Turn Around & They’re Grown

Turn Around & They’re Grown

Seven years ago, my husband and I went out to Wisconsin for a wedding. During the rehearsal dinner, we sat across from one of his relatives, who had three children under five. The man’s eyes were bloodshot, and two of his three offspring kept fussing as he one-handedly cut up their food with a knife. In between divvying out plates, he mentioned how hard it was—this season of young parenthood—and my husband’s uncle (a father of eight) said, “Yes, but it goes by so fast.”

Last weekend, my husband and I took our three children under five back to Wisconsin for a wedding. The morning of the event, I didn’t shut the toilet off properly and water flooded the RV’s tiny bathroom, forcing us to use all our towels to sop up the floor. The wedding itself went fine, though any cinematography will no doubt include the sound of me vigorously burping my newborn child.

But the reception was another story.

My introverted toddler will often beg for a nap, especially if we’re in a new environment, and she did not receive one that day. She was weepy and sweaty by the time we arrived at the barn, where the reception was held, and when she tried to climb into the folding chair, it collapsed and twisted her body like a pretzel. I gasped and tried (one handed, of course; my other was juggling my newborn) to lift the chair off of her, only to slip and drop it, smacking her soundly on the nose.

So, she was squalling, and I was trying to simultaneously comfort her and feed my newborn the bottle I’d pumped in between the wedding and the reception. My husband’s aunt saved the day by taking our five-year-old to the children’s section, where they loaded up on sandwich baggies of snacks and Crayons and coloring pages of princess brides. This held my children over for another hour. Then another wonderful aunt rocked my newborn while I cut up my pork with two hands and then held my toddler.

After the lovely dinner and the toasts, they cleared a few of the tables, swept the floor, and set up lights and speakers for dancing. About this time, my five-year-old came back inside with her second cousin, both girls wearing white dresses and sandals, their dark eyes all ashine with the wonder of this strange new world. They sat on the periphery of the dance floor, less wall flowers than gardenias in bloom, and I sat in a chair against the wall—a newborn asleep in a car seat on the floor, a toddler asleep in my lap, who was creating more heat than a solar panel in August.

My five-year-old got up and moved across the floor, waltzing with the red and green lights. I watched her—my dry throat a contradiction for my eyes—and knew that, in no time at all, she would be a woman in white, dancing on that floor, but no longer alone. And I would have to watch—my arms no longer juggling bottles and babies and weepy toddlers who’d missed their naps, and I would sit against the wall with a corsage itching my wrist and spray glistening in my hair and recall all the times I’d rocked and sang and loved and cried and laughed while watching these three beautiful daughters of mine transition from newborns to toddlers to five year olds to ten year olds to teenagers and beyond.

And as the tears flowed in that blessed dark, I held my hot, sleeping toddler a little closer and prayed that I would not lose sight of these years—of these minutes—for they do go by so fast: causing me to soon look out on the dance floor and see my daughter—who was once twirling on an empty dance floor—now slow-dancing in her new husband’s arms.

How do you savor parenthood, even during the more challenging moments/years?

Would you be ready?

What would you do if the world as you knew it came to a standstill, and what we currently find valuable in our culture no longer had worth? The smartphone in your hand wouldn’t be able to reach into the void of cyberspace, connecting you to loved ones to find out if they were okay or even alive.

Money would merely be the physical elements of paper, plastic, or metal—no longer exchangeable for anything you needed. And the only way to get from one place to another would be on foot or by animal, if any were left . . . .

In The Divide, the gripping conclusion to The Alliance, nearly six months have passed since Leora Ebersole’s Old Order Mennonite community fled to the mountains for refuge after an attack destroyed the power grid and altered life as they knew it. But when long-held beliefs are once again put to the test, Leora wrestles with the divide between having faith and taking action.

Just how much will her shifting landscape change her?

Though Leora’s Mennonite community is used to living off the land, the world-altering effects of the attack have led to a grim reality for the Englischers as the deterioration of modern society poses a threat to their survival. And so you have to wonder . . . would you be ready?

While there are many scary realities to face in The Divide, this story is a reminder that though we often surround ourselves with busyness, it is through fellowship and God’s Word that we are sustained even through the harshest of time.

Unencumbered by social media and the need to keep in contact 24-7, what might your family routine look like?

With more time to prepare, might you grow your own vegetable garden?

What would your garden look like if a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers was the only centerpiece for your table that money and time would allow?

Create your very own landscape and homesteading board on Pinterest and be entered to win:

• GRAND PRIZE: Deluxe Organic Fruit Basket (Value $99.99)
• SECOND PRIZE(S): a gift card to REI (we’ll offer TWO $25 gift cards)
• a signed copy of the book

Here’s how to enter:

Fill out the Gleam form below.
Create a Pinterest board titled “The Divide Homestead.”
Click the red “Save” button on the pin above, and pin it to your newly made “The Divide Homestead” board.
Start pinning! What do you think the landscape and Mt. Hebron’s new community in the mountains would look like? What types of supplies and tactics would you use to live off the land? Be sure to include the hashtag #TheDivideHomestead in your pins.

Build Your Own Homestead—Celebrating the Launch of Jolina Petersheim’s New Novel, The Divide