Our first full day in South Dakota means our first full day of people watching and trying to figure out whether we could possibly survive in the Midwest.

It is Sunday, so we went to church. There is no Anglican parish in this state, so we attended St. Thomas More Catholic Church, which seemed appropriate, as he is the patron saint of adopted children.

The message was on Jesus, who told his disciples to take nothing but a walking stick on their evangelistic journeys. He was not a passionate speaker, but he did say something important: Be faithful in your daily family devotions. Do not neglect them. The prayers of the people centered around rain for crops and a good harvest, as well as health for the people of Brookings.

Our conversation with the priest after mass was refreshing.

Brandon: We are traveling and found no Anglican churches, so we decided to come to mass here.

Priest: (without emotion) There is a Lutheran church in town.

Brandon: We thought this church might be more our speed.

Priest: (without emotion) What brings you to Brookings?

Brandon: We are considering moving here, and so we are in town for a few days to feel it out.

Priest: I hear it’s very hard to find housing here.

This priest is a realist, a non-evangelist, quite comfortable with his congregation as it is. He is, in fact, happy with his congregation. He isn’t trying to get another family to join. This isn’t part of my advertisement-based California paradigm! This is the Midwest. It feels freeing and non-pushy. Likely, in reality, this priest understood that he would likely never see us again, we don’t need to be saved, we are obviously fine, and so he doesn’t need to spend time on us. Boom. Efficient. Done. Love it!

We got into the car and Judah piped up: I can’t believe I just sat in church with corn farmers! FINALLY!

Who knew this is what he has been waiting for his entire life? His soul is incredibly happy here. He has begged us to move here from the moment we set eyes on South Dakota many years ago. His little three-year-old heart has remembered this land for 10 years, and now that moving here is within the realm of possibility, he is joyful in a way I have not seen before.

We have some time to kill here. What that means is that we have several days to kill here. We all had ideas about what to do first. The kids wanted to go in the stream. Brandon wanted to find out where we could get the battery on the Suburban fixed. I wanted to listen to my audio book and pretend I had already moved. Brandon ended up taking a nap, the kids came back entirely muddy, and I made a necklace out of a rock from Bryce Canyon. I think we all needed that time to be free for a second after such closeness over the past week!

Brookings has an art festival every year. Rumor has it, this festival is as old as I am, or almost as old, and we could not miss it. I would say that it was all the booths one wants without the lame gadget barkers. Nobody was making smoothies in a special kitchen blender, nobody was trying to convince you that you need a mop to make your life complete, nobody was even offering massages in a chair the size of Mt. Rushmore! it was a fair populated by people who made things, and that was all. At least, that I saw.

Judah found an antique booth where he bought an enormous transformer for Atticus, and they boys each found a wooden sword. Atticus played on the playground with the mass of kids, and I went to find my friend who I discovered was hosting a booth representing her native people. Introverted people like me appreciate discovering a calm, joyful soul in a far-off land. Then the realization: If we move here, we will know a family close by, and a creative friend who makes beautiful items.

Nighttime comes late here. The sun is still up at 9:00 at night, and so there is a lot of time to think it is day when it is not. A night-owl’s dream. Tonight we read and rested. There is no stress right now. There are beautiful bugs and creatures, fireflies, rabbits, and an orchestra of bird and bug sounds.

This is a good place to sleep outside.

Well, we dod start by 6:30. Today is a driving day. Driving days rarely bring adventures. However, they are the days when we rest, read, and see the earth change before our eyes. Sunshine slipped Scoobie Doo into the shopping cart on a supply run, so There was that, too.

Our way took us through Escalante. Way back when, before we were married, Brandon and I and my dad went on a backpacking trip along the Escalante River, and up onto the mesa above.

This is rough wilderness. The air and ground are dry here, and the only water once away from the river comes from spring- and well-fed stock tanks. When we backpacked here, we had to trek through washes and down into tiny canyons, hoping we could find footing to scramble back up the other side. Then we came to a slot in the land that was impassable. We expected to find water at the bottom of that slot, but could not see a way out of it if we got down into it. Back across the desert we trekked, out of water, and knowing that the water we would find next was cow slobber water. No amount of filtering it can get that realization out if your head.

We remembered a road that crossed a ridge, the land falling sharply away one thousand feet on either side (Do you remember that, Dad?), and we found that road again. I guess it should be harrowing to drive, but it may be my favorite road in America.

There was a little, hippy roadside cafe with actually healthy food! So we stopped for breakfast we are starting to look a bit like weird-os after living outside for several days, but we fit right in there!

Several fun things happened after breakfast. First, we saw cows in the road. They appeared to be quite comfortable just hanging out right there where anyone could drive into them! They were all kinds of adorable!

Sunshine wanted a picture of the sunflowers. Yes, those are mating grasshoppers. Scandalous!

We passed Capitol Reef and Grand Junction, and finally the Rockies!

We stayed at a hotel last night. There are three reasons for this. First, we got in late at night and didn’t want to find a campsite. Second, there was a dust storm that made it hard to breathe. Third, a severe thunder storm and tornado watch followed the dust storm, and while fewer mouths to feed would be cheaper, we thought it prudent to preserve the lives of our children. After all, they do 4/6ths of the tasks in setting up and packing away camp. It’s a lot of work to do this without them. The car would be much quieter, and the trip much cheaper, though…hmmmm…there will be other severe storms to reconsider this decision.

North Platte is CUTE. Like sticky cute cute. The cutest part is that they are not even trying. Today was a continuation of their summer car festival, and they took this festival very seriously. I was marveling in how adorable their little Main Street was when Kiara piped up, “Our Cruising Grand has way better cars than these!”

Well, this is true. Popi said, “We have a lot more people where we live, and so more cars to choose from.”

Here’s the thing. We DO have way better cars. Everything in California is bigger and better. If it is not, we figure out a way to make it bigger and better. Because bigger and better is, well, better, isn’t it? Everything we do is aimed at living better within our means, enduring crazy poverty because we have bigger and better weather, getting out kids to do bigger and better things, etcetera (because that’s a bigger and better word than the abbreviation). We were all kind of quiet for a second.

It began to hit me. “I think we are very used to bigger and better, Kiara, and the problem is that when we say ‘better,’ we don’t mean ‘better.’ Instead, we mean something like ‘more self-serving,’ or ‘more pride building,’ or ‘more greedy.’ I think we all fall into that trap in California, even if we value NOT bigger and better. Even we are used to bigger and better, and want it despite our struggle against it. That is why we are moving, so that our souls can heal from and grow beyond these types of vices, and you and I are going to have a hard time at first being content with exactly what is around us. We are going to have to help each other find the amazingness in exactly what is around us at the moment. Will you help me with this?”

“Sure! I’ll do that!”

