A Lesson From Sarah

Just as I was getting the bacon frying and the pancake batter stirred up for yesterday's dinner, there was a knock on my front door.  Considering where I live, this is an unusual occurrence.  Standing on my front porch was a tattoo-covered, rough-looking young man.  Okay, I'll be real and just say it:  This guy looked like complete trash.  Standing behind him on the walkway was an equally rough-looking young lady (holding a shotgun) and two filthy, snotty-nosed little kids.  They'd broken down a few miles up the logging road, he said, and needed a place to wait for a ride. With slight hesitation (Bill wasn't home from work yet), I invited them in.  The man asked if he could use our wi-fi to e-mail his mother.  I asked if he wouldn't rather call her and he said that he couldn't because her phone (they live with her) had been turned off.  I'll be real with y'all and tell you that, once again, I was thinking to myself how trashy these people were.  In the hour or so that they were in my house, the little girl pooped and the mom had no diaper to change her with (who travels with little kids without, at least, a diaper), the little boy pooped in my bathroom and neither flushed the toilet or washed his hands (who lets a child explore in a stranger's house alone?), the kids ran wild through the house, pulling toys out of every closet they could find (never once an offer to help tidy up their children's mess), and the parents just sat on the sofa doing nothing.  As it was dinner time, I asked if they would like to eat with us and they said the kids would probably be hungry.  So Bill and I fed them.  Like served their food, cut their food, made them stay sitting at the table, and then wiped them up when they were finished.  The parents just sat there.

By now, I'm pridefully thinking to myself how kind my family has been by offering hospitality to these "lesser" folks.  In fact, I think there was probably a feeling of superiority, if truth be told.  Was I just being helpful to these people because it made me feel good?  Would I mock them and their life after they left my house.  I'm embarrassed to say that the answer is yes.  And then, I was smacked back to reality.

Last year, there was a terrible, well-publicised tragedy in this area.  Suffice it to say that what happened is every parent's worst nightmare.  Well, THIS was the family who experienced that accident.  Sitting on my sofa, their remaining little kids running through my house, this was that family.  Yikes.  All of those self-righteous feelings I had ran screaming out my front door.  In their place came true feelings of hospitality.  This was a sorrowful, broken family who just needed a soft place to rest.  A little bit of understanding and help.  Some kindness.  I pray we gave them a little.  Not for our own sake, but to ease their sadness and obvious burdens in life.

And Sarah's part in this?  I glanced over at her and she was sitting on a chair with the little girl (who was 2), rubbing her head and hugging her, saying, "Oh, you are just so special.  You are my new friend.  I'm so glad you came."  Gulp.  While I saw a dirty, wayward little urchin, Sarah saw a dear child who deserved to be loved, despite her obvious shortcomings.

Perspective.  That's what I got a good dose of last night.  While I sit in my tidy little cottage, fridge full of food, kids all healthy and living, and life filled with abundant blessings, there are so many others who are experiencing loss, and death, and sickness, and sadness.  So I ask you, what can we do about it?

Hey, but on a brighter note, want to see some pictures of yesterday?

My sweet, new Danskos.  Waxed canvas so they're waterproof.

Gratitude Sunday

Maybe it's just the emotional high that follows a bout of sickness.  Maybe it's the sun that's been shining, at least a little, this past week.  Whatever it is, I'm feeling full of gratitude for so many things.

 Playing in the sunshine and the creek.  

 Everything is starting to green up and the trees are putting on buds.

 ALL of the kids playing together on Friday evening.  And they were all laughing. 

 New raised beds, full of rotted compost.  Ready for greens and carrots.

Surprise bulbs coming up in the stone planters on the patio.  This makes me happy because G.Barb planted these.

As I lay in bed last night, Sarah started asking about who lived in this house before us.  She asked who slept in Jack and Jon's room and I answered that her Grandpa Pennick did (though I omitted the part about him climbing out his window at night so as to not give her any future ideas.  That child is trouble.).  She asked who slept in she and Madeline's room and I answered that her Aunt Pat did.  She asked who slept in my room and I told her Grandpa Bill and Grandma Barb.  And before them, probably her great, great grandparents.  That's when it hit me how wonderfully strange and awesome it is to think of so many generations of Bill's family living right here.  In this house.  How often does that happen anymore?  I find myself thinking about all the women who cooked (countless) meals in the kitchen.  The meals that were eaten by family and friends in the dining room and nook.  The feet that walked the wood floors (and the hands that painstakingly laid those floors) and the people who sat and visited in the living room.  I'm just awestruck by it all.  

To be honest, I can't say I was fully on board with Bill's idea of settling on this farm.  It's so far from everything, the house is so old and small, the upkeep will take so much effort, there's wild animals prowling around....The list went on and on.  I'm glad I trusted his vision, because I am finding myself so comfortable and happy here.  If I've learned anything this past year, it's that I'm not every truly in charge.  When I think I've got everything planned and mapped out for the future, God comes in with a better plan. I might drag my feet or kick and scream in protest, but ultimately, His ideas are better than mine.  

Might I always remember that lesson. 

Kefir and Kombucha

How to make kombucha

How to make kefir

Several months ago I started brewing my own Kombucha.  It's easy, not horrible tasting, and supposed to be really good for you.  Probiotics, you know?  I try to drink about 8 oz. daily.  Sometimes I mix it with juice, but mostly I just drink it plain.  Want to see the scoby?

Because we've been a little under the weather (that might be an understatement) this past week, my scoby has been resting in the fridge until I can brew again.  I usually brew in a simple juice pitcher and the scoby grows to fit the opening of the top.  I have a friend who brews in a bowl and her scoby is the circumference of the entire bowl.  That's a little creepy.

And my kefir?  It's just an easy way to get those probiotics into everyone who won't drink kombucha.  That would be everyone except Madeline and I.  I might add the kefir to a smoothie, use it in place of milk for pancakes, or strain it and make a cream cheese substitute for dip.  I prefer making kefir to making yogurt because kefir is cultured at room temperature.  In order to make yogurt, you must heat the milk, cool the milk, introduce the culture, and then keep the milk at a temperature around 100 degrees for 8-12 hours.  Too fussy for me these days.  Kefir also contains more beneficial bacteria than yogurt.

And here's my kefir, culturing at room temperature.  Shamrocks for St. Patrick's Day!

I have to tell you that after our recent bout of gastroenteritis (that's a super fancy word for barfing!) I dosed myself with a few tablespoons several times each day and I recovered faster than anyone else.  My tummy felt better in no time.  Coincidence or kefir?