humble pie

Well, as difficult as it is for me to believe this, it has lately come to my attention that there are some people [bear with me; this has got to be an absolutely minuscule population of people who don't know me very well in real life] who have an illogically warped view of me as someone who is, well, in some way or another, not to put too fine a point on it, perfect-ish.  And if that just blows your mind, well, you're in good company:  my Farmer is certainly under no illusions, either!

I'm not exactly sure what this fallacy is founded on - and I don't really want to know.  I just wanted a chance to shatter any illusions that exist.

I thought about the photos I post on here sometimes of the beauty I diligently seek out, and it occurred to me that you all on this side of the camera would have no idea just what I have to look past sometimes in order to find beauty.

So - I thought I'd walk around our house - right now! - and take pictures of the messes I find.  I could have waited until an even messier day to do this, but, well, I do have some pride, and thought I'd better do this while under inspiration instead of putting it off while my courage wears thinner and thinner ....

Here they are, then - our messes:

I started in the kitchen - plenty of material here!  My Farmer is actually washing this pile (a weekly ritual for which the regulars are grateful!) but since we don't have a dishwasher, and only wash dishes twice a day, dirty dishes on the counter are not an uncommon sight.  We're glad we have plenty of pots and pans to cook with and plates and bowls to eat from.

Here is one of my "back counters".  I have no excuse for this mess.  I guess it doesn't help that I vary the mess on a regular basis, does it?  ;)  (anyone want my tea rejects? grape-flavored Sleepytime and Madagascar Vanilla Rooibos).  This particular mess includes a bead-melting project from two weeks ago, saffron from our bulbs, pfeffernusse, a bag of coffee that needs to be put away, lightbulbs I replaced with daylight swirly bulbs, my to-do lists and homsechool folder, a plate that I should have returned to a neighbor almost a year ago, and a bag of bagel chips that for some reason is not in its home ...

This is the "back kitchen."  We live in the house where my Farmer, and his father, and his grandfather were all born (in fact, the cradle that they all slept in is tucked up in our attic), and the term "back kitchen" came with the house.  It's always at least this messy, a handy dumping spot for items en route to the garage.  Yes, that is a lid to a pressure canner you see there on the floor ....

Here we have the shoe bench that my Farmer made for us, along with 1) my bag of ___??, 2) my purse, 3) a stack of books to return to people on top of 4) a stack of partially-finished craft plates that Sugar, Spice and Nice did with Grandma the other week, 5) a bag of ball gloves handy in case we get inspired (we haven't), 6) a basket-y vase I picked up at Goodwill weeks ago because I love it but for which a permanent spot has yet to be found, 7) two large boxes of hymnal angels that we started last year before Christmas, stored in the upstairs linen closet, and brought down to crowd the kitchen and shame us into finishing them for this Christmas.  I hope there aren't too many stinkbugs in them.

This amazing collection is front and center in my kitchen, I'm afraid, available for the inspection of anyone who happens to drop in.

This is in our kitchen, too.  It's the "craft shelf" - coloring books and crayons and play-dough that Lil' Snip can access on his own to amuse himself during the day.  There also appears to be ... a large pan lid ... and an empty blue plastic container ... and my Bible and journal ... and an abacus.  Naturally.

Welcome to one side of the laundry room.  Like the linoleum?  When we moved in, I had plans to paint over it, but could never settle on a color.  That was eight and a half years ago ...  So here we have wrapping paper, a folding drying rack, the bucket for dirty rags (whew! I just washed those!), cleaning caddy that was purchased in a bout of "if I have new cleaning supplies I'll probably clean more" insanity and has never moved from that spot, my Farmer's work papers and laptop, bags of stuff to go to Goodwill, an unopened box of tissues, and ... a foot spa from another thrift store.  We used it, once.

The playroom.  Do toys need an explanation?  I think not.  These primarily belong to the younger two.  Care to guess which of them is better at putting things back where they belong?  It's not who you might think ...

Just around the corner?  Nuts from our trees, drying before they can be cracked.  I don't know why the shirt is hanging there.  The red coat, a lambswool and cashmere Goodwill find, was rescued from a closet where it had been feasted on by moths after only one season of wear.  (I can't quite bring myself to get rid of it.  It's the nicest coat I've ever owned.)  Also a kitchen set made by my talented brother, a bookshelf turned sideways, and a large safe bedecked with colorful magnetic letters of the alphabet and crowned with puzzles, a wooden sconce I made in high school, a popcorn can of harmonicas, triangles, maracas and the like (wonder why we keep it up there??), a spider plant, and our television.  Oh yes, and the slightly bent antenna that enables us, on the rare occasions that we bring the tv down, to view three channels.

Sugar's still-life assignment, waiting for another day to finish sketching, and Lil' Snip's mysterious Tinker Toy creations.

Here we are in the living room with my messy stack of books.  Yes, the ones on the bottom have been long-forgotten and will probably never be read.  Like the bookmark holder that Nice made me?  She and Lil' Snip keep it stocked with freshly-made creations so that I'm never without a marker for my reading material.  [extra points if you noticed that the humidifier on the floor is a different one from the box in the background]  The stray laptop cord is just for pretty, haha.

More reading material, this time my Farmer's magazines.  I am not a magazine reader, much less a magazine hoarder, so naturally I married one.  The glass pane got broken during an innovative game that Sugar made up to entertain Lil' Snip one day.

The closet under the stairs, a.k.a. "the cubbyhole."  My children play in here amongst the folding chairs and vacuum (obviously they need to remove the yoga ball, inflatable world globe, beanbag and miscellaneous pillows first), so my Farmer wired a light for them as a surprise one weekend while they were with Grandma.  I kind of collect blankets, unintentionally.  They don't usually end up matching each other or the room decor, so mostly they live in here, mostly on the shelves.  [Looking at this photo makes me think I should do a post sometime on ancient wallpapers found around here in various closets.....]

And last but in no way least, the upstairs hallway linen closet [speaking of ancient wallpaper].  Sleeping bags, pillows, more blankets, bunches of lavender that have long since ceased to be fragrant, the unused portable playpen, tubing for ???, old bridesmaid dresses, a space heater, a pink hamper that was here when we moved in ....

Well, there you have it.  That was harder than I thought it was going to be, to show you my junky places and think of all the unfinished projects they represent.  I'm tired now.  But in some ways, it was a pleasure - to think of how we use our house, and to call to mind old memories, and how every thing reminds me of someone I love.

So next time I offer up a string of gratitude-photos, you'll remember what I had to look past in order to see the beauty, right?  And you won't be tempted to think that somehow my life's all sunshine and roses.  Deal?

['Fessing up a bit:  Does it seem like the photos are smaller than usual?  They are.  Transparent I wanted to be, but I couldn't quite bear to have my messes shoved so very largely into the faces of the few dear people who actually read my blog.  Forgive me?]

uncharted waters

 (or, "in search of a growth chart")


I was lying on our bed this evening, cooling off after supper in the relative quiet of the upstairs, out of earshot of my two dishwashers pretending to be a rather chatty Mary & Laura Ingalls, waiting for my Farmer to emerge from a post-work, pre-board-meeting shower, thinking restless and unhappy thoughts.

I usually fill the gaps in my day, I realized, cramming them full of facebook and email and virtual community, stuffing my brain with Christian how-to books, or even the Bible.  As I lay there, waiting, gaps wide open for once, all this agitated discontent began oozing out from where I had pushed it beneath the surface.

I'm still hungry, but nothing appeals to me,  I thought.  I've got no motivation, and nothing I want to do anyway.  I'm wasting my life.  I could almost hear the subliminal whining:  "I'm booooored."

I don't know what's expected of me, exactly, but I'm pretty sure I'm not measuring up.

Did I do enough today?  I saw the optometrist this morning, meted out chores & played trains, listened to a sermon and a TED talk, baked cornbread (from scratch, because boxes don't get points, do they?), cleaned out the inbox, weeded a couple of flowerbeds, mailed a package at the post office, baked tilapia & boiled green beans ..... is this enough?  What's enough?

Does eating superfluous chocolate (and is there really any other kind?) cancel out the "from scratch" points?  Does spending time on facebook delete my weeding points?  How does it work?  How will I know if I'm doing it right??

Granted, a coughing Lil' Snip has kept me from getting much sleep the past few nights.  So my thinking might be the slightest bit warped.

But I'm lonely.  Unsatisfied with how I've "turned out" so far.  Aching to know that I matter, somewhere.

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Awhile back I started a post I titled "DIY disease" in which I began to enumerate my many "from scratch" loves, from cooking to gardening to pottery.  I love to create, so much so that it's often hard for me to purchase something because the idea of making it myself is so tantalizing .... !

And then, too, there's the "should" element:  if I could make it myself .... then I should make it myself.

It was beginning to occur to me that my DIY fever didn't end with home decor and baked goods.  It had become invasive, encroaching even into my spiritual life:  It was crowding out grace.

I never finished that post.  I didn't know how.  There's been no neat ending in my life, and none in sight now.  I re-read my own words on grace, and perfectionism, and I sigh and nod, and still haven't conquered it.  Will I ever, this side of heaven?

So there's no growth chart for this, for these uncharted waters I swim through, no way to measure my progress.  I grew up on grades and "good job" and I don't know how to be enough, just being loved.  (am I?  I want to ask, am I?)

Other writers I love write of courage and positive action (showing up, doing the next right thing) and I despise my wallowing and still I wallow.

Where's the way out??

Just today, on facebook of all places, a friend reminded me of the words of one of my favorite authors, Ann Voskamp, on writing out her God-gifts:  "Because the picking up of a pen isn't painful and ink can be cheap medicine.  And I just might live."

So there's the way out, or at least through, once again:  to list them, all the day's joy-moments and eye-brighteners and spirit-lifters, to just write them all down after the post that doesn't end neatly no matter what, to just give thanks:


for healthy eyes, despite innocently overworn contacts

for my Farmer, who does know how to just be

for all those blue glass yardsale jars, washed so eagerly by Nice

for the wind outside, blowing my hair, cooling my skin

for the weeds, yanked out so cleanly and easily with
     those colorful new gloves

for a simple supper we always love

for sisters happy to play with each other and Lil' Snip

for hope, somehow peeking through

for God, patient in His all-knowing

for those tiny kittens, handful of helpless fur

for tea

for toast
(and yes, for chocolate)

for you, who read my words and care enough to come back

for those I know who mourn, that it will be turned to joy (Lord, let it be soon)

for all the ways God speaks to me ...
      in music, 
      in the creative process, 
      in beauty,
      in His creation,
      in His Word, and the words of His children

for air to breathe

for a wealth of flowers, His perennial gift to me



"But you, 
             O Lord, 
                       are a shield around me, 
          my glory, 
                      and the lifter of my head."

                                                                                                                Psalm 3:3

perfection, again

*sigh*

I so much want to be perfect.  To do it "right."  And my failure is so much in my face.  Am I the only one out there who deals with this?  I just want to raise my children right, I want to love well, I want to be the right wife for my Farmer, I want to keep house right.  I want to be, well, like my Father God, and I fall so short.

Actually .... oh, dear, I hate it when a post changes direction on me in the second paragraph .... Maybe it's not my imperfection that's the problem, here.  Maybe it's my pride.  [gulp]

The Bible (which I believe) says that "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23), so my own falling short should not come as shocking news to me.  It definitely would not be news to my Maker.  And yet, that same Bible does not report that he is impatiently pacing Heaven's halls, pulling out his hair over my deplorable inability to measure up to him.  How can that be?!  I sure am!!

What are my Father's views on my failings?

"As a father has compassion on his children, 

so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him;

for he knows how we are formed,

he remembers that we are dust."    

(Psalm 103:13-14)

And, in his own description of himself, he is:

"The LORD, the LORD, the compassionate and gracious God, 
slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands, 
and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin."  
(Exodus 34:6-7)

John the disciple, the "one Jesus loved", tells us of this same Jesus that "if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness."  (I John 1:9)  No prescription there for tearing out hair or beating self up.  Just confess - basically say "what I did was sin" - and my Father, who "remembers that I am dust", will not only forgive my sin, but cleanse me from all unrighteousness.  Now that is a good deal, is it not?  (especially considering the alternative:  hell, which I also believe in.  Hmmm, humility or hell?  Looks like a no-brainer to me.)

So if it is no surprise to God that I am going to fall short of his glory (perfect love), and if he remembers that I am, after all, mere dust, and if he promises to forgive my failings and wash me of them .... then why do I waste time agonizing over my failings instead of just showing up at the Throne for a bath?  (Hebrews 4:16  "Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.")

Must be I've forgotten that I'm mere dust.  Human, not god.  And that, my friends, breaks the very first commandment:  You shall have no other gods before me.  (Exodus 20:3)

Time for confession and a bath . . .

"Have mercy on me, O God,

according to your unfailing love!

According to your great compassion

blot out all my transgressions!

Wash away all my iniquity

and cleanse me from my sin.....

Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean;

wash me, and I will be whiter than snow."

(Psalm 51:1-2, 7)

"Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? ... And that is what some of you were.  But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of God."  (I Corinthians 6:9, 11)

Look at the good news that is too often omitted at the end of the oft-quoted "all have sinned" sentence: 

"for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus."  (Romans 3:23 & - praise God - 24)

My Father God doesn't just watch me fall short of his glory - he grants me grace, freely, to go on in his power, "being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit." (2 Corinthians 3:18).  If he will do this for me, he will do it for you, too.  Just ask him and see.

"for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose."  Philippians 2:13

lost art

Someone dropped in tonight.  Pulled into our driveway, unannounced, got out and knocked on our door.

Our "free kittens" sign has been down for a couple of days, so it couldn't be someone looking for a pet.  I don't have anything out for freecycling at the moment.  Who could it be?!  Oh, the excitement of the unlooked-for vehicle!  (and the disappointment if it's just someone using the driveway to turn around).

It was my husband's aunt, stopping to wish him a happy birthday!  We chatted a bit, talked about the weather and the family, church and crops.  Ten minutes, tops.  It was the highlight of our evening.

"Dropping in" is a lost art, one worth cultivating again.  I know, I know, life gets busy.  We had friends who, b.c. (before children), used to drop in all the time.  We loved it!  It's like the bell ringing just as it's your turn to give your report - whatever you were doing, you're off the hook till later!  You get a break!

Having someone drop in is a practical and most pleasant reminder that it is people, after all, that are really important.  Things, tasks, can wait.  Relationships are the essential thing.

It does expose your vulnerabilities, if you don't happen to be perfect (although perfection itself is perhaps the most assailable vulnerability).  Without notice from your drop-in guest, you can't tidy up your life at all.  You're just all you, doing whatever you do when you're at home, dressed in whatever you wear for your family, listening to whatever music gets you through your day.

No chance to pretend you're anyone but who you are.

Some people worry about being dropped in on ("oh no!  they'll see me!").  Others find it a relief ("there!  now they know who I really am!").

Having given up on acting in real life, I am solidly in the second camp, and will convert who I can from the first.  It's worth the exposure to find out that you are loved, the real you - with sometimes messy floors and unwashed dishes, makeup-less and in old clothes, weary of your everyday burdens and frustrated with daily challenges.

So drop on in.  I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

(and yes, K, I wrote this for you.  Brace yourself - I will be dropping in!)

Superwoman blasphemy

I was reading a great parenting book (well, “great” in that I learned some new tricks, not “great” in that I agreed with everything I read) by John Rosemond called Parent Power. Along with stage-by-stage general advice and some spot-on reminders of what life looks like from three feet tall, he addresses various “reader questions.” One of these is from a mom driving herself crazy worrying about a schooling decision for her four children. In his answer, he never actually addresses the schooling question, but he tells her that she has given herself the assignment of “Perfect Mom” and that that approaches blasphemy.

His statement jolted me. I thought we moms were supposed to aim for perfection – especially in anything having to do with our children!! I mean, I know, I know – “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23) - but c'mon, how about “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48)?!

Hmmm..... so I've been chewing on that......and wondering how pervasive that "Perfect Mom" syndrome is in other areas of my life ….. say, blogging.....

I started my life: in short because I enjoy having a written record of my life (and, honestly, because so many of my facebook statuses exceed the 420-character limit). But after a few entries, I stop. Why?

It wasn't for a lack of ideas.

It was for a lack of polished ideas. I would have been okay writing daily to the faceless void of the internet whatever popped into my head …. except that I went and checked to see if anyone was reading it – and you were!! Scared, I popped back into my hole and only peeped out to check if the interest had died down yet.

In the meantime, I read Mike Yaconelli's book, Dangerous Wonder, and started on Brennan Manning's book, The Ragamuffin Gospel. Safety, both these men claim, is over-rated. Dare, they urge. Risk. Jump! God loves you.  He's got your back.

So I'm jumping.

Big deal, you say. It's just a blog. Everyone blogs. Well, okay. So my neuroses are as unique as the rest of me. I'm still having problems writing, knowing that people who know me might read it. (My husband, Farmer in the Dell, I think I'll call him, would tell me “simple – stop checking the stats page to see if anyone has read it.” Life is easy like that when you're my husband.)

Alright, catharsis finished for today. Off to check if the sheets on the line are dry, drop off a pack of night-time diapers for my son, Li'l Snip (who, with my three daughters, Sugar, Spice, & Everything Nice, is staying with my excellent in-laws this weekend!), and see if the discount grocery store has any dark chocolate to go with the surf-n-turf I promised my Farmer tonight. Anyone want to advise this chicken how to cook steak? (and no, we don't grill)..