Author: jdunderwood

Quick update

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This is PJ jumping in an ice-cold, snow-melt lake in Montana, where we vacationed a couple weeks ago. Seriously, my ankles HURT after standing in the water just a few seconds, and my crazy guy literally jumped in it–and then huddled on the sun-warm pebbles shaking from the cold just a few minutes later.

Hi all, I haven’t written anything in the last week, and I’m a little too brain-fried to do anything right now, but just wanted to update on the past couple of weeks. On July 6 I began teaching at a month-long international-student English camp at Indiana Wesleyan University. Each day I interact with about 65 students (most of them from China, with a few from Korea, and one from Vietnam–yes, that would be my girl Jane, for those of you who have followed my blog for awhile). I’m teaching one reading and vocab class and two study skills classes. These kids are smart and funny, and it’s a joy to help them improve in their English skills.

My being in Indiana for the month means Dave is taking care of the four kids alone (except on weekends, when I travel back home). I’m grateful for his willingness to do this, and I’m glad to be able to have this different kind of teaching opportunity.

Thanks for reading,

The four Underwood warriors brandishing their walking sticks before a hike in Custer National Park in Montana.

Jen

Lessons in the journey

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Yes, those are pigs racing. On my birthday, we went to hamburger joint in a tiny town near Red Lodge, Montana (we were on vacation there), that had pig races, one every fifteen minutes starting at 7 p.m. The kids absolutely loved it! I rooted for every little black pig, but not a one of them ever one. I think black pigs are CUTE!

NOTE: I wrote this a couple weeks ago, but am just now getting around to posting it.

I am 42 today. I woke without remembering this fact and had just about decided to slip out of bed without waking Dave when he whispered, “Happy Birthday, hon.” Since then I’ve been reminded of it often, since my children came up with the idea of singing “Happy Birthday” to me 42 times. They’re up to 12 by now, but I’m hoping they run out of steam.

I don’t mind the 40s, don’t mind getting older, but my birthday has reminded me of my “to be accomplished by 40” list. Actually, it was first a “by 30” list, but when it didn’t happen then, I just moved it, first to 35, then to 40.

The list only has one item:

Get a book accepted by a publisher.

It didn’t happen by 40, still hasn’t, but I’ve decided against a “by 45” list.

It’s not that I’ve given up. I’m still writing, still working on book proposals, still sending them out to be rejected and returned.

And, boy, am I still learning.

Still learning to write, more and more with every year, every assignment, every blog posting, every review one of my editor friends so graciously gives me—for free!

But I’m also learning about patience and faith. I’m learning about humility and peeling fingers off of brittle dreams and opening arms to the unknown.

It’s been an interesting journey.

About nine years ago, just before I learned I was pregnant with the twins, I decided my research/submit/rejection system wasn’t working, so I took a correspondence writing course. It started with baby steps: “Write an announcement for your church bulletin” and “Draft a help wanted ad.”

Two months in, it seemed to have barely moved forward. “Seek out opportunities to write for your church’s newsletter or for any small, local papers.”

“That isn’t the kind of writing I want to do,” I thought. “I want to write children’s and young adult stories. I want to write books.” I didn’t take the followup course, and the next spring I began attending a local writing class, where I shared the progression of my young adult novel, five pages a week.

Several from that class became good friends, and most of these have had some writing success. One has found a niche in genre literary journals; another works as a corporate freelance writer and is currently shopping around a novel; and the leader of the group is one of those professional editing friends who gives me the phenomenal advice I mentioned earlier.

But my journey has been more roundabout, as if God had some extra lessons for me that had nothing to do with the ability to write sizzling dialogue or attention-grabbing introductions.

In hindsight I can see His wonderful irony. For instance, my first “published” piece in those years was—aha!—a piece in our church’s newsletter. The second was the same.  Then we moved to Sterling, Kansas, primarily for Dave to coach the men’s soccer team at the college there but also so I could have more time to write, to finish the young adult novel and shop it around.

But I “fell” into a job almost right away, writing and editing copy for the college’s marketing department. I wrote brochures and letters, and worked my way into tracking down news releases, doing interviews, writing news stories for small-town newspapers, and, eventually, creating pretty much all the articles for the college’s alumni magazine.

It was exactly the kind of writing I had not been interested in a few years before.

But I learned so much! And I enjoyed it. In a tiny town in the middle of Kansas, I learned to value the “small stories” that, looked at with perspective, fit together into God’s BIG story.

And I began to value the “little” writing assignments I was getting to do as well.

Still, when Dave suggested that I write the story of Patrick’s adoption, I resisted—for lots of reasons, but in part because it’s just “one” adoption. I’ve met families who have adopted two, three, four children, others who took in kids with special needs. I’ve read about and known people who pursued orphans with a passion that makes mine look puny.

I’m writing it, though. I think I’m supposed to.

But I’m letting go of the dream of getting it published. Because maybe that’s not supposed to happen. Or maybe I’m supposed to swallow my pride and self-publish it.

Maybe this book—and every other bit of writing I do—isn’t supposed to be about me at all.

That, I think, is the biggest lesson of all.

A beautiful sunset we watched from the cabin’s back porch. We quoted “The heavens declare the glory of God!” a lot that week.

Practicing contentment

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Here are the WA football players standing in front of the “hedge” they “built” in front of our house with all the tree debris they gathered from our yard on Tuesday. They were SUCH a blessing and encouragement to us.

After nearly five days without power, our street’s electricity was restored Thursday evening, so we moved out of the home of our very generous friends and back into our own. When we got there, the kids walked around and examined the house. Finally Jake said, “Well, it doesn’t look THAT different.”

Em and Maddie were shocked. “Jake, look at the yard. Half the trees are gone. There’s a hole where the pear tree used to be.”

“Yeah,” said Jake. “But look at the house without all the trees on it. It’s not that different. It’s good.”

What a great reminder. Because on the first day of this “experience,” it was pretty easy to realize that it could be a lot worse and not too difficult to focus on and pray for others’ needs and difficulties—but in the following days, when the power lines stayed down in the yard and the 6 ft. “hedge” of cleared brush grew brown and the insurance guy still hadn’t come out to give a quote so we could finally get the tree cleared off the back porch and I couldn’t get anything done…

I began to get a little grumpy.

Paul said he had to “learn” contentment. Well, it certainly doesn’t come naturally for me either!

I tried urging myself to “just be content,” but that didn’t work very well, and then I remembered Ann Voskamp’s words in One Thousand Gifts about voids. Paraphrase: You can’t replace sin with NOTHING. You can’t just try NOT to sin. Instead you have to “put off-put on,” a Biblical pattern (Voskamp does a beautiful job with this—and goes far deeper; I highly recommend her book.) My frustration/lack of contentment cannot be countered or replaced with nothing. Instead I have to fight it and replace it with its opposite (more accurately, I have to cry out for help to do this).

So what is the opposite of “discontent”? Voskamp suggests that “gratitude” is.

Ah, that evasive friend, gratitude!

When I practice gratitude, in all situations, I learn contentment.

I’ve prayed a lot about this (I’ve written about it a lot, too. “Looking for poop” is an earlier blog entry about this same topic), and I’ve discovered that the practice of consistent gratitude is linked to my focus. Contentment doesn’t happen when I go through life primarily noticing the negative. Contentment actually happens when I practice looking at all things, “good” and “bad,” as blessings from God.

THEN, my gratitude builds and my contentment grows.

This past week I had to practice a lot. I’d had plans to finish getting the house settled after we got back from vacation in Montana this past Sunday. I wanted to go through all my e-mails and lesson plans before heading off to teach at a month-long international student camp on July 7. But my to-do list had to be set aside. And I don’t handle that very well.

But God kept reminding me to practice this different way of looking that transforms frustrations into blessings.

