We are home after being on the road for over 10 days. First, we visited several friends along the way—through Tennessee, Kentucky, and Virginia—and then we traveled onto North Carolina for a family reunion that lasted a week. I’ve been completely unplugged for some time now (even my cell phone didn’t carry a signal), and upon my return, I noticed the world still turns as it always has.

Here is a recent post by someone I met along the trip. It is odd that anyone would be nervous to meet me, as my family isn’t enthused with me in the least. It is always good to make new friends, as one occasionally needs a new audience for the same old stories.

It is always good to be home, too. What follows the next few days (should I manage to get my household back on track) are entries I wrote while on the road. I hope you enjoy reading them as much I benefit from writing them. As I’ve said before, life is a bunch of moments strung together, and it is a shame not to remember the ordinary ones, as they are the ones that–put all together–give us what we commonly know as a “sense-of-home” and of “what life was like back when…” There are only a few people who live what most would refer to as extraordinary lives, but even they sometimes eat toast for breakfast, too.

My husband took the four older children on a hike and then for a swim this afternoon. It is hot and humid, especially for the North Carolina Mountains, as we were expecting some cool mountain air. Of course, we arrived during the hottest heat wave in recent history, but I should’ve just figured on that. I am beginning to accept my morbid lot in life. It’s a lot easier that way.

I stayed behind with the baby, not because he does not travel well in a backpack, but because I broke another toe a few days ago. Maybe I should see a doctor to check for magnets in my feet, but I am too leery of what the prescription might be. I walk with a limp again, but it should only be for a few more days. Again, I accept this as my lot.

The morning was unusually busy, as the baby is off his routine with all the traveling. Cranky babies are difficult, and I now remember why it is that I stay home a lot. Why invite difficulties when they find me easily enough on their own? For the past five nights, we’ve stayed in five different cities, five different beds. But it is quiet now, and as the chief coordinator of a young family, I relish in the silence. Quietness is good.

When all is still, I can listen. I can contemplate my sin, repent, and think. When it is quiet, I can remember all that God has called me to be and do. Sometimes I will stay up after the children have gone to bed, even though I must plant toothpicks in my eyelids to do so. My husband will lovingly chastise me, “Go to bed, woman!” I will refuse (in a most lovingly submissive way, to be sure) because I need to be awake without noise or duty. Surely, I am not the only one.

The Psalmist reminds us to be still and know that the Lord is God (Ps. 46). And we have the example of Jesus, who possessed a perfect temperament, leaving the crowds to be alone before God. This season of activity will soon pass, but if I plan to come out the other end a little wiser for the wear, a little silence is just what the good doctor ordered.

After almost ten years of marriage, I didn’t think my husband could still surprise me, but he did. On the way up to Chattanooga, we stopped at a Cracker Barrel, which is the usual custom on road trips. We do not deviate much from this ritual, and I do not order anything but the country fried steak and mashed potatoes with the white gravy. I’m sure there are other things on the menu, but none of them are worth eating.

So after lunch/dinner, we’re browsing the store because everyone is reluctant to get back in the car. My husband makes an impulse buy of a Johnny Cash Greatest Hits CD without even consulting the cheapest source on the internet. If this wasn’t surprising enough, he pops in the CD and begins singing along word-for-word with every tune. I’ve known Greg since March 1995, and I never knew he was a Johnny Cash fan.

What’s even weirder is that after dozens of hours cooped in the van, Mama sang tenor right along.

One of our stops included a visit with the folks at Cumberland Books. The Saenz family is on a journey toward a more agrarian, simple life, and it was good to have a chance to ask questions, see the countryside, and be acquainted with friends. We arrived in the morning, and though we had a full day ahead of us, we still ran out of time.

Our drive to the Saenz house took us through a non-commercialized Amish and Mennonite community. It is pretty countryside. The towns are far away. During our visit, our gracious hosts took us for a visit to a diverse farm down the road, and later, they took time to introduce us to Jerome (who you will recognize as famous, if you read Rick’s blog at all) and his organic operation. My husband was more interested, however, in Jerome’s self-built house than his garden. In the evening, we enjoyed a private Ridgewood Boys concert with watermelon. Nobody mentioned aloud that this was the good life, but I thought it a few times during the singin’. I like old time music now, too.

The take-away value of this short visit was high for our family. My rhapsodizing about all things rural should come down a notch or two. Though I didn’t taste it, I was able to appreciate more the amount of work involved with farming. I feel very glad now that we are not adding chickens to our garden this year, as raising five small children and finishing our house projects seems to be enough at this stage in life.

Because of our visit too, I also learned that our children will soon be taking more significant, helpful responsibilities in the household, and my role will not always be so “hands-on.” By then, however, I wonder if I won’t want just to put my feet up. Probably not, as I still need to conquer growing Florida strawberries. And I don’t figure that’ll happen this year.

If you haven’t asked for a free Cumberland books catalog, you should. They just lowered their prices about 30%. They carry an excellent selection of books. They don’t carry any books by John Piper, but I will forgive them this grievous error.

My husband says that I’m losing my edge. I disagree. I’m just keeping the posting pleasant to coincide with the weather: nice and warm. There is always good reading in the sideblog.

We are hauling 10 yards of mulch today. (Yes, by hand.) We usually do this every spring, but we were busy with a baby this year.

My Don Juan climbing rose is doing alright. Roses are heavy feeders, and I haven’t been keeping up. Fortuniana rootstock is important in Florida.

Yesterday, we cut oak, pine, and rubber tree limbs. This is one of two piles.

My father-in-law gave me this little fountain. We like to turn it on whenever we sit on our front porch rockers.

She’s the one I posted earlier with a gun. She really does smile in real life.

Some of us don’t work as hard as the others. In fact, if you add up the labor of the children and me, we wouldn’t even equal of fraction of my husband’s efforts. He’s a hard worker.

Well, back to work. I’ll do my best to come up with something edgy later.

Have I ever steered you wrong?! Here is another recipe to add to the files. I’m always on the lookout for meals that a.) use as few steps, dishes, ingredients as possible b.) can be made ahead to avoid the bewitching hour and c.) taste pretty good without feeling guilty.

I put this together last night for Saturday morning breakfast. My husband put it in the oven this morning, and we all felt the love. It was almost too easy that I deemed it “suspect,” and therefore didn’t try it out before now.

It tastes just like regular French toast, except that you don’t have to stand over a skillet to cook each one. Put it together tonight, and then you can thank me in the morning. I’ll be waiting, (sans holding my breath, just in case you forget me). Take the credit before your adoring family, and I’ll tip my apron to Large Family Logistics for the head’s up.

Oven French Toast
10-12 slices of bread
1 1/2 c milk
4 eggs
1/3 c honey (out of honey, I added a little bit of sugar but I’m not sure it was necessary)
1 t vanilla
3/4 t cinnamon

Grease a 9×13 pan.
Mix liquid ingredients and spices.
Put a layer of bread in, then pour a little of wet mixture over. Add second layer.
For variety, add a layer of apple slices or berries and cream cheese.
Refrigerate overnight.
Bake at 350 degrees for ~ 40 minutes.
Serve with maple syrup.

The old axiom, “Never say never,” is not just for the times you have to justify the third piece of cake your kid is wolfing down. There are many situations one shouldn’t make early pronouncements about (like, say, how you’re going to raise a perfect kid), but I still hold firm on a few items. There are three things I said I’d never do again, and I am resolved. Here they are in no particular order: ride a horse, go whitewater rafting, and own a dog.

I was 17 the first time I mounted a horse not in a pony ring. Before I got my feet in the stirrups, however, the horse got spooked and took off galloping. Before this moment, I imagined all the ways I’d hate to die, but I never included falling off crazed, galloping horses as one of them. I quickly amended the list.

I held on for a good mile–which I consider a valiant effort considering the circumstances—before I was flung off like an annoying gnat. The only reason I got back on the horse a half hour later was because I couldn’t walk back. My tailbone was something sore, and I didn’t get out of bed for over a week. Nowadays, I admire horses from a polite, safe distance with a weak, nervous smile.

The second thing I don’t plan on doing again is whitewater rafting. My children need a mother, and I’ve had enough adventure to hold me over to the next life adventure: raising teenagers. I like to live on the edge, but I don’t like falling off.

The event that scarred me forever was a run on a Class IV rapid on the Ocoee River. I fell out of the raft, and went under in the churn. When the river spit me out, the raft was still over me.

The river spit me out a second time (or I should say, God, in His mercy), but it was downstream. I was far ahead of the group. This meant I was going down a river of Class IV rapids without a raft. I was rescued with a line, but not before I made peace with never going again. I get heart palpitations just thinking about it.

