Merry Christmas to All!

'Twas 3 days before Christmas and all through the house...everyone's snoozing but me. I'm thinking of all the things I could - no, should - be doing at home, as I sleep the air out of an inflatable bed at Mom and Dad's.
Anna and Luke got in last night amidst the blizzarding blizzard, so Oliver, Andrew, and I joined the welcoming/slumbering committee.
Oliver has been at Bubba (my dad) and Mama's (my mom) since Friday night. It was due to this fact that Andrew and I went to the most amazing movie ever Friday - Fireproof. Now, I'll give the disclaimer that it's not the most professional acting (makes sense since they were all amateurs with the exception of Kirk Cameron). And the videography isn't going to win any awards. HOWEVER, the message of marriage is so beautifully conveyed I cried. I don't tear up easily, but I became a reincarnation of Old Faithful, gushing at least five times throughout the film. This doesn't have much to do with the season of Christmas which is so heavily upon us, and that's highly unusual for me to blog about something not acutely Christmas this time of year. It was that good people. I interrupt my regularly scheduled Cheermeister writings to bring you good news of great joy - marriage is a wonderful covenant designed by God and sometimes we just need to be reminded of its goodness. That sounded pretty Christmassy, right?
Let's get to the real issue of today, though (I know you thought marriage was a real issue..). Anna, Sally, Megan, Josie, Hannah -and I!- are singing in church this morning at Mom and Dad's church in Pierz. You know that Carole of the Bells performed by animals? The chickens and goats clucking and bucking their hearts out for Jesus...? I can't help imagining myself as one of the barnyard carolers. The rest of the girls could qualify for an angel choir if the angels were holding try-outs, but I'm more on track with what's on the ground with the shepherds, not in the air above. Moo, Baa, La La La... I'll let you know how it goes...

The Finer Things

Andrew, a cabinetmaker to the core, is a creative genius. I've had the good fortune of working with him in his wood shop lately, and what a treat it is. His current engagement is a houseful of cabinets for a beautiful new farmhouse.

I used to get impatient with Andrew's perfectionism in his work, but the more I work along side him, the more I realize how important - prodigious - it is to get everything just right. If people knew how much foresight - preliminary drawing, meeting, thinking - and talent was involved in their 'heart of the home,' they'd wonder at how a cabinet maker could part with a piece he's invested such thought and soul in. I'm always in such a rush, wanting to see the end product. The pretty part. No one's going to see what's under it all, so why does it matter if we sand the inside? Why do we only plane a thirty-second of an inch off, when our goal is to make it a half an inch thinner? Can't we just burn 'em all through once and get it over with? These are a few of the questions I plague Andrew with. Sending those 100+ pieces through the sander multiple times bores me. By the way, are all those screws really necessary?

And then I recognize the parallel -- this is just like my life. I spend so much time in front of the mirror primping and curling and crimping and pulling...but what about the inside? I know I don't want to walk out of the house looking like I just rolled out of bed (there's nothing scarier, just ask anyone who's seen my bed head), so I prioritize LOOKING good before I head off to wherever it is I'm going. But what about BEING good? The condition of my heart will outweigh the condition of my wardrobe if I meet a homeless person who doesn't track current trends (my bed head being the exception here. I'm pretty sure anyone would turn tail and run if they were exposed to that).

Yesterday at Bible Study Fellowship the teaching leader spoke on contentment. We're studying the life of Moses this year, and we've arrived at the point where the Israelites begin their complaining. Bitter water, no food, no water again... It hit me with the hammer of conviction. The whining of these former slaves started a mere three days after God had PARTED THE RED SEA, and it's so easy for me to mock them. But my faith in God is usually that conditional, too. As long as I can see His hand, I'm fine. But as soon as He allows trials in my life, I panic. I become discontented. I grumble. I doubt.

The advice I was given - a grand piece in the puzzle of our contentment - is to list five things you're thankful for each morning while you spend time with God. Today I'm thankful for:

1) Coffee in the morning
2) Andrew's work
3) My buddy, Oliver
4) Jesus
5) My sister, Anna, who's home for the weekend!

