A Year In Instagram Photos In Gloucester, Virginia: Rivahstyle

We live in a little 3-bedroom house with 2 bathrooms that's 1,600 square feet. Well, almost 1,600 square feet. Basically there's kids everywhere. We rack 'em and stack 'em.

But one of the things I love about our little house is that we're three blocks from a white sandy beach on the York River. The sunsets are amazing. The kids have a blast down there. I love to walk down there and enjoy the peace of the tidal saltwater. I thought I'd share some of my Instagram highlights from the past year of living on a peninsula, a few blocks from the beach. If you'd like to find me on Instagram, I'm @jmatthewsabo and I'll follow back!

Do you have a favorite?

A Time To Reflect, A Time For Thanks

It is officially Christmas Day, 2015. It's somewhere the other side of midnight and things are out of whack -- outside at least. It's a warm, steamy night in Virginia. Thick clouds obscure the full moon and stars that are up there somewhere and the windows are open and the ceiling fans are humming. And still it's hot in here. I refuse to turn on the AC. It's late December. That's ridiculous. Even if it means I can't sleep because I'm too hot.

But the other side of being sleepless in Gloucester is that the kids are all in bed, the house is quiet, the Christmas tree is lit up and the presents are spilling out from beneath it. It's like this every year for me, these nights that by the light of the Christmas tree I take a few moments to reflect on my life over the past year.

I'm not going to lie. It's been a hard stretch in many ways going back the past 14 months or so. The thing that comes to mind first is two miscarriages. Two blessings we've missed out on. Our babies give us so much joy as a family, there's an excitement and an anticipation that builds through the pregnancy. There's a sense of wonder with the little kids when we bring home a new baby. For so many years we've celebrated another birth, welcoming a new baby brother or sister so routinely it's become a part of the fabric of our lives. There's always been another baby and those days are drawing to a close. Or maybe they have drawn to a close. Either way, I miss them.

I've had some ongoing health issues over the past year that doctors can't quite figure out and on some really rough, painful nights I've trundled 2-year-old Seth into our bed. I like to listen to him breathe and I put my head right up against his soft cheek. He's a snuggler and he'll burrow into me and for a little while I forget what's ailing me. He comforts me the way our babies always have. There's been many nights when it's me and a baby in my arms in a darkened house and listening to those fast, little breaths, feeling that skin like cotton and smelling that new baby smell and everything is alright in the world.

My work as a missionary ended earlier this year and it's just ... I don't know how else to describe it other than painful. I was unable to raise enough support to continue as a missionary working with an organization that launches Bible-teaching schools in Africa and Haiti. The cold, hard truth is that I wasn't any good at asking people for money. It's a flaw of mine where I pretty much stink at asking for help. I don't like goodbyes either but that's another flaw, another story. The missions organization I was with is doing work that changes lives and offers hope both spiritually and economically to downtrodden young people and I loved being a part of it. The people in the organization are wonderful and they're doing great work. I've seen and met many people whose lives have been changed through it. It feels like failure to leave it behind. It's hard. I don't really know how else to put it.

I'm extremely thankful and grateful for the work I'm doing now and the opportunity some friends of mine here in Gloucester gave me to work with their PR & marketing firm after leaving the missions work. It's a huge blessing and I really believe we're doing great work. But it's just one of those things I wrestle with, where my heart is to spread the gospel and to elevate lives and I was a part of that ... until I wasn't. It's an ongoing conversation I have with God, wondering what it's all about and why. But learning to trust in His plan when life doesn't make sense is essential Christian living. A Christian is believing -- knowing -- God has something else afoot and is waiting. Always waiting as it says in the book of Hosea, to wait on our God continually. Always expecting. Always ready. The life of a follower of Christ is gripping the faith to take the next step when you don't know where that foot will land but taking it anyway. I'm learning it. I'm working at it.

But in so many ways these are all such little, trivial things. This past weekend at Taylor's wedding affirmed what a gift I have with my family. My kids all love Jesus. That's a blessing. We're happiest when we're all together and my kids are patient, kind and loving to each other and they love to be with Julie and me, even the older ones. Sadly, that seems all too rare in this culture.

In a few hours the kids will all be up. The little kids will frantically be trying to get the older ones out of bed and we'll gather in the living room in our pajamas. The kids will pass around the presents under the Christmas tree, many of which they got for each other and we'll take turns opening them. I'll fix my traditional seafood chowder and I'm thinking it will be so nice outside that maybe we'll walk down to the beach. We'll have the whole day together. That's the best part. Really it's the only part that matters.

A Wedding Toast From One Brother To Another

The three amigos saving one of them from a gator's toothy grip

One of the things I'm so blessed by with my family is how much love my kids have for each other. I have a brother-in-law whose words echo through my mind frequently when I think about my kids. He was telling me once how much he enjoys being around my kids and he said quite simply, in part awe and part genuine fascination it seemed, "They're so kind to each other."

