For the last several weeks, I’ve stayed up way-too-late (past 11 p.m. is late) trolling the internet reading birth stories. Now, I’m not sure that minivan driving moms who bake cookies can actually be considered “trolling” the internet, but really, I’m not sure what else to call it. Isn’t trolling what weird people in basements do? It’s somewhat obsessive, and it’s time for me to get a life.

A hundred or so birth stories later, I’ve seen it all: the good, the bad, and the ugly. And I didn’t even have to leave my home for the ER, a birth center, or someone’s living room floor to see it. Technology is great.

But I’m birth story-ed out. I mean, it’s the same stuff over and over: she’s not sure she’s in labor, she decides she’s in labor, she knows she’s in labor, and right when she wants to quit the whole thing altogether—a baby is born. (Or in one case I read, two babies were born!) Lather, rinse, repeat.

We still have this obsessive need to tell our stories though. The urge is stronger than my good sense to go to bed. I just want to know that one of those good stories could happen to me. It’s possible. Seeing how I’ve done it five times already, I figure it’s my turn for one of those “lovely, peaceful” births. The kind where I don’t yell that I’m dying.

I’ve decided that since it happens to other people, it could theoretically happen to me. Other people find diamonds on deserted sidewalks, inherit millions, and get picked for Wheel of Fortune. Yes, I can almost taste it.

It’s my turn, do you hear me?!

It was just past bedtime and we were finishing a family game of Blokus. Instead of filing them up the stairs after the game, though, Greg told the children to “Loooad up!” They piled into the van. It could only be something good, and they knew it.

The surprise was a trip to get ice cream, but I tried to convince them that we were hauling old paint cans to the dump at 8:17 in the evening. “Nuh-uhhhh,” they hoped. Now, we’d tried this ice cream thing before with not-so-stellar results. I hoped this night would be different.

First I have to back up. We hit Dairy Queen for the first time as a family a few months ago (no, this isn’t some religious conviction), but it was more annoying than enjoyable. There were just too many choices: sprinkles or no sprinkles; dipped or not; cup, cone, or an over-priced specialty. What ever happened to measly vanilla cones? (You learn to keep things simple when you’re feeding a crowd.) Our kids didn’t know what to do with themselves. Too bad they could read and see all the pictures or else it would’ve been easier.

A twenty dollar bill with not-so-much-change left us with a mess of cold, drippy, sticky stuff. It was all too much, too sweet. It took a long time to figure out our order. Good thing, as we had a lot of time waiting in the drive-thru. Now I remembered why we’ve never done this before.

That evening on the way back home, I can remember the car ride like it was yesterday. The two preschoolers’ ice cream dripped faster than they could lick them. #2 didn’t like the sprinkles on her cone. All the crying from the backseat was getting annoying. The baby joined in the ruckus because nobody shared with him fast enough.

It wasn’t the first time I’ve ever looked over at Greg and asked, “You mean we paid money for all this?!” I say this to him every night when we’re sitting there with the dog, too.

So this recent night, we changed the strategy and did the pajama run to McDonald’s. Here at McDonald’s, you only can get either an ice cream cone or a sundae. Five bucks and change later, we all pulled away happy. It makes me wonder if choices aren’t the epitome of a good culture, but rather people in a culture who are content with either chocolate or vanilla. Nothing dripped, nobody cried, and the order only took 30 seconds to figure. Greg was happy about the bill, and I was happy about the backseat noise.

After about 2,000 miles, we’re home again. (I’ll try to post a map later.) Most everyone has a cold, but still, it feels good to be home. We got in late last night after a 12-hour drive. It was our third day in a row of being in the van for 10+ hours.

Just saying that I didn’t ditch my blog or anything.

We headed out last Monday to our denomination’s annual synod meeting. We are members of the Associate Reformed Presbyterian church, and Greg attended as our church’s elder delegate. The children and I tagged along for fun, but as it turned out in the beginning, the only fun would be the kind that we created ourselves.

I’m not “into” family trips with lots of young’ns. Which means, I haven’t been excited to hit the road for nine years now. Greg is the optimist, which is easier to be when both boys in the family are either in diapers or able to take care of themselves in public restrooms. The girls are all mine. Moms with young girls will understand my sentiment.

