…our regularly scheduled program will be back as soon as I’ve finished my final exam this week! =)
Stay safe, stay healthy…May God bless you & keep you!
…our regularly scheduled program will be back as soon as I’ve finished my final exam this week! =)
Stay safe, stay healthy…May God bless you & keep you!
“So I decided that there was nothing better for a man to do than to enjoy his food and drink, and his job. Then I realized that even this pleasure is from the hand of God. For who can eat or enjoy apart from Him? For God gives those who please Him wisdom, knowledge, and joy; but if a sinner becomes wealthy, God takes the wealth away from him and gives it to those who please Him. So here, too, we see an example of foolishly chasing the wind.” (Ecclesiastes 2:24-26)
I am enjoying the luxury of long fingernails. As a Reflexologist, long nails are a no-no. Even a slight white tip on the end of a nail can put a world of hurt into the client, who has carefully put their feet (or hands) into your hands for treatment. I have been on the receiving end so I understand wholeheartedly what those long nails feel like navigating the “map” of your feet. However, in this forced shutdown, Reflexology is the no-no. It requires physical contact. So, I’ve been letting my nails grow…just because I can. I’ve stopped just short of picking up a bottle of toxic nail polish at the grocery store when next I visit it.
(Yes, we all have our vanities.)
I haven’t played guitar in ages. Picking it up again would be a much more worthy endeavor than growing my nails. And, if I was playing right now, I would be cutting my nails off so that I could actually play…and play well. However, I know that once I return to work, even if it is a part-time position, I would not be able to keep my practice up. As an online student, my classwork has not diminished and that takes precedence until I graduate later this year.
So, I’m catering to this vanity…for at least as long as we are in quarantine. Or until I get too frustrated with hitting more than one key as I type away on the keyboard in creating this blog post. It has been a long time since I’ve indulged myself with something so frivolous. And, while a part of me is saying, “Wow! Look at these hands. They actually look pretty and feminine for a change”, another part of me is also thinking, “Arrrgh! I just had to re-type that sentence twice because of these vanities.” And don’t even look at these hands after I’ve been digging in the garden dirt or, like yesterday, cleaning out a goat barn.
And, yes, the subject of this post is equally frivolous. I mean, really, what does any of this have to do with homesteading. Or herbs. Or frugality. Or social issues. What does it have to do with faith?
However, from a healing perspective, I would say that this forced shutdown has shined a light on something I typically neglect: ME. And I’m not necessarily talking about indulging a few vanities. In the last few weeks, I’ve indulged myself with the occasional nap, spent much more quality time with Mom, read some awesome books, and had time to explore some plot development for my own novel-in-the-works. Because I’m one of the lucky ones right now who has been receiving a paycheck even though I’m not at work, I can relax for a moment and simply enjoy life…albeit without the usual social interactions that constitute day-to-day life. I’ve been able to get things done on the homestead that have been pressing…and that are usually done with an underlying angst pushing me to “get ‘er done” before I have to go back to work on Monday. No, I’m not lamenting work. I like what I do at the library…and the ladies I work with; no issues there. However, I’m looking on the bright side of this pandemic and seeing all of the things I can do that I seldom have time for in “normal” times. It’s been a lot more productive an attitude than the constant worry and stress that started this shutdown…and peppered every blog post since mid-March.
Here’s to hoping that every one of you reading this is having just as restful and productive a time during this pandemic as I am. I would be delighted if you would share in the comments below how you’re using this extra leisure time. Stay safe and healthy!
May God bless you & keep you!
“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? When evil men come to destroy me, they will stumble and fall! Yes, though a mighty army marches against me, my heart shall know no fear! I am confident that God will save me.” (Psalms 27:1-3)
Back in 2017, especially towards the end of the year, my blog posts had gotten deeper. I no longer was exploring homesteading endeavors only but some of the real issues that I have faced over the years. Sometimes I questioned myself, wondering what these issues, such as alcoholism and abuse, had to do with homesteading. But I continued onward, seeking to find both a voice and a niche in the blogging world. What I eventually came to was that every homestead is different and reflects the individuality of the person/people living and/or working it. And, while this is a homestead–albeit a struggling one these days as I seek to find work to sustain us off the property–it is also a home. And the people that live here are human…with all of the human failings of every individual.
This homestead is the brain child of a 50-something-year-old woman whose father has never wanted any part of her life…and a step-father who wanted too much to do with her, if you take my meaning. It’s the brain child of a child who watched in terror as this same stepfather popped open that first can of many beers until he was raving drunk, breaking everything he could lay hands on, kicking holes in the walls and beloved pets across the floor, screaming like a banshee and generally terrorizing us all. I also saw the opposite side of alcoholism with a grandfather, the same paternal grandfather who instilled my love of writing, who came home inebriated, mildly sat down on the sofa, pulled me onto his knee and spent the rest of the evening reading fairy tales to me…or teaching this 3 year-old granddaughter the finer points of chess. At 8 years’ old, I visited a very yellow-skinned Poppop in the nursing home for the last time. And then was told by, again, the stepfather and my Mom not to cry about his passing because it might upset my maternal grandfather, with whom we were staying, and cause him to have another stroke.
However, before I continue to paint my stepfather in the darkest terms, there’s even a flip side to this raging form of alcoholism. He was endlessly patient when helping me with homework. He praised my writing to the hilt and, before he died, told me in all confidence that I would be a great writer someday and have that bestseller. I sincerely hope he is right. But, even if he isn’t, despite the abuse I endured from this man, it means a lot to me to have such confidence behind me…even as a part of me fears a feeling of failure if I never do write that bestseller.
Such is the mark of abuse: confidence is always subjective at best.
Some of my posts, and one in particular, focused heavily on the effects of alcoholism in a family. It shapes dynamics, creates an atmosphere of fear and distrust even among loved ones, and fosters a lack of communication. There were consequences to speaking your mind.
And I felt them after such posts.
One aunt, in particular, refuses to speak to me after one such post, denying such dynamics exist in our family because, on my mother’s side of the family, the last generation of active alcoholics was my great-grandparents. My post talked about learned behavior that, sadly, can be passed from one generation to the next. That’s why Al-Anon refers to alcoholism as a “family disease” because, in essence, it’s catching…even if you don’t drink.
Then there was the blog post, which has long since been taken down, where I lamented the cruel treatment of an animal where I was working. I came close to being fired, was put on probation, and threatened with litigation. Sure, I should’ve gone through the proper channels and brought the treatment to the attention of my supervisor first. I was so horrified, I didn’t think about it until after I’d calmed down…and after the damage had already been done, so to speak. I don’t negate what I witnessed–and continued to witness–but I stopped writing about it. And floundered some mornings about what to write about at all. After being written up for this infraction, I got reprimanded again for another post that, in all honesty, I never even considered might be offensive. In that post, I lamented being unable to serve at church on Sunday mornings because of the work schedule conflict. It wasn’t meant as a shot against the employer in question but they took it that way.
These hands have been, sadly, quiet over the last year-and-a-half or so. Fear of retribution has made me second guess every word typed. Yes, I know, as a writer, I have a responsibility to be cognizant of people’s feelings. I also know that I am going to piss some people off even without intending to. I know that I cannot please everyone and, maybe, depending on the subject of my post, someone will get angry enough to seek compensation for what they view as a damaging image created by those words. However, while I have no desire to cause pain to anyone, I also know that by remaining silent, sometimes I cause more pain.
And, yes, to others, too.
None of the above subjects have anything to do with homesteading directly. Nor do the political or religious issues that sometimes crop up and demand my attention. However, they do have something to do with this homestead. Every homestead is unique. Not just in what that homestead produces, such as fruits and vegetables, herbs, fiber products, honey, etc but in the human force behind it.
What hurdles have those humans had to jump over to get to where they are right now? What hurdles have become road blocks to their success? What issues influence why they are homesteading in the first place? And what issues influence the direction they take?
I started homesteading because I wanted to rescue abused and neglected creatures. I wanted to help those without a voice, as well as remember those beloved pets of my youth whom I was too young and powerless to protect. Later, as I learned more about herbs, a love started by my mother when she cured a tenacious strain of conjunctivitis (pink-eye) with a decoction of spearmint leaves, I wanted to grow my own herbs organically and experience the healing power I’d heard so much of regarding gardening. Then, as commercial food products continue to get recalled and we learn about the harmful chemicals used in growing food on a commercial scale, I wanted to heal myself and my loved ones by growing as much of our food myself as possible. This led to an awareness of how much our planet is hurting due to the toxins in our air, water, soil and bodies. Many of those toxins come from plastic clothing, the synthetic fibers like nylon and microfibers and Spandex, etc that release tiny particles into our waterways every time we throw them in the washer. My brief career in living history was an enduring experience because of the gift of learning how to raise and then process natural fibers–without harm to the animals in question.
No, I can’t save the world. But I can mitigate the harm to our planet by reducing my own abuse of resources…and educating others on ways that they can reduce that carbon footprint as well. And I may not be able to save every animal who hurts or suffers under human abuse, neglect and/or exploitation, but I can mitigate some of that suffering one creature at a time…and, when resources allow, help empower others in the field of animal welfare.
Have I fallen short of the mark in my endeavors? Of course. I am human…with all of the human failings of our species. I can be lazy and undisciplined. I procrastinate. I can be short-sighted. I can also be loving and kind and laser-focused at times. I’m creative and a bit of a Pollyanna–this last can be both a failing and a success, depending upon one’s perspective. I’m also tackling another hurdle right now in trying to save this homestead from certain foreclosure if I don’t find a position, or a means of supplementing the current one, that helps me get caught up on all the back payments due.
I’ve cringed every time I’ve blogged about my financial situation. Shame, which is part of that pride cycle, has filled me even though I know my current situation stems from an unexpected fall and the subsequent injury I sustained in that fall. In many ways, it’s been a blessing. It’s made me stop and realize that, over the years, I have judged others less fortunate harshly. I’ve shared a common belief that somehow this person may have brought their troubles on themselves.
When I ought to know better.
In short, I’ve been a coward about humbling myself to my readers. I’ve allowed a few wrist slaps to influence the direction and reason for this blog. And, while those wrist slappings may curb some overzealous crusades, if I allow them to silence me entirely, I don’t deserve to be a writer at all. While a writer has a responsibility to all of the things I mentioned above, a writer also has a responsibility to share the truth, to be genuine, to lift people up and shed the Light of that truth on as much of the anger and prejudice and sufferings in this world as he or she can.
May God bless you & keep you!
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick; but when dreams come true at last, there is life and joy” (Proverbs 13:12)
Okay. So the Proverb I quoted above is misleading. I can’t exactly say it was a “dream come true” to meet Summer Rayne Oakes of Plant One on Me fame, but I will confess to feeling giddy in the days and weeks leading up to her visit at Logee’s Greenhouse two weeks’ ago (yes, I am a bit behind…). Though I am not on the regular schedule at the greenhouse anymore, I still make myself available for busy seasons and special events, of which Summer Rayne’s visit was a bit of both. The anticipation of her visit, being with friends again, and being surrounded by beautiful plants really didn’t seem like work at all. It was good to be back, if only for the day, and fun to meet a fellow plant and chicken enthusiast.
For those of you who have never visited Summer Rayne’s YouTube channel, Plant One on Me, Summer Rayne shares her New York apartment with a chicken named Kippee. And it was Kippee’s seemingly miraculous adaptation to apartment dwelling that really caught my interest with Summer Rayne.
How does she do this???
I raise chickens. And I have had the occasional convalescing chicken in a cage in the kitchen from time to time where I can more adequately care for them while they heal. I’ve also penned the whole flock of them, along with ducks and goats, in my laundry room/rabbit room during a snowstorm. However, I can’t imagine letting any of them free-range the house.