The way my family breaks down is there's little groups of my kids that are naturally closer to each other because of being born so close together, as well as other factors. Our three older boys, Brenton, Taylor and Ethan, comprise one of those groups. When we get together and they start telling stories about the things they did back in the day it's hilarious. Apparently the "10-year rule" -- where they can finally talk about the crazy things they did 10 years ago and not worry about getting in trouble -- comes into play. Their bond is strong and lifelong.

I've often thought about the nature of their love for each other and I always come back to it's a reflection of their faith in Jesus. They model the kind, compassionate, loving, serving heart of Jesus. For me, it's a joy to watch and be a part of.

I saw examples of this love for each other over the weekend at the wedding of Taylor & Bethany. The kids stepped up serving in so many different ways. Evie painted an amazing portrait of Taylor & Bethany she gave to them as a wedding gift. Brenton and Ethan served as groomsmen, taking care of a ton of little details  and big ones as well to honor their brother. Claire, MerriGrace and Madeline  were absolutely lovely as they played and sang songs as a trio at the start of the wedding as people entered and got seated. And all of the kids pulled off their parts in the wedding without a hitch.

And as best man for Taylor, Ethan gave a speech at the reception. I'll link to the full speech below that is up on Youtube, but I loved it. He talked about how Taylor has become a remarkable man over the years and he said that love is the strongest force in the world. As he closed the toast and raised his glass, he spoke the words that he told us had came to him in a dream:

"My final hope and my prayer and my blessing to you all Bethany and Taylor, is that your love would be faithful like the rising sun, that it will be as lasting as the mighty mountains, it will be strong like rushing water, as precious as silver, passionate like a raging fire, sweet as a robin's song and richer than a thousand kings. I love you both. Here's to Taylor and Bethany."

Youtube link: Ethan's wedding toast

What A Family Gets With A Wedding

Taylor & Bethany

Somehow we pulled it off. A rehearsal dinner for about 60 people the night before the wedding of our son Taylor and his lovely bride Bethany was going smoothly. It was no small feat, believe me. Julie and several of our daughters and even sons had labored in preparation, preparing baked ziti, a chicken lasagna, chicken marsala with rice, a huge salad, rolls and even five cheesecakes -- all hauled 570 miles from our house to Berea, Ky. But the food was savory and several people asked who did the catering.

Why, we did!

But as the Hayes and Sabo extended families and wedding party ate and mingled and laughed and shared stories, I was walking down the basement hall of the River of Life church where we were holding the wedding on my way to retrieve more forks -- always a good sign when you're hosting  a party for 60 that you've prepared the food for -- when the pastor posed a question to me. It was simple, really: Could I speak with him a moment?

He motioned me into a room across the hall and we sat down. I admit the words, "Uh-oh" went through my mind. But I quickly learned that Pastor Tim just wanted to tell me about Taylor. I won't go into the details but he simply had a lot of very nice things to say about him and we had a great conversation. And I gained a new friend -- two actually because his wife, Anne, joined us. One of the words he used to describe Taylor was "solid." Which is funny because that's one of the exact words my family uses to describe him.

He is solid in the sense that he is faithful and selfless, kind and loving, reliable and generous. And so many other things. It plays out in a thousand little ways and a bunch of big ways. He will jump in and do the dishes and no one even asks him (that's a big deal in my book!). Or he will round up the kids for a lively game of soccer in the front yard. Or he will tell bedtime stories to the little kids that have them laughing so hard they can hardly breathe. He is always willing to help, always willing to give and always quick to love. He's that embodiment of a person who reflects and radiates the love of Jesus. I can't describe in words how much it means to me to call him my son.

Over the course of the wedding I had several people -- fellow students, Pastor Tim, some of Bethany's family members -- pull me aside to tell me about Taylor and how much he's meant to them. It was a totally unexpected blessing.

I say all this because I've been thinking about the dynamics of our family and how they have changed now. This is our first wedding. We've entered a new season where our kids are truly forging their own paths. They are falling in love and getting married and starting lives together and, soon I imagine, perhaps very soon, starting their own families.

But there's something else as well. Something that goes right along with a wedding. It's a wedding gift, I guess you'd say.

We have a new member of the family, someone who we've all quickly come to love quite dearly. Someone who is kind and quick to help and quick to love. Someone who is thoughtful and graceful and who loves to spend time with our little kids and will chat with Olivia for seemingly hours on end. She's someone who is a perfect complement for Taylor.

My son Taylor has a companion for life. My other children have a new sister. Julie and I have a new daughter. We couldn't be happier. Welcome to the Sabo family Bethany.

We love you.

The Dad Handbook: Are We Sabotaging Our Families?

Kids these days have no idea how real the struggle used to be.

Recently while surfing the internet, er rather while (cough, cough) "working" quite vigorously doing "research" for my job, I came across a fascinating manual. It was a World War II manual developed in 1944 by the U.S. Office of Strategic Services -- the precursor to the CIA. The manual is a guide for Allied spies and members of resistance groups on how to sabotage the Axis war effort from within.

It's an intriguing read and I found page 28 particularly interesting. It's a section titled "General Interference with Organizations and Production" and outlines basically how workers friendly to the Allied war effort can ensure that nothing gets done at Axis plants and manufacturing facilities producing materials for the war effort.

