I’ve been unplugged since my last entry. Now, when I say “unplugged,” I really mean it. We closed on our property last week. It is an older Amish house on 54 acres, so we were without electricity and water. Going without electricity wasn’t bad at all, it was a lack of water that made things difficult. Even the Amish have a water source, but ours wasn’t hooked up yet. More on that later, though. After we regroup over here, I’ll give an update, details, and pictures. For now, I’m really busy flipping our kitchen sink on and off, on and off.

We were on the road before 6 a.m. early Wednesday morning last week. Our trailer was packed to the brim with the first of many loads we were taking to our new place. The closing was scheduled for Thursday, so we had plenty of time to get there. We estimated it being a 14 – 15 hour trip, with an extra hour because of the heavy load we were carrying. Our plan was to drive up to Chattanooga and rest there the first night. This is normally a 10 hour drive for us.

We were only on the interstate for an hour when the first trailer tire blew out. It seemed quite early for trouble to start, but I was glad to be stranded while it was still cool outside. Thankfully, the tire was on the right-hand side, so Greg was in somewhat of a better position to be changing a tire while cars and 18-wheelers flew by at 70 – 80 mph. The jack was a bit dinky, so it took a half hour to change the tire. My job was to keep law and order in the van: “Do NOT unbuckle your seatbelts.”

My oldest son decided to ponder the sovereignty of God in the situation and suggested, “Maybe God doesn’t want us to move.” I told him that these things happen and that we shouldn’t look for a sign under every rock.

After we got back on the road, Greg and I decided that we ought to get another spare tire just in case. He’d drop me and the children off in a few hours for lunch while he bought another spare tire.

It wasn’t too long after devising our plan (but before implementing it) that the second trailer tire blew out. This time it was on the left side, and this time we didn’t have another spare yet. This is where the story gets long, complicated, and sticky.

We left the trailer and traveled 3 miles onto the next exit. The best chance for tires was about 15 – 18 miles back the other way we were told, so we turned back to hit the Wal-Mart Supercenter. It turns out that this Wal-Mart didn’t have tires, but a nearby heavily iron-barred pawn shop advertising “EZ loans” did. This was the kind of place that sells automotive bling, and I just knew this was going to turn into some Chevy Chase scene.

Apparently, our recently purchased trailer had been outfitted with car tires and not trailer tires, so Greg was scalped for three new tires (two for the trailer, one as a spare). We were spared in an act of sovereign graciousness souped-up tires; “Man, you want plain white-wall tires?!” When we returned to our abandoned trailer and Greg began working on it on the more dangerous left side, we discovered that the 5 bolt—whatever inch tires didn’t have the bolts in the same place. So it was forward 3 miles and back another 15 to the pawn shop.

By now, the children are beginning to fall apart, and my toddler decides to lick the floor inside the shop that hasn’t seen a mop for at least 50 years. He never licks the floor—except for today. A few hours go by and my oldest son ponders the sovereignty of God in the situation again, “Maybe God doesn’t want us to move.”

I agreed this time.

By now, it had been EIGHT HOURS and we were only two hours away from home. I suggested going on and leaving the trailer since there were only odds and ends on it anyway. I suggested turning around and crawling back under the covers at home.

What we did instead was press on. I entertained the kids with “Mother-May-I?” in the pawn shop parking lot and hiked with my crew to a carpet store to use the restrooms.

After we sorted out the tire situation and cleaned out the roaches we’d acquired at the stop, we were back on the road. We made it to Chattanooga after 17+ hours. It was midnight and everyone was miserable. I’m 30+ weeks pregnant; I’m not sure what everyone else’s excuse was.

The next morning Greg opened his Bible (not to whack a misbehaving kid with it) and read words that were an admonishment for our attitudes the day before and prophetic for the days to come, “Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say, ‘Rejoice.’”

Our second day went better than the first. There was no road trouble if you exclude all the close calls with bad drivers, and we only had about five hours of driving ahead of us.

If you remember, I trusted Greg’s judgment in putting a contract on the place without my having seen it. He brought home lots of video and pictures and I felt confident about the purchase. We’ve been looking at property for several years now. Our close watch of the market not only allowed us to watch prices climb higher and higher, it enabled us to get an idea of what we wanted and what we didn’t.

When we were close, Greg cued the song we’d been listening to for a month straight now– our theme song, Knee Deep in Bluegrass. I knew something was wrong when my engineer, aerial photo guru, GPS boy said, “Yeah, I think this is it…Wait. No. It’s just ahead. OK, here we are.”

The reason we couldn’t see the place was because the weeds were 10 feet high.

This is the driveway and pond we couldn’t find. This picture was taken a few months ago, though. However, all 6 ponds were still full. We think some of them must be spring fed.

The drought didn’t suppress the weeds. I could see how the place kind of looked like the pictures once I situated myself a little better. Yes. There. I just had to use more imagination than I intended to.

We signed papers, unloaded our things, and began exploring. Greg made a few trips down to the pond for water to flush the (very gross and abandoned) toilet for us. At that moment, every fly in the state descended upon us and our food. It was hot. It was sticky. And we needed water.

No problem. The water would be coming the next day.

The next day came. We met several neighbors and talked at length with two contractors we were interviewing to install electric, water, flooring, and cabinetry in the house. This Amish house has walls and the basic structure, but we still need to finish it out. (This is why we don’t plan to make the final move for a few months.) We measured, sketched, and noted which windows needed replacing.

[I believe I only made one serious faux pas with a neighbor. He told me that bush hogging is done by the air. “By the air? I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand.” He replied in two syllables, “HO-UR.” I’m such an idiot.]

The children were not bored, and I was glad to see it. They named the guineas and the ponds, and they rode down the hill in the wagon. But they were dirty.

We decided to wash up before we left to meet some folks who invited us over for worship. The water people came and Greg went down to the shut-off spot which is pretty far from the house. He turned it on.

I heard this gushing noise. Apparently, a line wasn’t capped in the kitchen. While trying to turn knobs and other stuff, I started yelling, “Turn it off! Turn it off!” but Greg couldn’t hear me. I sent the kids down the hill and around the barn to tell him. By the time they found him (one of the problems of having more than a city lot), the water had been pouring for several minutes.

We cleaned up the mess and went on to our new friends’ house.

We are converting the Amish house on the inside, but we’ll keep the simpleness of the facade. Gardens, flowers, and trellises will be the only additions.

One of the beautiful blessings we received with this move is more invitations than we could possibly accept. I’ve received emails from all over Kentucky with offers of dinner, help, and places to stay as we get situated. I can’t tell you how neat this is to us and how good it makes us think of the Body of Christ.

We worshipped that evening with about 60 people in an old tobacco barn that had been converted to a house. It was more refreshing than running water. We sang, prayed, and enjoyed meeting our new friends. It was the confirmation we needed that this wasn’t going to be a complete disaster. There are good things coming.

When Jesus said that man does not live by bread alone, I understood a little more of it considering our somewhat annoying circumstances so far. We were tired physically, but after that evening, we were refreshed. (We were safe and healthy, and that’s why I consider these inconveniences only mildly annoying.) After several days, we were still without power and water, though the power part wasn’t bad at all. The flies were incredibly annoying and seemed increasingly more interested in us as our smells grew. It’s hard to sleep as it is, and so my insomnia worsened. We were hot, sticky, tired, and dirty, but we were encouraged.

This is the other building: Greg’s New Yankee (Confederate?) Workshop. He will have a nice set-up here. He is a great carpenter. I am so glad that he gets a bigger space for his tools. I will have a sewing corner in the laundry room, so I’m getting a workspace too.

Another day went by and I met some blogging friends in real life. We had 26 (+1) children between the four of us. It is no wonder that we know each other from MOMYS, which stands for Moms of Many Young Siblings. I hugged them (lightly) even though I’d been many days without a shower. I ended up asking one of them for a room that night. We all needed showers, and plus, it’d put us about an hour closer for the long drive home the next day.

We made it back home without incident, and we are grateful to the Lord for His goodness, especially that shown through His people that we’d never met before.

We plan to move after the baby is born and after the house is finished. We’ll have water by then… I hope.

…you ever hear an electronic beeping sound in the middle of the night, be sure to check underneath all the kids’ refrigerator finger paintings to see if it is the automatic reminder for your dog’s heartworm pill. This tidbit just might save you a half hour of your life.

For years now, I’ve called my grandmother weekly. We have this ritual, and it goes something like this: “Hi Granny.” “Oh, hi, Honey. My knees are really aching me. It’s going to rain, you know.” It’s always about to rain, even when it’s not. Then, she’ll tell me about her back, her neck, her heart, and all the other aches and pains her 81-year-old body is enduring.

I don’t mind, as I imagine that I’ll probably moan worse later on about my aches and pains. My husband would tell you I’m very bad about it already. Yesterday, though, it occurred to me that for the first time, my own list of pains was quite longer than an old lady’s list. After she finished with her ailments (but before she went into her speech about what’s wrong with this country and how Hitler once had all the answers), I mentally noted my own long list: nausea, back pain, acid reflux, sleep deprivation, various cold symptoms, and general feeling of wanting to jump out of my skin. I didn’t mention it aloud, of course.

My husband has been reading selections to me in the evenings from Piper’s Life as a Vapor. After he reads, he’ll tell me that I shouldn’t despair about my uncomfortable state, and then I’ll say, “Easy for you to say when you’re not the one throwing up.” But then I’ll concede that the point he just read is valid. We are made for God’s glory, and we are here for only a short while.

Life is a vapor, and I’m reminded of this at every turn. Our friend, a young mother, was taken to eternity recently without warning. We expected death later, and we were shocked when it encroached on us earlier. Holly wrote yesterday about visiting the graves of infant children, and I was reminded of a similar experience and reaction. When we visited an old graveyard last summer, I noted to Greg the remarkable number of children and infants who slept there. It is not that way anymore; newborn, infant, and childhood death is a rarity. But how do we repay God for His sparing us modern folks this once common heartbreak? Often, with immature theology and no respect for His omniscience.

This two-minute video sums it up nicely:

The message of the tiny book, Life As a Vapor, I think, is that since our time is short, we ought to live (and suffer) in such a way that makes Christ look great. Since we are His and He is ours, our satisfaction in Him (which includes the tiniest details of how He orders things, including our troubles) brings Him the most glory. The heavens declare His glory and we ought to too. It’s what we were made for.

Since my husband returns from a business trip tomorrow, the kids and I have been working on surprising him with a recitation of Psalm 100. Some guys get a steak dinner for a welcome, but you know, we keep it spiritual around here. I’ll try not to blow it. I mean, my kids do a fine job at reciting, but I still have to peek at some words at the end. It’s part of getting older, I guess.

One trick I figured out for the real little ones is to leave a word out and have them fill-in-the-blank. Like this, “Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth. Worship the LORD with [Bekah?]” The answer is “gladness,” so you have to smile and point to your cheeks. Seems to be working, as she’s doing better than her ole mom.

Which reminds me of this tape we bought several years ago. It’s long lost now—probably in the deep recesses of our old couch that went to charity. Anyway, it’s pretty preschool-ish, but Greg and I got into it all the same. It’s the easiest way in the world to memorize 26 verses—one for each letter of the alphabet. I think, though, you should really have little kids in your house or van before you start jiving to it. It might seem strange otherwise.

Even though we lost the tape years ago, my older two are still able to sing most of the verses. We used to make it a family game to see who could remember the verse to every letter of the alphabet, and tonight with so many years behind us, we were still able to recall about half of them. I know we could do them all if we were just prompted with the first word. Music is neat that way.

In other news, we only ate frozen waffles for lunch twice, the laundry doesn’t stink yet, and the dog escaped while Greg was away. But he came back. Too bad.

There is a list going around the internet, “25 Skills Every Man Should Know: The List, Ready for Your Debate.” Some of the items in the list are right-on: build a campfire, change the oil and filter, and paddle a canoe. Greg corrected my canoe maneuvering before we married, and that was very romantic. It’s just the way I like things.

Since I am raising several girls, I will tell them that there are certain essential man qualities one should look for in a mate. [Actually, I probably won’t say much as every man will be measured against their dad, and well, I just feel sorry for all of them… Greg can fly a plane, build a house, launch rockets, and manage a small herd of children in the check-out lane.] My girls will hopefully esteem character above everything else, but you know, if you want some heat in your marriage, it helps to marry a guy who can build a fire. I also like my man to open the pickle jar. I’m just saying.

There are some qualities on the list that I’ll tell them to bypass, like “hook up an HDTV”, but really, there are still some fun things here that I like to leave to the guys. Maybe it’s because I’m still a romantic at heart or maybe it’s a reaction against our gender neutral society that hates God’s natural order—whatever the case, it’s just cool when women let the guys change the oil. What’s more—guys like us to like them changing the oil. But shhhh, they’re not allowed to tell you that anymore!

