An Old Poem, Time, and Making Memories

I thought I'd share a little something I wrote recently, but it seems like it will be more flavorful if I include some of the story surrounding it.
     A couple weeks ago Pat, my mom's long-time best friend and my Godmother, came across a rendition of T'was The Night Before Christmas that my mom had written when I was six.  (Incidentally, it was the last Christmas we kept as a family.  We sort of got religious after that.)  It was about our sweet family and simple life.  She mailed me a copy, hoping the kids and I would enjoy the sentiment and the trip down memory lane.  The following is my response to Pat (also sent to Mom):

     Well, thanks a lot for the cry-fest!  I got the letter Tuesday; sorry I’m just now getting to writing.  Seth brought in the mail in the middle of my soap-making and I set it aside as a treat for when I could get off my feet and relax.  (I’d also gotten the belts for the washing machine, so that had to be fixed first.—Awfully nice to have that working again!)  How sweet to read my dear momma’s words, a snapshot of our family life when she was only a few months older than I am now.
    I have been thinking a bit lately about that tricky business we call Time.  Some days I marvel at the fact that I’m one of grown-ups in my house—how did that happen?  Who are all these incredible little people and why are they calling me mom?  And in a weird, over-lappy sort of way I can see Mom at my age, raising my siblings and I, working on a partnership with Dad, working the homestead, fostering friendships, milking life (and goats and cows) for all its (they’re) worth.  I know her.  I know that woman.  And yet I don’t.  She keeps growing and I keep growing.  I never seem to catch up and yet in a way I’m always right there.  So many of my footprints overlap hers.
      Not that I need to prove my point, but I’m going to share a rambling portion from my just-to-be-writing journal, dated the 13th of this month…

     Mostly sunny and 60 today.  Moist air from the south.  Reminiscent of spring.  Hard to believe a few days ago it was icy and cold, dark gray skies spitting rain.  I think we get this warm spell every January and it amazes and thrills me every time. 

    Took a couple kids with me to town to do the monthly shopping.  What a pleasure to walk out of the stores and into the springlike weather, to skip and smile with Atira and Blue.   We drove home with the music up and the windows down.  I sang along to a song by Sublime.  Atira gave me that look that only twelve year olds can give their parents when their parents are being youthful.  Sort of a, “Really?  A little over the top, don’t ya think?” look.  It’s a classic.  To see it on one of my sweet kids just makes me laugh.

    When we arrived home the whole crew fell into our routine.  Some bring bags in from the car, some begin unpacking and putting away the groceries.  The little ones love to open the containers of oats and boxes of pasta to dump them in the 5 gallon buckets used to store them.  (We used to buy bulk packages; it’s not been very convenient for awhile because we can’t get it in our town, but we will again soon.)  They flatten the cardboard containers and pop them into the empty chicken feed bag under the counter for recycling.  We have a nice system.  It pleases me to see how everyone works together.  They grow more efficient every month.

     We do lunch and I suggest a walk afterward.  While Blue and Farra clean up and wash lunch dishes, I ask Royal to help me outside.  I cannot resist doing a little gardening on this delicious day.
     We were so busy in the fall with other things (as per usual) that we didn’t pay much mind to prepping the garden for the coming year.  I figured I’d work on it a little bit through the winter.  Not ideal, but it’s something.  So, Denny had made these garden beds at his cabin using a technique called hugelkultur.  German in origin, I think.  Basically raised beds with heaps of buried wood rotting in it.  The soil he brought over from those beds when he moved was amazing. The tap-root of the kale he had grown in it was over a foot long.  I am determined to try this.
     The area to the west of our garden is kept pretty clear by goats, but has a good bit of rotting timber that came down in the The Storm of ’09 (inland hurricane).  Bobby had bucked some of it up but we never got it split and brought to the woodshed.  Using this rotting wood in the garden serves a dual purpose:  we make fantastic garden beds and clean up the goat yard.  And this is a pleasant time of year to do it, if we get a mild day.  All the weeds and nastiness have died back, we desperately need the vitamin D and fresh air, and the only bugs around are the ones hiding under the rotting wood.  Royal and I tossed three wheel-barrow loads over the garden fence.
     I am beginning to day-dream of freshly turned soil, earth worms, crisp sugar snap peas and fresh lettuce.
     I almost over-did it.  Of course.  My back was fussing a little bit.  So discouraging, knowing how much pain gardening is going to cause me.  I will have to find new ways to do things and learn to be content with less.  Denny has been great so far in helping me slow down and not hurt myself.  He is very compassionate and genuinely cares about my well-being, but if he needs to he lays on the most logical guilt trip I’ve ever heard;  “When you hurt yourself and end up in bed for three days it affects me; I have to pick up the slack.”   Point taken.  I promptly sit down and crochet or something.
     The kids thought it would be fun to pile in the car for the 2 mile trip to the Castor River Shut-Ins where we could walk one of our favorite trails, so we did that instead of taking the van.  We looked like circus clowns piling out of Denny’s 2-door Hyundai.  I love to hike in late fall for somewhat the same reasons I like to garden in the off-season; the ticks and other bugs are gone.  And I like to hike in early spring before the bugs come out, and on any mild days in between.  So much beauty to be enjoyed, even in the “dead” of winter.  The light is especially stunning.
     I take Denny’s hand in my left and Justin’s in my right.  Little takes Denny’s other hand.  The other kids run ahead.  Blue comes back and works her way between Denny and I, so I fall back with Justin (the path is only so wide).  Seeing the three of them joined together just ahead of me melts my heart.  These girls adore this man and he adores them.  Not a day passes that he doesn’t acknowledge his appreciation for and amazement at the privilege of being in their lives.  Meanwhile, Justin pauses and points at every clump of leaves in the branches above us, telling me about the bird “mests,” his big brown eyes full of wonder and his is mouth running with constant expression.  He loves words.  He learns and tries out new words continually; he has a stunning vocabulary and command of language for an almost-3-year old.  You can imagine how he keeps us in stitches with the things he says.  Adorable.
     Soon I am holding Denny’s hand again and Farra is walking with Justin.  The others are investigating and climbing and, well... frolicking.  It’s a day for frolicking.  I squeeze Denny’s hand and we share a smile.  He gets it.  Our hearts are full of these children, of this family.

     It’s all going so fast.  It’s so easy to let the days pass and not notice the things that make life worthwhile.  Last Saturday I had a few really sweet minutes with one of my wee ones before bed.  After I’d tucked them all in I cozied up in bed with Denny.  I got to thinking about how little time I had spent with each of my children that day.  Did I take time to really connect with each one?  To look them in the eye and appreciate them?  Homeschooling seven kids while both Denny and I work from home, the days can go by in a crazy blur.  I rarely feel like I am doing enough or prioritizing wisely, but what bothers me more than putting off soap-making or fence-repairing one more day is putting off genuinely engaging with my children.  As Denny and I talked about it I fast-forwarded six years.  In six short years Farra will be 20, Atira 18, Seth 16, and so on until Justin who will be 9.  Then I had myself a good cry.  Though I look forward to every age and stage, I can’t imagine life without a two or three or four year old in the house, with the uninhibited smiles and love and easy-to-fix boo boos and the unbelievably adorable things they say all day long.  It’s going so fast and some days I neglect to see it, I get caught up in other things.  Then I hug them tight and cry a little and they look at me like I’m crazy because they don’t understand yet about time.
     We’ve had a lot of snow so far this winter.  Government school kids had quite an extended Christmas vacation.  Half the parents I know on Facebook were posting about how their kids were driving them crazy, willing school to start back up so they could have a break.  Some parents were burdened with having to bring their children to work with them, terrified that their children would grow bored with the movies on their iPads and get underfoot.
     I can’t imagine.  I see it, but it baffles me.  I cannot put myself in their shoes.  My children are a pleasure to be around.  I wish I had more time most days to work and play by their sides.  I wish there were more of me to go around.  They are incredible people, the biggest right down to the smallest.  Next to Denny I would choose the company of any of them on any given day to anyone else I know.  Yes, it can be a little tiring sometimes, but I know my kids; they are responsive, and it doesn’t take much for me to redirect them if they should happen to get rowdy or fussy or bored.      

    Well, that’s as much as I’d written before I was summoned back to life.  I was going to wax eloquent about the limited amount of time we have here on earth, etc., etc., etc..   =) 

    Thanks, Pat, for sharing, and thanks, Mom, for being you.
~K~

Stuff

I like Stuff as much as the next girl; clothing, toys, kitchen gadgets and utensils, yard and garden tools, carpenter and mechanic’s tools, bath and beauty supplies, building materials, DVD’s, CD’s, fabric and sewing notions, home decor, office and school supplies, appliances, bigger rooms and outbuildings, furniture, vehicles, computers and applications, and so on.  Interestingly, falling far below the U.S. poverty line doesn’t automatically keep in check my desire or ability to have Stuff.   Because we’re poor and because there is such an excess of Stuff in the United States, our home is actually overflowing with Stuff we don’t need, most of which we never spent a penny on.  Kind friends often pass their Extra Stuff on to us.  We are gifted New Stuff from time to time, too.  And there’s a little church down the road that runs a community closet where you can get Free Stuff every Saturday between 9 a.m. and noon.  Thankfully, the Community Closet also takes donations, so we are always bringing in items we don’t want or can no longer use.  What doesn’t return to local communities is shipped to countries like Haiti.

