60 years and counting

An August highlight was celebrating my grandparent's (Pake and Beppe) 60th wedding anniversary. We had all the elements of a spectacular Tadema party: lip synching, dancing, making up songs to tease....I mean, honor... Pake and Beppe.

(Here are a few of my awesome cousins in a hilarious dance/song number:)

Tadema parties also consist of food (the best if Korean family members cook!), a lot of coffee, and powerful times of prayer and stories. This particular party had beautiful hymn singing into the night.
Volleyball is also a tradition...and it's remarkable we've all stayed close with how competitive it can get.
Here are a few of the great-grandkids. There are 39 and counting so this is a tiny representation. I would've loved a good picture with all the young ones there but it's not possible to keep them in one place at one time.
And the guests of honor, my Pake and Beppe (or "Her Majesty" as he affectionately calls her).
I love my Pake and Beppe together. They give me hope for marriage. It's not because they are perfect for each other. I cringe when I think of what it must have been like in their first years of marriage. He was an immigrant from the Netherlands who had survived WWII, but not without emotional scarring. She was a farm girl determined to be a missionary. They had cultural differences, language barriers, school yet to complete. He loves theology, knowledge, and preaching the Truth (with fire!). He comes from a conservative background and is at his best when he is bringing spiritual awakening to Reformed churches. She is all heart; a masters in counseling, artistic, and compassionate. She loves praying for physical healing and witnessing miracles.
They give me hope in marriage because they didn't rely on compatibility or how happy they felt. They delved into their responsibilities and life work with passion and excitement, not because of ease but because they loved God and loved people. It took them to Nigeria with small children. It took them to various churches and communities.
It led them to adopt two boys, to start a non-profit when everyone thought it was crazy and the money wasn't there, and to serve as an army chaplain.
After the weekend of celebrating God's faith I was blessed to have Pake and Beppe come over for coffee before leaving town. It was only my sister and a cousin (and our 10 small children playing in the yard) so we were able to hog Pake and Beppe and glean some wisdom. They shared about marriage; about God meeting the needs you wish your spouse would, how looking to Christ to be the perfect love frees you to enjoy companionship of a husband. They shared about their adoption journeys, with tears, as we watched Gage and Jude meld into the yard full of blondes. Pake told me stories about starting his faith-based ministry; how the people you think will give won't and the people you never expect always do. He shared about God's faithfulness time and time again when he was having his own doubts.
Sitting on the patio with hot coffee reminded me of Moses telling the Israelites, "take heed yourself, and diligently keep yourself, lest you forget the things your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. And teach them to your children and your grandchildren." Deuteronomy 4:9

I am soaking it up. I realize that I am abundantly blessed to have grandparents who are not only alive but have a visible legacy of lives lived serving God. I see their 8 children, 46 grandchildren, 39+ great-grandchildren and am humbled to be part of the story. Not only do I experience their story, I get to hear from them what their eyes have seen.

And it gives me something to shoot for. If S. can keep up with me I'm aiming for at least 60 years.

Sink or Swim (Or...walk)

I was folding laundry while the kids watched a movie about Jesus' Miracles. It's one of these extremely cheesy, poorly animated movies where Jesus is embarrassingly white (along with the rest of the characters).

The story narrated was of Jesus walking on water to get to the disciples' boat. Dear, faith-filled, zealous Peter says, "Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water."

So He (Jesus) said, "Come." And when Peter had come down out of the boat, he walked on the water to go to Jesus.

But when he saw that the wind was boisterous, he was afraid; "Lord, save me!" And immediately Jesus stretched out His hand and caught him, and said to him, "O you of little faith, why did you doubt?" And when they got into the boat, the wind ceased. Then those who were in the boat came and worshiped Him, saying, "Truly You are the Son of God." Matthew 14:28-33

I found myself in heaps of towels and shirts fighting tears at overly-white Jesus and Peter's situation. When that storm came on and the boat was being tossed around, the disciples had already seen some crazy stuff. They had just left five thousand people on land who had just been fed using only five loaves and two fish. Jesus had been healing people. John the Baptist had been beheaded for his faith. Things were heating up and the disciples were in the thick of it.

Peter is ready for more miracles. Bring it! He wants to be with Jesus and he's ready to throw himself overboard to prove it.

Then his feet hit the water. Reality sinks in..oh, and reality is causing him to sink. He has a "What was I thinking?!" moment and yells for Jesus to save him.

I used to think it was harsh for Jesus to say "O you of little faith, why did you doubt?" After all, Peter took the jump. He gave it a shot! He just buckled momentarily.

But as I watched Peter on the video in his fuzzy bathrobe with his animated scared face, I realized he should have had big faith because he had seen big things. He knew who Jesus was, he had experience that proved Jesus is faithful and able to do amazing works. Yet he still doubted. He sunk.

I relate to Peter's passion and willingness. I have flung myself from the boat loudly proclaiming I'll do anything to be closer to Christ and to share in His work. Then I have looked at the waves of instability and financial distress. I've heard voices saying, "What are you doing?!" and I've taken my eyes off the one I jumped to. The wind is too much. My feet sink. I'm wet, miserable, cold, and it takes me too long to shout, "Lord, save me!"

And I envy Peter because he got back in the boat. Jesus pulled him out of the water, proved Himself, caused the wind to cease, and dried off.

I am in a perpetual state of sinking, walking, sinking, walking and I would love to get out of the water! A boat? Anyone?!

I have these fantastic moments where I am walking on water and my eyes are locked with Christ's. I think nothing can drag me under and I am giddy at what will happen next.

Then I hear something, see something, remember something, that pulls. Suddenly I'm frantic, exhausted, treading water. In that moment I forget that I have seen great things. I know who Christ is, I've experienced that He is faithful and able to do great works. Yet I can't recall a single thing when I'm sinking.

I am learning to say, "Lord! Save me!" He pulls me up; through His Word, through groceries, through the faith of my husband, through words He speaks to me as I go to sleep. Up I come again... looking for that boat. For whatever reason He sees fit to keep me on the water awhile longer.

There are days I think, "Forget walking on water- it'll be a miracle if I make it out of bed!" Those days are often followed by miracles, progress, excitement at what the Lord is establishing in me.

The most challenging aspect of my life today? Is to scan the horizon for the face of my Savior instead of scanning for a stable, dry boat to scramble onto. I'm certain if He isn't yet providing a boat to dry off and rest in, we must have some face-to-face work still to do here in the water.

Bloody & Bruised- Nothing Beats a Brother

The crying wasn't easing up while I was trying to get things put away in the kitchen. I relented and went into the living room. I found Hudson laying flat on his stomach crying and yelling. Everett had a small stool that goes with our drum set on top of Hudson. Everett was then laying across the drum stool, successfully pinning Hudson.

I told Everett to get off- wrestling is over. Hudson looked up and with a big cry, blood started trickling out of his mouth. I could clearly see a bottom tooth (which was not loose previously) hanging crooked.

I grabbed Hudson, a towel for the blood, and we sat together for awhile. He cried. And cried. And cried. I knew it must have hurt awful because he is not a crier. After half an hour he managed to tell me that it was the drum stool that hit him square in the face. Apparently Everett knew that wrestling his big older brother wasn't a fair fight and swung that thing clear around to nail Hudson in the face. To Everett's credit, he was apologetic. He thought it would be a good move and didn't quite understand the pain he caused.

Hudson wasn't about to pull the towel out of his mouth. He wouldn't take the tylenol and he wouldn't let me slip some ice into the towel. Finally, I snuggled him in bed before he fell asleep for naps. As he was relaxing he pulled out the towel to say something. I couldn't pay attention because all I could see was a new gaping hole in the top of his mouth and two now-crooked teeth on the bottom. Good night-I have a 4 year old hockey player!