I tried to see “days getting ‘nothing’ accomplished” as “unhurried hours building relationship with my children and my friend.” And when we moved back into our house on Thursday night, I refused to look at the box of still-packed “stuff” in Em’s room or the unhung pictures leaned up against walls—or even at the things completely out of my control, like the green tarp covering the empty dining room window frame.

Instead I focused on the organized kitchen and the naturally cool basement. I enjoyed turning lights ON and listening to the steady hum of the window air conditioners.

I read to my children before bedtime and then watched their peaceful sleep.

I had to practice again the next day, and I will have to tomorrow as well. And then again the day after.

Perhaps, someday, I will be able to say, with Paul, that “I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.”

Based on my track record, though, that probably won’t happen till I’m 95.

And here are our kids standing on the street side of “the hedge” on Thursday night. Kudos to the town of West Chicago and all the people who worked (and are still working) on the clean-up. Our hedge is gone now, and everyone has power restored.

damage to the temporal

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I took this picture standing in the neighbor’s yard, facing the west side of our house. The tree was pulled up by its roots (leaving a 6-foot crater underneath them–you can see just the edge of the roots in the bottom left of the photo). All three windows in this picture are fine. It’s the one on the back of the house that was smashed. And our back porch is under the tree. Kudos to the former owner who built the back porch. It would have been completely obliterated if he hadn’t done such a good job.

When we left for vacation in Montana a week and a half ago (the reason I haven’t posted in awhile), I was just at the point of feeling somewhat organized in our new home. “We’ll even come back to a clean kitchen,” I told Dave as we drove away from West Chicago. “But I didn’t get to the dining room. I really wanted to sweep under the table.”

This morning, as I swept the dining room, putting window glass broken by Sunday’s storm into a plastic bucket, I remembered saying that–and I laughed.

When I told Dave, he laughed, too. “And to think that I thought I HAD to mow the back lawn so the neighbors wouldn’t be appalled by the height of the grass.”

We were driving back home, still in the middle of Minnesota, when my friend Kristine called. “Jen, there’s been a bad storm. I’m going to check out your house in a few minutes. Mine’s fine, just no power.”

A few minutes later a neighbor called Dave and shared the news: several trees down in our yard; one window completely broken by a limb; the back porch roof smushed; maybe some roof damage; no power–and that was probably out for several days.

The good news: our kind neighbors had already pulled the tree limb from the window and tarped it in case more storms were coming.

We drove into West Chicago about eight that night. The park down the street from our house looked like someone had bombed the trees. Later we learned that about 80 trees were split or downed.

Our front yard didn’t look a whole lot different. “I was trying to imagine the worst,” said Dave, “but this is crazy!”

When we walked around the corner of the house, we saw the huge tree from our neighbor’s yard lying on our back porch roof–just a few feet from the corner of the house. If the wind had been from a slightly different direction or twisted the tree just a little differently… “This could have been so much worse,” we told each other.

We’ve had so many things to be thankful for during the past couple of days, and it’s a joy to share them:

-within two hours of being back in West Chicago, we were comfortably settled in our friends’ air-conditioned, lighted home. Thank you, Vishanoffs.

-we’ve met and talked with one neighbor after another in the past couple of days. We’re praying for genuine conversations, open doors, and deepening friendships.

-this morning 39 Wheaton Academy football players showed up and cleared amazing amounts of debris. I was inside sweeping glass from the dining room when Dave came in, choked up with tears. “Have you SEEN how much they’ve done, Jen? It’s amazing!” Not only were we blessed and encouraged, our neighbors noticed.

-and God has continued to provide joy and perspective: we have several people in our neighborhood who have tarps fastened over large holes in their roofs–and yesterday morning I happened to look at a National Geographic article about the perennially flooded people of Bangladesh, who accept what we consider tragedy as normal life. That puts our temporary inconvenience–to what is only temporal

Is there a truck under there? Yes! Dave’s 1994 Chevy (which we called “Big Whitey”) got smashed. Since he’s been hoping to get a newer truck anyway (one that gets more than 10 miles to the gallon), he wasn’t exactly upset.

anyway–in great perspective.

I’ll write more about the trip to Montana later this week.

Thanks for reading.

Jen

 

a cycle of gratitude

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No! Not ours! Em and Maddie oohing and aahing over baby Silas, son of Aaron and Jody. He’s very adorable.

Last week my kids attended a Backyard Bible Club. On the last day, as we parents came early to listen to the kids sing the songs they had learned during the week, I overheard a young mom behind me say to another mom, “Oh, yes, I have four children, ages 5, 4, 2, and 7 months. And we’re trying for a fifth. I just want another one, you know. They’re so precious.”

My shoulders slumped. That’s not my sentiment at the best of times, and it certainly wasn’t last week, as I was focused on unpacking my house. At one point in the week, I told Dave, “You know, it’s real easy to forget that one of the major reasons I’m getting this house organized is to make a home for our kids.  It’s ironic that much of the time I just want them out of the way so I can get it done.”

In church yesterday, as I took notes on the sermon, I also wrote this in my journal: “Help! I don’t want to be a mom right now. I want to be a child, YOUR child, Lord. I’m tired of the responsibility, the constant need to do so much and be so much to these four children. I can’t do it. Please, Lord, hold me like a little child, pull me close to your chest and help me to rest. To do this job of being a mom, I need to be Your little child.”

The sermon yesterday was on the first part of Colossians 4, in which Paul tells the church at Colosse (and us) to “Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.” Our pastor had a lot to say about this and the verses that followed (check out his blog at craigsturm.wordpress.com), but he said this about the “thankful” part of that verse: we should be thankful for the very privilege of prayer itself.

I connected that to the prayer I was writing in my journal. What an amazing thing that I can cry out to the almighty God of the Universe with a prayer like that! I have His attention. He bends His ear to my helpless, self-centered appeals.

Today I read the hymn “All for Jesus, All for Jesus,” in which the hymnwriter Mary D. James (1810-1883) takes this idea a step further. Here’s the last stanza:

Oh, what wonder! How amazing!

Jesus, glorious King of kings,

Deigns to call me His beloved,

Lets me rest beneath His wings.

All for Jesus! All for Jesus!

Resting now beneath His wings;

All for Jesus! All for Jesus!

Resting now beneath His wings.

I love that line: “(He) deigns to call me His beloved(.)” I can be thankful that, as His beloved, I can pray to Him about everything.

And I can be thankful that my prayers for help are answered, that in being His helpless, needy child, I can parent more and more in the way He wants me to.

Gratitude for the privilege of prayer itself. Gratitude for the deeper relationship it draws me into.

Prayer: a cycle of gratitude.

Letting be

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“Let be and be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46: 10, Amplified.

We just moved for the second time in less than a year, and I want everything settled. I wake up with strange thoughts on my mind: “I wonder if the kids’ soccer stuff should go with winter wear downstairs or in the upper hall closet?”

I usually don’t spend a lot of thought on things like that.

And in the midst of this upheaval, it seems like my mind wants to worry on other unfinished matters: unsettled relationships, questions about this upcoming school year—on and on. “A place for everything and everything in its place,” this stranger mind says, “so what are we going to do about you not having called your grandmother in months? You need to fix this.”

God keeps whispering the Amplified version of Psalm 46:10 to me. “Let be.” “Be still.” “Know that I am GOD!”

More familiar versions leave that implied first part off, but it’s the part I’m hearing loudest of all. “Let it be, Jen. Let be.” Be all right with the chaos in your house. Remember that relationships are between fallen, messed-up people; they require a LOT of grace. An orderly life is not the equivalent of a “full, abundant” life.

Things will NEVER, this side of heaven, be perfect and settled, though right now I really want them to be. Actually, it helps when I realize that my desire for this perfection and order is truly my deep heart cry for the Perfect One. When I don’t wholeheartedly pursue Him, and instead become obsessed with creating complete order in my life, I’m actually creating chaos in my soul.

Far better to have some chaos in my home and in my life than chaos in my soul.

So even though I DO have to get my house settled, even though my life, with four/six kids, is always going to be kind of crazy, I will practice this verse.

“Let be and be still and know (recognize and understand) that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations! I will be exalted in the earth!”

And I will start with letting be.

Other than the beautiful symmetry and order of this bridge that Jane, my international student daughter, built last month, this picture has little to do with this post, but I’ve been wanting to post a picture of the amazing bridge she built for her physics class. She did an excellent job.

Goodbyes

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Last night we had a goodbye party for Nina and Jane, our international students. They both fly home today. Both also have birthdays in the summertime, so Em made them a cake and put the Chinese symbol for “love” in the center for Nina and wrote “We will miss you” in Vietnamese around the edge for Jane. (Though Jane said Google’s

from left, Maddie, Nina, Em, PJ, Jane, and Jake

translation of “We will miss you” was not exactly correct.) It’s been a year full of growth and learning for all of us, and I am excited to see how God will use it in all of our futures. The Underwood family loves you, girls, and we hope and pray you have a great summer with your families.

One lace sock

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There’s a lot going on right now for my family (end of school year–both for the kids and for me and Dave; end of the soccer season for Dave; Nina and Jane’s–our international students–exams and packing [and that, considering the state of their room, is a MAJOR task]; and, of course, our move into a new house). So, although I’ve been doing lots of praying/reflecting, I have not been doing a lot of writing/reflecting–which is what usually results in blog posts.

But today was a gift–full of unhurried time with the younger three on a field trip (with my weird teaching schedule, I rarely get to go on these) to Blackberry Farm. God rested my rushed soul with enjoyment of Jake, Maddie, and Patrick at the stages they are in right now while we walked through the barns and different learning centers. Then tonight the younger three joined me on a bike-run with Chai while Em put the finishing touches on dinner.

And THAT is what I’m grabbing a few minutes to write about–because it was hilarious, especially in retrospect. Chai (the dog) and I jetted out, as usual, while Jake, Maddie, and Patrick followed behind on the sidewalk. I was around the corner from them when I heard: “Mo-om!”

Patrick.

I turned around to check on him, but he was pedaling toward me. A neighbor friend called out from her yard to provide the answer. “His shoelace got stuck in his chain. I got it out, but you’ll definitely need to do a re-tie.”

I caught up with the kids stopped at the corner and tied his shoelace, double-knotting it for good measure.

We’d made it half a block.

A full block later, Chai and I were ahead again. “Mo-om!” Patrick–again. We turned around–again. This time his pants leg had gotten stuck in the chain. I turned his wheel backwards and freed it.

We made it two blocks this time. “Mo-om!”

Somehow his shoelace–the one I tied–had gotten wrapped AROUND the pedal! As I freed it, I noticed that he had on a lace-topped sock.

“Dude! Why are you wearing a frilly sock?” I lifted his other pant leg. “And on only one foot?” I peeled the lace-topped sock down. “And why are you wearing it over YOUR sock?”

Maddie looked closer. “Hey! That’s MY sock!”

He shrugged, but we’re both looking at him, so he had to come up with something. “It was on your bed.”

“And that explains why you put it on?”

“Well, my other sock was cold.”

I tapped his other foot. “But not this one?”

“Uh-unh.”

One lace sock and the gift of humor.

I may still be tired, but I’m also refreshed.

And speaking of the end of the soccer season, here’s a pic I took of the girls lifting the regional champs plaque last week. Unfortunately, they were stopped in the sectional final, but still–great season, great girls!

Kids’ words: from marriage to books

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Jake showing off his, hmm, “muscles”

Every once in awhile, I post funny things  kids say. Here are a few that I actually remembered to put in my journal.

We were driving back from Philly at the end of spring break when the younger three had this conversation:

PJ: I’m gonna’ be Jake’s grandpa. ‘Cause he’s not getting married.

NOTE: Obviously, PJ does not understand family relations.

Jake: Well, I don’t know. I might get married.

