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

Author’s note:  I wrote this article in July of 2007.  I felt is is worth republishing again.  Enjoy!

Farming brings you close to creation. I pause when doing chores and listen to the creation speak about the wonders of God. Often I observe the animals and note profound lessons about my own humanity in the context of God’s majesty. For example, look at this picture of Marco.

We  separated him from his mother. We were trying to move him to a different paddock on the farm. Marco just wouldn’t cooperate. We decided we would have better luck with a halter. However, he had never been on a halter before. Marco did not want to budge. We desperately tried to lead him to the lush green pasture. As a farmer, I knew it was time for him to rely more on solid food, to grow and develop. But, Marco wanted his mother’s milk. He locked down with all the stubborn self will a Jersey steer can muster.

When I looked at this picture of Marco, I thought of my own stubborn self will. Christ often attempts to lead me to green pastures. He is encouraging me to grow and mature, but I lock down and won’t budge. I think the status quo is better. I don’t want change and I don’t want to be refined either. I lock down just like this stubborn Jersey steer. I can’t remain on milk forever. I need solid food.

Hebrews 5:13 Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. 14But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Fatigue taxed my ability to match her enthusiasm. Inwardly, I groaned at still another task to complete before bed. I promised my daughter knitting lessons for months now. I couldn’t put it off any longer.

Slip knots were made. Her hands imitated mine. Rows of stitches were cast on. My daughter’s enthusiasm built as she examined her  work.

“What’s next, Momma? I am ready for the next step”.

“The pattern calls for one row of knit stitches. The next row will be purl stitches, “ I responded.

I heave a sigh. The fatigue tempts me to put off the next step until tomorrow. I survey my daughter’s face. Her eager desire to move on was obvious. No. I must indulge her.

“Insert your right needle in this stitch. Wrap your yarn around this needle….”

I stopped and examined the position of the needles. “I have never noticed this before, “ I murmured.

“What is it mommy? What do you see?” asked Moriah.

I smiled and marveled.

“I see the cross, Moriah.”  I began to show my daughter how to find the cross with her knitting needles too.

She smiled broadly . “I see the cross too, Mommy.”
I couldn’t help myself. This simple act of knitting provided an amazing object lesson for my daughter that would impress great truths on her young mind, truths I instructed her to share with her own daughters when she teaches them to knit.

The lesson:

To complete this task your needles must make a cross with each stitch. The more frequently you see the cross the closer you are to completing your project. If you fail to see the cross, you may drop stitches resulting in a messy unusable final project.

Our lives are just like this project. Every day we must find the cross. The more we see the cross, the closer we are to the final project. Failure to see the cross leads to a disheveled life. In the end, our lives don’t serve the intended purpose: to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.

With each project you knit, think on these truths. Remember the cross, Moriah. Pray for those who will be using the gift you knit. Pray that they will see the meaning of the cross in their lives.

As the lesson ended, I noticed my fatigue had disappeared. What started out as just another demand on my time, turned into a revitalizing discussion that sustained me.

Dear God:

Thank you for the precious children you have given me. Thank you for showing me the cross as I teach seemingly mundane tasks. Help me to reflect on the meaning of the cross every step of the way so I can be a usable garment for you. Help my children and my children’s children to see the cross too. Amen.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

 I slipped upstairs hoping no one would notice.

There was no such luck. “But, Mom why are you going up stairs? You can use the self-composting toilet.”

I groaned. While I like the idea of saving water, I still struggle with the notion that I should really use it. It looks nice and all but can’t it just be home décor? It’s just….well…weird.

 Word spread quickly among the ranks that I had to go. They surrounded me begging and pleading for me to try out the new toilet. And…they all wanted to watch.

“No way,” says I. “ This party ain’t happening.”

I locked the door and became the first to use the self-composting toilet. Yes, I could hear the giggles and snickers through the door. The baby begged and pleaded to watch. It was a private moment filled with eccentricity. Instead of flushing, I sprinkled sawdust. The children used the new toilet later and their excitement has not waned.

After a week of using a self-composting toilet, I am pleased to report that there is no smell. However, it does appear that ample sawdust is needed to make sure there is no smell. I am delighted with this item.

We have a plain friend who operates a saw mill. We have access to plenty of sawdust. We plan to complete a composting bin and another toilet soon. Folks, this is an easy simple solution for homesteaders. Believe me, I was skeptical, grossed out, and mortified at the suggestion of actually using one. It is not easy to write about in a public arena either. After watching an on-line video about them, I became intrigued. The rest is history.  My trash can smells more than the toilet does. It is quite a dandy way to handle waste.

In one month, we have dropped our water bill from 80.00 to 30.00 roughly estimating with using a manual washing machine. I am anxious to see how much more we will save with a self-composting toilet. We still have more work to do, but I am happy to not have to pay the city for water and sewage. With a little creativity, work, and time, we have become responsible for taking waste and benefiting the soil rather than polluting and wasting water.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid