The Birds of the Air

 

    It's been there for years, this wooden box nailed to our fence. It's long sat empty, waiting for a pair of birds to claim it as their own. Made by little hands, nailed and fastened together, it's been full of nothing but hope as seasons have come and gone. But early this spring, as rains continued to fall from cold, grey Oregon skies, little voices excitedly proclaimed that they'd seen birds flying in and out of that box.

    For the last six weeks, we've watched with delight as this little mama and papa sparrow have day after day flown in and out carrying bits of this and that. We've laughed as one approached the nesting box carrying a twig far too big to fit through the little hole, watched with amusement as Papa Sparrow  sat for a moment on top before reluctantly releasing his prize twig and fluttering off in search of something not quite so grand. The kids have been thrilled to see them picking up tufts of fur from our bunnies or bits of horsehair that have migrated home from the ranch.
 
    And then one day an egg was spied by a pair of peeking eyes. Some helpful child took a roll of packing tape and fastened the box so no one else would be tempted to open it and disturb this little family in the making. We watched with great anticipation as this faithful Mama and Papa took turns sitting on their clutch of eggs, flying back and forth all day long. And finally, about a week ago, we heard the first faint cheeping sounds coming from the box, and we've listened happily as the nearly constant cries have grown stronger.

    It's been a hard season for our family, a walking through trials that threaten to swallow us up. My faith has been stretched and tried and stretched some more. At times I am tempted to give up, but like Peter I say, "To whom would I go?" My mind often falls into the familiar groove of worry, my stomach knotting with anxiety and fear. How many times I have stood at my kitchen window and watched these little birds! And the gentle voice of my Jesus comes, bidding me to cast my cares on Him, reminding me to look at the birds of the air.

    Is it any coincidence that this year, of all years, this little pair of sparrows made their home not six feet from my kitchen sink?  They are a gift, a reminder to my weary soul that if our Father cares for these little birds, how much more does He care for me and mine? Like Elijah's ravens, I believe they were sent to minister to my soul, to nourish and sustain my faith in a time when I've been tempted to despair. I have listened intently over the last week, hearing the persistent cheeping of tiny birds we've not yet seen. Their voices have changed swiftly from faint little chirps to loud and confident cries. Their Mama and Papa are continually flying back and forth to keep their brood fed.

    And I am reminded, again and again, that I cannot add anything to my life by being anxious. What I can do is join my voice to the chorus that is taking place outside my window, waiting confidently, trusting that I and my family are of much more worth than those little sparrows. If our Father cares for them, then how much more will He care for us and hold us close? If these little birds hunger and are sustained, then how much more will we, who hunger and thirst for righteousness, be filled? Soon that box will be empty again, and yet for me, it will still hold the reminder of the gift that has dwelt in it through this difficult season.


Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? (Matthew 6:25)
 

Sweet Creek

We spent a lovely afternoon at one of my favorite nearby places, Sweet Creek Trail outside of Mapleton, Oregon. It's a magical spot, a wonderful, easy trail alongside a rambling, tumbling creek. There are deep pools for swimming, shallow areas for wading and splashing, and little waterfalls all along the way. We have hiked here ever since the kids were tiny, and it is still filled with wonder and discovery. Walk with me...

 

It's been unseasonably hot in Oregon this Spring, but we still spotted some wildflowers; columbine and bleeding hearts and foxglove, and more. We even found a few thimbleberries already ripe, my favorite berry of all, a tiny morsel of sweet, soft, melt-in-your-mouth goodness.

These two nearly melted my heart. Raphael stayed by Pearl's side, holding her hand, helping her down when she had to scramble over logs or rocks, pausing to show her little things and share his knowledge. "That log is rotting and giving its nutrients to the new trees!" The sweetest thing of all was when he asked if I noticed how he was walking on the side closest to the waterfall, "because that's what the boy does". When the path on his side was a little rocky and steep, he said, "Perla, aren't you glad you're not on this side?" It gave me great hope that there is indeed a little gentleman in the making there! (Sometimes I'm not quite sure!) 

I love these spiral-y ferns with black stems. I'm not sure what they are, but they're unusual and striking.

All along the trail  there are little pools and falls, making it a wonderfully fun place for children and adults alike. The kids had a great time climbing rocks, fording the creek, and exploring. We didn't even go up all the way to Sweet Creek Falls, but the trail itself is so spectacular that I (almost) don't mind!

The highlight of the day for the children was the discovery of a small pool full of newts! There were at least a dozen of them, and then they went around and found several more in other little pools nearby.

This was a stagnant little pool teeming with what I'm pretty certain were mosquito larvae. Ewww.

More newt love.

The older kids were allowed to cross this little ridge themselves, but we made Pearl hold a hand.

Raphael thought the strata in this rock looked like a pumpkin!

There are views like this all along the trail. Spending time in nature like this refreshes and nourishes my soul.

Snack time in the dappled sunlight.

I never tire of the brilliant green of the viney maple understory in the sunlight.

Another lovely vista.

The littlest hiker and her daddy.

Pearl is definitely a visual-spacial thinker, and when hiking will often stop to examine tree roots in the path and tell us what they are. This one was clearly a bird!

Inchworm! I kept saying to Erik, "This is such a wonderful way to spend an afternoon! This is such a great way for kids to pass the time! They will remember days like this." Their sense of wonder and excitement is sharp and pure. They could happily play in the newt pool for hours, or hop on rocks across the creek. They thrill at finding a flower, or a berry, or noticing how new trees are growing up on a nurse log beside the path. It always does my heart good to get out of the city and into the woods. I feel it is more important than ever to foster a connection with nature, to cultivate wonder and stillness and gratitude to the Creator of such a world! In a time when technology and busy-ness assault mindfulness and quiet, we thrive when we step away and immerse ourselves in the natural world. I'm so grateful to share the beauty and wonder of it with these precious children entrusted to my care. 

