reality.

Reality is ... I've run out of time every day for the past two weeks to a decent job of blogging.

Truth is ... I've had to make some other things in my life a priority.

Reality is ... I have so much to write and share and give God the glory for.

Truth is ... I will get it written this week so you too can see and read about the goodness of life lived - one day at a time.

I Promise.

life in the barn.

doesn't it look like fun?!

bull sale day

February 23, 2012

Dear students in room 1,

There is a piece of my life that not many of you will ever experience.  You spend 6+ hours a day with me and are like my own children, but most of you will never know anything about my life on the ranch.  My door opens at 7:55 {7:45 on a good day} and you know you’re about to learn something new, but there is not one of you that knows or even thinks about what has already happened in the life of me before I  opened the door and welcomed you to another day in our classroom.   

You live in town, in a neighborhood, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of a growing city and are just happy that your bus ride got you to school safely. I live in the country, where the nearest neighbor is a mile away and I fall asleep listening to coyotes howl at least one night a week.  Each morning, I do a few chores, make a few beds and a couple of lunches, drive 25 miles, and manage to arrive on time almost every day. 

I took the day off today.  I told you I would be gone, but I didn’t tell you why.  My {personal day} was spent listening to a team of auctioneers sell hundreds of bulls – 15 of those ours – and watching others that live a similar lifestyle do the same thing.  Sit, watch, contemplate, listen, bid occasionally, eat a delicious meal, pray you bought the right one or three or four, visit with friends and neighbors, and then write a check.  It’s one day a year - where money matters, genetics matter, and your reputation matters. 

No one called me Mrs. Murdock once.  I was Ian’s wife, and part owner of Ian Murdock Cattle. I walked around with my camera capturing strangers at an event that holds so much promise in so many different ways in my life away from room 1.  Promise for a means to pay a bill or two.  Promise to build an even stronger herd.  Promise for a future filled with hope, patience, and trust.

I am a teacher because I love teaching.  God’s given me the ability to connect with others well – especially children.  I know I make a difference in the life of you – just like you make a difference in the life of me.  I am split between 2 wonderful, time-consuming lives - the life of a teacher and the life of a ranch wife.  Keeping the two balanced is challenging, but rewarding too.

Thank you for doing your best for the substitute today.  I know she’s not me, but for me to be the best Mrs. Murdock I can be, I needed to be gone today.  I needed to be the best ranch wife I could be – smiling, camera in hand, and cheerleader of the most important man in my life.  I wouldn’t be Mrs. Murdock without him and I wouldn’t have a sign in my kitchen that reads:  “Behind every successful rancher is a wife who works in town.”

Your dedicated teacher {and so much more},

Mrs. Murdock

For the love of a holiday.

Dear Pancakes,

I think it started back when I was young ... actually, I'm certain it did.  That love and admiration for anything and everything pancake related defined me. 
Saturday mornings were reserved for those {breakfasts} that make my mouth water just remembering them. 
They were special. 
They were 100 times better than the cereal we had Monday-Friday.
They were buttermilk, or maybe "slinks," and sometimes even Swedish. 
They were Saturday morning goodness captured in dutch babies, or perhaps filled with blueberries or chocolate chips, and maybe even Bisquick or Krusteaz. 
One thing for certain, no matter what ingredients they held, they were mouth-watering, memory-making, deliciousness served on a plate most Saturdays of my childhood that I will hold near and dear to me for life.

image from Tasty Kitchen

I'm sad to say that my love for you is not a love I share with all those near and dear to me. 

(I know ... can you believe it?!?)

I think it was 2 years ago, almost to the day, that I realized my love for you was not a love I shared with Ian.  We had just recently moved to the ranch and it had been a stressful Saturday morning.  I was determined to make things better with a special batch of you.  I kept saying to myself - pancakes make everything better ... pancakes make everything better ... because, in my world you do make EVERYTHING better.

Well, when Ian came in from a horrible morning of chores and saw the steaming stack of you and your relatives ... and me smiling from ear to ear ... his response was 3 words.

I.  Hate.  Pancakes.

Needless to say - it went from bad to worse ... and ended 2 minutes later with me throwing a box of cereal straight at him telling him that I would never make pancakes for him again ... wondering how 8 years had gone by without me knowing he {hated} one of the foods I love most?!

...................................

3 days later was Valentine's Day.  My present was blueberry Krusteaz mix, a bottle of syrup, a heart pancake mold, and a card with {Pancake Girl} written on the front filled with Ian's apology and willingness to eat pancakes whenever I fixed them.  And although he and Mason aren't  huge fans of you yet, I know that the love Mack and I have for you will eventually rub off on them. 

It has to.

Pancakes make everything better.

Your admirer,

Pancake Girl

P.S.  Did you know that February 21st is Pancake Day?  How cool are you to have a holiday named after you?!

P.P.S.  We're having pancakes tonight - just so you know.

bowling fun.

President's Day weekend - 2012

St. Patrick's Day.

Mason's leprechaun trap ... clever, thoughtful, and almost successful, but not quite.

There's always next year.

Sunday with 0-9.

Dear 0-9,

You're one of just a few heifers left to calve ... or you were - until yesterday.  As I was making my way through the last two aisles of Wal-Mart yesterday morning, my phone rang.  It was Ian, letting me know that today was YOUR day.  He asked if I would check on you when I got home because he and the boys were down at the river feeding.  I told him I was looking forward to it {I really was}, and made my way through the check-out line on Sunday in record time.  {just so you know, that is UNHEARD of around here.  Wal-Mart and record time are never spoken in the same sentence ... until now}

When I arrived at the {Y} in the road at the entrance to our driveway, I went left and found you lying here.  You'd made a little progress, but not enough in one hour.  And the fact that the hooves coming out of you were facing up, was NOT a good sign.

I raced to the house, got my BOGS on, changed into a sweatshirt and quickly jumped onto the 4-wheeler.  Everything I'd ever watched Ian do, was now my job.  I unlocked gates, moved some cows, closed one set of panels, opened another set of panels, and only found myself up to my knees in mud twice.  You watched me with caution and weren't the easiest to herd, but eventually, you made your way right to where I needed you to be.  My heart was racing, and I just kept praying we weren't too late.

Ian couldn't believe I had you next to the barn by the time he arrived home.  I think he was proud of both of us.  Actually, I know he was.  He got you in the barn, hooked up the jack and began doing what he does best:  helping mama cows give birth when they can't do it on their own.  Something didn't go quite right though and when you found yourself down on the ground - along with him, well ... I have no words.

We tried to hurry - we really did ... but sometimes even when you work so stinkin' hard for something, things change, people change, positions change, circumstances change ... and you find yourself fighting with everything you've got for just a glimpse of {hope}.  That was us.  Ian pulling as hard as he could.  Me grabbing a leg and bracing myself against the pole.  The boys watching in awe - speechless and wide-eyed.

Your baby arrived with a ton {literally} of fluid in his lungs.  We hung him upside down, put straw up his nose, and Ian attempted the best mouth-to-mouth on an animal that I've ever witnessed.  We fought for your baby's life for 5 minutes with everything we had.  Mason prayed and prayed - his eyes tightly closed as Ian & I tried to give your baby air ... and then we just stood there.  All 4 of us - watching for a sign of life.  Praying for his chest to rise.  Listening for a faint moo.  There was nothing.  Nothing at all.

I'm sorry we couldn't save him.  I kicked the ground as hard as I could as I started cleaning up.  Chains scattered, the jack buried in straw, and you ... just lying there - trusting us with everything you had.  I wanted to scream, but couldn't.  I walked out of the barn with a pit in my stomach, knowing we had done everything we could have, but it just wasn't enough.  I stepped into the sunshine wanting to cry for you - not knowing if you even knew what had happened.

I've learned a lot in my 9+ years of {ranch/farm} life ... and I have experienced {much} ... but yesterday, well, it isn't a day that I want to relive anytime soon.  You're one tough mama ... and you know what, I'm becoming one tough mama too.

Your friend for life,

Lindsay

p.s.  you've got one of the cutest bummer babies to call your own now ... and I think that baby is so very, very lucky {BLESSED} to have you!

the tumbleweeds.

Dear Tumbleweeds,

You never seem to be absent from our lives.  If there was a "perfect attendance" award for weeds, you'd win.  No matter how hard we work at clearing you away from fences and gates, your presence remains constant.  Thank you for offering us exercise and entertainment while "waiting" on Terrill and Ian at "echo."  

We hope the "family reunion" was nice while it lasted - on the giant "pile." We're sorry about the fire.  Hopefully life is treating you well in the atmosphere.

Your raking, piling, and fire-lighting friends,

Mason & Mack

dream big.

Dear Dreamer,

I asked you today what you wanted to be when you grew up.  You didn't answer.  You just looked at me and smiled.  Your eyes met mine and they spoke the words for you.  Your future is bright - no matter where you go or what you do. 

Believe me when I tell you that all the pondering, and watching, and dreaming you've done and continue to do will pay off.  It already has.  You're a boy with so much maturity and strength, and I'm proud you're mine.  I watched you the other day out at "echo" and couldn't help but dream right along with you.

Keep dreaming, keep looking up, keep pondering and thinking and asking questions.  Keep remembering to stop and rest in the midst of it all - just to "be."  Goodness comes when you take the time to rest.

You are amazing dreamer boy.

Love,

Your mom

{the one who's been dreaming for you, and with you for most of your life}

in motion.

Dear life,

You've been full.  Full of new calves, fog, feed, twine, mud, dirt, and so much more.  We've been so tired we could hardly stand.  Our spirits have been weary and overwhelmed.  Do you know how wonderful it's been to sink into bed each night?  Thank goodness for night.  A chance to slow down and rest.

Sometimes it feels like we're the "loner" in the crowd.  But we're not.  There are many {so, so many} that face the day-to-day moments just like we do.  With exasperation, with tears, with a deep sigh or two, with a shake of the head, and with the understanding that those moments are only temporary.  The path ahead is easy to follow when we remember that the One we're following already knows the way.

One step at a time, one meal at a time, one day at a time.  There is One who knows our days before we do.  All of the problems we'll face, all of the disappointments and hurts we'll experience, all the ever-changing events that fill up one day, one month, one year, one lifetime.  There is more than dirt and dust, but if we don't remember to look up and reach out with a shout or a whisper - "help us, Jesus" we may never see the beauty in the horizon.  

There are herds surrounding us with support and encouragement - watching from afar, holding us accountable, and praying us through this season. 

The season of days when all you want to do is put your head down.

The season of waiting and watching for goodness to unfold because you know it's right around the next corner.

The season of letting someone else drive - trusting that they know how to get you to just the right place at just the right time.

Life is full of motion, and right now - as ours seems to be at record speeds, I'm going to remember this picture:  motion captured and stilled ... and filled with peace.

With hope,

Lindsay