Life

Lockdown Painting

September 2, 2021 // Esther Filbrun Leave a Comment

Spring is coming here on the coast! I’m hoping to get a few pictures to share with you soon, but for now, it’s not an understatement that we’ve thoroughly been enjoying warmer, sunny days!

With our country being in lockdown for the past two weeks, most of my family has been home and unable to work. Was I ever grateful that we’d already bought paint to do up our guest house! (And—is it just me, or does it seem like everyone tends to bring out their handyman projects when they’re stuck at home?)

We were given this guest house near the beginning of the year—the original owner built it as a tiny house for himself, and eventually decided he didn’t want to keep it. He offered it to us, and we were delighted to take it. Our home is relatively small, and when we have company, it isn’t always easy to fit everyone in—although it’s amazing what you can do when you have three bedrooms!

Over the past three or four months, my brothers have been working tirelessly to get the house insulated, re-lined, and prepped for painting…and finally this week, all that work was done, which meant the fun could begin! And since I had a brother at home who was willing to help me, we seized the moment and spent several full days in there over this past week.

Here’s what the interior looked like as we were starting to paint:

Part-way through, the first coat finished on the ceiling:

Second coat on the ceiling and first coat on the walls:

My patient, helpful brother, and painting buddy! (Any guesses as to who got the most paint on themselves?)

And the finished product! Four coats on the ceiling and three on the walls.

It’s a little hard to make out from the pictures, but the ceiling is flat white, and the walls are a very light cream. Depending on the lighting, it can really look like it varies! The picture above was taken in the late afternoon with the golden light coming in; the one below was taken this morning.

Now I’m working on doing the windowsills, and after my builder brother (who is super talented, by the way) gets the skirting done, I’ll paint that as well. The windowsills only need one more coat of paint, but the skirting will probably need two or three more coats. We’re almost there! I’m looking forward to when the flooring can be put down by my floor laying brother (I tell you, it’s handy to have brothers in the trades!). I’m also looking forward to finishing the curtains and getting them up! Hopefully, it will be a restful place for our guests. A place removed from the craziness of our household, but not too far away, either.

I’m trying to decide if I want to name the house, and if so, what name—and where we should put a sign, if I do name it. I’ve been tossing around ideas like “Moonlight Cottage” (after the area we live in), or perhaps something like what John Bunyan did in The Pilgrim’s Progress at the House Beautiful—each bedroom had a different name, and Christian slept in the one named “Peace”, if I remember right. If you have any ideas, feel free to share them below. I’m planning to bring it up for family discussion sometime soon.

The New Calf

August 13, 2021 // Esther Filbrun Leave a Comment

It’s the end of a busy day, the sun just set behind the mountains. Mountains that, at the beginning of the week, had a beautiful layer of snow over them! I’ve got a cup of hot matcha and passionfruit tea sitting beside me—a friend gave me a boxful several months ago, which I used for a while and subsequently forgot.

I just stopped to re-read that paragraph. Isn’t it amazing how life can be made to sound so idyllic at times? And it is, in many ways, I guess. I was able to sit down to read a book for almost an entire hour today—broken up into many 5–15-minute segments, true, but that’s still a lot more reading time than I get some days. What a blessing.

Earlier today, I helped out in an hour-long hunt for our new calf. That wasn’t quite so idyllic. My brother was certain last Monday that the calf would come that night, and Mom had a look at our cow. “No, probably not.” Then he was certain last night that it was again impending. Mom had another look—“A few more days, perhaps.”

She was due today . . . and this morning, when taking care of the other cows, he discovered evidence that indeed, the calf had been born, but where did it go? The cows were up in a hill paddock surrounded by moveable fencing, and one side drops steeply away in a cliff. Steep enough that I’ve never desired to try to descend it. After he and Mom spent half an hour searching the easier surrounds this morning—stumps and a great variety of bushes and other hiding places around the general area—they gave up. Perhaps the cow had just hidden him, and this afternoon, the calf would get hungry enough to come out for a feed. We could catch him then.

Several rainstorms blew through, pounding rain for a few minutes before clearing to brilliant blue sky and warm sunshine again. In one sunny patch, around noon, several of us decided to go up and give a concerted effort to see if we could locate the new calf. It was a bit concerning to know it was here, but not to know just where it was.

My search area was a tangle of wild gorse, broom, and other native bushes interspersed with patches of wild crocrosmia (one of my favorite summer flowers, and yes, I can never remember the name). Those lined the cliff edge, and then, further along, were stacks of old rusty tin, pipes, iron, bits of wood, old trailers, and who knows what else surrounding the sheds bordering the far end of the fenced-in area. As I searched, I prayed. Where did that calf go? I imagined it curling up under a piece of roofing iron, tucked just out of sight under a patch of ferns, or hiding in a dark cranny in one of the sheds.

Finally, I thought I heard someone calling my name. Three of my brothers were also searching, and they had decided to take the cliff’s slopes, amidst great tangles of gorse and blackberry vines and other creepers and bushes, large and small, to see if they could spot the calf. I wasn’t sure whether I had heard correctly—sound doesn’t always travel up and through bushes and around buildings all that well! After several tries, I could make out that they had found it! It was alive and uninjured (praise the Lord; it could have easily fallen to its death or been injured on the way down), and now all they needed was a machete to free them from the blackberry vines. Mom brought that up for them, and then once they had disentangled themselves from that mess, it was a fairly steep climb back to the top.

I circled down and around to the bottom, to see if there was any chance of an easier path out beside the 20–30 meter (60–90 ft) straight-up-and-down tangle of the cliff. As I soon saw, if they went down, they’d have to carry the calf through at least another 10 meters (30 ft) of old blackberry vines, so old and tangled that they were up to a man’s chest or deeper in places. Then they’d have to cross a swampy basin, fighting through tangled bush again, before climbing another 2-meter cliff to get up to the road! My oldest brother decided it would be easier to go up–the distance was about the same either way, and this way they wouldn’t be ripped to shreds by the blackberries.

It was a tough haul. But he made it, mud-splattered, scratched, kicked, and all—impressing me with his strength and determination!—and we were able to reunite mother and baby. They are now staying in another paddock with better fencing and without a steep drop-off along one edge. Both seem quite happy now.

God is good.

And so ends an idyllic day. The sky is now quite dark, even though it’s only 6:30 pm—we’re still very much in winter!—and soon we’ll be sitting down to have dinner together. I can hear Mom out in the milking shed, finishing up for the night.

Several times, while I’ve been writing this, my youngest sister has come in to say hello to me, to talk about different troubles she has. One time, she was pointing at her forehead, saying it was ouchy.

“Do you need a kiss to fix it?”

“Yeah.” So I kissed it.

She just came back again, pointing to her tongue. “It ouchy!”

“You want me to kiss your tongue?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Big sister duties. . . .

What have you had happening lately?

Strong, Yet Fragile

July 8, 2021 // Esther Filbrun Leave a Comment

Just over a month ago, I pulled out the last of our tomato plants for the year. The job had been waiting for several weeks already, and I finally had a sunny day when I didn’t feel pulled in other directions to focus on that and get it done.

As I cut the strings I’d used to hold the plants up in a woven-style system, I watched as each one drooped down further and further, its crown touching the earth it grew from. Four months earlier, these had been strong, healthy plants—sending out far more branches and leaves than I knew how to manage! It would have been a tough job to break the main stems in half, even had I tried to do so. But now—a simple pull and the dead branches parted without a struggle.

I pulled the strings out, keeping the ones that looked stronger, newer, and throwing the remainder—the second- and third-year strings—on the compost pile. One day, they’ll reenter our garden as fertilizer.

Then I pulled the willow posts out—ones that had been fresh, green wood at the beginning of the summer—which were now rotten off at the base, only worth finding their place in the firewood pile.

The plants came out next, rowed up in a neat furrow where, over the winter, all traces of what was once strong, vibrant green are now turning back into the soil they grew from.

How strong . . . and yet how fragile.

Yet as I think about my life—about how one day I could be strong, fit, and healthy and then facing a life-altering diagnosis or even death the next—I see myself in that rowed-up pile of dead vines.

We are all so strong, so full of life. And yet—something happens, and that’s the end.

Dust to dust.

Just like that.

I don’t tend to ponder my own mortality much, because apart from wondering how painful it could be to die, I’m not actually scared of death. I’m looking forward to what’s coming after—Jesus, and all the ones I love that are now on that side instead of this one.

It’s going to be beautiful. Way better than I can even imagine.

For now—the row of dead tomato vines, once mounded up, is slowly disappearing into the soil. The roll of tomato string supports was slid back onto its shelf is now waiting for another season. The rose trimmings are piled on the compost heap, waiting for the worms and weather and time to work their magic.

And next spring, when the earth seems to breathe in new life again, I’ll marvel at the absence of these things I can see now—these feeble, breakable branches—and at the presence of the One who designed perfect systems for use and recycling, strength and fragility, and value in many more levels than immediately meets the eye.

Have you been pondering any deep life lessons lately?

Family Trip Day 5: Mackenzie Basin, Moeraki Boulders, and Dunedin

May 6, 2021 // Esther Filbrun Leave a Comment

Here’s the next installment of our family trip posts, from the 11-day trip we took in late December 2020 and early January 2021. If you need to catch up, here are the previous posts: Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, and Day 4.

Our fifth day was New Year’s Day, so we had a very relaxed morning and enjoyed talking and playing games with the friends we were staying with. Just before lunch, we finally took off, and headed for Dunedin, our next stop!

The area around Twizel, the Mackenzie Basin, is so dry. I loved seeing the contrasts there with the mountains in the background!

But despite being dry, there are a number of rivers and creeks that flow through the area—coming from the Southern Alps. Some of these have been diverted into canals, and after driving for a while, we came across a lake and dam, so we stopped to have a look.

The dam was impressive—one of the largest ones I’ve seen in person, I think. There were only two turbines going—we must not need as much electricity in the summer?

The part I found most interesting was the fish race, and the artificial 1 km-long creek they’ve created for trout to spawn in. That was something I don’t remember seeing before. Unfortunately, it looks like I didn’t manage to get a picture of that specifically. The concrete structure that some of my brothers are climbing on, below, is one of the entrances to the race.

Then we went on, out through mountainous country, heading down to Dunedin. Again, a beautiful drive, full of contrasts as we got out of the drier middle part of the island and back closer to the east coast where they get more rain and things are green.

We got to the coast, and had to drive along there for a while, but we did make one stop—the Moeraki Boulders. The tide was coming in, and it was raining, but they were still fascinating to see! Something I’d love to stop to see again, if we happen to be going past with fine weather and a low tide.

I found the lines in the rocks where they are joined together especially interesting. It was also interesting to see the ones that had broken apart!

We arrived in Dunedin Friday evening, and stayed with friends there until Sunday afternoon. I didn’t get any pictures those two days, because it rained (more like bucketed down!) nearly the entire time, and we just enjoyed time together, playing games and talking.

I did get one picture—of my sisters and me in the matching dresses I was able to finish just before we left on the trip. What fun! I’m so thankful God chose to give me sisters, after many years thinking His answer was “no”!

After we left on Sunday, we headed south to the Catlins, where some other friends of ours live. We hadn’t ever visited them at their home, despite almost getting there one other time and knowing each other for years. On the way, we hit a cloudburst and nearly had to stop driving for a few minutes—it was really coming down! The river next to us was full and then overflowing, but thankfully the water level didn’t make it up to the road.

Here’s a video I took of the flooding.

Stay tuned. More pictures coming up soon (hopefully!). 🙂

Family Trip Day 4: Mount Cook

April 28, 2021 // Esther Filbrun Leave a Comment

Well, the last major thing on my to-do list for today is to get a blog post up. I have this on my list every week, several days each week, and generally it doesn’t happen—my time fills up with other things before I get there. But perhaps today I can cross it off; we’ll see!

Our fourth day started a little slow, but soon we were on the road to Mount Cook, the tallest mountain in New Zealand. We’d been up there as a family two other times, but since we were in the area again, everyone was keen to have another look around.

I love the views of Mount Cook as you drive up the valley toward the Mount Cook Village!

At one of the places we stopped to get a picture of the mountain, we also were able to get a family picture—one goal of our trip crossed off the list!

We drove around to Tasman Glacier first, had lunch, and headed up to the Tasman Glacier lookout. It’s a beautiful climb through tussock land. This time, there weren’t as many icebergs on the glacial lake as we’ve seen other times; apparently, the other times had extraordinarily large amounts, so I wasn’t too sad about that. As always, what little we could see of the glacier was impressive, although I think my favorite time of the year to see it is in winter, when snow covers the gravel on top of the glacier.

Little sister and I got a picture together. I was really starting to feel the effects of two days in the sunshine, but that didn’t dim the enjoyment of the day. 🙂

Looking down the valley toward lake Pukaki, I’ve always been impressed by the greens and browns and purples. Just gorgeous!

After enjoying our time at the Tasman Glacier, we went around to Hooker Valley, which is probably my favorite walk up in the Mount Cook area (seeing as I’ve only ever done the two!). It’s a beautiful cross-country tramp, about an hour or hour and a half long if you take it at a leisurely pace, and you see two different glacial lakes on the way.

First is the lake from the Mueller Glacier, which I didn’t realize until this trip is actually fed by the glacier—I saw the upper reaches of the glacier on the walk back this time. The lake flows into a river, which joins the Hooker River, and you cross it via a swingbridge—always a highlight to my brothers, of course.

The day was not super hot, but it was mostly sunny. A perfect tramping day!

The mountain views were just gorgeous. This is Mount Cook presiding over the Hooker River.

I stayed with my brothers all the way up there, and generally was just a few steps behind. They walk faster than I’m used to, but I was still able to enjoy the scenery! It’s all rocks, bushes, water in all forms of presentation (frozen, waterfalls, rivers, creeks, etc), and mountains. Lots of mountains. The walk is supposed to be three hours round trip, but we were in a bit of a hurry and made it in two.

The lake itself isn’t quite as gorgeous as some of the other water around—the sedimentation in the water gives it a murky color, but off in the distance, we could see the Hooker Glacier and a few small icebergs, and with the mountains behind it was just gorgeous!

And the sunshine on the peaks as we were going back…now that was something worth soaking in! Goodbye, Mount Cook:

In all, that was probably the second most spectacular scenery we saw on the trip. The most spectacular came much later on, which, hopefully, I can share with you soon. We’ll see!

The Path of Singleness

April 23, 2021 // Esther Filbrun Leave a Comment

I got some wonderful news this week—that a friend just got engaged! I’m very excited for her; that’s been a long time coming, and I’m glad they finally made that decision.

It’s also interesting, as a single woman, to hear news like that. Though I have had several other acquaintances or friends—some younger than me—get married in the last few years, none in my “close” friend group have tied the knot yet.

And though I’m reminded that perhaps, with several relationships in the past few years, it could have been me giving out the joyful news, that’s not where I am now. I’ve seen other single young women really struggling with this, but I feel curiously detached from such feelings—perhaps I’m not old enough to really mourn it? Surely my life isn’t more full, more busy, than theirs?

It isn’t that I don’t sometimes feel a little sad that things didn’t turn out the way I hoped. After all, I wanted to get married at 18 and probably have two or three children by now! (I’m thankful God didn’t fulfill that wish, by the way.)

Whatever the case may be, I’m thankful to be in the season I’m in.

I’m thankful I don’t have a husband and family and all the responsibilities that come with that—thankful, because of that, to have the ability to step into other people’s lives and walk alongside them for a time as needed.

I’m thankful to have this time with my family—after this past year of being away almost more than I was here (maybe not always physically, but emotionally), that is extra-special. There’s a 21-year age gap between my youngest sister and me, and that feels pretty big. I’m glad I get this time to watch her grow up.

Even though I’m thankful—grateful—to be in this season, yes, it sometimes is hard to think of others getting to live the life I’d love to live. Hard to see others looking forward to having their own homes, starting their own families, having that special relationship blossom and grow with year after year of patient tending.

It’s hard to think about the people getting to hold and love on their own babies when I don’t have one yet.

Maybe I’m not as detached about it as I thought at first. Maybe I do care more.

But this—this I do know, and I keep learning about more and still haven’t found the bottom of yet: God’s love toward me is even greater.

His plans for me are even wider.

His direction in my life is even higher and more complicated than I ever thought possible.

And—He has directed my past. I’ve seen His fingerprints in my life over, and over, and over, guiding, directing, leading, and placing the next steppingstone there just when I need it the most.

He is trustworthy. And if He can provide the small answers to my problems now, He can and will provide the bigger answers to my relationships when the time is right.

So yes, today, I rejoice with my friend who announces her engagement. I rejoice with other friends who are eagerly anticipating their wedding in just a month’s time. And I rejoice with my Father, knowing that He has my life firmly in His capable hands.

What truths are you telling your soul right now? Is this something you’ve struggled with? What conclusions have you come to?