Practicing Resurrection

Over the years Emerson and I have discussed the concept of practicing resurrection, of intentionally living in ways that bring life back into lifeless places, living out our belief that the resurrection of Jesus Christ is the foundation of our lives. It's been a while since we've talked about that. You know the way that ideas that once burned bright and guided you for a season seem to flicker out without notice?

This past Sunday during the church service we sang the Crowder song, "I Am". As I was singing the words of the bridge, "This is my resurrection song..." that whole concept of living out the resurrection as a spiritual discipline came flooding back into my mind. And I thought, "How am I doing at that, Lord? Is my life breathing resurrection life into the people and places around me?" And in that moment our farm passed before my mind's eye.

Two months ago we purchased an eight acre farmstead. It was a whirlwind decision. We've been talking about moving to the country for years. How we wanted a big old fixer-upper farmhouse with a charming front porch. We'd wanted 5-10 acres. Big enough for it to be profitable, supporting enough produce to sell at farmers markets and eventually as a CSA (community supported agriculture), and a large flock of laying hens (and guinea fowl for comedy). But not so big that it was unmanageable. We intentionally moved to Iowa two years ago to live close to my family, so if we moved to the country it needed to be 20 miles or less from our current home. Oh, and the big one, price. We are a family of 6 living on a public school teacher salary, so price was a big factor in when we'd move to the country.

And then out of seemingly nowhere Emerson found a farm listed on a real estate website. It was 7.9 acres, 3.5 acres tillable land, with the rest yard, pasture, and orchard. A big, old farmhouse in need of some serious reimagining and dedicated remodeling, roughly the same size and layout as our current home (with a gorgeous front porch!) and it was 19.5 miles from our current home. And it was the estate of a man recently deceased, whose heirs were only interested in quickly unloading the property, so the house was within our price range.

And I still didn't want to jump in at first. My dad is a former general contractor turned real estate investor. I know what it takes in time, effort and money to fix up a fixer-upper in as desperate need of fixing up as this house is. This is the difference between my husband and I. I am the dreamer. I'll dream big dreams about all aspects of our lives. Long have a called my husband the "Dream Squasher". He's so practical and stable. He doesn't make big decisions without counting the cost. He knew full well the material and immaterial cost of choosing this farm, and he could see that it was worth it, when I could see was the fear of the what-ifs. He didn't push or demand anything of me. In his steady way he just waited me out. It took a very deliberate choice on my part to not let my fear of the unknown future stand in the way of the realization of his dreams. Then faster than I imagined it would be we were in a lawyer's office signing the papers to our new home. Our dream home. Our big ol' farmhouse on 7.9 acres of land within 20 miles of our current home.

It has been a very demanding 2 months. There is SO much work to be done on the house and property. The downstairs has been gutted. New wiring is being run throughout the house. There is no move in date in sight. There are 4 out buildings that have been demolished by age and disuse and are just waiting to be cleared away, with another leaning so hard from a recent storm that only the adjacent trees are keeping it erect. The new school year started for Emerson shortly after closing on the house, so he has been working full-time and then plugging away at the house on the evenings and weekends, in addition to maintaining our current market garden and selling at the farmers market twice a week. I'm desperate to help out, but with the four kids, and especially Thaddeus who needs so much right now, it just isn't practical for me to go out to work on the house. So I've been lonely and frazzled during the times that Emerson is usually here, but now isn't. There have been many times over the past few weeks where I've been thinking of the lines from the song "Thank Goodness" from the musical Wicked. Glinda sings, "It's strange, but it seems that getting your dreams is a little, well, complicated." And I've focused on the hard.

So on Sunday, as we sang, "This is my resurrection song." And my weary heart asked, "Is it? Am I living the resurrection?" The Holy Spirit brought our farm to my mind and spoke to my heart. Of course this is hard, if bringing something back from the dead was easy then it wouldn't be a miracle. The house is decrepit. The out buildings are kindling and ruble. The fruit trees and vines are over grown and the ground is fallow and neglected. This farm was left for dead. And we are doing the hard work of resurrection. We are breathing new life into a forgotten and neglected place. We are intentionally making it a place not just of new life, but a place that will produce life sustaining crops.

To my weary heart the Spirit whispered, "Yes, Child. Beloved, I'm giving you the opportunity to practice resurrection in your new home. I know it's hard and scary and that has caused doubt over the choice to move to plant a root in your heart, but I'm with you. Following the dreams I plant in your heart, and living out your calling is aways worth the cost. Breathe my breath of new life into this home and land. You are living out the resurrection. See the truth of that, and dedicate yourself to pursuing that goal as you press forward. Make your life in your new home a living testimony of my resurrection."

I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection of the dead. Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus too hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider my yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. -Philippians 3:10-14

Just Another Manic Monday

Sitting here at the kitchen table and trying to make school happen around me. Which this morning, like most mornings, means getting last night's dinner dishes (need to work on this!) and the breakfast dishes off the table and at least to the sink if I haven't yet emptied the dishwasher. Then cleaning the gunk off the table so the school books don't get sticky. I think the thing I'm most looking forward to about the new house is a separate room for school work. Having the dining room double as a schoolroom is getting old. Anyways, hopefully the baby isn't screaming from exhaustion at this point and I'm able to take him up for a morning nap, and hopefully that nap will last longer than 30 minutes. Because now I try to get as much seat work as possible finished with the girls  before he wakes again. Seems simple enough, but there are so many variables. Most notable is the 2 year old wild man who is desperate to sit at the table with the big girls, but has not yet learned to consistently manage his personal volume levels. While he has gotten much better at his coloring and scissoring skills over the past few weeks, and has now lost scissoring privileges for cutting through his sister's schoolwork, it is his volume that causes the most problems at the homeschool table. Biggest sister has concentration problems during solitary, quiet moments. A single math worksheet takes an interminable amount of time to complete when she is distracted externally. Little sister knows this, and so will inevitably draw something in her journal about Big Sister in a deliberate attempt to rile her up. Anxiety is the all supreme distraction for high strung firstborn. This morning we tried lavender oil and five minutes of intense trampoline jumping to calm her enough to concentrate. Even so Little Sister had finished her math, handwriting and journal and had gone outside with the Wild Man, and Baby was up from his nap before the single math worksheet was completed this morning. I keep banking on the separate schoolroom space addressing this distractability issue, but sitting here writing it all out makes me think that a more drastic scheduling shift is what will help most. I think instead of trying to make "school" happen around me I need to rephrase that first sentence and focus on trying to foster an enviroment where learning happens around me.

The primary reason we chose to homeschool was to allow our children to be educated an environment where their unique learning styles and individual needs could be met in order to foster a lifelong love of learning. All too often I concern myself with making sure they are being homeschooled rather than focusing on the learning. A good self check this morning. Who knew even I could learn something in the midst of this chaos. His grace is good. His love is unfailing. And we press on, clinging to joy.

Still Chaos, Searching for Joy

The chaos makers have doubled in our house. Two sweet little boys have been added to our girls, who are growing up far to fast. We've moved to Iowa, and are preparing to move again. A close move, to our dream farm in Illinois, but another moved none the less. The thought of getting my house clean enough to sell overwhelms me. Oh, and we're a homeschooling family now. Going on our third year. Weird. When did that happen.

Honestly, trying to sum up over two years of life since the last post has been the biggest motivation to continue my pattern of procrastination in actually writing. Do I even try to sum things up? Do I just ignore the gaping expanse of time and the breadth of life that has filled that time and take up writing like I never stopped? Or should I just create a new blog. New site, new name, pretend this one never existed. That I never failed to maintain it. Ah, there it is. The underlying, ever-present, truest reason that I haven't written. Failure. And all the shame, and embarrassment, and fear that goes along with it. Looking at how long it's been since I've written honestly just makes me feel like a failure. I mean I didn't even document the remainder of our adoption! Or the fact that I just gave birth again 15 weeks ago. We've doubled our children and lived through some crazy wonderful life and not a line was written.

Then, when I think that I've finally gained the confidence to start writing, I read through what I had written in the past, and the sense of failure rips through me again. Reading through my past posts I feel a sense of recognition. Oh, yes, I remember that girl. She had so much faith and hope and joy. I miss her.

Life is funny that way. In my head I still see myself as I was back in college, but that was 10 years ago, and in so many ways I'm not that person anymore. I'm not the same person I was 2 years ago. The things I went through then have changed me into who I am now, for better and worse. And I'm starting to see that the sense of failure that continues to plague me often arises from trying to live up to whatever idealized version of myself I used to imagine I would be at the life stage I'm in now. Don't get me wrong, I still blow it and sin on a very regular basis. My failures are not completely of the imaginary ideals I've not lived up to. But the thing that Jesus has really been speaking to my heart most over the past few months is that he doesn't condemn me. I've been clinging to Romans 8:1, "Therefore there is now NO condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." And this theme continues ot fill my mind and heart as I read through The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning. That Jesus expects me to fail even more than I expect it of myself, and yet loves me without reservation or condemnation reassures my soul and restores my joy. And as for feeling shame over imaginary failure to meet self-imposed ideals, I'm letting that go. And I'm sure I'll pick it up again, but right now, and again, and as many times as it takes, I'm choosing to lay that down. I am who I am right now, and that is someone desperately loved by God, exactly as I am. So who cares if I haven't written in over two years. What a silly thing to feel self-concious about! So I'm writing now, in the midst of my chaos, as an active way of choosing to live in joy instead of defeat.