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.”