Following the Shepherd into 2016

The first day of 2016 makes me reflect back on 2015. It's hard to sum up in a few paragraphs what the past 365 days held and I am not even going to try to capture the highs and lows in great detail. For me, it is more of a journal entry so I can look back in 2017, 2027 and maybe even 2067 and remember a little of 2015.  I didn't do Christmas cards this year or a Christmas letter and my blogging all year has been hit-and-miss so if I don't sum it up now, the memories will dim, fade and curl up at the edges.

Last January 1st, my oldest girl was getting ready to jump into her last semester at college, my son and his wife were continuing to settle into married life and my middle girl was soon to be headed back to Ohio for Winter term at Rosedale Bible College. My baby girl was anticipating getting her driver's license and my baby boy was just starting his first musical theatre workshop class. I was working for a home-based pediatric nursing agency along with another home-based nursing job on the side. Leo was working on building the beef herd while still working at Pillar Innovations.

Then I think life sped up. Like in a movie where everything was going along at a regular pace and then someone hits the fast-forward button and in the jerky movements accompanied by high-pitched squeaky voices we find ourselves in another year. 

I have a new job and instead of working in other people's homes, I am blessed to be able to work in my local community, primarily out of my home. Leo had eight baby calves this past week and our herd has grown in leaps and bounds in 365 days. When I think back to the time, about 10 years ago, that he brought home four beef calves, I never dreamt they would grow to a herd like I see out my window today. 

My kids? Adrienne is loading her car this evening and she moves tomorrow to a new city, a new job and I couldn't be more proud. This girl has worked so hard! I kind of wish I was in preschool and she could read me a story. 

Taken by Higher Focus Studios

Aaron and Lisa-Anna celebrated two years of marriage this past September and I think they still have the newlywed thing going on. I love their thoughtfulness about the future and their intentional planning as they keep God in the center of what their future holds. 

Amy is on the other side of the world. Literally. She's already celebrated New Year's Day and is on January 2nd. She survived Rosedale and came home vibrant and alive for God! She worked hard all summer and in August left for Columbus for a few months of intense training  before flying over the North Pole to Thailand. I am very thankful for social media as it allows us to keep connected. If you see a brightness coming from that part of the world, it may just be her shining her light and not hiding it under a bushel. 

Heather turned 16 and did not pass her driver's permit test the first time. To have to be the one to take her and then have that horribly sad drive home was definitely not on my parenting to-do list. But she did pass the second time and now, since November, has her official driver's license. Most of the time I am okay seeing her drive out the driveway alone, but sometimes I want her to be 6 again, not 16. 

Ryan loved the first session of Mountain City Center for the Arts and performing with his troupe in the Spring. Then, this fall he enrolled again and his solo line of two words: "Beautiful food......" was the best part of the performance for his mama. He turned 12 this year and I have heard the words "preteen" come out of his mouth a few times. Nope. Not happening. But maybe, just maybe it's just because he is enrolled back in the Preteen Musical Theater Workshop for Spring 2016. 

Oh, who am i kidding? My baby will be a teenager in 2016. This life that I live just has a way of happening despite what I do. And I've been reminded this year, not just in my life, but in the lives of others, that nothing we do or expect is set in stone. Life can take a detour or make a sudden stop or even pull ahead full throttle before I am ready. 

What can I be secure in? I know that God loves me. Period. A chapter in the Bible that speaks to me today is John 10. Jesus is the Shepherd and I am one of his sheep. Verse 4 strikes a chord because it says that "...he goes on ahead of them (sheep)...."  I don't know where 2016 will take me, but I do know that He goes ahead of me. I won't pretend that I know exactly what that means but I will take it as a promise. I like what Amy posted back in September: 

Amy Maust

September 4, 2015 · 

New beginnings. New friendships. New perspectives. New cultures. New challenges. New love. I never had any intentions of stretching myself this way, this soon... but God is well-known for throwing surprises at me in my life. And I can't tell you how thankful I am for that. I don't know what to expect in this next year, but I know that God is going to walk with me through all of the highs and lows and I can move forward confidently in that.

