Growing Up in the Sticks

We have lots of trees on the farm and just about every day, limbs--some big, some small--fall into the yard and driveway.  Eventually, we pick them up and burn them, but for now, they are in a big pile that used to be a flowerbed.  

As I was walking by the pile last night, I noticed this pretty pink zinnia standing tall in the midst of it. It was the only one.  I don't know if zinnias used to live in this bed before all the random sticks or if the seed blew into the bed from somewhere else, but it got me to thinking...

Pinky (as she will now be referred to--can't beat my originality) is on her own.  There are no other flowers to keep her company.  The only thing around her are weeds and sticks and some unwanted grass.  Yet she grows anyway.  She finds the nutrients she needs and soaks them in. She doesn't depend on someone else to get it for her--she knows she is responsible for her own health.

The sticks and weeds may actually help her.  They create a cover over her roots, helping to trap water into her soil so she doesn't go thirsty.  Sometimes the things that look like a big ol mess around us actually serve to protect and help us.  

She has a choice every day whether to wither or whether to reach for the sky.  As sticks get thrown in the pile, they aren't necessarily avoiding her, so she has to make her way around things she didn't plan for.  Sometimes our circumstances seem bleak and when we think we finally have a handle on it, someone dumps another pile of sticks or flings a lone one at us that hits us square in the face.  We can choose whether to let that stop us.  We have the option to stretch a bit further or hunch back down and hide.

I think Granny is a lot like Pinky.  She has worked hard her whole life.  She has lost 2 husbands, most of her friends and her parents.  She's lived alone for a lot of her life.  Yet, she has chosen to continue growing--even at the ripe age of 102.  Part of that spunky-ness has made her scrappy and while that makes her hard to handle some days, it's also what has kept her alive so long.

I don't know about you, but I hope I'm like Granny and Pinky.  

 

In a Bed of Pink Flowers, Be an Orange

Walking back from taking the trash out tonight, I spotted this orange flower.  There's not really anything unique about it.  

Except that it's in the middle of a bed of only pink ones.  

It caught my eye and made me stop to look at it further.  I double checked to make sure there weren't any other colors in the flower bed.  

Nope.  

It was the only one different from the others.

Now, I love me some orange--it's my favorite color. 

And not the pale peach  or burnt/rust colors--the vibrant, obnoxious orange.  The one you can see from a distance.  The one who does its own thing, not necessarily asking you to look at it, but doesn't mind if you do.

Which was fitting since that's what that orange flower is doing.  

It is not ashamed of being different from the others.  It's still growing tall and proud.  It is not intimidated or insecure or even apologetic for its differences. It wears them proudly and doesn't allow itself to be overshadowed or cower from the others.  

It stands proudly on it's own merit and doesn't let the sea of pinkness overshadow it or chase it out.  It stretches up and lifts its face toward the sun, soaking in all that it has to offer and responding by unfurling its petals. 

It's really kinda courageous.

Don't we all want to be like that orange flower?

I know I do.

Moving On Up

Big changes are happening in the Royal house!

As most of you know, my job was eliminated at the beginning of August.  After 2 days of wallowing and feeling like a huge loser I went to Oklahoma to stay with Granny.  My plan was to help care for her for 2 weeks and allow myself to grieve while I started putting out feelers for a job in the non-profit world.  

In case you've been under a rock and haven't seen any of the billions of posts I've made about her, Gran is 102.  When her assisted living place had their 3rd case of Covid, Brian's cousin Connie took Gran to live with her. Gran was there for a month, but really wanted to stay in her own home.  The family hired a home health care person that ended up falling through.  We found out about that wrinkle the day after I lost my job. The timing "coincidentally" worked out for me to come.

Gran has lived on the family farm most of her life.  She was born here.  Grandpa John built her little stone house by hand.  She loves this place.  She doesn't even like going to her daughter or grandson's house (both on the same land)--she wants everyone at her house.  She knows when every tree was planted and what species each is.  And she knows if you move any little thing in any of her overcrowded rooms (don't ask me how I know that).

Well, 2 weeks turned into 3.  The plan was for her to go back to the assisted living place on Aug 26th. Less than a week before that, Brian called me and said, "I want to throw an idea at you, but don't say No until you pray about it."  His next question was, "What would you think about us moving to the farm so Granny could stay in her house?"

Seriously? I did not need to pray about it, because I had been trying to figure out a way for her to be able to stay, too.  It made my heart skip a beat.  Would this REALLY be doable?

We talked details for the next couple of days, I made a pro/con list and even started looking in the OKC area for non-profit jobs.  We then ran the idea past the rest of the family.   The last step was Granny.  While we thought she would like the idea, we were worried she might decide she didn't want to share her house and would rather go back to assisted living.  

