Boxed In

As I mentioned in my last post, we sold our house.  And we are moving out tomorrow. TOMORROW.  In case you were wondering, it is actually an impossibility to pack your house with 3 small children in the house at the same time.  Don't believe me?  Here's the boys room that I have already packed twice now:

I have found myself boxing up things only to find them in a different room a few minutes later.  At first, I would think "hmm...I thought I already packed this. Oh well."  And then I'd re-pack it in the box.  But, after the first 20-30 times it happened, I began to realize that I wasn't in the early stages of dementia, but it was my kids. So, I called in help.  (That's my mom, by the way.  She has made it her job these last 6 years to be a grandmother.  It's actually what I aspire to do.  No kidding.  To be a mom to my kids. Work a while. But once I start having grandkids, I want to be available whenever and wherever. I so look forward to serving my kids in that way!).

I totally needed her help this week.  She took my boys while I packed. My house is wall to wall of boxes.  Literally:

I am not a clean freak, per se, but I definitely like my house in order and things put away.  So, THIS is driving me nuts:

I've caught myself murmuring prayers as I box things up, mainly the breakable things: "please, Lord, protect our stuff."  Then just 2 days ago, I said it again, and clear as the dawn the Lord just said right back to me: it's just stuff.  And it kinda hit me about where we store up our treasures.  Don't get me wrong, I sure hope our stuff makes it through all 6 moves it's going to make (literally, 6 moves. first on a truck, then into storage, then into another truck, then driven across country to another country, then unloaded and re-loaded onto another truck. Do you also have a headache?).  So, you see, I do hope our stuff, every single thing, makes it without a scratch and in proper working order.  But, if it doesn't...it's just stuff.  And I am being reminded through this whole transition who my trust is in.  My treasures had better be the eternal kind.


Meanwhile, please allow me to share with you how incredible our house looks. This is what it looks like right now. At this very moment. And we are moving out tomorrow.  It's ok. Go ahead and laugh. Or cry. Because that's what I'm doing.

On The Move

I've debated about how to tell this story.   Because it needs to be told.  (Especially after my last 2 blog posts about change and being under stress!)  When God does something for us, we need to tell others.  And that's what this story is about.  It's about a God who provides every need we have and about a Father who has bigger and better plans than we do.  This story is just another beautiful testimony of a faithful God who is SO interested in using us beyond ourselves.  If we'll let him.

It's no secret that the American economy is in turmoil.  Everywhere we look, people are losing homes, jobs are being lost, and families are in trouble.  Ryan has been very blessed throughout these last 3 years of the recession.  He's done amazingly well, and that is nothing but a complete testimony of God's faithfulness.  There is no reason, really, in Ryan's line of work (he owns a construction company) for him to be doing better than others.  We've watched friend after friend close up shop and go look for jobs at places like Home Depot because of the economy.  But, God remained faithful to Ryan's business.  Month after month.  These last 3 years. Even this year has been incredible.

Until June. It was like a wall went up that couldn't be broken down.  It literally happened in 1 day.  Ryan came home from work one day and commented, almost under his breath, how weird it was that there was no job lined up for the next day.  But after 9 years of living on complete reliance on the Lord to provide the jobs Ryan needs, neither of us worried.  A week passed.  And then two.  And still, God was faithful. Even with no money coming in and no job, God was faithful to provide every need we had.  After 4 weeks, and after exhausting every contact he had, Ryan made the decision to fly home to Vancouver to see what the Canadian economy was doing.

Before he left, Ryan and I had been praying and fasting about our situation.  We decided to continue the prayer and fasting while he was gone.  So we made a list of things to pray for.  It was a big list, but then again, we had a lot of stuff we needed God to provide for. :)

While he was in Canada, the Lord settled it on Ryan that Vancouver was the answer to many of the prayers we'd been praying.  That he was calling Ryan, us, home.  It was one thing for the Lord to settle it on Ryan.  We both knew it would take a mountain moving for him to settle it on me.

(I must pause for a moment and say that I have always told Ryan that if God said to go, I'd go.  Anywhere.  Any time. But when it actually happens, it's a whole different ballgame!)