By the time naps were over he was over the injuries. In fact, he is quite proud that he looks like a hockey player and is waiting for people to mistake him for a 6 yr. old. His gums are still blue and swollen three days later. Here we are at age 4: one tooth missing from running into a wall, one tooth loose from a "head" on collision with a cousin, one tooth missing from the Drum Stool Incident of 2010, and two loose teeth also from Drum Stool Incident of 2010. I pray this boy learns coordination (and self defense) before his permanent teeth come in!

After church on Sunday Hudson came running out, smiling toothless, holding a picture he colored of two men. He said, "Mom, look! I'm pretending this guy is me and this guy is Everett!"

The picture was labeled "Cain and Abel". Oh, sheesh.

1300 square feet

Our house isn't big compared to our 2100 square foot farmhouse we used to own. It's also not small compared to the 860 square foot home we bought when we first married. Because we have the perfect chunk of yard, which happens to share our private neighborhood park and also has our very own basketball court, I am able to look past bright 70's countertops and light fixtures that still exist inside.

When it is sunny I never want to be anywhere else. We take our bikes around the private loop in our quiet neighborhood. The kids climb trees, swing, slide, and shove pea gravel into their pockets for me to find in the wash machine. S. and I use the phrase "crystalized moments" when the world seems to freeze in a particular sweetness that you wish you could bottle up for a sad day. This place has filled our lives with crystalized moments.

When it rains I wish I were anywhere else. I know that our house is huge compared to what most of the world lives in and I kick myself when I'm frustrated. I know how abundantly blessed we are. However, our kids are Taylors which means they are louder than most. I have two boys who love anything having to do with weapons, jumping from high places, and pounding on the drum set. We homeschool and we spend a LOT of time at home. I love quiet. I love privacy. Neither of those are easy to come by here. I would love a salad spinner, some crafty items, and an insulated laundry room so my detergent wouldn't freeze in the winter... but I don't have space for those things.

So as the weather is turning and fall is upon us I've realized I can't keep giving baths in the kiddie pool and we will have to resume eating meals inside. I'm getting creative. I also am recognizing the benefits of living in a smaller house. Such as...

* When vacuuming, I only have to use one outlet in the living room and can reach all the rooms.

* We never needed a baby monitor or to "check to see if the baby is awake." If someone needs us- we hear them.

* My kids rarely say "I don't want to play outside". The doors open and children pour out.

* I don't keep things I'm not using. I don't even keep things I just like.

* Only people who really, really love us stay here. They don't get a guest room, a bathroom, or privacy to themselves. I miss hosting but in this season of our lives it's been healthy for us to keep to our little selves.

* It may take mere seconds to make the house a huge mess...but it also doesn't take long to clean it!

* Using the stove or oven heats up our entire living space. That's multi-tasking.

* The kids have to work out their issues. There is nowhere to hide. Heck, S. and I have to work out our issues!

* I wash my windows regularly simply because it's not hard to do when you only have 8 windows and one level.

* I've heard about people who have dining rooms or formal sitting rooms that they don't use. Our sitting room has my "office" (small desk), a "school room" (children's table and chairs), "library" (bookcases), "living room" (couches), "mudroom" (sliding door w/shoe cubbies) and an "entertainment center" (another bookcase with TV). How's that for multi-function? (The humorous part is when S. gives a tour and he actually acts like all of these places are separate rooms to show.)

In fact, I was able to write this little blog because the rain finally let up. As soon as it did my kids were pulling on shoes and beelining for fresh air. My only interruption has been to supply them with bug jars (the rain has brought out some seriously fat worms and the excitement has now attracted the neighbor kids).

***Final count: 2 tree frogs, 9 worms, and a beetle. Oh, never mind. I was just informed that one of the 4 year olds stomped on the beetle. Apparently just guts left over.