Love, 

Dianne

Applying the Polishing Touch

For most of my life, I have never painted my fingernails. I've never had a manicure or pedicure. As a gardener, I'd just ruin it and as a nurse, it just wasn't allowed. Not to mention, it just felt weird to do. It just wasn't what a Mennonite girl did when I was growing up. Painting your nails was right up there with dancing, wearing make-up (or as Dad would say, "rouge") and wearing jewelry. So for most of my life, other than the few occasions that my little girls would paint my fingernails, they have been "au naturel"

My toes? They get a seasonal color when I feel like it. No one really sees my toes much. Well, except that one time I was helping an artist and dressed like an Amish mama picking berries with her small children. The gentleman at whose property we were picking berries at really thought I was Amish. I don't speak much Pennsylvania Dutch so I thought that would be a give-away, but instead it was the mossy green painted toenails.

During the month of training in Baltimore for the new job I am in, I decided to paint my fingernails. Somehow, it made me feel bold. More confident. But it was more than that. You see, when I would be in my hotel room in the evening, I could sit and paint them and then I'd have to hold still and be patient while they dried properly; otherwise, I'd end up with a wrinkly finish and marred nails.

I do not do "patient" very well. Not at all.

But for this, to get a smooth, shiny finish, I had to hold still. I had to wait. The results were worth it.
Not just in the red, gray, blue or brown finished nail, but in my thoughts. Instead of constant frantic movement and chaos, my thoughts slowed too and throughout the nail painting process, I found relaxation and calmness.

Is painting my nails necessary for those things to happen? No. But it was a nice surprise and it was an easy, inexpensive way to treat myself to something fun. Another benefit? I stopped picking and chewing at my fingernails which I tend to do when I'm bored or anxious about something. After a month of training, my nails looked better than they ever had.

I'm still a gardener but right now, it's winter. I'm still a nurse, but my role has changed and the polish is allowed. Maybe, as I polish (Definition: a substance used to give something a smooth and shiny surface..) I can polish ( Definition: refinement or elegance in a person or thing) some other areas in my life. 

Like that little thing "patience".  

Tonight, I am curled up on the couch watching Holiday Inn with Heather and I think a little red is just the thing. It sure beats running about the house cleaning or doing "just one more thing".

Staying Grounded

The last few months have been a bit of a whirlwind. I find myself spinning, barely getting my foot on the ground and then I am sucked back up into the whirling confusion of to-do's and schedules, fundraisers, dance classes and musical-theater workshops. Add into that just the normal day-to-day things that need to be done, like laundry and dishes, grocery shopping and food preparation and you get the gist of it. Life can be crazy and at times a definite tornado!

Just a glimpse of what I've been up to:

Taking Amy out on a Starbucks date before taking her to Ohio way back in September.

So when did my kids grow up? 

When? 

I'm still 25. 

They all have birthdays and sometimes we celebrate a boy turning 12 at Dawdy Haus. 

But I'm still 25. 

I treated myself to a Country Living Fair in Columbus, Ohio in September. 

It was glorious. 

I believe I'll be back...

...for my 25th birthday. 

I spent time with my kids just hanging around the house. 

They really do keep me young. 

Like "25 young". 

 Then October came in like a cartwheel 

and before I knew it, 

I was in Baltimore for interviews 

and then starting a new job. 

I had to get up early every day and I grew to enjoy my time in the car before I'd head in for training. 

God, the book of Proverbs and I had a date at the waterfront. 

I've been a nightshift person for so long but I think this morning stuff is contagious. 

I'm not totally a morning person yet but it is definitely growing on me!

During training, I had to tell myself this a lot. 

"Stay in your lane!!" 

While I need to know what's happening all around me, especially in heavy traffic, 

it is important to be responsible for what's going on in my lane,

both in traffic and in life. 

October cartwheeled away and then November somersaulted in and my girl Adrienne turned 24.

Isn't that impossible??

Especially since I am 25. 

We celebrated over lunch at Mountain City Coffee. 

It's our Saturday Mama-Daughter Date Place. 

November continued.

Training continued.

I'd come home on weekends and I just drank in my surroundings. 

