Though referred to fondly as The Farm, it was anything but.

At one time it had been a true farm and the home of my great grandfather’s extended family, then became my mother’s childhood home.  Recalling the tales which occurred at this dear place have turned many family gatherings into the reminiscing of hilarious childhood tales, accompanied by exuberant laughter.  The Farm wasn’t magical in itself, but it’s enchantment lingers, due to the childhood antics, the friends who shared it with us, and the warmth of family love we experienced there.

Located only a few miles from my hometown, it was our “summer get-away” — a step back in time — complete with an outhouse, a hand pump for water, kerosene lamps, a wood-burning cook stove, a pot-bellied wood heater and a real “ice” box.  In later years we added the wonder of propane, and graduated to a gas stove and refrigerator.

The farmhouse itself consisted of three small houses connected into one.  It’s outward appearance was quite dull with its rough, gray stucco covering and white trimmed windows.  The rooms  inside smelled exactly as they were … old.  The walls held faded wallpaper which hung loosely near the ceiling, while worn linoleum covered the tired, creaking floors below — a different color in each room.  The windows, with their peeling  paint, were propped open by sticks from the thickly wooded grove of elm trees which encircled the house.  Three entryways touted rectangular concrete porches and warmly welcomed us into this retreat.  Two of the three stood level with the ground. However, on one end of the house the porch rose to almost six inches above the ground.  This particular porch is etched in my memory due to…. well, that’s a  story for another post.

Situated in the yard, beneath a canopy of  elms, could be seen a few lawn chairs, a blanket, a telescope, a tent, a well-used fire pit, a badminton net and a croquet game set up and ready to go.  Beside the lane, suspended between four trees, was a tree house built by my brother and me; and several feet away from it were multiple gigantic holes in the ground, covered by branches and leaves.  These camouflage ” dug-outs” were built by my little brother Larry, and were, in his mind, “army foxholes”.  Straight into the grove of trees, approximately forty yards away, were the ruins of the ancient barn, and parallel to it was the still-existing-with-no-purpose corn crib.  These old haunts are the sets of many scenes etched permanently into my mind… a summer-land of make-believe where it seemed as if time stood still.

Our holidays to this rustic, run down farm, deeply knit my family together, breathed life into our souls, and afforded us adventures written indelibly on our hearts.   There, before life dealt us turbulent waters, we were together…. happily together …. as family!

To be continued . . .

I’ve written before about our son Paul’s premature birth and the still birth of his twin brother Luke.  However, one day while reading my daughter-in-law, Felicity‘s blog, I was reminded of a very significant moment in that season of our lives and wanted to record it here.

Felicity had written a post about our granddaughter Claire, whose story mirrors our son Paul’s. She had noted how Claire had danced in a recital and she stated: “I just kept thinking how far we’ve come from this season 7 years ago. Then she was a 3-pound preemie with a very uncertain future; what would I have given to have seen this moment?” (bold emphasis mine)

Twenty-eight years ago Paul weighed in at 2 lb. 6 oz, and 29 weeks gestation. (This was prior to some of the “wonder drugs” they now use to help “premies” lungs remain flexible.)  His prematurity led to a condition called Highlands Membrane Disease which means the lining of his lungs became brittle.   Unfortunately the  force of the respirator on his brittle little lungs blew holes in both of them. Along with these complications he had a valve in his heart that hadn’t closed and was causing his oxygen levels to bounce around severely.  Heart surgery had been being considered,  but was no longer an option due to his blown lungs.

At this point Paul was less than a week old and extremely unstable, yet we were needing to go home and have a memorial service for our infant son Luke. The reality of leaving Paul in such critical condition frightened me greatly. What if he died while we were gone? What if not hearing our voice for a few days caused him to give up? What if we couldn’t get back here if something else happened?  What if . . . ?   I was standing beside his isolette, filled with fear, tears coursing down my face, wondering how I was going to muster the courage to leave the next day, when suddenly a picture flashed through my mind.

I saw a little blond boy, wearing red shorts and a yellow, red, blue and white striped shirt. It was as if I was standing in my kitchen rather than in the NICU in Denver, CO. The little boy’s hair was long enough to be blowing in the wind as he ran giggling past the kitchen window.  My heart melted as I caught a glimpse of his sweet little face. Peace began to replace the fear that had been running rampant in my heart and I sensed God had given me something of substance to hold on to!

The next day we drove four hours home to a memorial service for our little boy in heaven, while our son Paul fought to live here on earth. To shorten a very, long, tedious story, Paul came home to live with us eleven weeks after he had been born. He was in and out of the hospital for the first 18 months of his life, but then he began to thrive!

One day, when Paul was a little over 2 years of age, I was standing at my kitchen window watching our three children playing in the back yard, when suddenly Paul ran by the window giggling. Can you guess what he was wearing? Yes, he was wearing red shorts, a yellow, red, blue and white striped shirt, and his hair was blowing in the breeze! Tears filled my eyes, as I realized the picture God dropped into my heart two years earlier was no longer a glimpse.

It was now a reality!

Paul was born on his Dad's birthday! This is a picture of them celebrating their birthday together this year!

We had friends come to visit a few weeks ago, so we took our usual “downtown” excursion, which includes a stop at our favorite gallery called Thomas D. Mangelsen’s Images of Nature. As always, when we entered an immediate  sense of serenity settled over us and our first-time visitors found themselves amazed by the beauty displayed throughout the gallery.

Hospitality oozed from their staff as they briefly defined “the man behind the lens”, and explained his commitment to never “stage” the scenery or subjects of his photos.  As I wandered through the gallery and lingered in front of a stunning Fall scene, one of the staff members gently asked, “You are drawn to the scenic pictures aren’t you?”  I responded with a “yes”.  He said, “You’re a romantic, right?”  I answered “Hmmmmm, I haven’t really considered that idea, but perhaps you’re right.”  As he walked away, I recalled that I had indeed, stood and gazed at the outdoor scenes much longer than at the animal portraits.  I’m not sure what the definition of a romantic is, however, his comment has drawn my attention to some of things I truly enjoy.  I thought I’d share a few of them here…

I love the way the sun shines through the trees into my back yard this time of year… the way it’s now beginning to feel like autumn … cool evenings and warm afternoons… the sound of children playing in school yards… the sight of late summer flowers blooming in my gardens… the moon shining brightly through the trees… watching a blazing fire in our fire pit… and the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves… roasting marshmallows and making s’mores… playing fantasy football against the guys (and one other gal) in the family… seeing pumpkins for sale at the roadside stands… and taking our yearly field trip to an apple orchard!

Being a romantic — we shall see, but this I know…     Ah Fall, how I love thee!

Luke & Rhythm at the apple orchard!

I was recently reading in I and II Kings in my Chronological Bible, and I found myself feeling miserable as king after king “did evil in the sight of the Lord.”  It just seemed so sad as each successor failed to lead the people back to God, and I wondered how God remained so patient with His people.  And then a New Testament-everybody-knows-scripture flashed through my mind.  John 3:16

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.”

Usually this scripture causes me to think about how difficult it must have been for Father to send His precious son, Jesus into this sin-laden earth, knowing what He would face here.  And that He reeeeally must love us to have done so. But this time, I saw something more.  I realized those unfaithful kings who led God’s people to do evil, caused great heartache and pain to their Father.  One generation after another chose false gods instead of the Father who loved them . . . and it grieved His loving parental heart.

I get that!

When my kids make bad choices or simply face struggles I can’t fix, my parental heart hurts in unexplainable ways.  I lose sleep, I don’t focus well, I pray a lot and always, always, always, I find myself wishing it was me instead of them.  In thinking about this I realized … that’s exactly what Father was doing by dispatching Jesus.

By sending Jesus to die on the Cross, He would actually do what I could only wish to do regarding the pain and suffering of my children.  He would take it for them, so they could be free of it.  Finally, Father would be able to help each person  in their sin and weakness!  And He’s still doing it today — helping each one of us in our sin and weakness!

Well, I certainly view John 3:16 from a brand new angle . . .  the angle of a Father who loves us so much He took action to alleviate our pain!  But wait . . . I think I hear something behind the scripture I never heard before.

Listen.  Do you hear it?  It’s the sound of a father’s soothed heart regarding his children’s pain!

I hear a grateful sigh!

In a world where famous people are interviewed on every major television channel, and their faces are plastered on the front of multiple magazine covers, there remains a mystique about them.  It’s as if they are unreal — and somehow it causes us who stand outside looking in at their lives, to crave insight into the inner workings of theirs.

So, when walking in Oxford, UK,  our British friends pointed out The Eagle and Child, fondly nicknamed The Bird and Baby and told us it was the pub where J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis met and discussed their ideas and writings, I instantly began picturing their times together inside the pub.  I  imagined them seated together, sharing their outside-the-box ideas, while the people around them had no hint of the far-reaching destiny these two men would have through their writings.

I envisioned the two of them talking quietly at a table away from the rest of the crowd because these moments were treasured times together.  Kindred spirits unveiling their hearts, encouraging each other in their endeavors, and perhaps enthusiastically reading each others manuscripts.  I later learned they gathered with a group of writers called the Inklings, to discuss their writing ideas together.  (So much for the table away from the crowd.)

It was then I wished someone had interviewed them or snapped a picture of them there in the pub.  Because of their writings (and now their screen plays), part of me felt as if I knew a part of them and caused me to want to know more. I longed to talk to them now and ask them what they talked about when they met.  Or what it meant to have each other and if it changed the way they thought or the confidence it took to put on paper their imaginary worlds portraying powerful dynamic truths.

While pondering this my mind flashed back to when our new English friends, Geoff and Mary sat with Don and me in a coffee shop in Whitney, UK and our hearts knit together as we talked for hours about our shared passions.  It was then I answered my own questions. . .  When Tolkien and Lewis met at the local pub, they were simply people like us, on a journey with God. And along the way, they found friends who understood their hearts, cheered them on as they took brave, new steps and celebrated with them in whatever their yet-to-be-seen-futures held.

So — when seeking to know the inner lives of those people we deem unreal, perhaps we need only look at our own journey, and upon reflection we will probably find the answers to the questions we are asking!

Our journey now includes these awesome kindred friends Geoff and Mary from the UK!

Some who visit my blog may have wondered if I had decided to quit blogging.  My answer would be “no”, I’m still blogging.   Like Macy (my granddaughter) dashing across the sidewalk in this picture, I too, have been dashing around to various important family events in recent weeks.  I thought perhaps I would catch you up on the activities that have kept me away from my blog.

First, my daughter-in-law, Felicity,  graduated from the University of Illinois at Springfield, with a BA in English.  We are so proud of her!  She took classes on-line, while at the same time being an amazing wife, mother of 4 precious children and a gifted teacher at Heartland Christian College.  Here you can read more about her graduation from a really great writer — Felicity’s mom — Kathy Nickerson.

Next we returned to Dan & Felicity’s home where we were thrilled to watch our grandchildren, (Jesse, Claire & Ada) and their mom (Felicity) perform in the musical Psalty Songbook.  Felicity played Charity Churchmouse, and our grandson Jesse was Risky Rat.  It was fabulous!  If you’d like to read more about it you can go here

Then it was time for our next graduation!  Kindergarten!  Ada Jewel graduated this year!  We watched as she did a tremendous job reciting a very long scripture passage,and ALL the  States and their Capitals.  Then she finished the night by telling us all what she’d like to be when she grows up — a doctor!  Oh . . . and of course, she received her diploma!  We are so proud of her!

Then it was time for a very special event — our annual golf outing with our sons, Dan and Drew.

Oops!  You caught Don & I exchanging a little moment while on the golf course   (I like this guy .  . . A LOT!)

Oh, there they are!  My 3 golfing buddies (Don (center), Dan (left) and Drew (right)!  Actually, I don’t golf.  I just ride along in the cart and have a great time with them!  Oh . . . and I chipped a ball into the cup on my first try! Yay!

Just a couple more little pictures of some little people who (happily) have also occupied some of my time lately. . .

This is Rhythm                                                    And this is Luke

Well, I won’t add any more pictures and drag this out — mainly because I don’t have pictures of all the other things we did.  A short run-down would include, a trip to Pittsburg, KS, an anniversary trip to Kansas City, where we were able to spend time with special friends we hadn’t seen in a very long time, came home and hosted a pastor’s gathering at our church, took a trip to Casper, WY with some ladies from our church, and last, but by no means least, attended my nieces’ Dance Recital right here in town.  Their final dance for the evening was River Dance and it was a take-your-breath-away, give-me-goosebumps, and make-me-cry, kind of dance!  If I had pictures it still wouldn’t do it justice!  Totally amazing!!

Thanks to all of you for who stopped by and allowed me to catch you up a bit!

“His name is “Jello”, my sister (the principal)  said to the students at the end of chapel a few weeks ago.  “So you can get your giggles out now, but when he comes to be with us, there won’t be any teasing or giggling about his name.”

And there hasn’t been.  He left Port au Prince, Haiti and arrived at our school about three weeks ago — and his name — though pronounced jello is spelled Djelot.  He likes to be called DJ.   Due to the media coverage regarding the horrors in the aftermath of the earthquake in Haiti, our school kids (& the teachers) are in awe of this upbeat, sweet-spirited young man who has come to be with us for a short period of time. His parents brought him here to be in the care of their dear friends in the U.S.  while things in Haiti get sorted out.

When we asked Djelot about the earthquake and what he experienced, he shared how his dad decided not to stop at the Market to get him a special drink he wanted after school.  No one in the Market survived the earthquake that fateful day.  Needless to say, he’s very grateful his Dad said no to his desire to stop for a special treat!

DJ’s parents are the overseers of an orphanage in Haiti.   After the quake the orphanage was the only building to remain standing in their area.  They know it is a miracle the children and staff were all unharmed, and that the building didn’t fall on them.  Though it still stands, the aftershocks bring fear of collapse.   This fear forced his parents, staff and children to live in nearby tents.   These living conditions, along with rising temperatures, the infestation of rats, criminals on the loose (due to the collapse of prisons), and spreading disease, are the reasons Djelot’s parents made the decision to bring him here while they return to care for the orphans.

My heart is grateful to God for bringing this precious boy into our lives for a few short weeks.  He helps me to remember those who are still suffering in Haiti, and hopefully by helping him we are in some small way touching his nation.   Through him I see the grace of God and the resilience of the human heart to face unimaginable, horrific circumstances and come out on the other side grateful!

Gotta love that face!! Last week we showed him the wonders of roasting marshmallows and eating s’mores!  With marshmallow all over his face, and a beaming smile, he said with his accent, “I LOVE the marshmallow”!