"Those who sow in tears
Shall reap in joy.
He who continually goes forth weeping,
Bearing seed for sowing,
Shall doubtless come again with rejoicing,
Bringing his sheaves with him."
Psalm 126:5&6


A new year is upon us, and with it comes all the good intentions that often fade by summer. You may observe from my last post, that the good intention I harbored about keeping my news to you up to date faded even before the first day of that good season. I make no promises, but it is my genuine intention to be more timely in sharing the goings-on of our home.

A year of contradictions has now come to a close. We have struggled in so many areas of our lives, yet have seen God faithfully sustain us. We have trembled at the near future and been comforted by a waiting eternity. We have clung to each other and to our faith in dark times, and have emerged in 2008 humbled yet steadfast. With loving friends and family around us, some close, some far, who have prayed for us, wept with us, and rejoiced with us, we endured.

Much has changed, and yet so much has stayed the same. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan continue. The presidential race (how much longer do we have to do this?) remains confusing, irritating, and fairly uninteresting. The fight to keep the world out of our home, and keep Christ in it remains a constant battle, hard fought but so worth it. My battle to live joyfully before my children on one income in a dual income consumer culture continues. The adoption grows ever less tangible. The timeline stretches negatively each time we check with our agency.


Despite those dismal observations, we are happy! Can we tell you what beauty is revealed to us each day on this little patch of land? The gorgeous Texas skies overhead, the beauty of creation from snakes to birds to rabbits to goats takes our breath away. The children grow strong and healthy out in the fresh air, and we work at becoming more self-sustaining, letting go of our dependence on processed foods, chemicals, medicine, and entertainment. Farm Girl will be purchasing 28 chickens in March, and plans to sell organic eggs to our neighbors and friends. She has chosen many different kinds of chickens so that there will be a variety of egg colors in each dozen she delivers. Farm Boy becomes more of a little man every day. He hangs on his daddy’s every movement, and emulates them all to the best of his ability.

We have a neighbor who is replacing all his fencing that was put up just over a year ago (example of the dual-income consumerism mentioned above!). This fencing is in fine condition, and AB has spent several days with another neighbor (one of the above mentioned “world’s best”), dismantling it and bringing it home. He nearly lost an eye to a wild piece of barbed wire, but we will now be able to fence in the front ½ of the acreage and raise a cow for meat. God is good! Meanwhile we have planted beets, turnips, lettuce, garlic chives, and radishes for a late winter garden, and we are watching God orchestrate the weather and seeing the miracle of growth. Can God prepare a table in the wilderness?! Yes, Pastor Matt, He can!

As for me, my heart is growing quiet. The concerns and pain of the last year are fading, slowly but surely. I want to be quiet. I want to be at peace, and not worry, and to sleep well again, and wake rested. I want my friends and family around me in this dear home, I want to see my husband walk in the door with joy instead of sorrow on his face. I want to love my neighbors, and teach the younger women how to be good wives and mothers, pleasing to their families and their Lord.

So, here’s to a new year. I need to start running again. I am afraid, because I know it will be like starting over, but tomorrow is the day. Ross King and Chris Tomlin better be ready to keep a good steady pace, because I am up tomorrow at 5:00am to begin again. I need to finish reading Les Miserables. I need to become more organized. I need to be consistent in my child training. I need to bake more bread, and eat more spinach, and stay up a little later than is my custom. I need to remember to say I love you, and to send a card and to pray harder for the small things. I need to wish each of you a blessed 2008. Come by for a visit as soon as you possible can. We'll be watching the birds and looking for you coming down the drive...

Memorial Day

Memorial Day 2007

The origins of Memorial Day, as told in the book "Victorian Family Celebrations", by Sarah Ban Breathnach:



"Let us return to Columbus, Mississippi, in the spring of 1866. The Civil War has been over for a year, yet Union soldiers still occupy the town. The fires of passion and prejudice that had consumed over 500,000 American lives between 1861 and 1865 still smolder in bitterness behind closed doors.



Just outside of Columbus is a cemetary where both Confederate and Union soldiers killed at the Battle of Shiloh are buried. On April 25, 1866, four young women pay a visit to the cemetery to tend the graves of lost loved ones and decorate them with memorial garlands of flowers.



After decorating the Confederate graves, the women walk over to a small plot where forty Union soldiers are buried. Gently they scatter Southern magnolia blossoms on the Northern graves. The news of this unselfish, compassionate gesture spreads quickly and touches everyone. Newspaper editorials praise this act of reconciliation and urge the nation to come together to mourn both the "Blue and the Gray".



Soon in many small towns all over the country, people were gathering at Civil War cemeteries and holding commemorative or "memorial day" services. Afterwards, there would be parades led by a brass band, the volunteer fire-brigade, and a review to honor America's veterans. Following the parade and patriotic orations, there would be a community picnic on the town common.



During the late nineteenth centruy, Decoration Day was a major American holiday and was celebrated with even more fanfare than Independence Day. This was because the Civil War had touched or altered nearly everyone's life.



Ironically, however, even though the country came together in spirit to honor America's war dead, the North and the South still managed to commemorate independently. In 1868, General John A. Logan, commander in Chief of the GAR ("Grand Army of the Republic", a union veterans' organization) designated May 30 as "Memorial Day", while the Daughters of the Confederacy held firm with the term "Decoration Day" and a date of April 26. Today, Memorial Day is recognized as a day honoring all of those who have fought America's wars and is legally observed on the last Monday of May."

We thank each of you who have served, and who are currently serving. We mourn with those who have lost loved ones in America's wars. Please take a moment today to reflect on the sacrifrices still being made by our troops and pray for their safety. The following is a poem that Farmgirl wrote for her daddy commemorating his return from Iraq.

"Army Boots"

I wait in anticipation at the airport.
Swirling, dancing, my memories collide.
Pictures, laughter, and tears are drowned in the remembered thump- thump.
The tramp of Army boots.
I try to reconstruct his face. The smooth, kind face.
The shiny dark hair, the sunny brown eyes.
But over it all I remember the thump-thump.
The tramp of Army boots.
Those irrevocable memories of those big, shiny wonders.
The sound of them thudding grandly through the door.
The tramp of Army boots.
I close my eyes, shut them against the cheerful, careless crowds that push their traveler’s gaiety on a mind in turmoil
And I wish for the thump-thump.
The tramp of Army boots.
The doors open, and streams of civilization pour in.
High heels click and tennis shoes “thwack” unceremoniously.
But I wish for it more than anything.
To hear the tramp of Army boots.
Then I see him. The somber tan among the gay bursts of vivacious color.
I flee, flee from memories into searingly wonderful reality.
My eyes take in the face. Lines criss-cross the hardened jaw.
Gray hairs cover the dark head of my childhood.
His eyes are still brown. But they are sad. Scarred.
My eyes burn with tears, my face burns in an agony of joy.
I take hold of his arm. It is hard. Harder than I ever remembered.
Then those hard, loveless muscles wrap themselves around me with more love than they had ever held before.
The same heart was beating. I could feel it against my pounding head. It was beating for me, for us, for our family.
As we left, he held me still.
And I could hear the same thump-thump.
The tramp of Army boots.


~ to my Daddy, whose heart still beats for me.