Second Wind

Moving has been a  l o n g  and  t i r i n g  process. 

The weeks leading up to our move were full of laundry, packing, cleaning, sorting and hyperventilating.  For an ADHD girl who has trouble concentrating on any one thing for any length of time, there were an awful lot of things that needed to be concentrated on for long lengths of time.  It was exhausting, and I found myself longing for that magical second wind to hit me.

After a couple of weeks of all that motivation-requiring craziness, I was pooped.  Yet I had no choice but to keep going, as many of our fabulous friends and family members were gearing up for the big moving weekend, which was looming in the future like a previously-committed-to bungee jump.  The dreaded weekend came and went ever so slowly, taking with it even more energy and leaving our family (as well as several of those fabulous friends) completely sapped.

I woke up the day after the move...the first night in our new house...feeling every muscle in my entire body, and I hadn't even helped lift the piano.  I felt like a moving truck had run me over, backed up, and done it again just for laughs, and yet our home-transference was not nearly over.  No, not nearly over at all.

I had no choice but to pick myself up the following day and plod along, trusting that rivers of energy would find me along the journey of cleaning out our old house.  For days, I packed up the children, ventured from the new house (where I wanted to be) to the old house (where I needed to be) to perform hundreds of motivation-and-concentration-requiring, energy-stealing tasks.

And instead of getting my second (or third, or fourth) wind, and instead of bouncing back from that achy hit-by-a-moving-truck feeling or drinking deeply from those abundant rivers of energy, I was getting more wiped out each day. 

Curious, I thought.  Very curious.

And then one day, it became quite clear why I wasn't bouncing back from the chaos and busyness as we would expect, as well as why I was feeling nauseous every hour on the hour, and why I nearly got sick in the coffee aisle at Meijer. 

And suddenly, we find ourselves even more thankful for the blessing of this great big farmhouse.

Scott and I are very pleased to announce that baby number six will be joining our family in January. 
Somewhere between now and then, I'm hoping to finally get my second wind so I can unpack all these boxes!

A Farmhouse and a One-Eyed Cat

We signed the papers on our farmhouse today.  All one hundred billion of them.  And after all the waiting and the praying and the waiting and the praying, and then the waiting and the hoping and the praying, it felt really good to walk out of that office and have it settled once and for all.

I, of course, am thrilled.  My husband is thrilled.  Our children are thrilled.  Admittedly, the baby has no clue what is going on, but he does seem thrilled to have new cupboards to open and close and new staircases by which to terrify his Mama as he attempts to climb.

However, there is at least one family member (as I discovered this evening), who is blatantly un-thrilled about our beautiful new farmhouse.


This is Zeke, our one-eyed cat:

Adorable, ain't he?  And not only adorable, but also very very super content to spend the rest of his life within the confines of our current four walls.

So, brilliant me decided to pack Zeke up tonight (along with our two littlest guys and a load of stuff) so he could "get acquainted" with our new home.  Mr. C, four years old, was delighted at the thought of showing Zeke our farmhouse, and was all grins and giggles.  But Zeke proved to be a giant one-eyed sissy and pitifully meowed the  e n t i r e   w a y   t h e r e.

Now this could have been really annoying.  It could even have driven me crazy, but one-year-old Baby K thought it was entertainment at its finest.  Utilizing all his sweet baby innocence and charm, along with some pretty impressive linguistic skill, he began to imitate Zeke's sissy-cat crying for nearly the entire twenty-five minute drive.

"Meeeoooooooowwww!  Meeeeoooooooowwwww!"

"Mao!  Kitty!  Mao!"

"Meeeeeeeooooooooowwwwwww!   Meeeeeeooooooooowwwwwww!"

"Mao!  Mao!" 

"Meeeeeeeooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwww!

"Mao!  Mao!  Kitty!  Mao!"

Lovely. 

By the time I released Zeke into the kitchen, I figured he would be itching to run away from his crate.  He was free and had a whole house to explore!  Instead, he came out, hunkered down, circled the crate and then climbed back in, burying his head in the back corner.  I extracted him once more and this time closed the crate door behind him.  Having no immediate options for head burial, Zeke slinked (miserably) down the back hallway and crept up the stairs, seeking a refuge from this new unfamiliar abyss.  When he found a closet at the top of the stairs, he glued his quivering mass of black-and-white fur to the deepest and darkest corner of that closet that he could find. 

And there he stayed.  

Now I did pry him out when it was time to leave.  I tried to carry him around the house, pointing out its many cat-friendly features, like big windows, a fantastic view of the yard, and giant windowsills on which to perch.  He was unimpressed.  Giving up, I shoved him into his crate, carried him to the van, and buckled him in, to which he barely protested.  In fact, the ride home was much quieter than the previous trip, punctuated only by the occasional "Meeeeeooooooooowwww" "Mao!".

Four-year-old Mr. C, though, could not understand why Zeke was making such a fuss about going to the new house.