So, after Ryan came home from Vancouver, he didn't spit it out and tell me what the Lord had spoken to him.  But I knew.  He had spoken to me too in Ryan's absence.  I could feel it, in every inch of my being, what He was requiring of me.  The Lord was asking me to leave my family, my country, my home...and follow my husband.  For me, that's what it boiled down to.  It wasn't the where.  It could have been anywhere.  It was the fulfillment of a vow I made to the man I married over 8 years ago that I would go where he went, and stay where he stayed.  Even if my flesh was saying "no way."  And let me tell you: it was!

The Elita in me was digging in my heels and screaming out every argument I could find.  The biggest, of which, was leaving my poor parents here with no kids or grandkids.  My boys are so incredibly close to my parents, I couldn't (and still don't want to) think about about pulling them away.  And my parents have been the support system I needed to be a good wife and mother.  My mom is like my 3rd and 4th arm.  Dropping anything she's doing at anytime of day (literally) to help me.  Thinking about losing that just made me weep.  Seriously.  I wept.  I did not cry.  I did some serious Old Testament weeping.  If I had ash and sackcloth, I probably would've pulled 'em out.

But, when God speaks, it is impossible to ignore.  Remember Jonah?  I didn't want to run from where God was going.  And I also didn't want to be a thorn in my husband's side.  I desperately wanted to be at peace with what God was speaking to us.  So that's what I started praying for.  And guess what?  He was faithful in that too.

As soon as Ryan and I got on the same page with where God wanted us, which was last week, things started moving.  FAST. Our house, that's been on the market almost a year, sold the next day.  THE NEXT DAY.  Ryan did get a couple really good remodels here in Mobile that are helping to pay the bills until the move. Another answer to prayer. There are so many little stories I could tell about how God met our needs these last few months.  (Like when I prayed for $500 so we could pay Noah's school fees and God met that need less than an hour later?  That was a fun one!)

It's been a totally uncomfortable time in our life.  Especially for me. It's been a dying-to-self experience.  My dreams for our family, my desires for our future...all laid down.  But I know that's where God gets to us.  In our weakness, he is made strong.  He never strips us bare just for the fun of it. He does it to get at something in us.  And man, oh man, he's gotten to me. His joy is my strength.  When I think about not knowing where we will live or how we will live in such an expensive city, the Lord gives me peace.  When I think about trying to find new friends, new Kelli's, new Jessica's, new Katharine's and Katherine's, new Johannah's...(breathe Elita!) the Lord gives me peace. And even when I think about moving my boys 3,000 miles away from 2 people who love them and have helped raise them these last 6 years...my heart is at peace.  I didn't say it doesn't hurt.  It's just at peace.

It's a strange, funny place to be. It's right where he wants us. And that's good enough for me.

A Recipe for Stress

When I am stressed I don't clean, which is what a lot of my girlfriends do.  Cleaning stresses me out entirely on its own.  I bake.  I cook like a mad woman. My kitchen becomes a disaster area and I love it.  LOVE IT.  There is something incredibly gratifying about bringing together ingredients that, on their own are okay, but when matched with others, are amazing.  

So these past 4-5 weeks, my kitchen has taken the brunt of my stress.  My husband and kids, however, have enjoyed the results that come from my time chopping, kneading, grilling, frying, and just doing anything I can in the kitchen.  So, because I am hungry, because I have nothing better to blog about it, and because I can, here are some yummy things that have turned up in my kitchen these last few weeks:

Lemon Blueberry Muffins. Delish.

Flat Apple Pie. Of course, I snagged a bite before I took the pic.  It's totally imperfect and rustic. Just the way I like it!

We went to a local pick-it-yourself farm about 10 minutes from our house and came home with, among many other things, a giant zucchini.  It was literally almost the length of my arm.  Here it is:

After I grated that bad-boy up, it turned into a lovely (actually, 2 lovely) zucchini loaves (see below).  My husband was in Heaven.  (Oh! You've never had zucchini loaf? It sounds totally disgusting and horrifying, I know. But once you taste it, you'll never go back. I promise! Plus, if you have 3 picky eating sons who would otherwise not eat zucchini, this is a good trick.)

