Promises, promises...

A home inspection on a New England colonial built in 1832 can turn up some very interesting things. Take for instance, an abandoned--ahem, an OLD, abandoned toilet in the dirt-floor basement. Our inspector advised us to not use it. Don't have to tell us twice.

And then there's the main structural beam that needs some help. Not because of moisture or termites, but simply because of age. Or the dryer that vents directly into the laundry room and not the great outdoors. Or the 6 1/2 foot ceilings upstairs. Or the clogged sink drain. Or the electrical outlets not up to code. Or the bad caulk job in the bathroom.

But do you know what it does have?

For us?

Promise.

I'm not talking about flipping the house. As crazy as it sounds, we aren't solely sold on the real estate potential. We're sold on the promise of a home. We're sold on the promise that God can provide for all our needs.

When we started this crazy Arkansas experiment, one of our greatest hopes was that we might actually save enough bank to buy a house in the Boston area. That hope became an unspoken dream, which quickly became a pipe dream. I even became embarrassed that I had thought it possible.

Then this happened.

Not two weeks ago, B.daddy sent me a link to a house. He's done this a number of times, and every time I've said, "Yeah. Nice. But what do you want for dinner?" This time, I saw it. My immediate response: "This might be perfect." I realize perfect is a relative term, especially since I was sitting in a very luxurious, southern home at the time. This house could not be more dramatically juxtaposed to another house. But perfect it is.

When we left Boston in February, I started praying for our future home. I prayed for an extra bedroom...it has it. I prayed for an extra space for schooling...it has it. I prayed for a deck and a backyard...check. I prayed for a laundry room on the main living floor...yep. (Didn't think to pray about the venting. *wink*) My list of specific requests was daringly long, and God has provided every single thing in this old, quirky house. All of that and it's less than $300k! Needless to say, we love it!

This has been one refining process. Let me tell ya'. Apparently I have some trust issues. And, apparently, I'm kind of prone to freaking out when I can't control the outcome of things. It took 48 hours to get our offer signed, and I've never prayed so hard and continually in my life excepting childbirth. And I've never cried so hysterically in all my life as when I thought we were going to lose it.

So, our offer has indeed been signed, and obviously we've had our inspection done. In Mass you have to go through another step before closing. It's kind of a big deal. It's the Purchase and Sale Agreement, and we aren't supposed to fall in love with the house until that is signed. Too late for that.

But you know what? We're all in. Feet first. I'm trusting that this can happen.

My Love Language

Things are still going well for our little family in the big AR. We are staying very busy with people, activities, classes, museums, swimming, etc.

(Just one of our little activities.)

But mostly it's people we're after. Arkansas is jam-packed with people we love and who have loved us for a very long time. So we are spending as much time as we can visiting all of them. And so many we haven't even gotten to yet!

B.daddy's work schedule is supposed to let up a little bit in the coming months, so we are hopeful we will get to everyone before we have to leave.

(My view while visiting old friends.)

Recently on one lucky Sunday, we got to spend time with two of our favorite families. And what do I do when I'm with people I love? I feed them. Yes, food is definitely my primary love language. It is quite hard for me to think of anything more joyful than meeting this basic need in the pit of their bellies. Since we're all in the South, and embracing every aspect of it, I made Gumbo. I'm not a gumbo veteran by any means. But I cannot follow a recipe to save my life. Let me rephrase that. I can follow a recipe to a T; I just don't want to. I have a hard time sticking to the rules. I always think it needs a little more of this or that. And it seemed to need tomatoes. So I added those. :)

So, enjoy the recipe if you want to give it a try. And if not, invite us over and I'll make it for you!

Lotsa' Gumbo

2/3 cup vegetable oil

2/3 cup all-purpose flour

2 lbs. cooked and shredded chicken

1 lb. smoked sausage, sliced

1 lb. cooked, peeled shrimp

2 14 oz. cans chicken broth

3 cans diced tomatoes

1 large onion, chopped

1 large green pepper, chopped

4 stalks celery, chopped

1/4 cup vegetable oil

6 cloves garlic, minced

1 tsp. ground red pepper

1 tsp. ground white pepper

1 tsp. dried thyme

2 tsp. gumbo file

1 tsp. ground black pepper

1 bay leaf

salt to taste

1~Combine 2/3 cup oil and flour in small skillet; cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, 15 minutes or until roux is caramel colored. Remove from heat. Can chill for up to 24 hours.

2~In a Dutch oven, sautee chopped veggies in oil until tender. Add garlic and all seasonings; cook for about 5 more minutes.

3~Add roux, broth, tomatoes, sausage, and chicken to the Dutch oven. Stir well until blended.

4~Bring to a boil; reduce heat, and simmer 1 hour.

5~Add shrimp 5 minutes before time to serve and heat through.

6~Serve over hot rice with a bottle of Tabasco at the table. :)

Teach Me Some Melodious Sonnet

Today is the first full day away from Babydaddy after one full week of him working from home. And I just want to cry. Not a big, boo-hoo, wail fest. I think I just need a little something to push those brimming tears over the edge.

I know we're doing the right thing; I know we're on the right track. But I miss my Man.

However, I know I need to learn and practice a few things while he is not here--while I can't use him as a crutch. Yes, my husband is my shield. He protects me; he tends the garden of my soul. But I have some responsibility for that soil as well. This is soil that I have been all too eager to leave in anyone else's hands but my own. Even if those hands wounded me.

(He to rescue me from danger...)

This, literally, was the first thing that attracted me to my husband: I was freshly eighteen. I looked into those 26-year-old eyes-which seemed so old at the time-while I tried desperately to flirt with an unwilling partner. And I saw it.

I can trust him.

He will never lie to me.

He will never betray me.

He won't even flirt with me.

Even in my weakest moments, he will not use me.

And from that moment on, I never let him out of my sight.

Love at first sight. I didn't even know it, but I knew it.

Oh, how naive that sounds to a woman who has been betrayed! Oh, how I know. Though the pain was second-hand, I learned. I grew up loving a betrayed woman with every single ounce of my being. The type of love you can't muster up. The type of love you can't get rid of. I was everything I could be to comfort her, and she was everything she could be to comfort me. As much as I fight it, my planets still want to orbit around her...

But every time Ladybug sees the sun setting or rising she exclaims, "I found God! There's God! D'you see him?" And there is my ever present reminder. He is my Sun. I orbit around him. He gives me life. Every single, new day.

Not my mother who let her body be cut open a fourth time to let me live, and has loved me through a big bunch of crap. Not my husband who finally gave in to a silly, boy-crazy girl, and has loved me into so much more than myself.

My Father is the source of all life and light. I orbit around him. And within this orbit I will find...eventually...what it is I am supposed to learn. A tiny bit today, a whole lot more to come.

Outside of his orbit I would die. I pray, earnestly, he does not allow me to wander out there.

"Prone to wander, Lord I feel it,

Prone to leave the God I love;

Here's my heart, O take and seal it,

Seal it for Thy courts above."