How fast a year flies by, and happy to see a new year on the horizon. 2013 brought health issues, insurance issues, and driving issues, but God is faithful. We survived!

In January, I had surgery to remove a melanoma from my leg, spent a few months recovering, then returned to the hospital in March with an exhaustion breakdown. Guess five boys can do that to a mother. Our insurance broke down too, which wasn’t nearly as funny as my breakdown, and we spent the rest of the year fighting to get our insurance to help us settle a mountain of medical bills.

On a happier note, Cami and Drew graduated from Sac State together in May, then moved in next door. Drew went to work farming the walnuts for Dad and Uncle Patrick, and Cami got hired in her field of speech therapy by a local school district. Presently, the hard-working pair is on vacation in San Diego while we babysit our grandpuppy, a bouncy golden retriever named “Bailey” that won’t stop eating horse poop from our pasture and digging up the yard. Scott says hopefully the grandbaby Drew and Cami eventually provide us with won’t behave this way.

Lacy does endless college homework. Garry (G2) said the other day, “You’re gonna be a genius, Lacy ’cause you study all the time!” When she’s not buried in her nursing classes, Lacy works at California Fitness. Good thing we have chickens because this girl lives on eggs. Her little brothers adore her and we’re blessed to have Lacy back home with us as she commutes this semester. Two-year-old Christian (Cruz) loves gathering chicken eggs for Lacy to poach, but he sometimes feeds them to the horses in the corral beside the chicken coop. Lacy’s horse, Teddy, actually enjoys the eggs, which has been another surprise to me this year.

The good news is Christian has given up eating dog food, but he ate fish food last month. He also dumped the whole fish bowl on top of his head by pulling it off the dresser after spending months trying to free the fish when I wasn’t watching by using everything from a small bug net, to a brother’s shoe, to my soup ladle. The fish survived Christian’s onslaught, but I still find random household items stuck in the fish bowl. Lizards and frogs fear Christian. Christian fears nothing. He’s a brilliant critter catcher and I no longer open my hand to receive his gifts after he dropped a huge, wiggling potato bug in my palm the other day.

Luke turned sixteen in September, got his driver’s license, and promptly wrecked Opa’s old Supra. Both the Supra and Luke, after the high-speed crash, landed with miraculous gentleness in a field of straw. After being grounded, and paying for his own car repairs, Luke is happily back on the road. I have a new respect for the Supra. I’ve always thought of the Supra as my dad’s midlife crisis car. On the night I brought Scott home to introduce him to my parents for the first time in 1986, my dad wasn’t there. “Where’s Dad,” I asked my mom in front of Scott. “He’s in jail,” Mom said. “Your dad was driving over a 100 miles an hour when the police pulled us over. I’m just glad we aren’t dead.”

To Scott’s credit, he didn’t say a word, and returned the following weekend to meet my dad. Now I think of the Supra as the miracle car that flew across a ditch and didn’t hurt our boy except for a seat belt bruise. Honestly, I thank God for his incredible mercy. Luke is fine and dandy and driving more carefully these days.

John, Joseph, and Garry are our three happy little musketeers. This summer they faced a rattlesnake in the ravine with rocks and sticks and my strawberry-cleaning knife. Why they had my little strawberry knife in the ravine is beyond me, except I hid the pocket knives Opa gave them until they’re older since John tried to slice his finger off with his. Opa said, “Good. Now that boy knows what a knife can do!” The boys also hunted down two larger rattlesnakes and wisely fetched their dad to help them get the rattles. I refuse to cook snakes, but I do fry up frog legs from Opa and Oma’s ponds, and also boiled the boys’ crawdads captured at the cabin.

Scott is as patient as ever with his students, his sons, and his sensitive wife. He reads the Bible all the time, so that explains it. If Scott grew a beard, we could add him to Duck Dynasty. Like Jase, since Scott has no desire to attend a high school reunion, and thinks doves are a delicacy. “You Bicknells are like a young Duck Dynasty family,” someone told me the other day. There could be something to this observation, except we don’t make duck calls. The Bicknell boys make forts.

A heartfelt thanks to those of you who helped support Luke’s mission trip to Rio de Janeiro this summer. The teens rolled up their sleeves with a Nazarene church that serves the folks who live in Rio’s sweeping slums. Luke says the experience changed him. But it didn’t change his plans to pursue the military after high school. We keep trying to talk Luke into college before joining the Army, but so far, he prefers a shovel or rifle in his hand instead of a pencil.

After Brazil, Luke spent the rest of the summer working with Drew in the orchard, while John and I tackled the farmers’ markets with Oma, the hardest working grandma on the planet. Opa works fiercely as well, but makes time to take his grandsons hunting. At ten years old, John got his hunting license and started shooting ducks with Opa. John also earned top salesman at the farmers’ market, along with helping Oma, Drew, Luke, and Scott pick and pack the fruit before market. Both Luke and John say they prefer farming ten hours a day, six days a week to going to school. I myself prefer school. Farming is hard work. Thank the Lord for Sundays.

G2, our precious five-year-old, spent his first day of kindergarten in the principal’s office, which shocked us. But he’s recovered nicely and now spends a lot of days on the star board, though G2 would rather work the orchard with his brothers if we’d allow them all to quit school. The Bicknell boys must take after their Great-Grandpa Jack (also one of five brothers) who dropped out of school in the eighth grade to become a peach farmer. Great-Grandpa Jack (“Pops” we always called him) farmed to make a livin’ and lived to hunt and fish.

Our eight-year-old Joseph lives to hunt and fish, too, but he’s also a surprisingly diligent student. His grades  are perfect, he loves to read, but refuses to wear both shirt and shoes rain or shine unless we insist on it. And he’s the first to keep his baby brother Christian from mischief, no small feat considering our pediatrician said we totally misnamed our youngest child. “You should have named him Gladiator,” said the doctor at Christian’s two-year checkup. “He’s not a Christian, that’s for sure!” Considering Christian was kicking at the doctor like a wild goat and yowling like a bobcat while being examined (and this before the shots), I nearly agreed. But after thinking about it, I decided Christian is the perfect name for our wildest child because we are all kicking/screaming sinners until Jesus gets a hold of us. So grateful to celebrate our Savior’s birth in a few short weeks.

Wishing all of you the brightest Christmas and a happy, happy, happy New Year!

For those of you journeying with me on this blog each week… THANK YOU…  I pray our LORD will bless and keep you. That He will shine his face upon you and give you peace and joy this Christmas season~

Scott talked me into trying something new this year, not sending out our annual Christmas letter via snail mail so it will be posted here for the month of December. Because of this, I won’t blog again until after Christmas. Looking forward to meeting you here all bright-eyed come January. Until then, may God hold you in the hollow of his Almighty hand.