full of boxes we haven't unpacked. We updated the living room, the laundry room, the guest room, the fire alarms, much of the electrical in the house, and put in a new furnace. Those boxes have moved in and out of three rooms while we fixed them. Our table is in the kitchen until the dining room is cleaned out and finished. Next week, our downstairs bathroom begins its transformation. It will have its walls removed and replaced. There will be tile on two walls. Clean, white tile. The water damage behind the tub will be repaired. It will get a new floor, and eventually, paint on the cabinet and the untiled walls. A working outlet. The upstairs bathroom will also be getting a new floor. And a section of fencing will be installed shortly.

But today, we will enjoy our first full 'day off' of the summer. We finished our curriculum last Friday. And we finished our testing yesterday. On my plate for the summer: that dining room; finally cleaning out and organizing my bedroom, which has been a depository for extra mattresses and boxsprings, books on makeshift shelves (until the completed bookshelves were installed in the living room), and various other junk that did not yet have a home. I did clean and organize two of the three kids' bedrooms, but you can no longer tell. We will tackle the closets. Eventually. Set up the dining room hutch we were given, and fill it. Find places for the games, and the craft supplies, and the pictures on the walls. There is more painting to do everywhere. Oh, and I need to teach my youngest to read. And of course, the laundry will continue to outstrip us, and the dishes will be constant, and the meals will always need making, and the plants will need watering, and I am not going to go through this summer without tracking in a lot of beach sand which will need sweeping and vacuuming. Half of the family will leave toys in their wake, and every one of us will leave a trail of books through the house. I'll be ordering new curriculum soon, and wondering where I will store the years not being used. And I have those fourteen curtains I have to make for the porch windows.

Some day it will feel like we can just do maintenance and enjoy it. In the meantime, we battle the mess and try to get ahead just long enough to get something lasting accomplished. And sometimes we will close the door on the house, and go appreciate the beauty God gives us for the short season that we have and not miss out on the memories we'll treasure longer than our clean toilets.

Another Stone Soup

My mother always calls mish-mash unplanned meals 'stone soup'.
This one elicited several spontaneous 'I love yous',
and even a 'you're beautiful, Mom!'
Even the two picky ones asked for thirds.
The one who proclaimed my beauty two bites in also told me,
"You need to put this one on the computer."

I need to go to the grocery store,
and have been putting it off all week.
So our supplies were limited.
Making note of a few things we did have, (also the many we didn't),
I turned to my basic corn chowder recipe and didn't follow it.

In a pot:
one cube of butter,
six-eight cubed potatoes,
the end of a bag of frozen broccoli,
one diced onion,
about a cup of garlicky hummus (made with balsamic vinegar in place of lemon juice, and no tahini),
four chicken bouillon cubes,
some shakes of pepper,
two cups of water.

Bring it to boiling, and simmer until the potatoes and broccoli are soft enough.
Smash it all a little.

In a large bowl whisk:
four cups of milk,
3-4 TBSP flour,
1 tsp tumeric powder (for its incredible golden color and anti-inflammatory properties)

When it is all cooked, ladle the hot soup into the milk bowl, stir, and return to pot.
Bring it up to a good temperature, simmer for a few minutes,
and serve it with a sprinkle of cheddar.
You can thank me later.

A Meditation of Bread

A few weeks ago I was given a different brand of whole wheat flour
than I have been using.
Suddenly my bread recipe,
which I had tweaked for some time to get right, failed me.
I wasn't doing anything different other than using another brand.
I have to think about bread again.

Since I began making the bread we eat, I think about bread often.
Is there any bread?
Is there enough bread?
I had better make bread.
Will the bread rise?
Are the ratios right?
Bread is a daily thought.

But then recently, I decided to give a sourdough starter a try --
one I started myself, and didn't receive as a ready gift.
Now bread is an always thought.

I peer into the bowl.
Is it alive yet?
Any signs of life at all?
I smell it.
I watch it.
I feed it.
I wait for it.
I read for hours about it.
I study different schools of thought about it,
and make decisions about which care it will receive.
I plan ahead for its future.
I have hopes for this bread.
For a future of bread and more bread from it.
For pancakes
and cinnamon rolls
and boules
and rolls.
Maybe.
If I can only tell if it's healthy.

Last night I researched signs of health for my bread.
And I discovered I was starving it.
So I fed it an appropriate amount, and it liked it!
Oh, the joy.
I have been feeding it and watching it all day,
and I think it might be on the verge of being perfect --
for a young sourdough starter.
It doubled today.

