So you may wonder, what “The Messies Manual” has done for me. What great insights did I glean from this book? Brace yourself, dear readers. For I am prepared to tell you….
It has done nothing for me. Me, in all of my messy glory, misplaced the book. I have searched high and low and I cannot find it. Purchasing the book was a noble effort. When I find it, in my mess, I am sure it will be beneficial. That is, if I can find time to read it and the fifty other books I intended to read yesterday. I am logging off now to search more for this manual and sift through piles. The ritual is to sort through one pile to create a new and improved pile. How do you deal with clutter? Write in and share your tips.

P.S.  No Fly Lady suggestions please.  Remember, I am a milkmaid. I kill flies.  Just kidding.  I have heard of her, but never embraced the method.  Perhaps, I should try again.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

My family suffers from an identity crisis. We are agrarian country folks (AKA hicks) residing in town. Shortly, we will return to the farm. However, we still struggle when our country ways clash with city living. The children nearly revolted because I won’t give in to their desire to bring the country to town.

The children: But, mom why can’t we keep the cow in the back yard and milk her?

Me: Because there are ordinances against having livestock in town. Guys, we live on the main street in the middle of town.

The children: Well, we can build a privacy fence and no one will see our cow.

Me: What will you do when she starts mooing?

The children: We will explain that our dog moos.

Me: Sorry. Not happening.

The children: We declare war.

It is a good thing I took conflict resolution courses in college. I was able to establish a peace treaty with the midget terrorists and so far there has been no war. Instead, they have started planting crops in anything and everything. They have heard of Joel Salatin and his portable chicken pens. This lively crew offers a new twist to movable farming. The twins converted their super sized Tonka truck into a garden. They filled it with dirt and planted an onion and bean plant in it. It is a movable onion bed.

If you visit my home, you can’t miss the pots on the steps. Two containers have wheat growing in them. One has a watermelon plant and another has a kidney bean plant.

The culture shock is felt by all family members including our farm dog. Hank recently moved up in the world and became a house dog. We don’t have a fenced-in yard so until we get to the farm, we have decided to let him in the house. He is in for a rude awakening as he will return outdoors in a few months. Hank also enjoyed our rural life. He was a faithful dog and joined me when I ran the country roads. He loves his new status. However, he gets confused. When he sees me slip on my running shoes, he thinks it is time for us to go running. We spent many days running those country roads so he knows the routine. So, when I turned on the treadmill he was quite confused. He tried to join me as he always does. He slipped off the conveyor and we all had a good laugh. His loyalty to run with me supersedes his intelligence. That is, he has tried to run with me on the treadmill more than once.

It will be good to return to country living again. We have been working hard to prepare our site. In a few weeks we should be ready to be country bumpkins once again. Praise the Lord, for answered prayers.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

A precious little boy was born in Harrisonville last week. News came about his birth and subsequent problems in church last Sunday. Several infants are on our prayer list. One baby has a brain tumor and is undergoing chemotherapy. Another baby was born blind and is perhaps deaf. This little boy was about to be sent home when he went into cardiac arrest. After listening to the list of woes for these babies, I will admit, I wondered why? Why  such suffering for newborn babies?

I went home last week feeling morose not only for these parents but for the fallen world we live in that is so full of heartache. Many times I thought of these infants and my own children. I know how much I love them. Generally, I reconcile suffering fairly easily, but I could not understand why God would allow this kind of suffering for babies.

The little boy, it was discovered, had three chambered heart. His left ventricle was not there. The doctors were amazed he made it through birth. Generally, children with three chambered hearts don’t survive delivery. My heart ached for the parents who were told to take the baby home and expect his death. If he survived for two months, they may be able to do some kind of surgery …

All the high powered medical technology could give this couple no hope. The medical establishment could not save this precious baby boy. They were instructed to take their baby home and watch him die. Can you imagine being in their place?

My friends, the Roper’s know the pain of having a baby born with a three chambered heart. Their precious Josiah never took a first breath. Today, he is with Jesus. When the doctor’s say babies with three chambered hearts don’t live, I affirm it is true. I visited the Ropers shortly after Josiah passed away. I remember seeing the fresh mound of dirt where they buried their infant son. I visited the Ropers to offer them encouragement. Because Dave and Tonya are who they are, I left with them encouraging me. I learned that day that when we embrace the death and trials God gives us that they become tools for reaching people and encouraging them in their walk. Josiah’s brief time on this earth has reached more people for Christ then I have reached in my forty years of life because his parents embraced his death.

Long time readers of this blog may remember the article I featured on the Roper’s a few years ago. From the outpouring of love the Ropers received, I believe that Josiah story ministered to you as well as me. Readers from all over the nation wrote this family and expressed love in tangible forms and with words of encouragement.

But, what about this new little boy? What of his fate? I expected to arrive at church and learn of his death. Instead, a brother stood at the pulpit visibly moved.

“Remember the baby we were praying for last week, the one born with a three chambered heart. We just received word that his grandmother, a woman of faith, took to praying. Her prayer was this:

God if you can make the earth in six days and then rest. You can make this baby’s heart work. May your will be done.

The baby was examined this week again. His left ventricle is developing. No one can explain it. But, praise God for this unexplained act of mercy. “

Surely, the medical establishment does not know all there is to know about the human body. They in their expertise ruled this situation hopeless. They sent the baby home to die. We have learned time and time again that doctors do not know all there is to know and sometimes what they do know does us more harm then good. Please note: I said, “Sometimes”. There are times when we benefit. I, like many others, have turned to doctors hoping they would save me or correct my medical problem only to find they were powerless. My five year bout with infertility is one example. They could find no reason for my infertility. Yet, for five years I did not conceive. Finally, God allowed me to have a baby. I conceived after I gave up on using the help of a fertility specialist. Often we forget to turn to God asking Him to save us. I can not explain the heartache and suffering in this world. But, as a woman of faith, I can explain that when we chose to embrace suffering and even death from a biblical perspective, God uses that as a tool to enrich the lives of others. This does not mean their won’t be tears of pain.  But, it does mean our suffering has new meaning.  While we are in the middle of trials we can not always see the purpose, but if we expect there is good their possibilities are endless.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Today, was haircut day. The three boys and my sweetheart look pretty spiffy. Cutting hair at home saves a large family time and money. I learned to cut hair with the aid of a video I checked out from the local library. Course, there was lots of trial and error. The guys have always been good sports.

The advantage of becoming your own family’s barber stretches beyond saving time and money. For example, home hair cutting makes for great blog material. For instance, today we had a minor run in with the nose hair trimmer. Those cheap things from Wal-mart do not cut the nose hairs, they pluck. The reaction I got from my guy indicates plucking nose hairs or stray (in the wrong place at the wrong time) mustache hairs is more painful then plucking eyebrows. I know it is hard to imagine how the mustache hair got near the nose. But, believe me those things sometimes curl up like fly away hair. Combine a fly away hair with distraction and you are sure to hear a grown man shriek. My sweetheart let me finish the job despite the pain I inflicted up on him. Ah… true love!!

So, if you are considering the purchase of a deluxe nose trimmer, I suggest you save your money. It made a whole lot of noise. That is the gadget made ample noise, but so did the subject when he shrieked. Stick with scissors and lots of careful attention.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

For the last five years, friends predicted the economy would crash. Along with the economy, society would plunge into the depths of debauchery. When these proclamations were issued, I rolled my eyes. To me the economy was already bad and decadence was rampant. I have never placed much stock in doomsday prophecy. I was too busy, after all raising children and dealing with the day to day woes of domestic violence.

Some proposed the only way to survive the upcoming crash of humanity is to unite in like-minded community to mutually support and take care of our kindred man. The idea sounded appealing to me in theory. I even took steps to place myself in such a community. When this community failed, I began to examine what went wrong and why?

