Thursday, October 19, 2017

When You Feel Like You Don't Like Your Kid

I just wanted to say this to all the mommas out there who may be going through a phase where they...frankly speaking...don't feel like they like their kid as much as they used to.  I mean, we still LOVE our kids and care for them, but there are times and seasons and stages that are just more prickly or exhausting or unattractive. If I think back, I bet I was in that stage in 6th grade...I remember overhearing my mom describe me as "moody" to a friend who asked her if I was still my sunny self. I remember my 6th grade teacher gently but sternly confronting me..."What's going on with you?" and I can think of specific unattractive things I did...yikes, let's not go there. This is my blog, so I call the shots.

A few years ago, I'd say for most of Sam's 4th grade year, I struggled with him. Maybe it was because he wasn't my cute little sidekick with the Charlie Brown head and lispy voice anymore, and the fact that he declared he was totally "over" the whole Disney Cars thing.  Waah!  Here is evidence of the former cuteness:

He got big and addicted to Minecraft and started doing more sneaky things and his own perception of himself was not really based on reality.  He would vacillate dramatically between thinking he could do everything perfectly and then wanting to throw himself in front of a car because he was "the worst kid in the world." I still loved him, you see, and I can definitely think of really fond and proud moments over that time period, but I often struggled with not liking him very much. In actuality, my irritation probably had a lot more to do with the lack of control I felt I had over him now that he was older more than anything he specifically did, but I'm just being honest about the dynamic. Things had changed and I didn't love the new stage we were in.

 We lived with our international roommates that year, and I remember thinking it would be fun to ask them what phrase each of us Lundgrens said the most--like, "If you could imitate each one of us, what would you say?"--and then realizing sadly that mine would probably be "SAMUEL!" (think "ALVIN!" in your mind and that would be kind of what it sounded like). (I actually did ask them later and they said it was me saying "Shhh!" to try to keep the kids from bothering them in the the thing I was doing to try to be polite was actually the thing that was annoying them behind their closed bedroom doors. Lessons learned. Okay, that was a tangent).

But here is the good part of the story. All stages come and go. Kids change and we as moms change. So if you are in an unattractive or particularly challenging phase with one of your kids, I just want to encourage you. I sent this smart, creative, enthusiastic, thankful kid off to school today dressed as a greaser from The Outsiders. It is so much fun being able to talk about books I love with him, and to discuss themes and character development together. He seems finally able to understand that his homework is HIS and that it feels good to do well. He makes really funny jokes and is a great helper around the house. He has friends that are his own and he can ride his bike to football practice and can do way more situps than me (I actually discovered that I can't do a single sit up.  Not even one. I can crunch like a boss but I would fail Illinois P.E.)

And, besides his growing independence, maturity, and responsibility, he still has a child-likeness and fact, I would say that it has grown this last year as he has become more comfortable with himself and able to better empathize with others.  He wants to hold my hand or still have me read to him. He is sweet to Annie and talks in funny voices while pretending to be her toys.  He and Evan...well, that's a work in progress...maybe because Evan is at the stage where Sam used to be when he was more prickly. And maybe because Brothers. They bring me back to the story of Cain and Abel often, like daily.  But Sam and the sweetness--last week, I took the kids to a pumpkin patch with my sister's kids, and Sam pushed the stroller and played with them and seemed to find such joy in being their older cousin. 
"Sam, let's go do the corn maze!" "Aw, okay...but can I play here with Nathan some more, first?" Cue melting heart.
So...I'm just sharing this as an encouragement (and maybe to relieve anyone who was around me during the "SAMUEL!" year) that we made it through. Sam of course still has his rough edges and immaturities--I mean, he has been brushing his teeth in the morning for, oh, 9 years now, and he still acts as if he is being told new information when he has to go back and do it before I'll take him to school (after I reminded him no less than three (3) times before that point). But letting go of the way things used to be and starting to look toward the person he is becoming is a freeing and refreshing stage in which to be. I've realized that I am guilty of hoarding--trying to cling to all the young stages of my kids and the special little things they used to do was making me unable to enjoy and have space for the new ones. I'm trying to do that less. I'm training myself not give in to unhealthy amounts of nostalgia and the temptation to bemoan how fast they are growing up; those frames of mind only steal the new moments I am being given daily.  And remembering how goofy and messed up I was (and still am), and that Sam is his whole own person with his whole own story to tell and his whole own special relationship with the God who made him and is guiding his steps is a comforting frame of mind to settle into.

