The Reason for Disappointment Summed up in One Word.

"You know why it bothered you, don't you?"
my friend asked.

Her voice on the phone promised an answer,
one I was curious to hear.

Had she come upon some secret that I had missed til now?

"Expectations," she said.

"You had expectations of what would happen;

you expected it to be different."

It was so simple,

too simple,
and definitely not what I wanted to hear.

Blame would be much more comforting;

pity would offer temporary condolence;

but disappointed expectations?

"If you don't expect anything,
you won't ever be disappointed."
I could feel the conflicting humor in her truth.
It was what I needed to hear and as a true friend, she knew that.
It woke me from my self and stirred my thoughts.


It is the way of expectations.

Violet put 30 eggs under the duck who was feeling broody and had decided to nest.

It hadn't started out that way.

There had been a dozen or so,

but she wanted more ducklings and chickens and saw the sitting duck as an opportunity for more.

Nothing hatched.

All of the eggs had to be thrown out because double-decker eggs in a nest cannot get the proper attention, heat, humidity that they need;

or so found out that momma duck, spread as wide as she could get herself to go

with no tiny chirping to reward her patience.

Violet expected that more would be better,

the apple didn't fall far from her mother's tree;

but contentment with enough is far better than the emptiness of unnecessary more.

I sent a book to a literary agent.
I had written and rewritten it 2 dozen times til I thought it was good.
I had spent months working on a few possible illustrations for it,
hoping they were good enough.



I have heard the stories, taken to heart the warnings of rejections,
but when my answer,
 "Not unique enough,"
 came for something I had put so much of my heart into,
the expectation crashed hard;
the hurt and tears were more than I expected...
because I had expected rejection,
but just not the intensity of the pain of it.

 

Two years ago I made the garden and planted a few of them.

Two years I have watched them, watered them, weeded them, spread their trailing vines to increase their numbers.

We had a few samplings last season, but the increase of flowers and drooping green fruit this year has not gone unnoticed.
Daily I visit that small patch of garden,
admiring the growing fruit that those plants have in their possibilities.

Not to have expectations would be to take the soul out of the work.

All of it has been done to cater to great expectations.

I don't expect a crop failure, but it very well could come.

The chipmunks may come back;

the squirrels may decide to tear out the bushes in search of whatever it is they recklessly decide to dig for;

the chickens may discover the taste of juicy redness;

my 4 year old (who seems to be going through a stage of terrorizing my expectations) may execute her sense of undercover mischief and gobble up the whole patch when it sits just nearing it's prime.

I know the answer I hear on the phone is right.

I know I have to give my expectations to God and take whatever comes,

good or bad.

I know that trials increase faith,
that rejections and disappointments can be the stepping stones to better attempts,
modified goals,
sweeter fruit.

I am just hoping that this patch will avoid calamity and bring fullness of joy:

 because sometimes expectations are fulfilled,
and those times are sweet happiness.

 Deep inside, when the issues are weighed, the truth is:
without occasional disappointed expectations,

the hatching of a dozen ducklings wouldn't seem enough,
the long-awaited title across the front of a book wouldn't be as graciously humbling,

the berries from an anticipated patch wouldn't taste as sweet,

gratitude wouldn't have a chance to blossom...

because isn't that the way we seem to work?

It certainly seems to be the way I do.

I'll tell you for sure when I eat some strawberry shortcake,

because like it or not,
I just can't seem to keep those juicy red fruits out of my dreams.

Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.
Proverbs 13:12

The full soul loatheth an honeycomb; but to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet.
Proverbs 27:7

By humility and the fear of the LORD are riches, and honour, and life.
Proverbs 22:4




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Thanksgiving: Just Words.

Have you seen them?

I have countless friends on facebook who have taken up the November monthly challenge of posting a statement of thanksgiving each day.

"It's a simple thing," I tell myself.

"Everybody is doing it, so I guess I don't need to.

It is just a few words...

random moments of gratitude.

What is it worth, really?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Is he still bleeding?  Is that normal for a cow's horn to bleed that long," I ask my farmer.

The steer had broken his horn on Friday and on Sunday, there was still a steady dripping coming from it.

"Yes, they can bleed a lot," he responded from the side of the trough where he was distributing hay.

He'd dusted some blood stop powder on it, but it was still a nasty mess.

Normally, we'd chase him into the headlock and try to get something wrapped on it,

but we had a bull (the result of a fowled clamping attempt when he was younger)

in that pen and it was a pretty risky business to try to get the bull out of there to work on the wounded-horn steer.  We figured the horn's bleeding would stop.

Monday, the steer was lying out in the field and didn't look too well.

My farmer decided to call the vet in the morning on Tuesday as he was still looking pretty forlorn.

When the vet arrived, it was looking as if the steer was in pretty bad shape.

He commented on how the steer's gums and the pinks in his eyes were pale,
like he was near death.

The vet said he had never heard of a cow bleeding to death from his horn,

He checked him for worms, and, although he had some, it was not a bad case.
His blood showed he was anemic, which pointed to blood loss being the cause.


It is hard to watch an animal suffer.
It is hard even when it is an animal that is destined to provide meat.

When you get animals as babies and bring them up:
have to keep their pens cleaned out,
keep their water fresh,
feed them twice each day,

fertilize the hay fields,
buy the hay seed,
plant the hay,
pray for rain to make the hay grow,
mow hay,
rake hay,
ted the hay,
pray the rains will stay away until the hay is baled,
bale hay,
move the hay
stack the hay,
and then feed the hay...

it is a consuming process.

However, there is nothing like watching your animals grow,
enjoy their meals of hay,
watch them stroll out through the green pastures of summer.


Care-taking brings a unique delight.

Certainly the time and commitment
and the money wrapped up in the whole process
makes for a relationship with these animals that is dependent upon each other.



"Will he make it,"
I ask the vet, not sure that I want to hear the answer.

"It is a 50/50 chance.  He has pretty severe anemia."
He explained to me something about the red blood count and some numbers I didn't understand.
He said something like
"35 is normal.
6 or 7 is at death's door.
This steer's number came out at 9.
It isn't looking good, but he does have strength still,
and we've done what we could."

 

It is never good to feel like there is only a 50 percent chance of hope.
Half of the time, he would die.
Half of the time, he would live.

I am more of a high-hopes kind of person.
High hopes are easier on the mind.

I don't like half-hopes.

 

I trudge down from the barn, looking up into the clouds and thinking a prayer.

Sometimes it seems strange to live on a farm and pray about animals,
rain for the harvest,
longevity for the equipment,
strength and time to get it all done,
the constant battle against the curse of sin on nature.

 

 Still, with all the verses in the Bible about farming, ripe fields,
gardening and vineyards,
I remind myself that God cares and understands.






The next morning, unsure of what will be found in the barn,
I opened my Bible next to my breakfast and skim over the words in the passage for that day.
I come up to these words:

For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills.

 I know all the fowls of the mountains: and the wild beasts of the field are mine.

 If I were hungry, I would not tell thee: for the world is mine, and the fulness thereof. 

 Will I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?

 Offer unto God thanksgiving; and pay thy vows unto the most High:

And call upon me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.

Psalm 50:10-15 (italics added)

Thanksgiving.

Just a few words?

Maybe,

but not in God's eyes.

Thanksgiving is a sacrifice, a rich offering of acknowledgement that God is good,

no matter what the circumstances that might be at the moment,

no matter how full the pot of luxuries 

or how meager the crumbs of shifting securities...

God shares that He owns everything.

Nothing surprises God.

Nothing is out of His knowledge or domain.

He doesn't rely on the sweat of our own work,

the blood of our bulls:

it is not what God wants.

He does it all

for good.
 

He wants our thanks...

when hard times turn out with good results,

and even when they don't seem to to us.

 

"Nov. 21: Today I am thankful that God owns the cattle on a thousand hills...

but He cares about the one in our barn...

and I am thankful that this time, 

He gave him strength to live and moved him out to pasture again with the others."

A Classic

"Why is she locked up inside the attic like that?"

Violet's words came from the couch as she sat watching the movie.

"She's insane, so he keeps her up there so she won't hurt anybody;

he has a care-giver up there for her so she won't hurt anybody or herself,"
I answered from the ironing board.

"What makes a person go insane like that?"

her questions seemed to come one right after another.

She had watched this movie already and was watching it again,

better understanding it this time, but wanting to understand those parts that had bothered her.

"There are different reasons for a person going insane,"

I paused as to which direction to go with this.
  I always try to find ways to condense information so that I don't lose my kids in big dialog.  It is a tricky conjuring up of rapid, precise information.

"Sometimes it is genetic, like in her case.  That means it was in her body from her mom or dad.

Her mother was insane, and they didn't tell him that when he married her.

Sometimes it can be caused by environment or things we eat or drink.

Eating too much junk or not getting the right nutrition for the body can make a person's body go off track."

I stopped for a minute to hand a crayon to Lillie who was asking for a pink one.

 I could see it had fallen and rolled by my feet.

Violet took this momentary lapse to ask another,
"Environment?

What do you mean by that?"

The hot iron was picked up again and swept the material as I answered,

"Environment means the situation or surroundings around you.

It's like the Romans that we are studying in history right now.

Some historians say many of them got lead poisoning because of the way they cooked in certain pots and pans or because of the piping that they used for their water.

When a metal in the body or even minerals become out of balance by having too much of it,

it can cause the brain to not function correctly."

"Another example is that there used to be a lot of lead used in paint."
I continued.

People who inhaled the dust from the paint that chipped off,

or little children who ate the paint chips that would flake off the windows were beginning to have problems and they linked it to the lead in the paint.

Aluminum pans is another one that can cause problems in the brain.

All of these large amounts of minerals and metals and different substances can cause problems in our bodies

because God made the body sensitive and we need to be careful what we put into it.

Sometimes, insanity can even be a spiritual thing, if a person fools with things of the devil.

There are different reasons for insanity,

but the thing was, he took care of her as best he could.

Others in that situation might have sent her away or even let her starve since she couldn't understand much of what was going on."

I could tell by the silence that she was thinking again.

"Why wouldn't Jane marry Mr. Rochester?  Why did she leave and not let him know where she was going?"

 This was a hard question, to try to sum up a person's hard choice to do what was right
even when it seemed so hard.

"She was not willing to go against her conscience." I summed up.
  "Once she found out he was married,

she knew she could not marry him.  She knew that deep in her heart,
she had to do what she knew was the right thing to do because she didn't want to live with the consequences of making a wrong choice.
Happiness doesn't come from things, or a big house, or jewelry,

or even marrying a man who loves you and you love him.

Happiness comes from doing what is right, even when it is really hard to do that.

That takes courage.  And she chose it."

 

"We all will have hard choices and you have to choose at that time what you will do.
We all make mistakes and God will always forgive us, and that is something important to never forget;
but there are consequences to the choices we make."

"It was hard." I agreed.  "It made her sad for a long time.

But God sees when we choose to do right and eventually she did end up happy again,

far happier than she would have been had she chosen to go against her conscience.

Sometimes, we may have to go through being sad,

but God sees the future and we have to trust that.

Back then, marriage was seen differently than today.

People who were married were married for life.  That is the way God intended it, even though that may be hard to have to live with sometimes, like it was for Mr. Rochester."

 I hadn't ironed for very long before she piped up again:

"That woman that liked Mr. Rochester, the rich one, she was so pretty,

and Jane is so plain.  I thought men liked beautiful women.  Why would he love Jane over her?"

 

I smiled at her thoughts, the heralded praise of beauty that is so often pushed on us,

all around us,

was being challenged by this story.

"The truth is, Violet, beauty is much more than what a person looks like.

What would be more pleasant to live with:

a plain person who smiles and sings and laughs and plays and is kind,

or a beautiful person who is mean and angry and hurtful?

Ugly manners and choices makes a beautiful person ugly.

Right character and choices can make a very plain person beautiful.

Men see that too, usually, sometimes not right away, but usually, eventually.

  It is tricky because men are created to be drawn to beauty

because that is the way God made them,

but they have to balance that with seeing the person on the inside,

or they may be stuck for the rest of their lives with a woman who makes their life unhappy."

 

Later, as the segments continued on, she came and said,

"Did you see how Jane acted when she found out she had inherited all that money

and she wasn't poor anymore.  She acted like it wasn't important.

But when she found out she was cousins of the people at Gateshead where she was staying,

she was so excited and happy.

Why would she be more excited about having three cousins than about being rich?"

"Well, let me ask you." I responded,
  "What would you feel like if you didn't have any relatives at all:

no parents,

no grandparents,

no sisters or brothers,

no aunts or uncles

(besides the really mean ones like she had lived with as a child),

no cousins,
not even any close friends,
nobody.

You were completely alone in this life.

What good would money be to you if you had nothing much to do with it,

nobody to do anything with or use it for,
except maybe to strangers who might need it more than you?

It would just be paper that could buy you stuff.

What if you found out suddenly that you had family,

that the people you were living with and had grown to love were actually cousins.

You would go from having absolutely nobody,

 to having family.

That is something that money cannot buy or fill.

Money may seem like everything to people,

but when you really sit down and think about it,

it is just paper,

just something to get you things,

but it can't buy you love, friends, or family.

Honestly, it cannot buy happiness;

it cannot buy peace with God."


Later after she'd gone to bed, I thought of these and other conversations this story had brought up:
.

a movie...from a classic.

Jane Eyre was a book I had to read in one of the teen years of my schooling.

I remember it very well because it stirred up in me many of these same questions,

issues that challenged so many different elements in life.

I thought of all the different things we had covered in just a few hours of a movie based on a classic

and I thought about our current educational dilemma.

So many of the classics are being pushed out,

seen as being 'out of touch' with the current generation

and it made me wonder:

can we ever really be out of touch with these things

or will we cause our future generations to fall below the richness of finding the simple truths to true happiness?

Are we fooling ourselves into accepting a faulty counterfeit to happiness.


"My son, forget not my law; but let thine heart keep my commandments:

² For length of days, and long life, and peace, shall they add to thee.

³ Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart:

⁴ So shalt thou find favour and good understanding in the sight of God and man.

⁵ Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

⁶ In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

⁷ Be not wise in thine own eyes: fear the LORD, and depart from evil.

⁸ It shall be health to thy navel, and marrow to thy bones.

Proverbs 3:1-8

Purple Marker.

I am pretty sure she has an unseen pocket where she hides them for her main source of mischief.

I want to chew up every marker in our house and never see them again.

Or maybe let the dog do it.
(But I don't.)

I angrily pull the stained white bedspread from off my bed,

muttering dragon sized billows of steam from my mouth.

It's just another one of those things.

I fumble with the bundle.  I mutter.  I find the culprit and correct her for the 5,555 time, 

explaining the seriousness of her purple damage.

You will sit and listen to me and understand,

 or I will banish purple markers from your little life until you are daddy's age.

Her little brown eyes fill with tears as she tells me,

"I promise I'll never do it again,"

and I wonder just as soon as those falsehoods are spoken how soon until I'll see her purple signature again.

As I throw the victimized bedspread into the washer,

I get control of my thoughts and ask God to take my love of things

and measure them against helping to train her.

Perhaps I should just admit defeat, forever rid myself of my desire for white, clean things,

 and succumb to a purple bedspread.

Things aren't really what is important,

but when you work so hard to have a few "things",

it is hard to see them as such.

And I don't want her purpling up our entire house until she is 18 either.

The balance of correction and holding things loosely is a hard one to walk.

The soap drizzles over the smudge as I silently pray for us both:

her need to submit to where she may color and do what is right,

and mine to know the weight of teaching obedience tied to a light embrace of things that can be replaced...

or at least washed every other week.

The Healing Balm.

Like a heavy, damp blanket, the weight of it swallowed me.  My eyes looked up, but the tears blurred my vision.  I swallowed, and it seemed as if my tongue had tied itself in a knot.  In the pit of my stomach, a gnawing pain seemed to me as if it would eat through my whole being, and in a way, I wished it would and be done with it.

There have been a few times in my life when I experienced this.  I have run into people who, when the subject comes up, casually say, "Oh, I have never felt that.  I have never had anything to be depressed about," as if the insatiable grip of this horrendous captor can actually be chosen somehow.  It isn't a wandering tramp that one invites in for tea.
 

No, not at all.

The occasions that I found myself suddenly facing the drowning feeling of depression were not my choice.  A couple of times, they were consequences of my own actions. The other was totally out of my control: a bout with infertility.

To those who have experienced depression, it is not a light topic.  Those who dismiss it as such have never battled it's breath-removing, heart palpitating crashes, like a javelin thrust through, not seen in coming.  Pain is hard to live with.  Abuse is intolerable.  Depression is merciless and overwhelming.

When I found myself paralyzed in it's grip, begging God to help me from that place of heaviness, there was a path of solace I found to lift me up.  It was God's answer to me, His calm in the storm, and once I found it, when the demon of depression fired on me, I brought myself to it's seat and forced my fingers to move.

