Real Work for Sons

Some dear friends and I recently got to talking about the problems of small families and living in suburbia.

First, one lady wondered if the fact that most families are small nowadays made relationships more difficult. Instead of several siblings to chose from for various games, activities, and confidences, children now usually have only one or two siblings. They don't have to learn to share on such a large scale, etc.

Then I added that perhaps even more damaging is the lack of substantive work for children to do in the family. My family is getting a little tired of me saying, "If we lived on a farm...," but I think how different our lives would be if we had a small farm. Our twelve-year-old son would have something substantive to occupy his brain, muscles, and hours. In addition, it would be IMPORTANT to the good of the family. There seems to be something wrong about living in suburbia, with Dad driving off to work every day. Even if Mom and the kids are home schooling, there are a lack of meaningful tasks for children, especially boys, to contribute to the well-being of the family.

A blogger from Pennsylvania recently wrote a post about the PBS series "Frontier House" (now out on DVD) which he and his family had viewed. Upon finishing the series, he wrote the following:

I asked my sons, why do you think these children would rather have been back on the frontier where it was all such hard work? My youngest replied, "Because they knew they were needed." They knew they were needed! Children don't need all the latest toys or video games. They need to know that they are needed (and I would say "loved" as well).

This is one of the things that draws me to agrarianism. The desire to be able to raise my boys in an environment where each is a contributing member of the family, where they can see that they are making a difference, that they are needed, that they are wanted.

I say a hearty "Amen" to this family, and I pray they are able to lead the agrarian lifestyle they so desire.

An Oasis of Hope

I'm reading Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew by Sherrie Eldridge. Mrs. Eldridge is an adoptee, and she pulls no punches with the stark realities of what it sometimes means to be adopted. But she is also a Christian, and feelings of hope pervade her writing. It is precisely this hope which I need to latch on to right now.

Mrs. Eldridge writes, "...the very act of adoption is built upon loss. Grief is the natural response to loss, and those touched by adoption must be given permission to revisit emotionally the place of loss, feel the pain, scream the anger, cry the tears, and then allow themselves to be loved by others. If left unresolved, this grief can and often does sabotage the strongest of families and the deepest potential within the adopted child." She goes on to say, "The pain of adoption is not something that happens to a person; it is the person. Because the pain is so primal, it is virtually impossible to describe." Pretty heavy stuff!

Thankfully, Mrs. Eldridge ends her first chapter with a message of hope. "It is clear that healthy grafting doesn't always come easily in adoptive families! Neither is it spontaneous nor natural. Rather, it is a labor of sacrificial love and commitment... Here the delicate tissues from the parents and the severed branch mingle together to form a lasting, intimate attachment that will serve as a model for future healthy relationships. Unresolved adoption loss is not an unconquerable mountain! ...you have every reason to hope for a beautiful, thriving child and family."

We can bear to read and ponder the crucifixion account in the Bible because we know that the resurrection is coming. So, too, we can bear to endure the pain the entire family encounters during the grafting process because we know that what God brought together, He will not forsake. I pray continually for our children, especially our daughter who is feeling the pain of loss right now. Although we traveled on some rough terrain again today, He gave us an oasis of hope for some of our journey.

Memorial Day

For most Americans, it's a day off. Maybe a short trip over the long weekend. Perhaps a picnic with friends or family. A few people will fly their American flag. They might do a little yard work. Maybe, some will think of someone who died.

Unfortunately, Memorial Day has become just another three day weekend. People don't know that it started at the end of the War Between the States as women put flowers on their loved ones' graves. They have forgotten the meaning of the day: to honor our war dead.

We flew our flag on the front porch today; the only ones on our street to do so. In our backyard we flew another flag that represents a life given in Afghanistan. My husband and I played a concert at a cemetery. We had a cookout at my in-laws'. And all day, I thought of James and his family.

For James's family in Iowa, it's another day without their son. Named after his daddy and grandpa, he went to Afghanistan, tall and strong and brave. He came home earlier than expected. To be buried in the little cemetery outside town.

God bless all the parents who grieve this weekend as they spend another day without their sons (and daughters).