Here is the pinnacle of Sam's cuteness, for the grandparents and Anyone Else who may be so inclined:

Monday, August 21, 2017

Eclipse 2017: Cloudy With a Chance of Burnt Eyeballs

Well, call me stubborn, but when the school district decided that the kids couldn't watch the eclipse at school, I got a little more into it than I might have otherwise.  In an effort to use up ingredients in my kitchen and not have to go to the grocery store, I accidentally made themed dinner the night before the eclipse:

"Look, planet pancakes and sun eggs!  And I didn't even plan it!" (ba dum crash)

 And then when my neighbor across the street asked if we could watch together and share our solar sunglasses (which we got from a teacher who had to cancel her eclipse-viewing plans), I got a little more into it and made little goody bags.

 We took the kids out of school at lunch time and came home for Sun Chips and crescent roll sandwiches.

We watched through cloudy skies and actually saw a lot more of the action than I had thought we would when I saw the weather forecast.  I wasn't sure what I thought about the eclipse glasses, but I was glad that we had them.

But we enjoyed our homemade cardboard box viewer just as much!  I was sad that the heavy cloud cover kept us from seeing the crescent-shaped sun shadows and reduced the effect of the growing darkness (since it was kind of gloomy to start with)...


...but we were amazed by the crickets starting to chirp and night birds starting to sing.  We even think the flowers closed a bit.

Here's the "Proof that I was there also" photo.  I really should not be allowed to take selfies, as I am so horrible at them.
 The cloud cover actually created the perfect filter for us to watch the eclipse with our naked eyes a lot throughout the day (don't tell the authorities that we did that).

Again, I possess a lot of skills but selfie-taking is not one of them.
 After the eclipse had mostly come and gone, my across the street neighbor came out and asked if they had missed it--she had fallen asleep with the baby and her sweet kids let her sleep instead of waking her up!  Thankfully, they were still able to catch the end of the eclipse with the official eclipse glasses and the unfortunate-looking cardboard box.

Even though we weren't in the path of totality, and the weather didn't cooperate, and our driveway party was pretty small, it still was full of wonder.  Nothing compares to hearing things like this:

I think teachers teach in order to hear moments like this.  It's too bad that perceived but manageable risk suppressed wonder and curiosity and memory-making.  Jeremy's words regarding the strange fear that seemed to develop overnight about this natural wonder hit the spot.

"A major part of education for children is learning about and experiencing the world that they live in. It is a world with dangers and wonders. Therefore, it is also a world that should be lived in with wisdom. A solar eclipse is an amazing and rare event. Certainly the temptation to look directly at the sun during an eclipse increases, but students could be instructed and trained about the temptation. They could be educated about how to behave during an eclipse. They could be extended appropriate measures of trust and oversight in order to be outside, under the heavens, during such an awe-inspiring event. Instead, they are being deprived of such a unique experience. They are also being deprived of an opportunity to gain wisdom about how to responsibly foster curiosity and learning during this event.

Regarding the specifics of being outside during a solar eclipse, there is more to experience than simply looking at the sun, something you rightly warn against. However, there is a lot going on outside during an eclipse, a lot of other places for children’s eyes to go. The lighting changes, the other side of the sky darkens, strange shadows and colors emerge, silhouettes of the eclipse can be seen. Yet, our children will be kept inside because of one small spot of danger (which is also the source of all the surrounding beauty). In my opinion, this manner of managing our students during the eclipse fosters fear instead of courage and superstition instead of wisdom."

But more importantly, the true awe and wonder of such a day like today are summed up much better in the Psalms:  "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork" and "Praise the Lord! Praise him, sun and moon, praise him all you shining stars!"

Tuesday, February 28, 2017

A Snapshot

Jeremy said he likes my blog posts.  I've been trying to get up earlier to make better use of my mornings for the physical (running) and spiritual (reading the Bible, listening to sermons/podcasts, music) parts of my life.  I've been following the blog of a lady who challenged herself to blog every day (Preventing Grace --and the podcast by the same name is great, too).  I am giving up Facebook for Lent, a practice I have never really participated in, but feel as though could be humbling and point my thoughts more often to Jesus--the only source of true peace and joy for me in this broken and confused (and often wonderful) world.  So I am sitting down here to write, and hopefully more often.

A snapshot of life right now:  Evan is playing WiiU with a friend downstairs (in our half-basement that's not really a basement...still sad that I am living in the MidWest without an actual basement) after I laid down the law and told them they had to play Legos or something else "real" for the first hour and then they could do electronics for the last 45ish minutes.  And, for the record, they played Legos for 4 extra minutes without realizing their electronics restriction was over, so there.  His friend is sweet, and I love his family, so yay!  Evan has had a slower time really connecting here and finding friends that are easy to have over regularly.  So I am glad. He still does really odd things like starts reading a book or sitting in the bathroom for 20 minutes while his friends awkwardly wander around the house, so I really can't blame them for not coming over all the time.  We're working on it.  He still just really loves his best friend in CA and has a hard time opening his heart fully to the boys here.

Annie is off at a newer friend's house--they actually live pretty close but there is a busy street in-between so that limits their ability to go spontaneously to each other's houses.  This friend loves gymnastics as much as Annie and is really sweet.  Annie has met some great friends, and we have really enjoyed hosting her made-up "Fun Club" on Tuesday afternoons...she and the neighbor girl made flyers and invited some girls to come to a club and it has really taken off.  Those same girls ended up agreeing to put together a song for the school's Talent Show, which was on Friday night.  We did "The Hard Knock Life" from Annie, of course.  They were the cutest little orphans and I loved getting to know all the orphan moms (ironic, I know) in the process.  They got the Vice Principal to play Miss Hannigan and it was really cute.

Sam stayed after middle school to work on a weather a computer?  I don't even know.  I ask about it and he talks about it, but all I hear is "blah blah blah." I really can't comprehend techie stuff.  Sam is not an athlete but is loving band, jazz band, and academic extra-curricular activities.  He is making this weather thing (called a Raspberry Pie) with some other great fun and creative friends he has and I love that he has connected so well.  He got to walk home with one friend afterwards and he will eat dinner there and then they will take the boys to Boy Scouts.  I never thought I would have a Boy Scout, but he got to spend last weekend exploring and camping in a cave, so that's awesome.  Just don't get me started on the popcorn he has to sell.

Jeremy is finishing up class and stuff and whatever it is he does at Wheaton College for the day.  He actually does a lot of reading and writing at home because his study carrel is quite small and shared with another student and home is much more comfortable.  He is currently redoing our terrible pink bathroom and it's been a fun project with rotted wood, mold, carpenter ants and a disasterous DIY epoxy sink nightmare, and tiling, which he has never done before.  All on a low budget.  He asks for a lot of back massages from the kids at the end of the day.  It's looking good.

I subbed today--doing reading with second language learners and then being a one-on-one aide for a boy with some health problems at my own kids' school.  I loved today.  Some days are a little trying (like 5th grade and 8th grade) but I am really enjoying being back in the classroom.  Then, in just a few minutes, we are off to dinner at a Phd family's house, and then on to a prayer time for Wheaton Phd women (spouses and students) at one of the professor's houses.  Tomorrow I will clean the house like a mad woman in order to get ready for the weekly Bible study we host here--during which I feed homemade dinner to half the singles from our church and some brave families as well.

So it's a good life.  And that's what it is.

Until next time!  Paka (bye in Russian, because today I got to work with a boy from Uzbekistan and I loved it)!

Sunday, November 6, 2016

The Making of a Cubs Fan

Last week, I had the opportunity to be a spectator at one of the greatest moments in sports history. I wasn't at the stadium in Cleveland or on the street in Wrigleyville, and I wasn't even wearing any Cubs paraphernalia. I was just a Californian who happened to be living in Chicagoland during the momentous year of the curse-breaking, World-Series-winning 2016 Chicago Cubs. This is what it was like to watch the people around me watch this series...which won my heart for the Cubs, and for the community and city around me.

