I am a conspiracy theorist.  Living this way requires a good dose of pessimistic paranoia. Oh don’t get me wrong, I am not your average conspiracy theorist.  I don’t immerse myself in the hype of trying to figure out who is really behind the 9-11 bombings.  The notion that Marilyn Monroe was murdered to cover up presidential impropriety doesn’t move me either. True, the economic crisis concerns me, the creation of a new world order bugs me, having a president with the name Obama … don’t get me started. No, I am not talking about the fact that the government records all my cell phone conversations for the purpose of home land security. I am not talking about THAT kind of conspiracy.

The focus of my suspicion does not lie with people of power in the government or the lives of the rich and famous.  I am concerned with something way more dangerous.   The real problem lies within a deeply personal sphere.

I am talking about the little people in my home that are four feet and under.  They have radars.  They know everything.  And, I can no longer speak in code.  Why?  They figure it out. They have been eating farm fresh eggs with intellect boosting omega three fatty acids.  And, I lived most of my life eating industrially produced foods.  They have an inherent advantage.  What is worse, I can no longer spell out key words in conversations for privacy either.  The midget terrorists are home schooled.  Once, I tried to leave the house with the younger children unaware.  I spelled out the escape route and strategy to my eighteen year old.  The four-year-old seemed unaware playing with horses in the middle of the living room.  I thought the coast was clear until …

“Guys…mommy just spelled distract them.  She is leaving.”

The mob barricaded the door and the eight year old lectured me.  “Distract is spelled d-i-s-t-r-a-c-t.  It is not d-e-s-t-r-a-c-t.”  They are home schooled. I am public schooled.  They have another clear advantage. Conspiracies are never good when they involve just one party.  There are always co-conspirators.  My bovines join in the fun.  They know things no animal should know.  I realize God created cows with amazing instinct.  But, I didn’t think it included super sonic hearing or visual powers.  They know I am going out too.  They even know that I have ditched the chore clothes and donned a dress.

I force my way past the mob, prying hands off of me, and make a clean exit.  Upon entering the vehicle, I find a cow munching contentedly on…shrubbery?  I exit the vehicle and walk over to the escapee that appears mellow and lethargic as she takes a step away.  When I get closer she becomes possessed, kicks her heels in the air, and puts on a rodeo like display.  To make matters worse, she finishes frolicking right in the muddy part of the yard.   She appears to be smiling at me. It is a bovine revolt.  I never win these.  I defer to my oldest who outwits them every time.

Often I write about my constant battles with technology.  My presence will fry most electronic gadgets.  Items do not malfunction one at a time in my life.  They usually occur in groups.  Usually I jest that Murphy is out to get me.  You know, Murphy’s Law.  It is just another conspiracy.  Murphy and I have been having an ongoing battle lately.  My old blog crashed.  Nothing could save it.  I struggled to set up shop at Kansasmilkmaid.com.  I am no computer whiz.  After two posts, my personal computer breaks down.  Ironically, my last article was entitled “Finding fulfillment in frustration.” Now, I am suspicious.  Murphy is mocking me.

Is Murphy really mocking me?  Are the children really co-conspiring with the cows to keep me from moments of peaceful solitude?  And, what about this pessimistic paranoia anyway? Is it a productive way to lead life? Perhaps there is another explanation.

Sure the kids have radars and the cows have supersonic hearing.  But, God knows my innermost being.  He orchestrates complications to purge me of my sinful ways.  Getting out the door for alone time requires grace, mercy and most of all humor.  Overcoming challenges with the computer requires patience.  Dealing with escapee cows demands surrender.  God knew I wrote words encouraging others to find fulfillment in frustration.  It is the same God who lovingly gives me opportunity to consistently live out what I believe.  If I I fail, he offers me an ocean of mercy when I repent.

Dear God:
I place my frustrations at your feet.  I acknowledge you are sovereign.  You preside over all the circumstances in my life.  You know just what kind of frustrations I need to become more like Christ.  Help me to celebrate “conspiracies” knowing nothing happens to me except what you allow to pass through your hands.  Forgive me for the times when I respond to foiled plans from a fleshly perspective.  Amen.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

I am a momma of identical twins. They are full of energy, drive, and stamina. There is never a dull moment. The quiet moments are few and far between too. I suppose that is why I treasure dropping into bed after the kiddos are asleep and curling up with a good book. My days have been full lately and sleep lays claim to me before I finish the first paragraph of chapter one. In fact, I have been in the first paragraph of chapter one for three weeks now.

My last waking thought usually includes a groggy prayer, “Lord Jesus….zzzzz…umph…could ja hear my plea and let me get some extra zzz’s. Let them sleep in tomorrow.”

Every morning it is the same. I raise one heavy eye-lid and see a bright-eyed exuberant yet slightly out of focused six year-old. I moan, “Go back to bed. The sun is just barely up”. Giggles fill the room. I raise my other eyelid praying it is just a dream. Ratz. I see the same thing. And there are two of them no less. The twins are up and it is no use. The routine is the same. They get on my bed and I find myself nose to nose eyeball to eyeball with a dimple faced little boy or two who whispers loudly, “Mommy, I need breakfast.”

I try to encourage them to go back to bed because the alarm hasn’t gone off yet. “Why do you insist on getting up so early?” The response is always the same. “We are farmers. We milk cows.” I remind them we are taking a sabbatical from milking to no avail.

This morning, the routine was the same. I heard the whisper and the giggles but instead of feeling a child’s soft face, I turned and knocked my head into a hard object. I found myself nose to nose with a book. “Oh guys, come on. Please go back to bed. We have an hour before the alarm goes off.”

Josiah said, “Mommy, read this to me.” Josiah held out his new bible. He asked for a bible and a cross for Christmas. I found a bible with a cross engraved on it. He was delighted. Irritation melted away as realized the kind of breakfast Josiah requested.

The twins wake me daily with their nose to nose, eyeball to eyeball requests for breakfast. This morning, I paused realizing they taught me a profound lesson. I should rise early seeking an up close and personal encounter with my Abba Father. Oh that I could beg for Him to feed me breakfast of His word.

Dear Lord:

Thank you for being a parent who is always awake and ready to feed me breakfast. I am grateful you never sleep or grow weary of taking care of me. Help me Lord to crave your word. Thank for the lessons from the mouths of babes! Amen

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Skittish, I tentatively reach for the supple, but plump milk-filled teat. The cow’s tail slaps me in the face. I flinch and reach for the swollen teat again.

“Whoa girl, Whoa. I am not going to hurt you. “

Underneath the belly of the cow, I catch a view of the newborn calf. The wobbly fawn-like creature decides to challenge me to an unusual duel. We both want fresh milk.

Who will get it first?

Who will get the most?

This creature mocks me as she slurps the teat into her mouth unscathed from hoof or a stinging tail.

Not to be outdone, I reach for the teat again. Though the calf takes a good deal of my bounty, she offers a gift. She tames her mother.

The edgy cow heaves a sigh and rhythmically chews her cud. The swishing of milk in the pail and the slurping are the only sounds in the barn. Another heifer becomes a good old milk cow today.

Completing a mundane task like milking a cow comes loaded with barriers, frustrations, and yes, even fears. One blow delivered to the wrong place could mean injury or even death.

Some folks might look at this scenario, the task of milking a heifer for the first time, and toss their hands up in the air. Many times I have looked at tasks before me in life wanting to quit. It was too frustrating. At every turn defeat appeared. I know what it is like to face frustration so intense that all hope seemed lost.

Yet, take this situation. Review it with me again from a different perspective. Opportunity, hope and solutions are tucked inside each struggle. Getting kicked and slapped by a cow is bad. Having a calf walk in and hoard most of the milk is worse. But finding triumph in this situation meant nothing more than changing my perspective. True the calf was a thief, another frustration or sign of defeat. I mean, I needed milk, an abundance of milk for my children and I.

But wait a minute! Was this calf really a thief? Her presence calmed the mother and saved me bodily injury. We completed the milk session without further incident. I found myself enjoying the presence of this frisky little creature. The mother cow lowed to the calf and the peace and still in the barn melted away my tension. What started out as defeat transformed into victory. The only thing that changed was my perspective/looking at the situation seeking the blessing.

Dear Lord,

Help me to embrace frustrations today and everyday believing your word that trials are good for me. Sustain me, O Lord, for I am a quitter by nature. I want to give up, grumble, and complain when things aren’t easy. I do believe, I can do all things through you who strengthens me. Forgive me for not seeing the blessings in the frustrations. Amen

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Welcome to the Kansas Milkmaid’s virtual homestead.  I am in the process of moving from my old site.  Lots of remodeling is taking place.  Please check back often for updates. 

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid