Dear Caleb,

Today is your 16^th birthday. (Dare I say “Sweet 16”? We’ll say it refers to March Madness, even though your team decided to sit on the bench instead of play their second game…)

While I remember the births of all my siblings in some way, yours I remember as clearly as if it was yesterday. Mom and Dad went to the hospital about 5:30 the evening of March 28, leaving me alone with the remainder six siblings overnight at the age of 15. This was before cell phones, we lived a good ½ hour from the hospital (as if I could have driven there anyhow for I hadn’t learned to do anything but start a car) and knew NOBODY in our little town of East Brookfield, MA. So after Katey tried to burn down the house cooking pizza, I checked the locks on the doors about a million times and put the youngest five to bed. Then Katey and I sat down to watch the movie Ben-Hur. These were in the days before DVDs. Don’t know if we were just nervous wrecks or the library stickers covered the number on the two cassettes, but we put in one and the movie started right at the chariot race. Already a budding writer (guess I’m still budding since I’m not published yet…), I thought, “Wow! What a way to start a story!” A couple hours later we discovered our mistake: we watched the second half first and then put in the first half. Funny but that did explain a lot…

Didn’t sleep much that night. And spent the next day on pins and needles. Nobody called. Didn’t know what was going on. I probably thought Mom had died, or Dad had a heart attack, or you were in ICU. I know I wanted to scream. But – finally – around 12:30 Dad called. I had a baby brother. Named Samuel Caleb. At a whopping 12 pounds even. What did I want to call him? I didn’t hesitate: Caleb.

Who knew 16 years ago how much I needed a baby brother. I certainly didn’t foresee the only other brother I had exiting my life, not caring if I lived or died and causing years of pain. But God knew. And God gave you everything you needed to be the only brother in the midst of sisters: a sense of humor, a ton of tolerance, an easy nature and over six feet of brawn. You may not want to get married, but you will one day make some girl very lucky. That is, if she can get by one adoring oldest sister.

Unlike most siblings that are separated by 15 years, I have been very blessed to be a part of most of your life. I have watched you be a cowboy and fight bad guys in the woods. I long ago gave up trying to keep up with the books you read – and I’ve never had the comprehension you do. I can’t hope to compete on the basketball court anymore, although I never mind trying. I am very proud that the little boys at church think you are the greatest thing since sliced bread, that you write me letters that make me laugh, that you played your best basketball games ever when I visited for Christmas, and that you’re willing to share your room over Easter. Most of my life I wanted an older brother…well, I wouldn’t exchange the best baby brother in the world for all the older brothers money could buy.

Happy 16^th birthday, Bud. I’ll see you next month!

Love, Melissa

Me and my baby brother at the hospital, 1995: ages 15 and not quite 1 day.

I could carry him!

Me and my baby brother at home in Indiana, 2010: ages 30 and 15.

Now he can carry me!

Snapshots from my Week

Well, it hasn’t exactly been a long week. Seems like a lot has happened, though. Maybe that’s why I stood in my closet this morning, quite comfortable in my sweats and t-shirt, and wished I could just go to work as is. One of those mornings when the last thing I wanted to wear was a nice shirt and slacks…

Work's been a bit busier – steady, anyhow. And I have filled my evenings with my dollhouse. Which, you can see from the pictures below, is actually starting to look like a house! Goal for the weekend? Finish the stairs (now that I found the pieces I was missing), insert the staircase and railings, and measure the walls for the wallpaper (can’t actually put that in until I get the house wired for electricity). Should be a productive weekend.

Thought I’d add a few other snapshots from my week. Spring has arrived in Texas. Or should I say summer? Yes, it did hit 90 this week. Sigh.

The foundation and start on the first/second floors…waiting for the glue to dry.

Getting there…the backside.

Still one more piece to complete the walls of the front, but the staircases go in first.

Irises – remind me of my amazing mother and smell like Tennessee.

Not sure what these are, but they’re pretty little things that grow under our cattle guard. They blossom at dusk and dawn.

Being Hospitable

I grew up in a home that was hospitable. Many a Sunday did we have a guest over from church, often the guest preacher who Dad would invite as soon as the service was over. Missionaries, older couples, families with lots of kids, families with one. It didn’t matter. If they could eat, they came over. We had so many people through our house, it probably looked like a restaurant at times. The more the merrier. Exactly the way I want my home to be one day.

So, this weekend, my housemate and I practiced our hospitality skills. Originally the invitation was just to one…but it grew to twelve. No big deal. We grilled out. Everyone brought something. And it was a lovely day. Not that we couldn’t have eaten inside, everyone joked. Exactly how much room do two single girls need? Apparently enough to have about 100 people over. That would give everyone about 63 square feet to themselves…unless we were outside. And I’m afraid I’m not good enough with acreage to feet to figure 18 acres into 100 people. At least, not off the top of my head.

It was a beautiful day outside. Bright and sunny with a nice breeze. We enjoyed good fellowship, the kids worked puzzles and played outside, I gave tours of the house, the food was wonderful and afterwards I shot some hoops and took a walk around the edge of the property just to see where it runs. It couldn’t have been better.

So, if any of y’all are ever down my way, my housemate and I would love to host you. Feed you, chat with you, and just generally entertain you. And why not? God has given us a great gift of a wonderful place to live. We like to share it with others. Which we will certainly do again soon.

New Things to Learn

In life, there are always new things to learn. In fact, if you have stopped learning you might want to check your pulse to see if you aren’t dead. If your heart is still beating, then you’re probably delusional. Or you just hate living. In which case, you’re much worse off than delusional – a lot worse off.

I have learned several things this week, but – so you will not be reading for the next hour – we’ll keep it down to two. The first? Cardboard. The second? Plywood, at least when it pertains to a dollhouse.

Cardboard. Now, there is a lot of cardboard in this world. I should know. After all, I have moved 14 times. I couldn’t even estimate how many boxes that tends to. But if you’re one of those unfortunate people who have never moved, stop by Wal-Mart and take a good look at how many things come in cardboard boxes. And then let me tell you that even Wal-Mart has nothing on a cardboard factory. Cardboard pieces three times the size of me, piled in stacks three times my height and stacked in so many piles you’d lose count. And while that is most amazing, even more astounding is how many people it takes to run a cardboard factory. Or the technology that goes into it. They have graphic artists that make the designs – shapes, folds, and pictures. Quality assurance to make sure the finished project is all in order. And enough machinery to fill…well, a warehouse. And how did I learn all this? If I was 14, I’d say I was on a field trip. But I wasn’t, although I got a grand tour. So…well, Lord willing, I’ll save that story for another time.

Plywood. Lots of it. As you can see by the pictures below. Sheets of the stuff with pieces cut out and ready to be glued into the shape of a dollhouse. I’ve spent the week preparing them. This means going over most of them with shellac. The ones I didn’t shellac, are seen in the picture of the staircase. Those were stained and polyurethaned. But as you can see, the house is on its way. Or, at least, the pieces are no longer in a box. And I have wallpaper. And the wiring kit to electrify it. And, I think at times, much more than I can handle!

My workroom…I think I might need a few more tables!

Pieces, pieces, pieces…

The pieces go together – and make staircases!

Peaks and Troughs

If we are at all honest with ourselves, we all know that life has its ups and downs. Its mountains and valleys. As C.S. Lewis refers to it in The Screwtape Letters, its peaks and troughs. Times of soaring joy – moments of bitter sorrow.

In The Screwtape Letters, the senior demon Screwtape warns his nephew Wormwood of these moments in the life of humanity. He tells Wormwood that if the “patient” is in a trough, Wormwood must do the opposite of what the “Enemy” (God Himself) would do.

“You mean bring him to a peak?” Wormwood asks. “But why? Isn’t it more useful to us when he is in a trough?”

“No!” Screwtape thunders. “When the patient is in a trough is when the Enemy does His greatest work. It is then the patient will turn to the Enemy and cleave to Him for help. This makes the patient’s dependence and love for the Enemy even greater. You must bring the patient to a peak."

If you’re like me, you can remember your “troughs” pretty clearly. All of them are bad – many of them are horrible. You wouldn’t wish them on your worst enemy. But, for me, I wouldn’t give them up for the world. Those are the times God most revealed Himself to me and drew me ever nearer to Him.

“But I would say the opposite is just as true,” a friend told me on Sunday when I referred to Screwtape’s advice to Wormwood.

I had been thinking the exact same thing all day. For over the past months, I have often felt if God raised my peak any higher I would suffocate for lack of oxygen. But being on the peak has caused me more moments of trepidation than any trough ever has: what if I soar so high I forget my God?

I suppose if I have such thoughts one might say I am in no danger of forgetting the One who has placed me on this peak. But, personally, the danger is very real. While standing upon the peak and surveying the wondrous world around me, I long to cleave to my God all the more lest I stumble and fall. I often cry with the hymn writer, “Oh, Love, that will not let me go.”