So I researched 'proofing the sponge'.
Now I watch again anxiously.
Is it working?
Will it rise?
I smell it.
I wait for it.
I think about it while I do the dishes,
washing all the doughy mess from my bowls and utensils.
I wonder if I understand the Bible passages about leaven.
I wonder if in our buy-ten-loaves-of-bread-
and-stick-them-in-our-freezers culture
if I've understood at all.
I think about the feast of unleavened bread,
and I wonder what it means.
What it really means.
And about the purging out of old leaven,
and if it's what I just did when I dumped half the starter down the sink.

And I think about the kingdom of heaven,
and the womanly tasks He described it with.
About leaven, and about lost money,
and the thorough sweeping she did when she lost it.
I think about my Mom and the sometimes days
when she lost money in her checkbook,
and sent us all away so she could balance months' worth of transactions,
'thoroughly sweeping' until she found it.
Or when she maybe lost a check,
and how the entire office had to be ransacked
and set back in order until it was found.
And my mind goes back to the bread.

He put it into His teaching to His disciples on how to pray.
Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be Thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors...

And it makes me smile as I realize
that the meditation of the bread
has brought me full circle to His kingdom.
To His care for me and my bread.
To His holiness.
To the hope of justice and the concern for His will.
To forgiveness.
The asking for it.
The giving of it.
Because man shall not live on bread alone.

Hither By Thy Grace I'm Come

(This is not Ebenezer.)

This has been a year of upheaval. 

Jeff has been at a new job for four months, 
and was recently promoted. 

He spent a couple of months without a job, 
and then from September until February 

working part time for very low wages.

God has been good to us.  

Friends we had not seen or spoken to in over a dozen years 

found us and sent money which miraculously 
always arrived in the nick of time. 

Thousands of dollars were mailed to us, handed to us, 

refunded to us, or snuck into our mailbox. 

Roughly $13,641 over the last year, as best I can tell. 

Food arrived on our doorstep. 

Friends invited us over to gather from their gardens. 

We expected a sparse Christmas. 

But on Christmas day, the tree was surrounded with gifts. 

There was never a surplus, but we had enough. 

Just as the spontaneous gifts dwindled 
(from multiple sources all over the country), 

and the part time work was about to end, 
he got a phone call asking him 
to come to work for a company 
two and a half hours south of our home. 

We had been praying and waiting for some time 
for the Lord to give us direction.

Jeff began this season of commuting, 

living with my sister's family during the week, 
and coming back to us on weekends.  

The day before Jeff began his commuting we had to junk his car, 

so I had no transportation if I stayed in our house.  

The kids and I moved into my parents' house 
so we could finish the work on our house 

and put it on the market. 

The stagnant buyers' market. 

The market no one can sell in. 

One week after we put it on the market, 
our house sold in a bidding war 

(which I might add, my mother, sister, and children were praying for). 

And we got full price. 

Our realtor was stunned. 

(Actually, both our realtors -- we had one down south already 

who hadn't seemed to believe us when we told her 
we would be selling our home shortly 

and wanted to start looking down there.) 

On April 15th, we closed. 

We paid off the mortgage, the home equity loan, 
our auto loan, and everything else in sight.

When we talked to our loan officer and he pulled our credit report, 

we laughed out loud. 

Our credit score was extraordinarily high. 

Higher than we are capable of generating 

in a year where our income was less than half of what we've had 
for many years past. 

Higher than it was when Jeff had a steady job with a regular income.

The bank has decided we are a good risk. 

The love of God is a good risk. 

Our realtor observed that, 

"It's obvious Someone is looking out for you." 

Our loan officer wrote to me, 

"He’s watching over all of this to make sure it’s happening."

About the time that we gave up on finding a livable home 

large enough for us, in our small price range, 

in a location we could bear to live in, 

Jeff noticed a new listing. 

I was not in the area at the time, 
and asked him to photograph it well so I could see it. 

We made an offer via cell phones and email. 

I hadn't seen it yet. 

About the same time we were submitting the offer, 

a dear friend of ours sent Jeff a text 

that referenced the verse we had on the chalkboard 
in our bathroom for a long time. 

It was a verse the Lord used with Jeff in the middle of the night 
when we needed direction. 

I don't think our friend knew its significance to us, 

and I know he was not yet aware that we were offering on the house.

It has four bedrooms. 

Five if you count the one without a closet. 

Two bathrooms (a rarity among old New England homes -- 
the only ones we can afford to buy). 

Curved walls. 

Ceiling fans. 

And a lot of painting and floor replacements in our future. 

And it needs new wiring and a new furnace, 
and replacement windows. 

But it is livable after we mop. 

And it was shockingly priced 
considering the others we have seen in that price range. 

And we have it under contract. 

At lower than the listing price. 

And it will have a craft/guest room off the dining room. 

The BIG dining room.  

And a bay window. 

And lots of closet space. 

And good light. 

And it is within walking distance of two of my sisters. 

We are scheduled to close on it Friday morning.

I think I am going to name it Ebenezer.