Obviously, that was one of my first questions for Summer Rayne…and I made sure to wear my infamous quilted chicken skirt to help spark that early rapport. How on earth did she house-break Kippee? Is she house-broken? It appears not 100% but one chicken alone is not so overwhelming to clean up after regarding an errant “accident” along the way. Kippee even sleeps on a roost over her human’s bed…with a hammock underneath, just in case.
All I can think of is this ROCKS! I mean, totally ROCKS!
No, I’m not planning to roost 22 chickens indoors now. Ditto for the 7 ducks and 3 goats…though the latter have figured out how to open the backdoor if Mom & I don’t latch it properly. But I like how warm and comforting her abode looks on YouTube, with so much beautiful greenery and a chicken gently clucking away at her side. During the aforementioned snowstorm, I confess it was rather comforting to have my many “children” so close at hand. It’s, like, the ultimate of bringing nature indoors with you. And the word I’ve been searching for is harmony. Again, with my crew, it’s simply not feasible for the long-term, but it tickles me pink nonetheless. (No, I’m not your average bear…)
Oh…and as for the chicken skirt?
Long before my ill-fated sojourn into living history, I have always had an affinity for long skirts and dresses. Like my honorary mentor, Tasha Tudor, I am convinced I once lived in the 19th century. And, like Tasha, I hope that my brand of heaven has me wearing those long skirts and dresses, and spinning wool on a great wheel to make yarn. It’s a goal for this life, to be sure. And, many years ago, I took some steps to make that dream a little more of a reality by slitting the inseams of my trousers and jeans and searching fabric stores for the funkiest, wackiest fabrics to fill the triangles between those ripped-out inseams. I love the modesty of long, full skirts and high necklines…but I also like to have fun. I like my clothing to be fun.
So, without further ado, here I am with Summer Rayne, having received her autograph inside her most recent book, How to Make a Plant Love You, in my chicken skirt, though the skirt is rather cut off; will have to take a picture of it and upload for a future post (sorry!) (And, yes, I really do need to lose those extra 40 lbs….after seeing this picture, I am so on it!).
May God bless you & keep you!
“I will bless the Lord who counsels me; He gives me wisdom in the night. He tells me what to do. I am always thinking of the Lord; and because He is so near, I never need to stumble or to fall. Heart, body, and soul are filled with joy.” (Psalms 16:7-9)
Back in November of 2017, shortly after I had first started working in living history, I witnessed something that bothered me greatly at my new job and I made the mistake of blogging about it–first. The proper channels would have been to report what I saw to management first and, then, if I didn’t get the results I hoped for, take it higher within the organization. Blogging about it probably should have been the last course of action, if at all in this instance.
I suppose I don’t need to tell everyone reading this that I got myself into some serious hot water over it. Of course, a co-worker saw the post and brought it my manager’s attention. I saw it coming almost the moment I hit “Publish” but, the activist in me, squashed the Nervous Nellie voice inside, insisting that what I saw was wrong and needed to be brought to “light”.
I had one manager get in my face and tell me I didn’t see what I said I saw, threaten my job, and then with litigation if I ever posted anything like that again. The only reason I hadn’t lost my job right then and there was I had never been issued an employee handbook when I first started so, legally, they couldn’t let me go. I spent the next several weeks going back through all of my blogs and changing every place where my employer’s name might’ve been to “living history” or simply “my employer”, etc. I also removed the offending post…and then another that they found objectionable, and on another subject entirely, that I hadn’t even considered might be offensive in any way.
Yes, it was the responsible thing to do after such a misjudgment. And it had far more serious implications than anything threatened in that fateful meeting.
First, my credibility regarding what I saw came into question. Such a misjudgment meant that I also might not be a reliable person to ask. I saw more of the same actions/behavior over the next year or so but, even with another co-worker backing me up, my complaints and concerns fell on deaf ears.
