Category: Relationships

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Teens, Trials, and Triumphs

The thunder crashed. The storm raged on in the land of motherhood, and I was growing very weary.

It had been a particularly difficult several months of trying to win my big kid’s hearts and their trust while giving them room to work out some struggles for themselves. I realized direct, authoritarian-style parenting felt most natural for me. “Do this and this…and expect this. As a born problem-solver, it took me a long while to realize that my teens usually don’t want me to solve theirs. Listening and guiding while giving them the freedom to make choices feels like pushing against driving rain—and frankly, is just as uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” The adamant, closed tone was in response to me trying to understand what had caused the sullen, defeated demeanor.

“You just don’t understand!” This from another kid. True. I didn’t. I really didn’t. The dramatic response just didn’t seem justified for the current circumstances. I fought back the desire to say it out loud.

Another teen slumped around depressed and with moods relentless and intense—enough to ensure this mother was armed with strong espresso and a sudden desire to run needless errands. An umbrella to protect myself from the storm brewing in my house when I returned. If I returned….just kidding…kinda kidding.

I tried my utmost to remember that none of these responses to typical teen struggles was a rejection of me as a parent. I couldn’t afford to be offended and distracted even though sometimes it hurt deeply. These were battles I had to let them fight while fighting in prayer.

All I wanted to do was speak frustrated truth to them, and truth in love wasn’t in my radar. If my teens have doubts and fears my tendency can be to tell them the truth. But a truth-speaking parent without love is simply a controlling parent. Love shines through when we listen without an agenda, give them empathy, and gradual, earned freedom to make decisions without coercion.

“You must let your kid’s battle in order to strengthen them for the many battles they must fight ahead. This can mean letting them question their faith, and go through other really hard things without trying to convince them of your opinion or the truth.” The wise words spoken to me several years ago from a mentor-friend lingered in my mind. I realized the hardest part of motherhood to date wasn’t sleepless nights or even the trepidation of choices they would make in the future.

The hardest part of motherhood is standing by, letting them know you love them and support them, while looking on as a raging storm batters them mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. It takes parenting grit and guts to keep from scooping them up, distracting them, and reassuring them everything will be just fine as we used to do whenever a bee stung or a dog bit. In retrospect, to distract with a few of their favorite things was so easy compared to this.

But parents, storms and trials are hallowed training grounds. God created parents to nurture, care for their kids and to protect them from harm. It’s hard offering to show them how to fight, but then letting them get dirty, bruised, and training for future battles—battles that are only sure to increase in difficulty.

I reminded myself that things felt hugely important to me as a kid that were now pretty insignificant. I attempted to understand. I tried to just listen and care without trying to control the situation or fix the problem. To listen with my heart instead of my head and to let them ride out the storm.

The winds started to change. Not that I could control the winds, but God knew I was depending on Him and blessed me with a bit of sunshine. I sure was grateful!

One of my kid’s asked if I would do a Bible Study with them. I chose Armor of God by Priscilla Shirer and we’ve been learning how to fight spiritual battles together. I was humbled that she, not I, suggested it. There has been a new hope growing and blooming. Laughter and lightheartedness are becoming a new norm.

One evening I finished our evening study and prayed blessings over her, then went upstairs and asked the man-boy who towers over me if I could pray over him. He let me. Right there, in front of his friend who he was helping on speakerphone with his homework. I prayed for courage and blessings over him…that boy with so many questions that have no answers…and that he would know the reality of God’s love for him. He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. It warmed this momma heart until it was just melted puddles.

Then to the other very tall young man whose twin bed looks too small for his lanky frame, who has frustrated me more than I can say, even if I knew all the words in Websters. He looked up from reading his Bible—rarely missing a night since over a year ago when their youth group suggested a Bible reading challenge to create discipline. I told him how proud I am of him and that he’s more diligent than me. He smiled and told me he sometimes skips. I prayed the same prayer over him I’ve prayed so many times.

Prayers of blessing, for courage as a disciple of Jesus to stand up for and fight for what is good and right. For my kids to know how completely they are loved by God. Because until we know, deeply and truly know, how much we are loved by God, we will not love Him back. He first loved us.

