The Rankin Crew

Where've You Been All My Life?

2014-09-08T23:50:00.000-08:00

It's funny.

A writer goes and gets a new blog and in the meantime her kids grow up.

It's not as cute to post the cute things they say when the "they" is twelve.

A line gets crossed.

And it happens quietly. Gradually. Softly.

So I just haven't posted.

Except on my writer's page.

I miss this over there though.

Been a long time since I've come to visit here.

I keep telling myself my kids will soon take over. As mature as they are and all...

But in the meantime...this poor old site just sits lonely.

So I came to visit.

Maybe I'll try and post a few pics here and there.

My mama would sure love that.

Two blogs are hard to maintain...

...but I'll try to stop by round here more often than I have.

And for now...

...feels like a cozy visit back home.

First day of school. It's all about Pinterest round here.

Workin the new schedule. So far....so good.

Trip into town going the back road? That equates for one.happy.boy.

Fell into a patch of wild blueberries. One.happy.Mama.

Autumn in our neck of the woods...

...we were wishin' for a bull. But this mama had a calf.

Two Timin'

2014-01-09T17:49:00.000-09:00

Because my mother sweetly asked me, "will there be baby pictures on the blog soon?", and because over break I commandeered a stuffed-with-junk closet and made it into my very own writer's nook, and because I've been sinking into the world of words a little more often....

...{{gulp}} I started my own blog.

It's not like I moved out.

I just set up my own room.

Hung some wallpaper.

Redecorated a little.

I still live here.

And I'm fixin to put my kids on this here site once I can make em quit looking and our funny family pictures and readin mama's funny writin long enough.

We'll put more baby pics up Ma.

But come on over and visit me at the writin page too :)

Happy New Year bloggy friends.

We love you, each and every one.

The Rankin Crew

http://thiscrazylittlefarm.wordpress.com/

My People

2013-12-29T19:19:00.000-09:00

(copyright Cassandra Rankin)

It’s rare for him to lie down.

Especially in the winter.

It was our fault naturally. We couldn’t provide a good enough place for him to live. We had no idea what we were doing. If we were better at this, he’d be lying down resting and cozy all the time. Just like on the movies. But, we were inadequate and couldn’t provide him a place to be restful and cozy so therefore, he’d just always be cold.

And standing. Swaying on his feet at naptime rather than lying down for a full rest.

It was different today though.

Today when I pulled in the driveway, he was down. Not quite flat but curled up, cozy. I stopped the truck to survey. Was he hurt? Had he injured himself? Why was he down? He never lies down…

“Gracie have you seen Beau lay down recently?”

She knows his habits well.

“No, not really. Except for a couple weeks ago.”

What had happened a couple weeks ago?

“I put Charlotte in with him for the day.”

There I had it. Today, circling him, fussing over him, were his loved ones. Close by, within reach and keeping him company.

He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t sick. He was simply comfortable in the presence of those who knew him best. He was among them and this allowed him to be completely content and relaxed enough to lie down.

He was happy. He was at ease. He was 100% himself.

He was with his people.

Er, his mares.

We learned today, our Beau, our sweet and mellow boy pony, is most at ease when he has his friends right next to him. It’s not a matter of mating, he’s gelded. But they are like him and they like him. They all know one another. And in their company, he is completely relaxed.

He is himself when he is with them.

He is loved.

And he is accepted.

They are his people.

So when I answer the phone and it’s my husband and he wants to know where we’re at, I tell him. We’re at the grocery store.

Just pulling in, I’ll call you back when I finish okay?

As I finish up, I remember to call him and dial as I pull out, heading toward my next errand.

“I thought you were at the Safeway.”

It’d just been a short stop, I explained. How was your day?

“Oh. Well, I’m here in the parking lot. I just thought I’d drop in and see you guys on my way back to the office.”

I’m miles down the road by now. The store I’m heading to closes in an hour. It’s my last stop of the day.

Why didn’t you tell me?

I’m frustrated, wishing I could’ve seen him.

I didn’t know. You need to communicate these things to me. We would’ve stayed if we would’ve known. How come you just didn’t tell me?

He didn’t think of it. We were at the store, he was just going to stop in for a minute. Just to see us. Give us a hug. Say hi.

Irritation fills the cab of my truck.

“Well, it’s okay. I’ll see you tonight.”

I scolded him a bit.

He had to get back to work.

The I love yous and see you tonights fall flat.

And as I drive, it hit me.

He just wanted to be cozy for a minute.

Wanted to take a moment out of the drain of the work day and be with the ones who love him most. To soak up the feeling of being loved… being accepted…and to let it refresh him for the rest of his day. He wanted to curl his spirit right up for a minute and be relaxed, known…

…himself.

He just wanted to be with his people.

There are people that we know so well, they are only their very true self when they are with us.

And what about our Lord? Doesn’t God know us just like that? Even better than that?

Not even a sparrow, worth only half a penny, can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are more valuable to him than a whole flock of sparrows. Matthew 10:29-31

We can curl up and be cozy in that kind of being known.

We are known.

I am known.

We are His people.

Our farrier told us a horse doesn’t spend a lot of time on the ground in winter. He said when you see a horse lying down for a nap, you can bet that horse is completely relaxed and comfortable.

That was our pony today, curled up right in the middle of the hay pile and his two little girlfriends. He was so comfortable, his big little body was plunked right down, at feed time even, and he let his horsey lips tickle the snowy ground while his big brown eyelids drooped. He was sheer comfort. He was perfect content. He was himself. He was whole.

It’s not our inadequacy that keeps him from lying down. It’s not our lack of a perfectly sized heated facility. It’s not our lack of horsemanship that keeps him on his feet come naptime.

He just needs to be with those who know him best.

I call my husband back, tell him I’m sorry I forgot to call him earlier.

I’ve removed all irritation from my voice.

I was too rushed. I really would’ve loved to have seen him.

“It’s okay. I should’ve let you know. I guess I just wanted to see you guys.”

Over the cell we patch it up.

The I love you is sincere, all shortness is gone.

I’m sorry I scolded you, I tell him.

“It’s okay babe.”

My big strong husband forgives me, assures me he’s not upset.

Says he should’ve told me he was heading our way, coming to where we were.

He just didn’t think of it.

He was just going to stop in for a minute.

He just wanted to see his people.

God sets the lonely in families…Psalm 68:6

Who Am I?

2013-12-17T12:47:00.002-09:00

Who Am I?

c Cassandra Rankin

Who am I?

My daughter asked me that a few weeks ago and I was transported. Back to when I was her age, a little older, twelve, maybe thirteen.

I didn’t have friends so I hung out behind the gas station. I’d learned how to skip band every day in this new school, this town of so many thousands. So I wrote. And I smoked. I drank my Coca Cola Classic purchased so carefully and mindfully out of the vending machine with the weekly soda money I kept in the pocket of my brown leather bomber jacket. If I bought one the first hour and then one the second hour, I could have two cans of pop each school day. A perfect lunch for a wayward freshman.

I pretended not to be lonely.

But one day when I used the restroom there at the gas station where the attendants had come to know my face so well, I realized it. I was lonely.

And I didn’t know who I was.

The cold white painted cinderblock bounced around the winter light in a dreary, shadowy kind of way and there in the metal-framed mirror over the sink, I saw the face I’d always known, brown hair, hazel eyes, funny mole over the top lip. But on that day, that face, it looked strange and alien. It looked like one I’d never seen before, never met.

Who was I?

She was pretty enough I suppose. But where was “I”? Where was the me that thinks and reasons and writes and talks? Was she that face there in the mirror? And if not, where was she? And where did the face there in the mirror fit in? Who was I? Who am I?

I stood there a long half hour. The attendants, they were used to me. Funny how they never asked any questions about the lonely loner girl who hung out there at their Amoco station and pretended to be grown-up with her Newports and her novels. But they never once told me to move along or asked why I wasn’t in school. They let me use their long pipe out back as a bench, let me feed quarters to their Coke machine, and that day, they let me hang out in their bathroom and try to work out my identity.

Who am I?

Who are you?

So when my girl asks me, tears on the face that I could draw in my sleep, her brown eyes big and searching, I know just what to tell her. Her growing time has begun and she needs to know who she is because isn’t this world just too big when you look too close into a small mirror?

I tell her the things those teenager eyes were searching to find that day in the restroom of my gas station. I string together the words that the metal framed mirror kept locked tight behind its cold stare.

I tell her the truth.