Well...Gran said, "YES!" and we started making solid plans.  Brian is currently remodeling the "little house" in Granny's backyard.  Caroline (and maybe Hope) will move in there while Brian and I stay down the hall from Granny in the main house.  As spry as she is for 102, she can't be on her own.  

Brian's business can really be done anywhere.  He will still drive to Texas for meetings every couple of weeks and as of yesterday, Granny's house has internet! My job will be to care for Granny.

If you know us, you've probably heard us talking about building a house up here.  I thought we would wait a few years until the girls moved out before we started the process.  Plus, I had a really good job and it would be stupid to quit that, right?

God took that one out of our hands-HA! When I first lost my job, I kept saying "God is not surprised and He wants good for me."  In the beginning, I was repeating it so I would believe it--I knew it was true, I just didn't know if it was true for ME.  Gradually, I realized my thoughts and beliefs changed.  I truly believed what I had been saying aloud.  He was NOT surprised and He DID want good for me.  

I have basically already moved.  I went home a few weeks ago and got all my clothes and packed my books.  I will head back again in October to finish packing the rest of the stuff, get Caroline moved up here and help Brian with the house.  He will probably not come up until November after he finishes some install jobs he already has on the calendar.  

There are so many other things that have been going on behind the scenes to get us to this point, but this post has already been a long one.  I'll hopefully be blogging more consistently--being at the farm has given me words again for writing--something I just have not had the desire to do in the last several years.  What I will say is that the farm has been a place of peace for me these past 6 weeks and God has reminded me of all He put in me.

There's a quote by Mother Teresa I've seen a thousand times that has spoken to me in this season: : "If you want to change the world, go home and love your family."

You've probably deduced that I'm a bit of an activist.  I'm passionate about causes--esp. childhood hunger--and love a good non-profit with a compelling mission.  I am at my best when I am serving others.  

But, I haven't always been great about serving my family.  

This new chapter is going to allow that in a way that I could never have orchestrated or even dreamed of on my own. 

And that makes me smile.

Too Much of a Good Thing

I only meant to sprinkle the pepper, not dump it on my egg.  I was cooking breakfast the other day and tried to add a little seasoning to my egg--instead, I had a little egg with my seasoning.  I thought it would be okay--I'd just eat it with a piece of toast and that would even it out.

It didn't.  

A little pepper adds a kick to an over-easy egg, but a bunch, overpowers the egg--hiding the taste of it altogether.

That pepper reminded me of my spiritual life.

I often find myself in an all or nothing mode when it comes to my relationship with Jesus.  I am either reading 2-3 devotionals or books or bible studies or I'm doing nothing.  I try to tell myself I would enjoy doing just one at a time, but when I'm into something, I'm all in.  I don't lack for passion.  

You might think there's no such thing as too much Jesus.  And you are right.  

BUT...

How much better would it be if I soaked in 1 thing at a time instead of bouncing from thing to thing and getting oversaturated?  If I savored my little bit for today instead of overpowering myself with so much?  If I let the study/book/devo season and enhance me in my true personality instead of hiding my true self with all the things around me?

Being at the farm has been teaching me to keep things simple.  To do 1 thing a day instead of 7 things in an hour.  I would have thought I would feel guilty for being lazy, but it does not feel that way.  I'm learning to be all in but in a different way.  To be in the moment and not worry about what else needs to get done.  To sit and stare at the bird feeder.  To just BE instead of DO.  

How about you?  Are you an all-or-nothing person or do you have a good rhythm figured out?

And the real question...

Do you put pepper on your eggs?

*full disclosure--I stole this pic from the internets--I didn't put THAT much on my egg.

Beauty in the Boring

 

I was walking around this morning at my favorite time on the farm--@30 minutes after the sun has risen.  At that point, it's high enough in the eastern sky, for it's light to cast shadows on the farm, creating a budding photographer's dream canvas.  

I'm confined to the yard since Granny is in the house sleeping.  At first, I thought I had taken all the pictures I could. There's only so many angles of the swing (and believe me, I have taken a few hundred of them in the last month!).

But I'm finding something different...

Being "trapped" in one place is causing me to look deeper every morning and evening.  To take the pic of the flower that bloomed or died since yesterday.  To notice the berries hidden among the tree branches.  To watch the light cast new shadows on the pecan trees.  

It reminds me of a class at Dallas Theological School that Dr. Howard Hendricks used to teach.  He asked his students to take a verse and find a certain number of observations about it.  Then the next day, he asked them to do it again--finding different ones.  Then the following day, he did it again.  I don't remember the specifics of how many observations he asked them to find and how many days he did it.  This all came to me second hand through a bible study leader who had taken the class and shared what she had learned--and asked our group to take on the challenge, too.