Second, I went from being in complete awe that I had had the good fortune of snagging this job to, in many ways, hating it. Oh, sure, I loved the skills they taught, I loved learning more about the history of the time period, and especially, the day-to-day lives of people in America prior to the Civil War. As I am in the northeastern part of the country, I learned a lot about abolition and the anti-slavery movement. I loved the fashions I felt privileged to wear. And, when they still allowed/scheduled me to work in it, I loved working in “my” herb garden.
After that fateful meeting, however, I felt more and more the outsider in certain corners.
And found friends and allies in unexpected places.
Lastly, thoroughly chastened, I stopped blogging almost completely. I went from publishing a post nearly every week day to weeks without a single one. I found myself alternately depressed and angry. Stress and anxiety took over. Joy showed up only on rare occasions. Burnout quickly followed. More, I felt–and still feel–guilty for failing those without a voice by my hasty actions on their behalf.
In short, I lost my stride. And now I’m struggling to get it back.
Prior to this event, and its aftermath, I had regular posts, such as Wednesday’s Weed Walk where each week I talked about a different herb, its uses, and even some of its history. I had regular posts regarding frugal living (I am the eternal tightwad and proud of it!). Throughout my first October of regular blogging, I shared stories of my haunted homestead. And even some more personal stuff about growing up in an abusive, alcoholic home. The latter may not have had much to do with homesteading, the original theme of this blog, but it certainly had a hand in shaping this would-be homesteader. I would truly love to get back to this…in some capacity.
Of course, I am also facing a new challenge: time management.
My weekdays now consist of an early rising to meet with my instructor by 7:30 a.m. to spend an hour on the road behind the wheel of a school bus. Before I leave home, I have goats, chickens, ducks, rabbits, cats and Smoky the Cockatiel to feed, water, etc., and yoga. Then I head several towns’ over to the Town Hall to work with the tax assessor’s office. I have more of the same animal care when I get home, class work to complete for college, and a novel that I am already promoting, though it may be several months before it is completed.
I’m not sure I can squeeze a daily post in again, especially with a second blog on my author’s page (lisaburbank.wordpress.com) to keep up with also, but I am certainly going to be more intentional with my blog. I’m going to commit to 2 posts per week. And I’m asking, you, my readers, what would you like to see more of? I’ll do my best to deliver. In the meantime, I would like to thank everyone who has stuck by me, read, followed, and liked my posts, and who have shared the rather sporadic posts of the last year or so. Here’s to hoping I can catch my stride again soon!
May God bless you & keep you!
“Is there any such thing as Christians cheering each other up? Do you love me enough to want to help me? Does it mean anything to you that we are brothers in the Lord, sharing the same Spirit? Are your hearts tender and sympathetic at all? Then make me truly happy by loving each other and agreeing wholeheartedly with each other, working together with one heart and mind and purpose” (Philippians 2:1-2)
I’m feeling so grateful today. My church community is helping out with my situation and words cannot describe how grateful I am. There’s been an onslaught of emotions: hope, joy, relief…and, yes, even a little shame and embarrassment. The last vestiges of an attempt to hang onto pride…or maybe the adversary’s feeble attempts to keep pride’s hold on me.
But Jesus will always be stronger. God’s got this. So, take that, adversary!
There’s something to be said for community. Maybe that is the lesson He wants me to learn (above and beyond the pride thing…).
I’ve always dreamed of living like a hermit in the woods, the whole “Walden” thing. My dream home is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nature, and living like it’s still the 19th century. Maybe there’s something to it. Solitude and simplicity are needed for a healthy life balance, but without fellowship with others, what’s the point? And even Henry David Thoreau wrote about visitors to his little cabin in the woods. We need both. If I can hang on to this place, or if He wants me to sock this money away for a potential move, either way, I want my homestead to be a welcoming place: for family gatherings; for friends sitting around a campfire at night; for prayer meetings; for knitting, sewing, quilting circles; for clients to have their treatments; for hosting classes about herbs, 19th century skills, and no-dig gardening…and even a refuge for those caught in the eye of their own personal storms.