If you are not fully intentional, Stuff will claim you, it will rule your life.  You will work to fill your life with more of it, you will work to maintain it.  If you’re lucky you will find some time in there to enjoy it, but if you’re honest you will admit that enjoying it makes up a far smaller percentage of your day.  I saw this pattern early on in my life.  Drawn to Stuff like most people, I decided I would be better off without so much of it.  I decided that some kind of minimalist life was the life for me.  Damned if I don’t have to work my ass off at it, too, poor as I am!  Cleaning and organizing and deciding what will go or what will stay takes a bigger chuck out of my week than I care to give such things, but I console myself somewhat with the knowledge that, for the most part, I haven’t spent much money on (or time earning money for) these things.

Clothing is a biggie.  It’s fantastic to have so much nice clothing given to us, but we pass much of it on.  My children each have a few shirts, a few pants, shorts and/or skirts, and the necessary undergarments.  And two pair of shoes.  When these items get soiled beyond my laundering skills (we live a very hands-on, unfussy farm life—and my laundering skills are minimal) or torn and tattered, I allow them to pick new clothes from the items passing through or from the Community Closet and the old clothes and half-shoes probably end up on some cute Haitian kid.  The only strict rule I have about picking out new clothes is:  no whites!  The darker the colors, the better.  Browns are great.  I’m a big fan of browns.

An astounding amount of used furniture comes my way, too.  Furniture is a true weakness of mine.  I will rearrange the furniture in every room of the house just to fit in one table or chair that I like.  Luckily, I have no problems parting with furniture that no longer serves a purpose in the house.  Over the years many pieces have been replaced by free items that better suited my taste and needs, and in this way my home has grown more charming and comfortable.  I will probably drop dead before I buy a new couch or a bedroom set.  The very idea!  Furniture purchased in the last 10 years:  a simple new dining table custom-built for us by my dad since our family grew too large for the last one (which Dad built for our family when I was a wee lass)—cost, $200;  a new mattress, the cheapest quality mattress I could find to replace the 12 year old cheapie that was ruining my back—cost, almost $400; a used couch (after watching the free ads for months to no avail)— cost, $70.

Right, so you’re getting the idea.  Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without.  We try to live by this, but something should be added, something along the lines of “If you don’t use it or can manage without it, get rid of it!” (Only more poetic.)  My exceptions are fabric scraps, wood scraps and other building supplies (sheet metal, fasteners, etc.).  I always make use of these things when I’m on a project, even though I may not touch them for a year or two.  I also keep a ridiculous amount of canning jars in storage.

I let my parents spoil my children on the children’s birthdays.  I may get them a little something or make them something myself, but if I can’t think of something worthwhile then I just make them cake, a special meal, and maybe we do something fun, like go for a hike at their favorite park or go swimming.  But they can always count on MeMom and BeBop for Stuff.  I happen to have awesome parents who understand and respect my desire to not clutter up our home and hearts with Stuff.  They also know that I’m not so opposed to Fun Stuff that I refuse purely entertaining gifts.  They generally talk with me before purchasing Stuff for the kids.  Often it’s something the whole family can enjoy or make use of (understanding also that part of the problem with Stuff and kids is possessiveness and envy).

This year when Farra and Atira’s birthdays rolled around (three days apart), I asked them if they wanted anything in particular, hoping to get some clues for my parents.  They could think of nothing.  Maybe they had things in mind and they just didn’t want to ask for them.  Atira finally came up with a coloring book; she wanted an elaborate color-by-number book, something she could work on while listening to the occasional audiobook from the library.  Farra, I think, would have been happy with fabric for sewing specialty clothing or maybe some art supplies, but was too modest to ask (or else curious to see what we would come up with on our own).  I was pleased that my children, though they have so little by America’s standards, apparently don’t want for much.

We have never celebrated Christmas or other major holidays besides Thanksgiving.  This was mostly for religious reasons and began when I was six and carried over into my adulthood and my own family.  Having never celebrated it my children and I had the opportunity to observe the mad consumerism of Christmas from outside, providing great discussion fodder which hopefully will aide them in making their own life decisions.  I love opportunities to challenge my children to think about life, to form in them the idea that life shouldn’t be something that just happens to you, but should be approached proactively, intentionally, making what you want of it.

Last year was the first time we faced Christmas with no religious bondage.  We were free to celebrate it.  For entirely different reasons, both my brother’s and sister’s families were going all-out and really celebrating it for the first time.  My parents were willing; interested, even.  It would have been nothing to suddenly have the big family Christmas we never had growing up.  And I think my children and I could have created an inexpensive, feel-good, festive holiday without getting sucked into the commercialism, but it seemed to me better to just leave the holiday alone.  (I wouldn’t touch it with a “thirty-nine and a half foot pole!”)  I couldn’t see a way to do it without getting caught-up in some kind of mandatory Stuff-giving, which leads so easily to consumerism.  Why go there, when we’d been doing just fine without it?  We continued our own new family tradition of celebrating the first snow; fun winter music, hot chocolate, cutting out snowflakes and decorating the house with them, sledding, building snow people.  It was enough for us.  The season was better than previous years because we were no longer offended by the paganism of Christmas, no longer had to righteously separate ourselves.  We enjoyed the lights and the music and the friendly spirit of the season like we never had before.

This year we have a new dynamic.  We have Denny and his family.  Denny’s family is extensive, close, and pulls out all the Christmas stops.  Denny, of course, being the intent, thoughtful man he is, had long ago put thought into whether or not the Christmas hub-bub was up his alley and decided no, it was not.  Family warm fuzzies, yes; gift orgies, no.  As Christmas crept closer this year, his family pressed; seven new grandchildren and nieces and nephews and cousins to spoil!  Would we join them now?

Denny and I called a parent-teacher conference.  In the kitchen.  While cooking dinner. We discussed whether or not we wanted to “go there,” what examples we wanted to set for the children and why.  It was decided.  No Christmas this year.  We would politely explain to the family that I agreed with Denny about steering our family away from consumerism and that we found it even more important to distance ourselves from it for the children’s sakes.  (Incidentally, over the years I’ve had people suggest that I’m depriving my children by not celebrating Christmas, that I’m doing them a disfavor.  Try getting them to see that you are attempting to give your children something more valuable than Stuff!)  It was very nice to talk it over thoughtfully and come to an agreement.  Denny gave me a huge, smiley hug and told me it was a pleasure to do life with me.  Happy sigh.

(I should note that none of the children seem to care that we are not celebrating Christmas.  None of them have said anything and life has gone on as normal.  They may be the only children in a 304 mile radius doing their regular school work and house chores this Dec. 25th.)

We told the relatives.  They were disappointed, but have been respectful and sweet.  Apparently some of them gave Denny money every Christmas instead of presents, so this year they divided by nine the money they would have given him, giving each of us a little something about a week before Christmas.  Denny and I put ours in the bank to pay bills because we’re such exciting people.  The kids also received some money from a friend at the library who adores them (she respectfully pulled me aside and sought my permission first).  They each put a portion into their savings envelopes and some into their wallets for spending.

Now it gets interesting.  Farra (age 14) had also gotten some birthday money in November and now had enough to buy some fabric for a dress she’d been wanting to sew for herself.  She knew what she wanted, bought it, and is happily sewing away.  I suggested to the others that they could put some thought into how they might like to spend their money, that they could even pool their resources and get something really cool they could all share.

Seth (age 10) accompanied me to town one day last week to run some errands.  He carried his money pouch around very purposefully.  I asked if he had something in mind he wanted to buy.  He shrugged.  We entered the store.  Everywhere I stopped to pick up something on my list he found something he liked and asked me if he could buy it; a bean bag, a spool of rope, a flashlight, anything priced within the $19.54 range.  It was clear that the money was burning a hole in his pocket and that he was shopping around for Stuff to spend it on; not because he needed something or particularly wanted something.  I was a little concerned.  I thought of his father, how similar his spending habits were and how it had affected our family.  I reminded myself that Seth is just a kid and that it’s okay if he wants to spend his money on Stuff.  But it was also clear that he had picked up little to nothing of my warnings against consumerism.  Doh!  So I looked him in the eye and suggested that he hold onto his money until he thinks of something he needs or really wants, reminding him that he doesn’t have to spend it just because he has it.  He looked disappointed.  I let him buy a flashlight.  He could use his own light to find his way to the barn to do chores each evening instead of borrowing Denny’s.

On the way home I talked a bit to Seth about how grown-ups have responsibilities and have to be careful with their money, reminding him that he is a grown-up in training.  I didn’t talk much.  I’m never really sure how much he is listening and I wanted to put some more thought into how to talk to him.

Why did I feel like his desire to buy Stuff was bad?  Did I overreact?  Was I reacting to the similarity between Seth and Bobby?  Are my miserly money habits merely a personal preference or is there really wisdom there that I need to share with my children?  Am I being hypocritical and only unaware of it because as an adult I can find more clever ways to justify my purchases?