"Why is he crying?  Doesn't he know that we're moving?"

"No, buddy.  He doesn't understand."

"Well...that's because cats don't have good brains...and they NEVER LISTEN!!!"

Sleep sweetly, Kitty Cat.  Soon you won't know what hit you.

Hmmm.  Pretty spot-on for a four-year-old.  And what I forgot to mention is that Zeke is only one of four cats in our family, and judging by his opinion of our new house, we're going to have a good bit of fun convincing them that this move is for the better.

Before bed tonight, Mr. C was asked if Zeke liked the new house.

"All Zeke saw," said Mr. C, "was the inside of the closet!"

If only he had a better brain, maybe he would listen when we told him we were moving.



    

He Really Loves Me

I pray a lot for patience.  I pray for help to get through the day, especially on those I-wish-I-could-go-back-in-time-and-start-the-day-over kind of days.  I ask God for direction, for peace in tough circumstances, for supernatural strength when I have none left of my own.

But that's not all.  I pray for other people, too:  my kids, my husband, our sponsored children, my brothers and sisters in Christ.  Sick people, hurting people, lost people, the persecuted and defenseless.

For as far back as I can remember, though, I have never asked God for any material possession.

Until one night last fall.

Looking at the night sky through the window of our shower (yes, we have a window in the shower), I broke down in tears and asked God if He would consider giving me the desire of my heart: an old farmhouse.  A place with character and charm where we could raise our five kids, and a plot of land where they could roam.  Maybe a crooked barn and a chicken coop and a vegetable garden, with trees to climb and places to explore, and room for my long-coveted goat. 

No farmhouse, in my mind, would be complete without an old tire swing, either...hanging from the branches of a massive, gnarled tree.

I can't say that I asked in detail for each of these things, that I laid out the floor plan of my dream house or was overly specific in my request (especially considering I felt a little weird to be asking for something I didn't "need" in the first place).  But God heard the genuine cry of my heart, saw into my dreams, gave a certain man I love the desire to make his wife's dreams come true, and has chosen to answer in this way:

Wow!  Obviously, I'm more than ecstatic to see my dreams becoming a reality, my wonderful husband is thrilled to be able to buy his wife the house she's always wanted (talk about brownie points), and the kids are nearly shaking in anticipation of occupying all that space!  When I can look past all the overwhelming feelings of organizing, purging, donating, packing, cleaning, repairing, selling and moving, I can hardly wait to see how God is going to grow and change our family in our new home. 

And I'm also learning something new about God.  Sure, He loves it when we ask Him for things we need, like patience and direction and healing and peace.  But just like the feeling of joy I get when my son opens up the "perfect" Lego set on Christmas morning, I think God is delighting in watching me "open" this house.

He really loves me, my Father does.  In spite of all my imperfections, sin, selfishness and pride, He hears my prayers and delights in giving me the desires of my heart. 

God really and truly loves me...and so does my husband. 

And that's better than any old farmhouse.               

Although I'd really like to keep it...tire swing and all. 

Go With What You Know

I found the house of my dreams this weekend.  Well, to be honest, it's more like the house of my dreams wrapped up in tons of 1980s floral wallpaper...but somewhere under all that ridiculousness is my dream house, I'm sure of it.

And I'm having trouble thinking about anything else. 

I truly want what God wants for us.  I desperately want to do His will (as does my husband), but the truth is, I'm having trouble even considering the possibility that this house is not in His plans for us.  I so badly want to believe that He revealed this "dream house" to light a fire under us...to motivate us to prepare our current house to sell quickly, and He's going to save my beautiful dream farmhouse for me as He sells our little ranch in record time (and at a profit, no less!). 

I so want this to be one of those "happily ever after" situations where God's plan matches my dreams perfectly.

And I'm praying to that end, that He will please please pleeeeeease let us have this house to raise our children in, with secret stairways and barns full of kittens and gardens growing wild and chickens running loose in the yard.  With the old tire swing hanging from the giant tree out back just like I've always pictured it would be; the creek down the street just begging for bare toes and rolled-up pant legs, bursting with frogs in need of catching, and the fields around the house bowing with the weight of the harvest, the sun bearing down with golden kisses on the house...the yard...the life of my dreams. 

And here I am again, getting ahead of God.

If you haven't noticed, I don't need encouragement to dream.  I need encouragement to work.  And one way or another, God is using this dream to push me; to motivate me like I've never been motivated before.  That could be His only purpose for putting this house in my life. 

I sincerely hope not.  But I'm choosing to trust Him (and I'll have to keep reminding myself to trust). 

If this "perfect" house is not meant to be ours, if we're not supposed to raise our family there, then He has something far better in His plans. 

I know this is true, even though it doesn't feel true and I don't want it to be true.  Facts and feelings are two different things.  When feelings get in the way, you've got to go with what you know.  

But just in case, I'm gonna go pack something.