I’ve blogged before about how I crave solitude like flowers crave the sun and rain. And it’s true. I’m the classic introvert. Too many people, too often, and I start to feel a little sick at heart. I retreat inward. Not because I’m anti-social, but because that’s how it is for an introvert. For an introvert, too much social time quickly becomes overwhelming. We enjoy time with our loved ones, and even strangers, but the introvert greatly needs that balance between solitude and socialization to keep recharging.
However, over the last decade, I’ve taken solitude to a whole new level. Some of it has been the 2 years of unemployment, followed by 8 years of severe underemployment. When socializing equals an event that requires an entrance fee, I’ve often had to reconsider. Some of it though–most of it–has been the depression that often comes with that same unemployment/underemployment. Due to a lack of steady and adequate funds, the house, the grounds, even myself, have started looking neglected. There’s also a lot of emotional baggage attached from the last “romantic” relationship I was in, that was anything but romantic, that has had me drawing the curtains tight and shutting out the world.
And, boy, does the adversary feed on that!
In many ways, though I’m not living in the middle of nowhere, I’ve allowed myself to become almost as isolated as if I was living in the middle of nowhere. And isolation is defeating. The neglect becomes indifference becomes more depression becomes more neglect becomes more indifference…until the effort to dig yourself out of this vicious cycle becomes so overwhelming, you don’t know where to turn, where to start. That’s where the hopelessness sets in.
Thank God, literally, for the fellowship He’s blessed me with! It started with certain friends and co-workers reaching out with a helping hand over the last several months. This time, it was a church member who saw my Go Fund Me campaign and brought it to the attention of our priest. And, truly, though the financial help is a blessing and appreciated, the true blessing is knowing how many people out there care enough to help. I’m overwhelmed…but in a good way.
I’ve been sitting back here, feeling sorry for myself, indulging the adversary with my “cares” and “woes” and getting nowhere in life. Today I’m feeling hope for the first time in a very long time. Yes, there’s still a risk of losing the homestead. I still missed the deadline for the second installment on the modification trial period and I don’t know where that leaves me. However, I’m that much closer to meeting the back payments owed. Or to engaging an attorney who can help me get back on track again. It’s help to tide us over until I’m working again…or to help us start over on a new homestead. I’m leaving it in His hands to decide, praying for His guidance regarding the best course of action.
Our God truly is an awesome God. Thank you! To everyone who has been moved to help, to share, to pass along the information. I don’t feel quite so alone anymore. And that’s the greatest blessing of all.
I hope everyone reading this is as blessed with community as I am.
May God bless you & keep you!
“I am leaving you with a gift–peace of mind and heart! And the peace I give isn’t fragile like the peace the world gives. So don’t be troubled or afraid” (John 14:27)
I want to believe those words. I want to believe His grace is sufficient for this particular trial. I want to believe that He has something special planned at the end of it all.
But, today, I’m down and out for the count.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll find the way to bounce back up again. I hope so. Right now the fear and anguish in my soul is almost more than I can bear. Proof that there’s still fight left in me that I can feel such emotions, such protest, but, if I’m meant to go through this, if there’s something He means for me to learn that I didn’t learn the first time around, there’s a part of me even fighting that.
So much for laying it at the cross. But what other choice do I have? All of my efforts have gotten me nowhere. But where do I go from here? What does He want me to do? To go?
Losing the house, the land, I can bear. It’s potentially having to re-home the animals if I cannot find a farm where I might board them until I get on my feet again…and, of course, for a fee that I can manage in my current situation. My heart is breaking at the thought. And, at the moment, I’m not feeling God’s love. I’m feeling His anger. I’m feeling the punitive “father” that reflects the neglect of my biological father and the abuse of my stepfather. “Father” for me has always implied mistrust. Is He trying to heal this once and for all? Or is this going to cement it once and for all in my heart that the word “father” is equivalent to a dirty swear word?
No, I don’t hate men, and certainly not fathers. There are good ones in the world. I’ve just never known that love…at least not without personal cost. And you’re never too old to need that love–His love.
Right now, I really need a healthy dose of it. And as many prayers as I can get.
May God bless you & keep you!
