So long, 2010

"Life is just a little like a ball of yarn;

the closer to the end it gets, the faster it goes."

2010 has hurried past so quickly;

seemingly faster than any other year of my life thus far -

but isn't that how it always is?

Of course I know it really couldn't even possibly 

have been any shorter than any other year has ever been,

but it just was.

Yet when I step back, and survey all of it in its completion -

the proverbial mountains and valleys...

the mysterious way that though the ups and downs

don't seem to add up or make sense in the moment;

they've evened each other out by the time it's all through.

Looking back on twenty and a half years,

2010 may very well be my favorite one yet.

It has been anything but easy;

for many months of it - difficulty seemed to surround me completely.

But as I stand on the summit

and glance back on all that this year has held,

the exhaustion of the climb melts away -

and the beauty overwhelms me.

One word describes it -

Glorious.

What a glorious year 2010 has been.

Yes, it has been so very full of adventures,

and journeys to places I had not yet been;

and those moments are ones that the venturesome side of 

me are especially grateful for.

But, smiling, I realize that the Lord has so perfectly

led me in a parallel path at the same time -

a journey of continuing to grow in Him, that skillfully mirrors

the visible adventures of these past twelve months.

The same ups and downs,

but the same glorious view.

What an awesome God I serve!

Happy New Year everyone!

days like pearls off a string

"I believe the nicest and sweetest days

are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful

or exciting happens,

but just those days that bring simple little pleasures,

and follow one another softly,

like pearls slipping off a string."

L. M. Montgomery

Remembering the bearded ladies

You may be just a little bit concerned over the title,

I can't really blame you for that I guess;

but be reassured, it's not some past circus life that I'm referring to;

I'm speaking of my goats.

Me and a few of our "Boer" goat kids; ten years ago...

On the 19th of December,

I looked back and realized- I had survived an entire year

without my goats;

and that kind of surprised me.

It seems like it has been forever since that snowy

morning when I hugged my last two goat ladies goodbye.

I had pretty much had goats forever before that,

or at least so it seemed.

Velvet and Rosabelle (the first two) became a part

of our new "self-sufficient" lives when I was seven years old;

and by the time Sonata and Dolce hopped into the truck that

frosty morning - more goats had left their hoof prints

across my heart and memory than I could possibly count.

Boy do I miss them.

I can see your eyebrows raising as you read that;

yes, I know.

You think all goats are horned, stinky, and hairy,

and have the brains of a scarecrow and the

senseless cravings of a garbage disposal.

I know you think that...

Especially if you've read

The Little Boy Down the Road...

Push back the prejudice, and imagine the perfect combination

of your favorite cat and dog.

These creatures (when well taken care of)

have to be some of the loveliest farm critters out there.

They are bright eyed, intelligent, and sassy.

They smell of clover hay and molasses.

They detest dirt, mud, and puddles, and

grain and hay that taste even just a little odd.

Our ladies were always a bit of barnyard divas;

so picky.

If their food touched the ground, they were done with it -

even if they were responsible for putting it there...

They have a sense of humor, we're sure of that -

whether turning lights on in the barn (and Kate getting

blamed for it) or opening locks and getting into things they

shouldn't (and Kate getting blamed for that too),

they do indeed seem to have a wild craving for mayhem.

And they thought it was funny. I know they did.

When I remember my bearded ladies,

I'll always feel silky hair, and floppy ears;

smell alfalfa hay and warm foamy milk;

and hear goat voices calling my 'name' morning and evening.

I'll always remember the mischievous escapades to the garden,

the freshly destroyed grape vines and tiger lilies;

the daintiness,

the curly hair and bad attitudes on rainy mornings.

The flustered fits of snorting at dogs,

the moments of silly, silly, dancing down the sidewalk when they

thought that no one was watching;

the most carefree ridiculous bouncing dance you've ever seen.

I'll miss them forever I'm sure;

but missing is sometimes just a part of remembering,

and forgetting them is something that I hope I never do.

adventures in sturdy womanhood...

Due to some out of the ordinary circumstances, I've

been home alone a lot in the past few days.

While it's hard to get lonely with so much furry company about,

it can get a little overwhelming trying to keep everybody

warm, fed, and cared for. 

Especially with five inches of lovely snow.

It has been awhile since I've had to throw haybales from the loft

and carry steaming buckets of water to chickens...

When my goats left last year, I guess I was kind of 

retired from the heavy duty barn-chores;

but it has come back in all its glory this past week.

Well, except milking goats in the sub-zero temps.

It has definitely been an adventure in sturdy womanhood;

and I can't say I mind that.

The kitties don't get fed until the evening,

but I found Favorite outside enjoying the snow this morning.

And licking his chops...?...

Busted. We knew he didn't get so roly-poly on his normal rations.

Of course the sheep are always happy to see us;

especially if we have an arm load of hay.

You just have to love the steam coming out of their little noses. 

There's something charming about sheep silhouettes with 

a snowy forest back-drop.

Or maybe that's just me...

The cow-boys aren't as endearing;

but they sure do eat a lot.

This is the part where a peaceful morning of chores took

an unsettling turn...

I hate to admit it, but I knew that there was a monster in the 

old goat barn yesterday. Spencer found him and told me all about it...

The brave little guy sat out there and yodeled at it for 

a good three hours yesterday afternoon.

Which was fine by me, since it seemed to help his cabin fever;

and I guess I kind of hoped it would go away after that.
I definitely would have.
(Spencer has a set of pipes...)

Well, the monster (another opossum to be exact)
decided to stay anyways and 

committed a dastardly deed in the night.

Out of all our dear little chickies and chicken mommas from this

past Summer, only one lone chickie had survived being

murdered by the horde of 'possums we were infested with.

Dad had courageously terminated every last one of them,

or so we thought,

until this character showed up yesterday afternoon.

And ate the last chickie.

I was so filled with horror and indignation,

I was ready to dispatch him with a pitch fork then and there,

where he was barricaded in the hay bin with what was left 

of poor little chickie.

But after listening to him hiss like a snake and howl like

a bewitched hyena all at once -

and picturing him clawing my face off;

I thought better of it.

So I set off to get the pistol;

but, then I thought better of that too.

So I compromised and set the 'possum trap.

It's a comfort to have three such brave and courageous

dogs around to watch my back.

Huck was just awaiting the word to go take care

of Mr. 'Possum.

They'd do anything they could for me;

I just love that about my dogs.

But we all know that sometimes patience and self control is the 

sturdiest thing yet - so we're waiting this thing out.

Mr. 'Possum will answer for his past when Dad gets home today.

In the meantime,

I think I'll make yet another trip to the woodshed for more wood,

and then maybe make a cup of tea with honey and cream.

We've had enough adventure and mayhem for one day.

my journey

Dad and I made it home Sunday evening.

The long trip back was made so much shorter and lovelier

by the companionship of two dear friends - Sarah and Hannah.

I was so blessed by the time to get to know them even better!

Looking back over the past weekend,

I didn't take many photos, (7 good ones, to be perfectly exact.)

and I didn't take many notes.

I did get to make and meet many, many, friends -
many memories;

and I listened with all of my strength.

I came home feeling very blessed, inspired,

and completely overwhelmed.

Whether attempting to articulate to others, record in

my journal - or even sort in my own mind the many

ways that Love the Church affected me;

I continue to fail.

I came home so strengthened in my walk with the Lord,
and yet so greatly burdened by how far I continue to fall short;
more dependant on His grace then ever before.

This is the mysterious journey of sanctification.
The more I see of the Lord, the more I long to be like Him,
and the more clearly I can see how I'm not.
The further I come,
the further I see I am yet to go.

I'm frustrated in my own weakness today,
but rejoicing in the strength of my God.

(These photos were taken somewhere in the hills of North Carolina.)

"a date which will live in infamy"

Just a few days ago, I was rummaging through some coins

that I'd been stashing away in a tin for years and years.

Somewhere in the mix, I found a pretty worn looking "wheat

penny" and knowing it to be fairly old, I squinted at the date.

1941, a year that truly just reminds me of one thing right away.

As I fingered the worn, tarnished coin, and took in

that old penny smell - I thought about 1941, and the anniversary

that would be coming up in just a couple of days.

A date that President FDR said would "live in infamy."

Today is December 7, 2010;

the 69th anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

Sure, it was a long time ago, and awfully far away,

but as I look at the penny sitting on my desk right now -

it's so easy to hear the Japanese Zeros making their

bombing pass low overhead, and smell the awful smells of

burning oil, and see the terrible sight of sinking, burning ships.

Over 2,300 men died that day in Pearl Harbor,

many upon the USS Arizona.

The Arizona going down

photo credit

It makes me wonder in whose possession this penny was on

this day 69 years ago, and how they were affected by all that occurred.

It makes me remember Pearl Harbor.

Depraved Indifference

I came across this short video clip in several different places online yesterday; bumping into it wherever I went. So I watched it; and I haven't been able to get it off of my mind since. You've probably seen it already, as it seems to be spreading fast - and I'm so glad it is. It should. And I just have to share it here too. There's a lot on my heart right now, but I'll just let Mr. Ludy speak for himself. It hurts.