Flying Solo

  

 It’s been nearly 13 years since I’ve been on a flight alone. It’s a bit of a strange feeling, like I’m missing something, or someone, or several of them. It’s a good feeling, though, this being alone, having time to reflect on the crazy life I’m so caught up in. It’s been years since I’ve given much thought to bringing along things to do on a flight; with children along, there simply isn’t much time for reading, writing, passing the time in mindless games of my own. In-flight hours have been filled with reading to others, keeping little ones entertained, changing blown-out diapers in impossibly small airplane lavatories. (Is there something about the elevation, or the cabin pressure, that causes the contents of little intestines to erupt with such force? I swear we’ve had an inordinate number of blow-outs on airplanes. It’s now a matter of course to pack extra outfits for the littles, along with zip-lock bags and lots and lots of wipes.) 

    But there are no littles on this flight with me, at least none of my own. This last year of parenting has felt like a turning of some proverbial corner, or maybe a gentle curve around a bend. After more than a decade of pregnancy, breastfeeding, and diaper changing, it appears that we have left all of those things in the past. My baby just turned four. It’s been a long while since I’ve purchased diapers. Maternity clothes? They’ve been passed on. Everyone dresses themselves. Half of the kids bathe themselves. The kids do nearly all the laundry and a good portion of the dishes. They cook meals. There is a growing independence, a gradual shift in the emotional needs, and it’s strangely wonderful. It’s also a little bittersweet, this growing up. The conversations I have with Peregrine and Poppy are about different things now; their questions are more challenging, requiring a different sort of mental energy as we wade into new waters. 

    For the first time since I’ve been a mother, I’ve been off on my own for a few days. I felt a bit apprehensive leaving my family early in the morning. I kissed my little ones as they lay sleeping; I snuggled them a bit longer the night before. They’ve been fine, of course, enjoying special time with daddy and lots of fun with Grandparents. As I navigated airports, responsible for no one but myself, I felt strange, like an imposter in a world not quite my own. I realized how I’m accustomed to people seeing my children and how comfortable I’ve been thinking that maybe they don’t see me. I felt like perhaps I’ve managed to fit in with the adults all these years because I’m a mother, but on my own? Surely everyone will see through the facade and realize I’m just pretending to be an adult. It’s not that I’m not confident in my abilities, it’s just that I never quite feel that I fit in. Without my children, I somehow felt unmasked. I realized how much of my life, my identity even, by necessity, has become wrapped up in the nurturing of them. I don’t resent this. This is the life I wanted, and I believe that in the giving of myself I am actually finding who I am created to be. It’s the hard work of shedding oneself that can reveal the beauty hidden within. 

    I’m nearly home now, after having been away for the last four days. I’m excited to be caught up in the whirlwind of hugs and smiles and happy chatter. I know it will, all too quickly, fade into (often overwhelming) loudness, and arguing, and crazy-making wildness. It’s just part of the package. These days away have been refreshing, and I feel inspired and filled with a renewed hope and vision for my family. At the same time I am reminded of who I am apart from motherhood. I wouldn’t trade these years for anything, and I’m reminded of how quickly they really do go by. I know that someday I will have more time for my own pursuits, but this is a season for pouring myself into the lives of others. I hope I can take the things I’ve learned and look at my children with more understanding, more compassion. I hope we can enter this next decade of parenting, having traded diapers for long conversations, with a sense of adventure and expectancy, excited for what is around the bend! 

Being Here

 

    The rolling, golden hills of eastern Washington have given way to forested slopes  and steep grades as we wind our way across Northern Idaho and into Montana. The road snakes ahead and my attention turns toward this present moment. So often my thoughts are anywhere but here. I'm mentally planning and preparing for something in the future, or I'm replaying moments that are past. One of the things we desired when we sold our home and embarked on this nomad's journey was to pull together, to really spend time as a family. I thought it would happen naturally, without a four bedroom home to care for, a yard that needed attention, and the myriad of responsibilities that make up "real life," there would certainly be hours to just "be" together. Right? 

    It turns out, the hours never come. Life on the road is just that. Life. Real life. I've traded cleaning a larger space for a tiny one, but it still has to be cleaned, and has challenges of its own. Every space is crammed with the things we need and use, so in order to do just about anything, to access anything, I often have to move five things just to get to it. It's like playing Tetris in 200 square feet of real life with five other people. Sometimes my relationships feel this way too, that before I can read a story or go kick a ball with one of the kids, I need to just do this and that and the other thing first. I know some of that is necessary, some of it is just life. But often my mental clutter and lack of attention to the present moment rob me of the being together I so desire. I'm realizing that no matter our lifestyle, it's not going to happen unless I am intentional about it, unless I take the time to stop and listen to the voices around me, not tune them out in favor of the conversation in my head. I need to get down and look in the eyes of the little one who wants a moment of my time, put my hand in theirs, and go look at the thing that is so important to them. If I want hours to be with my kids, I have to make the most of moments as they come.

    What I share on this blog is the highlights, the pretty pictures of our life. But we're real people with real struggles, and this is not a vacation. I used to share a lot more of the real, raw, me, and somewhere along the way it's become harder to do that. We're on a journey, not just across the United States, but into ourselves, and hopefully to a place of more peace as we grow together as a family. We have patterns of brokenness that need healing. We are seeking grace and joy as we travel. Sometimes I see glimpses of it, like rays of sun breaking through clouds, and I cling to those, praying for the darkness to roll away. 

    All I have is this moment. A river winds its way alongside us as we make our way East. Tall pines cover slopes all around. Poppy has socks on her hands and feet and is narrating a fight between them.  Pearl is snacking and Peregrine is playing with Lego. Raphi and Peregrine have both been told to be silent for a while due to unkindness, and Raphi is fingering the chocolate bar he bought with his own money at Trader Joe's yesterday. Erik drives and listens to an audiobook or music. I write, and think, and read, and check Facebook, and marvel at the wonders of an internet connection at 60mph in the middle of nowhere. I read books to the kids and hand out snacks and settle fights. The Montana sky stretches out in front of us, today covered in clouds. The sun is up there, though, and I can see a bright spot where it's warmth and light are breaking through. I can feel it on my shoulder as I watch a train traveling West in the valley below. I'm here. Now. I'm soaking in this moment, and I'm praying for the sun to break through as we journey together. 

