Good life

Gene wants to fly drones for the U.S. Navy.

Zion wants to do what his dad and I do, only in a "real" place like Africa;)

Brave is determined to raise his family in Madagascar alongside his best friend, Zeb. The two of them hope to own a plane, flying people and supplies around the island.

Jubilee can't be bothered with such daydreams. She has both feet planted firmly in the here and now. Always has. 

But all of them would like to live as a long as this guy (except for Gene who hopes to go down in a blaze of glory before his body gets old):

This is our neighbor's grandfather's 90th birthday party.

Brave looks unsure, but Zion seems genuinely proud of the guy.

The man on the right is our neighbor and dear friend.

And this butterball is the birthday boy's great-grandson. 

To long life! To good life!

Twelve

Every twelve years, the Chinese zodiac animal comes back around.

Our firstborn son, Bright Eugene, was born in the year of the rooster. Guess what? It is the year of the rooster again. That means Gene is 12, and in China, that is very special. But 12 is an important number in other contexts, too. The tribes of Israel. The months of our calendar year. The optimal number of donuts.

And the last birthday a child has before becoming a teen.

Preteens are a crazy breed. They're a cuddly, prickly, weepy, laughing, silly, somber mess. No amount of Dr. Dobson or John Eldridge can fully prepare a parent for these transitional years. No longer a little boy, not quite a young man. Fuzz on the upper lip. Fuzzy stuffed animals still filling his bed. He's being tugged in both directions. And I feel like I'm being tugged in all directions, trying to help him through his ups and downs without going up and down with him. At the end of every day I hit the pillow completely exhausted, but happy, too, because it's going well. It really is.

And so it is with a full heart and a weary mind that I wish our Eugenious, our Gene Machine, a happy 12th birthday!

加油 Gene! Manhood, here he comes!

Right up there with Paul and the Good Shepherd

Zion reads The Word. Every night, past bedtime, but of course we allow it. Wouldn't you?

He tells us in the morning at the breakfast table all about what he read the night before. This morning he reported about Solomon's two sons, Rehoboam and Jeroboam, and what each son grew up to do.

Of course his seminary dork of a father beams at him, his face rolling back into that certain smile that only his children can coax forth. I butter the toast and send my thanks up with the steam. It is a good, good thing to see the soul of your child wrap itself around G0D like rope.

The other night - I just have to share - Zion said at bedtime, "The thing I'm most looking forward to about Heaven are the church services."

This remark brought sidelong glances from his siblings, who no doubt were thinking (as most kids would), 'We're looking forward to the unending screen time and sweets, but sure, you go ahead and long for those church services.'

Zion went on.

"I mean, can you imagine when it's Paul's turn to preach?!" He had a point there. "And do you think they'll let Jesus preach?"

"I'm sure they will," I said (my weak interjection into his inspired vision).

And then this:

[gasp] "OOH MAMA! Do you think they'll let Daddy preach?"

The forging of men

The day comes in the life of every boy, to break through the stack of boards with one's bare limbs. (Figuratively speaking of course, unless you're a Rupp boy, and then not so figuratively speaking)

The mother's heart, engorged with pride, races like the soundtrack to a Bollywood movie as she watches her boys. Watches them face those boards bravely, fists clenched, chin high.

Young lungs inhale, exhale. Playful mind draws focus.

This is what they've been training for.

And then, one by one, each boy takes his stand. Who will win, his foot bones or the boards? Which one will yield and snap along the grain, admitting defeat?

Cracccccck!

The boy wins.

Crack. Crack. Crack! The boards are punched and kicked until that whole stack has been reduced to kindling.

Toes redden and swell. Tears roll down determined cheeks (they're just kids, after all.) Some of the boards are stubborn, and the sound of flesh thudding hard against wood makes the mothers cringe. We remember that flesh when it was washed and weighed in the delivery room. We would have killed the fool who tried to hurt those little feet, those little hands.

But mothers know that our boys were meant to be men. And we know, too, that boys don't just wake up one morning and come to the breakfast table as men. Men are forged.

Forged, I tell you.

One board at a time.

Let him grow

Eugene will be 12 in ten days. There is sulphur soap beside the sink and deodorant in his sock drawer. There are new rules. I mustn't ask him about his feelings in front of his friends. He never wants my help, and if he does, he'll ask (he doesn't). When he isn't smiling it's because he's being cool not unhappy, and what he needs most is my respect.

And my hugs, of course. And my cooking. Always my cooking. A mother never loses that inroad with her sons.

The best advice I've gotten? Resist the urge to pull him up by the roots to check on how he's doing under the soil. Let him grow. Tend. Wait.

Pray.

But let him grow.

Absolutely zero English

Our 2017 calendar is hung by the school room with care.

This year it is a calendar with absolutely zero English. Half of the writing is in Chinese, and the other half is in Hebrew. Kind of a cool combo, don't you think? I thought so.

I haven't blogged in a while. Almost a decade of doing this, and I've run out of things to say:) I'm sure I'll think of something to say at some point. Maybe when the kids are grown.

But there are always pics to share. Here are some of the most interesting pics from the past few months. We have been in Thailand. We have walked through two cancer scares - one that is still going on - with two different dear friends and their families. My little brother's life has had a complete overhaul. My sister-in-law's cat died..her cat who was like a son to her and my brother. Things happen, things change, and yet things stay the same. I am still me, I am still blessed. Still content. Eager. And a bit melancholy, as deep thinkers tend to be. Life is a gift and I'm opening it.

Miss Caitlyn was accepted at Vanderbilt. So we made her an honorary gingerbread sweater.

Jubilee went to her first sleepover. She called at 11pm, but didn't come home! Daddy gave a grand pep talk and she stuck it out.

I got my hair lopped and dyed blue platinum, which I modified at home with lemon juice, per wikihow's instructions. Thanks to lemon juice, I no longer look like Joy from the movie Inside Out.

My superman.

We came across this, in one of our many airport stops. Daniel could have penned this quote!

Our cabin at The Juniper Tree in Thailand. Daniel's rental bike, with his and hers helmets. A real picture of our lives.

Middle Eastern cuisine with my best girls. We are as tired as we look. And the food was as good as it looks.

Daniel at the laser tag field.

Ping pong at The Juniper Tree in Thailand. My favorite look that Brave makes.

Our faces through the weird bubble our hotel faucet made. It's the little things, people.

Daniel and John got in the quiet van on the way back from the waterfalls.

The tile floor of The Juniper Tree main office in Thailand. Polished by sunlight, footfalls, and age. I will forever adore The Juniper Tree, our home away from home.

Every year

I remember so clearly our first Christmas as Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Rupp.

That was the Christmas he presented me with the handmade cedar bed he'd been working on behind my back. That was the Christmas I gave him the crude quilt I'd made for him.

That was when the farmhouse on Doe Run Trail still teemed with life, it's blue-painted kitchen brimming with baskets of tea cookies and tins of thins. Vintage lights blinked on-and-off. Flour fairly flew from the shortening-smeared fingers of my mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law, as Turner Classic Movies played "It's a Wonderful Life" and Daniel and Philip stuffed their faces with nutballs, sausage balls, and fudge.

That kitchen is dark now. The house is quiet. The land is overgrown.

How time has flown.

Which brings us to this Christmas, our 15th together. Much has changed - and much hasn't. I still love him every bit as much as I did when I made that quilt. More in fact. And he still stuffs his face with sausage balls. Christmas comes around every year, generation after generation, reminding us that a child was born.

A child who lived, died, and came back to life. To give us life. Forever.

Here we are decorating the tree. Another potted number, but this time an ACTUAL evergreen. The old paper chain finally had to be replaced this year. The paper cutter was put to good use on red, green, and white card stock (and my hand - ouch!)

My three younger kids were in a home school choir this Christmas. They learned how to use their voices for something other than giggling, squealing, and making engine sounds.

All four kids were in a little pageant with the rest of their Proverbs Club. Jubilee, being the only girl in the club, was obviously the virgin mother. Her brothers would not let her use one of her baby dolls, since all of her dolls are girls. Zion provided a (male) puppet to wear the swaddling clothes.

Daniel had two huge papers due this Christmas, so he spent a lot of time writing by the Christmas tree while wearing these ridiculous noise-canceling headphones from his toolbox (in order to drown out those giggling and squealing sounds I mentioned earlier).

Advent is a huge part of our Christmas. The kids love advent. I mean, it's just candles and the real story of Christmas, which they knew by heart before they could read, but still they get so excited about it. It just goes to show that our craving for a perfect king is greater than our craving for stuff.

But of course we do get stuff. And give stuff.

Jubi spent almost all her "Lady and the Panda" money on gifts for other people. Hashtag generous.

Gene wanted an Ollie more than anything else in the world, so an Ollie is what he got.

He also got a sweet deck of playing cards from Uncle Kody and Aunt Carrie in Indiana. The cards are made of high quality plastic so they won't rip (nor get soggy with mud on Scout campouts).

Zion was thrilled about his first pocketknife (inscribed with the words Z.D. Rupp).

I am in love with my new 9-person waterproof tent from America.

Speaking of being in love...

The day after Christmas we were exhausted. I couldn't even lift a knife to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. So we went downstairs to the dumpling joint just outside our gate. Everybody's favorite.

Another wonderful Christmas gone by.