My Father

D Herbert is my dad. He was a city boy, born and raised. He lived in a little neighborhood of brick homes with little square yards. He had a paper route and collected silver dollars and rode his bike through the streets of Houston. When he was six, his parents bought the farm and spent their summers there. He moved there permanently when he finished his education. He knew the farm was a paradise from experiencing two contrasting ways of life and had the character to know the importance of sharing it with other people not so fortunate. Dad purposely lived his life to minister and educate; he rarely met a person without touching their life or at least trying to. He challenged people to think deeper, try harder, live simply and treasure life. He did it by carving out time for people and exposing them to what he believed were the most important life lessons. He wanted to grow the things that mattered, family, love, plants, education. He loathed pretension and pomp and circumstance. As a matter of fact, he went to extremes to live as the most humble of people and humble people attracted him. He loved lore, history, science, farming, bee keeping, being a Texas Aggie, being a Christ follower, being a father and he certainly loved Sherril Herbert. 

Family was it for Dad. He was an only child from a small family and it made him crave having a large family which he did. My childhood is a blur of riding on the fender of a tractor with him until I fell asleep, laying on his bed reading books, riding by his side in a truck sharing mounds bars, singing Irish Ballads together,  stuffing my hands in his back pockets and pretending to be his shadow, being his pride and joy and always always wanting to be with him every second which he always always accommodated. I have many treasured memories but one particular one was when he took me to a Main Anjou convention in Denver when I was ten. He took me to an adult party and danced with me standing on his toes just like I was a fine lady. He waltzed beautifully and all of the ladies fawned over what an accomplished dancer I was. He chortled with glee every time we talked about the fact that they never noticed. The eternal prankster. 

He often said Christians need to have more children so we can outnumber the liberals and frequently quoted “For children are as arrows in the hands of a mighty warrior, blessed is he whose quiver is full.” I found him rather convincing and am a proud momma of four children. Anything to put a lid on the liberals right? Many times I have called him and been greeted with the phrase “what wonderful stories do you have about your wonderful children?” 

He was a friend. His friends are many and the love poured out the last three months has been humbling beyond words. His best lifelong friends he called his brothers. I asked him one day how he had found such amazing friends that had stayed so close for 40 years and he told me he was just fortunate. 

He was a lover. Of course he fell in love with Mom. She was a beautiful brilliant girl as poor as a church mouse with a love for God he found completely captivating. He told me he fell in love with her when she asked him for a ride to a revival. He wrote her a love song that I wish he could sing to her for another twenty years. His marriage proposal was “change your phone number or tell me to buy a kite.” She gave up a full ride scholarship and changed her phone number. As a child, I watched a man love his wife with sweet abandon and do crazy weird things like buy her a trampoline for their anniversary, a glitzy sequined butterfly shirt on a business trip and giant chandelier earrings just because he saw them. I peeked through a crack in my door and watched him play records and slow dance with her after bed time with the kitchen lights on dim. I watched him hum a little tune in the grocery store as he would give me a cheshire grin and select a starfruit from the produce section for her. She was always on his mind. 

He was truly joyful. One of his most common quotes is “Give me a big possum grin.” which he also had a song for. Even just a week before he passed, he laid in his bed and smiled about us all sitting around him laughing about nonsense and told us he just wanted us to keep laughing. Humor and joy were his lifeline. So much so that if you lived with him you could start to feel batty. It was a prank a minute. If he wasn’t pretending to be electrocuted he was randomly shutting off the hot water in the middle of your shower or bellowing a “boom” while you were concentrating then apologetically saying “dad burn thing exploded”. I will wager that not many people know a song for waking people up in the morning, let alone two. I do. I know a song for anything you can think of. He could sing a song for any occasion and put a signature on anything, from how he whistled to his dog to how he pronounced the words “I love you.” He loved to give people nick names and write songs for them. He made anyone and everyone feel special. He was the master of entertainment and timing was his specialty; from his nonsensical telephone messages about Speedy Lightbulb Repair to telling doctors he had an inordinate fear of giraffes. Nothing gave him a bigger thrill than to leave someone speechless if even for just a second.

If he were here today, speaking to you, he would certainly take this opportunity to share with you the convictions he lived by in a clever, compelling and entertaining way. Then he would catch you off guard and with his classic perfectly timed “go for the kill” conclusion he would put you on the spot and ask you to identify convictions of your own and ask you to live by them. 

I am not silver tongued and my timing is always off but he did drive his convictions into me and I feel compelled to honor that the best I can. His deepest convictions are these:

Build a relationship with God and know the foundations of the Bible. Know how many Philistines you can slay with the jawbone of an ass. Know the character of Noah. Know Joshua. Know Caleb. And most of all, know Jesus and know how to pray. Dad shared his spiritual insights as often as he could find a willing listener and he prayed with people all of the time.

Be faithful in love. Love your wife/husband and children and invest in them. That one was so intrinsic to his nature he might have forgotten to tell you. 

Sing, always sing. Sing worship songs, sing silly songs, sing parodies, sing ballads and every now and then throw in a song nobody would expect you to know like “House of the Rising Sun. Singing unabashed shocks people and it feels good. 

Play pranks but make them good, take them all the way and never divulge your trade secrets. Laughter is the best medicine.

Be confident. Dad was never embarrassed. It was his mission in life to embarrass me enough that I would be confident as well. He loved to tell people about going to a church meeting with two mismatched shoes on accident; one with a giant hole in the toe and how it affected people at the meeting. A joke on himself was always his favorite. 

Learn how to tell a story well with perfect timing; one that will captivate, teach a lesson and give a laugh all at once without being too long but with a thread of suspense. 

Live by what is true, not by what is convenient. Life is given and taken by God. Abortion is simply murder. Anyone who condones it assumes the place of God. He personally spent hours explaining this to people and changed people from being pro-abortion patiently lovingly and tenaciously. Not just for the babies, but for their souls. He saved his share of babies when he put his money where his mouth was too. They are some of the most wonderful people I know now. I’m so glad he saved them. He cared about people. 

Know history or you are doomed to repeat it. He spent so much time giving history lessons. I wish I had paid better attention. 

Work hard. Accept that sometimes the hard work evaporates like a burning barn or rained on hay but keep on going. Not for earthly gain but for character. 

Do not live a life of accumulation of expensive things, live a life of simplicity and give your time and build your knowledge. It will make you happier in the end.

Nostalgia in the air

The kids trotted off to school yesterday. They don't look back or cry or probably even miss me all day. They just jump in with both feet and come home bursting with their highs and lows. While they plunge forward, living in the moment, I'm caught in the "looking back" web.

I stared at our last summer campfire the other night and resolved that next summer we will have them every week. I will have a mountain of firewood and a lifetime supply of those nasty marshmallows that the kids like to get stuck in their hair. I'll relax and enjoy these four amazing blondies all summer. I'll have summer lists every morning and wake them up at 8:30 so they can do three chores with me and we can all play the rest of the day. We will make a giant sandbox. We will repair the trampoline. We will have a better garden and hopefully it won't get hailed on. We will go to the pool three times per week and Kait will have my undivided attention until she can sail across the pool like a swan. Nick will master bobbing and Hazel will be in a floatation swimsuit so she doesn't die. Eden will have a friend move in with us for the summer so she is happy to go to the pool. You may notice by my detailed pool planning that the "community swimming pool" was a little less than joyous for our family much to my chagrin". Jody will spend every Saturday morning at the bike park with the kids and every summer night at the BMX track with them. We will go camping at least 4 times. I will read them four chapter books that I haven't gotten them to read on their own yet. It will be epic. After a year of parenting a child in school I once wrote a blog about how I was going to do school perfectly to a tee the next year. Now that I've tried that for five years, I'm pretty sure it's time to move on and set a more attainable goal. Like, living and playing and laughing and giving.
On another note, to people considering a large family I have a little anecdotes that you will probably have plenty of stories to rival through the course of parenting. Something about having lots of kids just increases the likelihood of disgusting, funny, wonderful, horrible and or shocking stories. It's like putting four bullets instead of one into a revolver and playing Russian Roulette.
Today I dropped off three very big and smart kids at school and Hazel and I headed for the mountains. After about an hour she got fussy. I handed her my phone and she got fussier. Suddenly she started saying "uh uh uh" and I looked in the mirror and she was holding my phone out to me. I was surprised because she actually thinks it's her phone and never shares it with me willingly. As I pulled into a parking lot, I took the phone and realized it was covered in vomit. I turned it off, took the case off cleaned it with wipes and then surveyed the rest of the damage. Haze was half hysterical and had vomit down her shirt and all over her skirt. Really, I have to say I could write a vomit book. My family vomits more than any family in the world. We crossed the street to Osh Kosh in Silverthorne and I stripped her naked in the parking lot and got the diaper bag. What I discovered was dismaying though not surprising with my track record. I had wipes, four swim diapers, a week old yogurt tube never opened, bug spray, an apple, some shoes and one single solitary real diaper. No clothes. We went shopping. I swear, the things a girl will do for new clothes. Long story short, I lucked out and got home before needing another diaper and I'd like to say I learned my lesson but we all know the truth.