“Keep your eyes on Jesus, our leader and instructor. He was willing to die a shameful death on the cross because of the joy He knew would be His afterwards; and now He sits in the place of honor by the throne of God” (Hebrews 2:12)
After Saturday’s widely-publicized meltdown, I went outside and attacked the giant multi-flora rosebush climbing over the back fence. And “attacked” is definitely a good word for it.
I pruned ruthlessly.
It pruned me of blood just as ruthlessly.
I look like I’ve just narrowly escaped a particularly nasty cat fight but I can now walk under the multi-flora rosebush without losing even more blood…and a thorny branch’s worth of hair. This particular stretch of fence line has been a problem “child” as the ducks and chickens know I can’t get underneath the rose bush to check the fencing. Now I can. I found an almost-duck-sized gap in a low spot underneath; I shoved an old cage in front of it for now and will find something more permanent going forward.
I also found several bird’s nests in the upper reaches of the bush…and delighted in them. I should probably add that this bush has been allowed to climb up and over the 6 foot chain-link fence. Despite its invasive nature, I allow it to stay as it does provide shelter for the birds, shade for my chickens and ducks in summer, and beauty for all of us when it blooms. And my goats had a feast on the leaves I pruned off (Really guys? There’s THORNS!!). It simply needed a good trim to keep it manageable.
Somewhere along the way I lost the anger and angst that so overwhelmed me earlier that morning.
Maybe it was finding those bird’s nests in the bush. Maybe it was watching the new ducklings exploring the world outside of the pen they and their Mama have been in since they hatched for the first time; they’re finally big enough that I don’t have to worry about them slipping through the gate jamb or even the chain-links(!). Maybe it was marveling over the goats’ delight at the new “treat” awaiting them with each cut of the loppers…thorns and all. Maybe it was retrieving a few dozen eggs from the nests and watching Miss Opal, one of my Buff Orpington chickens, streaking across the yard, squawking loudly, in celebration of those eggs. Either way, I found myself laughing often, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, and the warm company of my beloved pets. Such a sense of peace settled over me. It was bittersweet, in light of my current situation but this is home.
And I’m not losing it.
It may not be this particular plot of land in the end but the farm and I will survive, together, intact, some way, somehow.
I may sound determined. I may also sound unrealistic and delusional. But I’m not giving up.
I bought this property with a husband, now an ex-husband. Two incomes can handle it; one income will always struggle…unless I can find a way to pull in enough income to equal what two could do. Maybe that’s out there somewhere. Or maybe He’s giving me a much-needed shove to look elsewhere. If this was where I was meant to be, I’d be thriving.
Or maybe He’s telling me I need to learn how to thrive wherever I am, however I am.
Either way, God has this. He knows where I am, what’s happening in my life, in my heart, in my thoughts. God has a plan. There’s a reason He’s brought me around full circle to this place of uncertainty and fear. I don’t know what it is. And I haven’t stopped being scared shitless. But I’m surrendering my will to His. He’s brought me to this place one more time; I’m trusting Him to carry me through it.
May God bless you & keep you!
PS I would also be delighted, and ever in your debt, if you would share the Go Fund Me campaign link below in your blog, your social media sites, etc. The wider I cast my net, the greater chances for that miracle I’m so in need of. 😉
“I waited patiently for God to help me; then He listened and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out from the bog and the mire, and set my feet on a hard, firm path and steadied me as I walked along. He has given me a new song to sing, of praises to our God” (Psalms 40:1-3)
I have one week to come up with $989 for the next mortgage payment or the homestead goes into foreclosure. The current job has cut me back to 12 hours’ per week; the previous job wouldn’t have kept me up-to-date either. I had an interview for a position yesterday. It’s another part-time position, but one that I can work while continuing at the greenhouse…provided they don’t decide I’m seasonal and I lose even the 12 hours in the coming weeks. I start training for the new position on September 16th; I don’t get paid until after training. Then the money is decent and will, hopefully, keep us afloat. But it’ll be too late for the homestead…unless the mortgage company is willing to negotiate another modification.
I’m not sure they will.