Be Well, Ian

  

  I'm staring at this blank page after a few weeks' absence from my blog. We've either had no internet connection, a very poor one, or too much going on. I've got several posts swirling around in my head. I totally flaked on keeping up with thankful posts. (I did continue to write each day in my little thankful book though.) We've covered lots of ground, and some water, since I posted last. It's been good. Tonight though, the story that has welled up in my heart is not mine...

    Eight years ago Erik and I were at the wedding of my dear friend Christy. I was six months pregnant with Poppy, and Peregrine had just turned two. I still remember him dancing, all wild and crazy like he used to do. I was thankful that the MC announced that women and children would be served their food first. I was a hungry and tired mama, but I wouldn't have missed this celebration. We'd driven nearly six hundred miles to be there, to take part in the joy of these two lives becoming one. I'd never met Ian, the groom, but I knew that he was a gem if he'd captured Christy's heart. 

    I lived and traveled with Christy for the better part of a year. We spent the first part of that time in San Fransisco and the Redwoods, then the next nine months wandering around Thailand, India, and Nepal. Christy is known for her sweetness, mercy, and compassion, her ability to put herself in someone else's shoes and walk with them. When I was extremely ill in Nepal, it was Christy who stayed close, who nurtured and cared for me as I slowly regained strength. My mom has always been so grateful to her for all she did for me in that time. 

    Ian and Christy have been blessed with two beautiful daughters, Asha and Fiona. A few weeks ago, their life was "normal". Tonight, Christy is sitting in a hospital room with Ian, who is a couple days into his first round of chemotherapy for acute leukemia. They didn't see it coming, at all. Ian was strong and healthy. Now he is weak, nauseous, groggy. She wrote these words earlier:

   I'm sitting here next to my love. He is so nauseated, he doesn't want to be touched. And if you know Ian, touch is his language. Foot massage can't ease the discomfort like it did a couple days ago. So I sit here in silence by his side. Heartbroken and weary, but clinging to hope. 

    Christy is dividing her time and strength between their two daughters, who are also struggling to make sense of this, and her husband, who is in the hospital in a different city. This round of chemo will keep him there for at least a month. She is facing an uncertain future, one never imagined on that joyous night eight years ago when they joined their lives together. 

    My heart is heavy for Christy, and for Ian, for little Asha and baby Fiona. My husband has also had cancer, and I look back on that time and am in awe of the peace and grace that we were given to walk through those uncertain days. (He was diagnosed and had surgery just a week before I was due with Peregrine, then went through radiation for five weeks with a newborn. Thankfully he's been cancer free for ten years now. You can read our story here.) I pray the same for them, for strength to hold them up, for healing and grace, and peace that is deeper than understanding. 

    I'm reminded of a line from an Indigo Girls song: "So we must love, while these moments are still called today..." Today is all we have. This is one of the reasons Erik and I are doing what we are, why we sold our home, left a secure job, stepped out into the unknown. We meet lots of retired people on the road, but not many families. We've felt strongly that we don't want to wait, to put off for another year or decade what we can do now. There are no guarantees in fifteen or twenty years, when Erik would have retired and all the kids grown, that we would have the health, strength, or finances to travel. There is no promise that we will both still be alive, as little as I like to think about that. We want to share this life, to live it to the fullest, to experience it with our kids, to give them the world, so to speak. 

    Christy and Ian have reminded me once again that we must love now. I waste too many moments feeling irritated or frustrated, or worrying about things beyond my control. I miss out on time that I can never get back, that I can't make up in the future. I want to embrace life, to savor each moment I'm given with Erik, with each of our precious kids, with our family and friends. I want to live intentionally, fully present in each moment, with no regrets. 

   If you'd like to follow the journey of Ian and Christy, go check out their blog, Be Well, Ian. Please join me in praying for healing and strength for this precious family and that they will be surrounded by those who love them. And let them inspire you to love, while these moments are still called today, because you never know what tomorrow will bring. 
   

Free to Fly

Image by Katie Daisy of The Wheatfield

    I woke up Thursday, like I had for several days, with a knot in my stomach. Four weeks before, when we'd accepted an offer on our home, we agreed to let the buyer take possession on Friday, the 21st. Our realtor was confident that our home could close by then, and so we agreed to this. If all had gone as it should, we'd be long past the inspection period and the appraisal would have been given to the lender at least a week prior to us having to move out. Even if the sale wasn't final, we should have been past the point of it falling through. Instead, as sometimes happens, the whole process had been delayed. The appraisal had been done very late and still hadn't been sent to the lender. We were in a position of having to honor our contract and move out of our home before we even knew if it would appraise. Because we're not moving into another home, this also meant selling off the bulk of our furniture and possessions and stepping out completely in faith. 

    As I glanced over my Facebook newsfeed on the morning of Moving Day, I came upon the image of this beautiful butterfly. Whoever shared it had added the words, "It often takes a leap of faith, a deep reserve of patience, courage, and trust, and the desire to create possibility, something better, for your child, your family. Once you find your wings, the world is yours to explore." It was just what I needed on that weary morning, a reminder that the labor must continue, and that like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, so we must struggle until we find our wings. Due to the uncertainty of the appraisal, it certainly was and is a leap of faith. Patience is needed, as we still haven't heard anything. Courage? Yes, it can feel pretty scary to move out of a spacious home and leave a secure job in order to pursue a different sort of life. Trust. I've thought a lot about this one. We are not trusting that everything will happen the way we want it to. Rather, our trust is in a loving God, and in His promise to work all things for our good, to care for us and give His peace regardless of the circumstances. We make our plans but it is He who directs our path. 