Please don't judge me for eating a bite of every item I bake before taking a picture.  It's just who I am. 

Oh!  Here's one of those picky eaters now.  I have weird kids who like me to make their peanut butter and banana sandwiches into faces.  But because I do it in the kitchen, it falls into my stress-free zone.  (yah right!)

Back to the topic at hand! Here's blueberry cobbler (using blueberries we picked at the farm down the road):

And pico-de-gallo using tomatoes from our garden:

And chicken tetrazzini. ( I have to say that I've had a lot of chicken tetrazzini's in my day.  But this one is by far the best.  One of my best friends, Jessica, brought this to us after having our first baby and it's been a favorite of mine ever since.  Thanks Jess!)

See the bottom left corner? That's right. Ate it. Loved it. Don't regret it.

I made cupcakes and and a jello cake dessert-thing for the 4th:

Here's Mollie as I work in the kitchen.  She helps out in any way she can.  She's great like that.

I'm not done yet!  I've been very stressed!

Up next? Homemade stir-fry.  Which is definitely not a throw-together-whatever-you-have-leftover-in-your-fridge type of stir-fry.  But I guess, if it had to be, it could be.  It uses sherry to marinate the meat. Sherry always makes meat better.

Buttered Rosemary Rolls and Scalloped Potatoes.  Both are thanks to PW. She's my best friend, she just doesn't know it.

Chicken Alfredo Pizza and Vegetable Pizza (using all veggies, except the broccoli, from our garden!):

Homemade bread. YUM:

I made a few cranberry orange scones.  Only a few mind you:

And the epitome of all baking days included 50 cinnamon rolls, made completely from scratch.  My kitchen looked disgusting but smelled amazing.  The icing is a maple-espresso icing. OMG.

See that bottom pan?  How there's a section missing? Guess who ate it? 

Of course, after every baking escapade, I then have to clean it all up. I don't mind that kind of cleaning at all because I am the one who made the mess in order to provide something yummy for my family and/or friends.

I get hot in the kitchen, ok? That's why the giant fan is sitting on the counter.

My kitchen has seen better days. But as long as I remain under stress, the cookies will keep a-comin'.  And the 4 males in my house all said an amen.

Wind of Change

Has anyone else felt this season of change that is upon us? It seems to be taking place with almost everyone we know.  Something is happening. God is on the move, it seems.

But with the wind of change blowing in, I find myself resistant to the whole thing.  I am a gal who hates change.  I am a planner.  I like being comfortable and I like knowing what to expect.  And yet, as a believer, I find myself wondering if I have any right to be comfortable.  Do I have any right to ask God to "please leave me as I am"?  Because, truthfully, that's not what we sign-up for when we ask Him to live in us.  When we give him access to our hearts, his intent is to radically refine us.  I would dare say that as Christians, our lives were not meant to be comfortable.

Still, the selfish part of me is resisting the change happening all around me.  I am trying to just trust in the Lord and be grateful for his provision.   But if I am being honest, I've had moments throughout these recent days where I just want to shake my fists and cry out that this is not fair. That the plan I had in my head for my life, for my family, is being shaken. That nobody asked me if this was okay. That I am not, in fact, okay with all of this.

One of my best friends here in Mobile has been praying with me throughout these last few days.  (Can I just pause here and say how grateful I am for my girlfriends? Particularly this one. Thank God for friends who don't just pray for you, but with you.  In person. Over the phone.  Any time of day.  When I think of her and a few of my other girlfriends, I am reminded how hard it is to find those types of friends.  The ones that go far beyond just having things in common. They are the friends who I can't wait to spend an eternity with in Heaven, sipping coffee--because there WILL be coffee in heaven--and enjoying the fulfillment of His promises together.    She's the friend who I always think of when I read Proverbs 18:4 "A person's words can be life-giving water; words of true wisdom are as refreshing as a bubbling brook."  I love you Kelli!)