Our first stop was at a working farm in South Carolina. Buying something that could support our family is something we’ve talked about for several years now. We enjoyed seeing an operation up close, and the owner gave us several hours of an upfront view. (We were potential buyers, not tourists.) The farm’s main product is pre-picked and U-pick berries. The small store onsite sells grass-fed beef, raw milk, and wheat berries from other local farms.

The children enjoyed the woods, the lake, and picking berries. Our two oldest even got to drive the golf cart around the property, and this was very impressive to them. I’m glad they are easily excited.

We had many questions which our host graciously answered. He started the operation just ten years ago as a city slicker too. He said most things are learned from the community of local farmers. It seems they are a breed that stick together and help each other. I’ve found this to be true in many rural areas here in the south, so long as you are genuinely interested and humble. We know nothing of running a commercial venture. Too, since my gardening knowledge is limited to a Florida climate, I find it incredibly easy not to act like a know-it-all.

From the farm, we traveled onto Flat Rock, NC, where the synod meeting would be held that week. We pulled into our hotel at 10 p.m. Since we’d been on the road since 5:30 a.m., it was good to finally end the day.

When we arrived, however, the hotel office was closed! Too appreciate this fully, you have to know that I’m expecting, and we have five small cranky children in the backseat. (There was nothing wrong with Greg, though.) We were a little baffled since there was no mention of the office closing at 8 p.m. on our reservation confirmation. So the baby is crying, there are no vacancies in town (due to synod), and the office is dark. We’ve traveled a long way, and while we sat there, I felt like Clark Griswold.

After several phone calls, we found out that they gave away our room too. In the end, our old pastor gave up his room to us and moved to another. We sorted all this out in a dark parking lot late at night. It took about an hour. Greg is impervious to pressure and so all this was no big deal. If you remember, he was a youth pastor for many years before we married.

Our children get up with the daylight no matter what time they go to bed, so the second day of our trip began like any other—early. My idea of a good time is sleeping, and it’s too bad for me that nobody else thinks that too. I can sleep when I get old if I make it that long.

I’m not sure what I thought I’d be doing all day with five children while Greg attended meetings, but that’s typical. I don’t think “how am I going to do this” until after the fact. It just takes too much energy, and I’ve got to spend my time being a visionary. The planning and “how to” is for other people. It’s why we have five little children with another on the way.

The first step was to get food for the crowd. Breakfast was leftover snacks found under the van seats, and we needed something else to get through the day. Greg brought back an assortment of fruit, sandwich fixings, yogurt, and microwave popcorn. Now we could get on with it.

After stepping over, onto, and into so many bodies in a 400 square foot space, we had to get out. We took the crew down to the lake, which wasn’t so daunting since Greg was there. His meetings didn’t begin until the evening. We paddled around and had a pleasant time –until the baby started crying and the two-year-old threw up.

Greg, bless his heart, handled the babies while I stayed with the older three children. (I know how to delegate and he knows how to score big.) They paddled around and really started to have a good time. You could hear the wind in the trees and the birds in the branches. Just at that moment, though, the office manager (who couldn’t be found the night before) came over to inform us that every boat had to have an adult in it. I looked around for another miscellaneous adult, but there were none. (Maybe they were locked out too.) There wasn’t a sign about the boat rules, so we didn’t know.

You can imagine my dilemma. I already feel like I can’t be in five places at once, and now he confirms the obvious. It’s the perpetual struggle of the modern mother. It doesn’t matter that they can all swim well, are wearing life jackets, and are paddling in three feet of water. Rules are rules and the Scotts obey them. So that ended that.

It wasn’t long until I’d be on my own. Day Two: cranky baby, vomiting toddler, and bored elementary trio. Greg had to leave (smart guy) and the fun was just getting started. It’s a good thing that I’m experienced. Now I just had to think of a plan.

The next few days were the kind that you just get through if you’re the mother. I’d like to say that I came up with an ingenious plan for keeping the children busy while Greg was in synod meetings, but as it happened, someone already thought of one for me. As a homeschooling, sheltering, locking-my-kids-in-the-basement* mother, I did what any religious zealot would do in the situation: I dropped them off at the activity sessions.

I didn’t know that there would be a rock climbing wall, a zip line, and Dodge Ball. Thankfully though, other ARP mothers trapped in hotel rooms in years past thought of how to keep the kids busy. So, my two oldest spent several hours a day running off some energy.

That left me with three children. (Yes, this is a break.) During naps, I made phone calls and appointments for properties in the area. I followed leads, ruled out possibilities, and calculated prices per acre. I already knew that land is more expensive in the area, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t deals to be found. Even if we didn’t end up there, this research is all part of my education. When we come across “the” piece, I can look at Greg and say with some credibility, “Hey, I’ve looked at thousands of properties over the last three years, and this is the one.” He trusts me.

Between sessions, I dragged the whole family on a “this might be the one” tour. When there aren’t any animals on the property to pet, the children usually get cranky. It seemed that the folks in North Carolina kept skiddish horses, and no Little Red Hens and Billy Goats. The kids were bored. I’m trusting that one day, though, they will all thank me. I’m sure of it.

We toured some of Polk County, as it was listed as one of the Top 10 Best Places to Live in Progressive Farmer magazine. There was a hobby farm in our budget there, but as is usual, the pictures left out a lot of blemishes. It wasn’t for us. As it happened, I actually more enjoyed the mountain town of Flat Rock, NC with it’s charming old homes with window boxes.

In the evenings, Greg and I sat on the back porch breathing in the cool mountain air while the children slept. There were lightning bugs. We mistook the sound of a penny whistle player across the lake for a bird. We talked about the future just as if we were a newlywed couple again. The moments are there if you are slow enough to notice them.

We made it through the week without too much trouble. We had planned to go home on Friday, but Greg talked me into “swinging by” Tennessee on our way home. An optimist uses a thousand miles out-of-the-way with five little kids to “swing by.” As for me, I considered it a “treacherous journey” wrought with McDonald’s, public restrooms, and a car weary baby.

Thankfully, my doomsday attitude is sometimes rewarded with surprises. Things were about to turn well. In the end, I’d have to thank Greg for talking me into the Tennessee trip. He always loves to be adored and applauded and is grateful for the privilege of being right every now and then.

*Florida homes do not have basements.

Interrupting the 2,000 mile trip saga to post the live webcast of this morning’s Atlas V launch. If you’re interested in this sort of thing, here’s the link.

Continuing on down the road, we left the mountains of North Carolina for a little town in southern Tennessee. We were already road weary, but a local told us that the trip should only take five hours. We could handle that. Why it took us seven hours with no mishaps, I can’t say. But this is the story of my life, so I should’ve known. It was a Saturday afternoon with no holiday traffic.

Our first stop was a little five acre place. I found the place for sale online and talked occasionally with the owners over the last several months. (We weren’t looking for five acres, but I worked the possibility of buying acreage from an adjoining parcel.) They were a wealth of information on the area and didn’t seem to mind all my questions. In fact, she called me a couple times with other leads. Only in the country…

When we pulled on down the lane, we had our first inkling that our search may have ended. There was a drought in the area, and the first rain had just ended. Everything was still, as if it were concentrating on soaking in every drop. Amish farms lined the narrow road, and their haystacks were piled in teepees by pitchfork. Black and white Holsteins grazed pasture, and the corn rows went as far as you could see. The homes were modest, plain, but well-kept. Handmade signs for vegetables, butter, and lumber hung by the roadside.

The farmhouse we were inquiring about had all the modern conveniences inside, but maintained a somewhat plain façade. There were barns and other out-buildings where barnyard cats, chicks, a sheep, and bunnies-for-sale were kept. A little pond sat on the front of the property. Our children made friends real quick with the owners’ three children, and that was that. They were off, and I felt fine with letting them go. As far as I could tell, there wouldn’t be any speeding cars whizzing by their play area.

From this stop, we traveled on the back country roads to visit with Greg’s aunt, who lives in a little town in northern Alabama. She was quite the host, with the seven of us invading her home. She was one of nine children living during the Depression, though, and they managed with one bathroom. This was nothing to her, I suppose, since we had three bathrooms at her house. This is the best part about not being in a hotel room, besides the lovely conversation from our hosts.

Greg, I, and the two smallest children left the next day at sunup to visit about 12 properties in the area. While there were several nice places, none were a good fit for one reason or another. The day left us exhausted—traipsing through woods, off-roading bumpy acreage, and eating bites of a sandwich in between stops. Yet, we weren’t discouraged, as years of research finally paid off. We’d found a nice place, and nobody knew enough about it to drive the prices up sky-high.

I’ve mentioned our reasons for relocating several times—the largest reason being economic. It’s difficult to write plainly on the matter, as I must remember this is the internet. But let me tell you the four criteria that we were looking for: significantly cheaper cost of living, a conservative reformed church nearby, a major city within an hour, and a climate/community hospitable to growing food.

It doesn’t seem that these four things would be difficult to find in one spot, but it is. There was always at least one factor missing, usually the “reformed church” one. Here in southern Tennessee, we found the cost of living to be about 70% of our current location; an ARP church; Huntsville and Nashville within an hour either way; and an organic community of farmers. While it wasn’t a stipulation, we found several other appealing factors in this area: a hospital and major shopping a five-minute drive away; a thriving, organic Old-Order Amish community; mild winters; mountains; family and another blogger-you’d-love-to-meet (and I did) living nearby.

Well, that’s enough writing for now. We have a few leads we’re following up on (some people who know this guy who heard about something that might be coming up for sale…), and I’ll write again on the subject when I actually have something to say.

Well, I’m late posting on the topic of Father’s Day, but I prefer to think that I’m just 363 days early. Greg preached this past Sunday, using a genealogical text from I Chronicles 1. Reports are in that nobody fell asleep. I thought of that when I read this yesterday:

“Lord, I find the genealogy of my Savior strangely checkered with four remarkable changes in four immediate generations. (1) Rehoboam begat Abijah; that is, a bad father begat a bad son. (2) Abijah begat Asa; that is, a bad father begat a good son. (3) Asa begat Jehoshaphat; that is, a good father a good son. (4) Jehoshaphat begat Joram; that is, a good father a bad son. I see, Lord, from hence that my father’s piety cannot be entailed; that is bad news for me. But I see also that actual impiety is not always hereditary; that is good news for my son.”

~Father and Son, by Philip E. Howard.

Onto more Father’s Day talk, funny man, Todd Wilson, shares this advice for the ladies:

This is the topic I’ve been waiting for. In fact, I almost feel like Joseph - that God sent me here for such a time as this. It’s been my dream to make Father’s Day the second most celebrated holiday of the year. I envision the Father’s Day tree, fathering carols, and maybe even the 12 days of Father’s Day. That’s what I dream about happening. More likely, I’ll get a few cards that were handmade two minutes before they’re handed to me. And maybe we’ll go out to McDonald’s, and I’ll get a Big Mac.

BUT let me give you a heads up about the perfect Father’s Day gift for your husband. One that, if applied all year long, will make him a better father, husband, and spiritual leader . . . and it’s NOT a tie.

All you have to do is . . . hang on his arm and tell him his muscles are big. That’s it. I guarantee that will pump him up and get you the man of your dreams.

Practically, it looks like this:

1) Husband helps get the kids dressed for church - you resist the urge to redress them and instead say, “Thanks for getting the kids ready. I sure do appreciate your help.”

2) During church, reach over and squeeze his arm and whisper, “You are so strong.”

3) After he’s had his undisturbed nap, sit on the edge of the couch and say, “Thanks for working so hard to take care of us.”

4) And of course after the kids are in bed, wrap your arms around him and tell him, “Wow! You’re the best.”

Do that often and not only will you give your husband the best Father’s Day of his life, but he will also become more involved in your life, family life, and homeschooling. Guaranteed.

Be Real,
Todd

OK, well, that’s it from them me for now.

My journal of our recent road trip generated some questions. In this space, I’ll tell you how I researched real estate from home. Hopefully, some things I learned might be useful to you.

Know your goals
Since we are Christians, we submit all our plans to God. Some of the things we are interested in are: living below our means so that Greg can leave the “rat race” earlier, keeping our family geographically together long-term, and growing food (for hobby, economic, health, and dependence reasons). These seem like worthwhile goals, but our first priority is “if the Lord wills.”

If you are just looking for adventure, book a whitewater rafting trip. The Ocoee River is pretty good.

Narrow your search
We were able to narrow our search to the southeastern US and Missouri for a few reasons. Climate, price, and convenience for Greg’s work travel were the three reasons for us. Florida, Georgia, and most Carolina prices were higher than we were willing to pay, and we never heard of any people who actually lived in Mississippi—so we were able to narrow our search to certain pockets of the southeast.

I’ve seen snow less than a handful of times. Greg was concerned about choosing a northern area with harsh winters (though, he and the kids would love it) when there wasn’t a reason to. I think it’s freezing in the 60’s, so I’m guessing that he just didn’t want to hear it from me for eight months a year.

Prioritize your search
Yesterday I mentioned that our four criteria for relocation were: significantly cheaper cost of living, a conservative reformed church nearby, a major city within an hour, and a climate/community hospitable to growing food. I could’ve saved a lot of time if I started with the cities wherein a perfect suitable church could be found. This was the most tricky to find. We don’t find it difficult to worship with those who are different from ourselves, but a church that adheres to the Westminster Confession is a more suitable long-term situation for us.

Begin with the criteria that will be most difficult to fulfill and work from there. I found a ton of great deals, perfect homes, and babbling creeks. The problem was that none of them met any of the other criteria. I could’ve saved countless hours if I would’ve thought of prioritizing first.

If you don’t have a work-from-home or independent income source, I’d guess that securing a job would be the first priority. If you work in a profession with high turnover rates, such as nurses and teachers, this is usually not a problem.

Know your search tools
It wasn’t terribly difficult to spent hundreds of hours over the course of several years looking at real estate. I happen to be a real estate junkie. (I even roped Greg into getting his real estate license for our use.) The problem was that I was wandering aimlessly. Never fear, though, you can start here.

I know this list doesn’t exhaust every search tool, but here are a few that I found quite helpful.

(1) Church denomination websites, under “Find a Church”
(2) City Data dot Com, for helpful demographics and usually a list of schools
(3) United Country, for real estate not found in MLS
(4) Realtor dot Com, follow the link to the listing agent’s website for more pictures and information and make sure you use the “advanced” search tool
(5) RealTracs, middle Tennessee property finder
(6) Land and Farm, properties for sale by owner
(7) Google [town, state] yellow pages, this is a quick way to browse the area: churches, hospitals, or whatever
(8) HSLDA by state, a quick reference for homeschool laws state-by-state
(9) Talk to people (especially locals), ask questions
(10) Cost of living calculator

* Please feel free to add more helpful sites in the comment box.

Hit the road
While you can save a lot of time by doing legwork beforehand, there’s nothing like being there. I can’t tell you how many times we pulled in somewhere and I said, “Uh, this doesn’t look anything like the pictures. There was no mention of the interstate behind the house on the description…”

Conversely, when we drove through the northern Tennessee town of Livingston a year ago, the charm of the downtown square left an impression on me. It’s a nice place.

Have fun
Patience is a virtue. We’re the kind of folks who enjoy roots in the community. I was born in Orlando and made my first move an hour away six years ago. That’s it.

Considering a move can be a stressful thing, especially if you have houseful of little ones. Make sure your goals are worthy ones. If you’re not happy where you’re at, you won’t be happy wherever you’re going.

By the title of this entry, I hope you won’t assume that Greg and I are in a big fight. We’re not. It’s just that I’ve been meditating on these words as I consider how we are instructed to get along with one another.

Now, I’m not considering matters of sin but of conscience. Sometimes women are prone to bandwagons, which seem good in themselves. Some of them even come with proof texts. The problem is that sometimes the good thing violates a larger principle. And sometimes our contrarians are just saving us from ourselves. We need wisdom if our suffering is to be for Jesus’ sake and not for our own stupidity:

Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, envying one another. Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness. Keep watch on yourself, lest you too be tempted. Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. For if anyone thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself. (Galatians 5:26 – 6:3 ESV)

May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. (Rom 15:5-6 ESV)

And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all. See that no one repays anyone evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to everyone. Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. (1 Thessalonians 5:14-18 ESV)

The king’s heart is a stream of water in the hand of the LORD; he turns it wherever he will. Every way of a man is right in his own eyes, but the LORD weighs the heart. To do righteousness and justice is more acceptable to the LORD than sacrifice. (Proverbs 21:1-3 ESV)

Likewise, wives, be subject to your own husbands, so that even if some do not obey the word, they may be won without a word by the conduct of their wives– when they see your respectful and pure conduct. (I Peter 3:1-2 ESV)

Two comments/questions arose from my last entry:

1. Amy: how does the verse “be ye subject one to another” fit into the idea of respectful disagreement/submission?

2. Those are excellent truths to remember in any disagreement with anyone, especially husbands. But I have never seen the title of your post effectively dealt with — what to gently, kindly, and graciously say if one’s husband’s thinking is on the wrong track in a certain situation.

Another title I could’ve given that entry was, “Well, what does that passage in Ephesians 5 look like anyway?” There wasn’t any commentary from me last time for two reasons. The first is because it was my point to show that the Scriptures are always sufficient. A plain reading of the text will give us an order of how God does things. Here it is:

Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church, his body, and is himself its Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit in everything to their husbands.

Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body. “Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.” This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church. However, let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband.

The second reason I didn’t add commentary is because my time hasn’t come for me to share my experience on the matter. My husband is great, but I haven’t always been under such godly authority. Many of us at some time along the way will find ourselves in a very tough spot because those we must submit to are evil: civil authorities, employers, parents, and even the rare church elder. We can find our comfort and direction here in the Scriptures.

God, in his foreknowledge and sovereignty, knew that we’d disagree. While redeemed from the curse of sin, we still battle it in this life. (Romans 7:7-25, I John 1:8) What to do then? How can husbands and wives love each other and demonstrate the relationship between Christ and the Church here and now?

And so, God created an order. We see that order in the above passage. There cannot be two masters, two captains, two heads.

As for mutual submission, this is right and good. The husband lays down his life, loves his wife, and cleanses her by washing her in the Word of God. The wife loves and submits to her husband. But we haven’t answered the one million dollar question, I know.

What, then, should happen if the wife says, “Go left!” and the husband says, “No, right!” The wise husband will listen to his wife’s counsel, considering it to the degree that she shows wisdom in other areas. By getting understanding and wisdom, she is able to win over her husband. (see also I Peter 3:1-2) But the final word is his word, and he will answer for it.

The Lord made a way for those times we’d disagree. He knew that there’d be times that waiting, splitting the difference, or compromise wouldn’t be options. And so, there is an order because God is orderly. Wives should yield, as God will honor their obedience.

And what of “be ye subject one to another”? Does this mean I hold equal authority with my husband? Consider the verse in its context (which is the same way that we consider all Scripture—in its framework from Genesis to Revelation):

Likewise, ye younger, submit yourselves unto the elder. Yea, all of you be subject one to another, and be clothed with humility: for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble. I Peter 5:5

Before we are told to be subject to one another, God tells us exactly how His economy works: the younger submit to the older (and likewise, wives to their husbands). He established an order. How interesting that these instructions are back-to-back!

Is God a schizophrenic? Did He just contradict Himself? At first there’s a hierarchy and then there’s a democracy? We know this isn’t so, and so, we understand mutual submission in the context of His whole counsel. To those who lead–pastors their flock, mothers their children, presidents their countries, husbands their wives—they need understanding.

Don’t be hard-headed; instead, be humble. Whether you lead or follow, this is the right way. Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought. And what if your authority is truly a fool? When you must submit, do not think of yourself as suffering under some random authority. Remember Joseph.

God knows all of this, and it is not a surprise. “The king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord.” He controls it all. Submit to your authority without sin as unto the Lord. This is an offering to Him. This pleases Him.

Difficult situations don’t require an egalitarian or democratic response. We worship Him and show His glory best when follow His ways. This doesn’t mean this is the easy path, just that it’s the right path.

I’m glad for the few weeks we’re taking off from normal schoolwork this summer. I know that we just got back from traveling around and looking at farms for sale, but that didn’t stop Greg from hitting the road again when another lead came up. At this point, for time and economy reasons, Greg has been traveling alone on these excursions and doing his regular work from wireless laptop connections. I got word through the grapevine that an abandoned (interpretation: in really bad shape) Amish farm was coming up for sale, so Greg followed up on that this week.

If following our journey these past few years by reading my entries on the subject has been painful, imagine our own weariness. Buying an existing farmstead takes careful thought enough, but buying one without an energy source, septic, or running water is trickier. So far this week, I’ve had discussions with the EPA, the local extension agent, the USDA, the local power company, and the health department. I still need to talk with an environmental consultant and understand all our options.

We’ve been down this road before. I remember back when Greg and I were newlyweds and applied to be long-term missionaries in China. We really thought this was the path our lives were going to take, and we researched and educated ourselves in depth. In the end, through God’s providence, we were rejected by several missionary and English-teaching organizations for one reason or another.

It’s common to lament all the time, energy, and resources spent on a certain prospect if it doesn’t pan out in the end, but I don’t think so. This is life. In the end, we understand a lot more than we did in the beginning, and we’re no worse for the wear.