It’s nice that they are on board. We’ve got to get out of California, and fast.

There is so much space here. Even the “touched” farm land feels untouched. You feel it deep in your chest. It is all pure and singing and green. This is what brings us back here again and again. The people who ask us why we want to live in this kind of land are generally people who have not been here. If they have been here, they have not breathed it into their cells and filled their eyes with it.

There’s also places like this: Big John. We stopped here for lunch and found a bit of perfect Midwest.

The waitress took her time and hung out with us. She sat at our table with us it what could have been taken as a very awkward way. She really needed joy at that moment. There’s an old belief that one finds friendship around the table, and it was only natural that this person would sit with us. Judah told her some jokes, she seemed to genuinely like them. She noticed the tiny Lego set The kids found at the gas station. She was lonely and sad and having a terrible day until she heard a few jokes about “Why should you never take a shower? Because it’s wrong to steal.” Or there’s this one, “What do you call an alligator who is a detective? An investigator.” Such tiny things can cause others to have joy. Well, Kiara declared that she is the “best waitress we’ve ever had,” and the waitress said that she was having a horrible day until she met us, so I’d say our lunch was a success. The food wasn’t particularly good, the cook was grumpy, but the communion with souls was worth every penny.

Well, we left our friend to her work, a smile on her face, and she left us to our trip, smiles on our faces.

Have I mentioned that everything is so wet and green here?

The moment we crossed into South Dakota, all eyes and ears were wide opened. This is the land we came to see. This is where we are most likely to move in the next year or so. It is beautiful.

The road took us past Sioux City, and on up to Brookings. In my research, I liked the look of Brookings, and it seems to be small and vibrant, but without the ostentatious and overt aim at progress that some other cities tend to have. It is a college town and an agricultural town, and that is that. Maybe we will find that it is really a terrible place, or that it’s too dull for a lively family. But this is where our search begins.

Our campsite is in a city park, in a nice, shady, grass field, next to a slow little creek. There are clean bathrooms and showers, and a really great playground next to an enormous playing field. This is a kid’s dream come true, and we get to stay right in the middle of it. Notice the serious look of a kid who has found a fat toad, as well as the face of a kid who knows he is now in fireworks freedom land.

If you see Unks, make sure you tell him “happy late birthday!”

Ft. Collins to North Platte – In which we drive in a day what the pioneers traversed in a month.

But first, this is Prometheus Tullius. Or Poseidon. Titan? Maybe Titan. Whatever his name, he is worthy of it. Titan Tullius is a lovely creature. I am not sure that I have encountered a bearded dragon that is allowed to roam free before, but this little being is allowed to, and flourishes. He also appears to enjoy human contact, although I am not sure that a reptile has the capacity to enjoy. He at least knows that the surrounding humans are unlikely to harm him, and appreciated that they were in his environment. Cute little thing. Titan has a perch at the window where he can sun himself. When he is in his terrarium, he wants to be out in the room. Then he sits at the window, longing to get out. “What he doesn’t realize is that there is nowhere that is not a cage,” said our host. To a person who has spent her life climbing out of cages, this statement was freeing. Time to stop escaping and enjoy the cage we are in.

So much for lessons from a lizard.

We are excited to be in the prairie after the rocky landscape of the past few days. There is always newness, even in the prairie. One imagines it to be flat and uninteresting. On the contrary. This land is green, sure, but as subtly varied as the Cannon in D or Bolero. One thinks one is driving across a plane, when one suddenly realizes there are pine forests as far as the eye can see. A metal buffalo appears on a ridge, and then a river, a lake, a hydroelectric plant. We are suddenly at the Missouri River and wonder why there hasn’t been much prairie. Yet it is prairie all around. This is why those pioneers took so long. There are many cages to escape, even in this land, and those cages look like rivers and rocky cliffs and pine forests.

I am listening to Father Brown as a break from Augustine’s Confessions. I suppose they are really the same type of book, though. One is the confessions of mankind taken as a whole, the other the confessions of an individual. Lest one ask, the answer is, “yes.” One ought to listen to both as companion pieces. The experience is a mirror – there but by the grace of God…

The kids have finished the books we bought for the trip, Scooby Doo has been consumed, each travel game has been played, trite personal boundaries have been set by the vehicle authorities and crossed, and just about the time we all need a break, except there is lightning striking all around us, and strong winds and rain. We don’t think it’s the right weather for a romp. Then there is an incoming video call.

Oh, sweet Lavender! We do miss you as a travel buddy!

My children are strange.

So anyway, our destination today was North Platte. We pulled into town during a lull in a pretty harrowing storm. Lightning McQueen and Mater are taking a ride down the road. Wait, what? What’s going on here in this storm?

Well, North Platte is adorable. This evening was their classic car event on the Main Street, complete with live music and a fancy outdoor stage. In a lightning storm. During a tornado watch. These people are made of steel! Be still my heart, I do want to live here!

But it is night now, and the storm has broken and returned. This is a small storm compared to some we have been in, and the kids are becoming used to it. Over the years they have gone from terrified to passively interested in the electrical shows in the sky. Good. They are ready to move to a place with weather.

If only they can get used to the huntsman spiders, we’ll be set!

Tomorrow we will drive to Brookings, South Dakota, our first big destination on this trip.

Some people go on nice vacations with their nice, clean children who swim in nice, clean pools, wear nice, clean shoes, don’t bring arrows with them to nice restaurants, and whose lifelong dreams do not include running across a salt flat. We, on the other hand, do not. It’s a rowdy bunch we haul along with us, but we wouldn’t want it any other way.

Today is Bryce Canyon day! We had two planned hikes, one to the Mossy Cave and waterfall, and one to the Queen’s Garden and Wall Street Trail loop.

We like trails next to water. My children are mythical creatures, half mermaid, half lizard, and they crave the feel of the sun on naked skin followed by a plunge into frosty water – all with reckless abandon. They meet the Almighty in raw encounters with His creation.

This place is an Eden to them.

The Mossy Cave, in Judah’s words, was “Just an overhang with water dripping from it.” True. A bit unremarkable for hikers. However, a welcome landmark for weary settlers searching for just a moment of relief from the punishing sun. Death would have to patiently diminish into the scorching wilderness when travelers came upon this outcropping. It deserves a destination marker.

More exciting was the stream and waterfall. The kids stripped off what they could strip off and plunged into the cool water. Braver kids (and Popi) lay under the waterfall. Atticus found some friends to build a rock dam with him. Judah picked up a stick that had come over the waterfall and threw it back up so he could watch it come back down. That is when the fun began. That is when we met Wilderness Karen.