Distance really does make the heart grow fonder. 

I even missed the cows. 

  And now, it is the Saturday before Thanksgiving. 

I have a wee break to let the tornado, cartwheels and somersaults subside. 

Today I had another date.

This time with Amy, home for a week before she ventures out on another journey that will take her far from home, but not from heart. 

If I've learned anything over the last couple of weeks and months, 

it is to appreciate the moments of life that make it worth living,
those Bible study in the car moments,
those coffee dates with the kids,
the birthdays, the every days,
even the work days.
In the whirlwind of blessed activity, reach out and grab ahold of what's there.
You might be surprised at what keeps you grounded.

1 Kings 19:11-12

The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. 12 After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.

Love,
Dianne

From Noxious to Nostalgic

Walking out from workplace the other night I inhaled the nighttime air deeply. With the beginnings of   Autumn peeking about, the smell of crunchy leaves and drying corn is just to hard to resist. I reached my car, pulled open the door and dropped into my seat with another deep inhalation, more of a "I'm headed home!" kind-of-a sigh.

I nearly gagged.

Closing my door, I quickly checked the bottoms of my shoes. I must have stepped in dog poop. Or cat poop.  Maybe a dead bird....Nope, all clear on the shoes. What on earth was causing this wretched, eye-watering stench? Ugh.

I popped open my door again and looked on the ground. Nothing.
I checked my shoes again. Nothing.
I closed the door. This time, no deep inhalations. I tried to only breath through my mouth.
I couldn't stay sitting here; I might as well start the drive home.

As I drove, I kept trying to identify the offensive odor.
Was it the garlicky bag of chips that I'd stashed under the passenger side sun visor?
No, I had eaten those and thrown the bag away.
Did Ryan leave a half-eaten sandwich under my seat? I pulled over and checked. Nothing.
This was going to  drive me crazy!

Okay now: think! It was fine, just fine, this morning when I drove to work. So, did an animal crawl into my car, under the hood during the day and die? It just didn't make sense. All I knew was that I was headed to Wal-Mart and I needed to get an air freshener along with the other groceries we needed.

My shopping done, I headed back to the Stinky Car. A lot of times I just toss the purchased items into my back seat but this time I popped the trunk. When I did, an almost visible wave of stench waved from my sun-heated trunk.

I nearly gagged. Again.

There, on its side was a yellow gallon jug of milk from two or three days ago. It didn't explode exactly, but no longer able to contain its contents, it leaked about a half gallon of sour, spoiled, rotten, foul (you get the idea) milk into my trunk. The rest of the milk was one lump of a curdled mass and I really hoped that wasn't what Little Miss Muffet was eating when the spider sat down beside her.

I am not sure if knowing the cause of the smell made it better or worse. I have memories of my best friend's family car when we were kids; someone had spilled milk in it and the smell seemed to linger for years. That actually was a nice thought because I always liked going home with her in her car so in that sense I kept thinking the noxious aroma I was being assaulted with now might actually fade to a nostalgic remembrance in years to come.

In another sense though, this was like a black cloud of stink that no matter where I went in my car, I couldn't escape. You know, like how you can get away when you drive by a roadkill skunk or a farmer's field with freshly spread manure. You have a minute or so of stench that makes your nose wrinkle and your throat clench but then, it's done. You drive on.

When I finally got home I promptly evacuated and ran into the house and grabbed a box of baking soda. You know, to absorb the smell. Especially since I completely forgot to purchase air freshener when I was at the store.

The smell must have burned a few of my common sense receptors.

Love,
Dianne

Doing the Happy, Sad, Proud, Nostalgic Dance

The last couple of days have been happy, proud, a little sad, and a bit nostalgic, full of emotional ranges that in some ways I can't even express. One minute I am on the very brink of tears that aren't completely sad and not completely happy either; then the next minute I am smiling and the tears have gone back into hiding. That is, until the next minute rolls around.

All summer this family has been gearing up to send Amy to REACH, an outreach program that involves three months of Discipleship Training and then six months in Thailand. I am proud of the choices Amy has made and my heart beats in peace with every step she takes. She is in God's hands and I do rest in that.

