how we do it all

The sun blazed with enthusiasm this morning, but by the afternoon storm clouds rolled over and we had rain pouring off the roof in sheets, and hail pounded the windows on the north side of the house. Alaska was showing off, trying to do it all in the same day. But after about 30 minutes it wore itself out and cleared again, like a toddler after tantrum…or, like a mama whose caffeine-driven spurt of productivity has worn off, and she collapses on the couch for a breather.

how we do it all

It is a year of surprises. The night before I sent the last newsletter, when Vince had only three days left at the business he’d worked for 21 years, we found out we are pregnant.

No, nope, we didn’t see that coming at all. To say we were shocked would be a gross understatement.

But yes, in case you were wondering, we know how this happens, and we like it, but this is still, ahem, another miracle that must’ve involved supernatural intervention, like the one we had a few years ago. You know, the adorable blond one named Finnegan.

So in that newsletter when God had been teaching me for weeks about stretching our tent pegs, I wrote it thinking He was mostly talking specifically to me about writing and business. But when I proofread it before sending it off and He said, You know how to do this, you’ve done it before. You’ve just never seen it like this, I knew He was talking about this gift, which, I’ll be honest, I did not feel ready for.

But Vince has been home for three weeks, and he hit the ground running – putting in a lawn, redoing the kitchen floor, finishing his book, working on cover design, and starting to convert the former garage to a rec room, since the Stagecoach couldn’t fit in it anyway.

I, on the other hand, hit the ground and sunk in up to my waist with all day morning sickness and fatigue, taking two naps a day and stumbling around the house in a nauseous haze. My deadlines are not my own; they are not the priority right now. Right now is for resting and getting through this first trimester, and I’m reconciled to be behind schedule by at least a month or two because we are unexpectedly ahead with a baby.

The night after I sent the newsletter, I sat in the bottom of the shower and poured it all out to God, ready to be honest with Him and myself. I didn’t know how we were going to do this. And, since we’re being honest, I still don’t know how we are going to do this.

But I know that we are. Because really, do we ever know how we’re going to do it? I don’t think so.

…Our false self demands a formula before he’ll engage; he wants a guarantee of success, and mister, you aren’t going to get one. So there comes a time in a man’s life when he’s got to break away from all that and head off into the unknown with God. This is a vital part of our journey and if we balk here, the journey ends.

– John Eldredge, Wild at Heart

I don’t know how I did everything when I was in my early twenties and overwhelmed with one baby – that hard transition we go through when suddenly our life is not our own. Did you? I don’t know how I did everything in the transition from one child to two anymore than I know how I did it when we went from two to three, to four, to six when we adopted two at once and life went completely upside down.

I remember doing the math when I was pregnant with Iree and I braced myself, assuming that two kids would be twice the work. And it ended up being easier than I expected. And then I thought, Well, heck, the transition from one to two was so much easier than I expected that, hey, going from two kids to three kids ought to be a piece of cake. Right? But, au contraire! Not for me, at least. That was a rude shock.

Because there is no formula.

But there is a ridiculously impossible rule of opposites that goes something like this: Kid #2 will be the opposite of Kid #1 (so far, so good), and then Kid #3 will be the opposite of both of them (wait, what?), and every succeeding child will still be another contradicting paradox, resulting in a parenting dynamic that looks like a huge polygon with lines connecting all of its vertices, like so.

This is why we were all mostly perfect parents when we only had one kid to figure out, and then as our families grew, it felt like we were being promoted to a new level of discovering our own ineptitude.

We want answers to fix everything and everyone, and He reminds us that we don’t have those answers, and we are confounded.

Naturally, we are inclined to be so mathematical and calculating that we look upon uncertainty as a bad thing…Certainty is the mark of the common-sense life; gracious uncertainty is the mark of the spiritual life. To be certain of God means that we are uncertain in all our ways, we do not know what a day may bring forth. This is generally said with a sigh of sadness; it should rather be an expression of breathless expectation.

– Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

It is not what we expected. Our floor is in a constant state of looking like a scene from Home Alone – where it isn’t padded with Nerf darts, it is carpeted with giant 24-piece puzzles.

It is the glory of God to conceal things, but the glory of kings is to search things out.

– Proverbs 25:2, ESV

One of the phrases I hear most (aside from Wow, you sure have your hands full, ugh, so help me) is “I don’t know how you do it.” I don’t know how I do it either. But I don’t know how any of us do it. I don’t think we’re supposed to know. If we knew, we’d take the credit, and it doesn’t belong to us.

That credit goes to the Day Maker who has always done it all and brings miracles even when we don’t think to ask for them, and He will keep doing it.

something out of nothing: how He moves us

Our thoughts turn into prayers, and I don’t know if they were our thoughts first or His. But when our thoughts are His thoughts, our prayers become reality because He is such a troublemaker sometimes.

something out of nothing: how He moves us

There was no railroad there now, but someday the long steel tracks would lie level on the fills and through the cuts, and trains would come roaring, steaming and smoking with speed. The tracks and the trains were not there now, but Laura could see them almost as if they were there.

Suddenly she asked, “Pa, was that what made the very first railroad?”

“What are you talking about?” Pa asked.

“Are there railroads because people think of them first when they aren’t there?”

Pa thought a minute. “That’s right,” he said. “Yes, that’s what makes things happen, people think of them first.”

– Laura Ingalls Wilder, By the Shores of Silver Lake

Two years ago I wrote a list of things I would do if I had more time – all the millions of things we couldn’t do because Vince commuted (and did all of our family shopping) for almost 60 hours a week – and none of them were ambitious. They were pathetically in the vein of survival mode.