   And that last line about the desire to create something better for our family, it certainly rings true. To give our children the experience of seeing things they would otherwise only hear about, to let them experience firsthand what it's like to live in different cultures, to teach them to follow their own dreams and explore the wide world; this is what we want for them. We want Erik to get to spend every day with them as long as we're able, to create memories that will last a lifetime. We want to do these things while they are still young, before roots grow too deep and make it harder to go. 

    And so we pushed on through, packing, sorting, making endless decisions. What to keep, what to get rid of. Sell, give away, throw away, put into storage, take with us. I watched as my home was stripped of it's decorations, its furniture, the things that had been part of it for so long. I tried not to think of someone else living there. I held back tears as the memories flooded over me. Two college guys came and took away the red loveseat where I snuggled my kids every morning, where I spent countless hours breastfeeding hungry babies and reading stories to my kids. Little Pearl watched as they drove away with it in their truck. When all was done, Erik and I walked through a clean and empty house, dark and quiet. All that was left were a million memories of a life shared. I let the tears flow freely as I entered rooms with no sleeping children to kiss, no toys to step over, no cheerful drawings gracing their walls. I pointed out a little chart Poppy had drawn in the closet, one that will probably live on beneath a new coat of paint. The sink, for once, was clean, with no dirty dishes left for a moment with more energy, no remains of a meal cooked with love. My dear mother in law remembered that I said I wanted some leaves from our cherry tree. It was the tree we planted in honor of a baby we never knew. I will never taste the sweetness of those cherries, just as I never knew the sweetness of that baby's smell or the feel of her in my arms. Someone else will pick the fruit of that tree, never knowing what it meant to me. I tucked those leaved beneath the pages of a book that will come with us. It truly does take courage and trust to walk away from all of that, to believe that we are creating something better. 

    Right now I'm sitting in the sun, listening to the waves roll onto the Oregon coast. It's a gorgeous morning here. We've come to get away for a few days, to leave our cares behind, enjoy one another's company and that of Erik's parents, who worked alongside us for the days leading up to our move. There was a timely reminder in my inbox this morning to keep my mind from worrying about the future and simply enjoy the grace of this moment, for it's all I've been given. God has brought us this far. I will hold dear the memories we have and look forward to our future. I do not know what tomorrow will bring, let alone the next day. But today there is a wild coastline to explore and precious people to share it with. And that is enough. Today I can choose to fly, to let my heart soar like a wild seagull and enjoy this moment with my family. 

Remembering Esther

My friend Shelley sent these to me when we found out. 

    Tomorrow our country will remember and pay tribute to the many people who lost their lives on September 11, 2001. Today I think of the little baby who flew away at this time of year 6 years ago. There are many things I could say, but I think I've said most of them in other posts I've written about miscarriage. My heart doesn't hurt as much as it used to, and that's okay. Esther Bihana Hope lived in me only a short while, but she was dearly loved and is missed. Sometimes I wonder what she would be like, which of my other kids she might have resembled. I wish that no mama ever had to go through the pain of losing a baby. It is a blessing when people remember with me. She is a part of our family, a baby we never got to know and hold in our arms. At this time of year, I often think of her and remember those very difficult days after her loss. I remember the numbness and the pain and being surrounded by so much love and support. At the same time I give thanks for the four healthy children I do have and the life God has given me. I've always thought that sorrow digs deep, but love fills that space, and the more we have hurt the more we can love. I pray for healing and grace for all who sorrow, and for love to fill the hurting places. 

Pending

 

pend·ing  (pndng) adj. 1. Not yet decided or settled; awaiting conclusion or confirmation. 2. Impending; imminent. prep. 1. While in the process of; during. 2. While awaiting; until.     This pretty much sums up what life is like around here these days. On August 24th we accepted another offer on our home and we're in a process of preparing and hoping, yet knowing that nothing is actually "decided or settled". It ain't over 'til it's over. We have to act like it's a done deal, carry on as if we will indeed be moving out of our home on September 20th. We pack, we sort, we stare at walls that are looking a little bare, we plan the yard sale. We see friends "one last time", we cross one thing off our list only to add two more. We plan, we prepare, we wait. And we do all of this knowing that until we sign papers it's actually anyone's game.      My house is messier than it's been in weeks, maybe months. I'm not missing the stress of knowing a realtor could call at any time, but I've traded it for a countdown, piles of boxes, and a myriad of decisions to be made at any given moment. The kids have picked up on my mood and have their own belongings strewn about, sorting them into boxes of things to keep, gifts to give, items for the yard sale. I love their enthusiasm and willingness to let go of possessions that have been special to them. Granted, this is a lot easier for some than for others, and I'm trying to encourage each one to do what's comfortable for them. Peregrine enthusiastically brings me more and more things he's ready to part with and Poppy holds on a little more tightly.      So, what's next? That's the big question, and we're working hard to come up with an answer. Here's where we run into that bit that says, "Not yet decided or settled". Because of the possibility of the sale falling through, we don't feel we can make any plans that would commit us financially until we sign. You know, plans like buying tickets to Peru, that sort of thing. (Cough, cough.) Likewise, Erik doesn't want to give notice at work until the sale is finalized. He's talked to his supervisor and made them aware of the situation and they'll be fine with him only giving one week's notice. So the plan at this point is to be out of our home on the 20th. After that Erik will work one last week and we'll stay with some friends in the area.      While our long term goal is still to travel internationally, we have a number of good friends and family members we want to see before we blast off. When we looked athe places we'd need to go to see them all, we decided to make a road trip of it and spend October and November traveling around the US and Canada. We're actively searching for a used travel trailer that will be our home on wheels during this time. The kids are super excited about this idea, and that makes me feel good about it too. I think it will be an easier transition for them, giving them a place to call home while allowing them to see that home isn't really tied to a location. (Did that make any sense at all?)      So that's where we're at in our journey. It's exciting and a little scary, but we feel at peace with things. I'd love to have everything lined up and sure, but that's just not real life. Ever. We fool ourselves if we think we know what tomorrow will bring. It's good for us to live in that reality, trusting the "Wind" to blow us whichever way He chooses and actively looking to see Him shining light on the path as we walk forward in faith, one step at a time.

The Summer of Unknowing

 

    I think I will remember this as The Summer of Unknowing, a time of learning more deeply that we make our plans but God directs our footsteps. And as hard as it is to watch things unfold differently than we'd planned, it's good. It's good to know that I'm actually not in control of my life, that I can trust God to work things out not only for our good, but for our best. This is the summer of waiting, watching, wanting something to happen. We've been trying to sell our home for a few months now. After working on it through the fall and winter, we heard from a number of sources that the market had picked up and homes in our price range were selling quickly. We felt encouraged that the time was right. Whereas before I'd been thinking that the market was dismal, that it could take months, years even, to get an offer, we felt hopeful that perhaps it would move quickly after all.

    We were further encouraged by not one, but two, different families who basically came knocking on our door and showed a strong interest in our home before it was even listed. The first couple was getting together with their realtor to write us an offer when they learned that a home across the street from where they were renting was about to be listed and decided to stay in their neighborhood. The second couple also loved our home and, I think, would have bought it if their first choice had fallen through. Even though neither of these buyers came through, I felt a strong sense that it was God's way of showing me from the beginning that He was in control, that if He could bring someone to our door without any effort from us, that I could trust Him when it seemed like things weren't working out.

    So here we are. Our home has been on the market since mid-April. We've had countless showings and two open houses, each preceded by a frenzy of cleaning on my part. We've ridden the roller coaster of preparing and hoping and waiting and being disappointed. We bought tickets to Peru for September, trusting that it would all work out, that our home would sell, and that we'd be on our way this fall. We wrote into our contract with our realtor that if we don't have an offer by August 1st that we will take it off the market. At that point, our plan is to refinance and either do a lease to own option or keep it as a rental property. Neither of those is our first choice, but either could be a good option. Due to some of the details of refinancing we would need to cancel our trip to South America though, which would be a huge disappointment. (Thankfully, we have trip cancellation insurance and would be able to get our tickets refunded.) 

    As August 1st approaches we feel a growing pressure. Our moment of decision is coming, and I'm not sure what we should do. Take it off the market and refinance? Rent it? Lease to own? Keep trying to sell? Cancel our trip or go anyway? There are some other options I'm not sharing at this point, but it all feels pretty complicated. I feel a mild panic rising when I start to dwell on it. But mostly, God has given me an incredible peace through this time, a strong sense that He is in control and that we will know what to do when the time comes. Maybe we'll receive an offer in the next week, maybe we won't. Maybe He will make the path very clear before us, or maybe we'll just have to choose an option.

    In my years of singleness, when I had many choices to make about how and where to spend my time, I often was in angst over what to do. "I just want to do the right thing", I would moan. I've always struggled with indecision, as those who know me well can attest. My mom used to tell me, "Rebeca, what do you know is God's will for your life? It's that you become like Christ, transformed into His image, right? Maybe it really doesn't matter if you choose A or B, because we know that as long as your heart is turned toward Him, then He will work all things for your good and do His work in you." Once again I'm brought back to those words. Sometimes the path seems clear, and other times it doesn't. I've been wanting, waiting for, some very definite light to shine on our path, and maybe it's just not going to happen that way. I've also had a strong sense that "you will be able to look back on this time and see that it all happened the way it was supposed to."

    And so I wait. And I (mostly) enjoy a sense of peace and even rest in this, the Summer of Unknowing. As much as I'd like all the ends to be tied up and the pillar of fire to move before me, I know in my heart that it's all happening as it should. I still have no idea how it will play out, but I'm excited for what He has in store for us, and trusting that as we walk with our hearts open to Him, He will transform us.

Moving Forward, Looking Back: In Which We Come to Terms With Asperger Syndrome

Peregrine and I at Proxy Falls, 2004.

    As we walked the shady path to Proxy Falls the other day, my mind wandered back eight years ago to another day in that same place. Our only child scampered eagerly along, now running forward, now lingering to examine a hollow stump or clamber over a fallen log. Little Peregrine was only a year and a half, exceptionally verbal and promisingly bright. We noticed something that day, nothing extraordinary on its own, but for some reason I've never forgotten it. And knowing him as I do now, I can see a lot of his who he is in this event. 

    It was late spring and the forest was cool and damp. The path was cushioned with pine needles and there was a quiet stillness broken occasionally by the squawk of a bird or a cry of delight from our little boy. As we climbed the path we began to hear the low sound of the falls in the distance and Peregrine began to stay close by. Long before we reached the falls he clung to us, instinctively knowing there was something there and wanting the security of his mama's or daddy's arms. We, of course, were happy to oblige, and we held him close as long as he wanted us to.

    We saw a glimpse that day of the intensity that is Peregrine. I've often said that on a scale of one to ten, all of his feelings are between eight and twelve. Because he was our first child I feel it's taken me a lot longer to notice that many of his traits aren't typical. After many years of frustration and wondering what we were doing "wrong", we have finally come to realize that Peregrine has Asperger Syndrome. I kept thinking that if we continued to provide firm, loving boundaries that he would outgrow some of his more challenging behaviors. What I took for "strong willed" or stubborn I now know is part of his inflexible thinking and difficulty in making transitions. (In this case, making the transition from his expectations to the reality of a situation. This often puts him into pretty serious meltdown.) There are many other traits Peregrine has that are very typical of people with Asperger's.

 

    Although we'd considered the possibility, it's really only been in the last several months that we've accepted it as a reality. It explains so many things about Peregrine, about what makes him tick, and about how his mind works. (And it's really different than the way mine does!) I went through a difficult time of wrestling with this and even through a process of grief. It still feels hard to say. "Peregrine has Asperger Syndrome." I've thought often of writing about it, and I feel that for my own sake it's important that I record a little of our experience. My goal is to think of it not as a "disorder" but to use it as a tool for understanding him and helping him live to his fullest potential. I will not allow a "label", something that for years I was determined to avoid, to define who my son is. I make a point of thanking God for making him just the way he is, and I am trying to embrace the wonderful parts of Peregrine's personality while helping him to grow in other areas. 