“Seriously?” I heard her scream this, but as a mom skilled at selective attention, I hardly noticed. She screamed a bit more, I noticed more, and figured she was maybe mentally ill and there with her day treatment group. No big deal. We were eventually aware, though, that she was actually Wilderness Karen and had parked herself at that exact location not to enjoy the waterfall and swimming, but to scream at strangers’ children. Some parents took their children away. Soon, only our children were left. After all, what harm is a screaming Wilderness Karen? Our kids were playing, building, looking, feeling, loving. She was using violent words, and they ignored her. They know better than to give ear to irrational people. Judah and Sunshine found some clay and built a tiny city on the side of a rock.

Then Wilderness Karen got up and began to disassemble Atticus’s work. Right in front of him. As he held a rock ready to place it.

You have never seen a father go into protect mode more quickly.

Really, she could have approached Atticus in almost any way other than with violent words, and I would have been pleased with her. She could have gotten on his level and taught him that building a dam could cause a water flow issue. She could have asked him if it would be all right if she took the dam down when he had gone. She could have asked him if he wanted help building the dam if he would then help her take it apart after. She could have given him a lesson in ecosystems, in how to play in streams without altering the water…almost ANYTHING other than teaching a stranger’s child that screaming at strangers is best as long as your current feelings are offended. Lady, you are messing with the children of philosophers, and they have been trained to ignore or counter irrational people, with kindness. Their training has resulted in more mature people at ages 8-14 than you are as a 30-something.

Proof in point: I tell my children that a person who is yelling is in distress and needs kindness. One never knows what is causing their violent words. Indeed, we all succumb to violent words, and we experience a kind word that turns away wrath vs a sharp word that stirs up anger. Kiki, without my noticing, had, in fact, gone to sit quietly with her at one point, and had a soft discussion with her for a moment. Kiki disagreed with Wildernesses Karen’s beliefs, but she knew this woman’s soul needed a calm word.

These are the moments you see that raising children in the way they should go means they will not stray far from them.

The kids keep talking about how their Popi stood up to the Wilderness Karen, and with hardly an altercation, so we got our money’s worth in the parenting department today.

Our next hike was at Bryce Canyon proper. We bought a National Parks pass upon entry. I feel way too much pride over that. Ha!

There are times when human beauty descriptors do not suffice. This is one of them. How can such a place exist on earth?

People come here and are overwhelmed. The canyons cover and engulf them. Red dust, more magical then pixie dust, covers skin and clothes, intoxicating.

The loop we had taken was almost complete when we encountered a nearly-wall of switch-backs to reach the rim. Never shy away from a challenge. Conquering a wall gives a victory of confidence. Kiki struggled with asthma, but her eyes showed determination. Modern medicine opened her lungs, and we were off, tackling that wall like wild chipmunks. Maybe not quite that quickly. More like people who were out if water and motivated by the fountain at the top. 

Our return to camp brought a few hours of rest, dinner, and Bible reading, which doubled as “keeping our bodies somewhat in shape for dance” time. There was a lot of stretching and exercise banding going on.

While picking up supplies at the general store, we saw that the rodeo was being held that night. Well, don’t mind if we do! We made a goal of packing up camp with a prize of the rodeo if we succeeded in time. Boom. Fastest packing job ever!

Best. Tourist. Trap. Ever.

Well, we are tired and ready for a driving day tomorrow. Lord willing, we will be on the road before 7:00 am.

Warm sun on red cliffs, and not another soul in sight, means we are certainly not in California any more.

We broke camp quickly so that we could explore a bit before heading further East.

Dispersed camping is a favorite with us. When your family rejects the “civilized kids” paradigm and all the rules that go along with it, these kinds of places welcome your bunch with open arms. “ Give me your wild, your barefoot, your climbers…”

They scrambled off into the wilderness to find all the special spaces they could. Sand dunes, rock piles made solid with clay, water slots and washes, crevices and crannies – so much to explore!

Second-best to flying is flying for a second and landing knee-deep in soft, clay-sand. Their legs became red and ashy, their hair full of grit, and their faces were full of joy!

Always one last jump before it’s time to get into the car!

On the way back to the car, I peeked through a tunnel and was happy to find a portal to more color and beautiful creation! I also saw my son’s bare foot print, his signature, and a sign of freedom for future visitors.

We left this glorious place and headed into Hurricane for breakfast. On the way, we saw beautiful hills and valleys.

Well, the Main Street Cafe in Hurricane is amazing. We highly recommend it!

Yesterday we looked like fugitives trying to cross as many state lines as possible.

Today we looked like respectable road trippers nicely going from one place to the next. We drove and drove and drove on the way to Bryce Canyon. The way was winding and colorful, and the highlight was this sand dune.

More sand jumping. This is extreme sand jumping…

On our drive, we stopped at a roadside rock shop, and the kids wanted to stop. Two small boys were manning a small table of gem cast-offs from the family business, and Atticus went to network and make a deal. He talked them down in price for a piece or quartz and talked them into letting him look into the “mystery bags” they had put together. I’m a sucker for kids selling things, especially when they are still in their pajamas, barefooted, and withstanding 102 temperatures on the off chance someone will stop and see their tattered gems. Atticus actually got quite the haul: 7 beautiful gem stones and a river rock for $5, and a quartz crystal for $5 that one finds in boogie California shops for $15. When he got into the car, he was so sad to leave his friends that he hopped back out, enormous lava rock in hand, to make a gift of it. He came back with a beautiful gift from them: a black rock with some blue, sparkling crystals springing from it! I’ll have to get a picture in the morning.

Bryce Canyon welcomed us with classic Big Thunder Mountain spires. This is the first time any of us have been here, with the exception of Brandon.

Brandon has been in charge of finding camping for us, and he didn’t disappoint tonight. We are at a place with plenty of kids for those who want to make campsite friends, a very nice older teen to impress, dogs to snuggle and play with, and close proximity to the bathroom. This is all very important!

We struggled to put up the enormous tent we initially purchased, so I found an instant tent today, and it went up like a charm! We have blown up the air beds, and we have every reason to believe that we will sleep well tonight!

We like Utah so far. Nobody seems particularly worried about whether one wears masks or is vaccinated, nobody tells the kids to put shoes on, people smile, and kindness seems to be standard.

We could easily live here!

One ought never hope for perfectly executed plans, as there is so much more room for perfection in the unplanned.

And so our road trip began, with perfect planning, all in order, and smooth execution. Well, except for the smooth execution part. See, I carefully packed away all of our road trip things two years ago when we arrived home. All utensils, bins, trash bags, chairs, organizers, etc. washed and wiped and placed neatest into the right bin. Each bin was placed nicely on its shelf in storage. All was ready to pull out for easy use the next time. That next time is now. The bins were hauled out and opened, and apparently I was not the only one who appreciated the tidy contents inside. I took the silverware container off the top and – WHAT IS THAT???? Not one mouse, not two mice, but THREE mice stared up at me out of the soup pot, which not only contained the mouse family, but also an assortment of acorns and fluff! Kiara was delighted. I screamed. Kiara laughed at my scream. “Are you seriously not afraid of spiders but you are afraid of a MOUSE?” Hush, child, and get those mice out of there! And then came the juveniles, I afraid of us and staring up with big eyes under those enormous ears. Cute. Get out of my camping gear!

An hour and two bottles of disinfectant later, and a water bucket trap set in the cargo container, and we were ready to pack for the trip.

That was two days ago. We have been packed for two days. This means that we were only 2 hours behind schedule as we drove down the driveway.

We try to avoid freeways, which meant that our way wound through Ranchita and down into Borrego Springs. Unks hauled a load of kids down to Borrego. “You know that straight part near the lake? Unks went 100 there!” Um, Unks? You’ve officially been tattled on. These kids are living.

Breakfast in Borrego was a grand affair, complete with drill sergeant waitress who kept us all in line, and cute little assistant who was flirted with by Unks. When you eat at a cafe right next to Dazzels, well, how can you go wrong?

Ok, enough messing around.

Our rout went straight out to the lovely resort area of the Salton Sea, featuring less stench, thanks to recent clean-up efforts. We saw no dead birds or dead fish, a marked improvement. Such beautiful scenery. We had to stop for some pictures. Maybe we should move here.

Hey, Popi! Should we move here?

When you think of the dates and citrus and veggies you enjoy, think of this place, because a lot of produce in your store comes from this stinky little bit of Hades.

Getting gas with barefoot boys who have just earned serious cash weed whipping on ranches means that these sweet flip flops have been added to the contents of our Suburban. Dollar Store flip flops that simulate walking barefoot. Genius. That smile is the smile of a man who has made the best purchase of his life.

It’s hot and dry, and the only thing that changes is the temperature and how dry the landscape is. Sometimes there are lava beds, and you really cannot get hotter or drier than that.

We took the rout through Joshua Tree, and suddenly things get beautiful. Joshua Tree is vast, varied, colorful, hot. We have camped here several times over the years and it’s always a winner with kids and adults alike. But our last camping trip here was when Sweet Baby Sunshine was 9 months old. She ate a stink bug. Atticus has never camped here. We will need to fix that problem next spring.

“What art Thou then, my God? what, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good, most potent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden, yet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong, stable, yet incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all-changing; never new, never old; all-re- newing, and bringing age upon the proud, and they know it not; ever working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking; supporting, filling, and overspreading; creating, nourish- ing, and maturing; seeking, yet having all things. Thou lovest, without passion; art jealous, without anxiety; repentest, yet grievest not; art angry, yet serene; changest Thy works, Thy purpose unchanged; receivest again what Thou findest, yet didst never lose; never in need, yet rejoicing in gains; never covetous, yet exacting usury. Thou receivest over and above, that Thou mayest owe; and who hath aught that is not Thine? Thou payest debts, owing nothing; remittest debts, losing nothing.” – St. Augustine

That is what I am listening to on this stretch of road. What better place to ponder the nature of God but Joshua Tree, where all good things rest forever?

We left Joshua Tree in the afternoon, out a Northern entrance manned by a bored young person who obviously made it clear that his vocation was not his passion. I resisted the urge to lecture him. He may just have had a bad day.

The desert back country between Joshua Tree and Prim, Nevada, is vast and interesting. Tiny towns with planted trees, small settlements of people who thought they’d have a go at it, and then realized that the desert is hot, trains and tracks that disappear into mountains one only walks into to die – that is the Mojave in Southern California. There is a lot of good, clean sand to lay down on, if it is January. Otherwise, you’d better drive on. 113 degrees is too hot for bare skin.

In Kelso we hit traffic, strange because you see very few people, much less a line of traffic, in that part of the dessert. Then we noticed that everyone was stopped at the train track. What luck! The train was at a dead stop across the road and looked quite comfortable as it remained that way for many minutes. Another train eventually passed, and then stopped, and hitched up to the first train, then the whole train slowly started and headed out West. Maybe that garlic made it onto that train.

I don’t find the 15 freeway to be particularly interesting, so after waving to the train, I took a nap, and I couldn’t begin to guess what happened until we got to Prim, Nevada. The kids were properly both in awe and horrified by all the worldly world has to offer between Prim and Los Vegas. Maybe I’ve driven that road too many times, but I considered that time a great time to work and skip the sights.

I 15 does have its merits, though. There’s the go cart raceway just outside of Los Vegas.

There are the bright green grasses and shrubs that tell the world they are open for cattle grazing.

There are the dramatic cliffs that welcome folks to the St. George area. And that is where we were headed.

There is dispersed camping at Red Cliffs just outside of St. George. A long, sandy, red road lead into the wilderness, and as we drove, our tires sunk and struggled, but that is why one has a hefty vehicle that can handle most conditions. We didn’t get stuck.

Everyone was tired and grumpy by the time we piled out of the car. It was a long, hot day. The last thing anyone wanted to do was put up a new, enormous tent, cook dinner, and heard grumpy kids into bed. Bright, red cliffs reflecting the sunset cheered us a bit, and gave us the energy we needed.

In case anyone needs further proof that I should never cook anything, here it is. While the kids and Brandon got the tent up, I cooked dinner. After all, we were having baked beans and ham. How can that go wrong? I am not skilled at staying by the stove while cooking. Instead, I generally get sidetracked by kittens, laundry, children who need a thing, more kittens, wondering whether the eggs have been gathered, and then going outside to check, catching a duck and snuggling for a minute, going to visit my little runt chicken and then noticing her water is low, finding my old farm cat Chase and having a heart-to-heart with him, suddenly realizing that lunch is on the stove, dashing to the house, tripping over Chase Cat, smelling smoke, putting the smoking, charred lunch out on the deck, opening all the windows, and deciding that salad is perfectly fine for lunch.

I had dinner on the stove, and was lining up tooth brushes and pajamas, when Atticus calmly said, “Oh, look! ”The table is on fire!”

Now, I have learned a thing or two from my father, particularly about listening to children and not tuning them out. The day he listened to Kiki yelling that Sunshine was drowning, and he was the only one who heard her, and then jumped in to save her with all of his clothes on, was the day I learned this lesson.

So I heard him and looked. The table was, indeed, on fire, the dinner appeared to be ablaze, and a dried out desert bush leaning in as the breeze blew hard. We were about to be “those people” who light the desert on fire! Shoot. What have I always said? I SHOULD NEVER BE ENTRUSTED WITH COOKING!!!!! I’ll burn the state to the ground!
What we all discovered was this: In a crisis, such as a potential wild fire, Sunshine remains level headed and grabs the water jug to fight the fire. Brandon grows bucket hands and deposits a sandcastle on the fire within seconds. I run around yelling and running into everyone.

So, just so you all know, St. George and surrounding communities, 2 kids and a dad saved you all from a mom who should never cook anything.

Should you ask me to cook?

Never.

Well, it’s been a good day. Nobody died, everyone is healthy, and we are in need of nothing. The nature of God has been pondered, we got to see a train for longer than a few seconds, and we can stream Johnny Cash because we have amazing internet here.

And then we were visited by this sweet guy. He really wanted to snuggle with us. We held him and hung out for a bit before he hopped off for further adventures.

I understand what you are going through. I’ve be on the receiving end of those words.

Ok, actually we have dealt with this for 13 years, and I have some experiences with this that may help. This is long, but I feel like it might be helpful. So, I may have a less popular approach in the grand scheme of foster and adoptive parents, but I find that taking these words very seriously, and believing them to be true, and treating them as true, can change everything. We have an daughter who was placed with us at 8 months, and she is now 13 1/2 years old. She is an amazing, generally even-tempered, helpful, integral part of our family. I adore her. She adores her siblings. However, from day 1 of her placement with us, she has had an issue with women. She hated me for the first 2 months, and at 8-10 months old would physically attack me. She was terrified of me. This has meant that part of my job as a mom has been to figure out how to help her trust and attach to women. It has also meant that I had to get my parenting act in gear fast, because she was our first, and I became pregnant with our second within weeks of the placement. Parenting came fast and furious to our quiet lives. All of the women in the family jumped on board immediately when she was placed with us, figured out their place in helping her trust and love women appropriately, and she now has very healthy relationships with the women in our family. What has always remained in her, though, is a touch of anger toward me.

Now, we are both spunky personalities, and we talk things out in intense ways, and our communication style is very loud, but very bonding for us. I am not afraid of her no matter how loud she gets, and she needed to see that from day 1. Unlike other women in her life up to that point, I wasn’t going to allow her to be afraid of me, I wasn’t afraid of her, and once she realized that I was her greatest ally, she slowly began to give up her insistent hatred for me. Up to that point, she had kept women on their toes. She had been in control. I kept her on her toes and offered cooperation. I somehow understood, from the moment I met her, that I must remind her of her birth mom, who she was with for the first 6 weeks of her life, and she was mad as heck at her birth mom. She was rightfully concerned that I would destroy her life in the same way her birth mom caused her life to be destroyed. Not that she understood this at age 8 months, but her subconscious and instinct sure did understand it! She has, from the time she could talk, asked about her adoption and her birth mom. She always knew that she was part of a loving family with parents who would fight to the death for her, but when she asked, we didn’t hide her story from her, as was age-appropriate. So she has always said things like, “You are not my real mom,” or “Maybe I’ll live with my birth mom someday.” Over time, we have had good conversations about her origin, why she needed a family other than her birth mom, her worth as an individual apart from her family, her place in our religious practice as a child of God first and foremost, etc. She is a confident, smart kid who KNOWS that she is adored and safe where she is at, and KNOWS that her birth mother, while loved and considered part of our family, is not safe to live with. She understands that genetics do not make a person a mom or a daughter, but that genetics does mean we have special feelings for and curiosities about those we may not know, like birth moms. And yet she has an inborn wish that things had been different. That wish is part of her story. It is a beautiful wish, and should never be ignored.

Yes, sometimes she has yelled at me in anger that she isn’t my daughter to see how badly she can hurt me. She takes it out on me because she has nobody else to take it out on. Moms are supposed to lay down their lives for their daughters. Her birth mom didn’t do that. Now she’s angry at her birth mom and takes it out on me. That’s ok. I signed up for that. I’m the adult, and I can absorb that, knowing that what she really means is that she is angry at everyone else in the past who didn’t do things right, and so created this situation. I KNOW that is what she means. And now, at 13, she is beginning to understand that.

Very recently, though, she has begun to tell her siblings in anger, “You are not my real sister/brother.” Ok, that doesn’t fly. They are younger and don’t fully understand what I, as an adult, do understand. They didn’t sign up for that, and so we immediately banned that kind of talk with respect to them. She and her sister have always had the most amazing bond. From the birth of my bio daughter, my AD has taken her under her wing, protected her, treated her like a precious gem. I think she has that protective instinct because she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her sister as happened to her. My daughters find joy in one another, but these recent angry words from my AD have cut deep in my younger daughter. So I sat my AD down, told her that she’s 13 and old enough to really dig into these feelings without cutting scars into her siblings hearts. We dug WAY deeper into the process of facing the facts about who to be angry at, and then how to use justified anger for good. We are working on turning anger into compassion for her birth mother, for the homeless, for other foster kids, for her siblings, for strangers in other nations. It has been an amazing growing time. She is in the throes of early puberty, she is in a society that makes her feel strange because she is black and living in a very white area, and for the first time people are regularly noticing her skin because of current events, she has a lot of really big emotions right now. 13 is a crazy adventure even when you are a privileged bio kid, but she has all of this other background to integrate into her story. It’s a big job for her. But talking about her history, and allowing her to reason it through, is amazing. She really gets it. We also gave her the one letter her birth mom wrote that is positive (usually they are pretty negative and almost creepy, and we don’t believe she is old enough to process the others yet). In that letter, her birth mother laid out what we have always told her, that she is dearly loved by her BM, but that her BM is not a safe person to raise a child. She has become more joyful over the past weeks and months. The sparkling stars are coming back into her eyes. She is verbalizing things like, “I feel angry right now, but I am thinking about the uncle who hurt my birth mom when she was little, and it makes me mad that her foster mom didn’t do anything about it! She was a really bad foster mom, and that uncle was a really bad guy!” She is still learning how to manage translating her feelings into statements about reality, but she’s getting there! We are cooperating with one another on this.
I am sure this story will unfold with twists and turns and tears and joy over the next many years. Her childhood is not over yet. However, I want to encourage you, as a mom in a similar situation, not to ignore, but to dig, even at this young age, into exactly why your kid-o is doing this. It’s not to hurt you. Sure, that is the surface reason in the moment, but why does she say those particular words at that exact moment? Is she feeling like she is not given enough freedom to be part of a decision? Does she have infant trauma and this situation is reminding her of that? Is she feeling unsafe even though your actions were to enhance her safety? I would dig into that, and then, when things are calm, have some ice cream or a fancy little tea party with her and begin these discussions. “I have noticed that when you are angry, you say that you are not my daughter. I know you feel loved and safe here, and I know that you are my daughter, and I love you so much. I also know that you love me and your family. I also know that when you say those things, you are really unhappy and maybe you just don’t know what else to say. You know what? I believe that you are amazing, and that we can figure this out. I wonder if you were maybe not feeling listened to at that moment? Let’s talk about how you and I can work together on that so that in those moments, we can say “I have a suggestion,” rather than “You are not my mom!” Then I will work on knowing that I need to stop and hear your ideas. Moms sometimes get so distracted that we forget to listen! Will you help me with this?” And then have a conversation about her birth mom. “Now that we have figured out how we might work together when you feel not listened to, let’s talk about what you said when you were angry. You said that you want to live with your birth mom. I really respect that. The way things are supposed to be is that mommies have babies from their tummies, and then they are supposed to take really good care of their babies and love them forever. When it doesn’t happen like that, it is normal to wish and wonder about your birth mom. That is so normal. You should be proud of yourself for being open to talking about it! I know you are worried about your birth mom, and that shows that you are a very caring person….etc. etc…I think it is really good that you are thinking about what a family should look like because that means that you will make a really good mommy one day! And I know that you are thankful and joyful that you made your family what it is today. I know you know that without you, this family would not be complete! What a special place you have as my daughter!” Reassure her that even though she has said these things in anger, that you not once think of her as anything but your daughter. Talk about how she is so loved by her birth mom, and the evidence you have for that. Talk about where the anger should be properly placed. If her birth mom is how she is because she was molested, had bad friends as a youth, didn’t have involved parents, etc, talk about that in an age-appropriate way. I have found that compassion for a bio parent is so important with my AD. It helps my daughter develop compassion, to understand that she is in a special position of understanding those who are far less fortunate than she is, and that it’s kind of a super power in life to have that kind of compassion and understanding. It helps my daughter to place anger where it belongs, which is at the root of the problem, and not at me or her birth mom or her siblings. The anger should be placed on those who harmed her birth mom, and make it clear that her birth mom was and still is in a far worse place than my AD because of those bad people. It helps her to connect with her birth mom in compassion and to appreciate that while nobody was there to say yes to helping her birth mom, there is an entire extended family who came along to say yes to helping my AD NOT to have the life her birth mother had. So let’s be angry at people who said that helping her birth mom was too hard and so walked away from her. This doesn’t mean that we are an amazing family or anything. Instead it means that we should be always there to say yes to helping and loving others, even when it seems hard. These are all really important lessons for a 13-year-old. These are really important lessons for a 4.5 year old. If she is verbalizing that her connection with her past is important to her (and indeed, yelling that she wants to live with a birth parent she really never knew is exactly that), then take that very seriously and build her story in an age-appropriate and therapeutic way.

Anyway, this is just one family’s experience with this. Now that my AD has used these words to try to hurt her siblings, we have prohibited that in the house. She doesn’t get to aim those words at her siblings. She needs to aim them at the people who signed up for it: her parents! She understands why and agrees that it isn’t helpful in maintaining the wonderful relationship she has with her siblings. As the oldest of 4, my AD values her place as the leader of the pack, and saying that she isn’t really their sister destroys that position. She gets that. She doesn’t say it any more to her siblings. But she is allowed to use me as her sounding board, even if it means yelling that I’m not her real mom when she is overwhelmed by emotions and doesn’t know what else to say. She is allowed to do that. That’s what I am here for. I signed up for that. I’m the adult, and I can use her angry words as an opportunity to help her understand her own story and place in the world.
Does it hurt me? I’ll be honest. It took me maybe 4 years to really sort out my own fantasy about what my family would be like. I never in a million years thought my first child would scream that she isn’t my daughter. Not in a million years. My family fantasy included a lot of unicorn and rainbow-type situations. LOL! It was Debbie Stoltz who helped me understand that it’s not about me or my unrealistic ideal I developed as a kid. Instead, what is important for all of our family is to file that fantasy into the “fun things I used to think could happen” folder and let our actual, real family unfold without expectations. The only expectation I should have is that I act like the mom these kids need. That’s it. That is where I need to put 100% of my energy. Then I won’t have the time or mental space to be hurt. The mom I need to be is the mom who translates the hurtful words of my children into statements of fact about their thoughts and beliefs. And then to work with them to have true and appropriate feelings and beliefs. Debbie’s advice changed my entire approach. So does it hurt? No, not anymore. It did hurt for a few years, because I’m a normal person and those kinds of words hurt until we understand why they are said. I remember the moment, when my daughter was about 4 years old, when I had this amazing revelation that her words were no longer hurtful and instead inspired compassion and thought about what was behind those words in the moment. I am a slow learner like that. LOL!

But you know what? It DOES hurt that our birth mom (because she is part of our family, even if we have never met her) was harmed as a child, she was not loved well, she was abused and neglected. When she cried and screamed, she was not rescued or understood. I hold my daughter and we cry tears of compassion together over that. We both cry when we find that she is, yet again, in prison. Our hearts are both broken for her. When my daughter realized that I cry for her birth mom, and I took my daughter in my arms and we shared this sadness for the first time, it utterly changed our lives. I was no longer an enemy imposter. I am her ally. I also wish things had been perfect for my AD, and what that means is that part of me wishes she was never mine. It might even mean that in that perfect world I never knew her. I mourn the loss of that perfection for my daughter. She knows that, and she respects me more for that. But we don’t dwell on that fantasy. She is learning to file that fantasy into her own folder of “fun things I used to think could happen” and look with gratefulness at her current life. The life she has been living is filled with goodness and joy, and she is finally old enough to appreciate and love that.

So where do they come up with these threats? Well, they come up with it because it’s what they are actually thinking. They are too young to understand filing that fantasy away. Some adopted kids simply have a longing to live with their birth parents. It’s a fact, and we need to accept it and turn our hurt into compassion. It’s not a threat, it’s a statement of their pain and realization that their fantasy cannot be real. It is like the realization that unicorns don’t exist. There are many things we desperately wish were so, but they are not. They have the added pain of not even remembering their birth mom, which turns into guilt in a way that we cannot understand, as moms. So their little minds, in their quiet moments, consider the possibilities. Did I do something wrong to make my birth mom not love me? Did I cause my mom to be on drugs? Am I not lovable enough to get my mom off drugs? Am I so terrible that she choose crime and drugs and jail over me? Once I realized how horrible it must be to be 4 and having these thoughts, thoughts my bio kids will NEVER have to endure, I was able to grab onto the source of her words. She needs reassurance that it as not her fault. She needs reassurance that she is very valuable. She needs reassurance and proof that what happened in no way reflects upon her future abilities to be loved and valued and cherished. Part of my job as a mom, also, is to help my other kids translate my AD’s words into statements of fact as they get older. I encourage you to listen to your daughter’s words, form a habit of transforming into a listener rather than a feeler when your daughter says these words, and have a LOT of amazing conversations with her. I PROMISE you, it’ll change your life, and it’ll make raising that daughter the most joyful challenge and adventure you have ever encountered. It’s raw, it’s messy, it’s more extreme than any extreme sport you could attempt, you’ll say things to her in the heat of the moment that you later will wish you had not, and you will cry buckets in the night when nobody else is awake. Learn to say you are sorry and translate your own feelings into statements of reality. Recognize that you are also mourning the loss of a fantasy. Your own experience as a mother is not what you believed it would be. Begin the hard work of releasing any expectations or your relationship with your daughter. Be compassionate with yourself. Allow those tears. Don’t grow a thick skin. Get rid of your skin altogether so that all of your insides show and can absorb the words of your daughter so that you can see what they really mean. And know that you are not alone! You are part of a sisterhood of foster and adoptive moms who understand what you are going through and who are also crying buckets of tears in the night with you! But in the morning, we will be stronger, more tender, more able to be what our children need because we listened with compassion rather than felt hurt. And you are in it with your daughter. You are in this together, mourning your own very deep looses of your fantasies. Work together, and you will both come out as co-workers in this business of making the world a much better place, and please believe me: That new reality is infinitely better than either of your original fantasies! **hugs**

Ok, sorry for the novel! I’ve just been so hard core 100% in your shoes, and want to make it perfect for you, but alas, that in itself is a fantasy! LOL!

Something to consider is that not all kids care about their bio story. I have an AS who has never, not once, ever mentions his birth mom, even though we have mentioned her and opened up the possibility of talking about her. He just doesn’t care. His personality is completely different. I am sure that one day it’ll come up, but he is a soul rest in our family. I love it all, every challenge and parenting adventure with our oldest, but it’s nice to have his care-free approach to life as a respite when I need it!

I was talking to my mom last night, and it came up in conversation that of her college educable children, 100% of her children have at least two years of college education, and half have beyond a master’s degree, and one a PhD. 75% have above-average income, and 100% have avoided long-term poverty. I have one brother with Down Syndrome, and he was homeschooled through grade 8, then completed his high school special ed program at our local public school. He now works in agriculture, is involved in theater, sports, and a band through Teri. Even he is considered to be successful.

This conversation was initiated by my asking her (in a very round-about way) how she felt in hindsight about moms homeschooling whey they, themselves, are possibly not college educated, or do not view themselves as remarkably intelligent. Because that was my mom way back in the very early 80’s when she pulled us out of private school in favor of (illegally) homeschooling us. She always told us that she was not very smart (which couldn’t be more false, lol!), that she struggled through many subjects in school, and that while she had her AA, it was an arts and crafts degree from the 70’s, and she barely remembered any of the academic work. And yet she homeschooled 5 children, 2 of them from start to finish, 2 of them for at least 9 of their 13 years in school, and one of them special needs. 2 of her children have advanced science degrees, even though science and math were subjects she felt overwhelmingly inadequate to teach. I told her that I have recently had many conversations with moms about their insecurities and feelings of inadequacy with homeschooling. They say, “You are good at it because you have two masters degrees and are a college professor. But I barely graduated high school/college/don’t remember anything! How can I do this?” But I think of my mom. She came from trauma, a broken home, had a run-of-the-mill, general high school education followed by an art degree from a community college. She had a negative perception of her own intelligence and skills…and even so, her success rate was far higher than that of any public school teacher!

She is not very different than you may be. Think about that. Even with all of your perceived inadequacies, the personal testimony of homeschool moms, as well as recent studies, definitively prove that your homeschooled children who graduate high school as homeschoolers will likely perform an average of 10% better than their traditionally-schooled peers. Even though their teachers (you and the other homeschooling parents) are not trained to educate. Even though they don’t get the daily peer socialization. Even though your home does not have the resources available to traditionally-schooled children. Even though. A simple online search will show the outcomes.

I’m going to let you in on a secret. Your perceived inadequacies do not often match reality. You ARE smart. You ARE trained to educate (Didn’t you spend at least 13 years learning how education works?). You DO have the resources to teach your children right there in your home and community! And you have an overwhelming advantage over your traditionally-schooling peers (teachers): You know your children and their learning styles better than any teacher can. You have observed and studied them since birth (in most cases). You have already tried those things that don’t work, and you know what does work before your child begins kindergarten.

Here’s the thing. The goal of education is generally this: to give your children the skills they need to live well as adults in a socially acceptable way. Most homeschoolers easily slide into college and perform as intelligent mainstream individuals, with all of the successes, challenges, and skills of their peers. Even those formerly-homeschooled adults who decide not to attend college, who do not live a mainstream life, generally have lives that are filled with an outside-the-box, yet fulfilling, approach. They are entrepreneurs, tradespersons, paid travelers, humanitarians, missionaries, stay-at-home parents, bakers, Etsy shop owners, etc. They generally thrive, because they know what they are good at. Whether homeschooled adults attend college or do not attend college, they have had the space in their childhood to discover what their best life can be. They have not been trained to be satisfied with the box offered by traditional education.

Now, there are exceptions, of course, and exceptions can be fuel for our anxieties. And our anxieties can be the greatest motivation for our success! Grab ahold of what you fear in becoming a teacher, turn it upside down, shake it a little, and sit on it. Then get down to the business of becoming an amazing homeschool parent.

And you know what? After all those years of my mom proving to herself that she is one of the most intelligent, creative, competent teachers she knows, she has gained a self-confidence that she would likely not have developed otherwise. She is the most teachiest teacher she knows.

The same will happen to you. It’s your amazing reward when all is said in done.

I believe in you. My mom believes in you. The millions of homeschool parents that came before you believe in you. We have proof in our experiences to back up our beliefs. We are here for you with open arms, a shoulder to cry on, a brain to pick, as a resource for recommendations, as someone who fully understands, as someone who as ready to give a hug and a high five and send you back to what feels like your crazy homeschooling life. We trust you. You have everything you need. You can do this.

This is the 5th day that Popi and Miss Bunny and Grandaddy are out of the state on a business trip, day 5 of cancelled extracurriculars, day 5 of realizing that my psychotherapy sessions (AKA dance classes) have been cancelled, and day 5 of snow. Is there even a virus happening, because none of the virus issues are affecting us – yet. Wilderness people are so used to living in isolation and having everything they need on hand, so we are used to hoarding every time we grocery shop. We already homeschool. Our jobs are already online and have been for years. I do run a rental, but it’s kind of business as usual there.

So we basically have first-world problems over here. We are complaining that our Popi is out earning money. We are complaining that we miss our Bunny Boo, who is having a blast being spoiled with Popi and Grandaddy time. We are complaining that we we have too many paper towels and they keep on falling out of the bin we store them in, because I stocked up weeks ago as part of my normal shopping trip. We are complaining that we cannot go to dance class, Little League, fencing, theater rehearsals, I am complaining that the fabric store has closed…so much complaining.