You are my daughter. You are your Daddy’s princess. You are a sister. You are a granddaughter. You are a friend. You are a leader. You are an example. You are someone’s future wife. You are mommy to one yet to come. You are the precious grandmother to generations not yet born.

You are a child of God.

You belong to Jesus.

And the relief shined warm on the cold bricks of this life.

Because when we know who we belong to doesn’t that make it so much easier to be found?

When we know whose we are, we know who we are.

Like my girl will grow within the safety of this family, learning from her days with siblings, friends, this place, her people, and go out into the world and live the life put before her, making her mark on it in ways that only she can because she is who she is, so we, as children of God, do the same.

We rest in the safety of His palm, growing into who we are becoming, following His path in the unique way He has created us to, living the life He puts before us and pointing others to Him as we go.

That’s who we are.

Do you not realize that Christ Jesus is in you…? (2 Corinthians 13:5)

I don’t have to be anything other than what He created me to be and as I do that, I learn more how to do that. And in learning more how to do that, I learn who I am.

And the mirror isn’t cold. It’s warm.

And it’s not shadowy, it’s light.

And there are no cinderblocks, only strong hands with holes and arms stretched wide and His voice reminding, you won’t do it perfect but for today it’s pretty enough.

His voice encouraging, you just need to keep doing what you’re doing and learn and lean a bit more because every day of doing that will firm up in your mind who it is I had in mind when I made you.

And then one day we’ll never even have to ask anymore. We’ll be with the mirror and we’ll be in the mirror and we’ll be whole and we’ll be perfect.

Until that day, who we are is the reflection of that. The fuzzy almost of who we’re going to be. The clear definitive of who we are now…and new.

Until that day it’s our growing time….And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit. Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it. And in Him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by His Spirit. (2 Corinthians 3:18) (1 Corinthians 12:27) (Ephesians 2:22)

It’s our family time…you are fellow citizens with God’s people and members of God’s household. (Ephesians 2:19)

It’s our who am I time…we are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed and heirs according to the promise. We are God’s workmanship. (2 Corinthians 5:20) (Galatians 3:29) (Ephesians 2:10)

It’s our dying time…I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. (Galatians 2:20)

And it’s our loving time…I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wise and long and high and deep is the love of Christ. (Ephesians 3:17)

Who are you? Do you know? Who is my daughter? Who am I?

There are these…I’m wife to a good man...I’m mother to four kind-hearted children…I’m friend to some...I’m encourager to many...I’m a sinner clinging to the cross of grace.

And then there is this. I am someone who knows to whom she belongs. And when I look in that mirror, that One that’s no longer cold, I can tell that girl….I can tell my girl…I can tell my sisters.

We know who we are.

We are exactly who He made us to be, exactly who He’s growing us into. We are loved. We are cherished. We are held. We are daughters…

…daughters of the King.

Now I belong to Jesus, Jesus belongs to me!

Not for the years of time alone, but for eternity.

2013-12-03T16:16:00.003-09:00

I haven't been keeping close track of sunrise/sunset this year. It's pretty though. And quick :)

Even the piggies are in hibernate mode.

Been cooking a lot. Not sure how this place would stay fed without my cast iron. Some from Grandad and Grannycakes' house, some from my sweet Anita, some from garage sales...I'm sure some of it will make its way into my kiddos' kitchens someday...

Been writing a lot too. I guess that's what we do round here in the winter, cook and write. And read good books of course.

A big bundle of words....Now. What to do with them?

Wasn't he just born?

Wait, weren't they BOTH just born? C asked him "Do you think your're strong enough to take the cart back all by yourself now?" My baby says, "Of course I'm stwong enuf. Every man is stwong. Well, 'cept babies. Babies aren't stwong." Can hardly believe there are TWO future m.e.n. living in this house with me.

"Mama you go start the movie. Me n Dad are just gonna stay here and draw. We're artists."

We broke out the Whoonu box and dusted it off...

...and a couple of us suffered near hernias that Thanksgiving eve.

Life is Messy and Things Aren't Always So Little on this Crazy Little Farm

2013-12-03T10:03:00.003-09:00

Life is Messy and Things Aren’t Always So Little on this Crazy Little Farm

Cassandra Rankin

“…for every animal of the forest is mine, and the cattle on a thousand hills. I know every bird in the mountains, and the creatures of the field are mine.” ~Psalm 50:10-11

We’ve had our little farm just three years. Not long in the grand scheme of things. But you’d be amazed what a mama can learn in three years, especially when it comes to animals. And kids of course. An especially poignant day comes to mind when this mama found herself in the surreal situation of stuffing the way-back of her Ford Expedition full to the ceiling before sunup one morning, cages and kennels teetering while she drove through the early morning dark, her children’s faces in the rearview, solemnly brushing the lint off their white fancy shirts, combing their hair and their coon skin caps and quietly practicing their showmanship routine.

Guinea pig shows will do that to a family. You see, this raising animals gig ain’t for the faint of heart. I said it after my kids raised the roof and cleaned house with their little pig herd, winning ribbons and prizes and honorable mentions as I just sat bewildered, shaking my head slowly. I told the judge then and I maintain it now, you just never know what road you’re gonna travel once you become a mother.

And that’s the way it is with farm life too. We’re little. We have pets on the barnyard, not dairy cows or beef cattle. Our little herd of mini horses and goats are just fun family members who fill our table talk and empty our checking account. We’re not pros, heck we have to pray for strength and fortitude before we even butcher up a few chickens. Big ranchers are tough and strong and get thrown off bulls and cut their hands on barbed wire. We’re what you’d call a much softer, fluffier version of that. Think petting zoo. But not quite as cute. That’s us. With a buncha guinea pigs and a two-toed rooster thrown into the mix.

Large scale farmers or not though, we’ve still learned a peck about life from these crazy animals. In fact, I’d venture to say I’ve learned more about life and love and how this whole operation works in the three little years we’ve had this crazy farm than I probably did in all the years before hand. You see, when God made animals, He gave them to us humans to take care of. And yes, some animals are with us just for companionship and keeping our feet warm at night, and that’s a wonderful thing. But there’s more to it too.

The way I figure it, as long as this big old world keeps spinning, and no matter what happens on it, there will always be animals. Always. For friendship, for work, for transportation, for eats. Where there are people, there will be animals. And as long as there are animals, there will always be a need for people who know how to care for them. So that’s what we’re doing. We’ve set out to learn. We’re learning how to care for animals. And in learning how to care for animals, we’re learning a whole bunch about how to care for people too. These are just a few of the tidbits we’ve garnered:

Life is messy. Farm life isn’t like what we see on t.v. The farms on t.v. have us thinking barns clean themselves, manure evaporates, animals quietly graze on grass all their livelong days and no one ever gets sick. Or when they do, a quick visit from the vet fixes them up lickety split.

Life, real life, is messy.

And you’ll more than once find yourself standing in a pile of poop, wondering how you got there, and having no other option than to just take your shovel and get after it. But after a few times of mucking, it’ll get to become a little more familiar. It won’t be so alarming after you’ve been through it once or twice. You’ll get better at dealing with the poop. And you might even start to figure out ways to head off big messes. But it’s still going to always be there. In life, there’s poop. You just gotta learn to deal with it.

Life is unpredictable. You learn to deal with messes and may even get good at it. But then, in farming, and in life, something’ll get thrown at you that you have no idea where it came from or how to deal with it. The pony will get sick and you’ll find yourself giving him shots in the neck twice a day for two weeks straight even though you can barely calm the shaking in your hands. Or the hedgehog will develop a very sudden onset of Wobbly Hedgehog Syndrome one morning which will force you to ask your husband twelve hours later if he wouldn’t mind just getting it over with by gently sending the poor animal to the hereafter while you and the kids run into town. Things happen that’d you’d never even think of when you woke up in the morning and the older you get, the harder it is to deal with sudden happenings, but the easier it gets too because when it comes down to it, isn’t that real life? Interruptions. Surprises. Messes. Unpredictable.

Life needs our attention. When you’ve got critters, you study them close and you study them long. You come to know what an animal needs from you. You understand more than anyone else on earth what they need for food, shelter, routine, training, affection. That animal has specific needs as an individual. You are the person that been commissioned to meet the needs of that critter. If I don’t study the critters on my barnyard, if I don’t know what they need, I’ll wake up one morning to a loose animal, a sick animal or a dead animal. It’s my job to give them my attention.

This life needs our attention.

Careers, worship, recreation, sports, education…all contain one common thing: people. There are people under my roof I need to study close and I need to study long. They have needs that only I can meet. I’ve been commissioned. I need to know how they learn, what their favorites are, what makes them thrive, what makes them shrivel.

Who needs your attention? Study them close and study them long. Make sure they’re warm and fed and sheltered and that they have your affection. We don’t want our people lost, or sick or spiritually dead.

Life needs our commitment. As I write, it is six degrees below zero. Yesterday it was 15 below, the day before 17 below zero. It gets dark at 4:30 p.m. This will go on for months, at least four, usually more like five, depending on our weather pattern. The animals on our barnyard don’t comprehend these details, but they have a keen understanding of when they’re too cold, when their water has frozen solid, when it’s chow time and who brings these things to them. Life isn’t a joy ride. It gets ugly, it gets messy and it gets cold. You have to do it anyway. Because you committed to it and because there are critters, and people, who need you.

Take care of the outcasts. Every herd has an outcast. That one who’s never invited in, who tends to stand off alone, sometimes by choice, but most times because they’re driven off.

Jesus took care of them. We have to love them. And they’ll love you right back. Forever.

My little horse is an outcast. So she eats first on our farm. Every day. She still bristles though when I want to come in close. Her first instinct is to want to run. But when I use my soft voice, and gently reach out to her, she’ll come in close and let me hug her neck. She stands still and her eyes go soft. She’ll blink, almost in puzzlement. Then she’ll sigh. She receives my love. She knows that I love her even though something in her just wants to run. Even though she feels outside of the herd, she knows she is safe with me.

I’m an outcast. Somewhere, somehow, aren’t you one too? Don’t we all sometimes feel like we don’t fit? Like we want to bristle? To run? And if you don’t, trust me, someone you know does. We’re walking and talking with folks on this planet every day who’ve been run off, who aren’t invited in, who are just plain scared of the herd. Love them. Jesus told us to. You might help heal their heart. And you’ll both have a friend forever.

Kindness usually works. When an animal is mean, it is usually because it is scared or sick. Sometimes people are mean. They are usually scared or sick too. Don’t be mean back. Kindness usually works.

It doesn’t always go the way you’d hope. Death is part of life and even though we hate it, we’ll have to say goodbye to those we love. It will almost break your heart in two to see an animal you’ve loved, tended to, syringe fed, kept hydrated, administered shots to - lying there lifeless, eyes dull, no more movement in their once-strong muscles. It will break your heart in two to see the tears rolling down your children’s chins as they look on that same animal. But it will happen. It’s part of life’s natural process and seeing death in our animals helps us appreciate life with our people all the more.

Life requires help. It might be in the form of getting the sweet neighbor boys to do some work for you, or hiring a babysitter, or someone to mop your floors, or asking your best friend to go for a walk. We aren’t an island and this life wasn’t meant to be solitary and we need people. Especially during the extra messy times. When we try to walk it alone we walk it hard and in the hardness bitter is born. We need help.

It takes two. When I carry one bucket I’m a weakling. I slosh the water all over my pant leg and into my boot and bring a half empty haul to the trough. When I carry two I am strong like a teenaged boy and deliver full buckets to the barn. It’s uneven with one. Heavy. Too much to carry. It takes two. It’s balanced with two. God wasn’t kidding us when He said it right there in Ecclesiastes 4, “two are better than one”. Friend. Family. Spouse. Neighbor. Pair up with someone. Get a buddy. Share the load. In this life, it takes two.

There’s more. So much more.

Like how I’ve learned so much about my obedience to God when I train my misfit mini horse. How some animals will listen to certain people but treat others like poo on a shoe. How maddening that is, in animal world and in people world.

How sneaky little goats make you think they’re the cutest thing in the world and then you turn your back and they cause a ruckus that raises the roof, much like the willful and exploratory two-year-old.

How a rabbit will warn all in the hutch of oncoming danger. They look out for one another and will even let kits from another nest nurse and move into their nest if need be. They instinctively take care of the helpless.

Some things are just good plain fun to watch and bring tranquility. Like a flock of chickens. Talk about boring and tranquil entertainment. And even then, there’s the blessing of eggs. Life doesn’t always have to be serious and industrious. We sometimes need a little boring entertainment. A place to sit. Something goofy to watch.

And when we do, even in the boring…
...we'll find blessing.

In Christ Alone

2013-11-18T16:02:00.003-09:00

by Cassandra Rankin

The experts write that parents should take their children out on special dates once a week. These same experts recommend an overnight away with your spouse once a month too. I’m not talkin the as-seen-on-TV experts. These are sound, solid, Christian mentor type experts.

I love these experts.

I read the books written by these experts.

I put a lot of stock in what these experts say.

But once a week?!

Once a month?!

Who is their babysitter?

Even more, who does their budget?!

I’ve had to smother my feelings of failure in this area and am okay saying out loud what I’m sure most couples raising children today would say: my husband and I have never ever been able to go away for an overnight once a month. We’ve not even strived for it. It has never even been a remote possibility and as long as we’re raising a family, it won’t be.

What we have fit into our life though, is one for-sure weekend a year, sometimes two if we have enough in the budget to sneak away while Grandma comes to visit each summer. If we have a steady babysitter, we’ll sprinkle a few dates in throughout the year when the opportunity arises. That’s it. I know that’s more than some parents are able to manage and I also know that it’s less than some parents enjoy. But it’s what works for us. We may not be in a constant state of refreshment and renewal, but we’re sustained and we’re strong.

And we are both sure of the fact that we love one another immensely.

We’ve adopted this same approach to dates with our kiddos. While we enjoy one or two traditional weekend trips as a family throughout the year, one-on-one time away from home with each of our four children individually happens sporadically, casually, and only as the opportunity arises. Every now and then, my husband or I will notice one of the kids is in need of a little extra time with Mama or Daddy and we’ll plan a small date, but for the most part, my children’s view of a date with us means hopping in the truck as Mama is pulling out of the driveway on her way to the grocery store.

It’s not what the experts recommend. But it’s what works for us. They may not be in a constant state of refreshment and renewal, but they’re sustained and they’re strong.

And they know their Mama and Daddy love them immensely.

Our weekends away have provided us with some monumental memories. In a way they’ve become the framework of what we’re building the years around. But it’s the regular, everyday moments that have become our bricks, and it’s the quiet, one-on-one times that provide the mortar.

Building off a strong Cornerstone, you don’t need a whole lotta beams to keep things sound.

But trucks full of mortar are needed to make it all stick together.

Late night whispers…Morning giggles…Chit chat on the way to the barn...Reading Scriptures with a child who is seeking...Conversations at midnight with one who is growing...Lessons at the sink with one who needs a little extra help in teamwork…A special impromptu ride to town with the group tagalong…Our one-on-one moments just happen.

There’s no specific plan or schedule to our “I am paying attention and you are special and I love you and I want to spend a little time with you and invest in your life and show you my love and help you continue to grow” moments. Those moments, round here, well, they just happen.

And when they do, oh, what beauty there is in the smile of my child. What sweetness as they lean into my arm round their shoulders. What joy in the embrace of the one looking to me for guidance.

Reassurance, right there on their sweet face.

In Christ alone my hope is found…He is my light, my strength, my song;

this Cornerstone, this solid Ground…firm through the fiercest drought and storm.

When my girlfriends and I had a talk on Facebook last week listing out all our favorite worship songs, I’d forgotten about this one. Then, a few days later, I started grabbing at the words in my mind. I must be needing a little extra time with Him.

Where did we sing it? Why didn’t I put it on the list of my favorites when they asked? What was it about that song that stirred me so? Wasn’t it on a planned time, a special date with my Father that I’d first heard it? Oh yes, at a women’s retreat.

Then bursting forth in glorious Day…Up from the grave he rose again!

I should’ve added it to my list. Because on that retreat weekend, that special planned away time, singing that song grew me.

It strengthened my beams.

For I am His and He is mine - Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

I went to go back to our discussion online and went to type it all out, this song that I loved, this song that is one of my favorites...but how can you have a favorite without even knowing the words, the title? And by now, our conversation was long over. So I just Googled some lyrics instead.

And the title came back. In Christ Alone.

I discovered it’s not an old song as far as songs go, and that it was written by an Irish songwriter using strong Irish melodies. I remembered again, as I read the lyrics, what stirred me so.

From life's first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny.
No power of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand;
Till He returns or calls me home,
here in the power of Christ I'll stand.

My days may not be a constant state of refreshment or renewal, but He sustains me. He strengthens me. And He loves me immensely. We are His and He is ours and we sing it out loud during the planned times and we sing it in our souls during the not-so-planned times.

Whispers at night…Assurances as we wash dishes...His arm around us as we grow…An invitation to not just be the tagalong but to take a special trip, just you and Him.

So on Sunday, just two days after The Google reminded me of the title of my favorite song that I just this week remembered was my favorite song, I sat with my boy in worship service, bringing the whole week to the throne and laying it down at the cross and loving this planned time to spend one-on-One.

And I prepared my heart for the cup and the loaf and I prepared my mind for the week ahead and I prepared my spirit for this life and its struggles...And I asked for His strength. Asked to be sustained.

When the praise band started the last song of worship service the first chords brought tears.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t scheduled. It was a moment that just happened.

His embrace of guidance. His reassurance. His “You are special and I love you and I want to spend a little time with you and invest in your life and show you my love and help you continue to grow”.

In that not-planned moment I hear I’m paying attention.

And I love you immensely.

Surprised by that song, on that day of all days, heart full, I look at the words on the screen…

…and we all sing together.

In Christ alone, my hope is found,

He is my light, my strength, my song;
This Cornerstone, this solid Ground,
firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
when fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My comforter, my all in all,

here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone
who took on flesh
fullness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness,
scorned by the ones He came to save.
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
the wrath of God was satisfied.
For every sin on Him was laid;

here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,

Light of the world by darkness slain.

Then bursting forth in glorious Day,

Up from the grave He rose again!

And as He stands in victory,

sin's curse has lost its grip on me,

For I am His, and He is mine,

bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death,

this is the power of Christ in me.
From life’s first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny.
No power of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand.
Till He returns, or calls me Home,
here in the power of Christ I’ll stand.

{{"In Christ Alone" written by Keith Getty and Stuart Townend, copyrighted by Getty and Townend ©2001}}

2013-11-13T07:59:00.003-09:00

First winter day...our snow held off til Nov. 10th this year. I was thankful for that. It's the 13th today. Last night I had to chip ice off the troughs with a hammer.
And found myself dreaming of summer.

Thankful in all seasons, just coming to realize how lonnnnng this particular season can be...especially when ya throw a buncha farm animals into the mix.

Winters never seemed as long...or as cold....or as dark...or as long (did I already say that?) as they do now.

On a brighter note, I thought I'd share how civilized and orderly our moose can be...this one was kind enough to use the crosswalk last week ;)

Heartbeats and America Man

2013-11-05T09:47:00.000-09:00

Heartbeats and America Man

Cassandra Rankin

It’s November 5^th and he’s still wearing his Halloween costume. One of those padded, muscly superhero get ups…America Man. That’s what he calls it. Captain America. You know the one. Not much more than a long sleeved unitard with some padding along the arms and chest. I saw one just like it at our church trunk-or-treat only it was on a full grown man with a cute little pot belly.

Evidently America Man costumes come in all sizes.

He runs to me in the mornings, usually the first of my four up to greet the day and greet his Mama. Always my high energy, free-spirited one, the fourth in a line of children that came fast and close in years. He tires me the most. And makes me melt the most too. He makes me understand why there are country songs written about being the baby of a family.

And he climbs up in my lap every morning and tells me “Good morning Mom.” And we sit like we’re doing the spider on the swings and just hug.

He needs his hair cut. I probably should give him a bath today. When was the last time he did his math work? He needs to put some clothes on. Some variation of one of those is usually the stream through my head during our morning snuggle.

Sometimes when the pressure is building all around, don't the “shoulds” whisper so loudly you can just forget to turn them off?

Except this morning, when America Man came running it was different.

This morning, after he climbed up and settled in close, I felt his little heart beating.

Just like that, with the equivalent of a pillow on his chest, I felt the steady thump thump of his five-year-old heart, probably just the size of a small lime. Straight through all that America Man and straight through all that muscle and straight through the air between us and right onto my chest, I felt it.

The shoulds got silent and I just sat with him.

And ran my fingers through his long hair.

Breathed in his sweet and stinky little boy morning aroma.

Wondered how it is that my newborn, lastborn babe is already a math whiz kindergartner who learned that a shape with eight sides is called an octagon without Mama even teaching him.

Soaked up the peace that he’s so comfortable here he doesn’t even feel the need to put on clothes most days…or change out of his stained up superhero costume.

And that moment made me love him even more.

So we just hugged while I felt his heartbeat.

I’ve got his picture by Jeremiah 1:5 in my Bible.

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you….

When we climb up into God’s lap, doesn’t he feel our heart beat straight through all our padding and all our muscles and all our America Man?

And when my costume gets dirty and dingy and stinky and frayed…

…doesn’t He still love? Love us all the more?

When we run to Him first, when we draw our strength for the day straight from the hug of our Father, doesn’t He run His fingers through our hair and sit quiet with us and listen to our heart beat straight through our superhero costume?

Before He formed us in the womb, He knew us.

My boy will probably have another woman in his life someday. Someone else listening to the thump thump of his little heartbeat.

Only then it won’t be so little.

Only then, it will be louder and stronger and truer and hopefully it will be following the beat of his Daddy’s heart who follows the beat of his Father’s heart and then...

...straight through all the padding and all the muscles and all the America Man, she’ll be able to hear it, to feel it, right up against her chest, right up against their life together.

He turns his brown, long-haired head and puts his ear up to the other side of my chest.

“Mama I hear your heart in there.”

He’s listening.

That sound right there son, that’s the sound of my love for you.

“Ah, the smell of my son is like the smell of a field that the LORD has blessed.” ~Genesis 27:27

The Many Faces of a Ninja

2013-10-30T07:26:00.000-08:00

The Davy Crocket Ninja Face

The Macho Unicorn Ninja Face

The Savvy Shopper Ninja Face

The "Look Mom I'm Wearing a Handsome Bowtie" Ninja Face

(And yes, we know it's a necktie. but Ninjas can call it whatever they prefer. Or at least that's what my Ninja told me.)

The Studious Ninja Face

My little Ninja wears many faces. What does YOUR Ninja face look like this week?

Speaking of faces...we kinda like him round here. I might have almost a trillion pics just like this one. And I'll probably have a trillion more before my girl grows up. She and Joe are kinda stuck like glue. I hope this cat lives forever. We pretty much adore his every move.

The goats think they're a wagon driving team. They love to run with our little horses. When they're not trying to bully the sweet neighbor's dog that is. Mean old Princess Ruby.

A little slice of Homer in the morning.

By the Ocean with My Love

2013-10-25T23:12:00.001-08:00

by Cassandra Rankin

The trawler goes by,

tall masts a bouquet,
Alaskan roses,
filling the frame of my window.

After the ship passes out of view,
my eyes turn back toward snowy peaks
finding the sun rays that point straight through the clouds,
vertical line of shine,
the sun holding hands with the sea.

This place...
this old place, this new place...
this favorite place.

How many years has it been that we've come here to this favorite place and listened to the waves flirt with the shore?

Even before the babies were born and made it hard to go,
we came.

And with babies half grown and tucked away,

safe with a sitter and movies and vanilla ice cream with cherry topping,
happy kids on safari,
we come still.

And we talk. Or we don't.

And we laugh. Or we don't.
And we plan. Or we don't.
And we play. Or we don't.
And we sleep. Or we don't.
And the food always tastes so good.
And the days always seem so fresh.
And the time always goes so fast.

Until the next year,

the next anniversary,
another October to remember.

Remember what we did.
Remember what we said.
Remember who we are.

For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh. Genesis 2:24

Nothing too profound this week...just a post.

2013-10-22T09:05:00.002-08:00

"Good morning Mama. I am just a fire Ninja now."

Fire ninjas do good math. Mama focused on counting the pennies in the lesson when after a bit, my little FN casually informed me that the ball cost more than the doll and the robot because nine is more than the other two prices.

Hey that's right! They are more.

He goes on to tell me that the alligator mouth would just point to the nine.

What? What alligator mouth? Where did you learn this? I thought we were just counting pennies.

Mom. On that Maftacular movie I just watchted for maf.

Several problems later, it's confirmed. My ninja knows greater than/less than.

See? I've known it since the days of Dora. The tv can make a GREAT teacher's helper!

I'm not sure there could ever be a HEALTHY way to cook this, but the cold rainy day called for warm mac and cheese. And if you're gonna make warm, homemade mac n cheese like Grannycakes used to, you have to have polish sausage to go with it. Gah! Was it good!

Speaking of dinner. Our rooster's been, shall we say, a little cocky lately? So my girl did some math practice to get her irritation at him across. And I, of course, did some writing:

Dear Sir Lolly the Two-toed Rooster:
I know you're pimp daddy of the hen house.
I know you're just gettin your rooster puberty on and learning how to be a grown up protector of all things chicken.
But I also know this: my Reluctant Farmer has been begged off killing you, not once but twice, by his little ranch hands, (the same ones you've decided to chase all of a sudden and scare the daylights ou...t of). Yes, TWICE their tears have spared your life as that man marched across the barnyard, big club in his big hand ready to bring a big end to your roostin days.
So you think you need to quell the cocky some Sir Lolly?
Yes, you better Sir.
This here is what happens to rogue roosters round here.
Mama's gettin kinda crusty at this here farmin bit and believe me, as much as we like your goofy goat personality and like having a two-toed handsome creature such as yourself peckin around Rankin Ranch, if Daddy doesn't get to ya first, your cocky moves toward my babies are soon gonna end you in the stew pot...quicker than you can say Cockadoodledoo.

Anyone up for chicken tonight?

Turning Forty Became....

2013-10-16T16:56:00.002-08:00

...the last "official" weekend of our 2013 summer.

Which became the perfect reason to take a camping trip.

Which became an opportune time to tuck in a mini writers' retreat.

Which became the logical time to sit around relaxed and nourishing my creative side, finishing up two novels I'd been reading, taking tons of fall photos and writing to my heart's content.

Which became the need for caffeine that my dear husband satisfied by bringing me the best mocha in the whole wide world. (And we call this "camping".)

Which became the oomph I needed to keep up with my little campers who had exciting times in mind.

Which became an ax-swinging lumberjack session where Daddy again showed us his Paul Bunyanlike strength and reminded us to follow the lines God puts in the stumps that are there to always show us by following Christ's way and His guidance, we'll always be our strongest in life.

Which became our inspiration to explore more stumps and branches.

Which became the beginning of more creation exploring with another walk in the woods and around the lake.

Which became some pretty sweet girly time.

Which became the desire to go have a party and eat cake.

Which became the best birthday this gal ever had.

Last Day of a Decade

2013-10-09T00:15:00.002-08:00

(copyright Cassandra Rankin)

On the last day of her twenties it was all new.

New in the marriage that, at a decade old, was starting to change. New in the child that was not yet two. New in the friends that were coming into her life. New in not working the job she once loved to instead work each day in her warm old house. New in the baby that was still at her breast.

And it was especially new in the Book she was reading, that anthology of 66 that was teaching her so many things…so, so many of them…all brand new.

New ways of living. New ways of learning. New ways of growing. New ways of reacting. New ways of saying yes. New ways of saying no. New ways of trusting.

She was fresh up from the water.

New.

And when she turned thirty, her friends came and her husband smiled and her heart beamed. And she wondered.

The old could still cling on.

She wasn’t sure what the pull inside was exactly, it just felt…new.

So she kept following it. Even when the old pulled on.

Then two more babies later, and many more times in that Book, through that Book…late night prayers and late night tears and missing him when he had to go to work, sometimes far away, and loving him when he came home, and smiling when he too came up fresh out of the water, and learning how those children grow and how they act and how they love and what makes them giggle…and praying, praying all the years along and then one day soon before she knows it…

…it’s the last day of another decade.

And it’s not the old kind of new anymore.

It feels like a different kind of new.

A comfortable new. A familiar new. A warm new.

An old new.

It might not be a new new but in this life, isn’t every day new?

A sunrise, a good morning smile, jobs waiting, chores to be done, friends to be made, people to love. Another day, just one day, fresh, ours, air into the lungs, God into the heart.

New.

The old can still cling on, but not so much anymore.

The last day of her thirties she smiled the whole day through.

Through the leaky roof and the chores and the blue tarp and the mud and the rain that just went on and on.

When her boy, not near two now, but near on twelve, did the wet and cold and messy man work on the farm while his Daddy worked hard for their paycheck, her heart smiled and she thought of him as a toddler. Back then he liked to help Mama bake cookies, his strong mama who held him tight. He liked to help her do the fun work of homemaking. Now he likes to help his mama with the hard work, the ugly work of farm making. She doesn’t have to be so strong when he’s there. Almost a man he shows her.

And her heart smiles joy.

That girl, that baby just a decade ago, she tends too, but she tends tender and keeps the young ones inside, warm and dry and away from the parts of farm life that just might hurt a heart too young. She protects without even knowing that’s what she’s doing and because she does, they get a little more time to just be little. Almost a mama that girl could be.

And her heart smiles love.

Those other two, precious babies, so tall now but always her babies, coming in the first half of the decade, they hold her heart and make her smile. Growing so big. But still so fresh. So young. So new.

And her heart smiles peace.

And that old that clings on doesn’t cling so tight.

And the new she feels is an older new.

A wiser new.

A thankful new.

What can another decade bring? This marriage, still new but almost crossing the two-decade line; these children, growing so strong, learning so much, changing each minute; these friends, holding her up, making her laugh and growing with her year by year, what more could come?

What new could come?

Could it be here in that Book? That Book, that 66 volume Book, old but so fresh.

Alive.

Active.

Ancient.

New.

She flips through its pages that last week and realizes how much more she wants to learn. There is so much more to know about Him, that One who wrote it for her, for all of them, and she looks forward to a whole new decade of learning…reading…studying…growing.

The old that clings on now is the old that smiles.

Her history.

The path that brought her round on to Him.

The road to Jesus that marched her straight through her thirties. That two-track that feels like the road she always wanted to take…the road she never wants to veer from.

She feels the pull and it still feels…new.

New ways of living. New ways of learning. New ways of growing. New ways of reacting. New ways of saying yes. New ways of saying no. New ways of trusting.

How much more can another decade bring when the past ten years brought so much?

Those are the things she ponders up in her heart on that day….

… the last day of a decade.

My life is no longer than the width of my hand. An entire lifetime is just a moment to you; human existence is but a breath. Psalm 39:5 NLT

Ancient words ever true…Changing me and changing you…We have come with open hearts…Oh, let the ancient words impart

Science? What Science?

2013-10-03T09:07:00.002-08:00

I asked our principal if he'd take over science this year. I know! Can I get a hallelujah? Should've done this years ago! Well, if we'd done "real" science years ago, that is.

Until now I've not done a science curriculum.

Oh, I had a very structured one the first year. And then the next, I put together a very loose, homemade curriculum.

But then, well, then a pregnancy and a baby came along. And with that, breast feeding of course. And then after that, another one, and by then, everyone was old enough to learn about C-sections vs. natural birth and hey how did that baby even get in there anyway? So of course we had to read a bunch of good books about reproduction. And then, well, not too long after that is when we found that shot dog in the woods and had to help her head wound heal, and then wouldn't ya know it, she was gonna have a litter of pups, and wow, mama dogs are built a lot different than mama people, so of course we had to read a bunch more good books about THAT, and dontcha know it takes a lot of work and energy watching a litter of pups grow and develop? And it wasn't too long after that and here comes a little horse, and some little rabbits and a few little guinea pigs. And some of em have to be neutered ya know, and horses need their teeth cleaned, and well, here come the barn cats, and then the hedgehog, and it kept us kind of busy making sure everyone got fed specific to their digestive needs and housed according to their species, and so, well, a science curriculum just got pushed to the back.

So we didn't get any "official" science.

But it was round about the time the little horse came along that it hit me.

All that stuff up there, that IS their science.

And so is looking at the Alaska night sky and talking it over at the table with hot coco as a family. And so is working on electricity with your Daddy at the church building. Or ice fishing. Reading a bit from the biology book. Going to the local science camp. Spruce hen hunting. Learning how to jump start a car and why that works. Exploring the woods with your berry and wildflower book. Watching the snow melt. Watching the summer fade. Watching all those episodes of Magic School Bus. And School House Rock. Learning about deodorant and what it's for. Running the farm.

When we had to load that little horse up in the back of a pickup truck and take her to an equine dentist where she was giving standing sedation, a speculum was inserted into her little horsey mouth and tools the size of a yard stick were used to clean her teeth, I felt an instant release of all the guilt I'd been feeling about "cheating" my kids out of a "real" education in science.

Science is in every little thing we do and if you pay attention to the moment you're in and the life that is happening around you, you're certain to find a "science moment."

So I've just been happy to let that be it. Thrilled even. My kids can tell you the inner parts of at least seven different species of animal and have probably even seen most of them. If I were stranded in the woods, I'd want my Cub Scout and his little sister with me. We'd survive because of their knowledge of nature. They might even be able to remove testicles if called upon to do so. But let's hope they're not okay? (See last year's post on G's "dissection" and lesson with the vet on proper use of a scalpel on our poor rabbit's {{already removed!}} testicle).

But it's time now with my big kids. Something about that 6th grade mark, it just feels right. Feels like it's time to put some of what they've been a'learnin all these early years into practice. Time to put some words down on paper and attach the big names to the big ideas. Plus, they're almost to the point of where they need hard, solid numbers to put to their subjects for transcripts. {{I know!! Didn't we just start preschool with their chunky pencils and their itty bitty Little Tykes desks??}}

So I do what any good, smart homeschooling mama does when it's time to get the hard work done.

I put Daddy in charge.

:)

They.are.loving.it!

And so is he.

There has been a joy and excitement settle on our homeschool as they all three huddle around the computer and go through the lesson and prepare for their project.

Daddy puts the smack down on science in a way Mama never could as she's been bringing up littles and tending to the important work of reading and writing and math and life. And he makes it fun and new and exciting, where Mama would probably just {{yawwwnnn}} as her eyes glazed over. (Am I the only one that thinks both science and math are in kahoots to suck the lifeblood out of us languagey writer types?)

It's been a fun change in our homeschool.

And my littles? Well, they get the unique and distinct privilege of getting to have science Mama's way for a few more years.

That's right, we get to read good books on the couch. Talk about the stars when they squeal in delight over seeing them for the first time in months. Talk about WHY they haven't seen them in months (a fun little lesson for those children who live in northern regions). Talk about how things work. Answer questions (why did God make all the dinosaurs if He was jus' gonna kill em?). Take things apart to see what's inside. Learn how babies are made. (Mama, my Wooster Lolly is jus gonna mate up on those hens if we leave him in there...) Tag along with the big kids when it gets real interesting, but go back to our little kid stuff when it's not. Make volcanoes with baking soda and vinegar. Just have fun learnin to love to learn about stuff.

And most of all, Mama will do it unencumbered and guilt free this time.

Because soon enough, there will come a day when it all changes and it has to be "official". So until then, we'll just wonder at the world around us and marvel in the creation of our Creator, thankful to be able to learn and live and love...

... together.

"The whole world, is filled with your glory Lord...angels and men adore...creation longs for what's in store. May You be honored and glorified...exalted and lifted high...here at your feet I lay my life. The whole world...is filled with your glory Lord."

2013-10-01T13:32:00.001-08:00

He's not much on hand-me-downs from his sisters. Unless said hand-me-down is a horse, of course.

They've been lovin on each other just over a year now. Settling in...

...and becoming right close pals. <3

The last of our summer.

One little remnant, a reminder of how bright it was.

Such beauty in the changes.

Will she make it one more winter?

Passing of the torch.

Last year of elementary grades.

If Davey Crockett only knew how cute she'd make his hat look.

My big girl who is still my baby <3

And my baby who reminds me daily he's NOT still my baby <3

I might take some flak for the dirty face. From the grandmothers, from other moms, heck, maybe even from HIM one day. I don't even care. When my oldest had his kindergarten photos done, his hair was combed perfectly, his shirt was clean, his smile was studio posed. He had a typical school picture. Over the years, I've come to love taking my kids' photos each Fall in our yard, in their everyday clothes, giving me their everyday look. This is exactly what this child looks like in my heart today, and will for always. Dirty face and all. He stayed still long enough for me to capture it, and I am so thankful for that. I could just eat up that dirty messy boy face.

OUT TAKES:

When he sat down in the rocking chair with his Red Rider, I told him he looked like a grumpy old man sitting on his porch to keep the neighborhood dogs at bay. He decided to get goofy about it and hammed it up....

...and it turned into on of my little sharpshooter's 6th grade school pics. ;)

Poor Joe...being threatened and swooped upon by rascally crows during our photo shoot. That of course calls for some cuddlin' and cradlin'.

This right here is the bacon face. As in "do I smell bacon? BACONNN???" Her sister was in fact, cooking bacon in the house. Bacon is an exciting thing round here. Especially if it's not that old turkey bacon stuff Mama gets, but the REALLL stuff...piggy bacon.

Hey, you're too young for the senior picture pose!

She's figured it out. You need something done round here, ya just draw up some blueprints. Daddy'll have it done up in no time. This here is the result of her blue prints and directing Daddy in the ways of her robot-for-Halloween vision.

Roof on.

A homeschooler's version of green army guys ;)

Man Stuff

2013-09-27T09:57:00.005-08:00

Man Stuff

Cassandra Rankin

Once, just over a decade ago now, his daddy let him toddle around on the four wheeler trailer while they did their man work outside. The toddler toddled, then fell, and before the day was done blood and bandaids and a mother’s fretting were involved.

But that daddy just smiled and said He’ll be okay. He’s doing man stuff.

He was the firstborn.

The apple of his daddy’s eye.

And while his baby sister slept cozy from the confines of her crib, he and Daddy did stuff together.

Man stuff.

Helicopter mornings where they’d sit warm in the truck, the wipers swishing through the wet snow, eating their crumb donuts and waiting for the next one to come chop-chop-chopping in and land on the big cement pad.

When more babies came, they moved on from helicopter time to big stuff like fishing. Like shooting guns.

Man stuff.

And their man stuff went and shaped a whole household.

So it was no surprise when Mama came home to trusses up on the new shed and her boy - not toddling this time, but strong and straight, up there twelve feet, walking the plywood, moving lumber, following his Daddy’s words –no surprise that her boy was up there doing man stuff.

But her heart gasped a little too because what if he toddles on over?

What if we see blood and bones before the day is done?

Are you sure we should let him up there? It must’ve flickered across her eyes and he gives her heart a pat on the back with that smile. A smile that agrees with her. The real surprise of it all.

Yes. It did come so fast.

But that smile reassures too.

He’ll be okay. He’s doing man stuff.

Why can’t we just buy a shed already put together? She argues as he draws.

Not in the budget. And he continues to calculate and figure the angle for the roofline.

And she almost wrecks her truck when a brand new shiny shed rolls by on the highway and she stares at it, all tidy up on that trailer, and wills the driver to just take it on out, all the way to their place and set it up so all they have to do is hang up a birdfeeder and move the hay in and cozy up a little empty corner for his workbench.

And then her man wouldn’t be so busy, working a job and then working a shed every night until dark which comes earlier and earlier every day.

And they could get on with things.

That’s how she’d do it if it were her way.

But it isn’t her way and so she watches him race. Race against the snow whose approach is so near the wind blows wafts of her perfume each morning.

Race against the list of other jobs that wait restlessly, bored children after a three-day rain, itching, bouncing off the walls, anxious to be let loose…these whiny, nagging projects yelling loud under their summer confinement and reminding every.single.moment, it’s tiiiimmeee. The house seethes with their noise and the barnyard echoes.

So they race.

And when she sees her boy building trusses, she wonders if maybe it’s better after all that the new shed on the trailer didn’t come to their place.

When the little brother straps his hammer gun onto the elastic waistband of his little five-year-old pants and says he’s gonna be a worker just like his daddy, she ponders how they wouldn’t have had that opportunity if they’d decided to stretch the budget like she’d wanted.

And then, when she sees her big boy, -wasn’t it just yesterday he fell off that trailer? When she sees him up on the roof moving trusses, she knows.

They needed to do man stuff.

And while it might not be timed like SHE would want, or as quick as SHE would prefer, and it might cause more work for HER, and while it won’t stretch the budget, it might stretch that calendar SHE makes, and while more stretching wouldn’t be HER choice….

…this isn’t about her.

Because isn’t that what life is anyway?

Stretching?

Stretching and pulling and moving and tugging...

…and in that stretch don’t we grow?

And then when we’re not toddling any more, and maybe not in so much danger of tipping over, and the bumps and bruises have healed into scars barely noticeable, don’t we get stronger and straighter? Don’t our muscles grow and then one day we’re lifting heavy and climbing high?

And while you might not have picked that for you, or for your family, or for your calendar, isn’t that our Daddy’s voice right there in the background? Right in our ear?

Wouldn’t I have missed that if I went the quick way?

Would I have had that opportunity to hear -if I’d have taken the convenient route?

Would I have had that chance to grow -if I hadn’t let Him teach me how to do “man” stuff?

Isn’t that our Father instructing? Directing. Helping us up, tending the wounds?

And isn’t that His Son -giving us His example? Holding our hand, guiding, correcting, helping us reach, showing us how to do man work? How to do that work that goes beyond just toddling and moves right on into the world of grown-ups?

Showing us how to lay it all down and stretch it all out and in the laying down and the stretching out doesn’t He show us how to grow? How to rebuild?

Doesn’t He remind us we’re all doing man stuff? The big kid work of helping our Father build?

Doesn’t He catch our eye when we’re surprised?

Remind us with his hands and with His Word?

Doesn’t He smile and reassure, let us know yes, it came so fast.

But it’s okay.

That work right there? That’ll go and shape a whole household.

You’ll be alright.

I’m right here.

And you’re just learning how to do man stuff.

“Listen, my sons, to a father’s instruction; pay attention and gain understanding.” ~Proverbs 4:1

Blog?

2013-09-25T10:13:00.001-08:00

OHHH...blog.
That's riiiight...we have a blog!
Um, yeah.
Ok, so we're back.
Can I use the "it's been a real busy summer" excuse one more time?
{{I've missed you my bloggy friends!}}

Our Favorites....

2013-09-25T10:10:00.001-08:00

RANKIN RANCH LIST OF TOP NOVELS – 2013

***Books not listed in any particular order of favoritism because to do so would cause significant weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. For more than one member of our family.***

Johnny Tremain, Ester Forbes

The Tale of Despereaux: Being the Story of a Mouse, a Princess, Some Soup and a Spool of Thread, Kate DiCamillo

Woodsong, Gary Paulsen

Dogsong, Gary Paulsen

Inkheart series, Cornelia Funke

The Girl Who Could Fly, Victoria Forester

Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens

The Winter Pony, Iain Lawrence

A Little Princess, Frances Hodgson Burnett

Ship Wreck at the Bottom of the World; The Extraordinary True Story of Shackleton and the Endurance, Jennifer Armstrong

Hank the Cowdog series, John R. Erickson

Little Britches, Ralph Moody

The Littles, John Peterson

Cheaper by the Dozen, Frank B. Gilbreth

*The Year on Maple Hill Farm, Alice and Martin Provensen

*Our Animal Friends at Maple Hill Farm, Alice and Martin Provensen

The Hardy Boy Series, Franklin Dixon

Little House series, Laura Ingalls Wilder

Holes, Louis Sachar

The Magic Tree House series, Mary Pope Osborne

The Boxcar Children series, Gertrude Chandler Warner

The Sinking of the Titanic and Great Sea Disasters, Bob Garner

Puppies, Dogs and Blue Northers, Gary Paulsen

Mutiny on the HMS Bounty; Great Illustrated Classics, William Bligh

Island of the Blue Dolphins, Scott O’Dell

Henry Huggins, Beverly Cleary

Ruby Holler, Sharon Creech

The Hundred Dresses, Eleanor Estes

Missionary Stories with the Millers, Mildred A. Martin

The Year of Miss Agnes, Kirkpatrick Hill

Old Yeller, Fred Gipson

Kildee House, Rutherford G. Montgomery

*We included these two titles because while they are not novels, they ARE a very important part in the life of one of our little readers. J

Autumn

2013-09-25T10:05:00.003-08:00

Autumn

Cassandra Rankin

It’s Fall and my tears could just fall too.
Like the leaves.
Every year now it comes faster.
So much faster
when all I want it to do is slow down.

I was just young.

Halfway there now and still wondering…
…how did the first half go so fast?

And these children-

these precious children growing,
shoots stretching like spring blooms.
But all that goes too fast too.

And this life skips along,

just like that one yellow leaf,

bouncing, turning, blowing
curving twisty then straight ahead,
right on down the sidewalk.

A brief pause under a tree,
a swirly trip in a wind tunnel,
a rest against a bird’s nest,
then it blows again,
end over end,
scraping, clicking, jingly skipping,
music of its journey - a reminder.
The song of this season.

So fast.

How far will it go?

How long will it wither?
How many will hear the music?
How much will be nourished by its short life here?

And I watch.
And I chase.
And I bid it in my heart,
slow down some.

But it won’t.

And so I skip off after,

my feet dancing in time
to the music of its journey.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: Ecclesiastes 3:1

2013-09-25T08:35:00.004-08:00

What IS it with children and goggles?? This was his "Good morning mom, I'm ready for battle" face.

She's started sewing dolls with her sewing machine!

Mama treated them to a Saturday morning out to breakfast. I guess some kids bring their iPods...haven't quite decided in my head if this is the equivalent or not...

No moose hunting this year but they're bringing home dinner in spruce hens...yum!

Moving a half ton of feed. How is he even old enough to be out of his five-point car seat, let alone moving 50 pound bags with the big boys?

Our just-yesterday firey fields have gone to full fuzz and still change daily. By now, most of this fuzz has blown, the birch leaves yellowed, and then promptly fell. Daily the landscape changes, and it feels like by this time next week, it will yet again change to greet us one morning with a blanket of white.

The big shed fell last February. The canvas shed we put up in its place is not going to be adequate for our winter farm needs, we've realized. Situations such as these bring out the engineer/builder/craftsman in my man. I watch with disdain as sheds roll down the highway, trailered and complete in their construction, right on down to the stain, being hauled to someone else's farm, all ready to be plunked down in a quaint little spot on their property and filled with all the hay and feed that's just been waiting patiently to be covered gently by the new shed and tucked into bed for the winter. Yeah, that was me, gawking at you pretty pretty shed, and almost running into the car in front of me as you rolled down the highway the other day dazzling me with all your beauty and completeness.

Here at the Rankin Ranch, my reluctant farmer doesn't operate that way. Ever mindful of the family and farm budget, he's a do-it-yourselfer to the very marrow of his bones. It took me eleven years just to sweet talk him into letting me take my truck in to have the oil changed. He likes to use his man hands to do his man jobs round here. I'd be inclined to sell a guinea pig or two just to have one of those pretty sheds delivered to my door t.o.d.a.y so we can get on with this winter thang, however, I have learned, when a man gets an itch to build, you just need to smile and cheer him on and fetch his tools.

Unless that man just happens to be a strappin little five year old who is developing a newfound love affair for all things worker related and then he can just fetch his own dang tools woman....

...and proceed to tell you "Wook Mama. I'm a worker man jus like Daddy." {{Swoon, right??}}

Okay so maybe this kinda thing probably wouldn't happen with a store-bought....

...and I'm pretty sure my big little man wouldn'ta skipped lunch to go out and finish the truss he and his dad had started the night before had we had that pretty ol' premade shed delivered.

Guess my do-it-yourselfer might know what he's going afterall..

Happy Autumn, sweet friends. It is sure short round here. Wishing you love and peace as you transition into these colder seasons. May you always, always feel the warmth of the love of the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

The Rankin Crew

2013-07-15T06:44:00.000-08:00

If you visit here now and then, you may have noticed our little bloggy has gone from being filled with photos of adorable little people to being filled with words from their Mama. Over the years, I've fought a continuous battle with sub par internet connection, a testy phone line and my own limited technological aptitude. Recently, I've just waved the white flag from the middle of the battleground and just uploaded what I know will work...my writings. The photos of adorable people have been slowing growing in my Facebook photo albums from the zippy uploads my mobile phone likes to do...until said mobile phone breaks four months after its warranty runs out and well, now I'm waving two white flags. Grrr...

I'm constantly amazed/frustrated/baffled at how much we rely on our modern day technologies, and wonder always how my mother and the preceding generations survived with their party lines and typewriters and pen and paper and stamps. It sounds so quaint and nostalgic...and deep down, so much easier. What do they think of not having to get flash cubes...and seeing baby photos right there on the little t.v. box? I must be approaching forty to be thinking this way...but really, when you stop and ponder the things we can do...all because of this little thing called the computer. So powerful.

And yet, so aggravating when it doesn't work the way it's supposed to.

So the blog has just sit. And my technological straight jacket becomes comforting, calming in a remove-the-stimulus sort of way. And just uploading the writings to have them be somewhere has been a low-maintenance way to keep this shindig up and running until well, until our internet connection improves, until the computer is updated with a new one, until we go all techno crazy and get Wi-Fi or Mi-Fi or Fi-Fi or whatever they call it, and then I'll be like my friends in town...zipzipzip.

So until then, thank you for coming to see us.

When my mother leaves and is no longer looking into my children's eyeballs daily, she'll want to put her eyeballs to their photos once more. So I'll do what I can to keep photos here and there on our cozy little corner of the web.

But thank you for reading what I write.

And thank you for loving us.

You are precious to this family,

The Rankin Crew

Heaven Came Down

2013-07-14T17:42:00.001-08:00

Heaven Came Down

Cassy Rankin

It’s been ten years since I told Jesus I do.

A short ten years. In that decade I’ve watched a lot of other people get baptized.

And do you know, after they come up we always sing Now I belong to Jesus. But on the day I came up it was Heaven Came Down. Just that once for some reason. Oh what a wonderful, wonderful day.

And on that day Heaven did come down. And glory filled my soul.

But some days it’s just too much. And that filled soul just wants to weep.

When there are people dying of cancer. Or when three families stagger under the loss of their loved ones and whole communities grieve their stunned hearts out. Or when a mama leaves early and her babies are little, so little. Or when a baby leaves early and her mama is left just a shell. When cities riot. When a dear friend’s heart is breaking. When a country falls apart.

And today the preacher talked about a caterpillar. Tucked up tight in its cocoon, all wrapped up in there.

Clinging.

A thread.

Holding right there tight to the branch. Secure, that tree keeps the cocoon from falling…

…right on down into nothing.

Into death.

Those strong men today telling Jesus I do, up out of the clean, getting stronger. They didn’t fall. Slippery floor they stand and against the stagger they stood and they said Now, I belong to Jesus.

And then that cocoon…

…oh what emerges. The butterfly…flying, and don’t we all know that story? That beauty of when Heaven came down?

And we weep with joy.

But we weep with sadness too. At the weight of what death leaves behind. The shell.

But when it emerges, when we watch for it, if we look and see, search for it with all our hearts….

…in the falling we can still find the beauty. Right there in the weight of it all, right there in the sadness…

…glory fills our souls.

…weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning. Psalm 30:5

Right There in the Mess

2013-07-03T15:36:00.002-08:00

Right There in the Mess

Cassy Rankin

Right there, right in the middle of the smoke detectors singing to the burnt bacon, the dog hair all over the floor, the dirty dishes filling up the counter top and the bathroom that hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, she showed up.

And isn’t that what you sometimes need most in all the world?

A friend to show up right in the middle of your mess?

And her strong hug was like a balm, her warm eyes a reminder.

I am not in it alone.

My house might be a mess and I might be a mess but I’m a loved mess and I’ve got people who love me. Who love God. And if they love me that means God loves me.

Loves me and my mess.

And isn’t life just a mess sometimes?

Maybe not a big mess…or a once in awhile mess…or a mess for any one reason, but sometimes isn’t it just messy and the only way to clean it up is with a hug and some time and some love?

And what would it be if it wasn’t a mess?

Would it be perfect peace and things always just so and never another problem or distraction for the rest of my days?

Or would it mean there was no house to mess up? No loved ones to tangle with on the extraordinarily messy days? No interruptions, no surprises, no learning, no beauty, no animals, no family….no love.

I’m a mess and this life is messy and I’ll take that mess. I can learn how to make it not so messy. I’ll keep cleaning when I can, as I go. I’ll fight for peace.

But sometimes doesn’t peace come when we look right past the mess and just see life? See love. See strong hugs and warm smiles…and oh, doesn’t that make the mess seem so much less messy?

I won’t let the mess get in the way of seeing that love. I have a job to do. And if my mess keeps me from my job, well then, I’m forgetting that life is messy…but it still needs livin.

I can’t stop life…don’t want to stop life…just because it doesn’t look good enough. I can’t stop hugging because I’m afraid I’ll get someone dirty. What if they need that hug? What if they have a mess of their own and maybe they just need strong arms, need to know they’re not in it alone. What if they need me to show up right in the middle of their mess with warm eyes and the reminder of God’s love?

It might be a mess, but it’s a mess God holds tight and He loves and He cleans little by little and bit by bit every day these eyes open to see another morning. And sometimes He sends someone along to remind us that even though life is messy….

…it is love. And it is good.

“Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts, let us not lift our souls to another. Oh God let us be, a generation that seeks, that seeks your face, O God of Jacob.”

Little Princess

2013-06-12T12:27:00.001-08:00

Little Princess

By Cassy Rankin

So I’ve been teaching the girls at church how to be a princess. And isn’t it when you teach the most you learn the most?

And how can I tell a room full of six to eleven year olds, their big eyes hanging on my every word, and not believe it myself?

I can’t.

So when He tells us right there in our Princess Manual that I’ve been adopted into His royal family, that I am His daughter which makes me an heir, that He is my King and He is enthralled by my beauty, well, when He tells us that right there and signs it all in red ink, I need to tell them. And I need to believe it too.

A princess? Me?

Them, yes. Of course them. Their sweet, precious, innocent soft faces. Their eyes big as we read together from a chapter book. Their proud smiles as they show me how hard they worked to memorize the verse I wrote for them on the board. Their faces lovely and untainted just yet by too much of what the world has to offer them. Unblemished, free of too much world-ugly.

Of course they are princesses, each and every one.

My princesses, the two that live here with me, well their Daddy calls them his Warrior Princesses. Muddy feet and messy hair and mosquito bites on their legs, they hold their big brother down and if it’s a happy day, tickle him. If it’s an angry day they might just hold him down. And their Daddy tells them a story at bedtime about two Warrior Princesses and their adventures. It’s a years-long story. And they delight in it. And deep down they know they are really the princesses in their Daddy’s story.

And how can you be a princess for ten years and know it, but then when you teach the little girls at church, you discover it all over again?

Ten years.

My mama, she acts like a princess because she’s brave and strong in her battles. My one friend, she brings love and light and beauty to everything she touches. I have another princess friend who would feed the whole world if her castle kitchen would allow it. And another is princessly by getting right to the truth of a matter. Another talks to animals and they listen. And one, well she suffered so much loss in her life you’d think her mama princess heart might just fall out of her beautiful chest one day but she somehow keeps it in there and manages to love…oh, she loves with the biggest hugs you’ve ever known and a song so beautiful you’ve never heard such a sound and a smile so bright it really could light up a city.

Yes, I know some princesses.

And now I know fifteen more. Little princesses. Jesus’ princesses.

So I’m learning, again, deep down, I’m the princess in the story.

You’re the princess in the story.

When you belong to the King, when you are daughter to the Most High, when you are no longer a foreigner or an alien, but a fellow citizen with God’s people and members of God’s household (Eph 2:19)…we get to be princesses together.

Not a Disney princess or a TV princess or a princess that has to wear a ball gown even. No, you are a princess who has a royal Daddy and He adores you and your mosquito bitten legs.

And even if you didn’t have one that told you bedtime stories when you were little…or if the bedtime stories he told were painful ones…our royal Daddy takes all that in His big strong arms and He says here, nail it all up there and leave it because I AM STRONG and I LOVE YOU and you don’t need to carry that around anymore because it’s just.too.heavy and I want You to carry around my love instead. It’s a lot lighter and I custom made you for that job and you are beautiful and you belong to me and I know you can do it.

And then He shows us how. He says I’ll show you how much I love you and I’ll show you how to live as my daughter, my princess.

We get to choose that. We get to choose to be royalty. He tells us right there in the Princess Manual, John, 1: 12 that those who believed in His name, he gave the right to become children of God. I get to pick Him! And then in picking Him, He shows me how He really picked me first. From the beginning of time. He’s just been waiting for me to say yes, Daddy, and traipse my muddy feet over onto His walkway where He’s waiting arms open for me to come in.

And the bedtime story, that years-long story, ten years now and finally, finally, I realize, it’s really me! He’s talking about me! Instead of Once Upon a Time though it says right now, today. This is it. You are royalty and The LORD your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing. (Nehemiah 3:17)

And that makes me feel like a princess. A Warrior Princess. A muddy feet and messy hair princess that has a Daddy who loves her very, very much.

Because of that I can teach those little precious girls that they are Princesses too.

That they are each and every one, Jesus’ Little Princess.

The king is enthralled by your beauty; honor him, for he is your lord. Psalm 45:11