A year ago, I didn't know why there were basic white t-shirts bearing a large blue W on sale at every checkout line at the grocery store.  I thought maybe it stood for Wisconsin--maybe a university in Wisconsin--but I couldn't figure out why it was so important.  Upon exploring our area, I found a large restaurant near the mall called Harry Carays and wondered why a restaurant would be named after the form of suicide reserved for a samurai. At our first Bible study at our new church, a guy hypothesized that the essence of hopefulness is displayed most fully in a Cubs fan, and then mentioned something about a goat and a cat and a guy named Bartman.  A few months ago, we pet-sat some frogs named Rizzo and Bryant and I could not remember their names because they seemed so un-froglike.  Just a few weeks ago, one of my kids' teachers referenced the song that would be played if the Cubs won that night, and I wondered what could be so special about a song at a baseball staduim. I definitely didn't know the answer to the question: "Hey Chicago, whaddya say?" I've been a baseball fan before, but the Angels are a baby team compared to the Cubs. For my non-Chicago friends who might be as clueless as I was, here's the a little rundown of all the traditions I have become acquainted with this October.

The simple blue W on a white background stands for "The W" which is a flag that is hoisted up a mast-like pole at Wrigley field in the event of a Cubs win (no one talks about the "L" flag that can be flown on the opposite side of the mast...hmm, I wonder why).  People all around fly them in their yards and wear them as shirts and hold them up in the stadium.  It's called "flying the W."  It seemed sort of silly to me when I first learned of it, but watching that little flag raise over Wrigley field at the end of Game 5 of the World Series was pretty significant.  Of course, since its Cubs fans we're dealing with here, there are all kinds of beliefs and superstitions surrounding the proper flying of the W, but I will not claim to understand them or try to explain them.

The name Harry Caray is that of a famous long-time announcer at Wrigley field. He passed away in 1998, but his face and thick, black-rimmed glasses are iconic in this area. He sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th inning stretch at home games. When Eddie Vedder sang during Game 5, he harmonized with the recorded version of Harry singing.

My friend Courtney (who I know from Flagstaff, but was coincidentally born in Lombard) told me the apples are because Harry Caray was quoted as saying "Sure as God made green apples...someday the Chicago Cubs are going to be in the World Series."

The Cubs have been plagued by a curse or other strange distractions throughout their long history.  You can look them up and already might have if you were remotely interested in the World Series.  I knew nothing of them...but now I understand their references and have even eaten at the Billy Goat Tavern downtown (business establishment owned by the man who was asked to leave Wrigley field during Game 4 of the 1945 World Series because he had brought a live goat into the stadium.  He then "cursed" the team and they began to play poorly and the rest is history.)

Rizzo and Bryant are now names and faces I recognize, along with many more.

For those who have never lived in Chicago, I wanted to give you a little glimpse into what this Cubs World Series experience has been like. Because my gracious, native-Chicagoan friends have let me into their world, I can say now that I am a fan--but compared to them, I am like in the crush stage...and if it is love, then they are in a life-long committed (and slightly abusive, I'd wager) relationship with this team that has traditionally broken their hearts every October.

Watching the roller coaster ride of the World Series impacted me in surprising ways.  It has been more about watching the people who are watching the Cubs than actually watching the Cubs (though they were pretty awesome and I see why my friend, Sherry, tells me she just wants to make a big pot of chili and take it to them in the dugout).  The unlikely victory of this team who are known as the Lovable Losers was about so much more than yearbook or movie predictions or a billy goat or, as the media would like us to think, stats and management.  The experience was so human--so much more about connections and community than breaking a curse.

It's hard to describe what Cubs fans are like (and many baseball fans are like this, to some degree)--but they are definitely superstitious.  Every Cubs fan thinks that where they are sitting or what they are doing directly affects the outcomes and momentum on the field.  My friend in Phoenix thought the Cubs started losing their lead in the 8th inning because she got up to get her daughter from youth group. They are almost in pain watching the games--that's why I called it a slightly abusive relationship.  When the score was tied up in the 8th inning, the fun party we were at came to an abrupt halt. Normally friendly and gracious people left without explanation, started cleaning furiously and moving furniture.  We realized the party was over and scurried out the door before anyone burst into tears.  In the car, I said to Jeremy, "But they haven't lost, they could even still win.  I don't know why everyone gave up." A friend later described the despair by saying, "You know how it felt in the 8th inning when they lost the big lead they had? That's how it has been our whole lives--that feeling...except they don't win. You come to expect it."

And that's just it.  These fans have been brought to the brink and then let down for generations.  They walk around in mourning, get distracted by the holidays, and then start to have a glimmer of hope as the next season starts in the spring.  That's why their unofficial slogan was Maybe Next Year.  There is nothing like the emotionality and endearing hopefulness of a Cubs fan. A tweet after the game ended said "Congratulations! Cubs win! Too bad all their fans died during the 8th inning."