My heart is full. I know I can grow so much in modeling personal spiritual disciplines, walking with them in prayer and teaching godliness, but I’m so grateful for God’s mercies shining in the lives of my kids. It is definitely not me—a mom who really just wants to do battle for my kids—who helps my kids grow in faith and hope.

I definitely don’t have all—sometimes I don’t have any—parenting answers. It takes pressure off of us as parents to know it is Christ alone that will help our teens weather the storms and trials. It is Him alone we trust to bring them through those storms with a stronger faith, and the tenacity and courage to continue on!

Battling beside you,

Cheryl

PS. I know it’s an unpopular opinion, but I do love parenting teens for the most part! Just like earlier years, there are ups and downs bringing both delight and heartache. I appreciate those that ride the parenting rollercoaster well, focusing on the many joys, and then encouraging us by going along for the ride! Please encourage those that are behind you in their journey….we can learn from your mistakes and celebrate and learn from the lessons you have learned!

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A Tribute to a Judge’s Wife by her Cleaning Lady

There are those extraordinary people that God—in His loving kindness—puts into your life without any real fanfare, but that make such an imprint that one cannot reimagine life without them.

-Cheryl Peachey

Ours may have been an unlikely friendship. Our social, economic, and educational backgrounds were worlds apart, and yet Betty Lou had an attractive, authentic faith that was impossible to ignore. Curiosity compelled me to get to know her, but her depth of character created a loyalty that caused me to stay and form a friendship that will transcend time as coheirs of the same Heavenly Father. Wife of the late Judge James McClure–who left a similar, beautiful legacy–Betty Lou became an extraordinary friend to me. This is our story:

My dearest Betty Lou,

A rare home. Your elegant gardens carefully planned to bloom beauty from early spring until frost, were meticulously cared for by a man who both gardened and loved with his whole heart. I knew there was something different–something genuine, heartfelt, and good–mingling in the dusty air of your lovely, historic home that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. Once upon a time, the long, curved staircase gracing the entryway must have been a spectacular slide for your daughters, giggling like the von Trapp children. I glimpsed memories of once polished candlesticks, buffets boasting hearty, tasty fare for celebrations, or delicacies for tea parties, laughter making the large dining room intimate and cozy. Third-floor rooms used in decades past held stately fireplaces for warmth, designed similarly to those in upstairs and downstairs rooms, and floor-to-ceiling bookcases….oh, the books! 

Your housecleaner was retiring after decades of service, and as a replacement, I was welcomed with a genuine warmth from you that mirrored the gratitude I would hear for the next sixteen years, each and every time I said goodbye. “Thank you.”

Thank you, Betty Lou! I never expected to receive more than I gave in my years of service. 

You taught me so much about life, just by living yours. Let me count the ways. Just a few of my favorite things, for fear this letter morphs into a book.

No pretenses. Though I was simply a housecleaner, the manner in which you treated me was always genuine, kind, and without partiality, as if I had the same esteemed reputation. That respect makes one want to live up to being honorable…you know? Though your dining table stretched long with multiple leaves, making a long oval to make room for friends and family, I knew your position. In all relationships, you had a round table. There was no head, no foot. 

Enduring faith and steadfast trust. The silver-framed black and white photo of a beautiful, smiling girl with corkscrew curls–she could have passed for Shirley Temple–who was she? I guessed it could have been you as a girl, or maybe one of your daughters, and yet questioned the significance of it, knowing you had five daughters. I later learned it was your firstborn daughter, Betsy, who had died of leukemia at age six. I wondered why your laughter, ringing throughout the house every time you spoke on the phone, didn’t hold a hard edge; your sparkle for life remained untainted. Your mother’s heart remained soft in the wake of great grief, and I wanted to know why. I saw many around me suffering great loss; why were some grouchy, angry ladies?  

A few, like you, seemed only to grow in joy and depth of character. I knew Christ was your hope, and the surety of a reunion with Betsy again someday brought you great peace, and yet…there was something more. I experienced it firsthand as your loyal, loving husband, the father of your six daughters, and the Honorable Judge James McClure was diagnosed with leukemia, and then met Betsy in glory. Your trust that God was good, even when life didn’t feel good, enveloped you in peace that passed human understanding. Instead of focusing on what could have been, you focused on being grateful for what was. 

Perseverance. It wasn’t a coincidence that as Jay enrolled at Penn College, and I was needed to provide an income for our family, that I was needed to attend to your personal care, transitioning from weekly cleaning to sufficient income to keep us afloat. You were such an encouragement to me to fully support him and told the stories of army wife life, and a butcher who assumed your liver was for a dog when it was your dinner. How we would laugh at your stories! Even in your late sixties, you attended college and exercise classes for seniors and lived by example. You never stopped learning, and because of you, neither do I. I hope to go to college someday, and I know you would exclaim, “It’s never too late!” Just as Jay graduated from college and could provide for our family again, your need for my care ended. That was no coincidence either. As your memory faded with the disease, I realized why your former housekeeper, your gardener of thirty-some years, and myself all remained loyal to you and your family for as long as we could serve you. 

God’s faithfulness, goodness, and provision were represented in and through your life in countless, tangible ways. This is your legacy, my dear Betty Lou. Our loss is great, but your gain is unimaginably glorious. You’ve left me, and many others, an inheritance of unparalleled treasure: a legacy of faith so rich, that although you’re no longer here with us, we are forever changed and eternally impacted. So now, I will follow in your footsteps, and instead of regretting that your presence is no more, I will choose to be continually grateful for what was…and for what you meant to me until I see you again. 

Until that day, 

Cheryl Peachey

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The Day The Cup No Longer Runs Over With Grace

His eyes were unblinking…black with hate. Moments earlier irritated with a normal circumstance, he had angrily spouted off. My defense had verbally turned a light switch from irate to instant rage.

I didn’t see it coming. My indignant response had poked a deep wound I didn’t know existed, and the bear went from growling to snarling and threatening in mere seconds. I rarely crossed paths with him and didn’t know him well enough to realize my words had poked a wound of fear. Fear is possibly the most powerful motivator behind offense.

The expletives, curses, and threats roared in my ears while shock, anger, and indignation coursed in tears down my face on the drive home. My husband was angry at this man who hurt me and his protective nature felt safe. I was justified in avoiding this ticking time bomb and in responding the way I had in defense. Or was I? I didn’t know. For a while, I didn’t care. He deserved to be hurt even though I didn’t intend to.

Have you ever experienced and tried to understand the extreme imbalance of the reaction you received to a position you took, a statement you made, or an unintended offense? It doesn’t make sense no matter how much you try to figure it out. It won’t. A barely simmering person who lashes out in boiling rage cannot be reasoned with or rationalized. I knew there was no way that hate—those cutting words—were really meant for me.

When an offense occurs and was not realized as being hurtful and knowingly forgiven—regardless of whether or not it was intentional—the wound will not heal with time. It’ll fester; it’ll be covered, and the hurting person will look and act pretty normally. But someone will inadvertently poke or bump the still agitated wound and the reaction will not make sense. Beware poking that bear.

But I’ve been that bear. I’ve been the one dishing out cutting words, reactive indignation, and proud self-righteousness. I didn’t know I hadn’t forgiven. I didn’t know I didn’t grieve the loss and rejection. I thought it was behind me but it wasn’t…until I surrendered to Grace.

There was nothing left but to say, “I’ve prayed and prayed that you would change them and these circumstances. You haven’t and I’m miserable. Change me, God. Search my heart.” It was the prayer that broke chains and sprouted hope all in one breath of surrender.

Not even an hour after returning home that day, I knew what I was supposed to do. I was reminded of God’s grace…for me. Grace is simply love and mercy poured out on us while we were still in rebellious sin. If we can’t recognize that time period, we have not yet received Grace. It’s a realization that no matter how wonderful our childhood…how good we have been…there isn’t an ounce of our behavior in the past, present, or future that is deserving of that outrageous grace. Not one single sacrifice or deed. I had to go back to the guy that was a jerk and pour out some of that that I was freely given. Grace—undeserved love and mercy. He didn’t deserve it. Neither did I. I’d lived hurting and hating (by the way, the definition of hate is a strong and passionate dislike…ever hated anyone?) and had to repent of that. Before I did, I hurt others because that’s what hurting people do.

Receivers of grace? They pass it on. They can’t help themselves because they’re so overwhelmed that they received so great a gift. You can pick these people out of a crowd because of the way they honor others in their speech. The way they treat others as if they were all siblings in God’s family and sat and ate at the same table together every day.

My apology was heard but not returned. It didn’t really matter though. It didn’t matter that his reaction was one hundred times worse than my action. What mattered was my relationship was reconciled with God by forgiving him and a hurting man got to see that we stand on equal ground in desperate need of Him. I’d accepted amazing grace. If we haven’t, it’s gonna show. Big time. Our reaction of love and forgiveness is not going to align with the hurtful offense. You might look crazy, but you might be showing crazy grace that a person has never seen before. This was one of the times I understood the hymn lyrics, “Freely. Freely. You have received. Freely. Freely. Give” My step was lighter and my heart felt free.

Only those who realize how much they have stood in the need of grace are able to receive it and only those who have received it are able to give it. When you are running on empty, there is nothing to give. When you are awed by the gift, you become so grateful to the Gift-Giver that you can’t help but pass it along.

My heart is grieved to see the attitudes and pride among even those from my own anabaptist upbringing—and the many that identify as followers of Christ. I was raised in a culture of nonresistance; turning the other cheek was taken literally. Honor was given to those in leadership—especially spiritual leadership, and Christ-like deference was given in the literal sense.

Regardless of cultural upbringing, we are all known as Christ-followers by the way we love each other. And when that love is not deserved? It’s called grace…that thing we are so full of that it pours out supernaturally. The actions of unbelievers are not concerning to me…when we haven’t yet accepted the sacrifice, what is the motivation in laying ourselves down? But when I have (or claim) to have accepted the ultimate sacrifice of Grace, and yet the slander, inability to respectfully debate in comments on social media, character assassination, and proud “Get woke, people!” looks as inconsistent as that reaction of rage I received that day. It sure doesn’t look like love to me. I don’t know why I haven’t seen this family feud before, but it’s painfully obvious now as it’s poking the wounds of fearful Christians.

Fear is a powerful agent, and if Perfect Love casts out fear, I wonder often who is winning this feud in God’s family? I flip-flop between anger and sadness as I see almost daily evidence of the enemy gaining ground before I remember….Hey, the battle has already been won!

Grace. You can’t give it unless you’ve received it. Who needs that undeserving grace today in your life, my friend? Shock the socks off of them if you must, but make it amazing…Amazing Grace.

Grace-giving ideas:

1. When you hear things or see social media posts or comments you disagree with, take just a second and ask yourself if someone has given you grace in your life that exceeds what you’re about to give before responding. If you still feel a need to post or respond, keep the comment solely based on the issue; avoid making it personal by speaking only about the issue. (Calling people sheep is not commenting on the issue. Respectful debate causes people to think; disrespect causes contention.)

2. Remember our leaders in prayer. If ever a time to lead has been difficult, it looks impossible now. I think of the slander against pastors who seek the face of Jesus constantly for guidance on leadership decisions and positions, and it will be a lose-lose situation because we—the church body—are in a great divide. Honor their dedication, sacrifice, and position by searching your own heart. Are you humble and willing to consider your own view may not be biblical? If you’re positive it is, is it a salvation issue or can you agree to disagree without contempt? Encourage. Text, cards, meals, words….so many ways to say “we’re family”. And if you’re inclined to pray readily for the president and that you get your choice into the White House in the upcoming election, then pray for those that “persecute you” such as those inconsistent, “tyrannical” leaders too. The mandate to pray for our leaders was based in a time of evil tyrannical leadership after all—Nero—look him up. School administrators, business owners, fathers…so many leaders to pray for.

3. Shut it down. Turn it off. The phone, the laptop and TV. Check your truth with Scripture. Surround yourself with those that challenge you and encourage you to speak truth (or your lens of it) in love.

By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. John 13:35

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Belfast, Specialty Candy, and Mrs. Mike

Belfast is intricately bricked history sloping toward sea. Their beautifully aged patina pulled us toward them, and the walk from uptown and through the architectural beauty of both former banks and masonic temples felt like a short stroll.

A former brick mason and a woman–coupled with a new interest in history and a former love of art and architecture–made Belfast a sure fit for another quaint harbourside town adventure.

Aren’t they just lovely?! It takes no imagination to see a couple strolling past these carefully laid brick buildings. She’s in a gown that’s length is gently dragging behind her and he’s wearing tails and a top hat….it’s 1799 after all. Truly, the building opposite of the former masonic temple above was built in that long-gone era.

This. All of these beautiful towns have a uniquely beautiful harbor and town green after following the slope downward to the open sea.

We followed the shoreline under rocks left bare by low tide to see the boat’s view of Belfast’s Millionaire Row homes and speculated whether or not they were owners of “old money”.

We started uptown in search of beef or pork or anything not-seafood. At the top of town, the beef hungry man got up the nerve to ask a native that looked like he enjoyed burgers for a recommendation. Down at the harbor. The search for “real meat” was enthusiastic enough to turn a man who likes only to do loops (so the steps don’t need to be retraced) to retrace his steps for this manly, meaty, monstrous….

Beef burger with bacon. Win-win. He was so happy, he shared a bite.

I asked him. I would’ve given him the very best bite of my amazing beet salad with mandarins, goat cheese, and walnuts. He said no. I wasn’t sure what to do except enjoy every bite myself. So I did.

I finally started a book, curled up with a cup of Earl Grey in the modern attic suite in this sweet 1890s Airbnb carriage house in uptown Belfast. Mrs. Mike had me laughing out loud within the first few pages…

And there she was squeezing lemon into the hot water, and there he was stirring it around. Shouldn’t someone mention that there was no tea in it, or was that impolite?”And you, Katherine Mary, how do you like yours?” With tea, I almost said. But I was glad I didn’t, she enjoyed entertaining us so much. “I’d like sugar,” I said……and, holy St. Patrick, there’s nothing worse tasting than hot water with two teaspoons of sugar in it.

Maybe it’s just me. If that doesn’t do anything for you, I feel sorry. Though it may be me I should feel sorry for: it’s been much too long since I’ve read a book simply for pleasure because I’m giggling about it again now just thinking about it.

Back downtown to the Chocolate Drop Candy Shoppe for a malted milkshake and a cone, every adult’s glimpse of the childhood soda shop dream that was actually reality. SO good. I think we were hungry. And thinking of candy, I was asked if the Airbnb’s have specialty candy they put out for guests. Nope, I had answered, just Reese’s and Dove chocolates that I put in a bowl at the lakehouse and now again at this location. The man cracks me up.

And with ice cream in hand, happy as kids, we walked down to the harbor to see the magical way the sun turns water into gleaming, rippled glass. Sun setting over water is something I will never tire of. I decided today I want to grow old beside a body of water. I’ll need to start researching how to become part of this abundance of old money if I want more than a pond.



Coming up….a tour of the carriage house studio apartment and a ferry ride from Lincolnville to Isleborough, a little island only reachable by boat with the summer homes of Kirstie Alley and John Travolta. And, a sweet lighthouse.

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Lake House Goodbyes and Bar Harbor

My last cup of coffee was spent drinking in this scene before packing up and heading out to Bar Harbor. A loon popped out of the water close to the dock as if to say goodbye. I tried to memorize the gentle sounds of the water sloshing the rocks and the gentle movement of the dock. There may have been a tiny tear left there, but I have a sketch of the scene that will hopefully be a watercolor souvenir of that sacred place.

Whether boating, kayaking, or just being close to water, I feel like moving water leaves a cathartic-type impression and I think I understand the draw more than ever. We were incredibly fortunate to reserve this waterfront cottage for our first experience as Airbnb(ers) because we needed only nights and this darling cottage with the private deck was breathtakingly perfect and available for only those two nights! We were inspired by the hosts who are living a dream by living at the main lakehouse during the summer and renting out several cottages on the idyllic waterfront property.

Portland had the artsy, trendy vibe I loved. Acadia had the breathtakingly rugged views. Bar Harbor had an air of wealth. Common and loved in each of these is the rich history. I yawned through history lessons and only memorized dates to pass tests, but now. Now is different.

The yacht (behind the man that always seeks out the town green) was privately purchased for seven million. Time For Us was a gift of dedication to the woman of his dreams after much sacrifice to his workaholic lifestyle that eventually contributed to his wealth. After almost losing this rare jewel of a woman, he presented her with the yacht he had named Time For Us, after realizing that his greatest desired wealth in life was his time spent with her. He committed to sailing six months out of the year with her to various homes along the coast of the New England states.

Well, that was the story I told the man sitting beside me on the green. It could have belonged to the couple I walked past that was mid-vow in wedding attire in front of this grand, historic Bar Harbor Inn.

If you were wondering why I was on a semi-private path in front of an inn that we neither staying or dining at, it’s because I saw a beautiful sailboat disappear behind an island. I chased the sailboat around the corners of the property.

I had almost given up hope that the sailboat changed direction, when…..

It appeared. There’s something so right about a sailboat in a coastal town so rich in history!

We bought salted caramel lattes at a little cafe and both realized that another thing we agree on is that coffee isn’t coffee and espresso isn’t espresso unless it’s d-a-r-k. I always say I like my coffee like I like my men–strong and dark. (My man is blond, blue-eyed and relatively white, but he is strong and he knows I like him a lot. 😉 We semi-enjoyed our too-creamy drinks as I once again committed to always asking for light cream whether espresso or coffee.

We sat on another town green until I pointed out a firehouse and then I disappeared into Bar Harbor for window shopping and he returned with a Bar Harbor Fire Co. t-shirt and a job opportunity in our new favorite state. I love it. But, PA is home and my heart lives there.

Bar Harbor. Rich in history. Enchanting.

We drove 15 miles in the opposite direction of our next destination to experience Tracy’s Diner boasted lobster meal. Pretty sure all humans are expected to have a fresh lobster meal when in Maine and this was our first. Owner-caught fresh lobster and local corn with homemade blueberry pie using local berries lived up to the positive reviews….after we learned from the waitress how exactly you eat a lobster. And after the first piece went flying.

Next destination: Belfast

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Hiking Acadia, Sharks, and Maine Turkeys

We have wanderlust, that is true. But this Peachey couple has one member who is directionally challenged and one that is shy about asking for directions. Oh. I was confused for just a moment. They are one and the same. Picnic lunch ready, we found parking in Acadia and were thrilled to find out that we chose the one day OF THE YEAR that there were no park fees in Acadia National Park! Because of the challenged person that is part of us, we took full use of the park busing intending to get to a good starting point of a hike with enough elevation to get some great views of the craggy shoreline with the knowledge that we are picnic hikers.

There are trail mix hikers that wear hiking shoes, know how to draw venom from snake bites, and find it exhilarating to reach the region’s highest possible summit. Picnic hikers want to see breathtaking views and bunny trail constantly and even stop to eat lunch whenever they think the view is picnic worthy. Hmmm. Sounds easy enough to find a great trail except there are 61 square miles and we had a day to get the biggest bang for our buck. Well, it was free so….yeah. Just our biggest bang for free.

A park ranger in the Acadia Gardens gave us a couple of great suggestions when I told him we were looking for a hike with coastal views and we hit Sand Beach (so named because there are few sand beaches in Maine) and found Great Head Trail.

Several weeks earlier my kids and I hiked to the top of Mt Tammany (part of Appalachian Trail with views of The Delaware Water Gap) on a hot July day and there were two great rewarding views–one about a third of the way to the summit and the summit. It was amazing to have constant beautiful views on the way to Great Head. It felt effortless and my companion asked me to pinch him. I did. He didn’t feel it though it made me wonder how much of our life’s pain would be almost unnoticeable if our perspective was constantly focused on the good and the beautiful.

