In the Morning

          In the morning,  there is a lot of activity in our house. The baby is babbling in his crib, waking up his siblings.  The dog is begging to be let out, usually only waking up me (the two older ones are able to sleep through it). If I go outside,  there are ducks quacking in their box, waiting to splash and play in their water. The hens are clucking,  waiting to taste the delicious fresh dew on the grass (always on the other side of the fence). The sounds and activity of the morning are soothing to me. It's like slipping on a soft, fur-lined, leather glove in the crisp autumn air...it's comfy. A friend told me that the top three stressful life events are 1) death of a loved one, 2) divorce, and 3) moving. This time around, I would have to agree. Our move last year didn't stress me out in the least bit. Our move this year has been a much different story. Of these three "stressors", I have personal experience with two. Watching another good friend deal with some custody issues, definitely helps me appreciate that moving is not nearly as stressful. There is the obvious thing they have in common: major change. However, they are all, in my mind, mournable as well. This past Friday, we closed on our house in Illinois.  Charles, my hubby, asked if I was relieved; and I am to an extent...but I wasn't thinking about that in that sense this past Friday.  I was in mourning.  I was sad about the loss of a house that had just started to feel like home. I had other dreams that were never realized there.
           In the mourning, I have slammed my hand down in anger, breaking my mascara wand (poor wand...what did it ever do to deserve such treatment). I hollered several times last week that I missed our old house, and I just about lost it when I still couldn't find our toilet plunger after two days of searching and finding a plugged stink bomb in the basement. Charles has been a safe place to confide my frustration,  and I'm really glad for that.  Crying and expressing my sadness really helps me process things and move on. We have both been frustrated with how challenging this has been to close on this house. We are still renting,  but a new bank is now promising to finance it (one that is cool with crazy people wanting a cozy house with lots of land). The relocation package offered by Charlle's work was sweet, but it still doesn't quite cover all this unforseen drama. Sometimes it feels a little like money poured down the drain. Last Friday (when I was tempted to dress in black and sit in the closet with a "do not disturb" sign posted), I read Mark 14 (I'm in the NT in the Amplified Version). It relates the story of the woman who "wastes" a years salary on pouring perfume on Jesus' feet. Jesus didn't see it as a waste, but as a beautiful offering. It struck me that nothing is wasted on God. I'm not Catholic,  but I really enjoyed a series of talks given on "suffering" last summer by a priest. He repeated over and over the thought of "offering up" our suffering so that it is not wasted. Last Friday,  I struggled,  but I gave up my disappointments and frustrations. I told God I didn't understand,  but that I chose to trust Him. I asked Him to accept this as an offering to Him.
              It's been a week. It's morning again; and instead of feeling waves of sorrow,  I'm feeling some waves of gratitude roll over me. It's been awesome to be around my brother and sister-in-law.  They've made me feel so welcome and already had the kids over for a couple of overnighters. They've helped us plug into an Awana club for the kids to go to and a church (we'll be getting out at least bi-weekly). Also, the people here have been very friendly and kind (except the sherrif department),  and I'm getting used to driving 30 minutes to just about everything.  I found Target this past week, and I was so grateful to find the store where I buy phthalate-free, paraben-free mascara in the same strip mall. The friendly clerk/consultant even introduced me to even better mascara for only a dollar more (it's free of mineral oil, triclosan, sodium lauryl sulfate and synthetic fragrances with a cute little bunny sign on it to denote it is also cruelty free...plus it's made in the USA).
      My mom gave me part of my name based on this verse she read on the day I was born, "...weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning." (Ps. 30:5) I think it's becoming a bit of a reoccurring theme verse for me.
       I don't know if you are suffering or stressed,  but know that nothing is wasted on God. Mourning is tough, but morning is coming.

Sloppy Joes

          I loved sloppy joes as a kid, and I still love them as an adult. My children loved them too until the third or fourth time I made them. I think it has to do with me making them on the stove instead of the crock pot and talking to the neighbor for a little too long. I served dry joes that night with a bit of burnt flavoring.
          Nothing has been more discouraging to me in this whole moving process than the sloppiness of several "Joes".  One "sloppy joe" mover neglected to put a cover on our baby's crib mattress or take the crib sheet off and now there is a permanent black mark on them (was that mark from the asphalt as it was drug along or the bike chain it it laid against in the moving trailer). They forgot to pack our dehumidifier,  Pump In Style (don't ask if you don't know what that is), and an old picture of my grandma, along with several other boxes. However, they made absolute sure to pack our half-used rolls of toilet paper and wet shower curtain (along with books that got a just bit soggy). Thankfully, a good friend went and rescued our stuff.
          We are still renting at a lovely rate per day due to the assessment on our property.  One bank termed it as a bit "sloppy", but the general consensus is that there aren't any other comps to use, and the mark-up's are too high for a conventional loan. Oh the drama!  I just want to own our home.
            Last night before going to bed, I was feeling angry about the whole thing. These things are out of my hubby's control,  as well as mine. What's done is done. Can I be honest that I was a little upset with God? I know nothing is out of His control. The chapter I read last night from Mark 11 gave me some insight into what to do in this situation. I need to let go and forgive. Starting in verse 23, it contains the infamous "telling the mountain to move" phrase.  What comes directly after that is what caught my attention.  It says, " I tell you, you can pray for anything, and if you believe that you’ve received it, it will be yours. But when you are praying, first forgive anyone you are holding a grudge against, so that your Father in heaven will forgive your sins, too."
            Holding a grudge? Yup, I'm guilty as charged. I'm fed up with every obstacles we have been facing. It is exhausting and wearing. I think I have been given the opportunity to practice forgiveness. I need to do this not just because I might have my prayers heard again, but also because I am forgetting how much I have been forgiven by God.
            I know I'm not the only one with drama. Does anyone live in a drama-free
zone? Jen Hatmaker certainly doesn't. (This post made me laugh so hard that I couldn't breathe.) Nope. We are all daily struggling with something.  It's part of life.  Here's your chance to hold onto your happiness...forgive your "sloppy joes".

Sirens With Lights and Bumps in the Night

          Mazes made of corn are fun; however,  I'm not a big fan of the maze of boxes that we have now in practically every room in the house. I've already been down this road of unpacking last year, so I know that slowly but surely the boxes will disappear. I just can't obsess over them. It makes me short-tempered if I dwell on it, which isn't healthy for me or the kids. The first night we slept here, my hubby, Charles, asked if I could bring in the fan when I was done putting the kids to bed. I actually remembered, but he was sleeping soundly already.  I crept in the dark room groping for an outlet to plug the fan into; but the only one I could find was next to his bed with various items strewn on the floor, making it impossible to find a level area to set the fan on. I decided to leave the fan in the room out of the pathway in case he got up in the middle of the night.  I remembered a recessed area where the rocking chair sat between two towers of boxes. I carefully put the fan down, only to have the three-pronged cord flop out into the walkway. I could just picture him tripping over the cord or bruising his foot on the plug. That'd never do. I quickly bent over to pick the cord up out of the way, smacking my lip on the special handle of a stool (it's called a "cat's tail" because the handle resembles the tail of a cat held high in the air) my Amish Uncle made. As my lip began burning and swelling, I began hoping that I wouldn't have a bruise.  I hate explaining stupid stuff I do. That's not the only stupid thing I've done lately though.
           I now live in Missouri,  and the roads where we live are beautiful and hilly.  It is easy to go zooming along, and several times this past week I've had to intentionally slow down. My sweet sister-in-law had kept our three oldest children overnight after Awana, and I was headed to Walmart yesterday with just the younger two. I was entering the interstate when I heard sirens go off. I guessed it was an ambulance and checked my rearview mirror, only to see a sheriff car flashing its lights. I immediately pulled over but was puzzled to see that he pulled over as well. My heart started to race when I remembered that my sticker had expired at the end of July.  At the time, we had thought we were moving to Kansas on July 23. That was before our buyer backed out, and the deal fell through. I hoped the officer would understand my extenuating circumstances.  He calmly told me that he had clocked me going 51mph in a 35mph zone. I was truly suprised that I was speeding. The last time I had seen a speed limit sign, I thought it said 55mph. Unfortunately,  at that particular junction it was indeed 35mph (I went back and checked). He also asked me if I knew that my license sticker was expired.  I tried to quickly explain the situation, while expressing my dismay over not knowing I was breaking the law...as well as my intentions to get new plates...I had no clue where the nearest DMV even was.  He took my new address down after hearing that I had only lived here for 6 days, along with my license and insurance card. He came back with an address for the nearest DMV, and a citation for speeding. My pitiful side wanted to cry out, "Please, I didn't know! I'm new here." My sarcastic side wanted to cry out, "Well, welcome to Missouri! "  The practical side of me wanted to argue that I couldn't possibly afford this. However,  I was guilty; so I found myself quietly saying,  "Ok" when he told me that he had to write me a citation. I confess that the martyr in me insisted on driving slowly the remainder of the day until I could see a speed limit posted (and then I was quick to set my cruise control).
         Why is it that we are so self-centered when it comes to being disciplined?  We cry foul even when we have done wrong. How many times have I been speeding and not been caught?  It's funny, but even now I feel seeds of bitterness trying to take root. Thoughts like, "Well, the police here are jerks," or "It must be because I'm from Illinois" keep coming to mind...its not true though. The fact remains that I broke a law, and I got caught.  He could've ticketed me for my expired sticker, but he gave me mercy on that. I'm choosing to be grateful for the mercy I was shown.
         Tonight, Charles (I'm sticking with my "Little House on the Prairie" theme here) delighted me by fixing both the uber-slow water spigot on our refrigerator and the leaky cold water valve for the washing machine. He told me he could fix our house repairs,  but not my speeding ticket. As I smiled, my lip reminded me of the hit I had taken earlier in the week while my heart ached from the bruise I had taken to my pride.  I'm not above the law, like Steven Seagal. I'm just a gal who's grateful for a new home, with a hubby and kids who love me. My lip's still sore, and my pocketbook is soon to be lighter. Since my smile is still there minus a chip on my shoulder, mark it as just another interesting adventure for Caroline.
   