Anyways, so she sent me a text this morning encouraging me and also telling me to take a look at the July 13th entry for Streams In The Desert.  It was bang on and exactly what I needed:

"The moment has come when you must get off the perch of distrust, out of the nest of seeming safety, and onto the wings of faith; just such a time as comes to the bird when it must begin to try the air.  It may seem as though you must drop to the earth; so it may seem to the fledgling.  It, too, may feel very like falling; but it does not fall--it's pinions give it support, or, if they fail, the parent birds sweeps under and bears it upon its wings.  Even so will God bear you.  Only trust Him; "thou shalt be holden up."  "Well, but," you say, "am I to cast myself upon nothing?"  That is what the bird seems to have to do; but we know the air is there, and the air is not so unsubstantial as it seems.  And you know the promises of God are there, and they are not unsubstantial at all. "

And so it seems that the time has come to get out of the nest of safety.  As scared and resistant as I am, I don't want to miss being a part of what God is doing.  He is blowing a new wind,  and the tides are changing.  And I find myself wanting my sail to catch His wind. To blow where he blows.  Because, after all, his promises are not unsubstantial at all. 

It's in these transition times that I know the Father moves; he takes His hand from one thing and places it on another. And I am trying, really truly trying, to find the joy in transitioning with Him and to recognize the ending of one season and to lean into the beauty of the next. 

New Girl On The Block...

We got a dog.  That's right.  We decided, my husband and I, that our life was not yet completely crazy with the 3 boys and that we should add just 1 more element to our household. To try to meet that crazy goal we've set for ourselves, you see.  So we got a dog.  Meet Mollie:

She's cute, right?  Right.  And that's how puppies suck you in. You see them like this:

  And they win over your hearts.  At least that's how it happened with me.  I'm woman enough to admit that I loved this dog for her looks.  I thought she was cute.  That was on day 1.  And then the first night happened.  Be forewarned if you do not have a dog or have never had a dog: puppies cry. A LOT.  If you have kids, then you might think it can't be any worse than having a newborn, right?  That's what I thought.  WRONG!!!! This dog, with her sly good looks, cried worse than any of my 3 boys that whole first night.  I don't mean part of the night.  I mean 8pm-6am. That dog whined and barked and cried the entire time.  And guess who slept almost all of the next day?

...Having said all of that, just like a newborn, Mollie has gotten better.  She sleeps now, thankfully. She pees (less) in the house. And she is still just as cute now as she was then.  My favorite thing about Mollie? Besides her crazy green eyes, it's the way she sits.  Check it out:

She sits very far back on her bum.  Kinda like a rabbit.  It makes me laugh.

I love you Mollie!  But please stop peeing in my house.

Iron (wo)Man. Or Not.

I realized the other day, as we were sitting in our Sunday School class, that I have never taken my husband's shirts to get dry cleaned.  I know, I lose points for not paying 100% attention in church of all places, but I couldn't help it.  There we sat in a room full of people and almost all of the men had beautifully ironed and starched shirts.  The kind you could tell had been pressed by one of those industrial pressers, not the iron-at-home-kind.

This is a Dry Cleaning Press. Beautiful, isn't it?

I began to go around the room and take note that these men, whose shirts alone made them look like they could run for a seat in the Senate, must have good wives.  "Oh!," I thought to myself upon looking at one particular fellow, "he must have a good wife.   I can just tell she cares."  I guess it's a woman thing.  I don't know. But that was my thought.  And I looked back at my husband, sitting next to me clueless as to what pointless thoughts were swirling in my brain, and my smile waned. I realized that not once in over 8 years of marriage had it even occurred to me that my man might like a nicely ironed shirt.  Not everyday, mind you.  We don't have one of those money trees growing in our backyard.  But perhaps every once in a while?  Maybe he too, like me, would appreciate the complete disappearance of any unwelcome wrinkles or creases in his shirts.

And again, I looked at Ryan, the one who still takes my breath away every day, and I felt a little sorry that he'd gotten stuck with me and my cleaning abilities, or lack thereof.  A gal who, even on my best days, can't iron a lick, and relies almost entirely on my dryer to get rid of those stubborn wrinkles.  That's right.  I am the kinda gal who will dampen a wrinkled shirt and stick it in the dryer with a towel or two.  Phew...feels good to finally admit that.  (Did anyone else just hear my mom start crying? Sorry mom.  This is not your fault. You tried.)  Can I also admit that the iron comes out in 911 cases only?  It does.  Emergencies only. Here she is. My iron:

But, to give myself a little credit, I also realized as I was sitting there that this man I married could truly care less. It's just not who he is.  And because his job requires him to wear jeans and get dirty most days, ironed shirts are definitely not at the top of his priority list.  Clean socks? Now that's a different story.  That is priority numero uno.