The tongue of fire...

Tonight after I snapped at my husband over nothing and gave a few short bursts of "brush your teeth" and "why are your dresser drawers hanging open" my oldest hugged me and said "I'm sorry I made you mad tonight." It was so hard to hear those words. So hard to have my failures stare at me in the face and say "See! See what you're doing with your words!" She didn't make me mad tonight. It's my greatest fault as a person. I'm reactionary, mean, insensitive, blunt and it always always always comes back around to haunt me. I told a neighbor how we feel worried that we practically treat her son like our own being strict with him when he doesn't listen and she turned around and said "Jackson, Mr. Jody says you don't listen to him. I want you to apologize." Well, sure I guess I used those words but I didn't mean them that way and yet... they've come right back at me. My words just circle and wait to land. Sometimes as the exact words I said which can be very very bad and sometimes... something much worse which to a person like me is just devastating. I think if a person on the receiving end of my awful tongue could be in my shoes for a few minutes after I realize what I've done they would prefer their own. I can't quite express how broken I become when I realize it's happened again. I always have something on the tip of my tongue or something burning to be written.  I feel somewhat jealous of the avox's in Hunger Games. They have no worries about the fire in their mouths. No dread of the day they will alienate another friend or hurt their own child irreparably with selfish unkind words. No agonizing that they've crossed a line with someone dear. No days of crying over another stupid horrible thing they've said. Nothing. Just silence. Like me and my pandora. Pandora has replaced my tv shows, my internet surfing, my world. It soothes me. I need it like wine or chocolate or gin and tonics. It silences me and calms me and makes me feel normal. Do you think it would be strange if I wore my headphones everywhere and just smiled blankly at everyone who talks to me? I think it might fix some of my "issues." Like when that crazy b*^&% in the Target parking lot told me to keep a better eye on my kids and I strode over to her car and screamed "Do you know what your problem is?!!? Do you know?!? You have COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE ME!!!!" Wait... maybe I was the crazy b*&^%! On the other hand, God puts some people on this earth to balance my presence. Nick said to me as he laid in bed "Mom, I'm going to say something to you that I say every night, (long pause) I love you... I mean I heart you." The power, the power of those words. He's like a magician with words. I feel wrapped in love when he speaks. He speaks and I feel everything release. He loves me so completely. He is my closest living match to what Christ's love is like. He tells me I'm wonderful every single day, no matter how I fail him. I think he really believes I'm a perfect mother for now which I wish I could just enjoy but it covers me with guilt. (tears streaming down my face right now)
A random disconnected note to parents of toddlers. It's been on my mind and I want you to know this even though you will not take it to heart. Nobody takes advice to heart. It's a complete waste of time. If you are not a schedule oriented person, do not put your toddlers into activities on a schedule. Just play and savor it. I cannot stress this enough. When they are in school there will be so many schedules you will never be able to buy that time back. If you can stand to be unscheduled, do it. It's your only chance unless you homeschool (which would put me on top of a tall building ready to step off). I'm so glad I did that when my older three were younger because my life is ruled by my calendar now and it's beyond stifling. It's literally suffocating. Just put me out there on the trampoline in 100 degree weather  and cover me with a wool blanket. This isn't me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm literally barely coping (although watching Kait hit a ball pitched to her and not off the tee was somewhat worth it all tonight...). I have no idea what I expected of parenting four kids but it's mind numbing and I have very few people to relate to (yes I just compared the number of my children to everyone else's). I am this person hanging onto the edge of sanity trying to understand what I'm doing wrong and why it seems like everyone else is pretty much making it. I told Jody tonight that I'm a little puzzled by the cycle of life requiring that we do this nonstop for 18 years for each and every child we bring into the world. No breaks, no vacation time, nothing. This is it, hard core. Why did my parents make it look so... moment by moment. So matter of course. It's like I'm searching for air every second of my existence. It took forever to get the kids to bed tonight and then after all of that effort, Hazel popped into my bedroom at 10:30 with a blanket, pillow and huge triumphant smile which Jody found quite amusing. I just stared at her like a unicorn and told her "I will still have some down time and you will sleep. It will happen. I will make it happen and get your hands off my phone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" But the reality is life would be nothing without them. Nothing. My children complete me, amaze me, fascinate me, love me and bless me. They bless me every single day in the midst of my wailing and insecurities and weaknesses. I guess I just wish I were better. Kinder. Gentler. More patient. More loving. More involved. More interested in their little doings. More generous. More compassionate. More energetitc. More playful. Less stressed.
 COTU

How many children do yo have? How old are they?

That's the first questions we ask people. We love to talk about people who have too many kids or too few. We roll our eyes at each other and presume we are judged even as we judge. It's silly really. I mean, is the size of our families really so offensive to each other? C'MON! How weird is that? I wanted lots of kids. I wanted a life rich and full of family and large family meals and noise and chaos and never ending laughter (kinda like Parenthood without the California flavor). Jody wanted one kid and peace and quiet and the richness of savoring every milestone of that child's life... he didn't get that... which is not what we are dwelling on and I'd go out on a limb and say he's happier living my dream (laying on the floor laughing at my own joke). What I'm saying is everyone has a different dream and what's with trying to fit into societal norms? I was standing chatting with a couple of soft ball moms and found out they both only had one child (by choice and careful planning). I observed that they both had only one child and how unusual it is for me to meet two women who only have one child at the same time and then as I joked that it is also quite an accomplishment (tongue in cheek because I never could have pulled it off with my slipshod birth control methods) one told me to watch what I say about having only one child. She presumed before even hearing my joke (which was at my own expense) that I was about to criticize her family. Well, their kids are 11 and 10. I think we can safely say they are happy with their small family and sticking with their plan. Why would I care? I have to listen to comments left and right about having four kids, do I really want to cast a stone? I don't tell people how many kids to have! I give an "opinion" if it's requested but that's all it is, just an opinion.  Is there a perfect number of children? Maybe. If you have a specific criteria. If you want to fit them all into a hotel room, you better stick with two. If you want to be able to fly around in airplanes, one might be the magic number for you. If you got two boys and want a girl three might be your magic number (FYI, that doesn't always pan out!) If you want a full basketball team you're going to need five... If you want a full dining table of average size go for four. If you think they're cheaper by the dozen... the scenarios are endless. I just want to be clear that I didn't have any firm plans. It was pretty much in the hands of God entirely until we realized He wanted to bless us so much it was scary. Yes, you can actually reach the whole "cup running over" point if you just open yourself up to God's blessings. For real. As far as strategy goes, I did buy four Christmas stockings that all matched when Eden was two months old and then after Hazel was born I realized I was sick of them and now I want new Christmas stockings. I've basically been in the shock, reel, recover, accept, do laundry, make dinner, move forward, have a baby, rinse and repeat cycle for several years. During all of this time, I've come to the slow realization that other people take a very active role in planning their lives. It's fascinating. It actually works. Things turn out the way they plan them! Novel! Are they happier than me? Nah! Am I happier than they are? Well, I hope so! LOL! I teased my sister never endingly about having more babies but she stood firm at 2. Do I judge her? No, never. Never at all. From a selfish standpoint it's convenient for me that she stopped at two because I have so many though... I think I teased her out of habit. People seem to assume there's a "story" to it if you don't have either two or three kids. Like there's a fascinating explanation for your life that seems so incomprehensible from afar. I am fine with general interest and friendly questions. I don't presume ulterior motives when I hear "you must be busy" and "oh wow, how do you even manage?" I know they are just making conversation but it makes me want to say something shocking and awful just to change things up because the comments are so redundant. I did reply straight faced "gin and tonic, that's the only way to get through your day" to one lady. She looked stricken. I'm kind of afraid she believed me. Oops. Now I'm judged for having too many kids and drinking too much. Let's see how much more trouble I can get into...

Saturday and Sunday in Israel

(NOTE, IF A PIC LOOKS PRETTY CLICK ON IT AND YOU WILL SEE IT BIGGER, gah, I wish I'd gotten my blog on wordpress.)

Doug, Bart's husband is home for work and coming over for dinner in a couple of days and he's bringing Bomba from Bart. I brought back a suitcase full on my trip there and the guy at the airport rolled his eyes and told me I could buy it in America... but I don't know where... kinda like Bart and black beans... so she's sending us our favorite with the peanut butter filling. At any rate, it goaded me into finishing the chronicles of possibly my only grand adventure overseas in this lifetime.

It's not as fresh so this will be less descriptive. I'm sad. Not that anyone else really cares. I wish I had thrown myself into blogging with fervor each night right when I got home while the euphoria of having been somewhere exotic and different was still running through me. I didn't. I laid plastered to the couch staring at fingerprints all over everything wondering when I would feel like cleaning my house again so the kids could fingerprint it again.

I think I'm on Saturday. After we wandered around looking for broken pottery and staring at the amazing desert fossils and rocks splashed with iron, I watched a film crew for a bit then we left the Bedouins. I will hold them in my heart forever. It was a beautiful and whimsical place but half of my joy was watching the people and to listen to them talk. I heard one young man talking in english with a very thick accent; both were in dread locks dressed in what looked like blankets to me and he was saying quite earnestly "I am trying to drink less coffee and more tea." It was something you'd hear the person at a table next to you in a restaurant in America say... but there we were at the edge of nowhere, camped on the border of a country so violent you don't dare cross and you hear this simple normal exchange. I chortled. (I admit I may not have chortled but I really felt the urge to type that word.)

We drove back to Jerusalem a completely different way through beautiful country. The desert with old ruins and a vast expanse,

followed by areas flooded by the spring rains...

gave way to rocky green mountains

then giant rolling hills like northwestern Arkansas only it was so old. So very old with beautiful rock terracing and grape vineyards and herds of sheep and goats. 

 Doug nicely pulled over and let me take pictures a couple times.

When we got back to Jerusalem it was Shabbat so you can't shop anywhere except the 24 hour stores which are exorbitantly priced... which we did. We recuperated that afternoon. Doug's back hurt fiercely and it made me feel guilty that he drove me literally all over Israel under great stress in rain etc... One more example of what the Bartlett's gave me; something I'll never be able to repay.

Sunday Doug had to go back to work. The boys school has an American schedule but he works an Israeli schedule. So, he gets Friday Saturday off, they get half of Friday and Saturday Sunday off. The rest of us got up, made scones and went to church.

Going to church was a very meaningful part of the trip to me. It was very spiritual. It was a beautiful Anglican church in the Old City. The service was nice, I enjoyed it very much but at the end, right there in the Old City, a stones throw from the via dolorosa I took communion. I knelt at an alter and the priest came to me and he placed a cracker in my palm then he pressed it until it broke and said "this is Christ's body broken for you." I've always tried to grasp it, make it feel real, absorb it... but with that simple motion he made it real. So real. I've never had a moment in communion like that. It twisted my heart and showed me what a shallow human I am.
We had lunch at a cute little place at the Mamilla mall. Had some cappuccino... of course. Then we wandered through the Old City. I saw some weird giant gold candelabra they have made for the next Temple which is very creepy to me ( I know that shocks people but I went through a place where they are collecting everything they need for the next temple and it gives me the willies) and the "Western Wall." Bart made me stand in front of them like a tourist for my picture. I felt... uncomfortable. There was no magic there for me.

Then we found some ruins. They were really cool. Nobody was there. And we saw the temple steps. Steps that maybe Jesus sat on and taught from. I wanted my picture there. Bart took it but I can't seem to find it. I look the same... like a tourist.  It felt special though. Here's some various pictures of Hassidic Jews, the army, some cool old roman pillars and the ruins that I loved.

Halfway

On Friday as I bumbled along in the back seat with Bedford's head lolling over the seat we headed for Tel Aviv. It's funny that Israel is the size of New Jersey but yet they have such a variety of climates and landscapes. Tel Aviv is on the Mediterranean Sea so it's humid, green (when I was there anyway) and rather lush with more flat and rolling hills. Jerusalem is more hilly, rocky and an average humidity. So, we dropped off their horse at the doggy day care and he was thrilled. The boy and I cozied up for a long weekend in the back seat together.

Ashkelon was our lunch destination. It was pouring rain. Bart was worried about going to the desert during a deluge but Doug said we should go for it so we did and I'm glad even if everyone did suffer each in their own way. As the Bartletts like to say, during a lot of it "we had fun without having fun", the rest was fun or just crazy and unreal. In Ashkelon the recommended restaurant was closed so we went to "Meat Me". It was... good food and nobody spoke any english. They conveyed to us that they were searching for their english menu and we saw them search high and low to no avail. We finally ordered some beef and some chicken (the usual options in Israel) and he told us it would be $500. Doug dealt with it quickly asking how many zero's and he said one so my heart resumed beating. We sat down to eat. Doug felt compelled to take my picture in this clash of cultures with a rather alarming/disturbing phrase in the background though I daresay the Israeli's probably think it's clever and have no innuendo in mind... There were napkin dispensers from the 80's in America and a real live cigarette vending machine. I loved my lunch at "Meat Me" so much that I took several pictures.

We made a brief stop at the Mediterranean Sea but it was cold and windy so we picked up sea shells for my munchkins at home and skedaddled. 

After that we were back in the car pell mell and off to the border of Gaza just to say we went. We parked by the border and Doug and his mini me (Warren) rhapsodized over how close we were to Gaza and how we would all die if we crossed the border until Bart very calmly asked if we could leave. 

I think if she had known how the rest of our day would pan out she might not have bothered to feel any angst. It was to be the theme of her day. I was just a small child in the back seat without a care in the world kicking the seat in front of me and begging people to listen to my headphones with me so I really didn't add any gray hairs to my head. I guess it's not nice to brag. I guess I did join reality now and then to laugh like an imbecile and shrug my shoulders and wish for wifi so i could make nonsensical Facebook posts about my adventures on the border of Egypt and Gaza. Anyway, we got lost. We were headed for the desert to camp with the Bedouins and ride camels the next day but the Israeli version of Siri took us on a rather extensive off track tour of southern Israel. What eventually happened was we crossed over into a military zone, got stopped by a very scary looking humvee full of Israeli soldiers who wanted to know what we were doing. Since we were lost, we didn't really have to play the part we just acted dazed and confused which we were. They sent us packing and Bart forbade me from taking a picture of them which was torture. Ithink if she had known how the rest of our day would pan out she might not have bothered to feel any angst. It was to be the theme of her day. I was just a small child in the back seat without a care in the world kicking the seat in front of me and begging people to listen to my headphones with me so I really didn't add any gray hairs to my head. I guess it's not nice to brag. I guess I did join reality now and then to laugh like an imbecile and shrug my shoulders and wish for wifi so i could make nonsensical Facebook posts about my adventures on the border of Egypt and Gaza. Anyway, we got lost. We were headed for the desert to camp with the Bedouins and ride camels the next day but the Israeli version of Siri took us on a rather extensive off track tour of southern Israel. What eventually happened was we crossed over into a military zone, got stopped by a very scary looking humvee full of Israeli soldiers who wanted to know what we were doing. Since we were lost, we didn't really have to play the part we just acted dazed and confused which we were. They sent us packing and Bart forbade me from taking a picture of them which was torture. 

There's a little map of our tour though I really can't say where we went off track seeing as how I was oblivious most of the time. 

At one point we wound up in some kind of settlement behind a gate, unable to find our way back to any recognizable road. It was funny... well give me a break. I was a little kid kicking the seat. 

Finally after a harrowing drive through the desert in a deluge... Bart said we almost washed off of a bridge at one point... I was blissfully unaware... Doug got us to the place just in time for dinner. That was the best dinner of my freaking life after trekking back and forth from the car to the room through shin deep water with all of our luggage, pillows, blankets and sleeping bags. Sorry, no pictures. It would have been completely impossible, though it would have made a hilarious movie. 

Ahhhh dinner! Blessed amazing dinner!

We had tea by the fire and warmed up and tried to dry out a little. It was pretty magical. I'm still amazed at the lengths the Bartlett's all went to entertain me... little old me. 

The next day we had a lovely breakfast with what Harrison declared were the best eggs ever and many more sumptuous foods and teas. They had green tea and Bedouin tea. I liked the green tea personally. After breakfast and dinner both people staying there played music and sat around drinking tea and laughing. It's a very magical place. 

Here's what you saw right after you came out the door of our lodge.

 This is the restrooms but they're so pretty I had to take a pic. I was basically standing in the sunshine brushing my teeth.

This is the lodge we stayed in.

Yes, those tracks were right by the place we stayed the morning after the deluge!!! In the parking lot by our lodge. 

I'm outa juice. I keep stopping in the middle of a day. It bugs me. 

Part 3 The rainiest day of my trip!

God has a way of just twisting my heart when I am failing. I've been failing to blog my awesome trip. I don't know why I'm struggling to be a blogger nowadays. I think I'm so busy reading books, staring at my lovely Hazel's chubby cheeks and soft toes and giving people dirty looks when they tell me she isn't a baby anymore that I just think I have nothing more inside of me. But then God shows me something beautiful and twists my heart and I panic and run start typing.

This morning Bart sent me a link to an apartment for rent. It had pictures of the view of Jerusalem and tears started running down my face as I looked at something that shouldn't feel familiar and special enough for me to cry over but there I was... wondering if I'd ever see it again. Wondering if I savored it enough. Wondering if my husband or kids would ever see it. But mostly wondering why the hell I was crying over an apartment for rent in Israel.

http://www.jerusalemproperties.co.il/property/rental14.shtml

 On the rainiest day of my trip we went to the museum and the Shouk. The Shouk is a local market, not geared towards tourists. People buy their meat, produce, treats, spices, pottery etc... there. I bought some Halva which is a pretty yummy mediterranean treat. It's a combination of ground sesame seeds, honey and other ingredients. I also bought a juicer but pomegranates are out of season in America right now so it's just kind of collecting dust. It seemed like a good idea at the time... I should have bought saffron but I didn't.

Eden was particularly fascinated by an open market and requested many videos. I should have had Bart being Vanna White with stuff more. That's the best part of these cheesy videos.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TIq-Ww-BRhQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ve2gsZPkuok

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2XghQ3DzMs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_c_MX4X8k0

The museum was... full of incredible artifacts and overwhelming. Our legs ran out of energy and our brains went into system overload before we were half done. Coffee was a great solution. The worst part was that I was sick of taking pictures and failed to take pictures of the amazing roman and greek sculptures there. The best part was that I did see the Dead Sea Scrolls which was wonderful but there was this mean little old man in there who would shriek every time I tried to take a picture which really just baked my cookies. If you don't want people to take pictures, post a sign, don't have a crazy little man shrieking at people like a cuckoo in Hebrew. Here's the best pic I sneaked.

The worst part through all of this was the rain. Jenny cut bangs for me right before I left and they were pasted to my forehead the entire time I was there. Sigh. We felt it was worth documenting with a "we are soaked to the bone permanently and our bangs are awful" expression. I texted it to Jenny who always looks perfect and she told us we looked great. Uh, yeah. Ok...

The next day we left for the desert. The entire Bartlett family and me. It was a rather hilarious and wonderful trip. I sat in the back of Barts car with her boys feeling like a small child. I watched them play a terrible pirate game on their ipads and listened to my ipod with my headphones all the while wondering where we were and how far we had to go. It was a bit like being a kid again... I had forgotten how that felt! It's good to get in touch with your inner child sometimes.

There is no way I will document all of that day right now... Soon.