    As we once again made the trek through the woods to Proxy Falls, the memory of that long ago day filled my mind. I sat on a log,  holding little Pearl and watching Raphael and Poppy play, while Erik and Peregrine hiked down to the base of the waterfall. Peregrine, still intense, but on this particular day, fearless, climbed across fallen logs and explored the creek. I wonder what the future holds for him, what challenges, but also what opportunities he will face due to his unique mind. I hold to God's promise to give us a hope and a future, and to His unfailing love for each of us. I trust that His plan is good, that His grace is sufficient, and that He holds us all in the palm of His hand. 

    I hope to share more about some of the challenges our family faces as part of Peregrine's Asperger's. I have been hesitant to write some of this for a couple of reasons. First, I am determined that my little space in the blogosphere be one of encouragement, not a complaining fest.  On the other hand, I'm committed to honesty, and have been encouraged to share my struggles. Second, I want to be very careful not to share things that would be embarrassing to my husband and children. I have come to realize though, that if one of them had cancer or some other sickness, I would have no problem writing about it. This is part of who Peregrine is, not by his choosing, and I don't want it to be something that remains hidden. Third, in speaking with a number of other moms I know, I've realized that many others have similar situations and there is a hesitancy to talk about it. I have some thoughts on why, and I don't think it's healthy. We need each other. Fourth, this plays a huge part in our family dynamic and in why we are making the choices we are. If I am to share honestly about our family life, it must include how this affects us all. 

    

Random Thoughts for a Rainy Monday

Peregrine took this picture! I think I have a little photographer on my hands.

    The summer solstice came and went and I think Oregon didn't notice. We've had some lovely days of sunshine, but today it's cool and rainy and summertime feels far away. We've been very, very busy. Here are a few random thoughts for this Monday afternoon.

• I used to plant a garden. Then, I had Pearl and something had to give. It was a good tradeoff, although I do miss the satisfaction of growing a little of our own food. There is a tangled thicket of raspberries out there, and a kiwi vine that's grown over a trellis to create a magical shady spot beneath. (And there are a whole lot of weeds, but that's not worth mentioning, is it?) The kids have been picking raspberries and mushing them up to make "jam". I finally got out there yesterday and picked a bowl of berries. Little Pearl discovered them sitting on the counter, and Erik and I shared what was left after the kids went to bed. I think there is some huge metaphor in this paragraph, but I'll leave it at that.
• Two families I'm acquainted with online have both lost babies this past week. I am heartbroken for them. Baby Trek Atlas had a rare genetic disorder and lived a short and beautiful life with his family. Baby Elijah died in an unspeakable tragedy, and my heart grieves for his family. Please pray for these dear ones who are missing their sweet babies. I am reminded once again of how fleeting life is, how there are no guarantees. All we have is this moment. I want to live with more intention, more purpose, to love more passionately and to live without regret. I want to hold my own children a little closer and show more appreciation and love for my husband. Please pray for these families.
• My Mom flew home from New Jersey last night, bringing my dear 90-something Grandma with her. I haven't seen Grandma in nearly 11 years. I'm really looking forward to seeing her and introducing Erik and the kids. 
• Peregrine often remarks on how cute Pearl is. Yesterday he said "Oh! She would only look cuter if her dress had leg-of-mutton sleeves!" And later on, at church, he asked someone if they minded if he "tickled the ivories". Where does he come up with this stuff? 
• I picked our first ripe cherries yesterday, just a few of them. I've been telling the kids, daily, that they're not quite ready. But, they're almost ready now. Yum.
• After trying to sell our home by owner, we finally listed with an agent a week ago. We'd had maybe a dozen showings on our own or with buyer's agents, but in the last week we've had showings nearly every day! I'm hoping, really hoping, that we'll get an offer soon. 
• I've learned that it is indeed possible for a mother of four youngish children to keep a very clean house. However, for me, it's come at the expense of spending quality time with my kids, and, unfortunately, I've snapped at them way too many times over fingerprints on the windows or dirt on the floor. I would rather have a "lived in" house with a relaxed mama then a show-ready one with all this stress. I'm sure they would agree. 
• I think it's the perfect day to bake some cookies and have afternoon tea, to do something fun and lighthearted together. 

Eugene

  

  Eugene is a regular at our church; he comes faithfully every Sunday. He's not, however, your typical church-goer. Eugene arrives on foot, and we often see him shuffling along the sidewalk, jacket slung over his head like a hat, bag over his shoulder, bare feet inside broken shoes. Eugene comes to wash up in the men's bathroom, and I've heard that the toilets have been plugged after he's filled them with the paper towels he's dried off with. Eugene sits in the entry way during church, slumped into a chair, kept company by moms and dads, flickering candles, golden icons, and noisy children. Eugene is not shy about getting in line for food when it's time, nor is he self conscious about heaping his plate high or going back for seconds or thirds. Sometimes we put leftovers in bags to send "home" with him.

    Eugene has come to our parish for years. I'm glad he's there. We greet him cheerfully and sometimes get a word or two in response. He must have his camp somewhere nearby. I wonder where he lives. Does he have a warm sleeping bag, a tent to keep him dry? Does he camp under a bridge? Does he have a mother who prays for him, a family who remembers him? Is anyone's heart broken over what this man has become? Once he was someone's little boy. What is his story? The other day I watched him empty a quart sized bottle of hand sanitizer into his water bottle; presumably it was his next drink. I wonder how many of those bottles he's emptied. I wonder if that's how he keeps warm on these cold nights.

   Is Eugene just another homeless man, or is he the very presence of Christ among us? Our faith teaches us to see the image of Jesus in everyone, and that what we do for "the least of these", whom Christ calls his brethren, we do to Jesus Himself. I was lying in bed Sunday night, sleepless, and thinking about Eugene. I remembered Tolstoy's story of the Shoemaker Martin who so desired to see Jesus. He was visited by different people, waiting for his Lord, but only met with common folks in need. He welcomed each, sharing and giving hospitality, but Jesus never came. In the end, Jesus reveals that it really was He who had come, and that Martin had indeed welcomed Him.

    Someday I will stand before Jesus, and I will be judged on how I cared for - or didn't care for - the Eugenes of this world. It's a pretty thing to go to church on Sunday, to prepare my heart to worship Christ, to receive Him. But how often do I miss seeing Him, grubby and smelly, in the face of the stranger on the corner or the homeless man reaching into the bowl of fruit with his dirty hands? I don't know how to "help" Eugene. I can continue to smile at him, to greet him warmly, to treat him with love. I could pray for him more regularly, knowing he needs healing of mind and spirit.

    I was at the store yesterday, something I'd rather avoid at this time of year. The friendly cashier asked me if I was "ready for Christmas". I know what she meant, but my thoughts turned to more than lists checked off and presents bought. Is my heart ready to receive Christ? Is there "room in the inn" for Him, room in my life? As I ponder the incarnation, God clothing himself in humanity, I think of Eugene and those like him. It is here I have a chance to love my Lord, by caring for the least of these, His brothers and sisters. May I be faithful to see the face of Christ and pour myself out for them.

 
    

Thankful: November 2

  

    Why is it so hard to hold onto gratitude, to give thanks for the multitude of gifts that each moment contains? How easily I forget to open my eyes, to look beyond the dirty diapers, muddy floors, squabbling siblings, and interrupted sleep to see the sweetness in these days. I know that one of the keys to the joy I so long for is to cultivate thankfulness, to recognize the grace that is abundant in each moment. Like most habits, it's one that takes discipline and work. Grumbling and becoming irritated seem to come so naturally to me. I have a long way to go, but I want my heart to be overflowing with gratitude, leaving no room for complaint.

    After reading Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts last winter, I began jotting down in a notebook things I'm thankful for. My goal was to try to write down ten things a day, but I admit I've gone through long weeks where I don't even open my little book. I've found the practice of writing them down really is helpful. I read somewhere that the act of writing heightens awareness; you pay attention to little details that might otherwise go unnoticed. This is true whether you're writing a journal or a story, and it's the same for thankfulness. When I'm in the habit of giving thanks- and recording it- I find more and more things for which to be thankful.
   
    My friend Rae who lives in India, my sister Alyssa, and another friend, Lisa, have been sharing things they're thankful for and I thought it would be fun to join in. I don't have any aspirations toward posting something every day, but will try to share from time to time. Here are a few I've jotted down in my gratitude journal in the last few days:

• My mom coming over and making chicken soup for us while I'm not feeling well.
• The way Pearl blows kisses, little hand flapping at her mouth, so pleased.
• Misty mornings, sunny afternoons.
• Hot tea with lemon and honey, soothing and delicious.
• Reading Peregrine's birthday letter aloud to him, seeing his face beam.
• Raphael's "hundred kisses" at night and how he says "I'll love you in the morning!"
• Onesies.
• Root Vegetables, their earthy sweetness and jeweled colors.
• Pignoli cookies, fresh from Philadephia.
• Spider webs shimmering in the cold sun.
• Late night snuggle and talk with Poppy.

    How do you cultivate thankfulness in your life? How do you help your children develop thankful hearts?

Nine Years Ago

Erik and I shortly before his diagnosis.

    This is a repost from a few years ago, but as I've been thinking these same thoughts I thought I'd share it again. I'm so grateful for every day with my husband and family!

    As October passes by my thoughts always turn to remembrance and thanksgiving for the life of my family. Nine years ago at this time I was very, very pregnant with Peregrine. He was, in fact, due around the 20th although he wasn't born until November 1st. On Monday, the 14th of October, Erik visited our family doctor because he was concerned about the hard swelling in one of his testicles. Our doctor mentioned a few possibilities, one of them being cancer*, and referred him to a urologist. I called to schedule an appointment and was told they couldn't see him for nearly two months. I tried another doctor who could get him in sooner; I honestly didn't think it could be cancer or I would have pushed a lot harder! But God knows, and on Wednesday of that week the second doctor's office called and said there was a cancellation and he could see Erik on Thursday.

    Thursday came, and Erik went to his appointment. He came home and told me the urologist was confident it was cancerous and wanted to remove the testicle the next day! To this day I wish I'd have gone to that appointment with him; again, I really didn't think it was anything serious or I would have been there. No one should be alone when they're given that kind of news. We called our friends and family; I don't believe we'd even mentioned it to them prior to this. (This had all happened in a matter of four days!) Our close family came over that evening to pray with us for the surgery, which was scheduled for Friday afternoon.

    I don't remember exactly how I reacted to all of this; it was so shocking, such a short time to absorb such news, but I do remember God's peace and comfort. Even in peace though, there are a lot of questions, and we were certainly asking them! Did this doctor know what he was doing, removing a testicle without doing any biopsies? What if the cancer had spread to the other side, or elsewhere in Erik's body? I was very thankful we'd gotten pregnant right away after getting married; what if we weren't able to have any more children? What if I went into labor tomorrow? What if Erik died, leaving behind a young wife and child? All of these thoughts and more swirled through our minds, but truly, God gave us great peace in the midst of this sudden storm. My Dad mentioned the other day that he wished every couple could have the first two years of their marriage free from any big trials, but it just isn't that way, is it? We'd been married only nine months, and were facing something I'd never even imagined going through!

    Erik went to work the next morning and worked until noon. I guess he figured he'd be off the next few weeks and with a new baby coming should work as much as he could. We drove to the hospital and our parents met us there. Again, we all prayed together, and then Erik was admitted and prepped for surgery. His sense of humor always intact, he'd taken a Sharpie and drawn an arrow pointing to the side where they were going to operate! The hours went by and I sat surrounded by our loving and wonderful families. We visited and prayed and quilted and joked about me going into labor right then- hey, I was already in the hospital!

    Finally someone came out and told us that the surgery had gone well and Erik was in recovery. At last we were able to see him and a while later he was discharged from the hospital. We drove back to our cozy little duplex, thankful that everything had gone well and now praying our baby would stay put for a while so Erik could heal before having care for me and a newborn! We prayed for at least a few days, but God gave us two whole weeks before Peregrine was born! The time was good for both of us; Erik needed to rest and heal, and it was good for me to spend the last weeks of my pregnancy relaxing with my husband and not frantically trying to do a lot of things! Many of his coworkers donated their paid time off to him so he didn't have to take any time off without pay.

    About a week after his surgery we met with his doctor and learned the results of the biopsy; it was indeed cancerous. Blood tests, CT scans, and x-rays revealed that it hadn't spread anywhere else in his body, but it was still recommended that he have localized radiation. This began shortly after Peregrine was born; Erik went five mornings a week for five weeks, then went faithfully to work each day. He experienced nausea similar to that of morning sickness during this time. His long term follow-up entailed biannual CT scans for the first few years, and then every two years for the rest of his life.

    We're incredibly thankful that God allowed us to catch this early and got us into a doctor quickly. If we'd waited several weeks for the first appointment, the cancer could have spread. Erik is now healthy and has been cancer free for five years! We're also thankful that it didn't affect his fertility (obviously!) and that the Lord has surrounded us with such loving and supportive family and friends. Isn't God good to us, even when He allows us to go through such trials?

    *If you have a husband or a son, you should be aware of testicular cancer. It is most common in young men between the ages of 20 and 39, but there have been cases in boys as young as 12. If detected early it's highly treatable and has an excellent survival rate. If not detected, it likes to spread to the lungs and chest area. Men are supposed to do monthly self-exams to check for any swelling, hardness, lumps, or discomfort in the testicles, and should see a doctor right away if anything is out of the ordinary. Making the men in your life aware of this could save their lives!

Moment

Canal House in Strassbourg, France, 2004

    I don't remember the moment we first talked of a round-the-world journey. Sometime last spring we had this crazy idea: what if we took a year to travel around the world, experiencing different cultures, visiting friends, and seeing places that are significant to our faith as Orthodox Christians? This idea, instead of fading away like so many others, took root and began to grow. Over the last several months it's become the topic of much discussion, dreaming, and planning. We've been excited to find blogs, websites and even books written by families who've done similar things. We've gotten guide books from the library, printed out maps and colored in the countries we'd like to visit, and begun to make contacts in different places. Our kids talk about it with excitement. We've connected with and been encouraged by other traveling families and also received a lot of support from our friends and family. 

    Erik and I never intended to settle down in the United States and raise our family here. In fact, if you'd have told me ten years ago that I'd own a home in the suburbs and be driving a mini-van I'm sure I would have told you that was someone else's life, not mine. But one thing after another happened to keep us here. In our first year of marriage we had a baby and Erik had cancer; just a couple little reasons why we started putting down roots instead of stretching our wings. More babies joined us, we moved a couple more times, and ten years later here we are. Still. It's been good, and I'm grateful for this time; I don't regret being here at all. 


    We've always known, since before we got married, that we wanted to live a different sort of life; the surprising part is that we've been settled so long. I cannnot point to a moment where we knew we wanted to do something different; rather this is a culmination of many years of dreaming, hoping, and knowing that one day we would be going. While we've always planned to leave "someday", we also let ourselves get pretty settled. After our trip to Mexico last winter we came home knowing that it was time to start taking some serious steps toward launching out. Still unsure of exactly where we wanted to land, we came up with the idea of traveling slowly, stopping long enough to get a feel for places, and knowing that when the time is right we'll know where we're to land. 


    As I watch things unfold in our country, I feel more and more sure that this is the right decision for our family. Both Erik and I have spent time in many different countries, and we've been able to travel a fair bit with our kids as well. For me, I feel there is something alive, a part of me that awakens, when I travel. We've always been amazed at how well our kids travel, at how adaptable and uninhibited they are. We desire to expose them to places, to people, to ways of doing things that are different than what they know. We want them to learn firsthand as much as possible. We admire the way relationships take precedence over possessions in many of the places we've visited. As much as we attempt to instill this in our children, we find we're fighting an uphill battle against a culture that plagues them with marketing and that actively seeks to tear families apart. We realize we must fight to pull our family together, and for us we feel the best way to do that is to radically simplify our lives and launch into a different sort of life.

     It is a thousand little moments that have led us to this one; this one where we're ready to leave behind what is familiar and embrace a path somewhat uncertain. In a way, it's as if we've been preparing, or being prepared for this, for a lifetime. In looking back over my life, I'm often struck by how one thing leads to another, and the way not taken shapes our story too. Each moment we are offered a choice and it is all of those moments that make up a lifetime. I'm excited to see what is in store as we seek to live every moment to the fullest, to choose the things that are important and to see where the wind blows us. 




     This post was part of a group writing project of Families on the Move. You can read about the moment other families knew they wanted to change their life here:

• Living Outside of the Box: The Moments That Added Up
• Bohemian Mom: First Moment we Decided to Change our Life
• Worldschool Adventures: The Moment of Inspiration in Hoi An Vietnam
• Livin' on the Road: Whose Idea Was It? 
• Tripping Mom: The Moment I Decided to Live Abroad, Just Me and My Child
• The Great Family Escape: Capturing the Moment
• Family on Bikes: One Moment in Time: A Lifetime of Adventures
• Family Trek: The Moment we Knew we Were Made for More
• Raising Miro on the Road of LIfe: 'The Moment' is all there is
• New Life on the Road: It Only Takes a Moment