Lately, I greet early mornings and late nights with the same thing, stiff sore muscles all over my body. That is, I wake up in pain and I drop in bed with the same kind of agony. Most associate stiff and sore muscles with illness, injury or symptoms of death. Not me. These are symptoms of well being. I hurt because I have been sedentary the last two years. Truthfully, I have been sedentary all my life when it comes to the kind of work I have been doing recently.

After a long cold winter, I am gardening in the sunshine. We are putting in a half acre garden and it requires intense work. I am not just coming out of a literal winter season but a figurative winter. I have been on sabbatical from dairy farming for nearly two years while I relocated from Kansas to Missouri to flee from hardship involving domestic violence. During this time off, God rebuilt, restored, and transformed my life. Two significant events permanently altered who I am as a person and my direction as an agrarian woman. The first and most obvious is my recent marriage. God knew the desires of my heart. That is, I prayed to recover from aftermath of domestic violence. I also prayed to have a godly father for my children, a tender, understanding and compassionate companion who shared my love of cows, kids and stewarding the land for God’s glory. Finding a companion would not be easy for me. After all, I had 24 dairy cows and six children. I shoveled manure and milked cows twice a day, every day, in all kinds of weather for a living. My life’s vocation was none too appealing. Most men would view my bovine’s and children as baggage. I saw my prayer for a companion as unlikely. But, with God nothing is impossible. God knew there was one man who would not find my life‘s work unappealing. In fact, he saw the cows and children as a dowry, a rich inheritance. Ten months ago, we united our lives in marriage and have relocated to the family farm, a farm that has not been lived on since 1951.

The second event that impacted my life is our friendship with the plain people. Over the last year and a half we have fellowshipped and worked with them in a variety of circumstances. Recently we purchased two Belgian mares with our friend’s guidance. Mr. G. helped us talk to the owner and ensure a good purchase of the mares, the required tack and implements to get started. If this weren’t enough, he offered on site training with our team. Mr. G. has played an instrumental role in helping us succeed in our quest to live a simple life. During the last month, we have worked with Mr. and Mrs. G two to three times per week.

This apprenticeship is so much more than learning to work with our draft horses. It is an up close and personal look at successful plain and simple living. We have seen first hand that poly culture farms with reliance on draft animals works!! It is not just working for one family but many families (Specifically, 300-400 people. This does not include the many families that have moved from the area because of land unavailability. Many little communities are shooting up all over. When there is no land available, the plain people are moving twenty to thirty miles to start up a new community. It is important to note that our plain friends believe children are a rich heritage. On average our friends have 11-12 children. The families are growing, buying up all available land and relocating if land cannot be found.)

Draft horse farming is not old, outdated and impossible. We American’s have grown lazy, our appetites for leisure and ease caused the failure in farming. Our friends witness to us daily in many ways that the ease in my life is not ease at all. It is bondage and complication of the worst kind. Our time with the plain people caused us to re-examine all aspects of our lives. We have started to exchange some of the “convenience” items for a more honest stewardship of the time and resources. For example, we own a wood cook stove, a manual washer, Belgian mares, a walk behind plow, and other horse drawn implements. We have a long way to go to fully integrate these items, but we are well on our way.

While we do not ascribe to the same religious doctrines as the plain people, we do affirm the overall approach to God and life. We believe we as a society we live well above our means. We have a standard of living that feeds an insatiable appetite for more and more things while never reaching satisfaction. Our plain friends show us the joy of being satisfied with less. They show us the reality of families living out legacies. They show us the fulfillment of sweat of the brow work. There is a health and vitality in their lives that we long to have.