Find a therapist for one of the kids. Attend FreshStart with one of the other kids. Read all the books and watch all the videos and resources and trainings for our kids’ special needs. Buy pajamas for Finnegan, and get a haircut, and start putting effort into cooking better meals again. Clean the bathroom, and eat breakfast before noon.

Most of them never got done. Well, sometimes I cleaned the bathroom. And the older kids learned to cook.

Many of those things, looking back, I wish we could have done somehow. Seems like we would have benefited from them, but for crying out loud, we must breathe sometime. And there was no time.

We wanted to be together more, and together less. We needed one-on-one time with each of the kids and each other. Vince needed to be home more for the kids, and I needed to be out of the house more for my own sanity.

But other things were on that list, too. We both wanted to be more involved in ministry. I wanted to visit my grandma more often. I wanted to write daily, and study, and not feel guilty about it because there was always something else I should be doing.

I wanted to finish the books I’d started. And Vince did, too.

And maybe you noticed – I purposefully left that goal vague when I wrote it, unsure if I meant the books I’d started reading or the books I’d started writing. Because I wanted both, but was afraid to hope that big.

It was a someday-but-probably-never kind of daydream.

Until about five weeks ago.

What results is almost miraculous. We create new alternatives – something that wasn’t there before….What is synergy? Simply defined, it means the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. It means that the relationship which the parts have to each other is a part in and of itself. It is not only a part, but the most catalytic, the most empowering, the most unifying, and the most exciting part.

– Stephen R. Covey, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People

Five weeks ago, Vince went back to work after taking a month off to finish some backburner projects we’d been praying about for years. On the last day of his vacation, we closed on this house. And we felt strongly that even though he was going back to work, it was only temporary.

We had no idea how it could possibly be temporary; we only knew that God had been talking to us for a long time about a big move and it didn’t just mean our physical location.

We asked Him for years for this move, and He finally said, How bad do you want it? If I give it to you, will you really take it?

The next day was the day of the fridge and the frenulum, and in that post I mentioned a phone meeting with our insurance guy. What I didn’t mention was that during that discussion we learned that a smallish, forgotten nest egg we’d plugged away at for years had actually made itself useful.  And God asked us, Do you believe Me now?

The creative process is also the most terrifying part because you don’t know exactly what’s going to happen or where it is going to lead. You don’t know what new dangers and challenges you’ll find. It takes an enormous amount of internal security to begin with the spirit of adventure, the spirit of discovery, the spirit of creativity. Without doubt, you have to leave the comfort zone of base camp and confront an entirely new and unknown wilderness.

– Stephen R. Covey, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People

And it’s sort of like when we got married: We eloped, but we talked to my dad ahead of time. Just like then, Vin was a little terrified to tell him, but also just like then, Dad was full of encouragement and good counsel. He said, in so many words, you have to take the risk to know if you can make it.

So, friends: Vince has worked for the same company for 21 years, and he put in his notice this week.

We’ll be home together, out and about together, and working together and separately. His first book is already off to the editor and should launch early this summer. My second book is a month or two behind his (can’t wait to show you the cover!), and the third should come out this fall.

We have a kid who’s on his last year home with us, and we want to do this thing together. We have six other kids we want to make great memories with, and we want to show them what’s beyond the fifty mile radius around us. We haven’t ventured past that in over five years.

We have a bazillion other ideas involving print and publishing, business and ministry, fellowship and community, deep and wide. But mostly, we are available for whatever He has for us, because He is always making something out of nothing. And He’s still moving us.

the second day: when we don’t know what’s ahead

We walked the woods and I wandered to the spot where we buried someone precious a few years ago.

the second day

The piece of bark was just laying there, right over the grave. This skin torn off of a living thing, leaving it exposed, vulnerable, and in pain.

Truly, truly, I say to you, you will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice. You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy.

I think often about this “second day” space: this time between heartbreak and victory, between the bloody cross and the empty grave, when we don’t know what’s ahead.

We hoped for something huge and desperately longed-for, but it was thrown in our face and spat on. We didn’t know what was coming.

We tried to build a fire for warmth and light, but we’re still freezing, the smoke is getting in our eyes and we can’t see anything else.

We thought those contractions meant we were close to delivery, but found out we were only dilated to one and a half centimeters.

When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world.

The Kingdom is on the cusp of something amazing and huge. He is waking up His people in a way we haven’t seen in our generation, and maybe in a way He hasn’t done in many generations. This is a great time to be His people, but we have to endure the hard work of waiting.

We walk a tense line between faith and not moving ahead of God to push fruit, forcing something to work on our own. We don’t want to miss His move of certainty by stepping without Him, tired of waiting for the prophets and giving the sacrifice on our own. We don’t want to build the golden calf in our impatience for God’s answer, as the Israelites did when they squandered their loot from Egypt in making a work of their own hands to worship.

For weeks now, God has been reminding me that He restores, redeems, and refines us in our encounters with Him. And we often encounter Him in our need, in the quiet, dark place of the second day where we hurt and have no answers and are brought face to face with our need for His light, His answers, and His comfort.

In this second day space He is putting things back together for His people, as though He was working in the dark soil of our very foundation and identity, and making things right in ways they have never been before.

So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.

– John 16:20-22, ESV

The second day is a day of smoldering ashes. Our woodstove is the grave of that tree. We lay on more kindling and push things around a little closer to the coals.

We shut the door. We watch.

The smoke starts spinning in there, the coals start glowing and flickering. It’s only a matter of time before you hear it – the deep whoof, the sound of ebullition — all is bright and burning.

It is the second day. We’ve been waiting for a long time and the momentum is increasing, and God is about to ignite something ferocious, contagious, and powerful for the Kingdom.

“Does bark always come off in the shape of a heart?” Cham asked.

No, I told her. Only God does that.