In Christ Alone

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}}

               

 

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

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

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

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.

 

 

 

"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....

...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

(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