The Notable Blogger

The desert can be a beautiful place. Can be. Unfortunately for my beauty-thirsty eyes, our little corner of it is not.

Our desert valley was once an agricultural center. Crops were grown, soil was depleted, farmers left our valley in dry desolation. Most areas can recover from unwise land use. The desert cannot.

Our valley is u-g-l-y, ugly…if you don’t look up.

We are surrounded by mountains. When I say surrounded, I mean that to leave our valley on one side, we have to climb several hundred feet through a mountain pass. To leave on the lower end, we skirt the mountains.

Surrounded.

They are pretty all year, but in the winter, they are beautiful. Ah, what a paltry description.

In the winter the mountains are awe-inspiring!

Truly breath-taking.

Beyond words.

Sometimes, in our valley, God covers the mountains, and all we can see is the ugliness that is our barren, over-worked desert. Clouds hang low, covering the splendor that we westerners love.

But then he reveals his purpose. The clouds part.

And God’s work is displayed anew.

Our beautiful mountains are made even more inspiring with their crowning snow-capped glory, God’s work behind the clouds.

Such is the walk of life. When God covers the mountains of life and all we can see is the tired, barren, over-worked desert, the beauty is not gone. It’s just hidden while God is at work. The clouds will be parted. The crowning splendor will be revealed. Maybe not today. Maybe not soon. Maybe not while we still have the power of breath. But in His time, in His way, in His eternity and through Christ, we will see the mountains of God behind the clouds.

Get on your knees and look up.

You absolutely must click on this photo.  You won’t receive three wishes or have your wildest dreams realized, but you will certainly gain a greater appreciation for the beauties of Creation and the power of an Almighty God.  Be honest: you probably would have blown those three wishes anyway.

Voice of the Martyrs estimates that 176,000 Christians passed into Christ’s arms in the past year through martyrdom.

Read that again.

Approximately 176,000 people like you, like my man, like my children, like my grandparents, mother, brothers, were tortured, imprisoned, murdered.

Not in the Dark Ages. Not in a century gone by.

Last year!

Why?

What was their crime?

They trusted Christ as their Savior.

When told to renounce their faith, to recant as it were, they did not.

Here I stand. I can do no other.

I wonder…

…were I so squeezed, what would I do?

My faith, my conviction, my heart tells me I would stand tall for my Lord, for not just the name but the person, the deity, the saving reality that is Christ.

I know the truth, that the only people who need fear are those who walk without Christ.

Yet, am I audacious enough to think that I could stand strong?

The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

And then I remember.

It is His strength, not mine, that carries me safely to His arms.

Run the race and trust Him to catch you at the finish line.

Lord, hold us up. Teach us to entwine our lives so fully in You that when we are squeezed–and we will be squeezed–our lives are a reflection of your love. Strengthen us with your divine strength. Remind us, as you do, that the powers of Satan, the world, even death are nothing next to you. Uphold those who are persecuted in your name, and teach them and us patient endurance. Show us your will.

Gentle reader, you must know that the estimated number of Christians persecuted each year is growing in unbelievable numbers. Please, please pray, and teach your children to pray. This is a reality hard to imagine in our modern world, especially in the Americas, but it knocks, no, pounds at our door as well. Pray, pray, stand firm, and pray.

The Eat-From-the-Pantry Challenge has ended. How did you do?

This family of eight stuck it out, but seriously folks, we hardly suffered. We had salmon three…no, four times. We ate lasagna, homemade pizza, fresh granola, strawberry shortcake, and some pretty tasty soup. We celebrated a birthday with an amazing dinner and ice cream cake. We had pork tenderloin and tacos and…oh boy! Thanks to my mother’s frozen Christmas cookie stash, we ended the month with a bang. Did we ever eat well!

We also learned a few lessons.

I learned that I can whip out granola on cold cereal day with no effort at all. I’d kiss the boxed cereals goodbye in a heartbeat if I was the only one voting. All boxed cereal does is add sugar to small bodies, weight to big bodies, and heft to the grocery bill.

I learned that when you’re eating from the pantry and not buying bread, it is a waste of effort to put the bread maker away. It is now once again a permanent resident on the counter.

I learned that I love waffles made from fresh oat flour. I love anything made from fresh flour.

I learned that even people who are spoiled with fresh-baked goodness every day get a hankerin’ for bread made of something akin to glue.

I learned that if the battery in the van does not hold a charge, I am less inclined to go to the store at all, and more inclined to stay home, bake bread, and stick to the budget.

Most importantly, I learned that the efforts we have made over the past year or so to stock our home with the necessary supplies to get this family through a few months of…anything, has really worked. We could literally do the pantry challenge for two more months with a cheerful countenance, and a couple more after that with moderate to considerable grumbling.

All told I stayed well within my $250 budget by spending $178.82. Divide that by eight people for a total per capita expenditure of $22.36. Let’s divide that by six people instead, since two of ours are rather small (4 and 1), giving us $29.97 per person.

Cha-ching!

There’s more.

One of the biggest changes I noticed during the month is that we used half a garbage bag or less a day as opposed to nearly a full bag. Sweet!

I also noticed my hubby is looking pretty good. Somewhere during the challenge he sent five pounds packing. The weight loss is either from not having any munchies around at night, such as the evil boxed cereal, or from locking himself away to record vocals for his next album. Two (okay, three) of those pounds relocated in my general vicinity. Did I mention we (as in I) ate a lot of popcorn this month?

Being a good steward is an excellent feeling. The extra attention I paid to our shopping, usage, and financial responsibility will definitely benefit this family, as we have commited to eliminating our debt this year.

If you are interested in feeding your family for less, stick around. Two ebooks are in the works on just this topic. (Less does not mean $30 a head. It just means less.)

If you are interested in stocking your pantry and home in a manner similar to ours, sign up for Notable Blogger emails. We will be setting monthly preparedness goals to continue to babystep our way toward reasonable preparedness in uncertain times.

Uncertain times–as if life has ever been anything else!

Gleaning insight from Howard E. Butt, Jr.  this morning, I was surprised to read something I had failed to notice before…ever.  I was so surprised that I had missed this analogy, that I looked it up to verify that it even existed.

II Corinthians 3:3 …you are a letter from Christ….

Other analogies were secure in my mind–yeast, salt of the earth, even this little light of mine–hide it under a bushel? NO!

How could the letter from Christ escape me? Why, I’m a letter person. I’m a word person. This analogy is so…me!  And it is perfect.

In an age where a thought is only half formulated before being launched across the cyber-universe, there is no comparison to reading words that someone painstakingly penned for your eyes only. There is nothing like the thrill of unearthing a hand-addressed envelope in the mailbox, the feel of a piece of stationery in the fingers, the few minutes of intimate connection as your own world fades and the words of a loved one far away etch themselves onto your heart. It is, dare I say it, a treasure.

And we are such treasures.

You are a letter from Christ. I am a letter from Christ.

Read me world!

Wait!

Read me?

What does my letter say?

Does it say patient, loving mother, emulating forgiveness, effusing godly joy, radiating Christ’s grace? Or does it say haggard, distracted master of chaos, bitter, uncertain, lost?

Does it say I spend my time well, training my children, serving my husband, encouraging God’s family, loving the lost. Or does it spell out that my time, my priorities, are elsewhere?

Does it tell of a life devoted to Him, or does it tell of a life devoted to self with Him in the background?

Does it shout forgiven? Or does it shout better-than-thou?

Does it read grace? Or does it read making my own way?

I know what my letter could say, if Christ had not written it. I know it would be filled with failure, regrets, bad choices. I know it would tell of bitterness, resentment, lack of forgiveness, lack of trust. I know the positives would be buried beneath the rubble of broken promises, broken dreams, broken relationships.

But Christ wrote my letter, and it is written in blood…

His blood.

It says only one word:

Forgiven.

I can walk out into the world, a world that knows my faults, knows my failures, witnesses them anew, and I can hold up my letter, my letter from Christ.

But with my letter comes responsibility. I must live for the Author of my letter. If my letter is a recommendation, then everything I say or do will reflect on the Recommender. If I shout at my children, dress for the world, disprespect my husband, and bow at the feet of bartenders, what am I saying about the Author?  If I worship Favre over faith, image over others, self over sacrifice, how will my letter stand out?  Who will want to read about how Christ eliminated my filth if they see me reveling in that same filth? 

The letter is worthy.  If I live the life of the gratefully forgiven, the world will see my letter and know it is the genuine thing.  I must remember who has written my letter.  I must tell my story, share my joy, live the love, be the letter.

In a world of email, texting, and cyber-scribing, I hold my letter high.  I am a letter from Christ.

Linked up to Walk with Him Wednesdays at Holy Experience.

Although many tag homeschool mothers with the “supermom” label, the truth is that we are mere mortals like the rest of you citizens of Metropolis.  With this mere mortal status comes vulnerability to flu season.

Ah, flu season, the bane of a mother’s existence!  The bug sneaks in the door, usually with a load of library books or church bulletins.  It teases, it taunts, and just when you think it has left, it knocks out a child.  Not content with that, it comes back for take-down after take-down, not resting until no clean sheets remain, drawers are emptied of clean PJs, and mother is left a haggard mess, swearing to never set foot outside of the house again…ever! Then it leaves as quietly as it arrived, usually catching a ride with an unsuspecting deliveryman.

That grotesque scenario begs the questions: What happens in the homeschool when somebody is sick?

I can only tell you what happens here, in the land of the mere moral mom.

When a child is extremely ill, group lessons requiring active participation from that child come to a screeching halt.  If the child is just mildly ill, read-alouds and such can continue, while hands-on experiments wait.  Simple as that.  We’re already home.  We’re already on the couch.  And we’re already actively building immune systems.

When Mama is very sick or not home, group lessons requiring active guidance likewise come to a screeching halt.  There is no substitute homeschool mama.

I see your wheels spinning.  You’re doing the math, aren’t you.  If the flu goes through everybody in the family it could be two to three weeks without group lessons!  What kind of school is that?

Let me tell you what kind of school that is.  That, my friend, is The School of Life. (Insert dramatic music here.)

When sickness hits this family, especially when it hits me, everybody has to band together even more than usual.  They not only have to manage their own responsibilities, but they have a sick family member to tend as well as extra chores, meal preparation, and child care.  Even with those added responsibilities, they still must move forward with their studies.

But the teacher is sick!  How can the students move forward without a teacher?

You’ve been in the school system too long, my friend.

The primary educational goal on the agenda of most homeschool families is to teach their children independence.  (While our spiritual goals supercede our educational goals, such a character trait will serve them well in their walk of faith as well.)  A child that can progress independently possesses self-discipline and self-motivation.  Such traits will keep the child moving when “teacher” is not in the room.

That’s the abstract.  How about the black and white?  What do your children do when you are at the store or sick or sipping Shirley Temples under a beach umbrella on a tropical island?

My children “do school.”

They do math.  In our homeschool, children learn math through DVDs.  I “learn” the same things they do as they progress, so I am available for teaching points, guidance, and trouble-shooting.  (I even do some of the same assignments on my own to keep fresh.)  They can progress, drill, work assignments and do tests without constant hands-on focus from me.

They read.  The children read books (not textbooks) which require little attention from me apart from narration and discussion, known to the common world as book reports.  They work through history books, science books, biographies, literature, and poetry independently, most corresponding with the time period or subjects we are currently studying as a group.  Free online audio books are available for all. Even if I am unavailable, they can grow their knowledge through the carefully selected living books we keep at hand.

They study Scripture.  They are reading through portions of the Old Testament independently, and we study the New Testament and Psalms together.  I have yet to be too sick to listen to a chapter of Scripture as they read aloud in turn.

They practice music.  Hymns can be played and harmonized without me, piano and guitar can be practiced, and new songs can be learned as they wait for the next official lesson.  They can listen to the term’s classical selections without my input, making their own observations.

They follow through with their language arts.  The older four children pair off and give each other spelling tests, each child independently practicing missed words.  Weekly writing assignments and daily journal entries are completed and, when applicable, left for my correction and discussion.

They help each other.  Memory work for poetry, Scripture, and catechism is recited by some and corrected by others.  Readers take the time to read with non-readers or work through phonics when applicable.

They progress.  Nature journals, recitations, public speaking practice, copmuter keyboarding, sign language, and even Spanish can be done to some extent without me (although I have yet to witness the child motivated enough to initiate Spanish apart from the computer).  They can progress in every area without constant supervision.  If our situation necessitated it, the children would take online courses or step directly into independent studies at their various levels.  Perhaps in another season we’ll pursue those routes, but not quite yet. All this independence is alredy beginning to make me feel obsolete.

So what do you do?

I’m beginning to wonder the same thing myself.

Oh, about the tropical islands…such places are extremely educational, so my children, naturally, would come along.

Writing down old habits...

This is the Year of Joy.

No, as my shell-shocked husband asked, we are not expecting baby girl number six named Joy (and if we were, she may well be a he and his name would not be Joy). Rather, my year has a name and that name is Joy. 

This is the year of true, unshifting, soul-waking, refreshing, God-given Joy. 

Instead of focusing on resolutions, on what I am going to make of this year, I am directing my attention toward what my soul most needs, what God has offered and what I too often refuse to accept, and that, I am ashamed to admit, is Joy. 

What is Joy? 

Joy is not happiness! That truth stings the ears and is worth repeating. Joy is not the same as happiness. 

When God gifts me with Christian Joy, it does not mean I will carry with me a slapstick smile and a quick laugh. Happiness is a fleeting, temporal, situational emotion, often based on getting what I want. Joy reaches far beyond happiness. Joy flows deep. Joy is based on Him: what He wants me to have (good or bad in my eyes), on being the person He wants me to be (a servant), on doing what He wants me to do (serve), and mostly, on His salvation. Joy is based on His gifts and on Him. It has little, if anything, to do with me. 

...such as "falling down" and...

So, what is Joy? 

Joy is absence. The absence of 

fear
anxiety
discontent
unnecessary stress
selfishness
bitterness
envy 

It is not the absence of trouble, sorrow, or pain. 

Joy is presence. The presence of 

trust
forgiveness
child-like faith
a servant’s heart
contentment
gratitude
love
God 

…in all things. 

...hurling them into the fireplace...

How can I speak of Joy when troubles surround us? Because Joy is not situational. 

Joy is a gift only God can give. It requires focus, not on a superhuman effort to remain cheerful in all situations, but a focus on Him, on the Big Picture, and the Big Picture is His plan for His Kingdom and His plan for my life. (Your Big Picture isn’t so much about His plan for my life as it is about His plan for your life, ‘lest you think you need to do a crash course study of me.) Notice I did not say my plan for my life in His Kindgom. It’s His plan. 

The sooner I stop pursuing happiness and start letting His Joy take root in me, the sooner Joy will sprout and grow and radiate out, an infectious condition that transforms the soul, the mind, the family, the life. 

To plant this seed I must first make room. 

...to be burned...

So long fear; we have too long been bedfellows, and you have proven yourself a false friend. I spent many hours with you, and none to my benefit. Goodbye anxiety! (Reasonable caution and responsible concern, you may stay.) Unnecessary stress, you are a thing of the past, like a bad picture in a high school yearbook. Selfishness, bitterness, envy, pack your bags and get o-u-t, and take your cousin, self-pity, with you. You waste my time, and my time is too precious to be spent on you! Discontent…ah, sweet discontent, I muster my strength and tell you that you are not welcome here. My heart has something sweeter than your bitter gall to sip, so be gone! Be gone! 

I plant the seed. 

I plant the seed of gratitude for all God’s gifts–for the troubles, the pains, the disappointments, the blessings, the triumphs, the happiness. I plant the seed of trust, knowing the past is forgiven, the future is in His hands, and my life at this moment, where I am right now, is resting on and bolstered by Him. I plant the seed of child-like faith, not only for eternal life through Christ, not only for help on this earth, but faith in the knowledge that along whatever darkly wooded, ominous path He leads me, I walk hand-in-hand with my Father. I plant the seed of a servant’s heart, quietly, humbly serving in His name, however small the ripple of my labor. I plant the seed of contentment…in all things, in all places, in all circumstances, nurturing this tender, struggling sprout. I plant the seed of love–not judgement, not envy, not disdain, not impatience, but true sacrificial, time-giving, hand-holding, ear-bending, eye-meeting, heart-touching love. I dig deep, deeper, I water heavily, and I plant the seed of forgiveness, receiving His gift of permission to forget, to let go, to let the Blood do its work. 

...never to return.

When contentment, gratitude, forgiveness, trust and love fill the soul, there is room for nothing less worthy. 

This is my year! My Year of Joy! 

Join me. 

Thank you, Ann, for the courage to birth this Year of Joy.  May your Year of Yes be a blessing. 

Only two days ago I sang to my little corner of cyberworld the praises of the KitchenAid stand mixer. It is the busy mother’s right hand. It frees the hands to work and hold babies and correct math problems and give hugs while batters and doughs and dips and spreads are mixed. It is the modern kitchen’s servant, and a valued one at that.

This morning my right hand gave out.

Gone is the dependable mixing of doughs and dips.

Gone is the simple bread kneading.

Gone is the rapid whipping of creams and meringues.

Gone is the 10-minute ice cream.

Gone is the freshly pressed pasta.

Gone is the freshly ground wheat and oat flour.

Gone are the rapidly sliced sweet potato chips and the two minute veggie shreds.

All gone.

Back is the wooden spoon.

Back is the hand-kneaded bread dough.

Back is the whipped cream made with the single remaining beater of the hand mixer.

Back is the 45 minute ice cream.

Back is the hand cranked pasta.

Back is the hand ground wheat.

Back is the slow hand slicing of sweet potatoes and knuckle grating of vegetables.

If I were a poet, I would pen a fitting tribute to this fine family servant, dependable, hard-working, fashionable. But alas, a poet I am not, so I will merely say that we will miss you my friend. Your versatility was unmatched by any other kitchen servant we have ever known, and we shall miss you. I could go on, but my time is needed in the kitchen.

Photo: Elisabeth hand-grinding wheat for today’s second loaf of bread.