When I was a child I had no trouble saving my money.  I was hard-pressed to spend it, actually.  What if I wanted it for something really special later and I didn’t have it?  My first “big” purchase was a pair of good-quality binoculars at age eight or nine.  They cost about $70, if I remember correctly (I still use them).  Next I bought a stereo with money I’d earned working in a stable (it died a few years ago).  Then I saved up for a guitar, then a vehicle (both resold).  I bought little in between.  My habits have changed some.   For 13 years I stayed at home and Bobby earned the actual paycheck.  I had less control, even though I managed the money once he brought it home.  There wasn’t always enough for bills, but there was always enough, apparently, for Bobby to stop at the pawn shop or Dollar Tree to buy Cool Stuff.  After years of being the only concerned party, I grew more careless because it felt like there was never enough to make ends meet anyway.  It kinda sorta helped balance me out, actually.  I started off being so careful with our finances that I was always stressed (this is more likely to happen, of course, when only one spouse is being careful).  I was forced to accept, after living so many years like that, that money was just money; we seemed to manage when we didn’t have it, and it came and went at odd intervals, entirely beyond my control.  But I never could shake the idea that if we were just a little more thoughtful in our spending habits (and earning habits), it would have made a big difference.

Now I know it’s true.  Denny and I are equally thoughtful about finances.  We work together to make sure the bills are paid.  We sit down at least once a month, usually every two weeks, go over the numbers together and Denny says, “Between what we have now and what we have coming in, next month is covered,” and I almost cry every time, it means so much to me.  Sometimes there is a little extra besides and we keep a list of things we would like to do with the money; buy materials for projects or furnishings for the home, update our computers, get eye exams, stock up on animal feed, go out to eat, whatever.  There’s really not much more money in the home than when Bobby and I were married, but there is unity and thoughtfulness and careful planning.  And Denny is no more interested in cluttering up our house and our lives with Stuff than I am.  The whole, healthy picture makes money less of a focus than it has ever been in my life.  Yes, we need it for some Stuff, but with our basic needs and minimal wants taken care of we can focus on other things.  
We would like to help our children understand about marketing.  We think they need to know how so many messages they will receive in the world are designed to make them feel like they need something they don’t have.  (Interesting how religion fits in here.)  We want them to know there is more to life than the accumulation of Stuff.  We want them to grasp how both the abundance of and the lack of money and Stuff can change the way different people live.  We desire that they spend their lives doing something other than working for Stuff, but this will be a choice they each have to make for themselves.  We will just do our best to make sure they are aware that they have a choice.

P.S.  Denny shared this video with me as I was preparing to post.  It's fantastic!  20 minutes about the Stuff system.  We'll show it to the kids tomorrow.   The Story of Stuff.  Go.  Watch it.  Tell me what you think.

P.P.S.  Denny posted about our non-Christmas and consumerism the other day on his blog, Our Tomorrow.  

Adding My Voice To Spiritual Abuse Survivors

This last week I came across a blog network that has kept me reading attentively during much of my spare time.  I have been reading the words of women who have grown up in cultures so like the one of which I was a part, what they call the purity or virginity culture.  They write about the Botkin sisters (visionarydaughters.com) and Josh Harris’s I Kissed Dating Goodbye, taking an honest look at how these bits of the culture are causing more harm than good.  They write about being owned by men, having little choice but getting married and having babies and keeping house.  They write about modesty, body policing, rape and shame.  They write about freedom.

It is thrilling to know I am not alone.  Well, I guess I knew I wasn’t alone.  I have read story after story online of people who have gotten free from religion.  I rejoice in these stories, but I hadn’t yet read the stories of anyone working their way through issues of how their religious culture had affected their sexuality.  I have been writing my last segment for my book, writing about my sexuality, sexuality in general, feminism, and the effect Christian and American cultures have had upon these things.  It’s interesting to be off in my own little world, struggling, working my way through my experiences, talking with Denny and a couple other friends about their experiences, trying to make sense of it and looking for connections without making broad, sweeping, unnecessary accusations... and then to have this floodgate open, to be washed in a deluge of similar thoughts and experiences that confirm and enhance my own story...  Joy!

This is good stuff.

Interestingly, just the other day I was trying to remember the name of one of these websites.  I had come across it a few years ago.  I recall it was very anti-”Biblical Womanhood” and I publicly bashed it on Facebook.  I was rebuked privately by an older Christian woman whom I respect.  She essentially told me there was more damage being done by this “Biblical womanhood” culture (in which she was, and is, tightly bound) than I was aware of and that maybe, in so many words, I should pipe down.  I respected that and let the matter drop.  After writing about the things I’ve been writing about lately, I got to wondering what I would think of the website now.  Couldn’t remember the name of it.  Then the other day I got to following links and stumbled upon the Spiritual Abuse Survivors Blog Network  (SASBN).  

