The What IF game

The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.

- G. K. Chesterton

 A secret to thanksgiving is really quite simple.  Think of something you hate to do.  Then think about not being able to do it.

For example:

Standing at the sink doing (yet another) round of dirty dishes in hot soapy water-when you really just wish to be rinsing off your sweat in a cool shower.  

But then you think, as you stand there, hands in suds... What if I didn't have hands TO wash?  What if I didn't have RUNNING WATER?  What if I didn't have food to put on the plates that I am presently washing?  What if I had to make my own soap in order to wash these dishes?

Or this one:

Changing a nasty stinky diaper for the hundredth time and realizing that you have been changing diapers for the last ten years straight. 

But then you think:  what if I had no children to put these diapers on?  What if my children were so ill that each dirty diaper was a triumph?  What if I had no money for diapers?  What if I had to handwash cloth diapers?

Or what about this:

Spending hours over a hot canner in the summertime.


But then you realize it is because of ABUNDANCE that you are doing this.  What if there was no food to can?  What would we eat this winter?

Of course, not everyone cans, not everyone gardens, not everyone has children.  But it works no matter what your circumstances in life.  Go on---try it.  Pick a bad circumstance in your life and think about what would happen if you didn't have it (or the tools to deal with it.)  It works like a charm.

:::: Counting the many blessings in my life, one by one :::

A "tough guy" baby... #883... a one year old with muscle definition
#884... a boy who will become a strong man
#885...  a leader

  Dozens of eggs to use up...and fast.  #887...egg shucking "helpers"
#887... funny little chickens out back
#888... an abundance of farm fresh eggs
#889....a new batch of pickled beet eggs
#890...fingers to shuck with
#891... a stove to boil on

 

Loads of wood (literally) to split before winter....

# 892...a boy who is old enough to help (how can this be?)

#893...lessons on how to work hard

#894...a fine example for a boy

#895...a woodsplitter that makes the job easier

#896....woods of our own to get trees of our own to get logs of our own to get wood of our own.

a VERY hot day of huckleberry picking....

#897... children who work alongside Mama without (too many) complaint(s).

#899... hours of kerplunking

#900.... access to free wild huckleberries for the taking

#901... a well earned swim in the lake

#902...lake mermaids and lily crowns

sweaty, dirty afternoons...

#903... days of unadulterated PLAY

#904.... children outside DOING instead of inside WATCHING

#905... after dinner hose-showers

a poor boy who gets stung daily...

# 906... the last few baby cuddles I will get from him.

#907... that he comes to me for comfort.

#908... a boy that is not allergic

toys, hats, shoes thrown everywhere, every day. 

# 909...clothes, when some people have none

# 910... clothes, that I didn't have to sew, or sheer, or weave or grow.

# 911...a woolen hat on a summer day that looks *almost* like hair

#  912...toys for my children to play with and shoes.  Luxuries to many.

a living room destroyed.

#913... a living room tent town

#914... imaginations being exercised

#915....four children playing together without bickering

#916...an hour where I knew right where every child was

# 917...lots of pretty blankets

Still diaper-changing...

#918... that darling belly button

 

Multitudes

 Three months later, I begin again.  

I make it to One Thousand DAILY in my mind;  I *will* make it to One Thousand on this blog.

 

841... the first of the hammock swinging
842... and the way he holds on
843...the first of the tan baby arms
844... the first of the rhododendron peeking
845... the first of the mud walks
846... the first of the Iron Kettle Farm visiting
847... a first fishing trip
848... the first of the homegrown strawberries
849... the first of the hot weather hair
850... overalls with nothing underneath
851... $183.00 earned at a yard sale on Saturday.  A GREAT beginning to my new camera fund (mine is, sadly,  on its' deathbed.)
852... egg Manna
853... a date tomorrow thanks to Matts birthday gift cards!
854... a winding down school year
855... peonies, irises and lovely smelling roses, brought in from outside

It's a sweet, sweet life.


 

Multitude Monday: Mattie Edition

These last two months have been excruciating with Matts work pulling him away so often. But this week he has the whole.week.off and I don't have to think about how it was or how it will be or anything at all except how it is right this moment.

Unfortunately, I don't really get him all to MYSELF, since after all he is a country boy and it is syrup season. And, of course, we live in a house that has a constant list of fixer-upper projects that get added as often as things get crossed off. Maybe more.

In fact, Matt made a list of all the things he would like to accomplish this week and I am thinking it will be a miracle if I see him at all. I am praying (!!!) that I can get squeezed in here and there or I may very well deflate entirely.

But I won't think about that right now.

Instead, it is these things that are on my mind: the gifts of this week.


831. Seven days straight of falling asleep curled into his body
832. Seven days straight of waking up under the same covers
833. Seven days straight of meals, eaten together.
834. A bookcase that is being built. For the books which I have stepped around for the three months since we moved.
835. Tag-along children
836. ConnectFour tournaments at breakfast.
837. the anticipation of a no cutting-up food, no interruptions, honest-to-goodness just-the-two-of-us date? I hope, I hope.
838. a morning off from dishes
839. a new supply of maple syrup, at long last!
840. Him. Just being near.

What a lucky duck am I.

(pictures from his birthday. #35 and, as always a peanut butter frosted cake. This one took exactly 6 minutes to decorate, all the time I had- don't ask.)

What to Do when Your Husband Doesn't Give You What You Need

It was a Sunday morning, two days after returning from a week out of town, when he said "I have something to tell you."

And you know, you just know... it is going to ruin the day.

And he says "I have to go out of town again next week."

Again? AGAIN? But he promised THIS time is would be different. THIS time he would not be away from home so much, THIS time he would put his foot down and set his priorities right.

This time.

But this is the third week out of four that he has been gone. And it is the week that houses his birthday AND Valentine's Day. And more importantly than ANYTHING, I NEED him here.

I am tired of doing it all, all by myself. I am tired of tucking four little, rambunctious children into bed each night and changing every single diaper and answering the 'boy questions' and leading family worship. I am tired of doing chores and taking out garbage and homeschooling and cooking and feeding a fire. I am tired of being a mother AND a father.

I am desperate. I can get through the school day and the dinner dishes and the fire starting if I had him to appreciate me. If I only felt cherished. If I only felt loved. But how can I feel love when I am lucky to speak to my husband once a day and to go to bed each night alone? How am I to feel cherished when my husband doesn't have time for me? When I can't kiss him? How can I keep doing what I am doing without him to comfort me and acknowledge my work?

"He can't do this to me again. I can't do this. I don't WANT to do this." I think.

He says "I don't understand. Normally you are so strong."

But I am weak. Very, very weak. Doesn't he SEE? He doesn't understand how weak even though I try to explain. I plead.

I feel abandoned. He made the choice to go back to work and I hated it and now, because of him, I live a life that leaves my children fatherless and me desperate and unlovely and alone. And I am stuck here, to be housemaid and schoolteacher and farmer and cook, all alone. This is my new life. And I don't want it. And I tell him so.

I get angry. I become very unlovely, indeed. My face is swollen with desperate tears and my words can't be taken back. But I don't want to take them back~they are real. I apologize for the venom, but not for the truth.

My tank is empty. It has been for two months. I've been running on fumes and I have done what I had to do while he is gone-but there is nothing left. I am spent.

Hours pass. I cry at every whim. But the venom I spit has left a strange hollow in me. A quietness. A tiredness. And in the quiet, I am stirred.

Matt can't give me what I need. I love him so much, but he can't.

And it occurs to me, I have been wrong to ask that of him. I have been looking for my tank to be filled, but I haven't been going to the right place. I've been going to the movies, instead of the gas station. I haven't gone to the Filler of tanks.

Maybe that is why divorce is so prevalent within the church? Because people realize they can't be fulfilled by their spouses? So they give up and move on, looking for fulfillment, without making the next, most crucial step of realizing the truth~

The truth that being fulfilled comes from somewhere else-SomeONE else.

You can seek it all you want~ fulfillment~ but you will never, ever, ever find it until you look in the right place.

I realize, too, that I have been blaming Matt for my shortcomings when the truth of it is....it is me. Me floundering. His heart need to safely trust in me. That means, when he is gone I HAVE to do the dishes. I HAVE to take care of the children. I HAVE to clean the house and keep the fires going and lead family worship. I HAVE to do chores and finances and schooling. That is what being a helpmeet is. That is what being a wife is. And I have to do it joyfully. That is what being a Christian is.

When your tank is dry and you are running on fumes~ go and get a Fill Up. Pray for strength. Pray for strength. Pray for STRENGTH.

Don't go to the grocery store. Don't go to the movies. Go to the Gas Station. Don't ask your husband to give your soul the rest it needs, He can't. Ask God. He can.

When times are desperate and the trials seem too much to bear~ stop thinking of yourself.

Think of Abigail Adams, who spent many years of married life alone and with responsibilities to the household, law firm and farm placed squarely on her shoulders.

Think of Juris Wippe, and the letters he wrote on his deathbed. Letters to his wife. To his children. Think about receiving such letters.

Think of George Muller and sitting down to an empty dinner table surrounded by dozens of hungry bellies and thanking God for his provisions, in faith, without a lick of food on the table.

Remember that God wants obedience in all circumstances and realize that your circumstances could be much, much worse.

When all you want to do is give up~ give thanks. Get happy. Count your blessings.


I stopped counting for a while. Now is a very good time to begin again.

#818: forgiveness

#819: startling realizations

#820: safe travels

#821: my husband, who has a birthday today

#822: God preserving my Darling from: death by waterski, death by electrocution, death by fire, dealth by ice hook, death by drowning, and many other deaths throughout his life.

#823: another shirt to smell as I sleep

#824: a friend who shares personal secrets for my help

#825:a winning streak

#826: straws to make sulfur water go down faster

#827: homemade strawberry wine and candles, dropped off this week by my sister-in-law

#828: old men who buy their wives flowers for Valentines Day, a day early. I saw it. They made more than their wives happy, they made ME happy.

#829: a washing machine that sputtered back to life miraculously and has given me a few loads of clean laundry before it has another 'poor spell'

#830: this verse:

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me"

~Philippians 4:13