Playing House

About six years ago, I made a promise in a blog entry that I would write a story about my grandmother.
Then a few months ago at a family gathering, I made a promise to my grandfather that I would write a story about my grandmother.

You guys, it is time for that story.
*****


I'm pretty sure I have the nicest grandmother in the entire world.

Now I know that everyone thinks, "Big deal. All grandmas are nice." But my grandmother's kindness is the stuff of legend.
I honestly have heard someone tell me a story about a time she gently talked an angry, knife-wielding man away from a vehicle with her friends inside. Now I have never asked my grandmother about the validity of such a tale--and neither did the teller--but that is, in fact, what makes it a legend. That we would believe such a thing could happen without the need to verify it is just a testament to her character.


I can remember exactly one time that I've ever heard the woman raise her voice, and it was in fear and not in anger.
I can remember maybe three whole times I've ever heard her complain.
I can remember a million times I've heard her laugh.

Gentleness, kindness, patience, peace, goodness...
My grandmother is dripping in all of those things.

And if that doesn't make her sound lovely enough, she also has the skin of someone like half her age.
(Unfortunately I'm not so sure that I've inherited such character traits.)

But there is one part of me that favors my grandmother very much so, and I'm reminded of it every time I move into a new house.

My grandmother is an Air Force wife turned preacher's wife, and she spent her entire adult life moving, moving, and moving some more. My grandparents never really had a lot of money, and my grandmother certainly wasn't materialistic by any stretch---
But she really loved her stuff.

My mother remembers how my grandfather would question if they were going to have to move *all* of her knick-knacks yet again
...and then my sweet, gentle grandma would look at him like he was wasting his breath.
Of course they were going to move *all* of the stuff...It was her stuff!!!

I loved my grandmother's stuff when I was little. There were certain things you could count on to be there no matter what. The teddy bears in the kitchen. The family photos lining the entertainment center. The recliner that was just right for watching the t.v. on upside down. The footstool that you're not supposed to jump off of unless you want Grandma to get scared and yell...

No matter where they ended up, no matter if I'd been there twenty times or never before in my life, my grandparents' house always felt like my grandparents' house.
And it gave me a sense of homecoming in a place that wasn't my home.

What I thought was an act of frugality when I was younger seems so intentional now, especially as an adult who is also trying to make a home out of a strange new place every few years.
The stuff was more than just stuff to her.
It was the evidence of stewardship. It was the means to hospitality. It was familiarity and stability in a brand new place. And it was the source of the memories that reminded everyone that they were cared for and loved, no matter where they went.

Honestly, I think that's why I went all crazy when it took so long to get my household goods here. I wasn't longing for the things themselves. I was longing for the sense of homecoming I knew they would bring me---that I was eager to bring to my family.

(...And perhaps the ease of some modern appliances. And the fluff of my sweet, sweet bed.)

Well, I'm happy to report that I don't have to miss my things anymore, because MY STUFF HAS FINALLY ARRIVED IN ALASKA!!!

These past few days we have been feverishly setting up rooms, hanging pictures, and settling in. And just like my grandma's house always did, it feels familiar even though it's not. With every item we unwrap, we exhale.
We are loved. We are cared for. We are home.

No matter where we go.

For every house is built by someone, but the builder of all things is God. (Hebrews 3:4)

(Thank you for the wonderful childhood memories you built for me, Grandma!)
xo

Spotting the Dirt

Last week on The Crazy Woman Driver, we watched as Liz struggled to provide a comfortable home for her family without any of thier personal belongings. On this week's entry, we'll finally see her excel in all areas of womanhood with the help of her household goo----
What? She still doesn't have any of her stuff yet? Are you sure? Oh...um...alright then.
On this week's entry, we'll see why Liz can't stop writing this crazy introduction.
***


It's been another long week without my stuff in the last frontier.
On the plus side, having no things has kept us busy exploring some fun sights around our new home. On the down side, well, is pretty much everything else. Turns out that "waiting for your ship to come in" isn't nearly as romantic as it sounds.


We were very fortunate to receive some borrowed furniture from the military installation so I can feign some form of normalcy around here.
Unfortunately, normal household behavior includes cleaning.

I've never liked mopping, but somehow in Alaska, mopping feels especially stupid.
Maybe it's because the floors in this place are the wrong color. Maybe it's because there are two large dogs in my house. Maybe it's because the empty floors are just making every piece of dirt and dog hair *that much more* visible. Maybe I'm using the wrong supplies, or I'm just an inadequate housekeeper.
Whatever the reason, I find myself sweeping up the same kind of mess all the live-long day.
It's exhausting. It's annoying. And it feels extremely frivolous.

As any good wife would do, I griped to my husband about it. (I believe I used the phrase "bane of my existence," so you know, I kept a really level head during the whole discussion.) My husband listened to my complaints, told me he agreed it was frustrating, and gave me a hug...

(Not really.)
He observed the situation, identified the source of the problem, and set out to help me fix it.

It turns out none of my "maybe's" were the problem. The problem was the actual dirt.
The lawn in our backyard either suffered a harsh winter or some harsh tenants, because there is no grass in any of it. We could see where someone had thrown some seeds on top of the dry dirt before we moved in as a last ditch effort, but understandably, nothing was growing. When we would let the dogs out into the yard, they would romp around in the dirt and then carry all the loose bits into the house with them, again and again.
It didn't matter how often or furiously I was cleaning.
My problem was never going to get any better if I didn't take care of the actual dirt.


It got me thinking about how that's true in so many other ways.
I've been working a lot on health and fitness lately, and during these past couple of months, I've hit a snag. I can chalk up my unwanted pounds to my aging body, the stress of this move, not having the right equipment, or the fact that I don't have any of my kitchen tools so I am eating out more than I'd like. But none of those are the real source of the problem. The problem is that I'm not waking up in time to do my workouts.
My morning routine is another thing I've let slip the last couple of months. Before I left Texas, I was setting an alarm, waking up early, doing a daily Bible study, planning out my day ahead, and doing my morning workout. Now I'm not setting an alarm, waking up whenever, working out sometimes, doing my Bible study when I get to it, and making absolutely no plans. I could blame all of this on the interruption brought on by the move, or the fact that it is impossible to go to bed at a decent hour because of the Alaskan midnight sun, or even that it's summa-summa-summer time, and by-golly, I deserve to sleep in! But none of those are the real source of the problem either. The problem is that I don't feel settled here, so it's keeping me up at night in worry.

I worry that our stuff is not going to fit in our house. I worry that our stuff is going to arrive broken. I worry that our stuff is not going to arrive at all. I worry that my husband isn't going to like his job. I worry that my kids aren't going to like their school. I worry that we're not going to know how to handle the dark and cold. I worry that we'll be lonely.---->What these really mean is that I worry that this place is not going to be a good home.

Unlike in my yard, it took some digging to get to the real dirt, but there it is.


Lucky for me, there's a lot of good potential in dirt.

Once my husband identified the source of the bane of my existence our tiny yard problem, he went to the store and got some seed. He mixed the seeds in the dirt, he covered it with landscaping fabric to protect it from dog paws, and he watered it regularly.

Now that I know where my dirt is, I can work to grow something good in there too.
Seed, cover, water, and wait.

Psalm 85:12
Yes, the Lord will give what is good, and our land will yield its increase.

I'm ready to do some growing here, y'all.
With or without my stuff.

(But hopefully with!) ;)

Prepping Makes Perfect

Hi friends. I have a new story for you, and it goes like this:

Once upon a time there was a lady who *still* didn’t have any stuff, and it drove her completely crazy.

For those of you who are keeping track, (or for those of you who are just catching up,) my family has recently moved to Alaska. Getting us here was surprisingly easy and wonderful. Getting our stuff here has been an entirely different story.

First of all, I want to say that I am not unaware of the logistical complication it must be to move 15,000+ lbs. 4,000+ miles. It is not an inconsequential feat, to be sure. I expect it to take some effort, coordination, experience---and yes, some time.

But it’s been 45 days...
And I got here in 12…
And even on the fringe of civilization, Amazon can still find me in 5…
and has already done so 5 times.

So yeah, I feel like “some time” is up.


I’ve mentioned before that it has been bothering me that I am so upset about not having my stuff yet. After all, it’s just stuff. But the more time that passes without it, I realize that it’s not necessarily the absence of my things that has been bothering me. It’s the fact that I jumped into this journey so unprepared to begin with.


I knew I was moving to a place that was significantly cooler. I only brought two pairs of pants.
I knew that I was going to be meeting new people. I brought no hair styling utensils. Not a single one. (Unless you count ball caps—which I do, because 45 days without a straightener makes you a little desperate.)
I knew my sweet husband was returning to work, and I was going to have to entertain the kids in a brand new place during summer vacation. I did no prior research for camps and activities.
I knew I was going to join a new church. Didn’t research any.
I knew I would need to register my kids for their new school. No report cards.
I knew my kids would want to join new sports clubs. Didn’t check registration dates.


(So basically, I planned for this giant move less than some people plan their week-long trips to Disney World.)


And as much as I want to say “But I didn’t know it would take this long!” the truth is, I should have been ready.

And that reminds me of another story:

“Then the kingdom of heaven will be comparable to ten virgins, who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were prudent. For when the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them, but the prudent took oil in flasks along with their lamps. Now while the bridegroom was delaying, they all got drowsy and began to sleep. But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Behold, the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ Then all those virgins rose and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the prudent, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the prudent answered, ‘No, there will not be enough for us and you too; go instead to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ And while they were going away to make the purchase, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went in with him to the wedding feast; and the door was shut.” (Matthew 25:1-10)

Sometimes, we can know what is coming and not be prepared for it. Our lack of preparedness is always revealed with time, because it’s the one thing that none of us can fully anticipate.

Maybe there’s something you know you need to quit and won’t.
Maybe there’s something you know you need to start and haven’t.
Maybe there’s something you need to say and aren’t.

(Maybe there’s a straightener you’re supposed to pack and didn’t.)

And maybe you’re not supposed to do any of those things right now. Get ready anyway.

But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect (1 Peter 3:15)

If you need oil, friend, go and get it.