From their "about" page:

Through cross-promotion and collaboration, the Spiritual Abuse Survivor Blogs Network is a powerful way of supporting and promoting spiritual abuse survivors in our individual blogging efforts.  We are working together toward a shared goal of increasing awareness of this issue of spiritual abuse – the control, the confusion, the devastation, our struggles, our triumphs, our survival and recovery.

The blog at the top of the list was the very one I had been thinking of; Vyckie Garrison’s No Longer Quivering.

Before I go any further, I would like to thank Vyckie for her excellent website, blog and community.  I get it now.  Boy, do I get it!  I’m terribly sorry I bashed you before.  Please accept my sincere apology and full endorsement. I look forward to getting to know you and the many others whom you are helping to unite to raise awareness about spiritual abuse.

The following is a list of blogs currently in the SASBN:

No Longer Quivering – Vyckie Garrison

Seeking The Light – Calulu

Love, Joy, Feminism – Libby Anne

The Phoenix and the Olive Branch – Sierra

Wordgazer’s Words – Kristen Rosser

Incongruous Circumspection – Joe Sands

Homeschoolers Anonymous

Permission to Live – Melissa

Baptist Taliban and Beyond – Cindy Foster

Mari’s Muses – Mari

Past Tense Present Progressive – Latebloomer

Dispelled: One Girl’s Journey in a Homeschool Cult - Chandra Bernat

Hopewell Takes on Life!

The Way Forward – Bruce Gerencser

Becoming Worldly – Heather Doney

Defeating The Dragons – Samantha

I Am Phoenix – AJ

Wide Open World – Lana Hope

Feminist in Spite of Them – Sarah Henderson

Leaving Fundamentalism – Jonny Scaramanga

Love is Not Equal to Love - Mere Dreamer

The Talking Llama -Boze Herrington

Quiver Full of Information

Rethinking Vision Forum

Like I said, I have been devouring these blogs in my free time.  The Phoenix and the Olive Branch particularly caught my eye, as well as Permission To Live (excellent titles, ladies).  I am loving these women and their stories!  And Libby Anne’s and Vyckie’s, of course.  Just... wow.  So much thought, consideration, love, pain, joy, freedom, concern...   It’s my pleasure to add my voice to theirs.  Though I admit, I fear I haven’t much to add that hasn’t already been said!  But I reckon my voice and my story are unique, too, just like theirs.  And the more, the merrier, right?  Of course right.  Unity, not uniformity.

For those coming to my blog from the SASBN, a quick introduction:

Hi, I’m Kaleesha.   =)  How ya doin’?

I wasn’t raised in the purity/virginity culture, but I was definitely influenced by it.  My family was semi-religious.  To this day I can’t quite figure out what we had going on.  Just when I think I have it figured out--whoosh!  Out the window it goes.  My mom was a Bible-believing, God-fearing woman, but her faith was her own; she talked about it, but she didn’t want to push it on her three children.  Dad seemed to be along for the ride, very easy going.  When I think of my teenage years I feel they were both very permissible.  I think the idea was that they expressed trust in me and expected me to act worthy of that trust.  But I wasn’t trustworthy.  I was a punk kid. I was homeschooled through Jr. high and high school, but very informally, so I pretty much did what I wanted and had little guidance.  However, I grew up with a sense of God watching over me and judging me, so I felt some inner conflict and a tremendous amount of shame for falling short of what I imagined I was supposed to be, especially in the area of my sexuality.

If I keep this up, it won’t be a quick introduction!

As an adult I embraced what I guess they call fundamentalist Christianity.  I took the Bible very seriously and lived my life according to what I thought God expected of me.  Or tried to, at any rate.  I strove to submit to my apathetic husband (an interesting endeavor), let God plan our family size, dressed modestly and railed against our sex-crazed culture.  This continued for and grew worse over the course of 14 years.

I have seven children (four girls, three boys) that I have been raising up to believe in purity, modesty, Biblical womanhood and manhood, etc.  I was doing a damned fine job, too, until last fall when I saw the light and got myself unsaved.  I studied myself right out of the Bible and have been exploring our great big universe outside of the box ever since.  I am thrilled to be free and thrilled times seven to offer my children something better.  I just hope I can undo some of the damage I’ve done and give them the opportunity to live shame-free lives, out from under the burden of being Christ-like.

I’m currently putting the finishing touches on my first book, detailing my life and thoughts during the year or so following my laying down of the Bible.  I haven’t been sharing a lot here on this blog since I’ve been working on the book, but I am trying to share some updates, as well as excerpts from the book.  So much to write, so little time!   My partner and I also blog about our life on Make-It-Do Farm.