"The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." I Samuel 16:7

Lions and Tigers and Other Cats

There once was a girl who had a big orange cat. The girl loved her cat and treated it like a baby human. In the small umbrella stroller outgrown by her little sister, you wouldn't find a doll. You would find a cat wearing clothes, sitting up, buckled in. The cat had more life (and patience) than any dull doll, and even purred on occasion...when it wasn't being affectionately squished by a most devoted owner.
Well, the cat died, the little girl grew up, and life was feline free.
Until one day, when the girl needed some mousers at her new farm. Her father informed her, "You need two, so no one's lonely." The perfect two were found. But a third cat was soon acquired.
The poor girl, now having memories stirred by all the meowing and purring, couldn't get her mind off that faithful childhood friend - the orange, amiable old soul. So what would she do? Find an orange cat, of course.
She made a visit to her aunt's farm where there was always a cat to be spared. You must know the danger of saying "Here, kitty," in a calf shed filled with cats. The girl was not as brilliant as I'd like to report, and made the mistake of saying those very words in that very place. Cats came from everywhere. To the girl's delight, two of them were orange! Here's where things get tricky - along with the oranges, came a tabby, a grey, and a black kitten. They looked up at the girl with those pleading blue kitty eyes, and what could she do? In a box no bigger than size 10 shoes, this girl stuffed all five cats.
On the way back to her own farm, the girl had to stop twice to round up little escapees that had clawed their way out of the 'sardine can.' She began to think, "What have I done?"
The five new cats joined the veterans - Meow Meow, Amelia, and Moxie.
Yes, I am that girl. And the owner of eight cats. We just finished naming them all:
Wilberforce - the pig
Whiskers - who was singed while sitting too close to the fire
Shmeckles - named after my dad's childhood cat
Jess, Jr. (a.k.a. J. R.) - the little black one we're caring for until my brother's ready for him
Old Grey Mare - cranky little thing
I'm embarrassed, but also quite fond of our kitties. Please don't call me the 'cat lady.'

"You have got a lot of moxie."

I heard this phrase on a movie recently and, being intrigued, decided to consult my good friend, Webster. Thumbing through the pages I found:
Moxie 1. slang energy; 2. slang courage
This is my new favorite expression.
It's also the name of my new kitten.
Yes, we got another cat. Moxie, a boy, was to replace Amelia, who has a suspicious case of dysentery. But do you think I could part with her? Absolutely not. Where there were none, now there are three. What's wrong with me?
The new kitty, black and white, was named for his energy. While Meow Meow or Amelia could lay contentedly in my lap forever, this one climbs and jumps and rolls until you're ready to fling him on the floor.
--Oh don't worry, I'm sure he'd land on his feet.

Caprice

Poor, unfortunate Oliver was subjected to girls day out, but my new shoes renewed his joy...mine, too. Fancy that.

Autumn in the City

We spent some time in Maple Grove yesterday with Grandma and Auntie Sal (stimulating the economy). Oliver was worn from a day slouched in a stroller observing crazed shoppers. After meeting our friend, Beth, in Minneapolis, she and Oli had a little leaf fight on Summit Avenue...our boy's exhaustion was flung aside for the more appealing past time of running and throwing leaves. Oh, Beth. We had such fun with you!
Speaking of worn -- Oliver's small quilted vest was a hand-me-down from his uncle, Isaac, handmade by Mom. It adds to the whimsy, don't you think?

crazy little Olives

auntie sally's flip flops...mostly flopslooking surprised with daddy

attempting to join cousin wes in the exersaucer

being a messy boy

Animal Farm

Meet the cats: Amelia Earhart and Meow Meow Bye-bye, pictured respectively.
The first was named for her sense of fearless adventure.
The second was predestined by Oliver to be named something so complicated. I'll explain. We were at a friend's house where there was a cat. Oliver practically devoured the poor tabby - out of love and one year old energy. When we got home Andrew asked Oliver if he wanted a cat. How interesting is the dialogue between a daddy and his boy...
Oliver: Yeah. (Which is his response to nearly everything.)
Andrew: What are you going to name the kitty?
Oliver, obviously confused by the question: Meow meow bye-bye.
Who lets toddlers name pets anyway? Judging from the noise he makes for pigs, I don't think we'll be getting piglets anytime soon. We'd go hoarse trying to grunt out their names.
By the way, our little farm is starting to feel like George Orwell's fictitious world of 'Animal Farm' already, even without pigs. The story, dripping with satire, tells of a barnyard animal uprising. It's actually an allegory about totalitarianism, but at our house, I fear it's coming true. In my nightmare the cute little kittens pull Hector into this revolution. I didn't think we were lunatic pet owners who succumb to the droopy, pleading eyes of furry creatures. After all --
So God created people in his own image...and told them,"Be masters over the fish and birds and all the animals." Genesis 1:27, 28
Lord help us.

mononucleosis

I've been doctoring for many ailments since an end of June migraine that had me incapacitated, propped up in a hospital bed mumbling something about amnesia.
What's ailing me? My stomach, my head, my neck, my mouth, my mind. As a result, I've had an x-ray, a CT scan, an MRI/MRA, and an ultrasound. (I should be beaming with radio activity by now.) It was thought by the medical community that I may have gall stones. Great. This, following the kidney stones last year, and the overweight-with-high-blood-pressure the year before (hey, it was during pregnancy!). I am the oldest living 24 year old.
Anyway, it was a surprising relief to be diagnosed with a young person's illness - turns out Andrew and Oliver have been the beneficiaries of too many smooches from me - I have the 'kissing disease.'
O Mono, leave me alone; why must you drone on and on?

Good, Charlotte

Mom and Dad are renting a farmhouse, and right out the front door you're likely to encounter a few pigs, some cattle, a pup named Lily, and a kitty or two, along with the kind farmers/owners - the Froelichs.
With so many things to explore around the barnyard, our most recent discovery was fascinating...right off the pages of a children's storybook!
In the upper left corner of the barn door, you'll spot a crafty little spider who's been busy spinning webs above the Froelich's famous pigs. Dear Charlotte is fuzzy in texture, orange in color, and the most peculiar looking arachnid I've ever seen.
A curious Fern..ahem, Oliver.. appears to be in conversation with the two survivors of an original trio of hams. Their names were Jess, Jonny and Joey after my brothers and their friend Joey Froelich. Perfect.
'Jess' has already met his fate, but if our eight-legged friend has anything to do with it, Jonny and Joey will be safe this harvest season.

The hard workers hard at work

Chad

Dad

Anj

Heck

Uncles Al & Teddy

Uncle Onion

Bucky

Bruce, David, Brandon

Life as we know it...

My absence here at my blog is bogging me down. So much happens in life it's hard to pick the greatest things, then write about them.
Right now our family is in a time of transition. We're living in Deerwood, working in Brainerd, spending time in Pierz and Emily. Needless to say, my car looks like it belongs to a group of vagabonds. I know I'll look back on this time with an element of fondness...but right now, as I'm in the midst of the chaos, I sit dazed and confused. The horizon is bleak.
Wow, how's that for morose?
It's actually been a period of growth for me personally, so that's good, right? I've been able to more fully rely on God, as He's the only steady, unchanging part of my life. (Andrew's typically a rock, as well, but making house decisions has him rather wishy washy these days.) Encouraging other people to trust God through confounded circumstances is easier than applying faith in my own life, but I'm learning...I don't have much choice.
So as we continue to plod on in the reconstruction of our house, we're trying to focus on the Giver, rather than the gift. After all, the second cannot exist without the first.
"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. " James 1:17

Two whole miles?!

Remember when I wrote about my brave, victorious sister Anna and our cousin Nicole running a marathon? That's 26.2 miles. Just wanted to let the world know that Andrew, some of our cousins, and I ran two miles on Sunday morning in the Pierz Oktoberfest Fun Run... at 8AM! Things wrapped up in about 19 minutes for me... Yeah, I've been training for this event. Andrew finished in 13 and some change. The last time he trained was at least two years ago. Sick.

Attached are some before and after shots. Enjoy.

A long short story "Houses and God"

I have a few moments at Mom's to write, so I thought I would paint a more vivid picture of God's gracious timing and hand in our house buying experience...
Ever since Andrew and I bought our first house (on Little Pine Road) we knew it was a great start for us, but our dream was to have an old farm in the country - a place brimming with character just waiting to be dusted off and appreciated again. Not knowing the imaginary ideal would or could actually exist, we talked about instead, renovating our small rambler and growing a glorious garden. Then we would wonder how much of ourselves we should pour into a house that could only handle so much of our creativity before it started looking like something from Hansel and Gretel.
We thought we received our answer from God around Christmas time in 2005. We decided we needed a little adventure in our lives, so we were going to move to Colorado. "Shake the dust of this crummy little town and see the world," as George Bailey would say. But, while we were out in Colorado Springs checking on apartments and jobs in June that year, we found out God had a much bigger adventure in store for us - name: Oliver Isaac. So, we turned around and started settling back into our lives in Brainerd.
A year and a half went by with little or no action in our house saga. Our time was spent expecting, then experiencing our baby boy. Then in November last year, our neighbor called Andrew. His daughter was interested in buying our house. When Andrew told me we should sell I started crying, but in the end we knew it had to be God - we probably couldn't have sold if we tried, instead a buyer was sent right to us. We signed a purchase agreement in December, and started exploring the countryside for our new house...farm.
The search turned up one place we put an offer in on. It was good, not great. I'm now thankful that someone else snatched it up instead. We also came across a beautiful old farm that was abandoned, but quaking with potential. After hunting down the owners by way of the platte book and world wide web, we met with them, but they weren't willing to sell. We're also praising God that that didn't work out.
Then we found it. It was just about a month until closing on Little Pine, and we were getting discouraged. We even came to the conclusion that we were going to have to settle for just anything, because our dream didn't exist in reality. We were scheduled to look at two farms with our realtor, Joel. The first was a total bust. I tried not to get too hopeful as we drove the few miles to the second prospect. We passed a couple 'for sale' signs on 5 Mile that said "I'll be on the market forever." As we came to a clearing, there it was - pristine in the early summer greenery surrounding it. The house, the outbuildings (minus the barn), the towering white oaks...everything was just as we'd imagined.
Two days later we put an offer in. The farm had only been on the market a few days, but the owners and listing agent were reviewing six offers by the time we got ours in. We waited anxiously all that day... Andrew came home from work with the news that we were first runner up, but ultimately someone else got it. I bawled.
Then later that week Joel called us back to say that the deal fell through. The buyers, on the final walk-through before closing, found two inches of water in the basement. So, 'what Satan intended for evil [wet basement], God intended for good.' We had to reduce our offer because of the extra repairs we would have to make on the basement. We waited a weekend, which in its entirety felt like an eternity. Joel called. We got it. God is good.
And that's how we came upon our new little farm, a dusty one indeed.

Messy mushes...and Olives with his Grandbobby

Kasper Olympics

Very serious. Very determined. Very athletic. Very pathetic.

Summertime