"Come Down, O Love Divine"

We sang this in church today. I see that I posted this hymn last year, but this being Pentecost Sunday, I will post it yet again. I loved singing the alto part today. There's something about the music of Ralph Vaughn Williams that always gets to me.

As I reflect over the past year, I see the events that have shaped me: our son's hospitalization and recovery from a broken leg, persecution from some family members, my mother's near death experience, and our daughter's grief over adoption/loss issues. Whew! What a year it's been! I have been sustained by the Holy Spirit, Who prayed for me when I could only groan. Praise God for His infinite mercy!

"Come Down, O Love Divine"

Come down, O love divine,
seek thou this soul of mine,
and visit it with thine own ardor glowing;
O Comforter, draw near,
within my heart appear,
and kindle it, thy holy flame bestowing.

O let it freely burn,
till earthly passions turn
to dust and ashes in its heat consuming;
and let thy glorious light
shine ever on my sight,
and clothe me round, the while my path illuming.

Let holy charity
mine outward vesture be,
and lowliness become mine inner clothing;
true lowliness of heart,
which takes the humbler part,
and o'er its own shortcomings weeps with loathing.

And so the yearning strong,
with which the soul will long,
shall far outpass the power of human telling;
for none can guess its grace,
till Love create a place
wherein the Holy Spirit makes a dwelling.

Dad

Today is the third anniversary of my dad's passing. Like many people, I have some regrets that aspects of our relationship will never be realized. Yet, God has been gracious to give me good memories. I have true thankfulness for the good things I inherited from Dad:

-music abilities
-love for teaching & learning
-love for history
-love for the prairie

I love you, Dad, and I miss you!

Love,
Your Little Bird

The Twister that Wasn't

My soul finds rest in God alone...

So begins Psalm 62. David surely knew about the comfort of rest in God during times of trial.

I was weary. I needed rest. So I figured our daughter did too. I read a lot about adoption, attachment disorder, and loss last night. Today whenever I saw a tantrum coming, I picked her up and held her or rocked her. (Thankfully, she's small for ten years old.) I lost track of how many times this scenario was repeated, but it was successful. For the first time in a long while we made it through the day without any tantrums. Praise God!

She liked my analogy of a tornado. I said she could have that baby funnel creep out of the clouds, but it wasn't to touch the ground. We were going to let God draw it back up into the clouds. And under no circumstances could it bounce around on the ground and cause destruction in its wake.

Thank you, Lord, for your rest today.

I Can Barely Remember

This school year has been one of tremendous trials. First, our son's broken leg in September, followed by months of painful recovery. Second, my mother's two hospitalizations for pneumonia and other complications, including almost dying in the emergency room. (A terrifying prospect with an unsaved loved one.) And now, with our daughter's adoption issues, I can barely remember a "normal" life.

I am pro-life and pro-adoption, but I'm seeing first-hand what being "given up for adoption" does to the child. Our daughter is suffering from tremendous pain that reaches its ugly tentacles to the core of her being. Although she now has a family who loves her dearly, she still sometimes feels abandoned and unwanted because of being placed for adoption by her birth mother.

Recently, after a tearful angry time, she was able to finally rationally talk to me about her feelings. We had a conversation about her birth mother that went something like this:

Me: If you could talk to your birth mother, what would you say?

Daughter: (quietly) Hi.

Me: What would you say next?

Daughter: (crying) Why did you give me away!?

I will never personally know the full extent of what my daughter feels. But I know for certain that it's extremely painful. I pray that God will heal her feelings of loss and rejection, that He will give us strength and wisdom to endure this season, and that He will be glorified.


(Note about photo: This picture of a mother and daughter from Guatemala is in honor of my cousin's newly adopted daughter.)

Haydn's Farewell Symphony

"Be good and industrious, and serve God continually."

Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809)


I played Haydn's Farewell Symphony recently and began thinking of the first time it was performed (a dangerous thing to do when you're trying to transpose). When the piece was originally played, it was conducted by Haydn himself, wearing a powdered wig (part of his contract). His musicians (men only, in those days) performed standing up, playing by candlelight.

Haydn was employed for nearly thirty years by Prince Esterhazy, a very rich and influential Hungarian. Haydn and his chamber group went with Esterhazy to his summer palace annually, in order to entertain the prince. In the summer of 1772, Esterhazy kept his musicians beyond the original agreed upon date. The musicians missed their families and wanted desperately to return home, so Haydn composed his Symphony #45 The Farewell with a not so subtle hint. The fourth movement calls for each musician to play a little farewell melody, snuff out his candle, gather his score and instrument, and walk off the floor. Prince Esterhazy's chamber orchestra slowly dwindles until only two violins are left. The prince got the message, and the very next day, finally ordered his musicians to return home.

During Haydn's time, music belonged chiefly to the nobility and there was little in the way of public concerts. Compare that to our lives now. We have access to the greatest of classical music via radio, CDs, and concerts. Here I was, a woman (wearing pants!), playing a piece that premiered 235 years ago. Our audience was populated by "common" people who were able to attend for free (sponsored by a church and funded, in part, from tax monies for the arts). It felt quite strange when it came my time to leave the stage. But, as I thought back to my counterpart who did so for the first time in 1772, I enjoyed my little connection to history.

"All Creatures of Our God and King"

We sang this as our recessional hymn this morning. I had to leave out two verses, due to my tears; I seemed to have a lot of them today.

Thank you, Lord, for a peaceful and loving Mother's Day with my two precious children and my own mother. Thank you, Lord, for the prayers of loving friends and family which have given me a much needed respite this weekend.

(Hymn lyrics by St. Francis of Assisi and harmony by Ralph Vaughan Williams)


"All Creatures of Our God and King"

All creatures of our God and King
Lift up your voice and with us sing
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Thou burning sun with golden beam,
Thou silver moon with softer gleam!

Refrain

O praise Him! O praise Him!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Thou rushing wind that art so strong
Ye clouds that sail in Heaven along,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
Thou rising moon, in praise rejoice,
Ye lights of evening, find a voice!

Refrain

Thou flowing water, pure and clear,
Make music for thy Lord to hear,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
Thou fire so masterful and bright,
That givest man both warmth and light.

Refrain

Dear mother earth, who day by day
Unfoldest blessings on our way,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
The flowers and fruits that in thee grow,
Let them His glory also show.

Refrain

And all ye men of tender heart,
Forgiving others, take your part,
O sing ye! Alleluia!
Ye who long pain and sorrow bear,
Praise God and on Him cast your care!

Refrain

And thou most kind and gentle Death,
Waiting to hush our latest breath,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
Thou leadest home the child of God,
And Christ our Lord the way hath trod.

Refrain

Let all things their Creator bless,
And worship Him in humbleness,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
Praise, praise the Father, praise the Son,
And praise the Spirit, Three in One!

Refrain

Sorta Like Solomon

I feel a little like Solomon, who, when he asked for wisdom, was given riches and honor as well.

In the morning I usually pray that we'll have a good day. Today, I prayed that we would just have a good Math lesson. God gave us not only a good Math lesson, but an entire good day with our daughter!

Praise God for His glorious mercy and blessing!

Please give us wisdom, strength, and patience for another Math lesson!

Serenity

Serenity. Peace. Calm. Goals that have been eluding us lately.

Our daughter continues to struggle with adoption issues. She can't figure out why her birthmother would "give her away" (her words).

Anger. Sadness. Confusion. These are very real parts of our daughter's days.

I pray without ceasing. "God, give me strength. Give me patience. Give me wisdom!"

I shared the Serenity Prayer with our daughter. I'm realizing that it applies to me, too.

The Serenity Prayer
by Reinhold Niebuhr (1892-1971)
Complete, Unabridged, Original Version.

God, give us grace to accept with serenity
the things that cannot be changed,
Courage to change the things
which should be changed,
and the Wisdom to distinguish
the one from the other.

Living one day at a time,
Enjoying one moment at a time,
Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,
Taking, as Jesus did,
This sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it,
Trusting that You will make all things right,
If I surrender to Your will,
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with You forever in the next.

Amen.

(Note: photo comes from Korea; where both of our children are from)

Why Blog?

I often ask myself this question. I first started this blog when we were looking for a new church home. Tired of the steady diet of praise songs, I was desperate to sing real hymns. My very first post was a hymn. Now my blog has become mostly a journal for myself, I suppose.

But tonight it helped our daughter to fall asleep. She's been going through some rough times lately. She has a lot of confusion about how her birthmother fits into her history, and right now most of her thinking comes out as anger. Tonight she was questioning God's love for her, so I listed some of the prayers He's answered. There was one I was trying to recall, and then I remembered that I had blogged about it, so I showed the entry to our daughter. She loved reading about herself, and her memory was jogged about the particular answer to prayer. Instead of anger, her face now shone with contentment and peace.

My lame scratching out of these posts has helped her to see God's care for her. If that's all my blog is ever good for, it's been worth it!

(Note about the picture above. I found it when I did a search for pictures about prayer. Since it looks almost like the person could be typing at a computer, too, I thought it was appropriate on both counts.)

"The King of Love"

We were joined in church today by three dear friends from our old church. One of the hymns today was this one. I love the melody, an ancient Irish tune. (I seem to be a sucker for anything from the Emerald Isle.)

Thank you, Lord, for the little foretaste of heaven, where we will sing praises to you with our brothers and sisters in the faith.


"The King of Love My Shepherd Is"

The King of love my Shepherd is,
Whose goodness faileth never,
I nothing lack if I am His
And He is mine forever.

Where streams of living water flow
My ransomed soul He leadeth,
And where the verdant pastures grow,
With food celestial feedeth.

Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
But yet in love He sought me,
And on His shoulder gently laid,
And home, rejoicing, brought me.

In death’s dark vale I fear no ill
With Thee, dear Lord, beside me;
Thy rod and staff my comfort still,
Thy cross before to guide me.

Thou spread’st a table in my sight;
Thy unction grace bestoweth;
And O what transport of delight
From Thy pure chalice floweth!

And so through all the length of days
Thy goodness faileth never;
Good Shepherd, may I sing Thy praise
Within Thy house forever.

"What Is That To You?"

Sunday's Gospel reading was from John 21; where Jesus appears to His disciples while they are fishing and later reinstates Simon Peter. Simon Peter, seeing John, asks, "Lord, what about him?"

Jesus answers, "If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow Me."

These words of Jesus became very real to me many years ago when we struggled with infertility. I saw friends and family all around us getting pregnant, while we weren't. I often asked God why we couldn't we get pregnant, too. When I read these words in John 21, I could picture Him saying, "If I want her to have 10 children, what is that to you? You must follow Me."

I often forget that the same sentiment applies to me today. Sometimes I wish I had more stylish clothes, a newer car, a nicer house, vacations, fewer bills, family members who were believers, etc.

It doesn't matter what things I wish I had or what trials I am experiencing.

It all boils down to this: I am to follow my Lord, Jesus Christ.

Alleluia, Sing to Jesus

This was our recessional hymn today. It has deep spiritual truths which are found in so many of the old hymns. Probably most remembered for writing the words to "What Child Is This?" William C. Dix penned the words to this hymn in 1867.








"Alleluia! Sing to Jesus!"
Alleluia! sing to Jesus! His the scepter, His the throne.
Alleluia! His the triumph, His the victory alone.
Hark! the songs of peaceful Zion thunder like a mighty flood.
Jesus out of every nation has redeemed us by His blood.

Alleluia! not as orphans are we left in sorrow now;
Alleluia! He is near us, faith believes, nor questions how;
Though the cloud from sight received Him when the forty days were o’er
Shall our hearts forget His promise, “I am with you evermore”?

Alleluia! bread of angels, Thou on earth our food, our stay;
Alleluia! here the sinful flee to Thee from day to day:
Intercessor, Friend of sinners, Earth’s Redeemer, plead for me,
Where the songs of all the sinless sweep across the crystal sea.

Alleluia! King eternal, Thee the Lord of lords we own;
Alleluia! born of Mary, Earth Thy footstool, Heav’n Thy throne:
Thou within the veil hast entered, robed in flesh our great High Priest;
Thou on earth both priest and victim in the Eucharistic feast.