New Project!

I've started a new blog that is closely related to the blog I kept last year called "The Home Life Improvement Project." I hope you'll check it out!

More Butterfly News

Icky Picky has emerged. It's been three hours and he's still not showing any signs of wanting to fly. His personality is holding true.

I did some more research today. What we have raised are actually Eastern Black Swallowtails rather than Anise Swallowtails. I had no idea how many varieties of Swallowtails there are!

I also discovered how to tell the difference between males and females. Our Firstborn was a female. Icky Picky is a male. How to tell? Pretty simple. Like most in nature - the male is prettier.

It's hard not to watch their metamorphosis and not be amazed at the creativity of their Maker. Everything about them speaks of wonderfully intelligent Creator. One who lovingly thought of every last thing.

There's also a good deal of spiritual insight to gain from observation. I'm not the first to come to that conclusion, but it's been reiterated to me as I took care of them. I guess if I could put it into one sentence it would be this: I'm not yet what I'm going to be. I'm lumbering around doing my best to stay fed and not let anything eat me... I sometimes look up at the sky and long to jump and find myself soaring on eagle's wings. I can almost feel the wind lifting me higher and higher if I close my eyes and dream.

Reality is pretty harsh as a caterpillar. But God promises that the transformation will not be complete until I am no longer earth-bound.

I'm looking forward to that. One other thing the caterpillars reminded me. Sometimes it seems like people are stuck in their chrysalis. They haven't moved in days and it's easy to think maybe they're just dead. Maybe hope is gone.

But keep watching, and we might be surprised to suddenly see beauty emerge.

It's an hour later and Icky Picky has finally decided he's ready to go. I'm going to try to upload our video from his goodbye. (And yes, he took his time. It's a long video.) Tried twice. And admitted I don't know how to upload a video. I've done it before, but apparently I have forgotten or blogger has changed. If anyone can help me I'd appreciate it!

The Life and Times of Icky Picky

Meet Icky Picky the Caterpillar.

We met Icky for the first time when we were wading through the sea of weeds that has become our garden. He and his brothers and sisters (not quite sure about the gender issue when it comes to caterpillars) were living on our parsley.

We thought at first we had found Monarch butterflies. We were in a panic wondering where we might find some milkweed for our newly captured babies. Fortunately at some point my brain kicked in and I realized that if they were living on our parsley, they must eat parsley. This led me to discover in the internet sea of information that we had actually adopted Anise swallowtail caterpillars.

And so Icky Picky and his six siblings found a home in our old fish aquarium. They ate all the parsley from our garden as they grew into very fat caterpillars. Two of them died, but the remaining five have all shed their skin for a chrysalis. One has shed his chrysalis for the sky.

I can't tell you Icky Picky's story yet. He's still resting in the hole of the rock. He is the only one of our caterpillars we named, because we discovered that he had a unique personality. Yes, caterpillars have personalities. Who knew? I'm sure someone did, but not me. Icky Picky is a particular sort of creature. Whereas our firstborn found a spot to rest in a matter of minutes, Icky Picky searched for the perfect spot for an entire day. Over 24 hours he roamed. I put him back in the aquarium five times. Finally he settled in the shelter of the fish tank rock. Besides the firstborn who has already taken to the sky, his other siblings have not moved since they went into stasis. Every time Icky Picky is disturbed, he twists and turns in protest.

THE LIFE CYCLE OF A BUTTERFLY

This was the smallest one we found. He was hard to see at first.

What they look like just before they make their chrysalis.

Our firstborn after he picked a spot.

Firstborn shedding his skin.

Firstborn was green after he shed his skin. The two on the rock turned the color of the rock. Who knew they could camouflage themselves?

Firstborn just after he fell out of his chrysalis.

After 2 1/2 hours of drying.

When it was time to set him free, Eldest helped him out on a stick. He climbed up onto her arm before he flew away.

Icky Picky is next. We're all keeping an eye on him.

To sum up? It's one thing to learn about the life cycle of a butterfly. It's quite another to experience it.

Finishing Well

Eldest daughter is standing in front of our very own Santa Maria replica that permanently rests in the river downtown. We recently visited after studying about Christopher Columbus in homeschool.

The tour guide on the ship told us a story I hadn't heard about the unfortunate fate of the Santa Maria and her crew. Christmas day of their voyage, the entire crew (including Christopher Columbus) got so drunk they all passed out. Only a twelve-year-old boy was left to man the ship. He did his best, but managed to wreck the boat on a Haitian island.

Columbus was determined not to be defeated. He used the wreckage of the ship to build a fort, and left the entire crew there at the fort until someone could return for them, and sailed on aboard one of his other two ships.

When someone did return, they found the fort destroyed and every man (and child) killed by natives.

I was reminded of this story yesterday evening as our youth pastor reminded us of the life of Solomon. Solomon was given every advantage a king could require to rule his people well. Not only was he the son of the greatest king that ever lived, he was raised to know the law of Moses, which explicitly carried instructions for kings. Beyond all of this, God himself endowed Solomon with wisdom that was unheard of before that time or since.