As I examined my farm life in Kansas, I couldn’t help but notice an already existing sense of community. This community was different than the contrived community. It was constructed, first by the providence of God. Second, it consisted of believers of every walk of life and every denomination. True, the economy on a national level had not collapsed, but the effects of debauchery were present in my personal life. There was an all out attack in a very real way on my life as I knew it. I was challenged to provide for my children under grueling circumstances and under concern for my personal safety. Granted this is not the same as a national attack. I believe what happened in my life is a microcosm of what could happen to us as a nation. The God who walked me through this personal crisis can use the same methods to walk all of his people through a national crisis.

Let’s return to the idea of joining together with like minded people for comfort and protection through dark times. The crisis I endured was a very real and traumatic assault that affected me spiritually, emotionally, and financially, and threatened my physical safety. All of these resemble the kinds of duress we may face as people in this nation. What did God do to help me through this attack?

First, God began working for my redemption years before the all out assault began. We need to remember He has already started working for our good before we even realized there was a crisis. This is the nature of God. He hasn’t hit the snooze button of life, waiting to hear our cry of despair. Indeed, He may be using these times to purge sin out of our lives, out of our nation, but He is still with us.

Second, God used a variety of means to deliver me. He used believers and non-believers. He used church authority and civil authority. He used people I knew and people I never knew and still don’t know. God is not restricted to just using like-minded people to save us. In fact, scripture shows in many situations how God used pagans like Cyrus to rescue His people. Indeed, there were people who did not know the Lord who played a role in helping my family in the darkest hour of need.

Third, no one person. No one solution brought me out of oppression. There is a reason I can’t attribute my freedom from tyranny to one person or one solution. As I review the past crisis, I affirm that it was God alone who set me free. Our God who begins working before we even realize we are in trouble set me free. God who rises above race, beliefs, justice systems and culture cared for me and my precious children. He worked through a variety of means and no one means in particular to emphasize it is God who delivers His people in their hour of need.

After arriving to Missouri, I found an “agrarian” community in dysfunction. This added to our woes as a family. Again, God acted in the same manner to free us from what could have been more chaos. He worked through a variety of people, from a variety of denominations to aid my family. I don’t believe this pattern should be ignored. After all, it happened twice that God created a community around the farm. All we did was be faithful to our calling to farm. Another interesting component of this natural occurring community is that it was mutually beneficial. These people did not just aid my family, but we aided them. That, my friends, is real community.

Assembling ourselves in close proximity to only like-minded people could makes us easy targets of a tyrannical system. The more we identify ourselves as belonging to this group or that, the more we can be targeted. This does not negate the need to identify with God’s people, the Church that Jesus is building. But our unity and identity should be in Christ, not in narrow agendas. The powers that be could profile us (in our narrow agendas and groups) much like racial profiling. The bulletin sent out by Missouri police identifying homeschoolers and Ron Paul supporters as domestic terrorists provides a perfect example. It makes sense to me to have an informal network composed of a diverse peoples placed throughout to assist others in times of trouble.

To live a genuine Christian life, to share the gospel, and “to aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands” (1 Thessalonians 4:11 ESV) are good and right ways to prepare for these uncertain times. Further, we should be faithful and fruitful with the work God has given us. Remember, God began his work of sanctifying us through these uncertain times, and ultimately being our Redeemer from them, long before we ever realized they were uncertain. Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and He will take care of the rest.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

There have been many occasions where the laundry was hung to dry and it rained. The rain water makes the clothes softer, so I don’t mind too much. When we get to the land, I have every intention of expanding our laundry line. We need a bigger line to hang the wash since we do laundry once per week. Our experience manually washing is good. We have adjusted to it, like we have adjusted to the heat.

There have been woes with manual washing. The children tried to run a large quilt through the wringer and the wringer broke off at the bolt. This happened not once but three times. One time we were in the middle of really dirty laundry. We were scheduled to be out of town the next several days too. I took the laundry to the laundry mat and paid a high price to wash and dry the clothes. After a few months of manual washing, I had doubts that we were really getting our clothes clean. The trip to the laundry mat wiped out that doubt. I was appalled when I saw how dirty our clothes were when they came out of the front load washers. They literally had dirt still crusted on them. This was not heavy soil, just your average drip on the front of a child’s shirt. I am now convinced manual washing does get clothes cleaner. After three repairs, we finally found a way to strengthen the bolt connections and have not had another breakdown.

The children are primarily responsible for washing the clothes. Occasionally, they are not as careful as they should be. They catch clothing on the lip of the wringer and wring away tearing clothes. Buttons do seem to weaken too. I have had a few pop off my dresses requiring me to sew on new ones.

Another side benefit to the manual washer is occupational therapy. Yes, you heard that right. Zech suffers from neurological and developmental delays. His occupational therapist recommended heavy manual labor. The pressure of running clothes through the wringer is excellent stimulation for Zech. It is like he comes alive after he does wash. Of course, I do have to deal with the groaning that sometimes accompanies the announcement that it is time to do laundry. However, at the end of the task, Zech is alert and focused. Once we get to the farm, Zech will thrive with heaving lifting and hauling. Once again, the occupational therapist demonstrated how beneficial farm work or manual labor is for children. She actually recommended that we have Zech run the wringer multiple times per day. Zech was nearly cheering when I told her we only wash once a week.

Using the manual washer will prove to be more challenging during the winter months. We are in the midst of getting set up on the farm. I will not have the opportunity to install my wood cook stove for several more months. It is likely that it won’t be installed until next spring or summer. My goal was to set up room off the house where I could install indoor laundry lines and have access to the wood heat to dry clothes. I will need to be flexible and creative. This is a common skill for any aspiring homesteader. I understand that wearing latex gloves helps reduce the discomfort of wet cold hands when hanging clothes outside. I will be sure and keep readers posted on what works and what doesn‘t. I am once again thankful for my plain friends who are willing to teach me these handy tips. They are also a great encouragement as I experiment with simple living.

Look forward to more updates on our return to farming in the coming months. We have another short transition before we will be completely off-the-grid. However, I will at least be on the land and ready to get a few layers and milk one of the girls while we get the house set up for off-the grid living. I am still uncertain if I will return to milking cows for a dairy business. We are praying as a family and seeking God’s will for us in this area. If we milk cows and sell the milk we could easily operate the dual bucket milk machine from a solar panel system. There is much to consider and evaluate. As we consider all of our options and dreams, we realize that we are subject to God’s will for our lives. Right now it is not clear what direction we should go except to have one of the ladies available for our own family’s needs.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

The exploits of boyhood continue in my home. Joseph and Zechariah reunited this weekend for fun filled adventures. It doesn’t matter where we are or what we are doing those two can transform anything dull into intrigue. I would be remiss to forget the seven year old boys. Yes, there are two more boys, the twins. So, when Zech and Joe begin their antics. The seven year-olds go through a time warp and assume they are of equivalent maturation. There is never a dull moment with two eleven year-olds and two seven year-olds who think they are eleven.

Our vehicle woes continue so we took to walking while repairs were made. Huck and Tom Zech and Joe commenced to collecting. Have you ever seen an eleven year old boys collection? Let’s just put it this way. I have been dejunking our home and the collection resembled the low primordial form of junk. The joy and delight in their expression created a conflictual knot in my stomach. On one hand, I wanted to order them not to cart the junk around. After all, I had just spent the last week chucking unwanted items. On the other hand, I enjoyed seeing how they morphed trash to treasure. It requires a unique creative perspective to see value in junk. This kind of resourcefulness channeled in a productive direction makes for well rounded agrarian men. Nurturing this behavior has practical benefits. Moreover, with proper guidance they can broadly apply the skill of seeing value in the valueless to life in general. This attribute makes for well rounded Christian men.

Christ, in His walk on earth turned to those labeled worthless. He was ridiculed for spending time with sinners. Clearly, He saw value in what the religious elite saw as valueless.  Scripture tells us in 1 Corinthians 12:22:

On the contrary, the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable,

Life is filled with disappointment and often broken dreams. Examining pieces and parts and seeing how they fit into the whole is a much needed skill for any Christian. We are also called to “rejoice in the Lord always; again I say rejoice.  (Philippians 4:4) In order to rejoice in disappointment and brokenness, we need to be able to see the value in what appears valueless. Again, this seemingly annoying habit of picking up debris can be transformed into a vital life skill.

At the end of our walk, the junk collectors filled my purse with various debris. The ultimate prize was a four foot snake skin. It did NOT go in my purse. Yes, I groaned when I got to church this Sunday and had to sift through the boys collection. Yet, I paused and reflected on the truths found in children’s play. May we all look today on the broken bits and pieces and find treasure.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid.

He raised the hood and backed away quickly to avoid the hot liquid spewing from the engine. Dread washed over me. We were thirty minutes from home. Stranded. I have been in this position before and recently. I have great disdain for being stranded with five young children. Not many people who enjoy these circumstances.

My friend examined the situation and determined he should walk to the next town one mile away and get water for the radiator. I bid him farewell and opened all the windows to enhance the breeze. It was a hot day, typical for August. Semi trucks passed failing to move over rocking the vehicle viciously. I prayed for our safety, for my friend’s safety as he walked the highway to get aid. Specifically, I prayed for someone to help him so he wouldn’t have to walk two miles in the heat and on a busy highway.
Heaving a sigh, I removed the bookmark from my novel. There was nothing I could do, but wait. Sure, I was annoyed, but would entertaining and spirit of complaints and frustration help me pass forty five minutes productively? The children returned to playing, occasionally bickering because it was hot.

I wrote the time in my journal as displayed on my cell phone. If my companion failed to return after an hour, I would be prepared to call for help. So, there we sat on a busy highway, stranded, in the heat of August, alone and not knowing how we would be rescued. All we could do is sit and wait.

God has called me to endure many fearful circumstances with the children where all I can do is sit and wait on the Lord. This would be no different. Each time a semi truck passed rocking the vehicle, I was reminded of the danger we faced on the side of the road. Instead of focusing on fear, I prayed and I buried my anxious thoughts in the novel.

“Guess who’s back”, shouted one of the children. I looked behind the vehicle and saw a minivan with my friend. He jumped out saying , “God sent an angel to help me. I have water for the vehicle and water for us to drink.” He filled the radiator full of water and we began our journey again. We sang the doxology because we were aware God blessed us by getting us off that highway.

Our troubles were not over though. A few miles later, we pulled into a gas station to check the status of the engine. My friend lifted the hood. The hot fluid again spewed all over the engine. This time it looked like it vomited a frothy oil and water mixture. All evidence emphasized the reality that our engine had blown a head gasket. Our problem was not solved. Now we were an hour away from home, the vehicle could go no farther.  My friend contacted local pastors to gather this bad news. There were no rental car agencies anywhere nearby. To make matters worse, the mechanics shops had just closed for the day. All of our friends were an hour or two a way. He found some leads on getting on getting a ride home. Yet, there was a bigger problem. There was not room for all of us to go back home. We would have to sit and wait again. My friend had another van to transport us at home.  My five children and I would be stranded in a strange town for two hours …  waiting.

We walked to a nearby Wal-Mart, picked up a few doodle books for the children and sat in the food court to pass the time away. Two hours later, my friend returned to take us home. The difficult situation had ended. First we were stranded on a dangerous highway. Then we were stranded in a strange town. At first, it appeared there would be no way to get home.

The solution to our problem was to step out in faith by walking a long hot walk. Prayers were answered and the walk was shortened. God sent someone to lighten the burden of my friend and provide water for us and the vehicle.

Next, we sought out believers we did not know who helped us get home. We stepped out in faith to call and ask around. God provided for our needs. All I could do was sit with the children and wait as the situation unfolded. My job was to sit and wait upon the Lord with peace and without giving way to fear.

Being stranded taught me a lot about God. Sometimes we find ourselves in frightening situations. There seems to be no way out. Yet, we are required to take small steps of faith and God provides the rest. Sometimes there is nothing we can do but wait. While we wait for the Lord to hear our cries, we must occupy ourselves. We can occupy ourselves with a complaining spirit filled with fear and fretting. Or we can pass the time being at peace relying on God with confidence.

If God lovingly cared for me and the children when our vehicle broke down, I am confident He will care for us in more terrifying circumstances. My ambition is to wait upon the Lord with peace and patience.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid