For all the aching parts of growing up
We’ve been in our new house a week when we take a family-date to carry away the mountain of flattened cardboard boxes to a local recycling drop. The kids pile into the car as the sun goes down. Jeff ties the boxes on tight, drives slowly. We make it. Kids topple out of the car, they drag the small ones over and heave them over their heads into the receptacle. All’s well. We climb back in, it’s dark now. We’re near the Goodwill drop-off so we stop. Drop off some boxes of 2T clothes, board books, Heidi’s infant bike-seat. I hand over pieces of our life and shake my head. They’re growing so fast.
We have a gift to deliver to our old next-door neighbors who helped us with our move. As we pull onto our old road, turn left on Winkel Way, I wonder how this will go …
Our old house comes into view. A pod is in the driveway. The lights are on and I can see the bare walls inside. Dutch pipes up from the backseat.
“Mommy, who lives in our house now?” I explain. Some little children. A family. A nice family who will take good care of it. Silence. I can feel the air in the car change.
“Is their car in our garage?” Dutch asks slow, a slight quiver in his voice. Yes, I say.
We drop the gift at our neighbors’. It’s dark and our old house is all lit up, glowing at the top of the street. The kids are quiet.
We slowly pull away, and I can hear Dutch begin to quietly cry. Real tears, not just fussing or protesting. The real ones that come out even when you’re trying to be brave.
“Mommy, I love our old house,” the words spill out, “I didn’t want to move.” I exhale. Ache. I know he’s not yet 5 but I also know how real little feelings are to little people.
“I know, baby, I know.” I take his hand and turn all the way around in my seat. Face him. “Can I tell you a story?” He looks up, nods. In the light of the passing streetlights I can see the tears on his cheeks. Oh it’s so hard to grow up.
I tell my story: “I remember when I was little and we moved. And I was so excited for my new house, but then I remember after we’d moved all our stuff, my daddy and I, just the two of us, went back to our old house, to make sure we hadn’t left anything behind.”
Now I’m the one with the quivering voice. “And I got so sad, Dutch.”
He’s listening.
“I got so sad because I remembered all the fun things we did in that house. And my daddy got sad too. Because he remembered how little I used to be in that house, how he’s brought me home from the hospital there, and all the fun times we’d had together. He held me in his arms, and we both cried as we left because we both felt sad. Even though we were happy about our new house, we both cried because we felt sad leaving all the fun memories behind. It’s hard to grow up, sweetie. I know.”
I can see Dutch now, holding onto the strings of my story.
“And then did you get happy again?” He asks, holding onto a string. We turn onto the main road, can no long see our house behind.
“Yep. We were both sad, but we were also both happy because we got to go to our new house together and make more fun memories.” The wheels are turning.
“Did Papa’s hair look different then?”
Now I’m laughing, tears still spilling. “Yes, babe. It was different.”
“Because he was younger then, right?”
“Yes, he was young like daddy.” I close my eyes. I can see.
Dutch smiles. “And he wasn’t a Papa yet!”
“Nope, just a daddy.”
And now I have to face front because the tears won’t stop. And now I know Dutch’s ache because my daddy’s almost 70 and Where do the years go? And it’s just a house and it’s just down the road but these car wheels turn so fast and Oh it’s so hard to grow up.
We pull into our new driveway. Gravel crackles under the tires. It’s good but unfamiliar. I’m happy-sad because I don’t know this new place in life. It’s a new walk and a new place and I’m the daughter-mom who stretches out like a bridge and I ask silently for new mercies and reach to open Dutch’s door.
“Mommy, will you carry me inside?”
“Yes.” I pull him in and hold tight. Inhale him and I ask God for fresh grace for all these new moments. Fresh grace for all the aching parts of growing up.
{For whatever places ache in you today … may you find grace. Thanks for reading.}
Week's end with thanks
- Heidi learning to latch the gate.
- Just-bathed goodness, fresh clean bodies and wet curls on the pillow.
- Kids running through a field.
- Looking through the windows, watching the wind whip around the tree branches all around. Such a picture of a refuge in a storm.
- Smell of an old barn.
- Apple picking.
- Unpacking, like Christmas. All old toys are new again.
- Rediscovering Richard Scarry’s Cars and Trucks and Things That Go. It was brand new three years ago and now it’s taped together with pages soft with wear.
- First guests.
- Warmth.
- The smell of our house that reminds me going to Grandma’s as a child.
- Guest-bed mattress on the floor makes a terrific bounce house.
- Exploring the furthest pasture I hadn’t been into yet. Discovering the most massive oak tree, with low level limbs, probably a 1/4 acre sheltered all under the umbrella of this tree. I’m aching for a tree fort! Maybe…
- Seeing little kids out running on the adjacent farm. Maybe, friends?
- Heidi, out of the blue, looking up from dinner: “You a nice mommy.” Heart melting.
- Establishing new boundaries.
- Enforcing new boundaries.
- Again and and again and again.
- Finding childhood albums. Oh God’s grace through the years.
- Thanking God for all the times He said no.
- Learning to say Yes.
- Just the right lightbulb.
- Quiet child chatter before slipping to sleep.
- The Company Store down comforters for the kids from Nana. Oh those things are incredible!
- Tucking in tight.
- Ballet slipper nightlight.
- Leaving the door open.
- Uprising.
- Nagging cough forcing rest. Our bodies are so smart…
- Dark, quiet house.
- The sound of his tires on the gravel drive.
- His steps up the stairs.
- Him home.
- We, both in boots, working hard together.
- Smell of candles.
- Flicker of flame.
- Popcorn.
- Kari Johnson’s pork enchiladas and chocolate pie. Oh my!!
- Chocolate pie and coffee for breakfast.
- Loving now.
- Jon Furman, Chris Nye, and Andrew Martin. Moving-Day Superheroes.
- Sweet Angela Nichols chatting long with the kids.
- How Cliff Reynolds shows up whenever we need it most.
- Friends who clean my kitchen.
- Life without a microwave.
- Jeff and his skil-saw working in the carport. Happy man.
- Juanita’s chips.
- Ezekiel tortillas. Thank you, Debra! Kids going crazy for quesadillas.
- Loud happy play.
- Hanging all my scripture-cards. Like wrapping myself in the quilt of His Word.
- Feeling crummy and having the luxury of taking a nap.
- Fleece throw.
- Organizing.
- Containers.
- Everything in its place.
- Having to leave the downstairs in boxes for Channel 2 on Monday. Perhaps that’s God’s way of making me slow down… 🙂
- Hebrews.
- Wedding pictures. So glad that day happened!
- Dutch & Daddy date to Home Depot.
- Visit from old-neighbors, now just friends.
- Hoping.
- Trusting.
- Resting.
- Leaning back, always, into grace.
F is for our Farm {What it represents for me.}
Our kids were the first to call it a farm. When the appraiser came to our door, right after our other house sold, he opened the front door and announced, “Our house sold! Now we’re moving to a farm. And we’ll have cows and chickens and horses!”
Um … not quite.
Some of you know how much of an animal-lover I am. 🙂 There will be no horses or cows grazing in these pastures. I might concede to getting a goldfish but that would be a stretch. Maybe chickens down the road because I’d love the fresh eggs but that would be a ways down the road. I’m in no hurry to add more daily chores to my plate.
I do have aspirations for a garden. We already have four large fruit trees, and the neighbor has an enormous, lush, plentiful garden I can see from my bedroom window, and I daydream of one for us too. However … yesterday while I studied for 3 hours for an upcoming women’s conference, I noticed that my neighbor spent those entire three hours weeding her garden. Hmm… a garden that big may need to wait a few years. Like 50 years. Until I’m retired.
But despite our decided lack of corn or wheat or jersey cows, we’re set on calling it our farm anyway. What are our hopes for crop yields this year?
We’re simply hoping to grow some godliness and raise a small crop of kids.
Certainly we can do that anywhere. It doesn’t take acreage to get those results. But for us, I must say it is a refreshing change to have a spot of earth and breathe deep and run hard and track a little mud into the house every once in a while. I don’t know exactly what it is but the moment I walked in this place I could feel my soul expand. Like, Oh, I didn’t realize I was choking to death until I finally was able to breathe. Maybe it’s the fresh air or room to run or maybe it’s just walking in grace and simply and unapologetically being Jeff and Kari Patterson: Children of God, made in His image, and imperfectly reflecting His glory in all our lovelimess.
Because I’ll confess: I know what it’s like to walk in shoes that don’t fit. Haven’t we all had those moments when we looked down at our painfully pinched toes and wondered, “Whose are these and why am I wearing them?”
Certainly walking in the freedom of grace and simply being who God made you to be does not always require a new address. Probably never. But oh my is it fun to tune down all the other voices and turn His up real loud. His voice brings peace, clarity, calm.
His voice stilled the disciple’s raging waters. And it stills ours too.
For me, this farm represents the peace and calm of surrendering to His will, following His still, small voice, walking in the unique path hand-created for me. This farm, my little treehouse that rises above it all, represents God my refuge. In all the chaos and conflicting voices of our world, He lifts us up, calms the storm, silences the cacophony, and whispers His love, His grace, His simple instructions.
{Where, friends, is your place of refuge? Can you find a closet where you can crawl up onto His lap, wrap yourself in His Word, and hear nothing but His voice alone? Any ways today that perhaps you might slip off shoes that don’t fit? We’re much more effective for the gospel when we slide into a pair hand-crafted for us, amen? Thanks for reading…}
How it's not ugly at all … it's perfect.
Oh friends, grace! It’s way late Wednesday night. What a full day and this little update is not getting the time it deserves, but please let me share briefly about how wonderful our little ugly-beautiful home really is? In fact, how it’s not ugly at all … it’s perfect.
God knew. (Doesn’t He always?)
Here’s why: {and perhaps you too have reason to reflect on how perfect is the space you occupy at present?}
1. Huge great room with vaulted ceiling. It is living room/dining room/library/office/playroom and it wears every hat perfectly.
2. Kitchen that is way smaller than my other one but holds way more stuff! Not sure how that works but I unpacked every box and still had many empty cabinets.
3. Pretty leaded glass cabinet doors … who knew a kitchen could be a place to display beauty? My favorite are the kitchen cabinets filled with old books. Who keeps books in their kitchen?? The Pattersons!
4. Long skinny window above the sink that looks out over fields, trees and barn. Catching a glimpse of Jeff and kids heading in from the barn, holding hands and swinging arms. (Picture above is from my kitchen window!)
5. 1,100 square feet (in the main living space) means close quarters. Love it. Kids snuggle up in their shared room. I can see Dutch’s face on his pillow as I work in the kitchen at night. He watches me as I work, drifts to sleep.
6. Kids can play in bath and I can finish dinner dishes because the kitchen and bathroom are practically connected!
7. The best spot in the house: the view from my side of the bed. If you lie down all you can see are trees and sky in 180 degrees. You can’t tell how amazing it is until you lie down in just the right spot. God’s kiss just for me.
8. Exploring the barn with Dutch. There’s just something so cool about an old barn!
9. Picking a 5 gallon bucket of apples in 15 minutes from our trees. Kids picked off the ground, mama did the tree. Bucket of tart green goodness just waiting for a piecrust. Mmm…
10. How the kids’ beds and furniture fit perfectly in their room.
11. The “bedroom” that’s not attached to the house, but randomly stuck onto the other side of the carport. Odd yes, but I decided to call it a Writing Cabin and now I’m in love. My own Walden Pond.
12. Lighting. Who knew it made all the difference? It feels warm, soft, inviting. Love the lighting.
13. One tiny bathroom means less to clean.
14. Squirrels everywhere!
15. Neighbor Lois. Talking over the fence.
16. Box of plums from her tree delivered to our door.
17. Living in a treehouse — the windows in every direction look at out trees. Living on the top floor makes it feel like a refuge. A high tower of safety. A haven.
18. Smell of wood fire burning, sound of kindling crackling in the early morning.
19. Using all the old stuff we have and love that didn’t look right in our brand new house.
And…of course there are the funny things. The “adjustment period” that includes:
1. Setting off the smoke alarm every single day. Yes, six days in a row. The electric coil stove is just a little different. I’m learning. {UPDATE at 8:06am Thursday making oatmeal: Make that seven days in a row…}
2. Trying to fit Heidi’s potty, the kid’s step stool, the scale, and the trash basket all on the 3′ square bathroom floor and still be able to open the door and get in the shower. We did it!
3. How my cell phone doesn’t work in the house … although I don’t mind that much…
4. How the doorbell doesn’t work. Sorry Community Group members, we didn’t know you were here!
All in all, I love this house. And I love what God’s doing in our family through it. And thank you again for your grace. These next two weeks of our life are FULL, of wonderful things but full nonetheless … would you mind slipping up a prayer for us? And if a one-line post is all your feedreader finds from me, enjoy the extra five minutes you’ll have in your day and know there’s more to come. {Thanks for reading.}