And Solomon did well. For awhile. But all of his advantages led him down a path he couldn't resist, even though he knew better. 700 wives, 12,000 horses and way too much gold and silver later, he sadly wrote at the end of his life that he had missed the boat. Too late. "Fear God and keep his commandments." he wrote. "This is the whole duty of man."

I'm humbled that I don't have to learn the hard way. I can take a good hard look at Solomon and remember how he felt about all the things he had put his trust in after he got them. They defeated him. They crippled him. They tore his heart away from his Creator, where it had rested safely and peacefully, and caused him to fall in a way that ruined his life and his effectiveness.

When I add this to the message from Pastor Sol yesterday morning, I have the missing piece of the puzzle that Solomon forgot. "God's work is always accomplished through God's power." If I try to stay on the right path in my own strength, I'm destined for failure. The trick is keeping hold of the humility it takes to keep every step of my life focused on Christ.

As I hope to move forward in my writing, there are two things I've been praying for with fervency. They come from a song from Matthew West called "Stop the World." I need to be humble, I need to have nothing to prove.

And if God can remind me of that, every day, for the rest of my life, I hope I will be able to finish well.

And you as well.

Credible Fiction

My dad shared a quote by Mark Twain today on Facebook. "The only difference between reality and fiction is that fiction must be credible."

Ha. It's the truth! Reality is full of awkward pauses, unbelievable happenings, and unsolvable dilemmas. But fiction must always make sense, must always resolve, must always have a point.

I'm okay with that. I feel very frustrated by reality when it doesn't make sense. This is probably why I am a fiction writer. I prefer my world to be neat, orderly, and flowing with beautiful symmetry and meaning.

And so I have been writing, which is my lovely excuse for refusing to blog lately. I have been lost in the world of fiction.

I am trying at present to gain some self discipline in my writing. I love the first time, rough draft writing part. I love to shape the story and piece it together and add the dialogue. I don't even mind the second pass, fixing typos and awkward grammar.

After that, I get unreliable. Writing the proposal, doing intensive repair, sending queries to agents and publishers... I do it once or twice and then give up and start writing a new story. But this won't do. If I'm going to spend so much time writing, it can't be for me alone. I have to learn how to write in a way that others will learn and grow from, as well as be entertained by. I think I'm getting closer. But I must to learn to polish.

I'm presently trying to fix a novel from three years ago and get it ready to submit to a pretty big contest in September. This is not going well. I really, really just want to write my new novel. I've grown as a writer in three years, and it's tedious to try to bring my previous level up to my present level. Part of me just wants to give up on the old story and try to finish the new one in time. But I feel like the old story is one that needs to be told. I feel like if I could get it right, it would have a place.

So far my discipline is not impressive. So I'm putting myself on notice, and if you know me, remind me. Just say "edit before create."

And thank you to those of you that reminded me that I do have readers for my blog. I'm sorry this place has been so deserted. Thank you for sticking with me!

Just Like Grandma

Anyone who knows me knows how incredibly much my Grandma means to me. She left this life last year, and I still feel her absence as acutely as I did when she died. I remember sitting at her funeral, staring at her, wishing that I could will her to get up out of that casket. She looked like she was only sleeping. It would have been just like my Grandma to play a joke like that. Make us think she was dead, only to pop up in our face and yell "BOO!"

Just get up, Grandma. Please.

I knew it was a ridiculous idea. But that's the way my Grandma was. It was really hard to believe that she was really gone, that she really wouldn't get up again. That she wouldn't squeeze my hand with more power than an eighty-something year old woman should possess. She wouldn't smile in that Grandma way and make that sound like she was stuttering over her words "Uhb Uhb Uhb..." before she said something silly.

I loved you for being my silly, playful Grandma.

I had almost forgotten those funny Grandma sounds until a few days ago. My 7 1/2 year old daughter was talking, and suddenly, in the middle of her sentence, she did it. "Uhb Uhb Uhb..."

JUST LIKE GRANDMA.

It was as if Grandma had gotten up and walked into my house and spoken to me through my daughter. Or maybe God just made sure that my girl got that one special gene from her that would make her say that phrase just like Grandma said it just for my sake. So I would know that she's not really gone. She's still around. Not only is she with the Lord, with her one true love Grandpa - waiting for me and everyone else to join the party - but she's here. She's in my mom. She's in my aunt and my cousins and my sisters and all of our children. And those little things that made her our special little Grandma were passed on, so we could remember her. Even when she's not here to talk to anymore.

I miss you, Grandma. But I'm glad you left quite a few little parts of yourself here. I can't wait to see you again.

The picture captures the moment that I introduced my firstborn daughter to my Grandma.

Jump!

I'm a biggest loser fan. I must admit to it. I'm a sucker for people changing their lives in big ways for the better. In fact, as I tell my children, I'm trying to be the biggest loser myself these days. 15 pounds down, a few more to go.

Anyway, this past Tuesday night, the group went to New Zealand, and they had to climb this sky tower all the way to the top, which was some insane number of stories. Let's just say all the people and cars looked like ants when they got to the top. And when they got up there, enjoying the view safely behind glass windows, Bob bounces in and tells them that they have a choice - climb back down the stairs.... or jump.