The third resolution has nothing to do with dying, just wasting away. I don’t own a dog because I can think of other ways to waste my money. For instance, I could just flush a few bills down the toilet, buy a lottery ticket, or support most any government program. And at least with these methods, there is nothing to clean up in your yard. All it involves is a quick trip to the garbage can; just throw the money away.

I already have enough folks in my lap, wanting to be fed and their backs scratched. However, when my husband noted that a well-trained dog (particularly, a Boxer) was a cheap security system layer, I started to hum a different tune. That baseball bat all-of-the-sudden seems kind of puny. My dear husband knows all my buttons, doesn’t he?

What he doesn’t know is that I found a dog barking motion detector for $59.99. But I will submit to my husband’s fancy anyway. After all, I like to live on the edge, and it keeps me humble when I have to retract my words.

I’m not moving on the first two issues, though. I’m not.

We need another name. The Boxer is on his way after he weans. While I don’t expect this post to elicit the type of response my last naming criteria post did, nevertheless, I will use one of your suggestions this time.

I felt real bad going off and naming our son “Charles” after his grandfather since I was given 1,000 other half-decent suggestions. I promise it had nothing to do with my father-in-law rewriting his will.

In humble tradition, I offer another naming criteria list. It goes like this:

1. We will not call our guard dog any poodle-type names: Fluffy, Muffin, Biffy, or Fifi. “Sick ‘em, Fifi!” just doesn’t work.

2. Special preference given to dead theologians: Van Til and Knox are high on the list. I wish I had the nerve to name my sons something cool like this. (Conversely, Arminius, Pelagius, and Servetus would be very low on the list.)

3. Everyday we hear, “Poncho! I’m getting the broom!” from our aged neighbor’s yard. So we can’t name him “Poncho” or “Broom.”

4. My husband has to like it. (Again.)

Other than that, our standards are pretty loose.

There are several things I wish I knew by the age of 20. Thankfully, I managed to catch a good husband, as that is a decision with far reaching consequences. I’m slowly learning other good things, but I’m glad I didn’t mess up a big one.

As for other important stuff—like goal setting, buying a home, and always having a roll of duct tape handy– I’m learning as I go. But like I said, it would have been easier to read about some of these tricks in a manual during my teenage years. Life would’ve been easier, and it’s a shame that all the insight comes to me so late. Reading autobiographies of great people should be mandatory in your early years.

Today I will take a break from the fluff and tell you something useful. I assume that you agree that a simple life is worth pursuing, because readers of this weblog are pretty smart (even though you still read here). The “hows” and “whys” of simple living –that is, a life that is single focused on glorifying God and lives consciously with this in sight— are worth talking about. In fact, various brands of Consumer Christianity (e.g. where Jesus can be your Savior and not your Lord) is a byproduct of the church being silent on these issues. It allows you to live however you want as long as you’ve got OK theology.

My husband and I often stay up late talking about life, living, and God’s providence. One detail I’ve learned along the way is that a penny saved is much more than a penny earned. But what’s even better is to reduce your need for pennies in the first place. While working to produce a supplemental income is wise (especially if the plan is entrepreneurial in nature), one shouldn’t overlook the value of reducing expenses as a wise contribution as well.

Over the years, I’ve sought to enhance the family economy by contributing income. I’ve taught first grade, held piano lessons in my home, dabbled in real estate, and done odd jobs. Looking back, however, my greatest contribution has been saving money by reducing expenses.

Entire books have been written on the subject, but I think it can be boiled down to two key behaviors: staying home and practicing contentment. Leaving the house costs money and discontentment costs you more than just money. These two thoughts could be developed fully, but it is beyond the scope of a blog post.

As an aside, financial independence (or F.I.) is a goal of many people pursuing simplicity. Not so that they can afford more stuff, but so that they can be free from the corporate rat race. When you reduce your reliance upon others for your livelihood, you reduce the complexities in your life—as most people don’t have the same goals as you have. The good life for most people involves generous amounts of money, not more time with their families. (Most people won’t say this aloud, but if you look at our societal structure, it is obvious.) Achieving FI on a modest income, though, isn’t for the unimaginative. It takes some creativity.