We are privileged to see several varieties of plain people in our area. Some use all draft animals and no small engines of any kind. Others use draft animals with some use of small engines and gas powered appliances. Those who use fossil fuels complain to us about having less resources and feel they are more financially burdened. Our friends who use manual labor and draft animals only have never complained about making ends meet. In fact, those who do not rely on fossil fuels to assist them are farming as their primary income. In the past, we have hired our plain friends to work for us building furniture. For example, we had a friend build us some benches for our kitchen table. He powers his wood working tools with horses attached to a treadmill. When I hired him, he told me that he could not complete the job until November as he was busy with farming. We hired another friend to build us a manual washer. Again we were told that the washer would not be complete until after farming season. It is clear that the plain people who do not use gasoline power are much freer to farm as their primary income. They regularly turn down non-farm work because they can. Our friends who use small engines and gasoline powered tools complain that they are unable to farm full time and have to have off-the-farm jobs to support their farming.

Our journey to live a simple life is not clearly defined. We will likely alter our course as we go. We are thankful for our friendship with the plain communities. They have strongly impressed their values and methods on us. I plan to share what we have learned as time permits. We understand it took years to foster a learned helplessness when it comes to basic living. Much has been forgotten. As we relearn what has been forgotten, it will take time. It will take embracing and coping with stiff sore muscles. I have been in agony before, but I have never felt so refreshed in spirit and mind. Sweat of the brow work is good for the soul, good for the soil, and good for the mind.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Author’s note:

I am republishing this article because a number of visitors are being pointed to my site related to the topic of domestic violence.  I have not written extensively on my experience with domestic violence because healing takes time. We endured a lot of pain.  I anticipate writing more specifics about our ordeal someday.  It would not be graphic details about what my abuser did to me, but what God did for me and my children in our deliverance.  There is life after abuse.  God set this captive free!!!  He blessed me with a new life with a tender, compassionate, and understanding husband who has played a key role in my healing and my children’s.   We are in the process of rebuilding a new life that is distinctive and joy filled.  Gone are the days where I wake up to screaming, shouting and demeaning comments.  They have been replaced with wonderful music composed by my husband. There is laughter and romance.  The joy in our home is real.  It is geninune.  No more hiding behind a fake smile or keeping secrets about rage.  God has restored my life out of the wasteplaces, out of the ashes and rubble. 

I remember the days when his voice would boom behind me. Accusations bounced from wall to wall about my inadequate capabilities. He ultimately concluded I was a worthless wife. He shouted his conclusion in front of all the children. Sometimes I would see the terror and fear in my children’s eyes. How far would daddy go this time? Would he throw mommy into the wall again? Or would he cover her mouth and nose with his hand to shut her up causing her to gasp for air? Perhaps he exhaust his rage on big brother with brutal blows where ever they would land? Maybe he would choke big brother again. We never knew what his rage would bring from moment to moment, from day to day.

It has been over two years since I heard the insults screamed at me. Two long years since I saw my oldest child pinned to the floor receiving blows to the head and face. Over twenty four months since I had to worry about what kind of mood he was in when he came home and how to prevent the inevitable release of rage. The day-to-day abuse ended. Let me give you a picture of what life was like the day the abuse stopped.

The first few months after I turned the to courts the war began. I aroused a sleeping dragon. He will not rest until his fiery breath of revenge has charred my life. Anyone who has lived with domestic violence knows it is a cardinal sin to put your foot down with a batterer. But, I had to do it. The violence grew worse. There were death threats, scars, broken bones, and the need for physical therapy to recover from injuries. So, I asked the civil courts to restrain him. The outcome of involving the civil courts resulted in dread and fear.

I dreaded checking the mail. Almost every day I received notification of legal action advancing with great force. He filed for divorce. Eventually, he sought custody of the children. Ultimately, this war meant I could lose everything. Walking to the mail box became a horrifying experience. My chest would tighten, my palms would sweat. I would open the letters and feel as though I had been dealt a new kind of blow. Before, I asked him to leave I took the abuse in person. Now he had a new tool: the legal system. I dreaded checking the mail. Yes, I dreaded answering the door. Throughout that year, police officers arrived often delivering me one subpoena after another for my appearance in court. There were over thirty court hearings when I stopped counting. This left little time to care for the children or the farm that year.  The result of the court process was dread, fear and horrific pain. The initial abuse was bad enough. The civil court experience felt worse then the abuse.

The abuse was private. It occurred in the confines of my home. The court action gave him an audience to which he delighted in. Now legal processes provided him with the opportunity to humiliate me publicly. Accusations flew faster than I could absorb. I was crazy. I feigned the abuse to make money off the internet. Along with this scheme I made up his battle with cancer too. I made up my step-dad’s death all for profit. The pain of mocking my dad’s untimely death cut through me like a knife. They would stop at nothing to terrorize me. Recently, I stood looking at his tombstone wishing that I had made it up and that he was still here. How could they stoop so low as to mock my dad’s death? My advocate told me not to take it personally, it was just the job for the criminal lawyer. They searched my background and went twelve to twenty years into the past when I was a fool and  an unbeliever and dredged up the skeletons in my closet. They paraded them around the court room, while I sat in horror. To this day, I pass the court houses and anxiety sweeps over me. The result of the criminal court trial was dread and fear.

Once the divorce was final and the criminal trial plea bargained away, I left the state of Kansas in search of refuge, restoration and healing. The mail slowed down and later stopped. But, it was replaced by emails from a legal representative of the judge.

Today, I live in fear most of the time. Will he find me? If he finds me, how far will he go? How deep is this pathos of battering? Will he kill me? Will he kill the kids? I live with economic hardship of having to pay for ongoing legal involvement. Can I afford to keep protecting my children? How high will the legal bill get before my youngest child turns eighteen? I have read countless stories of women like me who suffer for years because they were abused. Then they stop the abuse only to suffer continual attacks through the family court system. Some of them are in court protecting their children for fourteen  plus years.

A few months ago, I complained to a friend about the quality of my life. The fear is so real. The exhaustion is intense. How can I face tomorrow? Why are my children’s lives in the hands of courts? What will happen to them? Truthfully the quality of my life is not very good when I narrowly focus on what I described above. Which is worse? The abuse or living in constant dread and fear. Will I go bankrupt trying to ward off the battles he continually launches?

Victims of domestic violence face insurmountable barriers. Some women leave their violent partner multiple times only to return. It baffles police, judges, and other professionals. Those who do finally make the break live their lives heavily entrenched in litigation. Yet, the same professionals do very little to protect the women and children once they leave even when evidence is clear that child abuse occured. Courts often become the tools of batterers.  Custody battles become gruesome and financially devastating. The future for us looks dismal with this narrow focus.

Sunday, God broaden my focus. As I reflected on the past two years, I saw one triumph after another. Yes, I lived in anguish and fear. But, God delivered me from my oppressor. Sometimes He would not answer my cry until the absolute last minute after I had exhausted all my energy trying to solve the problem on my own. Why would an all powerful God, a God who can raise the dead, wait to save his people until they are nose to nose, face to face, with their enemy? It is in this moment that we recognize our helplessness, and that we can’t fight the enemy on our own. He arrives to save His people in the most uncanny way. Then there is no doubt that it is truly God who delivered His people.

My deliverance was exactly this way. Many times the answer to prayer was humanly unachievable, but God worked in providential ways to achieve it. For example, the judge allowed me sole legal custody which does not happen in our county anymore. In fact, my lawyer and the domestic violence advocate told me, “You won’t get sole legal custody. They just don’t award that anymore”. The judge gave me sole legal custody. The judge granted me permission to leave the state to get a fresh start. This too is an unusual ruling. Each step of the way God demonstrated the fulfillment of the promise “I will save your children” as found in Isaiah 49:25.

This Sunday at church we sang Bill Gaither’s song “Because He lives”. We sang it Sunday morning and Sunday evening. God really wanted to get my attention. It is easy to get caught up in the fear, terror, and assess that the quality of my life is poor.

As we sang this song, I reflected back over the past two years and I realized that God walked intimately with me through the darkness. He lifted me up and carried me when I could not stand. He came to my rescue sometimes waiting till I thought the enemy had gained victory over me.

Because He lives all the fear I face related to domestic violence is gone. Should I die, I will enter in God’s presence. So what effect will domestic violence have on my soul? NONE. Because he lives, I can face tomorrow. Everything that is happening to me now first passed through his hands.  He holds the future.  By knowing Christ and examining my suffering through a biblical perspective, I don’t have to dread anything. Even better, because I know He holds the future, there is not one thing to dread. Life is worth living because He lives.

Often times I forget Christ lives today. He is an active King who rules from the right hand of God. His reign affects our lives today. He providentially works in our lives for our good and His glory so that all people will know He is God.

The benefits of Christ’s resurrection doesn’t just apply to victims of domestic violence. We all have fear. We all have dread. Some nights we ache and wonder how we are going to face tomorrow. We wonder who is in charge of this mess we call life. The hope I have, the truth God spoke to me through this song isn’t just for me. It is for you too. There will be a final war with pain and there will be victory for those who belong to Him.  You can face tomorrow.  Life is worth living … because He lives!!!

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

The heat appeared, foreshadowing the summer days ahead. I notice the sunshine more than others because of my fair complexion. I rubbed the back of my neck and felt a slight stinging sensation. The heat was not so intense, but the sun’s rays punished my fair skin.

I took six children to the park without sunscreen for myself. The children spent the afternoon pelting each other with gooey moss extracted from the pond. Mostly they stayed in the shade. I tried to camp out under a tree to avoid the sun. However, as the day waxed on the sun moved and reddened the back of my neck. I was too engrossed in a great book to shimmy to the other side of the tree. The book was riveting, too hard to put down. Yet, the hot sensation prevailed on my neck warning me I had indulged too long. I gathered up my belongings, including my purse, and headed for the car. It was a borrowed car with one of those remote gizmos that unlocked the door, trun, and even sent out a panic signal. I punched the button to unlock the doors. Placing all my bags in the car, I pressed the lock button, or so I thought. Later I would learn I  pressed the unlock button instead.

The children were just as engrossed in their play as I was in my book. Several times I called them telling them it was time to go. Finally, they succumbed to the call and we all returned to the car. They were soaking wet and a little muddy. One child still had a patch of moss on his backside from the moss wars. It was then that I noticed some of my personal belongings on the ground. My vitamins, a sewing machine part, and the rock with a cross embedded in it. Those items came from my purse. I knew trouble had occurred when I saw it. Sure enough a thorough search of the car left me with a sickening conclusion. Someone watched me put my belongings in the car, watched me walk away, and stole my purse in a frantic manner. In haste they dumped some contents of my purse on the ground.

There is nothing so terrifying as having a purse stolen. I had all my identification in it, including the identification they tell you not to carry. I keep it with me because I am a victim of domestic violence. Identification is needed in a moments notice if we are under threat. My house keys, camera, 100.00 cash, my check book, and various other memorabilia were stolen. I quickly called the police reported my stolen purse and  called the bank to lock all my accounts. Thankfully, no one tried to use my credit or debit cards.

I drove around the corner and stopped at the bank. The teller remarked at my calm demeanor despite what I had just endured. She assessed, “You are in shock. It hasn’t hit you yet, the magnitude of what has happened.”

Indeed, a stranger would ascertain I was in shock. The truth is  in the rock with the cross that spilled out of my purse when the thief stole it. The rock was a gift to me from my domestic violence advocate. I remember the day she pressed it into my hand. She watched me testify in the criminal trial against my children’s father. In the past, I took tissue anticipating tears. Testifying was so difficult, I shredded the tissue leaving a pile of debris under the witness stand. My advocate affirmed I was a woman of faith when she pressed the stone in my hand. The cross in the stone was made up of multicolored gems. Each gem symbolized a character trait I needed to endure the pain of testifying. I held that stone in my hand each time I testified for comfort. That very stone laid on ground next to my car. That stone could tell stories of immense pain. But, it was a reminder to me of a different story, a story we often forget in the bible…

Through our relationship with Christ we can find hope even in the suffering. That thief deprived me of my belongings, my valuables and could have taken my entire savings. But, they could not steal my rock, my redeemer, my real treasure stored up in heaven.

So, was I in shock? No. It was uncomfortable, but it was nothing like what I faced in the past. Besides, I still have my rock and I have life, an abundant life.

John 10:10

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid