World Down Syndrome Day

Ally - when she was about eight years old

Ally - always the encouraging one through my chemo and recovery

Ally - thirteen years old and a young lady

We were young, naive, eager, and enthusiastic.  Baby Ben was fifteen months old, learning to run, curious about everything, and finally a good sleeper.  I had completed my first semester teaching biology at the college level and was working part time in family practice.  Not-Yet-Farmer Husband had just completed his doctoral studies and dissertation and was preparing to begin his post doctorate fellowship.  It was time to move.  Move from our little basement apartment under a mansion in the big city and make our own home. 

After interviewing in several places Not-Yet-Farmer Husband was offered a post-doctorate residency fellowship at a private practice counseling setting about 200 miles west of the big city.  So we packed our bags, loaded the U-Haul (twice!), and moved into a fixer-upper-er with two and a half acres.  Our first home! The siding was wood pecker pocked, the carpeting stained, dirty and reeked of dog urine, the wall paper outdated and the drywall nails puckered through.  But it was sound and dry.  And overlooked a beautiful setting of trees, hills, and water. 

Day One of moving day we celebrated with a spaghetti dinner and ate around our little built-in orange laminate table.  Day Two began our fifteen year project of remodeling, building, and repairing.  Oh! The projects I could write about.  Tiling, painting, staining, insulating, drywall, mudding, hardscaping, siding, roofing, framing, window installation, deck remodeling, kitchen counters, resurfacing cabinets, carpeting, parquet flooring, custom molding, and bathroom creations.  Every room, every wall, every floor, every window.  We even jack hammered the old concrete and poured a new driveway.  We built and remodeled as though it would be our home on this earth until we passed.  I can’t even recall the hours and hours, weeks and months of work.  A labor of love – most of the time.  With memories of laughter, sweat, and tears.

And then we moved to the farm.

The “other house,” for which our remodeled home became known as, was not yet completely remodeled or completed when we moved to the farm.  So we went back and forth working on projects getting the home ready for sale. This took years.  Years.  But finally it was done.  We put it on the market.  First ourselves, then with a realtor.  But the house did not sell.  Common feedback was “It’s too big”.  And yes it was – it was now 4000 square feet, five bedrooms, four bathrooms with a master suite.  Empty, it took me over an hour just to vacuum.  

For almost two years it stood. 

Our prayer was that a Christian family or perhaps ministry would purchase it and be blessed by the size, design, and vastness. 

Then one day in mid-February an offer.  We closed last Thursday.

They are a young Christ-following couple purchasing their first home with a young beautiful and curious baby boy about a year old (sound familiar?).  Their passion and dream for the home and the ministry for their lives was to adopt children with special needs – either children with Down Syndrome or cerebral palsy. 

Oh, how my heart is filled with warmth and gratitude. This would be a perfect home! An answer to my heart's prayer - even when I didn't know it.

Happy World Down Syndrome Day! (How Do You See Me?)

"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of earth.  Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there were none." (Psalm 139: 13-16 ESV)

Today’s Journey Joys: Ally-girl - our gifted child with three 21st chromosomes, breakfast with a dear friend, farm fresh eggs, pancakes with warm syrup, spring sprouts and tulips pushing through mulch, roosters crowing, bees flying, sun-shine warmth, aprons and cats curling.

Winter's Crust

“Cough, c-c-cough, cough…” the sounds rattle through my chest and generate what feels like loose gray matter resonating throughout my head and face. The productive results of this hacking is an unappealing expectorate resembling a combination between applesauce and vanilla yogurt.  My voice is deeply resonant with intermittent whispered high pitched squeaks.  Joints are rubbing. And the body is achy and weary.

It’s been 12 days with these cold symptoms.  And they’re not getting any better.   But I press on.

Longing for spring. 

Green buds, tiny shoots pushing through the soil. Fuzzy pussy willows swelling with expectation.  Lavender craving warmth  in anticipation.  Spreading its skinny leaves and stretching towards the growing sun in preparation for majestic purple blooms.

Could it be that the daffodils have punctured through winter’s crust?  

The lettuce, ornamental grasses, and flowers are maturing in the growing center of the basement. Soon it will be a jungle down there and plants will eventually be moved to the hardening center - a removable plastic cover over shelves just outside the front door - protected from spring's western winds and variable temperatures.

Over three hundred tomato plants placed strategically in their cells.  And peppers soon to follow.  The frenetic pace of soil preparation, seedling starts, spring debris and left over winter weeding, and hoop house preparation is fast approaching. Often overwhelming; but always exhilarating.

I truly believe that farming must be an activity in heaven.  It brings such joy. Such measure and pace. Such reliance and praise to the Creator. Yes, soon the warmth and sweetness of just turned soil and the freshness of green grasses mowed will be upon us once again. The sun will warm our backs and draw out the freckles. Jackets will be donned and coats and mittens put away until another cold restful season.

Today's Journey Joys: a hot, hot, steamy shower on achy joints and stuffy lungs, flowers, broccoli, cabbage sprouts, a pot of turkey soup and fresh baked bread, and negative findings on follow up tests for my eye. 

Chaos

Chaos.  My fear and my life.

The inner turmoil of stuff… things… scattered, trampled, and hurled haphazardly.  Pressing urgently, shouting incessantly.  The constant lingering, sometimes bellowing, thoughts which invade and pilfer my tranquility and personal peace. 

And as often in my life – the external – reflects the internal.  Perhaps that’s why so much emphasis and energy and thought and exercise is focused here….on the periphery. In the areas of life which others experience, others see.  “If I could only structure, clean, paint, weed, decorate, dress, design (fill in the blank)…. in such a way….” The focus so unrequitedly directed toward the blemish.  

I long deeply, deliberately, and sincerely to experience beauty.  To hold it, like one nestles a soft baby chick. Giving it boundary and yet not pressing too firm. To caress beauty’s refreshing peace in my soul.  That is my longing, my ache.

But my external world is muddled.

Farmer Husband’s dress shirts piled high waiting to be pressed.  Dishes strewn in the sink, crusty with dried food debris.  Electronic tails weaving in and out and under and over everything.  Dust - bunny, webbed, and amassed on horizontal planes.  Cardboard boxes -half filled, file piles teetering in height, plastic food containers and lids stacked precariously on counter tops.  Carpet stains freckling the floor.  Window panes reflecting the haze of a winter’s cloudy envelope. Iron deposits and streaks on tub’s bottom.  Faucet rhythmically dripping….

“One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in His temple.” (Psalm 27:4 ESV)

We were created with the longing for beauty. His beauty.

It’s no wonder that a clean, organized, lovely home enables inner reflection.  The visual overload does not distract. I completely understand the serenity I feel when the farm is weeded; the flowers are blooming; the summer sweet corn aroma announces its readiness.  When I drive by the ordered grape vines winding their tendrils around wired beams, when I look long down the perfectly straight rows of beans heavy with fruit, when I observe the contrasting colors of variegated leaves and just-opening flower buds against a backdrop of freshly tilled and moist dark sweet smelling soil – these reflect, although dimly, “the beauty of the Lord.”

When I see the crescent of a moon beaming brightly, reflecting and ricocheting its light from the whitest of snows piled high.  When Rigel, Betelgeuse, and Bellatrix twinkle luminously around Orion’s belt in the dark sky overhead. When seedlings pop through their blanket of earth, stretching their inner cells to build.  When puffy white smoke twirls up the sky from the wood burning furnace chimney, enveloped in a snow blanket.  These reflect, although dimly, “the beauty of the Lord.”

 

 “One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after …”  One thing that I desire, that I seek, that I pursue - the One. That’s what the psalmist wrote. One thing.  

Noteworthy that the “one thing” was associated with three verbs. 

“Dwell….. gaze…..inquire….”   

The act of pursuing the Lord involves residing, beholding, and asking.  Hmmm.  This does not sound like the frenetic pace of doing, doing, doing.  The “one thing” requires reflection – meditation. Slow and deliberate. Intentionally and single-mindedly focused on Him.  

Reordering the inner chaos in the act of embracing the beauty of the Lord.  That is beauty.

Selah.  (Pause, and think of that).

Today’s Journey Joys: Hazelnut coffee with cream steaming hot, warming temperatures melting winter’s snow, meowing Frosty the cat incessantly demanding his breakfast, Kirby vacuum cleaner sweeping up debris, dishwashers chugging along, ornamental grass and lettuce starts peeking out through the soil under grow lights, slowing and thankful heart.

Findings

My head is placed between two soft cushions surrounded by a plastic firm head mold with this hockey mask-looking contraption placed over it.  I’m looking through white triangles.  The assistant then adds a triangular mirror to garnish the whole look.  They hand me two yellow foamy ear protectors and I squeeze them tightly into my ear canals. And abruptly, the quiet buzz of the electric sliding table whisks my brain under the giant, soon-to-be-whirling, magnets for my MRI. The technologists leave the room.

Interesting… the thoughts one has getting these sorts of tests.  I go from being amazed by the technology to focusing on the deafening noise of the machine gun-like sounds, wondering what’s going on there and how it all works to give pictures of the inside of my skull. I’ve never been claustrophobic and don’t mind these tunnel shaped tests.  In fact, sometimes I almost fall asleep.  That may be more reflective of how tired I am these days though.

I know lying there, in my nothingness, that the results of these test might be very troubling – life changing.  Life shortening.  In a few short hours my kind oncologist will show me the results – we will know whether there is any evidence of metastatic disease.  Cancer recurrence. And I feel my head getting warmer; my face flushing.  My breathing becoming rhythmic and slow. I’m actually getting sleepy despite all this noise.

And after 30 minutes or so it’s all done.  Well, except for the funny look on the faces of the technicians.  “Ah, you look pretty red.” And she pulls up my hair from around my ears and says, “Your ears are bright red as well… and warm.”  “Are you feeling OK?” she asks looking concerned.  “Oh yeah, I’m fine,” I respond cheerily.  “Although my face does feel a little warm.”  She leaves the room and summons  the radiologist.

A few minutes later this young… Did I mention young? ( How did I get to the age where professionals no longer are my age but my children’s?)  Anyway, this young doctor takes a look at me and says, “Are you OK?”  “And of course I simply smile my big toothy grin, “Yes, I’m just fine.  Just a little warm and slightly itchy.”  Needless to say, I had the privilege of hanging out there longer than expected.

After a wonderful strawberry, tangerine and cranberry salad at the local Freshens restaurant, I found myself up on the 10th floor of the Gonda building with torrents of snow showers tumbling down around the city as far as the eye could see.  Beautiful.  Spectacular. Breath-taking.  I’m an hour and a half away from getting my results.  Just moments before, I witnessed a patient about my age leaving the oncology floor.  Her face blotchy and red with tears dripping. Our eyes met only briefly.  Her pain and sorrow evident as she quickly looked away. Her eyes in disbelief and wonder.  I could only imagine her news. I longed to embrace her and comfort her.

My own fear, in the back of my mind of course, was that my personal journey would turn back to brambles, thorns, and loneliness once again.  And that was a hard, very hard place to be.

But I am at peace as I wait for the test results. Resting on the experience of God's closeness and peace not only through the brambles, but in them.  Embracing the story He has written for me -whatever and wherever He leads me.

 “No evidence of metastatic disease.”  That’s what she said with a grin on her face.  And I grinned backed. 

Today’s Journey Joys: safe travels through a winter wonderland in Minnesota, homemade comfy lentil soup, quiet solitude, roosters crowing, seedlings emerging, child hugs, prayers graciously granted, fragrant essential oils, sun peeking out from behind winter clouds.

A simple visit

“Look here,” instructs the doctor as he points to the dark spots on the graph representing some visual “blanks” in my right peripheral field of vision.

“Sometimes this is simply an artifact.” He pauses briefly, “Now look here.”  The kind doctor pulls the next graph from his stack of test results. “This is your left eye.  Although not as pronounced it too has some deficits.”  He lets that sink in before proceeding.  “When the two of these occur together it is suspicious for a possible tumor.”

Did he just say tumor?

“I think we should do an MRI just to be safe.  But before we do that let’s redo this exam on Thursday and see if it is reproducible,” He suggests without really wanting any input from me.

“You know,” I stammer, with a little smile on my face, masking the sudden terror that the back of my mind is experiencing.  “You know, what my mind is thinking don’t you?  (Nervous short laugh). Could this be a cancer re-occurrence? I just finished my last treatment about one year ago.”

He looks up from his computer, the one he was documenting numbers and impressions on.  “Cancer? When did you have that?”  And I explain to him about the history of surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation and the current daily tamoxifen which I had previously conveyed to his assistant.  He seems extra-alert.  Perhaps that’s just my imagination though.  “Ah… given your symptoms and these results I cannot rule out any brain mets,” he quietly says half way to himself and to me. And he leans over his computer once again.  Reviewing the results and what he wrote. 

“I’ll see you Thursday and we will repeat these tests.  If the results are the same then I think we’ll do an MRI.  If they improve we will just watch and see.” And he shakes my warm hand with his cool one and gives me an encouraging smile before he exits the little room. 

“OK,” I stammer and get up to leave, grabbing my winter coat, red scarf, and black purse, escorted through the maze of the office by his kind assistant.  “See you Thursday!” she encouragingly says before she too is off to the next patient, the next appointment.

I just went to get my eyes checked.

For the past few weeks my right eye has been having difficulty seeing – especially at night when the lights become beautiful star-shaped colors – like looking at lights through rain drops. My glasses help some but less so every day.  And then there is this nagging, not really painful, pressure at the temporal side of the eye.  More irritating and distracting than painful.  At first I attributed it to the stress of my job – I am on my computer many hours a day – and so eye fatigue seemed a satisfactory explanation.  Then, when the glasses did not seem to help at all – and only increased my headache – I called my ophthalmologist. 

Tumor?

My thoughts and emotions get all entangled as I drive home in the cold drizzly gray of a January rain. My cure from stage III ductal breast cancer seems tenuous – resting on hopes of successful treatment – treatments which were quite costly – costly on many different levels.  Successive tests with negative results reinforcing the possibility of a longer earthly life.  Yet, always, the little voice with the concern that it could come back lingers.  It lies there suppressed most of the time.

Next week I have my third quarterly checkup with my wonderful oncologist at Mayo Clinic.

Today’s Journey Joys:  seedling shelves being created, a flexible and challenging job, decluttering, blustery north west wind, a bus driver who loves Ally

A Pondering about Good Works

The whirling sound of the warm forced-air heat blowing through the heat registers in our fifty-or-so year old farm house seems constant on this beautiful snow-sparkly winter day.  This weekday has been filled with getting children to school, teaching and grading graduate student papers, organizing aberrant household items, and researching.  The rumbling dishwasher has scrubbed clean my old glass gallon pickle jars.  They now rest, upside down, on the gas stove burners.  In a few hours I will endeavor to store my new whole grains in these pretty, dry and airtight containers.  Oat bran, quinoa, whole wheat flour, barley, lentils…. Eventually I hope to make some wooden shelves to display them on and to have ready access.

And I’ve been thinking.

Reflecting.

“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10 ESV)

Over the past few months I believe the idea of starting a Handy Person Ministry at our church has been brewing.  Actually, it’s hard for me to fathom that there isn’t one already.  Don’t get me wrong, the faithful serve.  They encourage, help, pray, cook and render aid.  Yet there are so many hurting people – in the church – in which a little handy person could make a positive impact.  The widow, the orphan, the single parent, the ill, the seniors of the church…. I see the investment of a few hours a month into the lives of one of these as a method of demonstrating Christ’s love for us – the Church.  Imagine, a chronically dripping faucet repaired in an hour by a competent person.  Not only does the faucet get repaired but the love and Christ-community built during the encounter gets cultivated and strengthened.  A creaky paint-chipped fence, sidewalk stones dangerously uneven, a hard to reach light fixture needing a bulb replaced, a hole accidentally created with the swing of the door needing patching, windows needing washing, trim painting, weeding, bush trimming, planting, wiring, tiling, hanging curtain rods, lawn mowing…. The ideas and possibilities are endless.  And there are those in the church who have these special handy talents.  More importantly, there are those in the church with these special handy needs – with limited resources and skills.  

“So then as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith.” (Galatians 6:10 ESV).

I’ve written up a draft proposal.

And I’ve been sitting on it. It lies in the bowels of my computer.  Afraid. Knowing that I am a dreamer – an idea person – a vision shaper. Not a great doer of details. What if in bringing the idea I am asked to coordinate the efforts?  I can help; I do not believe I have the energy to make it happen. Paralyzed in doubt.

