Laurel Elisabeth Stevens

The following are some remembrances from our time in London where my parents have been living for nearly a year.   I wrote this in September towards the end of our month long visit. John was with us for three weeks and by this time was back in the U.S. It's Monday evening.  My parents are at choir practice and the kids are outside playing.  I can't see or hear them because they are in the garden, and my parents' house doesn't have a high enough window that looks out to the garden.  But it's quite a large garden, and they bring a ball and play with some kids from neighboring houses, and I'm  content that the kids have found things to do outside and on their own.  I didn't expect to find that in London. St. Paul's Cathedral as seen from the Tate Modern (You've seen this one in Mary Poppins). We've been here for a month now, with a week away in Hannover visiting friends.  Now as I face our last few days here and the task of returning to rout...

Summer travels took a detour this year, and in July the kids and I wended our way through hilly back roads of Missouri and found Laura and Almanzo Wilder’s little house in the Ozarks .  I’d heard a long time ago that there was a museum there, but I thought, “Missouri?  Laura never lived in Missouri!”  But she did.  It was not a move taken lightly.  After their marriage, written about in These Happy Golden Years , Laura and Almanzo suffered greatly in De Smet, South Dakota: they had lost an infant son, lost their livelihood in a drought, and their property in a fire.  So when their daughter Rose was seven years old, and Laura had saved $100 from sewing jobs, Laura and her husband packed up what was left, said tender farewells to Laura’s parents, and began the long trek to Mansfield, Missouri. In the house in Mansfield there is a picture of Laura and Almanzo taken in 1942.  Laura is 75 and Almanzo is 85.  Since they are the only two in the p...

If you can laugh, it will be okay.  If you can chuckle at the huge water stain on your ceiling and the fact that the AC quit just when you had 12 people in the house, and at least one guest spending the night, then it will be okay. So far I’m still chuckling. . .but then again, the downstairs AC is working. Niobe, our chocolate lab has been with us three months now.  She’s grown comfortable enough to bark at every guest and ringer of the doorbell, be they 5 or 40.  But she’s still a bit confused about where to go when she needs to do her business.  A few weeks ago she was using the upstairs carpet as her spot of grass, oh, about every other day.  That didn’t do well for my view of her.  I was getting really annoyed, if not angry.  She only did it when the kids were upstairs, and I would hear, “Niobe! No!  oh no . . .Niobeee!” That’s my cue to grab three rags and the carpet spray.  Blot, blot, spray, spray, blot.  Grumble, g...

While eating chocolate cake in honor of Tim’s birthday, Elisabeth asked if we could watch “A Bit of Bitsy”--a collection of video clips of Elisabeth at about age 20 months.  It’s one of many treasures that Tim put together.  A few months later, he made a video of his first nephew, Timothy, entitled “A Tat of Timothy,” and we chuckled because Tim got his letters mixed up, meaning to call it “A Tad of Timothy.” Something we lost when Tim died was a family chronologer.  We all enjoyed his artistry and humor when it came to videography and film editing.  Before a trip to England when he planned to use his video camera, he emailed us a list of rules for the camera which included most importantly, “Pretend the camera isn’t there.” I’m sure I don’t know the half of what was involved, but I know that he and Kristen spent a lot of time getting the touches just right and finding the right music.  He even had a series of titles, film company names, credits, and even ...

My nine year-old girl and six year-old boy have enjoyed discussing what they want to be when they grow up.  It’s been a hot topic of late, and when kids get to talking about it, there’s no limit.  Elisabeth’s list changes from day to day, but most recently she wants to be -a vulcanologist -a biology teacher  -a teacher at a museum who teaches kids about animals,  -a veterinarian -a writer, or -a veterinarian who writes books Henry also wants to be a writer, or, if he can figure out how to make money this way, a lego collector.  As a writer he will write 3 books.  One will be 435 pages long, one 646 pages, and one 108.  The topics range from planet exploration to large dinosaurs. Being the proud parent I am, I think our kids could do any of these things.  John even thinks Henry could figure out a way to make money selling legos.   Today Elisabeth showed a trait that is valuable in just about any job, but especially...

It isn’t just the dog who needs to get used to her owners. A crate provides protection for both the dog and the house. Chocolate labs are beautiful.  Ours has a graceful, lilting walk that deserves a stare. A 9 year-old daughter who will pick up dog poop without complaining will be a good dog-owner. Boys learn the firm, commanding tone of voice very early. Dogs can’t climb out of pools without the steps, or without someone pulling them out. Vacuuming and mopping can be extra satisfying after owning a dog for five days. We will spend a lot of money at the pet store. A plastic bag with a hole in it is a whole lot worse than no bag at all.  Typically-walk-averse children don’t complain about the length of the walk when going with a dog.  A thunderstorm can be exhausting.  Kong Frisbees don’t float.  Swimming with a dog can make kids forget that the water is only 64 degrees Fahrenheit.  But you must learn to stay away from her claws.  Goo...

Yesterday at the Easter service I held my big six year-old boy in my arms during the first hymn.  Henry still likes to be held during hymns--it is a precious ritual--but he’s getting heavy, so I usually tell him Daddy will hold him.  But March is a month of remembering, and I could not help but remember Easter six years ago when I held my son Henry--a tiny red-faced bundle, opening his mouth and rooting for his mommy every few hours.   He was one-week baptized and my body still reminded me of his recent delivery.  And my heart was still newly-aching from my brother’s death. Resurrection Sunday either meant more to me than it ever had before, or it meant absolutely nothing.   That Easter and every Easter since (even in Germany, in German) we’ve sung the new hymn In Christ Alone by Getty and Townsend. I think it was written for me, truly.  In March of 2007, the space of three days held my brother’s final breath and my son’s first ...