That’s it! Go outside and sled! Let’s start TODAY being grateful, kid-os! I KNOW it’s 8:00am. Yes, I know it’s normally Bible time. Let’s skip our reading today and instead go out and thank the Lord for the snow we have been blessed with! Let’s be mindful of and thankful for what we eat today, because we don’t know how long stores will be open, and let’s thank God for the fact that we had our second corned beef meal last night. Let’s have great joy in the Lord for providing us with a freezer full of meat and veggies, can after can of our favorite fixings, fresh produce, enough money so that I can be vegan and everyone else can indulge in each of their special food preferences. Let’s be so grateful that even though, in our house, we have suffered the effects of a sickness in our lungs for almost 3 months now, we have enough cough medicine and Albuterol to make it almost unnoticeable. And we have the money to get more when we need it. Let’s stop being worried and self-absorbed in the unknown and begin to live the known.

Here’s the thing: When we are intentionally thankful, it clears our minds of worry, and gives us the space to meditate on God. Meditating on God aligns our souls to listen to our assignment from God. We cannot know that a friend needs us to write a letter of encouragement when we are busy being worried. We cannot know to ask who needs paper towels, or toilet paper, or groceries, when we are busy being worried. We do not have the eyes of Jesus when our own selves are blocking our view. We cannot have the armor of Christ when we are wearing the armor of deceit, because that is what worry really is. Worry is us opening the door of our souls wide for any deceit that might be out there. Worry is intentionally listening to the whispers of our own irrationality and the irrationality of others. So slam that soul door, look away from your self (you haven’t brushed your hair in 5 days anyway, so it’s not like there is anything great to see there! Ha!), and start living as a co-laborer of Christ in the Kingdom of Heaven. Workers on assignment in the Kingdom of Heaven barely know their selves exist. Busy yourself with helping to perfect this broken creation, particularly in a time when the creation-brokenness is pounding at the doors of our souls, begging us to allow that worry in. Don’t let it in. To deny oneself is basically that: You are slamming the door of your soul and locking it against worry and scariness, and going to have tea with God, who lives in your soul. Or coffee. I imagine God prefers coffee, since He is perfect.

Look, you are going to die anyway. It’s not something you can even begin to avoid. As Socrates once said, as he stood before the jury to present his apology, “But I thought that I ought not to do anything common or mean in the hour of danger…For neither in war nor yet at law ought any man to use every way of escaping death. For often in battle there is no doubt that if a man will throw away his arms, and fall on his knees before his pursuers, he may escape death [cowardice]; and in other dangers there are other ways of escaping death, if a man is willing to say and do anything. The difficulty, my friends, is not in avoiding death, but in avoiding unrighteousness; for that runs faster than death.”

In our family, we don’t use the word “scared” or “worried.” In fact, I am not sure I can remember my kids uttering the phrase, “I am scared.” It’s not in their vocabulary. They might say, “I hate spiders,” or “I might hurt myself if I jump from there,” but they have been taught to state facts that lead to action or refraining from action rather than to state emotions that distract from reality and rationality, and lead to worry and cowardice (we are still working on courageous behavior in the face of spiders with out oldest, so this is a work in progress. Haha!). From their infancy, we have a question we ask our kids: “What is the only thing you should fear?” They immediately answer, “God.” In this case, does fear mean that you are scared? No. It means that we should have the “fear of God.” Generally, when I refer to the “fear of God,” I think my Historical Theology professor, Dr. Henry Holloman, had a very valuable explanation of what I mean. He told us that the “fear of the Lord” means something different in different places because the Hebrew words and grammar are different in different places. In some cases, if you have the fear of the Lord, it means that you are in awe of God because you realize all that God is. In a sense, you are in awe in a “kindred spirit” kind of way. You feel that awe and are overwhelmed by that awe. You have it in your chest, as C.S. Lewis refers to “chest” (The Abolition of Man). In other cases, “fear of the Lord” means something like “what is in the chest of God,” again, as Lewis refers to “chest” in The Abolition of Man. In other cases, “fear” means the same thing as “scared,” or “worry.” When you pursue the “fear of the Lord” in the first sense, your awe at the “fear of the Lord” in the second sense is tangible, and there is no room for “fear” in the third sense. In general, then, “fear” is a relational word, and it comes from your very core, from your “chest.” “Scared” and “worry” are anti-relational words. They are words that deny that we are a reflection of God and that we can have any relationship with God, they deny our specialness and humanity as relatives of God. They are the experiences of “men without chests” (Lewis’s referent). Fear of God is engaging in a relational respect for what is, a recognition of reality, and an acknowledgment of appropriate actions in light of that reality, followed by a resolve to engage in those appropriate actions. It is to be overwhelmed with awe, inside you, around you, through you, above you, below you. Chest-ish fear is a good thing. It is purely relational, and requires a great amount of thought and discernment.

Here is a great passage to immerse yourself in for some great understanding of that second sense of the “fear of God.”

Psalm 19

The heavens declare the glory of God;
And the firmament shows His handiwork.
Day unto day utters speech,
And night unto night reveals knowledge.
There is no speech nor language
Where their voice is not heard.
Their line has gone out through all the earth,
And their words to the end of the world.

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
Be acceptable in Your sight,
O Lord, my strength and my Redeemer.

Beings with free will to worry are constantly told to take a lesson from those things without free will, or who are not yet able to fully relate and reason. I think this is because those things flow from the insides of God. They are a reflection of His perfection and His peace and joy. Take a lesson from the ant, from the sun, from the sparrow, from the trees, from children. So get out those sneakers, and run from unrighteousness instead of death. Stop resisting the fact that you flow from the chest of God. Be like the sun. Do what you are supposed to do. Be like a child. Be perfect as God is perfect, because you are flowing from the inside of God. Get your work done without worry. Smile when you are finished. Allow your mind and soul to work together so that you will be ready to know what is right. Be a helper in the Kingdom of Heaven, slam that door to your soul, and have some coffee with God.

Read the Abolition of Man if you have not already done so.

So why did I start out talking about being grateful? Because I strongly believe that intentional gratefulness is the simplest way for us to walk to the door and slam it in the face of worry, to stick our fingers into our soul ears and scream out “I can’t hear you anymore, deceit! I am going to go over here and be a human now!” Or in the words of Jesus of Nazareth, “Get behind me, Satan!” Once we have done that, we can sit quietly and gaze at what is in front of us. At the table of our soul, the soul that is a temple of God where God is necessarily in front of our eyes, there is nothing else to do but meditate on what is now filling our chests – the fear of the Lord. In that state, whether we are alive or dead, or suffering from a strange virus, it does not matter. We are still in the same presence of God.

And be like this guy, who flows from the heart of God without knowledge of what worry is: