I find myself slowly picking through my front pasture a lot while training my maremma to follow my voice. If he doesn’t listen, he gets corrected. Somehow, I understand that discipline in a real, personal way (smile). At eight months old, he is larger than my nine year old yellow labrador, and his wolfish good looks play nicely with his puppy exuberance. I let him run off to play a lot, knowing he’ll come to me when I ask him to.
In the meantime, I’m running my black muck boots through the greenery. Plantain….dock….yarrow… I do find it a little surprising that after all this time I am finally starting to recognize not only the weeds under my feet, but to know what they’re good for. I didn’t think it could ever happen, but there I find myself: bug bites….anemia…fever…
It’s almost meditative. In a Christian way, of course.
It’s hard to know how much to share, given the very nature of worldwide eyes, because pearls are usually fodder for pigs and precious things ought not to be given freely. But I will say, for the time, that a house a home does not make, and given the choice between (a) the current brick-n-morter and (b) freedom for my husband to follow other dreams…I think it is most fitting and proper to happily and most contentedly hand over the keys to release him.
What power does a woman have over her man to drive him to provide? To me it is almost frightening. A wife whose standard is beyond basics, say, fresh water and a warm shelter and clean clothing, puts the prod to her husband’s back. He loves her of course, and even if she is hard to love, his drive to properly (“properly” being defined in part by her expectations) take care of his family may very well send himself to an early grave with pressing so hard for so long for….what?….that which is someday slated to burn and will never be fit to accompany anyone beyond death.
So. We are grateful to be in a position to choose to sell our home. Yes, the market is hard right now. Yes, our home is down in value. But we are ready to bless another family with our amazing house and to make different choices for our family. And if God wants it sold, then sold it shall be. And there in the meadow I sometimes think of stupid things like I’ll have to change the photo on my header. A small thing. I think.
…shotweed…miner’s lettuce…(nibble nibble)…
The truth is that how we live and what we talk about presses into our children. Our standards become their standards. What they grow up in and around become what is “normal” and right and true. It is what they pass on to your grandchildren. If our children eat cake every day, then that is the appetite they will have for proper food. How they spend their time, how they see us walk…our sons will rise forming in their inmost being what is expected of a true man, and our daughters will grow expecting their husbands to meet the standards we’ve crafted.
So…our house is on the market. It may not sell. It may sell tomorrow. I do not know. In the meantime, I am continuing to spruce it up and lay it down. Outside, I am watching my honeybees gather pollen from scotchbroom and chives. I am pressing more and more into the Lord my God, thanking Him in every circumstance, and grateful for the opportunity to learn to love my husband more in the ways that he truly needs.