Book Update

Well folks, it's coming along.  Denny is working hard doing things I usually do around the house to free up a few hours here and there for me to focus on the book.  He's eager and encouraging.  It's awesome living with my biggest fan.
    I have compiled much material from the last year; journal and blog entries, snippets of letters, random notes.  It's tricky because I'm not selecting and writing bits on a certain topic, rather I want to give as complete a picture as I can of my life and the changes since I left religion.  So much has happened and so many thoughts have been thunk!  The focus of my writing changes up a lot; for awhile I'm exploring the immorality of the Bible, then I'm off on my new astronomical hobby, the next moment I am lost in my crumbling marriage.  When I first pulled it all together I thought, "What a mess!  No one is going to want to read this!" but I have endeavored to join the bits together with shiny new writing and before long I began to see it all as a fascinating whole.  Because my religion permeated every aspect of my life the lack of it has also permeated every aspect of my life.  Getting free, learning to be human...  wow.  No part of me has been untouched. I hope you are as fascinated reading about my journey as I have been living it!  It's still sort of messy, but that's because it's a complete sort of picture of my very human thoughts and experiences, and humans are, by nature, messy.  If you meet one who isn't, he or she is hiding something.  Or maybe dead.
     Still got plenty of work to do, so while Denny is out in the living room chillin' with our seven rowdy Willies as they play blocks and finish up dishes,  I'm going to get back to it.  Stay tuned.  Maybe next time I'll tell you the title I think I've settled on for the book.

Mothering

Fourteen years ago yesterday I became a momma. Well, I suppose I might say that I began my mothering career nine months before that. I was unwed and terrified, but I faced my circumstance, made up my mind and dove in. I have never regretted my decision to carry that child in my body. (Often I’d regretted marrying her father the month before she was born, but how can I even regret that? I would not have the other children or life experiences I have today.) Two years later another daughter was born to me, and roughly two years later my first son. Within twelve years time I’d borne seven children; four girls and three boys. I will not bear any more.

When I knew I was going to be a mother I also committed to raise any children born to me. I would not send them to day-care so that I could work or have free time, I would not send them to public school for their education, I would even go easy on the baby-sitters. I have sacrificed and worked my tail off to stay at home with them, to give them my constant love and attention, to the best of my ability. Yep, some days I still feel like I am a total failure, but overall I see it is paying off and I certainly feel it’s been rewarding. We have more joy and love than frustration and sorrow. They have a human for a momma, is all. They are little humans, too. But we are humans communicating and working together at this life thing. This is the greatest responsibility and the greatest privilege I will ever know.

My youngest is not quite three years old. If I reckon on him being out of the house by age twenty I am not yet halfway through this parenting thing. Actually, I hear it never really ends and I’m sure I will be mothering until I die, but I may be able to focus on some other things when my youngest goes off to find his way in the world, maybe even before. We’ll see. Today I look at the fourteen year old beauty standing as tall as myself, eyes sparkling with wit, laughing the most contagious laughter you’ve ever heard, and I feel at once honored and intimidated. Together we have to ease her into adulthood and wean me. Then her sister after her, their brother after them, etc.. In my head I know how it works; the application is trickier. I try every day to be flexible and understanding, to make good decisions, trying to balance their freedoms and responsibilities for a smooth adjustment from dependent to independent; holding them close to letting them go. Maybe in another twelve years I’ll have it down pat and the now-three-year-old will be a piece of cake, though I suspect these things never go the way you plan.

For fourteen years I have had the most beautiful lives so intricately entwined with mine. Seven distinct individuals that the universe saw fit to bring into existence through me. I do not mean this in a providential sense, do not mistake me. Believing, as I did once, that Yehovah himself selected me to be mother to these seven special people is not half as amazing to me as my current understanding of the chance of the impersonal universe. How wonderful to me that I should happen to exist at all, let alone exist so entwined with these other lives! Of all the star stuff in the universe, here we are. I look at any of my children and try to remember that they were once within my body, then my mind zips off in a dazzling regress and I see mankind evolving, our earth evolving, the universe evolving… stars exploding and being reborn, bright gases swirling… And here we are.