Little House on the Prarie

           Have you ever walked into a house and felt instantly at home? That was exactly how I felt when I saw our new house for the very first time this past Sunday. It isn't grandiose or majestic...bucolic and rustic come to mind instead. When I was first married, one of my hubby's friends described me as "simple", and it offended me at first. Now that I'm a little older, it doesn't bother me like it did. I now know it meant "uncomplicated", not "boring".  This house suits me perfectly.  It's even yellow, which I've always loved. Plus...wait for it...there is no tile in the showers! Hallelujah!!
           I described our last house as "The Promised Land", and it really had everything we could've ever hoped for.  I remember asking God why in the world He allowed us to simplify and get rid of so much stuff if we were going to move to a huge house. We never really did fill up our old house. Now, it all makes sense. Don't get me wrong,  I loved living there, but I believe I will love living here as well. Our old house feels more to me like one of those awesome vacation houses that you rent to make special memories in since we only lived there a year. We had lots of special things happen there (like the birth of our first son or polor bear event, where my hubby and the girls rolled on the icy pond after going in the sauna), but I never left my mark there. I never even had a chance to paint any walls a beautiful (some may say "obnoxious") shade of green.
          You should see the land that goes with this property.  It is beautiful and rolling with tall grasses and a seasonal stream and pond. Parts of the grass have been cut and huge rolls of hay dot our backyard. There is an enormous screened in porch off the back of the house with large knarled silver maple trees shading it. It is just lovely.
          I used to love the show "Little House on the Prarie", and my mom recently bought the entire set. The girls and I have enjoyed watching it with her when we see her. When she came down to celebrate her birthday, we commented about how our new home would be just like that. I guess that would make me Caroline and my hubby Charles. I'm curious to see if there are any nagging, superficial Mrs. Olsens around here. One of my mom's friends hit the nail on the head saying that we enjoy Mrs. Olsen so much because "we all have a little of her in us".
            We started reading the "Little House" books for school this year; and while debating whether or not to buy them, I saw that the author's daughter has some books about her called "The Rose Years". The author, Laura Ingalls Wilder moved to Missouri with her hubby. It seemed a little more than coincidental when I saw that. It was like God had us  introduce our girls to the "Little House" books and shows right before we moved out.
          Do you know when we first found this house? It was listed for the first time on our 16th anniversary. Sitting on the back porch listening to the cicadas humm and the chickens cluck, I can tell you that this definitely feels like a present.

A Teensy Weensy Problem Loading Noah Ark

            When I told one of my friends about all the animals we would be moving, she laughed and told me it reminded her of Noah's ark. There have been many times that I have thought about Mrs. Noah and wondered how she maintained her calm while discussing sharing living quarters with all those animals for a year. We had our 90 lb. Weimeraner, Harley, plus our two outside cats, Sierra and Oreo. They rode with me. Let's just call my vehicle the "quiet sweet-smelling vehicle". We also have five hens plus two Mallard ducks (so far she has laid twenty-two eggs in her clutch, and is yet to begin sitting on them). They rode with my hubby. When we stopped at the gas station for a pit-stop, the brief glimpse I had of his vehicle made me extremely grateful for my car load. All the quacking and clucking (combined with the smell) would've been enough to make me nauseous.  The hens dutifully layed three eggs in transit and pecked their hearts out on the towel in their cage. Last but not least in our "ark" are my daughter's two small-mouth salamanders, Teensy and Weensy.
             It was a good hour after we started our caravan on Friday that I received a phone call from my nature lovin' child. She informed me that her two beloved salamanders had been left behind.  I was a little shocked she forgot them. Nothing makes her smile more than holding her little Teensy and Weensy. I'm not a huge fan of anything without fur or feathers, but I know how much she adores them...so I even allow canned crickets in my refrigerator (double sealed in a ziploc bag, mind you). After a couple of phone calls, the gentleman driving our truckload of boxes offered to care for them and bring them along with the rest of our stuff.  What a relief it was for my daughter to have them back this morning!
           I can't tell you how much my dear mother-in-law helped us when she rode out with us and stayed for a couple of days. It was so nice to have her there to watch the kids in a pinch and help me with driving. She made the trip so much faster for me by chatting with me most of the way. I wondered if Mrs. Noah was similarly blessed by her woman companions on the ark.
          Our seller has agreed to lease to us till we can close next week, so the movers unpacked us today. I'm so glad to have that taken care of. I will tell you more about our house in the next post, but let's just say that I'm grinning from ear to ear. It's good to be home.