The Lovely Foxanne

I have high and lofty aspirations of all the things I hope

to write a post on one of these days -

not the least of which is the fact that I still haven't

posted any photos of our finished house...

But on a chilly night like this one,

I'm only up to posting the very silly (and petty) tale

of the lovely Foxanne.

She arrived just yesterday...seems like she's been here

forever already though; much as we've seen her...

I can already hear mom telling me that I've posted

five of the exact same photos...

But they aren't at all the same to me.

Oh great; Kate's taking pictures of me again.

This is Spencer (you knew that),

and in the foreground is the little toy fox that

he received yesterday.

Mom recalled that it's been some time since our poor Spence

has had a toy of his own (there are reasons...he eats them.)

But since he is in fact older, and maybe more mature,

she brought the fox home (perfect for a fox terrier - no?)

and the rest is history.

(Well, 24 hours worth.)

Whoa. Would you look at all that crazy stuff going on right behind Kate's back?!

Trying to distract me... He's a smart little guy.

He as a matter of fact hasn't ripped her little

squeaky 'heart' out yet;

and thankfully doesn't seem to plan to.

He's actually kind of nice to her,

and carries her around everywhere,

and is forever trying to show her to us -

and stick the wet soggy thing into our hands...

Okay Joe, just make her stop.

So, I christened her Foxanne,

(soley because it makes me laugh, which seems

to be good logic for lots of things)

and all we have to do is ask Spence where

Foxanne is, and he's running off to fetch her;

not that we really care to see her anymore...

it's just too cute to see how smart he is,

and the fact that she's still in one piece;

well that's nice too.

Sigh.

She's fairing much better than Adolf did.

Adolf was his big plastic rat.

Adolf looked like a real rat from most angles -

and Spencer had an uncanny way of leaving him places.

We eventually became rather immune to him,

while most of our guests did not...

I took to calling him Adolf after Spencer ate off

all four of his limbs...

Uh, yes, Ate Off... (say that five times fast); thus the name.

I found it humorous.

Let's hope Foxanne's story has a better ending.

Yep Kate, I see you, and I really do love you too.

Camera and all.

cloudy days

I've been going through photos I took during my trip

to Texas last month - and frankly,

there are just a few that have absolutely nothing to do

with anything that I might post about right now.

But they are burning a hole in my hard drive.

So I figured I might as well just share them...

I'm assuming that you all have figured out by now that

cold weather isn't exactly my cup of tea.

Actually, I don't care for it - even a little bit.

I dread it; a lot.

So, on a particularly cold and dreary November day

like this one...

I've cheered myself with these sunny photos.

And they got me thinking.

I can't tell you how many friends, (um, and family too....)

have made a bizarre statement to me lately.

Each living in an insanely unfair amount of gorgeous

never-ending sunshine...

has come to the conclusion, that after so many

days upon cloudless days,

they actually look forward to some rain every now and then.

How crazy is that?

But as a human, I know it's true.

If it's always sunny, we don't appreciate it -

(kind of like if it always rains - we don't appreciate it...)

Sometimes we just need those dark days,

to remind us how incredible sunshine truly is.

It's true for the rest of life too.

If it weren't for those awful bad days,

life would be as flat as a Midwestern corn field.

I need those valley days to appreciate the peaks.

And I might even need Winter

to rejoice when Spring comes again.

So, I'm learning to be thankful for life's cloudy days.

Sorrows in life only serve to make us deeper,

and our joys sweeter.

They make us stop and count our blessings.

They keep our hearts tender toward a hurting world.

Yes, God in His Wisdom made things that way.

Am I thankful for the Cold aspect?

Eh; still working on that.

pure religion

No, I'm not adopted, nor is anyone in my family,

we've never adopted - and no, we're not about to (bummer.)

But, adoption is a subject that God has laid heavy on my heart since -

well, for as long as I can remember -

and my memory can go a ways back...

There's always been an ache in me when I hear about

orphans - anywhere.

I think we all could say that, right?

But it's just getting stronger, deeper;

I'd be there to get them in five seconds if I could.

I haven't been able to forget about them anymore.

I just know orphans are a piece of my future; somehow.

But that's not exactly the topic of this post,

which is a little more urgent, pressing.

I'm keeping up-to-date with the story of a little girl named

Julia

a little girl who has waited in a crib for four years for a

family, and who finally has one coming.

They are fighting to get there as soon as possible to bring

Julia and her soon-to-be brother, Sergey, home.

But there's a problem.

I've been reading about this everywhere - and it's driving

me crazy to the point that I have to write something.

Their home country - Ukraine - is currently in the process

of passing legislation that would stop international adoptions.

It has already passed once, and only needs to pass again

when they vote on it sometime this month.

And just like that,

Julia, and Sergey, and many, many, other children who

are currently in process will be stuck there.

They might never get to their families.

Just like that.

This has already happened in so many countries,

Guatemala, Liberia, and others.

All we can do is pray, and I guess that's what I'm asking.

Pray that God would change the hearts of Ukranian officials,

and that those children will be able to come home.

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world."

James 1:27

All images are of children I met during my Jan. 2010 journey to the Dominican Republic - you can read about the impact the Dominican children made on me in an old post of mine:

"A heart that breaks."

life in dog years

I just knew he was dead.

It was way back on the day they were putting the drywall up

in the new house,

the whole loud and busy crew was working away at it.

I happened to see a crumpled black heap in the corner of my room,

Buster, taking a peaceful nap - amidst the chaos.

I couldn't believe that he had the audacity to come in the house,

he never had before.

I laughed at him and said his name.

No sleepy wag, no raise of the ears, nothing.

I said it again; and then a third time -loud- ;

Nothing.

He was too quiet, too peaceful.

My heart shinnied up my throat.

Panicked, I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck,

already telling him I was sorry, for anything, everything.

With that, his sleepy brown eyes opened, and his tail thumped.

He smiled, and yawned, and blinked - his eyes laughed,

if he really were an eighty-five year old man, he would have

probably slapped his knee; he seemed to think it was all a good joke.

The rest of the family gathered around, equally relieved;

they said things to him, but he never looked their way.

It dawned on us;

Buster was not hearing a word we said.

He's deaf.

The white whiskers, the increasing feebleness,

there have been plenty of reminders that our Buster-boy

is getting old.

He may be deaf, and he may have lost most of his bark,

but he's still the same old Buster on the inside.

He still gets that puppy-like spark when Autumn rolls around;

he's obviously decided it's his favorite season.

You can see it in his eyes.

And, he still has a dreadful habit of trying to give

me a big slobbery impromptu kiss anytime I get too close.

Usually mid shutter click...

Like I've said before - photo shoots with Buster

are somewhat of a fiasco. Uncooperative is a good word.

Proof:

and...

He's getting to be pretty old... Just turned 13 to be exact; lots has changed - but we love him just as much as we ever did. He's so loyal, so faithful, so incredibly loving and forgiving. We would wish for many more years with Buster, but treasure every single day we get.

November redemption

After complaining so much about November,

and labeling it as my second least favorite month,

I've been pleasantly surprised by temps in the 70's...

Yay for cheerful, sunny, photographer-friendly days,

and a November that's redeeming itself.

Happy belated birthday to my Favorite cat...

(who will always be my favorite, 'cause that's his name...)

I can't believe that old guy's 10 now.

Would you believe this poor thing still doesn't have a name?

Probably kind on my end - since the last two were dubbed

Big Mac and Big Buford...

He said he'd rather not have a name.

And there's Huck, just for being such a ham.

Woolly... Yep, that's his name.

It probably is a little bit too cutsie for him now -

but he was cutsie once upon a time.

He's the reggae ram now...with some serious dreadlocks.

That's how many sheep we had on Monday,

and I doubt that's even all of them.

Twelve of them went to the sale yesterday,

we just had to downsize.

- And since I'm the one that knows who's who -

I was the official sentencer,

the one who decides who goes and who stays.

I really hate that job.

I know who they are, who their moms are, their names -

because I was the first one to touch them when they hit

the ground, the one who dried them off,

the one that helped them stand.

Parting with some isn't ever easy; but then again -

neither is having 30 sheep...

So, I'll hurry up and post this, before the cold and rain

returns tomorrow,

and I'm back to not liking November quite so much...

Back to the mayhem

Almost as if I needed cheering up in the midst of

November's rude arrival -

we had a visit from the sun today,

and a couple heart-warming newcomers.

It won't be long into this post that you start wondering

if I missed photographing sheep...

Well; maybe a little.

Bear with me...

My little once-upon-a-time teeny-tiny bottle lamb,

and dear sheep friend, Galey, surprised us again.

Typically, November is a little less than an ideal month

to be having lambs...

But Galey couldn't have picked a more gorgeous day.

Galey prepares to introduce the flock to its newest members.

And now, for the little munchkins themselves...

They look like little fuzzy mugs of cocoa...with marshmallows on top.

At least I thought so...

I suppose that's enough over-exposed photos of sheep for now.

Welcome back to the mayhem.