An Attitude of Gratitude

I reckon the Thanksgiving holiday is just around the corner, but I really wasn't thinking about that when I wrote the following, I was just bubbling over with thankfulness and got to thinking about thankful people.  Anyway...
     I know of no more admirable character trait than a sense of appreciation.  When I think of the people I have known this one thing stands out.  I like to be around people who appreciate me, who appreciate others, who appreciate being alive and all the little things there are to appreciate about life.  But, I think the appreciation cannot stand alone; it must be communicated.  Those who find ways to express their appreciation, they are the real gems.  And if you think about it, the complaining ungrateful are some of the most difficult people to be around.
     If I could, I would give you amazing advice on how to rise above your sad circumstances and be thankful.  I can only tell you to practice and I can’t guarantee results.  Find something to be thankful for and express gratitude wherever you can; you will never regret it.  Honestly, I have known some pretty grim circumstances; sometimes I rose above and sometimes I sunk very low.  These days I am overflowing with gratitude and expressing it is easier than ever.  I have never had so much to be thankful for.  Finding new ways to express it is my only complication at present.  I love working on this little problem.
     It seems to me that an attitude of gratitude is one of the most important things we can bring to a relationship.  Start at home.  Express your appreciation for your husband, wife, partner, your children, siblings and parents.  Let them know how much they mean to you.  Often.  Many times daily.  It’s easier to trust someone whom you believe appreciates you.  How such a small thing can strengthen a relationship!
     Try spending some time thinking about beautiful things and develop a general air of appreciation.  Start small if you must; flowers, butterflies, running water, smiles; work your way up to the stars, if you can.
      Of the people you know, how many are thankful and how many are bitter complainers?  What about the people in between, who just don’t communicate at all?  Which are you?  It seems to me like the majority of people are more likely to speak up only when they have something negative to say.  What a shame.  Why not step up and express gratitude instead?  Have we become so self-focused and proud?  Feeling entitled is a sure-fire way to kill gratitude.  If you need to turn around, remembering that the universe owes you nothing is a good place to start.

Tired Happy Momma

Journal Oct. 2, 2013

    Feeling tired today.  So exhausted the last three days, don't know why.  Pushing myself too hard?  Coming down with a bug?  And my back was pretty sore, too.  I decided to take a little time to rest.  Okay, largely at Denny's insisting.  His attentiveness and concern, as well as his willingness to help with the kids and the house and the meals and tending me, mean so much to me.  Such a compassionate critter. 

    I have been somewhat overwhelmed by the demands of mothering the last few days.  Seems like every time I try to focus on something there is a little one fussing or a big one neglecting their duties.  Not a feeling I am unfamiliar with.  Been at this mothering thing for 14 years.  Sheesh... 14 years.  For 14 years I have had either a nursing infant to tend or a toddler exploring his/her world and often both at the same time, plus older children to school and spend time with and feed and tend to... wow.  It just hits me sometimes how little time I have had to myself with no interruptions, no distractions.  The idea of tackling a single project with all my energy... ha!

    Yep, it's overwhelming sometimes.  It's the most demanding career choice I personally can imagine.  But the high activity and long-term commitment are not the only overwhelming aspect.

    I have learned that when I am tired and a little stressed, wondering why things are so hard and if I will have the strength to endure the raising of my children, well, I've learned that if I'm feeling that way then I'm missing something important.  I have learned that it's easy to neglect enjoying my children.

    Today I was tired, yes.  I spent the better part of the day in bed.  The weather obliged and offered up a thick cloud cover and a bit of rain for my relaxing pleasure.  The windows were open, letting in the scents and sounds of fall. I focused on letting the frustration go and tuning in to my life, my children.  Did the bickering stop?  No.  Did the 2yr old figure out that whining doesn't get him what he wants?  No.  Did the children do their chores without being told?  For the most part, no.  But they are young humans in training... we are working on these things.  You know what else I heard, beyond the crazy pace, when I began to listen?
     I heard my children playing together in the yard as the cool fall rain began to fall.  They occupied themselves happily for awhile.  Little Brook wandered close to the window by my the bed where I lay, and her voice drifted in, singing a sweet song to herself about the rain.  If you have never heard a four year old singing when she thinks no one is listening, you have not heard sweetness.

     (Denny lay near me and we were both moved, sharing the moment as we have learned to share many moments.  I always thought the only way these moments could be better is to have someone to share them with, someone who could see and hear and appreciate the subtle nuances of life.  Looking into his sweet brown eyes, feeling his hand squeeze mine, sharing a sigh; this has enriched my life beyond measure.)

    Later in the day Justin was hanging out with me on the bed, being kind of bouncy and talkative.  I decided I wanted more rest so I asked him to go out and play.  He obligingly hopped down and headed for the bedroom door.  He started to open it then closed it again.

    "Wait," he said.  "I have to give you a kiss."  He toddled back over and planted the tenderest kiss on my cheek, commented, "That's better," and headed out the door.  Oh my! There is nothing in the world that compares with the innocent love and unrestrained affection of very young children.