And, yes, I’ve read “The Secret”. I know about manifestation. Maybe there’s something to it. Maybe it’s “Pshaw!”. Maybe there’s too much angst in my heart for the basic principles of “The Secret” to work. Either way, I’ve also read the Bible numerous times. I know what my faith tells me I should be feeling, thinking, doing.
And I’m coming up empty.
Maybe He has something bigger in mind for me down the road. I hope so. Maybe this new something will be the dream homestead: off-grid; enough acres to grow my own hay; room for more goats to start my brush clearing business; a greenhouse for growing food and spices, such as turmeric, cardamom, ginger and others, year-round for sale. Maybe the new something will provide room enough that I can provide a forever home for animals that have been abused and/or neglected. Maybe the new something will allow me to plant an extensive herb garden that I can teach from…and a backyard habitat to help mitigate the destruction modern-day progress has made of the natural world.
You see, when I’m down and out, I escape into my fantasies (or a book…and endless YouTube videos (sigh)).
I keep thinking, if I could only get back on my feet again, I would be unstoppable. But I’m drowning in debt and doubt and fear and futility.
I feel like all of the efforts I have made in the last 5 years to improve my credit rating, to pay down the debt, to build up the homestead to be a working endeavor have been in vain. Granted, the latter has been half-hearted out of fear that any efforts I make might also be futile if I eventually lose the property. The result has been over-grown and overwhelm. I keep spinning my wheels and getting nowhere. I don’t know what to do. I keep asking Him to take the reins, to drive this train wreck of a life, because I have no more fight left to put it back on track again.
I’m done. Stick a fork in me.
And, underneath it all, I’m scared shitless. I thought I was done with this 5 years’ ago. How the hell, why the hell have I come around this full circle?
And, yes, I’m almost done with the woe-is-me-feel-sorry-for-me pity-party. I’m not so sure about the intermittent crying jag that’s running interference in the background. And I can’t promise there won’t be an F-bomb lacing this post further along…I’ll try to refrain.
I’m asking, but from where I’m standing, the answer seems cruel.
I’m seeking but I’m not finding.
I’m knocking but the door’s not opening.
And, most importantly, I’m angry. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to fall. I didn’t ask to fracture my shoulder. I didn’t ask to be jerked around by the previous company regarding the necessary time out to heal. I didn’t ask to be backed into a corner so that I was forced to resign…even if, in many ways, it was a blessing in disguise. Despite this desperate situation.
What’s that expression? When the going gets tough, the tough get going. I’m just not sure in which direction…except He’s asking me, I think, to go through this. Again.
I’ve been paralyzed by indecision over the years. Even after I righted the mortgage (or so I thought), I continued to waver. I’ve wanted to relocate. But I’ve got a lot of years in this house. Sure, it’s rundown and needs a ton of work, but it’s home. I have friends and family close by…even if they seldom call or come to visit. I have a church community that I’ve been active in and that I love. I’m close to the current job, even if it is part-time. I have a vet that I also love, who has been kind and caring and has given great care to my animals over the years. This is my world.
And I’m not 25 anymore. I am the poster “child” for proof that the older you get, the harder it is to change, to uproot and leave everything beloved and familiar.
Again, He’s asking me (I think) to step out of my comfort zone and trust Him. Really trust Him.
I have trust issues even on a human scale.
So where do I go from here?
The song, “What If I Gave Everything” by Casting Crowns is running a steady monologue in my head. What if I did give everything? What if, despite this seemingly impossible situation, I poured my whole self into building the homestead of my dreams…wherever it lands? Or even if it winds up staying where it is? To hell with the toe in the water. What if I plunged in right here, right now? What if I stopped waiting for the perfect conditions to be that “unstoppable”? And, more importantly, what if I stopped trying to reason everything out with my limited human understanding?
Maybe the only thing really stopping me is, well, me. Somebody, please, push me out of my own way (heavy sigh).
May God bless you & keep you!
Casting Crowns (2016). “What If I Gave Everything.” The Very Next Thing. Beach Street Records.