Part 2

My life has changed significantly with a fourth child and I feel anxiety claw at me as I think "oh crap, now I've waited so long to blog my trip that I won't remember when I went to that amazing breakfast." Wonderful little bits and pieces lay strewn at the bottom of my consciousness like treasure on a sea floor. So humor me as I dive at random and reclaim the pieces that meant the most to me. They won't be chronological but I can't imagine why it would matter. I have a couple of things that I want to jot down and remember though they aren't really stories... For one thing, I think my trip was a very unique experience because I wasn't on a tour. I was with people who live in Talpiot Jerusalem and know all of the best restaurants, and all of the best shopping areas and all of the best of everything all the while letting me see things most tourists probably don't like riding in 30 taxi cabs and shopping at the grocery store, and the fruit market, and picking children up at school. Most of our time was spent wandering around seeing amazing things without a large group to keep up with. Everyone in my life loves me and showers me with such amazing blessings that I'm downright embarrassed to think about it all. It brought me to tears several times on my trip as I thought about all of the people who cooperated to give me this incredible experience. The words "humbled" and "gratitude" seemed to bump into each other in my mind constantly as each day passed and I was actually able to feel what it was like to miss my kids! LOL! It took a few days but I really did! I found myself thinking about parents who travel for work all of the time or are in the military etc... and have those feelings on a regular basis. It gave me a profound respect for their dedication to provide for their families no matter what. The second day I was there, I hit the wall. I crashed and burned. I have always wondered what - exactly - jet lag felt like. When I was a small child I heard about it and wondered; I thought it might be an actual illness like altitude sickness. No, it's just plain old complete exhaustion. It felt like my body was made from lead and I was trying to breathe helium instead of oxygen. Bart had really hoped if she kept me on my feet all day the first day I wouldn't get it. But I did. It all happened when we came back from a very interesting grocery shopping trip (result of only about $8 wasted on things we thought were one thing but turned out to be another) and she went to put groceries away and make me more coffee. No matter what you read about my trip, if I forget to mention coffee, just picture it somewhere in the scene. Coffee was continually being made, drunk, bought or discussed. Morning coffee was fresh ground in her cool glass coffee carafe thingy with the chemex filters and afternoon coffee was cappuccinos in her awesome Nespresso machine. There was one day that lacked coffee, which I am sure I will write about eventually and all day long we wished for coffee and discussed it at random intervals until we got a rather subpar one at a gift shop (we were on a tour and weren't allowed to go anywhere except gift shops). Anyway, that second day as Bart cheerily chatted and busied around in the kitchen I made friends with her Ikea couch. Very good friends. She tried to shriek me off of the couch but it was no good. It was euphoric. I had found heaven. It wasn't to last long because it couldn't last long. Nothing on my trip was long lasting. I was on a runaway train the whole time. She was getting me geared up to flag down a taxi to go get the boys from band practice after school. And so we did. We shopped in a lovely little quiet area of town that I've forgotten the name of and then began our quest for a cab. But, again the taxi thing didn't work out. Our taxi driver announced shortly after picking us up that he was giving us the boot and heading another direction. So, there we stood forlorn in the rain staring at each other three blocks from where we had started with him. It was noteworthy I know because she told "everyone" the story and got shocked responses from "everyone." Our despondency was short lived. We found a very jovial cab driver who spoke very little English and was very encouraging of Bart's attempts at Hebrew. We had a lovely ride with him, Warren and Harrison used their Hebrew and thrilled the little man to no end. I think that was Sami. The next morning Bart took me to a full Israeli breakfast at the Inbal Hotel. It was hands down the most impressive breakfast I've ever seen. After that we went on a tour with a Jewish tour guide of several significant sites to Christians including the place where he ascended into heaven and the Garden of Gethsemane. She did not believe in Jesus so that gave the tour a different feel than if she had. I don't regret it because it was interesting to see a non believer sharing details about these historical sites. On this tour a few things stood out to me. The Garden of Gethsemane is beautiful but small and guarded. You aren't allowed to touch the ancient trees and I rather imagine it used to be huge. Second, it was quite disappointing to me that Constantine's mother Helen erected a church where Jesus ascended into heaven. Walking in to a church made it impossible to envision Jesus rising into the air. I think if they had to make a memorial it should have been more like an observatory or a roofless monument of some kind. This is the church rebuilt. Helen's was destroyed. Gethsemane