I know with all my heart that the gracious Father who has seen me through every trough of my life will see me along the journey across the peak. And, I pray, that like the troughs that have made me who I am, so this peak will make me even stronger in my God.

“Lord, I believe. Help Thou my unbelief.”

Beautiful North Carolina

Not that I have any avidly faithful readers, but maybe some of you have wondered where I’ve been the last six days. Well, I went to North Carolina for a long weekend – and didn’t take my laptop.

The purpose of the trip was to visit a friend from camp who was back home on spring break from college. I haven’t seen Anna in nearly four years, and four days was hardly enough time to catch up. But we made the best of it: staying up and talking late, watching movies, tromping all over the family’s acreage, petting their six cats (yes, six!), laying in front of the fire, hiking, visiting cute Mt. Airy and eating way to much of her wonderful mother’s homecooked meals. Aside from the hours spent catching planes and sitting in airports, basically I did nothing but rest. And enjoyed the beauty of North Carolina.

I could live in North Carolina – very easily. Have a nice little home in the mountains with some land to roam on and a dog to keep me company. It is so beautiful there! Those mountains! I could not get enough of them. Gorgeous weather, cold nights, great food and the most amazing friends. It was a wonderful four days away. I almost hated to come back…

Mountains – glorious mountains!!!!

Pilot Mountain

Mt. Airy, NC – the birthplace of Andy Griffith and model for Mayberry.

Anna and me

North Carolina!!!

This time tomorrow, Lord willing, I should be making my final descent into Raleigh/Durham. With great excitement and anticipation I will hurry off the plane as quickly as I can, find my way to the nearest exit, find my most wonderful friend Anna and give her the biggest hug she has ever had!

Some people might look at my friendship with Anna and wonder how I could love her so much when we haven't been around each other that much. But some people are just like that. And Anna is one of those people. I couldn't help but love her.

Anna and I met at camp. We're nearly nine years apart in age. Our first year at camp together in 2006, she was the youngest member on staff at age 17. I was one of the oldest at age 26. As two of the ten girls at a boy's camp, of course we were thrown together all the time. It helped that we were "sweethearts" of the same tribe. Somehow, in a mere nine weeks, we just connected. The following summer we had nine more weeks together. And I came to love Anna more and more.

What do I love most about Anna? What you see is what you get. She's friendly, and bubbly, and loves life, and makes friends with everyone, and takes teasing well, and just makes life fun. All the things I'm not by nature. So while she once told me she wishes she was more like me, I would love to be more like her. Together, I guess, we make a pretty good team.

Anna and I have had tons of fun together. Lots of laughter, lots of serious talks, and hours of fun acting nuts on the Blue Ridge Parkway. On the other hand, we have also shed tears together. For when her father was killed in an accident two years ago in May, I sat in my hotel room at a writer's conference and sobbed. On Saturday, I will give her the hug I wanted to give her that day.

A visit to Anna is long overdue. And it won't be nearly long enough. Only four days. But we plan to pack a lot into them: hiking, horseback riding, long walks in the woods, evenings by the fire, being spoiled with good home cooking by her mom, and...well, probably very little sleep! It's going to be a great long weekend.

Okay, so, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately...don't I usually? About a myriad of subjects, but there are always a couple that stand out and one has been the dollhouse sitting in the "school room" of my house just waiting to be worked upon.

On Saturday, I guess I started on it. If that means going to Lowes and coming out with an armful of wood stain, polyurethane, sellac, foam brushes, sand paper, masking tape and tacky glue. That also might mean sitting down with the directions and highlighting all the highpoints I want to remember as I go along. Or spending hours on-line shopping for wiring, furniture and wallpaper and reading over articles from other people who have already done this. I haven't bought any of the inside stuff yet. That's today's project if I get time, but if I want to really start on it in two weeks (after I get back from North Carolina this weekend) then I need it all in place. For the top suggestion is to paper, stain and wire it as you build. Makes sense to me!

So, what exactly is this grand house supposed to look like upon completion? Well, the inside I'm not 100% sure. But I do know it will have a library. With bookshelves and a rolltop desk. "Figured that," a friend laughingly told me. And it will have a master bedroom, a large kids room, a bath, kitchen, living area, entry hall and music room. I have a long list of furniture I would love to find in all these rooms, but I'm afraid I get more ideas every time I look on-line. But, I figure, aren't Victorian houses supposed to look cluttered?

As for the outside, here is a sample of what I want it to look like. It is the same house, but I am going to swap the brown trim for a dark evergreen. Otherwise, I want it to look pretty much the same:
It's gorgeous, isn't it?