Behind me on the left is Bubble Mountain. That hike would be for the trail mix hikers. The mountain on the right is Cadillac Mountain. It’s a mountain that’s closed to hikers in the spring due to nesting of Paragrine falcons. Obviously, I have kids and those kids watch Wild Kratts. All parents of Wild Kratts watching kids know that paragrine falcons are endangered and have some of the coolest creature powers ever!

We are….Picnic Hikers! To be fair, I had an organic fruit and nut super snack. To be honest, I feel like balance is important and had a Reese’s after that.

I was getting a great tour guide lesson on the loon’s diving and feeding habits from the hubs as we watched one bird dive and eat a fish whole. It was a little while later that another hiker told us that the cormorants–not loons–loved this fishing spot. I didn’t make a big deal about the bird confusion. It wasn’t like he thought it was a turkey or something. The native pointed out seals and two sharks circling in the waters below and were glad we weren’t among the beach swimmers. We aren’t guided-tour types. It was incredible to see so much wildlife all from our little picnic spot on the rocks.

Sand Beach view on our descent off the rocks. Whether you are a serious or not-so-serious hiker, Great Head Trail views are so gorgeous, I’m not sure you’d even feel a snake bite.

I quietly opened our cottage door to be shushed because of this bird prancing around the cottage woods. “Maybe a Maine turkey or something….” Oddly enough, the turkey looked a lot like a peacock without its fan feathers. I realized I want a pair of peacocks now.

The Chocolate Bomb was a sweet ending to a day of outrageous beauty, bird confusion, and the last sunset we spent at the lake house….

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The Fisherman’s Shack aka The 1920s Camp

Hidden in a wooded area with a lakefront view, our first stay in Maine was what I first thought was at a renovated fisherman’s shack I found on Airbnb. Nope. It was part of The Megunticook Camps. I imagine, if some of these pines could talk, that they would recount stories of many kids squealing as they jumped into the cool lake waters as an escape from the heat sometime between 1906 and 1934!

The inside was much roomier than it looked from the front with an entrance into a living room, a well-equipped kitchen that was perfect for our breakfast before days of exploration, and a cozy bedroom and bathroom.

I fell in love with all the whites and Lake House touches.

wanderlust: n., a desire to explore & travel the world Hmm. I think pillows are much smarter than we think they are. I think the Peachey’s are experiencing some wanderlust.

I mean….who can keep their feet from wandering down to the dock and having coffee when you have serene views like this?! The quiet lapping of the water and tinny sounds of the sail mast being moved by the gentle breeze while sitting Adirondack style was the definition of peaceful solitude.

Our marriage has been far from serene, more like a white water rafting trip than a canoe ride in a placid lake, but I am so grateful to have my best friend, my loyal man, beside me celebrating twenty years together.

I’m glad I still make him “laugh like the Millers” after all these years. His mother was a Miller and they are known for a belly laugh that’s so big it forces you to throw your head back. And no…I can’t tell you what I said that made him laugh. I think the Miller’s would respect that some things are better left unrepeated….however funny.

The sounds of gently lapping water onto the rocks and dock with the occasional haunting call of the loons as the skyline transformed into incredible shades of sunset. Absorbing this tranquil scene together reminded me of how much undeserved favor I feel God constantly heaping upon me. It becomes greater and greater….this mind-blowing evidence that God delights in giving good gifts to His children and that I am one of his beloved.

I am awed.

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Portland and Peachey Celebrations

The jaunty sounds of Footloose, good coffee, the knowledge that our home is (somewhat) ready to be shown and that we have a capable realtor colleague of the Mister’s to relieve us of all the questions and stress involved with selling our home, and that there is a diploma and job waiting for the Paramedic at our return, gives us an otherworldly freedom on the open highway and an excitement for awaiting adventure!

An adventure it is…this life of mine! And I love it. I have everything packed you could need–everything you could want–maybe enough for our family of six instead of two people celebrating that college is finally O-V-E-R. And that we are still married and love each other twenty years after “I do.” Maybe we’re celebrating that it’s taken as much grace from a loving Grace-Giver than what we had imagined, starting with fourth-grade math, two tutors to prepare for entrance exams, and hundreds of pages written full of words of sacrifice to get from Point A to Paramedic Peachey. Whatever we are celebrating, it feels like we are leaving behind hard things that painfully grew us in gratitude, because the amount of blood, sweat, tears, and effort often determine the value we see as the end result. I see gold as we pull onto familiar roads excited to see and experience the unseen and the untraveled. And celebrate that we “Still do.”

We broke up the ten hour trip to Orland, ME with a stopover in Meridan, MA and set out recharged for the last four hours en route to the waterside fisherman’s cottage. We are not true travelers, us Peacheys. We like to get where we are going and explore. But this Peachey can’t know any exciting destinations are not stepped into, so when I saw Portland signs, I grabbed my visitors manuals for Maine, and read about the ancient cobblestone streets in downtown Portland as fast as I could while directing the driver to the street I was furiously asking Siri to help me find. She thought I was saying “mean” and I soon gave up on her understanding I must have some leftover remnant of PA Dutch accent and utilized Google instead. So glad we detoured into some sweet bits of downtown Portland!

By sweet bits, I mean the historic district that was saved from demolition crews and revitalized in the 1970s. Love at first sight. There wasn’t the hurried rush I expected, but a happy air of a crowd enjoying art, history, food, merchandising, and social studies before they found it in textbooks as many would soon head back to school.

The man doesn’t like photos, especially when I ask him to climb atop something that appears shouldn’t be climbed upon. It was just a concrete platform, but he’s a rule follower. Plays it safe. I am too except when it isn’t really a rule and I don’t think it’s terribly unsafe to take a photo with the Maine Lobsterman by climbing on top of a ledge. I love this faithful, cautious man that tempers my wild abandon. Little did he know, he would soon have Starbucks and be as happy as a pigeon.

My heart responded with tachycardia when I saw it. West Elm. (Paramedic Peachey tells me I give him this medical term for rapid heartbeat after twenty years together. Heart in puddle when I read his report on a medical note.) This is where my favorite midcentury modern chair lives. Soft camel-colored leather and slender. graceful arms that are smooth as a baby’s bottom. Someday I’ll show you this chair’s grandmother that I purchased for $5 at a yard sale. Someday when I restore her to her former glory.

This is where we show immense growth in our marriage. We (huuhhuuumm……I mean me) don’t have to be arms linked 24/7 anymore to enjoy ourselves to the fullest. Nope. Expectations change and I sure am glad I didn’t pull him into all that household eye candy. I directed him to a Starbucks in a fabulous historic building I spotted two blocks over. I was a first-time visitor, and after spotting gorgeous pottery mugs for $1.99, I grabbed a few (or more) and headed for the back. Clearance, of course. I picked up some oversize palm fronds that will grace a corner of my future midcentury modern farmhouse. Also for a mere $1.99. What fabulous luck was shining over me?!

I found him keeping company with the pigeons in the town square. Some of those pigeons looked like they might know that Portland is one of the most popular foodie destinations. They might have overdone it. Happy as a pigeon.

Pigeon Watcher was also watching this blacksmith. Blacksmithing is a truly incredible trade, and as in most forms of artistry, the prices for the pieces for sale were symbolic of an unappreciated trade.

My large, awkward palm fronds…walking happily with me across the incredible Wharf Street, inlaid with cobbled stones reminiscent of a long-gone era that I often wish I could travel back to. Just for a few days. Then back to West Elm era.

No wonder Portland attracts a Cafe-loving hipster group of visitors. I have never seen so many sweet eating spots within a few blocks of each other.

Next stop….a waterfront fisherman’s cottage and a view worth twenty years of waiting.

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Sex Abuse, Hate for the Church, and our Failed Responsiblity

I have never witnessed so much disdain, disgust, and hatred for the Christian church as I have in the past couple of years. Have you noticed it too? Maybe it’s because I’m reading comments on social network sites and the commenter now has an open platform and many others to add fuel to his fire. I am without a doubt that this disgust is not directed only to the conservative church, but I am specifically speaking of the conservative church because my perspective is more clear into my background.

I keep asking myself why.

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