Into the Storm and through the storm

Into the Storm, a movie about Winston and Clementine Churchill during and after WWII, was a recent assignment from Ginger.

These quotes by Winston Churchill struck me:

Let us move steadfastly together into the storm and through the storm.

This is one of those moments when [one] can draw from the heart of misfortune the vital impulses of victory.

Never maltreat the enemy by halves.

KBO- Keep buggering on


What stands out to me from the movie is that Churchill was the right man to lead Britain during World War II.  He inspired.  He demanded.  He made impossible choices.  He lead his people to victory.

Churchill was also the wrong man to lead Britain into peace after the war.  The very strengths which made him the perfect leader for war made him a lousy one for peace.  The people recognized that and promptly voted him out of office.  Churchill was heart-broken and yet acknowledged that people's freedom to choose not to follow him was the heart of what he had fought for and so he stepped down gracefully.

I've been reflecting on my own life. 

What has inspired me and lead me through my years of war which I now need to stop following in peace? 

What things ensured my survival but now ought to be voted out of office so I can grow happy? 

And rather than viewing this succession as a failure to follow the right leader from the beginning, how can I acknowledge that the freedom to choose life and flexibility and quiet of soul was the very thing I've fought for so unrelentingly and rigidly all these years.  The people of Britain cheered and applauded Churchill as the man who saved Britain just after voting him resoundingly from office.  How can my gratitude to and refusal to continue following my old ways simultaneously be true?

What works in war fails us in peace.

For two years I've been wondering how does a soldier return home to the farm after the war? 

I hadn't thought of this blog for a while and when I just now reread it, I see that quite literally, I am the soldier who returns to the farm, much more literally than I ever expected.  How exquisitely perfect that the analogy Joe gave me two years should literally come true.  I'm writing this update from a farm.  Or what will be a farm by someone who is becoming a farmer.

Wow, that's... wow.

How does a soldier truly return home after her war? 
Apparently, I reclaim my place as a nurturer of life and become a farmer.
I thought Joe was making an analogy when he was really giving me a sneak peek at my upcoming job title.

After hearing the 'soldier returning to the farm' analogy, I have prayed for years for God to show me how to come home, how to unclench my life from the sword.  Never in my wildest imaginings, which as you know can be very wild, never did I imagine that when I asked "How does the soldier go home? How does the soldier become a farmer?" that I would literally be lead to a new home and become a farmer.  Never even connected the two ideas until minutes ago.

I'm swimming around here, repeating myself, with my mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a guppy because I've come to expect surprises from my wild God but this is crazy even for God. 

After living here 7 weeks, I have to say that I am ridiculously happy.  I wake up in the night terrified sometimes but then I also wake up in the night grateful and full of plans, too.  And sometimes, I sleep right through.  I sit and do yoga as the sun comes in filtered through the trees outside my bedroom window.  We had a bunch of neighbors over for a party and I about cried watching them all roast smores and chat.  Couldn't go to bed for hours until I came down after 4H last night.

Now granted, I'm not living all sunshine and roses.  My dishwasher is dead and I hate ticks and there are some small rodents which regularly stroll back and forth above my bed between the roof and ceiling which I need to find a way to eliminate.  I'm getting bored with my Chinese medicine cold-damp diet and my Achilles tendon is still crabby.  Tim's gone more than I'd like and the kids bicker and aren't any more excited about taking out the trash here than in Minneapolis- what a shocker. 

I began this year with a desire to reinvent myself. 
My theme for this year is "Strong and satisfied enough for joy."
Most themes take years to mature.  Well, perhaps better said, most themes take years of me pressing into them for me to mature enough to comprehend them much at all.

I've been cultivating gratitude while still a leper, through illness and pain, through disappointments, frustrations, and generally not getting what I want.  Feels like forever I've been working diligently to muster even a single sincere gratitude.  In my mind, like 50 units of effort for one inch of gain.  I was working so hard cultivating thankfulness that I had to blog about it so that I would spend the time focusing on it long enough to see what to be grateful for.

And wham- I wake up in a dome house, stronger, more satisfied, 65 pounds lighter, reinvented.  And grateful. 

Whatever else I may not have for harvest yet on this fledgling farm, I do have gratitude.  By the bucketful.  I'm putting in like 1 unit of effort and getting 50 gratitudes.  So many I find myself weeping.

How does the soldier go home to the farm?
Happily and literally.

How does the soldier become a farmer?
Unexpectedly and gratefully, apparently.

I never expected to live to see my joy renewed.
I never expected to make it through the storm.

And yet, here I am.
You've got to come and see this for yourself.
No, more importantly, I hope you get to experience this for yourself in your own life.

Lost and found in Lyndale

When we first moved into Lyndale in 1999, we cleaned busily, including the front sidewalk and stairs, leaving the broom on the front porch propped against the wall of the house.  Came back for it the next morning and it was gone.  I remember thinking, “Who steals a broom?  A clean thief?”   I wished them well with it because anyone who needs to steal a broom can have mine.  I went to the store, bought a new one, and continued cleaning.  Two days later, my broom reappeared right where I had left it on my front porch.  Who steals a broom and then returns it?  Does that make it borrowing?

At this point, I knew we had moved into a remarkable place and I promised myself to recount the stories.

Several years later, I bought a 40 pound bag of chicken manure compost for my garden.  I was in a rush to make an appointment and the compost was stinking up my car so I tossed it on my driveway and set the 2 kale and 2 chard seedlings I had bought on top of it.  I came home to find that someone had taken the bag of manure and both kale.  Not the chard; just the kale.  If you’re that hard up for greens, take mine- seriously.  Incredulously, I drove back to the farm store, bought another 40 pound bag of chicken manure compost.  At the checkout counter, I told the story and the lady working there said, “Hey, that’s good shit, man!”  It was worth paying twice for that line alone, I laughed so hard.

A year later, we left our garage door open overnight and all our bikes were stolen.  Neighbors came to our rescue.  Anjali saw hers on a youth farmer’s porch.  They had found it in the alley and moved it to safety.  I got a call mid-morning from the bike store, giving me the address where my bike had been found.  Another neighbor had found my brand new bike in the alley, picked it up, called the bike shop number on a sticker on the frame, and reported it found.  Lock had held and no damage was done.  I walked it five houses home down the alley, gratefully.  We did lose one rarely ridden, cheap, old ten-speed.  But it was a small loss compared to finding so many neighbors who had our backs.

Now as we prepare to move, I realize what we are about to lose here- a once-in-a-lifetime neighborhood experience which has changed our lives for the better.  I get all choked up when I think of all the people and all the good times- Youth Farm, Posada, Fish Fest, Litter Outta Lyndale, Wall Dogs, Painter Park- all of these are irreplaceable memories.  You’ve been a good place to raise our kids and we’ve become better neighbors, better citizens, better people because of our time among you. 

The things we’ve found here- kindness, civic involvement, good parties- we’ll bring with us to our new place. 

It’s been a good run.  We are grateful to have been your neighbors. 

Lyndalians forever-

Amy, Tim, Anjali, and Mark Reisdorf

35^th & 1st  

Heart, Fist, Strength, Compassion

I've read two excellent books by Eric Greitens this summer- The Heart and the Fist: The Education of a Humanitarian, the Making of a Navy Seal and Strength and Compassion. 

I was deeply moved by both books and now that it's time to write, I find myself at a loss for where to begin.

What most stands out to me now weeks later is his belief that it is through service to others that we find our true strength.  And that victims have dignity and strength and courage and hope, too, which the larger community can help them reclaim.

In his description of the Navy Seal selection process which involves extreme physical and mental challenges, I was struck by the similarities to my rape, torture, and strangulation as a child.  One marked difference is that the Seal candidates could opt out at any time by ringing a bell three times.  I never had that bell.  Wish I had.  Comparing their feelings about their initiation and my feelings about what I would call their voluntary torture was instructive.  They felt pride and accomplishment.  I felt that they were fools to willingly subject themselves to flesh-eating bacteria and hypothermia and burst eardrums.  Young, testosterone-hyped idiots.  I had to keep reminding myself that choosing this as an adult with the ability to opt out at any time is a challenge while enduring it as a trapped child is torture.  Gave me a new self-respect for my survival as a three year old.

Eric is so articulate, thoughtful, and well-read on top of being so incredibly physically resilient, that I find myself alternately admiring and envying him.

He gave voice to stirrings in my soul which I had been previously unable to articulate.  I reread the photo essay book several times and wept through his deep insights into suffering and dignity and hope.  I have never heard anyone so exactly capture my experience of living on after everything and everything.  I am astounded that such incredible depths of truth about life after rape and torture come from a young, strong man who has not been the victim.   

To me this is grace- that a young, strong man was given healing truth into the reality of suffering and then found a way to give this back to me as a gift to help me find my strength.

Amazing.

The Wedge Rocks

When you find a community which truly lives out their values year after year, that's worth celebrating and staying connected with.  Here's my tribute to The Wedge Co-op.

To all our friends at the Wedge,
It is with a mixture of trepidation and excitement that we announce that we are moving to Lindstrom this month to start a permaculture forest garden.  Attached is an invitation to the Welcome to R Farm Party to which you all and your friends are invited.  We are fledgling farmers on a very beginning farm so there won't be much to see yet.  There's so much work left to do and so much we've already done.  It's time to celebrate.

As with so many good things in our lives, you at the Wedge have played a part in this move.  You were my very first call to find out who to ask about learning to be a farmer and, like always, you steered us right, putting us in touch with the Land Stewardship Project who helped us begin.  Even before we considered moving, you've made farming seem more real and important.  Your constant focus on stories of local farmers and family farms showed us the people.  You educated us about the health issues, food justice, innovation in farming, best practices, and then provided splendid food and cooking instruction, too.  We got involved with Youth Farm which you helped start and grow through Wedge Share.  Over my 13 years of being a member, you have consistently raised the bar of excellence and challenged our family along the way.  Now all of that is about to bear fruit in a whole new way and eggs and veggies, too. 

In addition to inspiration about good eating and ethical, healthy farming, you've become our friends.  Mark, age 5, asks to go to the Wedge for fun, then jumps out of the van saying, "I don't want to help shop; I want to get samples and talk to my friends."  He hits the door and takes off to get milk chocolate malted milk balls (used to be licorice 'Happy Hearts') and "Twist sample, please."  I find my little introvert merrily chatting up the cashiers and baggers, loathe to leave.  Anjali, age 10, writes her own lunch menu and shopping list, shops her own cart, grabs her own samples especially enjoying the unexpected demos, and meets me at checkout.  She drank her first juice at the juice bar slurping from my straw before she could walk.  The first career she ever aspired to was to be a Wedge bagger so she could talk with everyone and see what they're buying.  Remember when she walked around telling her one funny food joke to every employee and then adding your jokes into her repertoire?  Of course you do because you are her community friends. 

I have emailed everyone else already and have been saving you all for last.  I knew I'd start crying and sure enough, I have.  I have absolutely determined not to say goodbye since we intend to keep our membership and come at least once a month to shop and visit.  We will also join a co-op closer to our new place but you people of the Wedge are too good to leave behind.

Day to day I know your jobs, like mine as a mother, look so simple- prepare healthy food, help people, answer questions, set up, do your best, learn new things, clean up the mess afterwards.  But you do it all with flair and smiles.  Makes a huge difference. 

You have brought us happiness and pleasure.
Do come to the party if you can. 
And look for us. 
We'll be back.

:)Amy for Tim, Anjali, and Mark
New Family Farmers

P.S.  We'll come in person to take photos to add to our Minneapolis Memories Book.  So look for the kids with the camera in the next couple weeks- that'll be us asking you to say cheese.

One can never have too much gratitude

I'm learning that gratitude is one of the most joyful and powerful things in the world.  One can never have too much gratitude and goodness can never be celebrated too often.  I am determined to be that one leper who comes back to say thanks because I think he was the happiest one by far. 

So let's celebrate with this one:

Hi, B!
My name is Amy Reisdorf and you spoke with me on 2/24/12 when I called the
extension farm info line.  You were very kind and generous with your time
and got us started on the path to farming.  We wound up taking the Living on
the Land class in Mankato, attending Farm Dreams by Land Stewardship
Project, consulting with the Permaculture Research Institute in Mpls, and
 have now bought our farm- a beautiful 6 acres in Lindstrom with a dome house
and pristine soil on hilly, wooded terrain- perfect for our permaculture
forest garden.  We are moving in this month after short sale hoo-hah and we
are excited and overwhelmed and a dozen other things.

You are cordially invited to the Welcome to R Farm Party.  Invite's
attached.  I hope you'll come.  There's not much to see yet, but you set us
on a good path and we'd be honored to have you come and see the very
 beginnings if you can.  If you can't, know you are always welcome here.
When you said that you wanted to know how it turned out for us, you gave me
hope that it would turn out and I've remembered you ever since.  There is so
much left to do but so much we've already done.  That's worth celebrating.

Thank you for pointing me in the right direction and getting us on a good
path from the start.

Sincerely,
Amy for Tim, Anjali (10), and Mark (5) Reisdorf


Hello Amy!
OH WOW!!  Your e-mail made me so incredibly happy!!
It literally brought me tears of joy!
It sounds like you have been on an amazing Journey and I am so
grateful to be a part of it!
I am very excited for you and your family as you begin the next leg of
your Journey.  I can't wait to meet you in person and learn more about
your forest garden plans.  EXCITING!!  I am going to try my best to
make it to Lindstrom for your party.
I am SO happy for all of you!  Thank you SO much for thinking to
invite me.  That was so very kind of you!
B

Let's hear it for the healers

Dear Healers,

You are cordially invited to the Welcome to R Farm Party, see attached invite.  The leaves should be fabulous- hope you'll come.

Even more than inviting you to come and visit our new place, I wanted to express my deep gratitude for all the treasures you've given me which I will be bringing with me:

peace

happiness

ease

satisfaction

joy

strength

I have been a slave to terror and pain and misery and anger and bitterness.  Here's my paraphrase of Deuteronomy 6, Moses' advice to former slaves entering their new land.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.  These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts.  Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.

When the Lord your God brings you into the land—a land with large, flourishing cities you did not build,  houses filled with all kinds of good things you did not provide, wells you did not dig, and vineyards and olive groves you did not plant—then when you eat and are satisfied,  be careful that you do not forget the Lord, who brought you out of the land of slavery.

You dug wells of goodness and patience and understanding. 

You tended groves of kindness and prayer and help.

I ate and I am satisfied.

No one is more surprised than I am.  I didn't think I'd live to see it.

You have been a means of God's grace in my life and you will always be remembered, honored, and welcome in my home.

R Farm is just beginning and we are fledgling farmers.
There is so much work left to do and so much we've already done.

Celebrate!
:)Amy for Tim, Anjali, and Mark Reisdorf

All the Difference

Just got back from visiting Chaska Plaza Surgery Center where I will be having surgery next Thursday on my left big toe for the third time since February.

I left a message on Monday saying that I had been repeatedly raped, tortured, and smothered into unconsciousness as a small child and that I was hoping to meet people who would be there and see the place.  Caroline, the surgery manager, returned my call Monday and said, "I'm so glad you are coming here rather than some big hospital where it will be a three ring circus.  Come Wednesday and I'll introduce you and give you a tour."  No medical person- heck, no regular person- has ever heard my story before and said, "I'm glad you're here."

Went for the tour today, bringing my list of questions scribbled on the back of a recycled envelope and the game Rush Hour.  I intended to sit in their waiting room after the tour and play until I felt calm. 

The tour was short; it's basically 3 rooms.  Caroline called me by name, introduced me to the other two, and started the tour.  She explained where I would be, when I would get a gown, how I would be transported, when I'd get an IV and of what, when and what kind of antibiotics, the names of exactly who would be there.  And she assured me that they were good people and that she would tell them to take extra good care of me.

Since there were no surgeries, I got to look around the operating room and even lie on the bed.  The bed surprised me since it was very narrow and I expected to maybe roll off.  Instead, it was this thick memory foam and I sank right in.  Not even lying there with my arm stuck out, pretending I had an IV, not even then did I feel panic.  She explained about how they would let me arrange myself on the bed, cover me with warm blankets, and inject the sedative into my IV.  I sat on the bed and told her about not covering my mouth with the breathing mask until I was out and making sure I didn't have bodily fluids running down my face or throat when I woke up. 

We walked back out to the main room and she and the intake nurse listened while I asked my questions, taking in the stories, asking who I'd told already, and explaining about medications and procedures all the while facing me square on with eye contact.  I am absolutely certain they heard me and that they will advocate for me when I can't. 

They listened to my history, believed me, and articulated what would probably work and helped me think through a back-up plan in case it didn't.  Calm and confident without a hint of cocky and they listened intently, filing it all away.  I did not feel rushed or pushed at all.  I never picked up on one negative vibe from them either.  Miraculous.

As I was leaving, I picked up my game and explained that I had brought it so I could sit and play until I didn't feel anxious because if I left anxious, I'd come back for surgery feeling anxious.  She invited me to stay as long as I wanted, but I turned and said, "I'm not anxious so I don't need to.  I'll see you next week."

40 minutes.  40 minutes of being educated and listened to and now not only will my week until surgery be calmer, but I bet my recovery will go better, too.  She urged me to rest with my foot up saying, "If you do, your recovery will probably go so well that you will say to yourself, 'I don't know why I even bothered.'"  I smiled because I could see what she saw and I believed her.

I was a real person, an adult with dignity and she took time to listen, answer my questions, really see me, and gave me back my confidence.

It's been such a tumultuous couple decades in my interactions with medical people and within myself that I didn't believe that I would ever be at peace with medical people again- to much unknown, too much cockiness, too much water under the bridge.  I didn't believe that my healing would extend from my toe to my heart.

But it has and it will.
I accept their help for my toe.
And my heart is hatching, too.

I think this requires celebration-
chocolates for everyone on the day of surgery and flowers on my two week follow-up visit.
And a nice card.

And forgiveness
And peace
And sharing my newly minted skills with other survivors
And adding this groups' info to the rape crisis center's list of providers who are good with survivors

And happiness
I think that this celebration definitely requires happiness