That does not mean that my heart isn't just a little sad. The apron strings are slipping and with each knot that comes undone, another of my little chicks is venturing further from the nest. And I mean, Grantsville and Salisbury is one thing, but Thailand is quite another. I have to spin the globe to see where she she will be.

And then there are these two: Heather and Ryan. 

Today was their first day back to school. 

Heather is a Junior and in October can get her official I-can-drive-alone Driver's License. 

Ryan is in the 6th grade; his class is starting to switch a few classes 

in preparation for high school next year. 

And there is only two of them. Not five. Sniffle, sob. 

Happy, sad, proud, nostalgic. 

For the record: I did not pick out anybody's First-Day-of-School outfit. 

Sometimes when they look back at years past, I hear comments on their attire. 

"My shorts were so short". (Aaron)

"We look sooooo 90's." (my girls)

"Oh my goodness! Look what we were wearing!! Gasp!" (all of them)

Ryan's sandal things with socks. That was all him. 

(Someday when he looks back and wonders "WHY??" I will have it in writing.)

I told them to look like how they really feel about going to school. 

I got this: 

Then I said, "Okay now, show me how you are going to look going into the school." 

I got this: 

Yes, my house is going to be quiet today until about 1:30pm (it was a half-day). 

I'd walked up the driveway with the two of them. 

We'd taken the required pictures. 

We'd paused and said a prayer for the day. 

Then they saw the bus and would I please, please, please be headed back down the driveway before the bus actually got to our driveway because they are in 11th and 6th grade and 

really, really, really don't need their mom to walk them to meet the bus. 

So I smiled at them and briefly considered ways to embarrass them. 

But in the end, I turned down the driveway towards the house,

 but I couldn't resist just one more picture of them with the bus. 

Happy, sad, proud and nostalgic. 

Happy: My kids are healthy and independent. They do crazy things like wear socks with sandals and tell me jokes like this one: "Where does the President keep his armies?.....In his sleevies." 

Sad: My kids are independent and don't always need their mom. 

One by one they are leaving the nest. 

It is how it is supposed to be but it still makes me a little sad. 

(I'd probably be really sad if they all just decided to never move out. Ever.)

Proud: They are growing up and want to serve God. They are best friends, teachers, and missionaries. They take care of the ones God has placed into their lives. 

Nostalgic: I miss piggy-tailed hair, primary colored backpacks and elementary art projects. 

90's clothes were cool. You know it. 

Like my kids. 

Cool. 

Goodbye. 

See ya later alligator.

In a while crocodile.

See you soon baboon. 

Love, Dianne

Rainy Rescue

A day like today, with a little bit of rain took me back to a time earlier this Spring when there was A LOT of rain and a new baby that needed rescuing...

"Mom, Mom, come quick!" came the voice of my own baby as he ran into the kitchen, breathless and a little bit muddy. I eyeballed the tracks on the floor, raising my eyebrows just enough and he gave me a one-sided grin and stepped onto the rug by the door. 

"Hang on there buddy and slow down. Now, what's up?" I asked. 

"It's The Belted Cow and she had her baby and she was sick and Dad gave her medicine but it isn't helping and now she's out in the pasture and her baby is with her but she can't get up and she needs water and I don't know what to do with the baby because it's probably hungry and the mother is too sick to feed it." 

Grabbing a sweatshirt I followed him out the door, pulling it on as we trotted through the wet grass. Stopping at the fence, Ryan adeptly got it open and nobody got an electric jolt. I was just thankful we didn't need to gingerly step over the charged wire or have to roll on the saturated ground to get under it.

We slogged our way to the back part of the pasture where the poor mama cow was laying on the ground. Her baby, all black and shiny with a white-tipped tail was wobbling about on newborn legs and came over to meet us.

Ryan and I did our best to get the mama cow water and hay, trying to make her comfortable as best we could.  The baby needed milk and the mama wasn't able to do her part. Our goal was to get the baby to the barn where we could get her dry and feed her. I tried to convince Ryan to put the baby on his shoulders and carry it. He thought I was a little weird.

Instead, we allowed the calf which Ryan dubbed Tippy (because of the white-tipped tail) to slobber and suck on our hands, fingers, pant legs, sweatshirts, etc as we walked. We took turns and at times it took one of us being the lure and the other pushing gently on Tippy's behind to keep her moving.
Apparently walking and trying to eat is quite the task.

After many minutes of the push and pull, stop and start, all the while dodging the cow pies that littered the pasture and going around the prickly thistle patches, we made it to the barn. Ryan mixed up the powdered milk replacer and warm water and Tippy was soon guzzling her breakfast, her fuzzy white-tipped tail waggling happily.

I was happy too. In spite of the now drying slobber that left my hands both sticky and stiff, my muddy and wet socks, the bedraggled sweatpants bottoms, and rain-washed hair, I was happy.
Yes, this is part of farming and I think I rather like it (even if I didn't smile much when Ryan took my picture).

"Hey Mom. Thanks."
"Hey, you're welcome. Anytime Buddy."

Love,
Dianne

Be Bold, Be You...Wear Red Shoes

A long while ago I wrote just a little blurb about Red Shoes. The simple fact was that I wanted a pair that was comfortable and classy; I just wasn't having any luck in finding the pair. Then, in a little catalog that I thought looked like one that my Grandma would get in her mailbox, I found the perfect pair of Red Shoes. 

Sometimes those Granny Catalogs with elastic-waisted pants, velour pants and floral housecoats are full of hidden gems, like Red Shoes. (Never underestimate the Granny Catalog.)

So, this morning, I was getting ready for church and as I eyeballed the dresses in my closet, I thought about how "putting on my Sunday best" isn't really what it used to be. When I was a girl, it was about the little white socks edged in lace, a pair of white sandals in the summer, black shiny shoes in the winter, and always about pretty dresses. I looked at my dresses and realized that nowadays, I usually go for either "dressy" jeans (is there really such a thing?!) or dress pants. 

I'm a little hesitant to wear a dress. I think I can blend in better with pants. I don't make a statement if I wear gray or brown or black. Besides, I really do like those colors and they are, more or less, my comfort zone. But today, I wanted to be bold. I wanted to dress the way I feel on the inside. Vibrant. Ladylike. A little sassy. A little vintage. 

I pulled out a dress that I've had for about two years. Initially, the zipper was broke so that was my excuse not to wear it. But I had fixed it and now my excuse really was null and void. Not to mention, it was sleeveless and today was hot and sunny. 

Sliding it off the hanger, I held it out to decide. Then before I could think about this too much I slipped it on over my head and zipped it up. 

Yes, this was feeling good. Shoes...shoes...shoes...now, which ones? 

"Come on Dianne, you know you want to wear the Red ones. You knew it when you pulled that blue and white polka-dotted dress with the red belt from your closet. Just do it! Quit worrying about what you think "someone" might say. You don't even know who "someone" is. 

The Red Shoes found their way onto my feet and as I stretched down to work with the buckles and straps, I was reminded of Grandma. I think of her when I have to bend down to tie my shoes, pull on a pair of nylons, or paint my toenails. It's not that it is difficult, but it is more difficult than it was when I was half my age. Now, double my age and I am almost Grandma's age: 92. Now, every single morning she puts on a pair of super-duper extra-strength elastic hose. When I help her, I sit on the floor and work to get them on her toes, then over her heels, then up her legs. Let me just say that it is a workout. "Torture Tights" is how they should be marketed. Seriously. 

If I didn’t wear the shoes more often now, maybe I never would. Someday my flexibility may not be so flexible and my fingers not so nimble. What was I waiting for?

I went to church this morning. I thanked God that He made me uniquely me. And after church when Aaron and Lisa-Anna came over, we had a photo session. I’m not comfortable with being in pictures. I have a hard time looking and feeling natural and I tend to find all my perceived flaws. Today though, I did not want to do that. I wanted to take my gummy smile, the crooked way I tend to hold my head, my neck wrinkles, my generous curves and thank God that He made me who I am, inside and out.

And if wearing Red Shoes reminds me to be thankful that I am God’s creation, then so be it.

 

 Love, 

Dianne