I Struggle. . .

My home base church is Luctor Christian Reformed Church. It is nestled in the hills between Long Island and Prairie View, Kansas. It is peaceful there. I miss my home church especially this time of year. After having years of traditional hymns and advent celebration, I miss it. My heart longs for the organ and piano duets played by incredibly skilled sisters in Christ. And the singing. Oh, the singing. It's beautiful in that old church. I miss the smell. The atmosphere. I can close my eyes and almost place myself there. Luctor CRC has roots deep in a rich Dutch heritage. In fact, the name the founding fathers of the church gave, Luctor, means "I struggle." They struggled after the Dutch immigrants came to the United States to begin a new life. They struggled starting the church. The original church building burned down and they rebuilt it.

I struggle. Isn't that a simple sentence that we all are deeply familiar with? Certainly most of of reading this didn't move to a new country to start a new life and start a new church.

But, we struggle. I struggle.

I struggle. . . . with perfectionism. It oozes down into a septic leach field and into the ground in all areas of my life. Especially, to my family--to my children. They are little. Give them a break. Extend grace. How do I do that when I struggle. . . to give myself a break. . . to extend grace . . . to myself?

I struggle . . . with insecurity. It stains my soul. It impacts my interactions with others. It prevents me from really engaging in potentially great friendships. . . because I struggle. . . with what people will really think if the really knew me. This ties to my sense of belonging and community. Where do I fit. Who will love me for me?

I struggle. . . with guilt. This pervasive evil pierces my soul and has plagued me my entire life it seems. I'm talking about that toxic kind of guilt that is tied directly to perfectionism and insecurity. Guilty about my perfectionistic standards and how I respond to others because of it. Guilty about my insecurity and how I respond to others because it it.

I struggle. . . with anger. I was an angry kid. Went through great Christian counseling and thought I had overcome this foe. Then I had got married. And it's his fault! No it's not. It's mine. And I learned how to overcome. Then I had kids. And it's their fault! Not it's not. It's mine. And I struggle learning to reign it in and show lovingkindness and gentleness when I'm mad. And then guilt creeps in because this battle ensues and makes me even angrier. What a cycle to struggle with!

What I want is to be free from the struggle, from the yuck perfectionism, insecurity, guilt and anger produce inside of me. . . .

Luctor has a deep, rich heritage extending over one hundred years, and even richer heritage in it's doctrinal stance in the Heidelberg Catechism. I Struggle. The first question of the catechism responds to My Struggle. It goes like this:

1. Q: What is your only comfort in life and in death?

• That I am not my own but BELONG--body and soul, in life and in death--to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.
• He has fully paid for my ALL my sins with his precious blood, and has set me FREE from the tyranny of the devil.
• He also WATCHES OVER ME in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head with out the will of my Father in heaven. In fact, all things must work together for my salvation.
• Because I BELONG to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me whole-heartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him. (emphasis mine).

I know Jesus' blood oozed on my behalf. I know that His blood stains lift the stains from my soul. I know that He was pierced for my transgressions and crushed for my iniquities. I know He Reigns so that sin can't reign in me. I know that Jesus' STRUGGLE supersedes my own struggle. But I STRUGGLE!

When I read this answer to that ultimate question, I feel comforted. I feel that sense of belonging. I feel free from all my sins. I feel taken care of held in the Sovereign hand of Almighty God. Temporarily because I forget quickly and need constant reminding. Because I struggle.

"I know that my Redeemer Live and that in the end he will stand upon the earth." Job 19:25

Invader of a Slimy Kind

OK, so I had wondered why the chickens were breaking thier eggs in thier nest. They had been making a general mess of thier nests was tired of sticking my hand in the broken, gooey mess to find decent eggs. I thought maybe it was the fact they were tired of being cooped up in the coop after snow storms and frigid weather. Well, Philip shut the chickens up one night and the next morning when I went out to open the chicken door, one of the roosters rounded the house and had spent a night outside--living to tell about it. I find this odd. . . that same evening I go back out to shut the chickens up --carrying a large maglight flashlight--and hear a funny noise at the door. An opposum is vacating the chicken coop. I hit the thing with the flashlight, but I'm not a killer and it creeped me out. Or at least not a bare handed killer. If I'd a had a gun handy the thing would have been dead right there. So I share my newfound revelation with my husband who says, "we need to get you a gun around here!" So fast forward to the next night. I go back out to shut up the chickens and our friendly scoundrel old opposum is in the coop hiding behind the door. So I shut him in and go get Philip who comes with a large hammer and, well, you get the idea. I haven't had any broken eggs since then.

So here is my Christmas letter. I decided to snail mail a letter to those in my life who don't do Facebook etc. And for the rest of you, here's the Christmas update:

I debated writing an annual letter that you send snail mail. With updates on facebook and emails
and such it seems kind of redundant. And, after all, is my life really that interesting? Why would anyone want to know
anyway? I didn’t write one last year—I guess I was unmotivated and thinking the same thing. . . Well, I decided to go
ahead and send out something a little more personal than quick quips on a social site. So what’s been happening on
the farm . . .

Well, we still live on Philip’s home place and continue to make it cozy and functional. We have lots of renovation projects going—digging up the foundation to waterproof and insulate it and put in a drainage system to quickly drain away rain water. As Jerry said, “When Philip is done, this will be the best foundation in Buffalo county!” My husband is meticulous and amazing in everything that he does, which can cause this project to be quite time consuming. All this outside foundation work must be done
to fix the major renovation inside of the basement to seal the leaks and make it usable.

Anna (5 on Jan 1) and Aaron(3) are growing and having fun being best friends who love each other—and at times don’t act like
they love each other. Anna has started “Pooh Bear Preschool” as we call our homeschool environment. She loves learning and is a
joy to teach. She constantly asks questions—many of which I don’t know how to answer. She keeps me on my toes and
causes me to learn things in order to answer her questions. She is a born leader who takes charge if sheperceives no one else is in charge. She is nurturing and helpful with her brother—though he doesn’t always want to be mothered by her. She loves singing,
socializing, silliness, and Sunday School.

Of course Aaron is right there with her learning too. He mustn’t be left
out, you know. He is every bit a boy. He just hauled off and tackled me one day! It hurt too. I think we’ll need to get him involved in football. Do I see a defensive lineman in his future? I just remind myself to “feel the boy love!” Like his daddy, he is meticulous about how things are. He places things back where they go and insists that things be a certain way. In a way, he can be quite stubborn about it, and can get quite angry if things don’t go the way he thinks they should. He loves tractors, cars (especially Cars 2), trucks, blocks, dirt, gravel, and harassing his sister—and sometimes mommy, too. He loves wrestling with his daddy. He is very sweet, tenderhearted and thoughtful, too.

Living at a beautiful homeplace with lots of trees enables us to take lots of nature adventures. The North partcalled “the Jungle” and the South part called “the Great Forest” are excellent places for tree climbing, bug observing, looking for lions and rhinocerouses (Anna
wanted that last one added in there), following animal tracks and bird watching. Last spring, we had a Great Horned Owl make a
nest in our back yard and hatch an eagIet. That was lots of fun to watch; although I may have enjoyed it more than anyone else. I figure a day isn’t good if we all haven’t got all dirty. This is a little more difficult in the winter. . . But , life is good and God has blessed us with our home and our lively little ones.

Speaking of little ones. . . . we do have our family livestock—three Siamese cats, 17 chickens, and lots of
mice. With the house foundation under construction we have the “Mouscapades” programming that I wish would end. Oh the stories I could tell about the mice in my house. You know, Beatrix Potter makes mice look nice and cute in her many tales, but they are NOT!

One such Mouscapade story goes like this. . .
Twas the day before Thanksgiving and all through the house, there was peace and there was calm in anticipation of
the fun family events in Phillipsburg. Aaron was napping and Anna was amusing herself. I was preparing to make the foodstuffs
to take to my mom’s when I went to the back porch closet to get some ingredients; when what to my wonderingeyes do appear but to find that a creature had gotten in there (or to a bag of potato chips). Upon closer observation,I noticed my Swiffer duster dealies were strewn about. My skin began to crawl as I realized what must be done. I had to unpack that closet to find the invader and remove him from the premises. And, I had to clean the mess that had been made by this vile little creature.

I began unpacking when mouse number one shot out of the closet, past my foot and through a hole by the back door.
At my startled screaming, Anna came running, “Mommy what’s going on!?” To which I said, “The Tale of Two Bad Mice” is playing out in our house! (The one Beatrix Potter story where mice are portrayed as naughty). So, I continued to carry out this cleaning
scheme with even greater resolve when I pulled out a large gift bag. I look down inside and peering back at me is mouse number two! I open the back door and chucked that bag as hard and as far as I could. Now I never knew mice did this, but that
mouse charged me! He came right back towards the back step, hopped up each one (me screaming the whole time) and dove into a
hole in the concrete. By the way, I’m not a screamer. These things don’t usually provoke screaming fits. . . .

By this time Anna is truly concerned and I am quite frazzled. Then, I just started chucking stuff out the back door.
I didn’t care what it was, it was sent flying out the door. And guess what happened. . . Mouse #3 ran out of the closet and behind the cat litter box. At this point, Harry the big Siamese cat -who really is more like Garfield in nature -is on the back porch with me. I yelled at him, “Harry get the mouse!” (He didn’t respond to my command—stupid cat!) So, I start pulling things away from the wall
and this fat little mouse just sat and stared me down. Me--having a showdown with a mouse! Harry did nothing. I attempted to shoo the mouse towards the cat. To no avail—the mouse went down the same said hole as mouse #1 and about didn’t make it because he was so rotund. Thoroughly dismayed, I finished the cleaning, seeing no more mice for this episode of the mouscapades. However, with the aid of traps and with no help from the cats, the mice are now deceased—and the holes are soundly sealed. And as for me, I only have a mild case of PTSD.

While it is fun to tell the amusing tales of our lives, we have had some serious and significantly life changing
events in our year. The most notable came on August 3rd. Jerry (Philip’s dad) had a massive stroke and passed away a week later at the age of 67. This was a shock to all and there really are no words to describe an event like that.
We are all coping in our own way. We made it through the first harvest without Jerry L. We had help from neighbors and hired a couple of guys to help out as well. Up until September when he pulled the combine out of the shed, he’d never sat in the driver’s seat of that great machine. This was Jerry’s love and joy—running the John Deere combine harvesting, and he was excellent at it. Philip ran trucks, drove grain cart and kept the augers filling bins. This year, Philip sat in the seat and harvested for the first time. The kids and I rode with him the second day he was running, and that is when he told me he’d never ran the combine until now. Philip had ridden on his Dad’s lap year after harvest year, learning so much that he was able to hop in the seat and harvest this fall with his own son on his lap. And so, the baton passes from one generation to the next full of a rich heritage. We mourn what was lost when Jerry breathed his last. We appreciate the legacy he has left behind. We press on to live a life worthy of the ONE who we celebrate most of all this Christmas season, Emmanuel—God with us.