Maddie Oh, he will. I know it deep in my heart. He will.

Jake: I just may not find the correct woman. She has to love Jesus and obey the laws of Scripture.

Dave and I looked each other and almost laughed, since he sounded like such a little legalist. He did study Moses in Bible class this spring. Maybe that was it.

Dave said, “And she needs to be smokin’ hot.”

Pause. Then,

Jake: Why does she have to be smokin’ hot?

**********

We stopped at a gas station (same trip) and Dave cleaned the windshield. “Whoa!” PJ said, “Daddy’s shaving the car.”

**********

And here’s one that made my English-teacher heart go thump-thump:

Maddie, cooled off after a run through the sprinkler at Nana and Papa’s house last weekend.

PJ: Movies are better than books.

Me: No! Books are way better.

Maddie: Yeah, books ARE better. You can store pictures in your mind.

Aw!

 

 

 

 

Patrick, Maddie, and Jake, after running through the sprinklers, using their towels as capes and posing as superheroes.

Unraveled but held

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My daughter Em told me that I should try to make my pictures fit my blog entries more, so I took this beautiful yarn (which I bought on our 20th anniversary trip to Vermont) and set it on the windowsill and, voila, my amateur attempts at something artistic in the photo realm. Next time, though, the kids. I have some fun shots of them running through the sprinkler this past weekend.

Yesterday on my iPad I found a journal entry I wrote last fall, during a time when I felt unsettled and scattered. Reading old journal entries can sometimes feel like meeting a different version of myself, particularly when I’m no longer in the situation or mood I was in when I wrote. So, even though this is not recent, I’m posting it today as a blog entry, for a couple of reasons:

First, because I find great comfort and value in looking back and seeing, in hindsight, how messy I was (and still am) and yet how faithful, creative, and gracious God was in and through it. Continual reflection of this kind builds my faith, since every backward look reveals more of my messiness AND more of His never-failing faithfulness.

And second, because, though I’m not currently feeling anywhere near as scattered and unsettled, I may be tomorrow or the next day. Or maybe what I was feeling in that time is something someone else reading is feeling right now (if you are, I’d love to hear from you). What I wrote then is still true.

December 2011: This week I got an e-mail from a writing-class friend. He was critiquing a piece I’d read in class the week before. He said that my writing was as “strung tight” as his was “loosey goosey.”

Then today, as Dave and I finally had time to talk on a long car trip, he told me I was full of tension and seemed borderline annoyed much of the time–and that this was a trait I’d displayed for several weeks.  

I’ve reflected on these two comments, and I think they’re both right–and wrong. I’m actually feeling unraveled, ready to fall apart like a loose skein of yarn several times a week–and so I’m holding tight because one snag and I’m nothing more than strands of scattered color on the floor ready to be swept up. So, yeah, I am tense (and my current writing is probably pretty tight, too, technically correct but careful).

A few weeks ago I was driving to school after dropping the kids off, and I found myself catching my breath like it was a floating thread about to get away, like I had to suck it back in or it would be lost. Just then I passed a Thanksgiving greeting tied to a mailbox. “Count your blessings.”

Dutifully, I accepted this reminder and said, “Yes, I have so many blessings.” I was about to start listing some when I heard the Holy Spirit’s “Shush.”

In that moment I suddenly knew I was held–not because of my constant striving to be the good daughter of God–and, consequently, the good mom, the good homemaker, the good wife, the good host mom, the good teacher, the good writer.

Not held because of anything I do or feel.

But held because that is what God’s arms long to do. 

“Oh!” My lungs expanded to take in a full, deep breath, and I let go of my loose strands. I let it all fall apart for a few moments.

“You hold me, You pursue me, You never let go. That is my greatest blessing.” 

Later I read Psalm 27:1b “The Lord is the refuge of my life.” 

It says “stronghold” in the ESV, but a footnote says it can also be “refuge.”  

That’s what I need right now. A place to let go, stop holding on so tight and be held. 

I need a refuge.

And He is one.