It was hard!  After finishing the first day, I felt like I had wrung out the verse and gotten everything I could.  There was no possible way to find more.

But I did.  

And I continued to look at it from different angles to soak in everything I could from it.

That's how I feel about Granny's yard.  

I come out to the back porch every morning as the sun comes up.  I watch the fog lift.  At first, I'm chilly and feel like I might need to go inside and grab a sweatshirt, but less than an hour later, I'm moving my chair so the sun's rays don't hit me anymore because it's too warm.

I walk the yard and take pics with my phone.  Somedays, I delete everything I shoot. Others, I capture something new--even though I think I've taken that pic before.  

Often in the past, I have found myself caught up in the same-o/same-o.  Days that look alike.  Tasks that vary so little that I can do them in my sleep.  And it has felt like that is what I've done--just gone through the motions to get through it for the day.

But here on the farm, I'm learning to embrace the ordinary.  To look deeper in everything--from the sunlight casting shadows to the eggs, bacon and toast I make Granny every morning.  To REALLY observe my surroundings and not miss the subtle changes.  To see the life.  And death.  

To find beauty in the things I would have otherwise considered boring.

Watching Ice Melt

This morning I turned the kitchen faucet onto the hottest setting and dumped the ice out of the freezer into the sink to let the water do it's thing.

Why, you ask?

Well, for some reason, the ice maker has decided to drip water as it makes ice.  This means that the ice freezes into one big chunk and is worthless.  So, every few days, I dump the chunk and start over.

It should be irritating and I have all kinds of analogies about band-aiding the problem instead of fixing the cause.

But, watching the ice melt is therapeutic.

I move the faucet over it and let it concentrate in one area.  After it's created a hole, I move it to another spot.  Eventually, I have to move the block of ice to a different position so the faucet can do its thing.  I even like to be strategic on where I place the faucet so that the water will create a hole that divides the ice into pieces instead of a big chunk.

Probably sounds silly.  In fact, I KNOW it's silly.  But it's also a reminder to me that if I allow the hot water to do it's thing, then I can start fresh.  The big chunk of ice does nobody any good, but the pieces of ice make make happy on a hot day.

And seeing the hot water melt away the useless ice reminds me that hot water has it's purpose.  It's okay to dump the whole thing and start over every now and then.

The ice certainly tastes fresher.

What if we were not afraid of the hot water and we let it do its thing in our life?  What if we were not scared of starting over every now and then?  

So every so often, I dump the ice and begin anew.  

Bare Windows

Granny's house is what you think of when "grandma's house" comes to mind.  A lot of 1980's pale blue, floral wallpaper, dark curtains and lace sheers on every window.  In Granny's house, we have the added benefit of her decor reflecting that she is 100% Polish and Catholic.

Earlier in the week I went away for a few days.  When I came back, I walked in the house and was amazed at the difference!  First of all, Brian's cousin Connie cleaned all the windows and more.  The house sparkled (something that doesn't happen when I'm in charge...unless it means I've left glitter everywhere...which *might* actually happen).

After looking around and talking to Connie, I realized there was more.  She had not only opened all the curtains, she pushed back the sheers and opened the blinds--or even lifted them all the way up in some places.  The difference was astounding!  The dark, cramped spaces became bright and inviting. It gave the house a whole new personality--one that made me want to dance and twirl!

Connie left a few days ago, but I have continued to open the curtains, lift the blinds and hide the sheers.  Don't tell Granny, but I actually took the sheers down in my room! *GASP* Mornings at the farm have always been my favorite, but now they compete with the afternoon and evenings because of the gorgeous light coming in all the windows.

Not to be too cheesy, but it's got me thinking...

How many times do we close the curtains of our life and even when we open them, we have blinds and sheers underneath.  The sheers feel inviting--who doesn't like a little bit of lace?  But the fact is, the lace is one more layer--albeit a pretty one--to keep people from seeing the whole picture our window shows.  

Sometimes, the view isn't always pretty--I see an electrical box that survived a fire outside of my bedroom window--something that scares me when I think of how close we came to losing the whole farm.  And the overgrowth across the street where a house used to be makes me sad.  In the same way, we all have things that are not pretty.  We can continue to cover them up, but we miss letting others share the view and see the things around those not-so-pretty pictures.  

The windmill and old barn to the right of the electrical box.

The beautiful bushes that have sprung up across the street (that btw, I've had to tell Granny over and over we can't dig up and put in her yard--but she keeps asking).

Have you opened the curtains of your life but kept the sheers in place?  What would it take for each of us to push those to the side or even take them down?  

I believe in the depths of my soul that the view you (and others) will get will far outweigh the fear of the ugly.  I'm willing to risk it, are you?