Peach Pie Heaven

Posted on August 10, 2012 by jphilo

Pardon the latest of this post, but I just got back from peach pie heaven. Though those of you who shudder at the thought of making 5 fresh peach pies before 10 AM, my peach pie heaven may be your peach pie hell.

But the opportunity to prepare dessert for a wedding rehearsal involving two families who have given generously to us made the time in the kitchen heavenly. While peeling peaches, I reflected upon the ways these families touched ours in the past:

During our son’s six years as a monk, the bride’s parents subscribed to the monastery newsletter and talked about what they read in it. That simple act of caring meant more to us than words can express.
The bride and her sister, who are a few years older than our daughter, let Anne borrow a formal for her senior prom. The kicky, funky dress turned out to be Anne’s all time favorite.
When Anne was in fourth grade, the groom volunteered to play George Burn’s to her Gracie Allen for a school performance project. The groom’s parents helped him memorize his lines.
The groom did the filming for Different Dream Parenting’s book trailer. Because he has a film degree, he’s been able to help with other audio-visual projects. And he never rolls his eyes when I ask questions with obvious (to the younger generation, anyway) answers.

Such simple things, I mused. But things our family couldn’t do without them.

We couldn’t enter into typical how-the-kids-are-doing conversations with friends unless they understood something about our son’s life.
We couldn’t afford a kicky, funky prom dress for Anne.
We couldn’t be our pint-sized Gracie Allen’s pint-sized straight man.
We couldn’t film professional quality video.

So when our small church group decided to host tonight’s wedding rehearsal dinner for our friends, I volunteered to make dessert.

Not just any dessert.
But fresh peach pie.
Not just 1 pie, but 5.
Enough to feed the whole crowd.

Why volunteer for what some people consider a hellish job?

Because I make a killer peach pie.
Because it’s peach season.
Because this is an opportunity to give back to those who have given to us.
Because being able to give back is a taste of heaven on earth.

How do I know this? Because, I realized, while pouring the last of the glaze over fresh-sliced peaches resting in the baked pastry shell, when God provides opportunities for his people to exercise the unique gifts he’s equipped them with, he’s giving them a foretaste of heaven on earth. And what does heaven taste like?

Heaven tastes serving people who freely served us.
It tastes like the celebration for two lovely, young people making a lifelong commitment.
It tastes like finally being able to give back.
Heaven tastes like fresh peach pie on a warm, summer night.

Good News

Posted on December 4, 2009 by jphilo

Allen received wonderful news at the guest house last night. The counselor from the Trauma Recovery Institute called and said that based on the intake forms he completed, he is a candidate for their recovery program. Also, because of logistics and the fact that we are already here, they rescheduled things around so his treatment will begin next week.

Our plans are to leave the monastery tomorrow morning and visit Hiram’s stepfamily near Bowling Green, Ohio for the weekend. At some point, Hiram will take the bus back to Ames so he can work next week. I will accompany Allen to Morgantown, and we’ll stay at a hotel for the week as the therapy is outpatient. I get a tour Monday and a short session of Friday so I learn some skills to help Allen. Allen will do seven hours of therapy a day with an hour break for lunch.

Stay tuned for details about what we do after that week. Most likely, Allen will come back to Boone for the holidays and do more planning then. Keep him in your prayers as the unknown seems large for him now. We are so proud of the steps he’s taken and his desire to be wholly healed.

We are comforted by God’s use of Allen’s aunts in this process. His Aunt Susan in Washington, who is a mental health counselor, told us about this treatment facility. His aunt in the Twin Cities, also a mental health therapist, checked out the website and had positive feedback. The step-aunt we’ll visit in Ohio is a school guidance counselor and has given us good advice, also.

Our next steps are to book a hotel room and find bus schedules. So keep praying for good decisions and clear heads. Much love to you all.

Winter Moon

Posted on December 14, 2008 by jphilo

A winter moon, bright and full, shown above us as we left the monastery early yesterday morning. It escorted us down the mountain, along steep and winding roads, as the headlights of the car illuminated the heavy, snow-covered branches bending over us.

The moon followed us to Interstate 64 , past refineries with belching smokestacks and into the rolling, white-fenced pastures of Kentucky. For two hours, the moon hovered above us, until the sun rose, pink and quiet behind us.

“What is this like for my son,” I wondered as the moon faded and the sun gains strength, “Driving away from one life and toward the next? What must he be thinking? How can he do this?” We drove all day, and he gave no indication of qualms or second thoughts, and we arrived home at nine o’clock last night.

This morning, I was three steps outside the door when I stopped to take this picture. The moon, the tiniest bit smaller than it was yesterday, hung above the trees along our driveway in the rich blue morning sky. It had followed us from West Virginia to Iowa. I basked in this assurance that some things will stay the same, no matter where my child goes: the sun will rise and set, the moon will wax and wane, God’s sovereign hand upon him, and my love and prayers for his new life.

Some day, when he’s settled in an apartment, a framed copy of this photograph will be my housewarming gift. When he asks me why I called it “Faithfulness,” I’ll remind him of the moon that followed us from West Virginia to Iowa and of the sovereign God who created it.

Toledo Bound

Posted on December 5, 2008 by jphilo

Today, Allen got into our car and left the monastery as a non-monk with the support . This sounds like a normal thing to you, but it is an amazing situation, even for a monk who hadn’t taken final vows, to experience. Not only that, but Father Seraphim sent a huge gift basket with Allen, full of foods acceptable for the present Orthodox Nativity fast. All the monks said good-bye to him with great love and sadness, along with hope that he will one day return.

We’re on our way to Toledo where Hiram will board a Greyhound bus this afternoon and arrive in Ames tomorrow morning. Allen and I will then go to Bowling Green and spend the weekend with relatives. This presents a phone problem. Hiram will take his phone with him. My phone is on its way via mail, thanks to my friend Cindy, from Boone to Bowling Green. Hopefully by next week you’ll be able to contact me at my cell phone number.

Once again, we are so thankful for your prayers and encouraging email comments. I haven’t been able to respond to all of them because of internet access and time constraints. But all of you – Deb and Jim, Old Firefighter, Julie, Janet, Art’s #4, Harriet, Kris, Shelly, Judith, Cindy, Rita, Jacque – and those of you I’ve inadvertently omitted, continue to be our support system. Hearing from you brings reality and home into our present adventure.

In the Woods

Posted on December 3, 2008 by jphilo

Since Monday’s blog entry, plans changed. The Walla Walla arrangements fell through, so I didn’t leave early Tuesday as anticipated. However, Allen’s crisis escalated. Hiram’s boss graciously gave him the week off and the two of us headed to West Virginia around noon. We arrived at about three this morning.

We’re in the process of finding initial treatment for Allen, perhaps a nationally known Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) center in Morganstown, West Virigina. We should know if Allen qualifies and when they could schedule him later today. The treatment is either one or two weeks of intensive outpatient therapy, with follow-up counseling either with them or with a therapist wherever the patient lives.

My sister has been a great help, also. She’s researching treatment programs in the Twin Cities and follow-up counselors options, as well as ways to get Allen medical assistance throughout the process. Today we went out to lunch together, he bought some shirts for “civilian life,” and we’re browsing at Borders.

We are so thankful for your prayers and support. Keep them coming as we decide about treatment and wait, wait, wait. And stay tuned for the next chapter of “Life at the Monastery.” Catchy title, don’t you think?

The Difference a Phone Call Makes

Posted on December 1, 2008 by jphilo

Yesterday’s snowfall changed the look of my gravel road yesterday. But the changes wrought by the snowfall was nothing compared to the changes wrought by a series of phone calls yesterday and today.

The first phone call was from the Father at the monastery saying our monk had flown the coop, but that Allen had called and was returning. This morning’s phone call said he’d gotten back safely. The next call was from Allen himself, saying he wants to leave the monastery and seek counseling for what he’s finally acknowledged is post traumatic stress syndrome (caused by the medical trauma experienced from his birth through age five).

So tomorrow, I’m driving to West Virginia to pick up our young adult son. He’ll stay here a few days, until we put him on a plane for Walla Walla and his Philo relatives. He’ll receive treatment there. Once he’s completed that, he can decide about the monastery and his future.

Blog entries will be sparse until I return, so be patient. And pray for us, please – for safe travel, for good car conversation, for Hiram as he waits for us to return, for Anne’s clear head as she deals with this and finals, for our boy’s healing – along with praise for Allen’s desire to seek healing and live a healthy life. As soon as I can, I’ll update you on the trip.

Thanks, in advance, for your care and encouragement. We are so blessed.

Crisis Week

Posted on September 17, 2008 by jphilo

I unofficially declare September 14-20 Crisis Week – at least at our house. Sunday was Mom’s decision to move in with my brother and sister-in-law and her unexpected move. Then I had two days of cleaning up after her move and tying up loose ends.

This morning, I was pumped because all that was behind me, and I had the day to write a devotion and then prepare for the American Fiction Christian Writers’ Conference. It begins tomorrow in Minneapolis. Then Allen, our monk, called. He was having a crisis, and we spent most of the morning counseling him. About noon he’d resolved the immediate issue, but we said good-bye to him knowing he has more struggles ahead.

I was too emotionally wrung out to write anything. Instead, I packed for the conference and made food for Hiram to eat while I’m gone. And I prayed for our son. A lot. He has matured so much in the monastery, but he has more maturing to do. He’s an adult, and all Hiram and I can do is watch and pray and encourage him as he makes hard decisions about the direction he wants his life to take.

It’s like when he was little and we would send him off to surgery, entrusting someone more skilled than us to save his life. We would sit in the waiting room, watching the clock and trying to imagine what was happening. Only this is spiritual surgery for a spiritual wound Allen’s carried for many years. The surgery will take a very long time. If you know Allen, would you keep him in your prayers? Pray for his healing and maturing. Pray for his decision-making. Pray for those around him who are helping him heal.

And pray for us. It’s lonely in the waiting room. It’s hard to relinquish control.

Goat Guy

Posted on May 22, 2008 by jphilo

Last week, I became a goat-enlightened mother, thanks to my monk-farmer son, the Goat Guy. His topics of discussion included: birthing kids, contracted tendons, birthing placentas, desirable goat confirmation and personality, goat meat markets, udders, milking, cheese-making, grazing habits, herd behavior, goat weight, genetic arthritis and billy goat stink.

I am not making this up. Goat enlightenment is not a state I knew existed, nor one I ever aspired to achieve. But after twenty-six years as Allen’s mother, I shouldn’t be surprised to find him happy as a clam tending goats in a monastery in West Virginia.

Life with Allen has been an adventure since the day he was born (twenty-six years ago tomorrow) and he was flown from Rapid City to Omaha for surgery. God has a purpose for his life, and part of that purpose was to take us where few parents have gone before. Perhaps this explains his Star Trek fascination when he was a child.

So I shouldn’t have been surprised last week to find myself in a dark, musty goat shed, snapping goat glamour shots while a barn cat climbed my skirt. Hiram shouldn’t have been surprised to spend an afternoon in the pasture amongst frolicking goats.

We shouldn’t have been surprised, but we were. The biggest surprise was Allen’s attitude toward the critters. “They don’t care about me,” he said as filled the mangers with hay and goats flocked around him. “They only care about the food I bring. It’s a good thing to care for and love creatures who don’t love me back.”

Maybe my reaction to his words was more stunned than surprised. A delighted sort of stunned. A grateful sort of stunned. A “Hallelujah” sort of stunned.

If it took goats to mature our son, then I love goats. I love musty old goat barns. I love goat hay and goat facts and goat stink. But I draw the line at barn cats who ruin goat glamour shot sessions. The nerve of some animals!

Just Kidding

Posted on May 14, 2008 by jphilo

May is the month for visiting a goat farm, especially a goat farm on a monastery. Soon after we arrived last Saturday our monk farmer son, Allen, introduced us to twin kids born two days earlier. He showed Anne and Hiram how to bottle feed them, and I’m not sure who had more fun in the process: the kids, the Iowans or the monk.

When the newborns’ tummies were full, Allen led us into the goat pasture where we watched another pair of twin kids, a couple weeks old, frolic in the sunshine. One minute, the kids are busy grazing. The next minute, their hind quarters twitched and the twitch turns into a spasm that mades them leap into the air, their legs flopping like rag dolls, before they landed and continued snacking as if nothing at all happened.

Their antics had us laughing so hard we couldn’t talk. We’ve spent the last few days trying to perfect our goat frolic imitations without great success. Today I remembered the digital camcorder we brought with us. Anne gave me a crash cinematography course and the battery is charging. If the weather holds and I manage to push the right buttons in the pasture later today, a genuine goat gambol podcast may grace this website in the near future.

A new kid was born while we were in Ohio for two days. Hopefully we’ll meet her today. And this afternoon, Allen wants Hiram to join him at a neighboring farm. He wants his dad to tackle a four hundred pound billy goat and hold him down while Allen trims its hooves. Hiram’s not nearly as excited about the prospect of male bonding time as Allen is. I think the outing has YouTube potential and can’t wait to film the action. Never a dull moment on goat farm in May.

No kidding!

Down the Gravel Road www.jolenephilo.com

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