But the sense of connection between all the fans and generations of fans that have been loyal to their Cubbies for the last century was what won my heart as I watched this series unfold. At game 5, the last game at Wrigley Field, as the stands erupted in singing "Go Cubs, Go!" after their exciting win that kept their World Series dreams alive, I was struck by a sign being held high by a middle-aged man that read "This is for Grandpa."

 After the game, fans began writing family members and friends' names on the bricks outside the stadium--people who had not lived to see this moment and who were being missed in this moment by the ones who had come. Tearful fans passed nubs of chalk to other waiting, emotionally overcome fans.

On social media and around my community, I saw young people who could have been out partying it up with their friends instead watching with their grandmas and grandpas, or weeping because someone wasn't here to enjoy the moment with them. Jeremy has laughed at me a few times this week as he's caught me listening to sports radio (which I would never normally do)...but it's because all the show hosts seem to want to do is have people call in and tell their Cubs stories. Like the 94-year-old woman whose brothers went to a Cubs game first thing after they returned from WWII. Or the many who listened to games on the radio with their grandparents. One friend (though I'm sure he's not the only one) comes from a family whose grandma was buried in her Cubs jersey. He drove all the way to Cleveland for Game 7 in a borrowed car and paid for what turned out to be a counterfeit ticket...and then miraculously was GIVEN a free ticket at the last moment from a man who said, "Baseball is the greatest game in the world. This is the World Series. You deserve to be in there. Go have fun." The sense of family connection held by the fans was on display and I can honestly say that there has been something so special about being able to watch these stories up close.

There have been W flags and Cubs gear left at gravesites in cemeteries.

From twitter: 94 year-old WWII vet and lifelong  fan. He gets to celebrate with tears of joy tonight

 There was a man who drove all day from North Carolina to Indiana to listen to the game at his father's grave, who died in 1980, but they promised they would listen to the game together if the Cubs went all the way.

Our friend and neighbor who painted the Cubs logo on his and other's lawns and shot his civil war cannon off in jubilation at the Cubs victory (maybe it was just fireworks but it sure sounded like it) was proudest to have watched the game with his mom--his wife said mother and son had rarely missed watching a game together since he was a little boy.

(See the cannon off to the right?)

My friend Ellen's grandma, who turns 94 tomorrow.  She says she's been holding out for the Cubs to win the World Series.  Ellen rushed over there the day after the final game to bring her a Cubs cupcake and flowers and to talk to her about making a new goal...maybe a repeat win in 2017!

Because our Cubs-watching party ended so abruptly, we went home as a family and I put the kids to bed with the radio on to hear the rest of the game. The rain delay meant that they fell asleep before hearing the celebrations, but I guess we were forging our own family connectedness as Cubs fans because we experienced it intimately, as a family. Evan, who has had the hardest time accepting Chicago as his home (even though he is mostly happy in his day-to-day life), decided to root for the Indians because he couldn't root for the Cubbies; he had been harassed by some older boys a few months ago for wearing an Angels hat and I think he couldn't bear to join with Chicago fans for fear of losing his CA identity. Even though he's the baseball-lover of our family, he wasn't enjoying the experience as he could have. He was stubborn and alone as his school was decked out in Cubbies gear and his friends were talking about the games. The day of Game 7, my mom sent him an article about how Joe Madden (the Cubs manager) always carries an Angels hat with him--a keepsake of his dad's that is near to his heart, and a reminder of when he used to be an Angels coach. With just a few minutes until we were supposed to leave for our Game 7 party, he got a white shirt and made his own Cubs gear and cheered his heart out, sleeping in it that night and wearing it proudly to school the next day. I guess that's how Cubs fans are made...straight to the heart through personal connections, not statistics and probability.

Ultimately, though, my favorite part about watching the Cubs fans watch their Cubbies win has been the sense of human connectedness that's been on display. There's something unifying in a community when people are drawn together by a common love--signs up in windows, Go Cubs! being used as a salutation, conversations at school after each game, talking about common experiences. I love watching the videos of people celebrating--they are reaching out for any hand to high-five or squeeze, they are hugging complete strangers. They are running towards each other in the street. My kids are singing "Go Cubs Go" with total joy with their friends. On the night of the final victory, neighbors who often don't speak were coming out their front doors just to experience the moment with someone else. Even though the game ended more than days ago, the radio still has people calling in to just share their experiences of watching the games or going to the parade. The feeling is like after something tragic like 9-11 when people want to be together and talk about where they were when it happened and look at symbols from the event and live in the feelings together--only it's totally joyful and celebratory!

(this video is so good)

I'm a sucker for connections and I admit I have been sucked right into all of this. I drove to Wrigley field on a whim the day of Game 7, just to see it all with my own eyes. Sherry, my Cubs tour guide, shared her memories and emotions with me and we had so much fun watching Wrigleyville fill up with fans, even though the game was in Cleveland. The stadium itself projects a sense of connectedness--it's just situated right in an old big parking lots and freeways and fences surrounding's even called "The Friendly Confines."  Sherry and I bonded over cheese curds and stories of Cubs history and personal history and she welcomed me proudly into this world I really have no right to call my own, yet that she gave me a ticket with which to enter. We regretted that we forgot to go look at the bricks bearing loved ones' names on the sides of the stadium, but then she, in true Cubs superstitious form said, "No, it's probably better this way because I might have written one name and then forgotten to write another one and then been so regretful all day and it might have caused the Cubs to lose."

I got so swept up in the emotion and community-feeling of it all, I added something to our fire hydrant we painted because we were finishing it up the day after Game 7.

So, this is what it has been like for me, an outsider, to spectate the spectators and ultimately become a Cubs fan myself. I've enjoyed it so much and don't want it to end. I drove downtown with Evan and Annie yesterday afternoon to see the river dyed blue and the buildings lit up red and blue.  We even drove past the stadium with "Go Cubs Go" playing in the car. On a deeper level, this whole experience has been indicative of our human desire to see bad things end and victory won. To together be a part of something bigger than ourselves that erases the bad times and seems to transcend time. To behold the joy in each other's faces at the undoing of a curse. I can't help think about greater realities--the hope of Christ's return and the joy of sin's defeat and how we will look at each other in utter disbelief and relief.  This week, I saw strangers united, old men jumping up and down like young boys, something that seemed bad to us (a rain delay) but that turned to something good, me as an insider brought in at the last moment but able to experience all the celebration with everyone else, and the compelling joy of a multitude of people cheering for something beyond themselves that they are so thankful to have been a part of.  And this is only baseball.

Check out this article--so sweet! Grandma's and Grandpa's reactions to Cubs win

And of course, here's the Go Cubs Go song, if you haven't heard it by now;  

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Awake and At Home

I feel like I just woke up.  Not that I have been asleep, but that something inside me has been dormant and has sprung to life again.  Or has been released from where I locked it up out of a survivalist inventory of things I could handle.  I wasn’t surviving something horrific or life-threatening…and it’s probably a little bit dramatic to call it surviving…but now that I feel something come to life inside of me that feels familiar and that I didn’t even know I was missing, that’s all the explanation I have.

I just finished reading a book that I now place on the imaginary “Top 5” list of books I don’t have in my head but, anyway, you get what I mean.  I loved it in a way that is different from other books that I love, so there can never be just one top favorite, but this one has touched my heart deeply, and surprised me in the process.  The book, These Is My Words, written by Nancy Turner, is a story of grit and survival and family and love in the Arizona Territories from 1881-1901. It has all the elements you can imagine; outlaws, Indian wars, wagon trains, scarlet fever, loyal dogs, rocking chairs, and quilts.  There are always quilts in books about pioneer families.  But this is not a review of the book, just a report about what’s going on in my life and heart.
The front of our home in Tucson, Arizona, literally right where a lot of the book takes place (Fort Lowell)

Fourteen years ago, I had the words “And I will go with you” engraved on Jeremy’s wedding ring while he was off in the wilderness on a backpacking trip right around our second anniversary.  We had both just quit our good jobs, full of promise and opportunity, to go into a great unknown: Kazakhstan.  We didn’t know a lot about it, but we knew we were going together and that God was going before us. We had committed to following where God would lead when we got together back in the rugged mountains of Northern Arizona, where anything seemed possible and a life of adventure was full of charm and excitement.  Now we had lived for two years as a young married couple in a cute little duplex by the beach with two successful careers born out of two college degrees just earned. We were the Lundgrens, and we hosted Dinners for 8 and baby showers and took weekend trips and went surfing after work and had extra income (which mostly went to paying of school loans, but still). But we left it, with mixed emotions and intentions—some of which were selfish and immature, before you go thinking we deserve sainthood or anything—to go somewhere unknown, because not going would kill something that was alive in us and because going was especially appealing to my young husband. And the fact that it was appealing to him made him appealing to me, which also scared me at the same time.  I was the young wife on the wagon train…trusting God through fear and going hand-in-hand with my strong and brave husband, yet looking back at my home and family’s roots with sadness and longing.

