It's that time of year again

The combines are all ready to go.  The fields are ripening more each day.

I'm trying to psych myself up for busy season, which isn't working so well since it kind of feels like all of life is busy season.  It's all perspective though, in a couple weeks I'll think this was pretty slack.

I'm not sure how many hours, if any, I'll log into farm operations this year.   I wouldn't mind trading a day with the howler monkeys for a day sitting in the utter quiet, boring ,solitude of a combine cab.  

Either way...

single parenting season is upon us. 

Just lone Ranger me and the Kidlets. 

Good times....good times. 

Peas waiting for harvest

My best little raspberry picker, and notorious berry thief.  

 Crab apple jelly, and strawberry/ rhubarb jam.

I'm so thankful for my biggest girl and the great helper she is.  

Here she is enthusiastically, begrudgingly snapping beans.

...well, where she may lack in consistent eagerness she makes up for with quality of work accomplished.  

It's that time of year again.

The garden is in full production.

The days are getting slightly shorter.

We are starting to wrap our minds around another year of home schooling three kids, and buying supplies for one child in regular old public schooling.  We're an eclectic, odd mix as far as education goes right now.  Which is ok, because my kids are a pretty eclectic and odd too. 

Harvest season is upon us.

There is something about harvest that I love.  All the momentum, the focus, and the nostalgia of decades filled with the same sights, and smells.  There is also something that I dread about this harvest season....

the signal that summer is pretty much done. 

...and I will not speak of the season that comes next. 

*shudder*

We miss them already

It's been a couple weeks since our summer house guests left. 

I miss them already, 

and our visit seemed short this year.

I guess three weeks is a long time to have two extra people around...

but it's usually the only time in the year we get to see them. 

My husband and his sister, one year apart in age.  Separated as kids...reunited about 25 years later, now good friends who talk on the phone all the time and text even more.  

We are glad Brook and her son have been able to make the trek up here from the Washington state for the past four summers.

 Brook knows better than anyone, after all the time she's spent living with us, that we are an imperfect family.  We are washed in grace and she loves us well, despite our rough edges. 

Our nephew may be 12 now but he's not too big for a snuggle with his Mama.

My sister in law is such a great Mom.  She is the rock star of single moms toughing it out, working hard, advocating for her son (who is marvellously quirky), and always doing what's best for him. 

He was so sweet to his newest little cousin.

Of course Cece sill adores him.  Actually that might be an understatement. 

The feeling may be mutual.

I love this kid.  I'm thankful that he's a part of our life, and that we get to see him grow up. 

We all miss them already...

and look forward to another summer visit next year.

Our week at Family Camp

 

For  the fifth summer in a row we spent a week enjoying "Family Camp" at a local Bible camp.  This was the fourth summer that we've had my sister in law Brook and her son with us. 

A few of my family members were also camping nearby for the week.  

Grandpa even brought a quad to shuttle kids around on.  

A highlight for my kids is the "tuck shop" where they spend their hard earned money on all kinds of sweet treats.

Elijahs favourite was the popcorn.  Cece preferred icecream. 

It's been an unusually cool wet summer this year, but it warmed up enough for a few afternoons at the beach.

The Hubby got some quality sailing time in.  This is our new little boat.  We sold our big Tanzer 22 last fall to fund our Mexico trip, but then came across this little gem being sold online for $400.  It took a little TLC but is worth so much more than what we paid for it.  Sail boats seem to be our most effective savings accounts.  Buy them cheap, fix them up, have some fun and then make a buck. 

Just big enough for Dad and a kid.  Roman is the biggest sailing fan, 

and adrenaline junkie.

Silas prefers to play.

Headed to the beach with all the essentials. 

There were a lot of activities to keep the kids happily entertained.  One afternoon we had a bicycle parade.

The kids all decorated their bikes and themselves. 

Elijah wasn't so sure.  He was pretty convinced we were all going crazy.

Another activity was the tug-o-war.

We were on "team yellow"

It's a good thing they had Elijah on their team, I don't know that they would have won without all that enthusiasm.

Lots of camping food.

Mmmm...yummy.

I Didn't Follow my Heart

Someone recently commented about our adoptions saying 

"that is so good of you, you are amazing, that must feel so good". 

As well intentioned as the comment was, it left me speechless.  I'll skip over that suggestion that somehow I'm "good"...because honestly that's just plain laughable if you know me.  Only Jesus is good.   

It is an uncomfortable sentiment I hear quite often though. It was the last part that floored me.

Externally I mutter something like "we are so blessed and thankful"....which is absolutely true.

But here, on my blog, I'm going to be a little more honest. 

An adopted child doesn't arrive with a bag of warm fuzzies.  Nope, not even a little carry on.

 Parenting and loving a child isn't something we do to feel good.  If that is an adoptive parents motive...Lord help that child. 

I sounded just as strange to me, as it would if you were to tell a parent of five biological children 
"it must feel so good".

How do you answer that?

Are you curious what adopting a child, particularly one with medical needs and complicated histories, feels like? 

It just feels like parenting

...which many days "feels" anything but good.   It's that simple really.  I'm just a parent, not some sort of saint. 

It "feels" like very uncomfortable lessons in patience and self control.

It "feels" like relentless fear, frequent frustration, sleep deprivation, and a nagging headache. 

My own selfishness being stripped away by shrill little voices demanding more from me than I want to give, usually "feels" more like a cheese grater than an emotional high. 

This is exactly the reason I don't "follow my heart" but rather bring those "feelings" into submission to a Lord who lovingly laid down his life first. 

The gospel trumps "feelings"

I want to make something very clear.   I did not "follow my heart" to my adopted children.   

I didn't pursue them, because it "felt right".

In fact my "heart" told me that each of our special needs adoptions was a very bad idea indeed.

 My heart told me to run away in self preservation,

far far away,

anywhere but where God was leading us to. 

If I had followed my heart I would run hard and fast from realities like chronic liver disease, blood tests, viral loads, uncontrollable mouth infections, attachment disorder, drug withdrawal, therapy, assessments, leg braces, stretching, expensive equipment, trauma, and brain injury. 

Every.  Single. Time. 

So much risk, so much potential of being hurt and rejected, so many unknowns, so much vulnerability....so much assurance of certain difficultly.   If I had followed my heart, or was looking to "feel good", I would have hunkered down, closed my eyes, and settled into a life of elusive self gratification.   

If I had followed my heart I would have appeased my conscience by giving a little money to charity, and then felt a bit of smug pride about it.  I would have assured myself that my own "quality of life" was my most important goal. 

My sin twisted little heart tells me I deserve a life of ease, that my time is my own, that I answer to no one, that I should be able to shower alone, pee without small hands reaching under the bathroom door, and that I can "find myself" apart from my God given tasks and roles.  

My heart is an idol factory, so easily deceived and lured into temptation.

Feelings run out, experiences prove shallow, and good intentions run dry. 

No amount of do-good social justice activism will hold up under daily strain of monotony and relentless demands.  

Love is a choice. 

Love is choosing to do what's right for someone else, even when it comes at a cost to yourself.  

When the gospel naturally propels sacrificial love and actions, and the Holy Spirit empowers it,

 joy, peace, purpose, and contentment do absolutely come as a by-product of that obedience.

You will find treasure in the most unexpected places.  In submitting to something greater than my own feelings, I have been incredibly unbelievably blessed.  Two little gifts that I could have so easily missed because of my own fear. 

When you are in Christ, actions flow out of position.  When you know who you are, you know what to do.  

In losing your life, you find it.  

But some days losing it honestly feels like I just might "lose it" in the process.  

Today my "heart" is totally telling me I'd rather be lounging by myself on a tropical beach than dealing with poopy bums, whining tantrums, and a never ending pile of laundry.  

Soli Deo Gloria,