A Series Of Fortunate (and Unfortunate) Events

           What seemed rather simple in theory has turned out to be rather complicated. Every time we turn around there is a new challenge to navigate.
           Unfortunately,  our driveway proved to be too steep for the semi-truck to drive without scraping the bottom of the trailer. Fortunately,  our neighbor has a road bordering ours that they parked on. Fortunately,  they could also rent a u-haul to shuttle boxes back and forth.
            Unfortunately,  the paperwork wasn't finished for us to close on our house before driving to our new house. Fortunately,  a good friend was willing to watch over our house while the packers finish late last night (since the shuttling made the process take longer than anticipated).
             Unfortunately,  due to some assessment issues the bank still wasn't ready to close when we arrived last evening. Fortunately,  a friend of mine allowed us to keep our chickens and ducks at her place.
            Unfortunately,  the buyer wasn't willing to let us take possession by leasing the property till Monday. Fortunately,  my hubby already had a two bedroom furnished apartment that allow dogs and cats. We have somewhere to stay.
             A lot has been challenging; but fortunately,  we are all here together and (other than allergies) are healthy. None of the animals even got sick.

"We are hard pressed on every side, yet not crushed, we are persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down but not destroyed..." 2 Corinthians 4:8-9

Appetite for Destruction

         Last week, I surprised my mom by showing up with the kids to a birthday party thrown by her co-worker celebrating her 70th birthday.  It was awesome to meet some of the people that she has impacted in the last 18 years of work at a support group for people who have had a loved one die.  It was also a wonderful break from the ordinary, but it was just long enough to forget about the partially burned peanut butter jar that Harley found at the top of the hill on our neighbor's burn pile. Harley, our dog, didn't forget. Food is always on his brain, especially when it's peanut butter. He must have somehow snuck up there after coming home on Tuesday afternoon. Wednesday,  I found out about his secret binge when his body began purging the blackened plastic all over our floral carpeting at the top of our stairs. He looked so pathetic as he continued to empty the charred contents of his stomach throughout the next 24 hours. He stared accusingly at me when I withheld his regular meals, so I lectured him all day about making good food choices,making it easier to resist his huge puppy dog eyes.  Eating garbage prevented him from eating his regular nourishing food, but it also caused him to be isolated from us. I love him, but when it comes to puking dogs, they are confined to tile areas with washable items only. I have too many children to spend hours on my hand and knees cleaning dog puke out of the carpet. I had enough fun the last time around to last a lifetime. (If you missed that post, here you go.) I also informed Harley that he chose this isolation by indulging his appetite. The vet mentioned that I needed to be sure he continued his bowel movements. His appetite could literally destroy him (or at least his internal organs). Why would he choose to eat trash?
          I have begun to say goodbye to the familiar.  Sunday was my last service in our home church, where they celebrated a finished balcony by holding a free Mandisa concert. What a treat! She is fabulous!! My daughter celebrated her final birthday with her best buddies yesterday,  and it is just a matter of days till we say goodbye to the town that has been our home for the past twelve years. As I began thinking about all the people we are leaving behind, I began to feel very weepy.
           If I wanted to, I could've thought about all the negative things; but it wouldn't really be any different than choosing to eat a burnt jar of peanut butter. It would make me feel sick and cause me to draw inward, isolating me from those I love.  I chose instead to take my sadness to God. He reminded me that we aren't guaranteed any length to our life. For all I know, I could be exiting earth tomorrow. Even if I never see all my good buddies again in this life, I will have all eternity to spend together with those that have trusted in Christ. (Although I am planning on returning for an occasional visit). I felt a smidge better after those thoughts, but I still told God how special they all are to me. It brought tears to my eyes to think about each friend and the important role they have played in my journey.  He told me that my friends here are wonderful, but I have no idea all the amazing people that He is going to introduce me to in Missouri. God is no stranger to sorrow,  and He knows how hard this is for all of us. I know He can handle my tears, but He can also lift my spirits with the truth of wholesome thoughts. This is what I'm choosing to dwell on, instead of eating the garbage.
          This is why I'm singing with all my heart the song that Mandisa led us in during her concert. It says, "At all times, I will bless the Lord." Thank you, Mandisa for that song; thank you, hubby, for surprising me with the CD; and most of all, thank you, God, for the feast of good thoughts!