And so, sitting there in Sunday School, I reconciled within myself that I was, in fact, not the worst wife ever to grace this world.

And then I looked down and saw the stark white socks my husband was wearing with his black dress pants and black dress shoes.  I realized immediately that I had forgotten to do the dark laundry and my husband was forced to wear the white socks.  I am grateful that he could care less about things like that.  I, on the other hand, feel like this is a direct reflection on me.  I sank a little lower in my seat at this moment.

So, as soon as church was out, I promptly went home and did laundry.  I also took a few of his shirts to get dry cleaned.  Because that's also the kind of gal I am.

Please notice the ironed shirt he is wearing.

I think he still likes me.  

Trying For The Girl?

I should have seen it coming. I should have realized that it usually happens around your child's first birthday that people start asking the famous question: "so, are y'all gonna have more?"  Although, in our case, the question has now lovingly been rephrased to, "so, are y'all gonna try for the girl?"

Before I get any farther, let me give a "solid answer" to those wondering about the future of our family: the jury is still out on babe #4.  Honestly, this is more so because my husband needs to wrap his brain around the idea of a fourth child.  Not just to love and nurture.  But to feed and clothe and insure and feed and send to college and feed.  (Did I already mention that last one? It's a big one around here because I have gradually, or not so gradually, watched our grocery budget extend to more than twice what it used to be when it was just the hubs and me.  Sometimes, when I get the odd chance to go to the grocery store alone, I stand in the aisle and wonder, hopefully not out loud, how in the world our 3 boys eat as much as they do.  You might be thinking that one of those 3 boys is a mere baby so he probably isn't eating all that much.  Let me go ahead and nip that thought process in the bud.  Seth eats.  Oh, how eats.  Can I get an amen from other moms of boys?  You know exactly the feelings of which  I speak).

Anyways, it isn't just the cost of another child that has my husband (and me) teetering back and forth. It's the fact that chances are we will have another boy.  The odds are against us in the whole "trying for a girl" process.  So the question isn't "are you going to try for the girl?"  The real question is "are you okay with trying for a girl but more than likely ending up with another Friesen boy?"

Do you see that? Those three beautiful faces? How, I ask you, could I not be okay with another boy?

Or course I'd be lying if I said that having a girl has never crossed my mind (see my last post about my mom.)  Has there ever been a woman in existence who didn't want a daughter?  It's a hard thing to explain because, I truly believe, it's a God-given desire inside of us females.  And, fortunately for me, I have a husband who understands that, although I love our 3 boys, that feeling that "our family is complete" hasn't hit me yet.   I hear stories of women who do, in fact, try for the girl and end up with 9 boys (true story) or 13 boys (true story).   That, I can promise you, will NOT be me.  

So, where does that leave the Friesen five?  Ryan and I are not only considering having a 4th baby, but adopting a little girl.  It's something we've always talked about.  But after having Seth, the discussion became more serious.  It's something we are praying about these days.  Adoption is such a special thing because of our relationship to the Lord.  He adopted us into his family, as sons and daughters.  Not because we deserved it.  He did it out of love.  And there are so many little ones out there who need a home, who need love, who need an adopting family.  And love is something we are definitely not short on.  

The biggest thing I'd have to let go of, if we adopted a baby girl, is wanting to know what our biological daughter would have looked like.  So, thanks to the magic of the internet, I morphed a baby girl out of me and Ryan's faces.  Here she is:

And just because I had to know how accurate it was, I also morphed a boy baby.  Because I definitely know what our boy babies look like.  Here's how "he" came out:

That's not too bad, huh?  I thought it actually looked like Seth a bit.

So, to answer the question of today's blog:  We are not trying for the girl. Yet. We are praying. We are waiting.  We are doing one of the things that I am not very good at: being patient.