The Cliff

As the sun sets, the darkness creeps into my skin, making goose bumps appear on my arms. The dirt beneath my feet begins to crumble and I look down to see the tips of my white tennis shoes peeking over the edge of the cliff, where the loose earth tumbles down into the vast emptiness. Despair has paralyzed me and I can’t move from this place. The rocks below taunt me, mock me because they know I’m too sane to meet them but too much a coward to return to the pain I left behind. The frustration of the past presses against my back and from the left and the right like and invisible force. I know I cannot go back. The desire for hope has driven me here, revealing glimpses of itself here and there but always too far away to grasp. And where has it lead me? To a place just as bare and destitute as where I came from.

The cliff is sheer and unforgiving. It drops straight in front of me and to the right, but as far as I can see to the left, about thirty feet down, a small shelf protrudes. The light gray rock looks almost white in the fading light and I notice a small clump of green grass on the small shelf. The color stands out amongst the dull, colorless cliff. Its contrast gives me the smallest glimpse of hope in this desert landscape. The bright contrast colors the dull shades in of my heart. Where does the grass get its water, I wonder? What is the purpose of it, to grow where no animal can taste it, where it cannot be seen and enjoyed unless someone is crazy enough to stand in this hopeless place? Then I think of the change it is doing to my heart and I think, did God put it here just for me? Does He think that much of me that He would cause this small miracle to give me hope in the midst of hopelessness? Then I hear a faint sound. So faint I have to listen a second time to make sure I’m not hearing things. But there it is again. A soft, desperate bleating. Its coming from below, on the shelf. I risk leaning forward just a tiny bit and see, clinging to the side of the rock, the small kid of a mountain goat. I forget the risk to myself when I see the terrified look in its huge brown eyes and a small bit of grass slipping from its lips. The grass. How did the goat get down there? It was obviously tempted by the bright green and risked climbing the cliff to get down, but could not find its footing to get back up. But where was there a path to the ledge? Can I help this little one? With out another thought, I start walking over to where the shelf is to find any way to get down. There is no reason not to take this risk, I have nothing to stay here for. I see a small rock jutting out of the cliff about five feet down and I swing my feet over the edge, holding on to the crumbling dirt. My right foot finds in and my left begins the search for the next. How did the small animal get down here? I finally find a foothold and begin my treacherous decent. After what seems like hours I my shoes touch the shelf. I drop down and the goat freezes, staring at me. It’s unsure if its salvation or execution has just arrived. I crouch down and grab a clump of the grass, making sure to leave enough that it can reseed and remain as hope to other passersby. With my hand outstretched with the grass in my hand, I look straight into the goat’s eyes. My gaze does not hold promise of a way out of this, but rather a promise that it will not die alone on the ledge, that we will suffer together. Slowly, gradually, the kid inches closer to me. Finally it is eating out of my hand, then inching closer, looks for an embrace. I give it freely and the warmth of its little body and the pounding of its fragile heart remind me that this life is worth living. If not for myself, to get this small helpless animal to safety. For the first time I stand up and look around. I’ve already seen all there is to see to the right, but to the left a whole to view is open to me. What I see makes me stand in disbelief. A lush, green valley full of fruit trees, grass, goats, sheep, cattle, and a river flowing through. The goat did not climb down, it climbed up. I look back up the way I came. It rises up so sharply that I can barely see the indents I used as foot and hand holds. How did I do that? I’m not rock climber. Where did I get that kind of courage? I take a deep breath. I need to tap into that courage to get down to that valley. Combined with hope, I know that I will make it, but before making the descent, I sit down with the goat in my arms, making sure I do not forget this place.

So was the grass just for me? The baby goat? Or was my pain and despair so that I would be led to this place to save the kid? From somewhere in the back of my head a voice that I heard as a child whispers a promise I have long forgot.

Whatever you do for the least of these you also do to me.

Caddy the Caterpillar

Caddy the Caterpillar
Illustrated and Dictated by Lily Rose Magstadt, age 3 years 5
months.























Caddy ran away from his mother.










His mother doesn't like him to be green.
















He came back.











There was a monster in his way. The End.

The First Day of School

Yesterday was the first day of school, not only for Jaron, but for Jaron's school too. How exciting the last year has been laying the foundations for what just started when all those little kiddies ran into those doors yesterday. Cologne Academy is now the home of seven classes from kindergarten to the 5th grade with approximately 130 students. I still can't get over it. Last year is was just a dream on paper and now its a reality.

I must admit that I was really nervous yesterday. Not about the school, I know its in great hands- the Director has done an amazing job from ordering healthy lunches to hiring the best teachers to getting furniture in the classrooms and everything in between. I was a nervous mom. Will Jaron make new friends? Will his strange sense of humor be appreciated by the other kids or made fun of? Will he get confused and frustrated in transition time from one place to another? When did he grow up? Is him going to school going to change our relationship? In good ways? What will his behavior be like when he gets home from school? Will he be exhausted? I probably don't need to go on. I'm sure you get the point.

It seems to have gone very well though. He came home excited and ready to go to his piano lesson, full of stories about his day. His favorite thing during the day was making up verses to the song, "Shoo Fly, Don't Bother Me" with another boy in his class. He ate all of his veggies and didn't even touch his chips. He met his music and PE teacher and loves his classroom teacher. They even did a little math it sounds like.

One thing that our school is doing that I LOVE, is that they are creating an individualized educational plan for EVERY student with the goal that each student will be at least a year ahead of where they are at now by the end of the year. As a parent of an accelerated child, this excites me so much. Last year Jaron had fun in kindergarten, but he most definitely was not challenged, or at least was challenged very little. This way there is less chance that he will get bored and start to make poor choices with his time. I want him to learn to do his best and am so glad that he will be challenged at his own level. I'll post more about this after his plan is in place in a few weeks.

On the flip side, this was a first day for another person in our family. Miss Lily, or I should say Lily Rose as she has informed me she would prefer to be called, had her first day alone with Mommy and her first day at preschool. The first thing Lily Rose did when Jaron left was go down to his room and look for toys that he never lets her play with. She then played with them for about an hour, then decided she liked her toys better anyway. After that we went to her Preschool Open House. It was just an hour of unstructured play and she was in heaven. She cried when it was time leave and can't wait to go back next week. She's growing up so fast and cant' wait to be independent. If you ask her how old she is she says, "I'm three, but I'm trying to be four." I hope this doesn't become a pattern and continue all the way through high school although something in my gut tells me it might.

So my babes are growing up right before my eyes and it fills me with emotions I can't really put words to yet. A sense of pride mingled with a sense of loss is the best way to put it I suppose.

Punching to Read

My son, Jaron, is now six and is suddenly learning how to read. He has known his letters and sounds forever, but just started to care about learning to read. I'm very excited the day has finally come- there were times when I wondered if he'd ever be motivated.

We were reading together yesterday and I was reminded to how many different sounds different letter combinations make and how hard it makes it to decode. The book we were reading had a lot of "ou" words in it, but also words with the "oul" combination. So, before reading I introduced the different sounds and letter combinations to him through several activities, but it just wasn't sinking in.

Then I decided to think out of the box. I gently pinched him and said what does "ou" say? And in response to the pinch he said, "ow!" and I said, "right!" Then I pretended to punch myself in the gut and said, "oouuh" then I pretended to punch him in the gut and said, what does "oul" say? And, of course, he got it. Now he doesn't miss them a single time and loves to teach new people his what he's learned- especially by pretending to pinch and punch them! Ah well, one lesson at a time :)

Lawn Fire

I have the tenancy to over exaggerate my personal abilities now and then. Last night was one of those times. My husband wasn't home and we have had this huge pile of dried out lilac trimmings just sitting in the driveway for a month now. Usually Corey (my husband) takes care of such things, but I thought, "how hard can making a fire be?"

Well, much harder than it looked. I squatted on the ground for a good half and hour trying to get it to start while the kids whined for my attention and begged for smores. Finally I got it started. It really got going so I decided to start piling on the dead leaves and branches. It was amazing to see them turn into tiny pieces of black ash so quickly. The flames grew quickly too and I noticed that I had put the portable fire pit too close to a low branch on our butternut tree. First the leaves turned dark green, and then began to curl a bit.

I should have realized at that point that I was putting too much on at once, even more importantly, I had not been wise in my placement of the fire pit. There was a circle of grass that was dry and yellow from the last time we made a fire, so instead of putting the pit somewhere away from the dry grass, I wanted to save the rest of my lawn from becoming a yard of yellow circles. So, I did the only logical thing and put the fire pit right on top of the driest grass in the yard- you can tell where this is going.

I only had so much time before I had to put the babes to bed so I wanted to get as much burned as possible. I just kept piling on, and not carefully at all. The fire was getting hotter so I was tossing the branches from a farther distance. The branches started landing on the fire so that leaves were draping down either side of the pit, but this had happened before with no consequence, so I didn't even think about it, until I noticed that the smoke was not only coming from the pit, but the grass underneath it too.

I sent my kids in side, where my six year old quickly found a plastic left over magic hat from his birthday party and started filling it up with water. I started taking trips from the house and back until the fire underneath the pit was out, but not before the yellow circle of grass was completely black. Now what am I going to do with a black circle in the middle of my yard?!?

The Set Up

I love books written in the mid 1800s. I'm still in the process of figuring out why. Part of it is the reflection of the Industrial Revolution and the empowerment to the lower classes it brought, but there is more. For a few years I've been reflecting on why I would rather read Elizabeth Gaskell, the Bronte sisters, etc. Even Jane Austen a little earlier and E.M. Forester a little later hold my interest much better than authors of today.

Finally I realized what it is. Its the character development. I love to understand and identify with the characters. Through the characters, I find truth to my own life or realize I identify with them about things I never before knew about myself.

I'm not a plot reader. I'm a character reader. Fancy plots mean nothing to me without being able to identify with the person or people experiencing the action. Maybe I'm alone out there- I must be to some point because not many books are being written these days focused on the characters rather than the plot, but if anyone can recommend current fiction with amazing character development, I'd love to know about it.

Any way, back to the point. I just started an Elizabeth Gaskell book, Mary Barton, and as I was starting it I quickly noticed that the first chapter did not even introduce Mary, the main character, and not even until the fourth did she become a major character. It was about her parents, her mothers death, and the effect it had on her childhood and relationship to her father. Now, as I start to read about her life as a young adult, I have a much better idea of what she is thinking and how she will react to events that come her way.

Its all about the set up. Its all about the introduction to the story. The best story would be left bland and tasteless without drawing in the audience before complexities start.

The same with education. Controls and variables to experiments mean nothing to children who have never wondered about the world around them, and had that curiosity encouraged. Addition means nothing to a child who doesn't understand the power of being able use it in their world.

Its all about the set up.

Relationships too. With out actually taking the time to listen, to hear the background of the life that they're living, to crawl into the skin of a friend in an interesting situation, how could one ever identify and care?

Its all about the set up.

The Wall

Its covered with vines. There's no way to tell if they could hold my weight, but what option do I have? The slapping of rubber soles on the cement grows louder and louder. Taking a deep breath I jump up.

Its strange the things that run through your head in heat of the moment.

Concentrate.

Concentrate.

Think of where your foot can find a hold. Save your attention for looking for the thickest vine, not if you turned the coffee maker off. Its a hotel room. The maid will be in the room within an hour to turn it off any way. I suppose she'll also find... concentrate.

Concentrate.

You're almost there. These vines won't hold on much longer.

They've seen me. There's a shout. And another. They've found me. Two more feet. Just two more feet and I'll be up. A vine breaks out of my left hand, and the one my right foot is resting on too. I jump up with my left foot, grab the top of the wall with my left hand. I pull my body up and with out even looking what is on the other side, I jump. I land, well fall really, roll, and stand up.

Oh my....

What have I done?

I should have stayed on the other side and risked what the consequences would have been if caught.

I hear them chuckling on the other side. They know my mistake.

But maybe...




Okay. I've obviously been reading too many novels. :) But its the moment of making a crucial decision and the consequence of the decision made by the character of the story that draws us in, doesn't it? Maybe because a part inside of each of us wants to be in that place of having to choose the unknown and the excitement that is involved, but its so much easier to read about it than actually place ourselves in such a scary place, and have to live with whatever the consequences are once we've made that decision.

I have some very good friends who have taken that risk, just last Saturday. They're great friends and have always had my respect, but now they have raised a level in my mind. Now they are role models, examples to live my life like.

They sold their home, he left his job where he was well respected, where he had been given liberties to help grow the company, and where he was making enough that she, his wife, was able to comfortably stay home with their small son. Now they are somewhere between here (MN) and New York in a rental car going to meet their few boxes they shipped that are waiting at their one room apartment at the International House at Columbia University where they will live for two years while he gets his MBA. They have this crazy dream wrapped up in ambition and excitement that caused them to leave the comfortable life to possibly become something great. There's no guarantees that they will do great things as a result of this move, but they were sure they wouldn't do great things unless they did take an incredible step like this. Leaving all that's familiar to them- friends, family, the Midwest, income, to whatever might be on the other side of that wall.

Amazing.

I hope someday I'll have that kind of courage.