Not One of Them Ever Forgot

"The years went by, and the seasons changed, until at last the friends had all grown tall, and one by one, they moved away to other houses, to other towns.  So you might think that was the end of Roxaboxen - but oh, no.  Because none of them ever forgot Roxaboxen.  Not one of them ever forgot." -- from Roxaboxen

The past few weeks I've been making a list of the reasons I'm thankful for our time in Haiti.  Since the story didn't end the way I wanted it to, it would be easy to chalk it all up to failure.  I'm dramatic and ridiculous that way.  Instead, it's been refreshing to acknowledge all the beauty our time in Haiti has added to each of our lives.  We did not return home the same people.  I never want to downplay that miracle.

One of the most priceless gifts Haiti has given us is our furloughs on this farm.  For two summers we lived here, right across the driveway from my brother, sister-in-law, and their four daughters.  Two summers (plus this month we've been home) have meant long, extended times when eight cousins have practically lived together.  They see each other every single day.  They have spent hours and hours...uncountable hours playing, scheming, shoving, swimming, exploring, arguing, laughing, and apologizing.  This precious farm is a storybook setting for a group of cousins to connect and bond with one another.  

Isn't this a rare gift in our world today?  When we decided to sell our house, uproot our lives, and "go" I had no idea how much these every day, concentrated months of time spent together with their cousins would shape our boys.  It seems like we were allowed to step back in time a hundred years when families didn't wander far from one another.  Cousins doubled as neighbors, played outside from sun up to sun down, and truly felt their place and unique, important position within their extended family.

Very soon we'll go back to our real lives.  We won't live right across the driveway from our family.  But I'm positive that this time with their cousins has enriched our kid's lives, and I find myself hoping and praying that strong bonds between these crazy cousins have been forever-formed on this farm.   

Elections, complete with speeches, were held in Roxaboxen today.

Every town needs a city manager who is big on trash cans and recycling.

And a sheriff who promises to maintain order and prevent bullying.

Hayden became the mayor of Roxaboxen.  He told everyone about his undying love for this town, and how he thinks about it all day long.  Once he mentioned that he had four hot dog buns in his Roxaboxen back pack to share with everyone, he was a shoo in.

These kids have been busy planning their city.  A gym, city hall, recycling center, community garden, donation center, art gallery, and a language institute are in the works.  They are creating laws and writing them on a big piece of wood.

Law #1.  No littering or composting in the streets.

I'm not sure whether to chalk that first, most important law up to them being raised by semi-hippy mothers or the fact that some of them just returned from a place where littering and composting in the streets was not frowned upon so much.

When I checked in on them last, they were working on Main Street and asking for material to make a flag.  They made a community calendar with events planned all the way through this summer.

"Mom.  Are you crying?"

"No.  I just yawned, and my eyes watered up."

I lied.

I was blinking back real tears.  Because this world that's theirs is unbelievably cute, and I'm so thankful.

 "..None of them ever forgot Roxaboxen.  Not one of them ever forgot."

Kid Vision

Hayden ran in the house breathless.  Hair a mess.  His hands clutching a book.  Wild with excitement.  "Mom.  Aunt Lynsey said this book is about some kids who make their own city! Their own city!  She said I could borrow it!"

"Aunt Lynsey knew you'd be all about that, didn't she."  He flashed that sweet smile and then threw himself down on the couch and started eagerly turning pages...looking at the pictures.  "They have their own money!  And stores!  And..."

"Hayden.  Why don't you take a second and breathe...and then read it.  You know...not just look at the pictures."

He read each page slowly, concentrating on the artwork.  When he finished he set the book aside.  It was obvious.  This thin, beautifully written and illustrated book had deeply inspired him.  There would be no rest for anyone until Hayden had created his own Roxaboxen town.


Some days it's fun having a way-way out there child in this house.  His way of looking at the world and the people in it stop us dead in our tracks some days.  His way of refusing to live in this world or notice people right in front of him some days also causes us to take pause.  Either way, we learn a great deal from this kid.  Most days I look at his insanely messy room, school basket, back pack, seat at the table, his clothes that are always a mess or ruined...and I end up frustrated.  Books and bloggers really talk up raising creative kids.  It's all the rage these days.  What people fail to mention is that if you succeed at creating a creative child or if you're like a lot of people (us) and end up with one even though you put zero effort into the process the fact remains:  Your house will be a mess.  You'll have a grand total of three spoons in your silverware drawer, you'll find a fresh batch of totally weird and random items sitting around your house every single day, and you'll kick yourself for not buying stock in Crayola.  It's not uncommon for me to fall asleep while having this conversation in my mind:  "Am I stifling his creativity?  I want him to be himself.  I want him to be creative.  I want home to be a safe place for him to create and to feel understood.  But for the love.  His crap is all over this house.  He's a walking disaster.  I have to attempt to help him learn to be responsible and at least claim temporary residence on Earth.  Right? His wife will probably thank me one day for discouraging the hoarding of bizarre, tiny items.  Right?  Right?  I'm probably cramping his style and ruining him.  Ruining him!  Snore.  Rinse and repeat a few nights later.

His eyes crazy with the Roxaboxen bug, I went ahead and laid down some ground rules.  "Hayden.  If you take something out of the house for Roxaboxen, you have to clear it with me first.  Okay.  No exceptions.  He nodded.  I'm pretty positive he caught zero percent of what I said.



The kids got busy.  Gathering rocks for their "territories."  Finding tiny, shiny stones for their "money."

Kids are magical.  Are they not?  

Bakery

Pet Store  

I'm guessing that the first "structures" you build in your town are probably what you think are fundamental elements of a legit society.

If this is the case, then our sons are building their city on the pillars of carbs and earthworms.

Standing out there today watching them work and listening to them plan their city I was very aware that my eyes were not seeing what their eyes were seeing.  I'd pay a lot of shiny stones to have a few hours of kid-vision.  Wouldn't you?

This just in:  The girl cousins have opened up a flower shop in the town of Roxaboxen today.  Classy, no?

Grace and Flan

from this site

Many of you have emailed us recently to ask how things are going.  Your prayers and words of encouragement have been the sweetest of gifts in this odd spot where we find ourselves reaching for what is next.

I have been trying to be quiet, to listen, to invest in real-life relationships around me that are in need of repair.  I have walked that rocky road the past few weeks of opening up my heart, being honest with the Lord in an attempt to personally learn and grow...while also not wanting to wallow around in fruitless despair. Fact:  Soul searching is healthy and helpful.  Another Fact:  Soul searching removed from the truths of the gospel is dangerous and can be destructive and counter-productive. Seeing my failures and the failings of others through heaven's grace completely changes the landscape.  In each situation that needs addressing, I'm slowly learning to pull out an extra chair and invite grace to sit with me as I think and respond.  Her contributions to each conversation are consistently jaw-dropping.

I'm aware every morning that this time to sit and think...to process...to learn from mistakes...to stop and heal, accept forgiveness and extend it are privileges enjoyed by very few in our world.  Our time in Haiti has brought a lot of sobriety to our definition of suffering, a "hard time," or a "bad day."  While there are many lessons to learn during this time, ultimately we know...we are fine.  We will be fine.

{{KIDS}}

The kids are adjusting.  Hudson had the hardest time processing the sudden move. Thankfully he is doing much better.  Each of the older kids have had multiple melt-downs and times of intense sadness about leaving their friends in Haiti.  We hold them and cry along with them.  The tears are coming less and less.  They are enrolled in a local Classical Conversations campus with many of their old friends.  Not much about our life back here resembles our life in Haiti.  As parents, we're grateful for this one element of "sameness."  School feels normal.  Living across the driveway from their four, favorite, female cousins has helped tremendously.

Aaron recently returned to Haiti to sell most of our belongings.  He returned to Texas without Artemis.  We were unable to bring her back.  Unfortunately there are a lot of restrictions about flying with a dog that size.  She went to a great family in Haiti.  Yet another reason to sit in a pile as a family and cry with our boys.  And promise them a new dog.  This is the part I hate the most.  We're tired of our kids crying, and we're really tired of being the reason for those tears.

{{JOBS}}

Aaron has had two very promising job interviews.  He also has several job applications sitting in various stages of the hiring process within the Texas A&M system.  It's likely we'll find out this week whether or not he has a job.  We continue to pray.  Every morning I wake up and think, "We could be days away from a life that is our normal level of weird."  My heart skips a beat.

Mostly we are moving forward.  There are some days when I wish I could stay in bed until all this dissonance  morphs into a lovely melody and we have a life that makes sense again.  Instead, I make myself get up and watch the sun rise, tell all the ugly truth to Jesus, and read of His insane love for people like us who rarely seem to have it together.  Grace gently nudges me to find the beauty that is near...to seek out the pictures of redemption in my day...and to live out the good works God created for me to do during this block of 24 hours.

I'm tempted to think that nothing real or worth anything can happen until the chaos is quieted.  Until all is still again.  How strange to feel God whispering to my soul that He's here in all that is spinning.   Even this chaos is a gift?  Perhaps "chaotic" and "confusing" are not the words God would use to describe this past month.  Maybe "ordered" and "planned."  Could it really be true...that long ago He planned good works for me to do today.  He has life and beauty waiting for us today.  While I'd prefer to shoo this day away...to grit my teeth...close my eyes...simply sit here in the silence and wait for a better day to surface...grace is teaching my soul to focus in the midst of what feels like a free fall. I'm struggling to trust that there are concrete lessons to learn even when life feels as unstable and unidentifiable as a plate of flan.

Thanks for praying for us...and checking in.

Saturday

We started watching Parenthood today.  I cried four times in one hour.  Okay.  Five.  I teared up when Lorelai started talking.  Does that count?  It wasn't what Lorelai said.  It was simply that it was her. Apparently I have an unhealthy attachment to the Gilmore Girl Goddess.  It's like she's been resurrected.  Sure. Her name is different, she has two kids, and neither of them are Rory.  But I know it's Lorelai.  She's in there.  I've missed her.  It's like getting an old friend back.  Thanks for listening.

In other news...

Hudson pooed in the yard this weekend.  After this stunt, he immediately decided it was not his best idea of 2012.  He started screaming bloody-dang murder.  I ran out of the house in the direction of the screaming expecting to find him near death.  Instead I found a panic-faced, pantsless kid.  I could not even discipline him.  His wide eyes said it all.  This poo plan was half-baked.  He hadn't really thought it through.

I've had some half-baked ideas in my life.  Haven't you?  The results have caught me just as wide-eyed and off guard.

Here's something they never mention in the parenting books:  Most kids are going to poo in the yard a time or two.  Especially if they are boys. Why do they insist on leaving all the important stuff out of the books?  Why oh why oh why?  If you write a parenting book an entire chapter should be set aside for this exact topic.  The poo in the yard chapter should come right after the chapter on Sharpie markers.

On the trek back to the house Hudson filled me in on how "gross and be-sgusting" his behavior was.  I only added a couple thoughts to the conversation.  1.  That dogs make it look a lot more effortless than it really is and 2.  I went ahead and talked back up the potty.  You know.  Just in case.

Hoping your weekend is the perfect mix of strange and beautiful.  Those are still the best kind of Saturdays, are they not?

Long-live Saturdays.  And Lorelai.  And toilets.  Especially toilets.

Planting

Longing is like the Seed

That wrestles in the Ground,

Believing if it intercede

It shall at length be found.

The Hour, and the Clime --

Each Circumstance unknown,

What Constancy must be achieved

Before it see the Sun!

Emily Dickinson

Preparing for Lent:: A Place at the Table

When Aaron handed me this book and I began reading through the introductory chapters, I was moved.  Being back home, in the midst of transition, repairing relationships, and yearning for something stable, one of our overwhelming emotions and thoughts has been this one..."How do we live out our convictions towards the poor now that we're home?  Given this clean slate, where everything feels wide open...how do we set up our new life here, leaving the right amount of space and resources available so we can continue to learn how to pour our life out for the hurting and destitute?"

Chris Seay's book seems like a timely gift.

"Can we embrace the truths of Christ if we do not embrace His posture?  His hands were exposed to disease and leprosy as He touched the sick.  His knee bent to the ground to wash the sullied feet of His friends.  His eyes lifted in prayer to the Father.  His body bowed and was broken to death.  As we learn to march in step with our Savior, we find that our swagger gives way to a lowly and humble way of walking." -- Chris Seay

A Place at the Table - Promo from Chris Seay on Vimeo.


It is with eager anticipation that we look forward to the season of lent, and specifically how this 40 days of focusing on poverty related issues will inspire change.  It's sobering to realize the plight of the poor and the condition of our souls are not two separate issues.  They are linked and deeply interwoven.  The fact that stifling poverty exists for so many around the world says a great deal about my own poverty.  We walk into this season of lent asking God to lead, comfort, satisfy, and heal the poor knowing we fall into that category.

Lent begins on Wednesday, February 22.

We'll share more excerpts from Seay's book between now and then in case you may want to purchase it.  The book is broken into 40 short readings to be used every day during Lent.  Each day's reading also contains a small section focusing on a country and person who needs prayer.  In addition, you can find a daily video that corresponds with each reading.

To buy the book:  A Place at the Table:  40 days of Solidarity with the Poor

To view the daily videos:  here's the link.

Growing up, I thought Lent was something reserved for my Catholic friends.  In my religious superiority, I never stopped to find out what my Catholic friends were actually celebrating.  When God graciously opened my mind a tiny bit, and I started asking questions instead of judging, I found that Lent is a time of preparation leading up to Easter.  It's a beautiful, focused season when believers can savor the story of the gospel, the meaning of the cross, and the hope of the resurrection. What a perfect time to ask God how these truths can bring about actual, tangible change in our lives and ultimately in this world.

Seeds

Here's clue number 432 that we are back in Texas...

During some of my first interactions with family and friends, I heard many of them say something like...

"I'm so sad you had to leave Haiti...you had just planted your garden."

Texas is a peculiar place, is it not?  I guess Texans don't let go of a garden very easily.

Ours has been a relentless pursuit to figure this "grow your own food" thing out, and all we have to show for it so far is a big pile of failure.  Yet we're determined.  We will grow food.  We will.  By golly one day, with a full belly of squash and green beans that we harvested right outside our back door, we will mercilessly kick it to the "man."

If we had to live off of any of our past gardens, the entire Hendrick family would have starved to death a decade ago.  Our gardens have been unable to sustain even one human being. Or a yard gnome. Instead of the buckets of produce I lustfully dream about while we're planting seeds in the ground in the spring, what we actually get is a child running in the house mid-summer with a lone cherry tomato, holding it in the air, as though they found a diamond..or a gameboy game in the back yard.

Oddly, this astonishing record of failure does not cause us to waiver.  Getting the garden ready.  Tilling up the soil.  Working outside in the sun.  Picking out the seeds.  Coming in filthy dirty.  Going to free gardening classes at the feed store on Saturday mornings.  The boys running outside sleepy-headed as soon as they wake up to "check the garden" only to return with a shrug.  I guess the work and disappointment is worth it to us even if our only payment is a handful of pitiful lettuce.

We're gearing up for what must be our 8th annual garden fail.  I signed up for Sprout Robot..  Have you seen this site?  It's an online reminder that tells you what to plant and when to plant it according to your zip code.  Plants and robots.  My boys are in love.  I think this makes us a little bit like the Jetsons.  Surely the Jetsons had a successful garden, since they also had a machine that puts your pants on for you.

When I eagerly announced to the kids this morning that we are starting our spring garden in the next few days,  our most sarcastic and perceptive son stated the obvious. "Uh...where are you planting it?  We don't even have our own house yet or know where we're going to live."  I don't know where he gets his sassy mouth.

So I sassed right back.

"And?

So.  What.

Small setback."

Maybe I do know where he gets his mouth.

We have seed packets, and dirt, and cups.  We'll get earth under our fingernails, hold tiny seeds in our hands, and think of all the hope they bring...of the promises and life they contain.  We'll be reminded that while the world is cold and gray, something new is breaking forth in the dark...hidden from our view.  New life is coming!  Just because we can't see it, doesn't mean it's not growing.  With expectancy, we'll care for these tiny seed promises during this time of uncertainty. When we transplant them into our new yard, we'll rejoice at the message one tiny seed can teach a family of souls.

And then let's face it.  We'll probably kill all those sweet plants because we can't grow a garden to save our lives.

But. So. What.