Homesteading in my apartment in Kazakhstan

Jeremy and I went to Kazakhstan, and then came home.  We then lived in Oceanside, Phoenix, Tucson, Flagstaff, Placentia, Fullerton, and now Lombard. That’s a lot of homesteads in the 12 years since we returned.  Somehow, I have blinked, and now I have become a woman that other women call brave and adventurous, adaptable, and able to make a home anywhere.  I cling tightly to my husband, who has become better at making us feel safe and protected despite his still-often inclination to “go” to new territory. He is studying among academic elites right now, and in many ways, we don’t feel up to the challenge, yet he finds a way to provide for us and care for us and do his work with integrity. I might not be able to shoot a rifle (though that sounds fun) or hunt for my dinner…I can’t even hang curtain rods without assistance.  But, from hard work and experience, I know how to make new friends, make an imperfect house a home, and even entertain guests in the midst of pulled-up floorboards and exposed studs. My children know how to be brave and (mostly) make the best of new situations, even though they miss their grandparents and their favorite frozen yogurt shop and aren’t sure where to say that they are from.

I don’t even really know what came to life inside of me after reading this book—and maybe it’s a combination of finally having been here in this new place for a year or the change of seasons or just that the kids are back in school all day so I can finally have a deep thought—but I feel strong, and ready and with a renewed desire to work hard that I haven’t felt in a while. Purposeful, I guess. And though in the past, I’ve been able to name what roles I have or what position my husband has or what I am in charge of…I feel suddenly okay to just be working hard on my homestead right now and to love my people. And to look back and to love the journey that it’s been to get here.

Barefoot and pregnant in a dingy apartment :)

Homesteading in Flagstaff...our first Christmas in that kitchen, hosting our youth group, Chinese students, and then both of our families.

I worked hard on that backyard in Flagstaff...bringing beauty to the former weedpatch through the help of kind women who were gardening veterans; showing me what to do and giving me starters from their gardens.

In These is My Words, the (fictional, yet historically accurate) diary of Sarah Agnes Prine, I saw life through the eyes of a woman who had to pause during the hard times to be thankful for what she had. She was a woman with a simple life, yet longed for more than the status quo.  Even though there was a charm to her life because it took place in a period of the past, there is so much in common with our lives and challenges and desires today. I don’t want to give too much away in case you read it, but I got to see her grow into accepting that she will never be able to have all she wants at the same time, yet in a lifetime, she has more than she deserves.  She has seasons of grief and seasons of prosperity, times of lonesomeness and yet great love.  I am reading Ecclesiastes in the Bible right now, and I am struck by the comfort in the seasons…a time to plant and a time to harvest, a time to weep and a time to laugh…each comes and goes by the hand of God. To eat and drink and find enjoyment in our work, this is from the hand of God. I recently came across some wise words by one of my heroes of hospitality, Edith Schaeffer:

There needs to be a homemaker exercising some measure of skill, imagination, creativity, desire to fulfill needs and give pleasure to others in the family. How precious a thing is the human family. Is it not worth some sacrifice in time, energy, safety, discomfort, work? Does anything come forth without work?

Surrounded by love in Lombard

So that’s where I’m at.  I live in Lombard but I am from California, and in many ways, Arizona has my heart.  I come from Pilgrims and citrus farmers and ranchers and an engineer and a teacher.  I have a sister who is far away and I wish I could sew quilts with her and talk about rearing babies together.  I am married to a good man who comes from Kansas and Tucson and will follow wherever God leads him.  I am sad that I miss so many people, yet my cup runs over with the beauty in who God gives me for community every step of the way. I am a mother who finds strength in circles of women through the ages who are trying our best to make our homes clean and loving and productive.  It is good to be loved and have hard work to do.  It is enough and it is good and even the sadness parts of it and the missing the places I am from and the uncertainty of what’s ahead are good because it is my life and I am loved.  These are my words.