This is all in fun, of course. But what about the ladies? Are there certain skills they should know? What’s important and what isn’t? Off the top of my head, I’m thinking they should know: CPR, how to use jumper cables, basic self-defense moves, how to have a debate without getting personally offended, and how to stay germ-free in a public restroom.

Now, there are some things everyone should learn sometime, like #6 on the list: Back up a trailer. I met some of our new neighbors up in Kentucky while trying out this skill. I actually meant to do this. So, Greg crosses his fingers and lets me off the property with the trailer, and well, I certainly didn’t surprise him with the kerfluffle I found myself in—down a skinny lane on someone’s private property with an entourage of ATV’s, dogs, and traffic coming at me. I’m not usually an idiot.

So the guys pull up to me after seeing that I wasn’t doing some kind of three-point backup, “Hey, how good are ya at backing that thing up?” I had to tell them that this was my first time driving a trailer and that I hadn’t practiced going in reverse yet. They got a good laugh and suggested a field way down yonder for me to turn around in so that I wouldn’t have to back up. Now, if I were a guy, I bet they would’ve been less amused and more bewildered and just told me to back up the thing. But I’m a girl so it was all good.

It seems that my three-year-old must be listening to our evening readings. Earlier this morning, she was standing at the sink when her older sister “touched” her on the arm. This was not agreeable to her. So with her eyebrows lowered and her finger wagging, she accused loudly, “EVILDOER!”

It is not only three-year-olds who misappropriate Bible text and language, but at least she is old enough not to know any better. My seven-year-old, on the other hand, has some remedial theology to cover. Just this week, she mentioned something about “God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit…oh, and Jesus.”

Greg has been teaching Systematic Theology classes using Wayne Grudem’s text by the same name for as long as I can remember. He is passionate about basics and about understanding God as He reveals Himself in His Word. I bet some people I know would enjoy having that tidbit for ammunition.

Several years ago I found myself in an awkward situation. This, of course, is not unusual for me and my mouth, but I will tell you about it anyway. I was talking with a group of women. (It goes downhill from here.) Because it was appropriate, I shared a tragedy I’d experienced earlier on and mentioned how it was the darkest time of my life so far. I felt as if God had forsaken me—as if He had left me alone to wallow in my circumstance. I called to Him but I didn’t hear an answer. There was no comfort to speak of.

The reaction by these women was swift and sure. My statements were akin to blasphemy; I had basically declared that Jesus wasn’t the Christ. I’d called Him a liar. One Scripture after another was quoted while I sat there in my treason. I began to protest but very soon realized that it was useless.

I won’t take the time to re-defend myself here. My immaturity prevented me from realizing that not everything needs to be said aloud—even if it is true. Back then, the times were dark and lonely, and I longed for the “peace that passes all understanding” or at least a little supernatural relief from my suffering. The psalmist asked why, Job asked why, and Jesus did too (though His circumstances were arguably incongruent to my own).

God is not afraid of our honesty. Elisabeth Elliot cautions us, “Do not be afraid to tell Him exactly how you feel (He’s already read your thoughts anyway). Don’t tell the whole world. God can take it–others can’t. Then listen for His answer. Six scriptural answers to the question WHY come from: 1 Peter 4:12-13; Romans 5:3-4; 2 Corinthians 12:9; John 14:31; Romans 8:17; Colossians 1:24. There is mystery, but it is not all mystery. Here are clear reasons.”

If you are wondering why suffering comes to those who love Him, take time to look up those verses. The subject has been on my mind a lot lately. That’s why I loved this text from Suffering and the Sovereignty of God that I came across today.

My wife has had a significant impact on my life for Christ. One thing I didn’t mention in my chapter was what took place right after our son Owen died. He was delivered by an emergency C-section and only lived for twenty minutes. Since my wife, Kellie, had to undergo general anesthesia, she never got to see him alive as I did. I was with Owen in the operating room after he died while they were finishing sewing Kellie up and then waking her up. I was trying to imagine how I would tell her that Owen had died. As she was waking up she was still quite disoriented because of the anesthesia and not quite sure where she was or what was happening. But she knew that something serious was happening so she began to tell the anesthesiologist that we must pray and then she lifted her hand into the air. She wasn’t coherent enough to know that she had just given birth to our first child and yet on a deep subconscious level she knew that she needed God.

This was a great encouragement to me as I stood by our son. I believe that God is so much at the core of who she is that even when she is drugged from anesthesia her first response is to call out to him. This display of faith was God’s grace to me, telling me that he would carry us through.

How has Jesus sustained you through the dark days?
At first it was hard to see how Jesus was sustaining us through the dark days. Yet deep down I knew that he was. My mother died when I was sixteen, two years after I had become a believer. After her death God lead me to Romans 5:3-5, “More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.” Having endured through her death I had come out on the other end with my faith intact and I again had hope that God was for me.

After Owen died my wife, who had not experienced the death of one so close, never believed that she would be able to have joy again. And while I certainly didn’t feel joy, I knew that one day I would. The suffering I had endured through my mother’s death had indeed produced hope. Even though my firstborn was dead I believed that I would again have joy. I had experienced God’s faithfulness and I knew that he would be faithful again.

The text, though, that impacted me the most was 2 Corinthians 7:6, “But God, who comforts the downcast, comforted us by the coming of Titus.” During the first months after Owen’s death we felt very little comfort from God. At times I struggled with anger thinking, “God, I know you are sovereign and so you are the one who brought this about. I accept that, but the least you could do is draw near to us and give us comfort.” On the six month anniversary I was reading through all the e-mails and cards we had received from God’s people and I was reflecting on the help we had received from his people in the Middle East and in Istanbul where he was born. Then I read this verse and it dawned on me. God was and is comforting us by the coming of countless brothers and sisters in Christ. Often we don’t feel the warm presence of the Lord in our suffering, but that does not mean he has left us alone. We are a part of the body of Christ and it is through this body that he ministers to us in our darkest days.

One reason I think the Bible values age over youth is because it’s difficult to live a long life without pain, tragedy, disappointment, and hurt coming your way. Experience gives our words credence when we proclaim, “God is faithful.” II Corinthians 2:3-4 says, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” We see in this verse that we are God’s agents of comfort to soothe one another. He could zap us with relief, but usually, he sends others who have already walked the path of pain to walk alongside us, holding us up.

It is a good reminder for all of us—for those who are walking hard roads and for those who already have.

I keep interesting links in my sidebar under the heading, “Also Worth Reading.” Feel free to admit if it’s the only reason you visit or subscribe to this site. I can take it. Normally, I enjoy discussing our declining culture, women’s issues, and practical theology, but with a baby due in six weeks, I can’t seem to gravitate toward subjects other than Maternity and Babies. It’d be on your mind too if you had a 25-pound watermelon stuffed under your shirt, could barely walk, and considered a handful of Tums a great breakfast.

The tool that I use to publish the sidebar links, del.icio.us, is a quick, one-click step. I wouldn’t bother with links otherwise. The problem with this tool is that, so far as I know, users are restricted to just a few lines of commentary under the link. (If you’ve a javascript patch to forward, please do.) Often the available space is enough, but in this case it isn’t.

In order to appreciate the linked video below, you have to know the setup, which I can’t explain in one sentence.

So…Greg calls me over to the love seat for a surprise. He is working on his laptop. I sit down. He says, “Honey, I’ve got just the thing for you after this baby is born.” Knowing about all the nausea and vomiting, sciatica, labored breathing, painful walking, acid reflux, exhaustion, insomnia, low iron, dizziness, and other unmentionables this pregnancy has wrought, I thought, “Wow, he’s seen my pain and wants to give me a gift. What a guy!”

I waited for him to click on the Amazon link or something to show me the gift he’d bought. Would it be a feather mattress? An herbal basket of girly stuff? Well, no. Instead. Pause. Instead, this is what my husband wants to give me after the baby is born (some RSS readers need to click over to my site to view):

No, I didn’t clunk him on the head. I was too busy laughing because if you know me, this is just so…opposite and other than anything about me. I am not that cool.

Apparently, we’re not the only family enjoying my last post. This is too cute not to share. An-internet-turned-real-life-friend sent the above picture of her seven boys enjoying the Praise Aerobics.

There is someone else who has been entertaining me by trying to copy the moves too. I will try hard not to think about it when he performs a wedding next weekend and then preaches the weekend after that. No, I will not think about it then.

As I postulated about the greater things in life, The Nameless Guy reminded me that a merry heart is good medicine.