My own mind took a particular course as I put myself in their positions. This wasn't just some observation deck overlooking the city - this was HIGH. I'm not intensely afraid of heights, but it made me a little queasy just watching the view from my recliner in my living room.

Surprisingly, all of them were for it except one. And he was probably the only one that was really thinking straight about it. I was with him all the way as he inched his way out onto the launch area. I understood when he was breathing in and out and staring in horror below, trying to imagine himself flying through the air, putting all of his faith in a few cords that were supposed to break his fall and let him land safely on that tiny little X at the bottom.

He waited. And waited. The employee who suited him up and hooked him on said "One two three go!" but he didn't go. And I didn't blame him. But all of the sudden, he got this look of sudden determination. As if he were realizing that he didn't really have a choice. It would be a letdown for him and the whole world watching if he didn't jump. He probably knew that he would regret it forever if he didn't take one more step forward and let fate have his life.

He jumped. And after the moment of extreme terror when he first let go, suddenly his face became relaxed. His arms went out. When he got to the X, he was smiling and cheering. He realized that letting go of fear, embracing the inevitable truth before him was a moment in his life that he tasted freedom.

It occured to me that it must be just like that for someone to make the decision to follow Christ after living in this world into adulthood. I have a hard time imagining it, because I was six when I jumped, and even then, it was more of a formality because I had never made a decision NOT to follow Christ. I deepened my commitment when I was 13, and then again when I was 18, but I have never placed myself on the opposing side where Jesus is concerned.

I imagine it is kind of like standing at that launch area, looking down at all the ant-like cars and people, and trying to understand why it is so important that you jump off and let invisible arms catch you and break your fall. You know you should, you know it won't make good tv if you chicken out, but it's big. It's really big. What will everyone think of you after you jump? What will have to change in your life that you really aren't prepared to let go of?

So many questions. But in the end there is only that still small voice, so loving, so insistent... calling YOUR name. "Jump. I'll catch you. I promise. I've never missed, I've never even come close to dropping anyone. You'll be safe. Much safer than you are on that ledge."

To me - the answer is easy, because I know the voice. I trust him with everything I am, and it's true - he never disappoints. He's stronger than my image of strength can even project.

But when you're the one on the ledge and you hear him calling, what will you do? Will you jump? Will you abandon all and let go of yourself, of your ambitions, of your desire to hide your failure and display your pride and confidence... and admit you need him to catch you?

Because in the end, we all have to jump. And it is our decision how we make that jump. With his help, or to his sorrow.

And if you jump into his arms, get ready for the rush of your life! Get ready to breathe your first real breath of air. Get ready for every dream of your heart coming to life in front of your eyes.

That's what Jesus is.

White Tulips

There's a great show I like to watch. I'll go ahead and admit I love to watch it. In this show recently there was an episode where one of the main characters told someone that he had asked God for a sign that all the terrible things he had done over the years were forgivable. He thought that if God could forgive him, perhaps his son could as well. He asked that if God were willing to forgive him, that he would show him a white tulip, even though it was Boston and winter.

He's a fictional character. But he brings to mind all the people out there living their lives and plodding along, trying to put one foot in front of the other one - wishing that somehow there were a way to erase all the mistakes, all the bad choices, all the sin they've been responsible for. If only God would send a sign that he was willing to forgive.

God did. A sign more beautiful than a white tulip. He sent his own Son to bleed his life out for every last one of us that know we don't deserve forgiveness. He took our place, sacrificed his sinless self so that we could absolutely beyond a shadow of any doubt know that we are forgiven, if we only ask. He was raised again to life to prove that God has power over death, which we only face as the result of sin.

Now it's my prayer that I can be that white tulip. Help others see through my life, though faltering and imperfect, that I am forgiven. That I am loved. That there is nothing in this world, nothing we could do that could keep a single soul out of God's incredible love and desire for relationship.

You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:6-8

Digging Deeper, Flying Higher

I've returned to my website after trying another blog experiment. I've found that I most definitely prefer writing my quiet thoughts and happenings rather than attempting grander notions of gathering readership through this method of writing.

I don't count it as a failure, even if it is. I learned so much about myself and about who I am as a writer by trying something new. I know now that my heart is for fiction, and I'm excited about getting on with two stories I've begun and continuing the process of learning and growing as an author.

Just about every last ounce of my energy in this time of life goes to my family. I suppose that is the way it is when you are a wife and a homeschooling mom of four young children. God is teaching me to take a step at a time and not to try to rush or grab for visions and dreams that He hasn't allowed yet. It is the time of my life to give my all to my family. And that's okay. There will be days coming when they will not need me the way they do now. That will be okay too, and I'm excited to know what new adventures and ideas God will have waiting there for me to pursue and experience.

Life with Jesus keeps getting sweeter. The more I know him, the more I trust him, the more I am okay with this broken world being less than what I hope. This isn't the final destination. And everything that comes to me has been filtered through loving hands. There is no reason not to trust.

And so I will trust.

Picture taken by Kathy Kirtland.