 It was my piano.

Through tear-filled eyes, my hands would reach for the hymnal.  It often didn't matter what page I opened to.  Hymns have a way with the soul.  They reach through the sickness and spread their words of wealth; but not just the words...the melody that clothed them, the two working together, like fire and wood, to warm and cleanse and stir to life the parts of the soul that felt as if they were bleeding.

Music is incredible.  It wakens.  This tool we so easily have in our lives can be the honey in our hives, the salt in our broth.  It is more powerful than we realize.  We choose everyday what we will do with it.  We have 24 hours in a day, 1440 minutes each day to fill with something.  The choice of what to bathe our soul with is not a small one.

I spent countless hours rumbling my fingers up and down the keyboard during those dark spots, an instrument I am not thoroughly trained in, but the effort and time built chords and drifted my soul out of the hold. Like medicine, it healed and let me get up from a place I thought would swallow me up.  Like Saul with his bouts of overwhelming terror, the music David strummed on his harp vanquished his moments and brought peace.

I was thinking of the gift that music is the other day when I heard my child singing.  Sometimes empty, pointless words are fun and great for a smile, but I realized I needed to find some more music to embed words that may someday come back to help them, words with salve for their souls.  Making a place for worthwhile music is a gift that never stops living.  I am thankful for the balm of praise.  It is a priceless medicine.


 Here is one hymn I loved especially during those times where I was sinking.

1. Does Jesus care when my heart is pained
   Too deeply for mirth or song,
   
   As the burdens press, and the cares distress,
   And the way grows weary and long?
   • Refrain:
     Oh, yes, He cares, I know He cares,
     His heart is touched with my grief;
     When the days are weary, the long nights dreary,
     I know my Savior cares.
2. Does Jesus care when my way is dark
   With a nameless dread and fear?
   As the daylight fades into deep night shades,
   Does He care enough to be near?
3. Does Jesus care when I’ve tried and failed
   To resist some temptation strong;
   When for my deep grief there is no relief,
   Though my tears flow all the night long?
4. Does Jesus care when I’ve said “goodbye”
   To the dearest on earth to me,
   And my sad heart aches till it nearly breaks—
   Is it aught to Him? Does He see?

Oh, yes, He cares, I know He cares,

His heart is touched with my grief;

When the days are weary, the long nights dreary,

I know my Savior cares.

I love this one, too.

A Pile of Beans.

I wanted to post a blog last night,

but I was lost in a pile of vegetables.

Even this crew was lost in them.

 The auction and a local Amish market was too enticing yesterday with the fall weather and a sunny day.

While I was busy with the broccoli, cauliflour, and peppers,

lettuce, and turnips,

two cases of lima beans were being snapped.

 By the time they were done, we had 10 quarts of limas.

 Violet showed me what those two full boxes seemed like before snapping.

 Of course, when they were done, it turned into this:

Their father told them how he has memories of helping his granddad shell limas,

a sweet memory for him.

I hope the memory of all working together someday will bring the same.

Word Game...with Pictures.

There is nothing like a good game around the dinner table.

We were working on one tonight.

Violet thought up a few.

The other two tried, but, 

well, it might be a few years for them.

The farmer even got into it, and he SAYS he doesn't like games...

but we all know how those kind can sneak into the fun.

Here are a few:

Combine feline

and the appendage sticking out back from the torso of an animal.

 What is the answer?

Cattail.

Here's another:

If you combine studiously using the brain

with hat,

what do you get?

Yes, that is a thinking cap.

What about a boy cow

 and an amphibian from the pond.

Did you guess bull frog?

This one might be hard:

 mubbling and stumbling on words...

 

 and the key above "A."

Answer:

 Bumble bee.

 Here's another: 

Charlotte, friend of Wilbur.

Duck's feet.

 Spider web.

A couple more:

Eyes closed, body lying down resting.

The faces of flowers
(hint: she changed the beast with a kiss).

 

 Why, sleeping beauty, of course!
(Two of them, actually.  No beasts here.)

 What do you get when you combine:

the chips in cookies,

 and moo juice.

Chocolate milk.

Alright.  Last one.

This one is three parts:

Combine smiling,

the time of year when we harvest apples and pumpkins,

and addressing a group if you're from the south.

Can you think of any?

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