And so the proposal waits...  

Today’s Journey Joys: shiny glass pickle jars, vacuum cleaners capturing dust bunnies, a growing burning desire to grow in Christ-community, take-out restaurants with delicious spaghetti, and longer winter daylight hours.

Frames and Words

Source: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVX9YANgxTwV_b70orqUEqsxae3ThedvGxcQZk7URnAXBLMrDeTnjFdqkZar8zptwSSe89AIIonddRS9hG1f5eLif5cYUPaTMrBY5iqKhrdR_uAIZBhJdmtT2pOUb3SproMqAVvNT2Vr4A/s1600/wall+of+frames+8.jpg

Frames.  They set boundaries and simultaneously focus attention.  Sometimes ornate and beautiful; sometimes simple and unassuming. Each created to hold something, to highlight something, or someone.  Frames are not only physical or tangible.  They can be metaphorical, abstract, or conceptual. 

“So what are your goals this year Chris?” Beth asks as we enjoy our Mexican meal at a local restaurant, seated in a wooden booth with a dark wooden table top and warm lighting. Spicy chicken and avocado sandwich wrap and cheese enchiladas.  I thought about it briefly.  Moments before Beth had outlined specific goals for her annual development in measurable and ambitious fashion.  She encased them all within her “word” for the year. (For the life of me I can’t remember that word!)  Impressive though.  Her analytical mind a wonder to behold.  I loved hearing her longing for growth in the facets of her being – physical, emotional, spiritual, social and mental.  Her goals, aspirations, specific tasks to reach the goal, and her heart for the desire to become who she was created to be were truly remarkable. Inspiring.  So with a pause in the conversation and a return to her meal she asked, “So what are your goals this year Chris?”

“Ah, well, my goals are a little more “directional” rather than specific ones,” I mumbled out a little sheepishly. I explained, “I’ve made holistic goals, with measurable results and specificity for decades now.  What I find is that I typically make them too lofty, too unattainable and at the same time not expansive enough.”  Beth nods, listening with a smile and an upward twinkle in her deep brown eyes.  “My goals are….” And I proceed to describe the direction I wish to head in 2016. 

Healthy.

My word for the year.  Healthy. The frame which will encapsulate my life choices, decisions, thoughts, meditations and direction.  This year my daily query will be, “Is this healthy?”  “Is this decision or action (or whatever...) in the best interest of being healthy?”   

When I am planning and making meals – are my choices health – full?  Do they improve my health and the health of my family?

When I am sitting in my chair, grading papers, writing remarks, preparing presentations, am I focused?  Or are my thoughts wondering, emotions disturbed, harboring negativity or criticism towards my students? Are these thoughts healthy for me?  For them?

When I am learning new skills, (for example growing table grapes, using raised beds and plastic mulch, growing currants, and vegetarian cooking – all skills which I am growing in this year), are my choices and efforts healthy?  Do I put enough emphasis on the development of these skills?  What do I need to do to be more healthy in this area?

When I consider my daily exercise – an area in which I have struggled my entire life – is my activity or choice of inactivity improving my health?  What amount would be healthy? 

When I desire to grow in my knowledge and relationship with Christ – are my daily practices healthy?  Anemic?  Well rounded?  Am I developing or stagnating? A plant that doesn’t grow, dies.  Am I investing in the lives of those around me?  Are my decisions for spiritual growth healthy?

Healthy. 

My daily, mundane decisions will go through this filter – healthy.  “Is what I am about to do, is what I am thinking, is what I am watching, is what I am meditating on, is what I am considering….. is it healthy?

No, I do not have specific goals –some would say they are not goals at all - a little nebulous. Yet they are directional, framed.  

“And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and man.” (Luke 2:52)

Growing in all these areas.  This is healthy.  This is good.

Today's Journey Joys: filthy gloves cleaned with dirt speckled suds, pounds and pounds of free ranged, pastured scrumptious turkey, the start of a woman's bible study this evening, shopping the edges of the grocery store where whole foods are, renewable wood burning furnace keeping our home cozy warm, hot cups of steamy coffee.