FI is when your passive income exceeds your expenses. Common practice is to do all you can to maximize your income, but there is another way. There are only two variables in the equation (income and expenses), yet people often think that the income factor is the only variable. It’s not. Reducing your expenses is also a variable, and if you think of it this inverse way, the gap between the two is a lot smaller.

In my opinion, it is easier to reduce your expenses than it is to generate more capital. (For diehards, the deprivation is a game and brings satisfaction, not a sense of woe. “Look kids! A jump rope made out rolled, tied garbage bags! Woohoo!”) Plus, reducing your need for stuff is more in line with living simply. Generating more income without scrutinizing your outflow often leaves you on a hamster wheel that is difficult to get off.

Perhaps I haven’t mentioned anything new by telling you that staying home more and being content will help you live life more simply. However, maybe it is new to you that reducing your expenses is a profitable goal worth looking at. Whenever you can reduce your dependence on either the government or people with opposing goals, this is a good thing. As for us, we continue to take steps toward that end, but it sure would’ve been better if we’d started walking that direction about 10 years ago, like say, when I was 20.

To battle discontentment, I avoid TV, malls, and Better Homes and Garden magazine like the plague. These are my weak spots, and I know it. We all know that we need to be more content. Besides being a Biblical virtue, you’re easier to live with. Knowing your own triggers can help you in the battle.

We pulled up to our house in July 2001, and before we even got out of the car, I jumped up and down and told my husband that this was the house for us. The realtor beamed and my husband clasped his wallet tightly. It is a cute traditional Colonial, and I had visions of flowers and trellises surrounding the walkways. You couldn’t even see the walkways because of the overgrowth, but I was sure they were there. Yes, we were home.

Five years and a ton of work, money, and sweat later, it’s looking more as I imagined it would. To me, remodeling involves ordering a few dozen daffodils, sprinkling a little magic dust, and sipping tea on swaying rockers; my husband visions only include the reality of drywall dust, the Home Depot cashier, and spent weekends. He won’t admit it, but he likes gardens, trellises, and butterflies too. I’ve never heard him say as much, but I’m sure of it.

Women like to turn houses into homes, and I suppose I’m no different. Part of creating an inviting home, though, has nothing to do with flowers and the kitchen ceiling that we tore out. When the Bible describes the Proverbs 31 woman, a passing description convicts me every time: And in her tongue is the law of kindness (v. 26).

Here’s the situation. The phone rings. People are dropping by. You smile and coo that you’d love to have them. (This is genuine.) You hang up. You call in the troops. Then you bark like a mad woman, “You have exactly 13 minutes to get this house spic-and-span OR ELSE!” (What we really mean is, “Hurry up and make it look like nobody lives here.”) I’m not exactly sure what I mean by, “Or else,” as nobody has ever dared to consider another course of action.

While this example exposes more than just one sin, it is a good illustration of discontentment. A house with five young children living in it will never look like a Better Homes and Gardens spread. While there is nothing wrong with loveliness, it is always wrong to find satisfaction and contentment apart from Christ. Clean homes are good, but “better is a dry morsel with quietness than a house full of feasting with strife” (or moms who bark commands.) One day I will manage the two better (kindness and cleanliness), but if I can only manage one, isn’t kindness with contentment for my present circumstances the better choice?

Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
~Psalm 90:14

*John Piper’s Desiring God is a good book on the subject of satisfaction.

Watch the video.

I try to learn something new every day. Life provides many opportunities for this. Learning a new thing everyday isn’t a difficult task. In fact, I think you’d have to be asleep the whole day in order not to learn something.

Today I learned that the Christian life is not one of rights but of responsibilities. And so whenever I’m inclined to feel sorry for myself, I remember that each laborious task, each foot that I put in front of the other is another chance to exchange my life for His. Isn’t this the way He taught us to walk? There is a time to rest from your work, and there is a time to set your face to the wind. Knowing which action I called for –rest or work—is identified easily if I’m honest and not always talking aloud.

Today I also learned that I wouldn’t have to drive several hours to get fruit trees. (I mentioned a few months ago that I had located stock.) After much reading and research on the subject of dooryard fruit varieties in Florida, I settled on a few specific varieties adapted to the Florida climate. Today I walked into a retail nursery to pick up seeds for my fall vegetable garden, and I found peach, apple, and pear trees for 50% off! ($12.50 per tree is worth the experiment. I bought five; the peach tree does not need a pollinator.) These were all varieties that Florida horticulturist, Tom MacCubbin, recommends. (I listen to him on the radio and read his books, and I wonder what his yard looks like.) To say I’m excited is an understatement.

I hope that tomorrow’s lesson won’t be something I needed to know before planting. I’ve done my homework, and I hope this serves us well. The twigs trees are 5-6 feet tall, and we should expect a few fruits as early as next year on the peach and apple trees. I hold great hope for the pears and peaches; however, I’ve never personally met anyone with apples in Florida. But, these are special non-chilling kind of apples, so maybe people just don’t know about them yet…

We recently planted orange and grapefruit trees, and they’re doing well so far. We’re leaving just a couple of token fruits on the trees so we can sample it. (You should pinch off first year blooms to encourage root growth.) I’ve already learned not to count my chickens before they hatch, so I won’t rhapsodize on the matter any longer.

The final thing I learned today is that if you have a single consonant after a short vowel, then you should double the consonant before adding a suffix. (Not so if you have two consonants.) Some new things are more exciting than others are.

The end.

Morning Work
My neighbor laughed at my miniature orchard and wished me well yesterday. Perhaps he wasn’t humored so much by the trees but of my coddling them. You can’t just stick them in the ground and walk away. You have to pour money, I mean, special soil into them and give them lots of attention, especially in the beginning.

These trees need lots of water and tender, loving care. I still wonder how a puppy fits into the whole picture. Will I have time to stroke trees and a puppy? Remember, folks, you heard it here first: this is my husband’s dog. [Don’t fill the com-box with advice; my marriage issues are private, I tell you!] I can see it already, and I’m not even a fortuneteller. (They are bad and unbiblical.)

I decided that early morning is the best time to coddle my landscape. The sun is still bearable, the mosquitoes aren’t out, and the damp ground makes weeding easier. I noticed I was unusually hungry this morning. It seems early morning chores are good for the metabolism! (This, of course, applies to everyone except the recently pregnant woman, who always has those last few unmoving pounds. Nothing will help her except the flu.)

Housekeeping
A few posts back, some of you wondered aloud how to keep a house well when it is full of little ones. There are many methods and FlyLady tricks floating around the internet (none absolving you of plain hard work though), so I will just mention the one thing that keeps us together here at the Scott house.

Do not allow the children to go onto another room or activity without cleaning up the current one. (I hope the dog learns this rule quickly.) This means, at any given time during the day, you have only one room that is a federal disaster area. I could elaborate, but all the male readers (except Tim) would click on out of here. Just try it, and see if that doesn’t change your whole house.

[Okay. Well. Just one more little thing. Get rid of clutter! But you already knew that.]

Pollution
An often-quoted Bible verse (besides the regularly misinterpreted “Judge not” one) is James 1:27: Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress… However, there is actually more to the verse. I just noticed the end of the verse yesterday: and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

Real Reformed folks embrace the whole counsel of God, not just the grace verses. And so, I try to make an honest daily habit of examining my allegiance to Christ. Do I love him wholly? What “of the world” do I allow in my life? Can a person serve two masters? We know it is impossible.

The follow-up question here is: Can a dumb dog serve two masters? Because we all know that he’ll have two of them, not one.

There must be something programmed in the Y chromosome that inclines a boy to leave his rolled up socks all over the house. I have one-two-three girls, and none of them leave their socks anywhere but the hamper. Even our baby boy can’t keep his socks on. I would say something about my husband here, but remember, our marriage issues are private. Yes, stray socks are par for the course for the male gender.

Just as God places each member in the body as He sees fit (I Cor. 12:18), He also places each boy in each family on purpose. There is something special about raising boys. While I’ve heard mothers of boys complain of mud, noise, and too much ruckus, I’ve never heard one complain of boredom. There is always wisdom for the task ahead just for the asking. James 1:5-6 instructs: If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind.

As for girls, they’re all sugar and spice. Some are just heavier on the spice than others are, but that’s a discussion for another day.

Are Friday nights special in your family? We usually take a break from the routine: swim after dinner, have friends over, or do pizza and games. Nothing spectacular, but I always look forward to Fridays. Greg gets up with the kids on Saturday mornings, so now you know why we don’t have marriage issues.

Tonight, Greg took the kids and his dad to a minor league baseball game. Me? Bless th’ Lord, I’m going to a homebirth!

Beat that one.