Another guest post: A fairy tale retold

My friend Alicia is at it again with another fascinating collaboration on her blog, Stories of Yearning. For the past few weeks, a few of us have contributed posts to what she's called "Summer of Faerie." If you have the chance, check out the variety from the past few weeks! Today she posted a fairy tale retelling I wrote. I took the Grimm's Fairy Tale of  'King Thrushbeard," turned it on its head, and set it in East Texas. It was so much fun to pull on things we've experienced in that part of the world--I hope you hop on over and enjoy "Carla and the Prez."

A lament for home and humanity

When we put our house in Michigan up for sale last week the one thing I didn't anticipate was the bitter sting of rejection. We would never say that our home was perfect, but there is no denying that it is lovely, even after three years of a rental occupancy. Apparently, though, the majority of prospective buyers have no "scope for the imagination," as Anne of Green Gables would say, and can only see what is before them. They see the scuffs and marks in paint (which may not be a color they like), the kitchen floor that needs repair because of a dishwasher leak we've just discovered, the few loose outlets and missing towel racks, the massive furniture of the tenant that dwarfs each room, the scum left in a sink that hasn't been scrubbed down, and the carpets that need to be cleaned. To the uninspired buyer, it doesn't make any difference that as soon as the tenant moves out, all of these defects will be fixed. Prospective buyers also see the cracks in the walls of our unfinished basement and unfortunately they don't have a civil engineer with them (reason #152 why I married Kraig) to let them know this is typical for Michigan basements, and that there are no structural issues, nor are there leaks or mold. Little consideration is given to the solid roof, the energy-saving windows, three-year-old sink faucet and dishwasher, or the two-year-old microwave and stove. New water heater? Who cares? The furniture takes up too much space and the tenant's packing boxes are beside the front door. This house "does not show well."

I feel like crying a bit--or fuming.

I think of the home we bought in Texas last year, and all of its idiosyncrasies. It has a lot more work that needs to be done than our Michigan home will ever need, but I love it. We are friends with the woman who grew up in that house, and I learned about her parents building it, and a little about their lives there. Neighbors speak of the previous owners with fondness, and we reap the pecans from the trees planted by them. There are so many stories we will never know, but it is a home that was consecrated by love. It is also full to the brim with potential, and in our first year there we have already stocked it with new stories. Rooms are slowly given a fresh coat of paint, windows will be replaced, kitchens and bathrooms updated. It will take time, but in the process we will live and love and work, and sometimes pull our hair out with frustration. This is life. Homes require work.

When I look at our home in Michigan, I see its lovely qualities and all of the layers of memories.

I see the way the light pours through the many windows even on gray January days.

I admire the sunset through the kitchen window, and the view of my neighbor Barb's gorgeous perennial garden through the bay window in the dining area.

I remember Keren and Ev playing on the floor in the kitchen while we worked to get the house move-in ready in the winter of 2008. The only room in the house that didn't need paint and carpet was the kitchen, so that became the safe zone while we worked. Clare, at two, helped paint...a little! I remember writing Philippians 4:6-8 on our plywood floors before the new carpet was laid and believing every word of it even in the struggles. I still hold those words close.

I remember family parties.

I remember our final Christmas there with Keren, when Jon was just beginning to be a new family dream.

I remember the cold, snowy January day when my sister Carrie watched Clare and Ev and I rushed Keren to the hospital, not knowing she would never come back to that home. I remember the house full of family and friends surrounding us with so much love in those months that followed, and the dance between pain and joy as we grieved Keren, but laughed over Clare and Ev's antics, and looked forward to Jon's arrival.

Keren's dogwood

I remember bringing Jon home and the joy of watching him grow and seeing the new shape that our family took with all of its complexity.

I remember the pleasure we had in forming our vegetable garden, and how each spring our neighbor, Barb, would hand me some perennials and say, "I'm splitting these, so feel free to plant them. They bloom at such-and-such point in the summer."

I remember the first days of school for each kid, the playdates with friends, and the neighborhood tribe of kids that played around our court and through our backyards.

I remember the slow process God took Kraig and I through toward a new life, a life that would take our family from this dear home to a sunny apartment and new friends in Guadalajara, Mexico, and then two years later, to a shady, rambling ranch house in Longview, Texas. I know now the hope and prayer that we will be in Texas for a long time.

Our new home in Texas

Life is an adventure, and our houses are a part of that. They are integral to our lives, whether we live alone or have big, crazy families that fill spaces to the limit. But houses are what we make of them; they are not simply what they appear on the surface. They are so much more than a limited first impression. They are homes.

We're praying that a family will walk into our home and realize that, not just because we want to sell the house, but because we want others to have the chance to build beauty there.

Kindred Spirits

The kids and I have been listening to a lot of audio books as we take Kraig to and from work, or when we run around town. We've gotten a bit addicted :) . Anyway, the latest has been Anne of Green Gables, the first time for Ev and Jon. It's as lovely as it's always been.

This time through I've been struck by Anne's gift for friendship. After she befriends Diana's fearsome great-aunt, Miss Josephine Barry, she remarks to Marilla, "Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It's splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world." And on her first day at Queen's College, away from home, Avonlea, and her BFF Diana Barry she grieves, but she also speculates who will be new friends in this new phase of her life. After all, she thinks, she has "lots of second-best affections to bestow." According to Anne there is always room for new friends.

I wholeheartedly agree with this philosophy, and also with Anne's opinion that there are so many kindred spirits in the world. I don't have one best friend who I've left behind in one of the many places I've lived; I have numerous friends across space and time who are very dear to me. I can't tell you how thankful I am for this, and for the new friends that I'm making.

This afternoon Jenn and her two kids came over to our house. We've gotten to know each other a bit on the Wednesday park days, and our kids get along nicely, so we took the next step of a playdate at home. It went off beautifully. The kids had fun, and Jenn and I were able to delve into deeper conversation than an hour in a park with multiple other people allows. It was the deep, strong draught of communion that restores the heart and encourages. The kind of conversation where you know that this is the beginning of something lovely. Each time I meet one of these kindred spirits I am humbled that God has given me another one.

It doesn't hurt the thrill at all that Jenn has red hair.

Night Sounds

Tonight we got home from picking up Kraig just as dusk was falling. As we turned in to our subdivision we noticed the "red barn house" as we call it had a number of folks out front setting up for what looked to be a yard sale. In the middle of it were a twin bed mattress and a boxspring, two of the many things on our "much needed" list. By the time we reached our house we'd decided it was work worth walking back to find out if it was a sale and if so, how much they were asking for the mattress and boxspring.

The house across the street
surrounded by pines

We've had some reprieve in the weather here lately, but today was sticky and hot again. East Texas weather is the one downside factor of this move. Thankfully by the time we went for our walk the heat had let up and while the sticky still lingered it carried with it the sweet scent of damp vegetation--pines, moss, mulch. There are huge old trees all around our neighborhood including majestic pines.

Our venture was a success and we now have a mattress and box spring. Kraig and the girls ran to get the van to transport it home, and Jon and I made our way back by foot. Dark had fallen ad it was so quiet. We're in an older neighborhood off all main roads, and Longview isn't exactly a bustling metropolis anyway. As we walked, though, I realized how much sound there actually was. A frog peeped from one dark lawn. A few birds sent out a sleepy call here and there. Random insects tapped and chittered. Underscoring it all was the pervasive hum of the insect empire that outnumbers us humans by a vast multitude. I realized what a comforting sound it is; one of those background noises we take for granted. I hope I won't ever have to go without it.

I'll Take Beauty With Me

Years ago I read a quote of Ralph Waldo Emerson in his essay "Self-Reliance" that, in essence, drove home this truth: you can't get away from yourself. 

Morelia Cathedral, Mexico

"Traveling is a fool's paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the indifference of places. At home, I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I seek the Vatican and palaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sight and suggestions, but I am not intoxicated. My giant goes with me wherever I go."

One thinks, "When I go on vacation, I'll finally de-stress and all of these issues will go away," or "If I move and start over, I can leave all of this behind me." But then the vacation comes or the move happens, and one discovers the issues are still there, perhaps even exacerbated by the change. 

Kraig and I had no illusions that our moves would be painless, nor did we go into them for the purpose of leaving something behind. Thankfully, no, we moved both to Guadalajara and to Longview because the doors opened, and it was clear that these were places God wanted us. Going through those doors with eyes open, though, didn't nullify the shocks to the system. Nor did we avoid coming face to face with parts of ourselves we'd rather have left behind.

This has been true for our kids as well. Hard, too, because there is so much they can't process or put into words. As a result their feelings and thoughts burst out in negative actions and attitudes. You know the kind; the kind that make parents want to disown their child...particularly when these actions or attitudes occur in the middle of the grocery store. Does that sound slightly specific? I can't imagine what you mean! Anyway, all that to say, these parents who are already exhausted by their own emotions must learn to help their kids navigate the transitions. We've learned a lot about that in the past few years, and while in many ways all of us are transitioning better this time, the upheavals still occur. I suppose seeing my kids' outbursts and helping them work through things helps me realize my own frustrations and face them better. If nothing else these situations are supremely humbling.

When I double-checked the Emerson quote, I stumbled on another of his with a more positive spin:

"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not."

God has given our family the choice and opportunity in moving to bring what is beautiful with us. We have brought our faith, our family, our experiences, our memories. If we cling to them as lovely things now past, we'll be miserable. I'd rather bring them and apply them to the new. I have no doubt I will soon find more that is beautiful, and I pray that our kids will, too.

Living Gems

"Down in Bism we have [gems] alive and growing. There I'll pick you bunches of rubies that you can eat and squeeze you a cup full of diamond-juice." ~The Silver Chair, by C. S. Lewis

Edible jewels--
I've had them.
   Ruby drops
      Glowing in the sun
      Like Mexican firestone,
   But alive
      Firm to the lips
      Bursting between teeth
      Sweet and tart.
It's no wonder Persephone succumbed,
   Dooming herself to months beneath the earth.
Who knew that living gems
   Were not the key to life
   But only mortal enjoyment?

Clare in the Afternoon

As it worked out, today ended up being the best day to take Clare out, so I had my girls right in a row--a study in compare and contrast.

When Clare was born, Kraig and I had two first names we were playing with. Within a minute of seeing her, we went with the one that means "brilliant light" (Clare is her nickname). There is something in a name, and Clare has shown hers to be more than accurate. "Lightning bolt" might have been even more appropriate.

She can seem so innocent and winsome if you are observing her in repose. This happens more often nowadays because she's perfectly happy to get lost in a book for hours on end. However, if the book is shut, beware. The winsomeness is only appearance deep. Interacting with Clare can be like wrestling the edge of a hurricane.

Today the book was set aside (except for when we were driving) and the tongue ran free. With Clare, there are no quiet times unless she has her nose in a book. She is constant chatter and motion. Most homework sessions take three times as long as they should because they're spent constantly herding her back to work. I like it when I don't have to herd her and can let her loose, because I love to hear her talk, and to hear her questions and ideas.

We didn't have far to go today. Clare's great goal was to get to the Wal-Mart that just opened up down the street last week. She's had her eye on and has been saving toward a Barbie kid that she saw at another Wal-Mart and she wanted to see if it was at this one. We were also looking for a notebook for an online writing class that she's starting next week. So we started off at home with some lunch: leftovers of her favorite white chicken chili.

Then we headed down the road, entertained on the way by the pig in the back of the pick-up truck in front of us.

Once we got to Wal-Mart we headed straight for the stationery aisle. We spent quite a few minutes there, because it's one of our favorite places. Clare found a binder and paper to create her notebook, and I tracked down some of the materials I needed for a family project.

We headed over to the toys and scoped out the Barbies. There were no kid ones, but no matter, LEGO was in the next aisle over, and one can never get tired of that. Clare eschewed the LEGO Friends--too pink and purple--but she set her sights on some of the Creator sets.

We weren't rushed, so we were able to explore more of the store and then ran to another stationery store to find some poster board. Clare expressed her definite opinions on all sorts of things she saw. She knows what she likes and doesn't like. The trick is helping her understand the difference between opinion and fact, and the importance of phrasing opinions (or facts, for that matter) gently. 

The outing was rounded off with checking out a new ice cream shop near the kids'  school. We both got double-cones, which were delicious but huge. I think we'll all have to go there again sometime, but Clare and I agreed a single scoop would be plenty. 

Clare stated that her cone looked like it had a deep moat surrounding a fortress. She also said that she wished she had two tongues, so that when one got too cold she could use the other to lick. "But then," she said, "I'd speak double." I am thankful she only has one tongue....

Ice cream cones are perfect for leisurely conversation and so I probed a bit, asking how school was going. Apparently it's fine. I asked her why she thought we were here in Mexico, and what she thought about all of it. Clare's probably had the roughest time with the transition. She's inclined to see the worst in things--it's a constant battle to get her to not complain. This is a huge topic, though, and not easy for her to express in words for all the vocabulary she's internalized with all of the books she's read. I asked her toward the end of our time if she talked to God about some of this stuff, and asked how she interacted with Him. She's always had amazing insights about God and the Bible, but so often it seems more cerebral than heart. When I asked her this today she didn't answer, and I decided not to press it. After all, I don't know if I could have put that into words when I was her age. Once her cone was finished we went into the store restroom to wash our hands. And then she said, as if there hadn't been a hiatus, "I think when I have a problem I speak to a grown-up. But when I'm afraid, I talk to Him." 

And that is my Clare all over.

Luminous Ev

I seem to have stumbled on something with this idea of pulling my kids out of school for half a day so we can have some one-on-one time. I suppose this isn't a new concept to some people, but I'm discovering a world I hadn't expected and I really like it. I was always so concerned that they'd miss something important at school, or that the teacher would have to spend extra time helping them get what they missed. But to tell the truth, I don't care this year. My kids need some special treats, and this is what we're doing. It won't be often, but I'll make the most of the times we do it.

So today it was my Ev's turn to go out.

I wanted to listen to what she had to say today--really listen--because when she gets talking she always says things that open the eyes of my mind. She's always been highly verbal, and she has an imagination that has triggered ideas for me more often than I can count. When she was four, she created a giant in our neighborhood, the evil giant Chompchucks. Since then, other creations have risen to life from her brain, and interesting observations take flight. The other Sunday as we drove to church she noticed a bike hanging on the back of someone's car and commented on how it looked like the car had glasses. A little later on the same ride, she and her siblings were checking out the sun that was pushing out from the clouds. "It looks like the dark clouds are trying to eat the sun!" Ev said.

Surprisingly today Ev was not talkative. She was content, there was no question, but she wasn't bubbling with words. Today I saw the other side of Ev that I love: the luminous side. She can just be, and she glows with being-ness. We got stuck in some traffic and I took a wrong turn that made our trip take longer, and while she groaned about it a bit, she mostly just watched quietly out the window and listened to the music we had playing. "Everything okay?" I asked at one point. "What'cha thinking?" "I'm just looking at things," she said.

We headed to her favorite mall, the one that Jon and I had not gone to last week, with the open central court and fish. Ev loves to see the koi, so we spent all the time she wanted there.

And when she'd had enough of the fish we searched for a jewelry store we had seen a couple months ago when we were there. Unfortunately we didn't find it; things have shifted. But we did get back to a pet store she likes, and she took her time checking out the animals. Her favorite are the very affordable mice...affordable before you get the cage and the food and all the other things that one needs to keep a pet. Someday, maybe.... Of course, she also likes looking at the tarantulas, and today there was a fabulous macaw by the register, fluffing his crimson plumage and peering at Ev with one golden eye while she tried to get him to say "hola".

We finished up our outing with some frozen yogurt that definitely satisfied Ev's sweet tooth...and I liked mine, too.

Ev can be as silly as any kid, and she has a flair for drama that isn't pretty when she's upset. But there is a sweet, accepting spirit in her that I love to see. She wants to do what is right, to do what God would love, and it shines through her. She's more willing to take things as they are and enjoy them than my other kiddos. I asked her how school was going, and she said happily, "Great!" This in the midst of trying to navigate a new language. She's just happy because she has a friend at school who helps her with Spanish words and who likes to have Ev help her with English ones. When one has that, what else is needed?

Communion

Our second Sunday here, thanks to new local friends, we were introduced to an English-speaking church. It was something we were hoping to find for our family, but we weren't sure how long it would take. The only service we had heard of until that point was one that met Sunday evenings, which wasn't ideal for kids in school or Kraig's teaching schedule. There were plenty of Bible-based Spanish-speaking churches, we knew, but as our Spanish was close to nil, we knew we needed to start with English.                  

We have been more than thankful for Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer) Presbyterian Church in Bugambilias. It has been here for almost two decades and has a few church plants throughout the region, along with other ministries including a school. They also have a Spanish service that meets after our English one, so the building is full all morning. In addition to the service are Sunday schools for the kids--an English one during the service and then a Spanish one afterward.

In all of the ups and downs of our brief time here, the church has been a constant. We could tell from the first Sunday that not only were the people genuine, but the teaching was solid. And since then, whether it is Pastor Trotter preaching or one of the other elders, we have been consistently challenged and encouraged. It never ceases to amaze me how a lesson that I've heard time and again or a passage I've read over and over zings with new import and shakes me to my core. One of the first Sundays touched on Philippians 4 and not being anxious. Another Sunday delved into what it meant to ask God with perseverance for needs, and yet to trust His plan. Again and again God has given us truth we needed to hear.

It's a small and simple service and much more traditional than our home church in Michigan, but that's actually one of the draws for Kraig and me. We love our home church because of the solid biblical teaching and our church family who has seen us through so much over the years. But both of us have a bent toward liturgy and there is a bit of that at Christ the Redeemer. For me, the most meaningful thing is the weekly communion. Each week after the message, the pastor steps down to the table and seamlessly ties the point of the sermon to the table.

I forgot my phone today which I was going to use to snap a picture, so you'll have to put up with my sketch. The communion table is plain, solid wood, deeply grained. On its surface lie three items: a silver tray with a tortilla wrapped in white linen, a silver goblet with a linen & lace-edged cloth, and rows of plastic communion cups each with their swallow of blood-red wine, another linen cloth lying over them. Beside the table is a wood-laminate cupboard, and on top of this is a bottle of hand sanitizer. There's something I love about the contrast between the faux wood cupboard and sanitizer and the simple, beautiful reality of the communion table, silver, and white linen. 

Each week, the process is the same. Pastor squirts some hand sanitizer on his palms and rubs them together as he welcomes us to the table and connects it back to the message. Then he opens the cloth with the tortilla and holds up the circle, breaking it as he speaks of Christ, broken for us. The broken tortilla returns to the cloth, folded again so a portion of bread shows. The cup is then lifted, cloth removed, and he speaks of Christ's blood shed for us. At last, the cloth over the little cups is taken away, and any who are followers of Christ and are members of an evangelical church are called to share in the table. A song is played, and people line up to take the bread and wine. We step up to the table, tear off a bit of bread  that the pastor holds out for us, take a cup, then go back to our seats to wait for those ancient words that invite us to eat and drink. The bread is dry, reminding me of suffering, but the swallow of wine softens it while at the same time shocks and burns, reminding me of cleansing.

Every week I remember a verse of Andrew Peterson's song, "Windows in the World":

"Oh and every Sunday morning

you can see the people 

standing in a line.

They're so hungry for some mercy,

For a taste of the communion bread and wine.

It's a window in the world.

A little glimpse of all the goodness getting through.

And all along the way the days are made,

little moments of truth."

I can't put my finger on it, but almost every Sunday I am moved to tears.