There's a number of articles out in the cybersphere on how page 28 of the "General Interference with Organizations and Production" speaks quite accurately to problems encountered in the workplace with employees who are expert at making sure nothing gets done. After studying page 28 closely, I came to a rather sobering revelation.

I'm nothing more than a member of the resistance -- a spy as it were! -- who is effectively limiting the effectiveness of the well-oiled Sabo Family machine. I assure you it is unintentional. I also assure you that I am not alone in the world of Dadness in adhering unwittingly to insurrectionist behavior. Let's inspect page 28 of the manual on a point-by-point basis as proof.

1) "Insist on doing everything through `channels.' Never permit short-cuts to be taken in order to expedite decisions."

--I pronounce myself guilty. Let me give you an example. Take lawn mowing. Every self-respecting Dad lawn mowing expert knows that it's not just a job. It's an art form of the highest calling. There are procedures, there are lists, there are unwritten rules of lawn mowing. There are NO shortcuts in lawn mowing. The air pressure of each tire must be expertly calibrated, oil level gauged, gas checked, blade inspected for sharpness and the lawn physically walked and inspected almost on a blade by blade level to ensure there are no foreign objects, toys, rodent-like creatures such as squirrels and even small children in the way that could obstruct the precision lawn mowing effort. And under no circumstances can the lawn mowing lines be anything but perfectly straight.

So what happens when I turn over the lawn mowing to a teenage son, a literal "passing of the key" ceremony that is akin to lighting the torch at the Olympics? Why, he hops on the riding mower and mows the lawn 37 minutes and 48.3 seconds faster than my personal record. Did he check the gas, tire pressure, oil level, blade thickness and sharpness and walk the lawn looking for impediments like squirrels, small children and the like? No! He just got on the lawn mower and started mowing! It's utter insanity! What is the world coming to?

2) "Make `speeches,'  talk as frequently as possible and at great length, illustrate your `points' by long anecdotes and accounts of personal experiences. Never hesitate to make a few appropriate 'patriotic' comments.


--The older I get, the more my kids hear the ol' "You have it so easy these days, I mean back when I was a kid" speech. It's true though! When I was a kid I really did have to walk 5 miles uphill through a cemetery in driving snowstorms just to get to school. Not only that, if I wanted to communicate with my friends, I couldn't just text, or Snapchat, or Facebook message, or Tweet, or whatever. I either had to actually remember his phone number or look it up in a "phone book" and physically dial his number on a rotary dial phone, or send a smoke signal, or physically get on my bike and physically ride it uphill for 5 miles through a blizzard to his house and wait out the snowstorm playing Space Invaders or watching Star Wars on a VCR. That's the American way I tell you! Things were so much better back then! This country -- can we pause for a moment and all sing "God Bless America" right now? -- was built on the backs of kids who knew their friends' phone numbers and have calluses on their fingers from dialing rotary dial phones and rode their bikes through blizzards to see them. And know the words to "God Bless America."

3) "When possible, refer all matters to committees, for `further study and consideration.' Attempt to make the committees as large as possible -- never less than five."


--Let me break this down quite simply for you. Say one my 20 14 kids asks me if they can do something like go hang out with a friend or see a movie. My default answer is, "Let me think about it." Which basically means that they can kiss that idea goodbye because when a thought enters my brain, there's a very high probability it will "get lost in the shuffle" and will be stranded somewhere in my gray matter for the rest of my life. And there's no getting that thought back. That baby is gone, gone, gone. The other default answer is, "Let me talk to Mama about it." That's also the kiss of death because it would require me not only to remember the request, but to actually have an actual conversation with my wife about it, which would require me to speak in complete sentences and be able to voice intelligent, coherent arguments of why I think this particular request may be a bad idea even though there's very likely absolutely nothing wrong with it and it's something as simple as, "Dad, can I play video games?" At a last resort, I can go with #2 and start in on the "You have it so easy these days, I mean back when I was a kid" speech.


4) "Bring up irrelevant issues as frequently as possible."

--I have mastered this. It's an art form. I can totally be "Mr. Irrelevant." Wait a minute, that didn't come out right. I meant to write, I can totally be "Mr. Irrelevant Information." That sounds better. I think. Anyway, what I mean to say -- hold on, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a cell phone charger that's still plugged in and is drawing juice even though there is no cell phone attached to it and I need to get to the bottom of this crime against humanity before our electrical bill spikes and I have to take a second job and an entire iceberg in Antarctica melts because we're using so much power that's generated by a coal-fired plant -- is that all dads know that being a "Dad" carries with it a great burden and requires a sharpness of mind and acuity of dexterous task completion that's bordering on complete and utter impossibility. Basically it's a miracle us Dads get anything done. Wait a minute, that didn't come out right. I meant to say -- sorry, just a minute, but someone left the jar of crunchy peanut butter on the counter and I need to interrogate every kid in this house and possibly waterboard some of them in the bathtub to find out who committed this atrocity -- that it's a miracle Dads are able to accomplish so much. (That sounds so much better!) They get it done despite all the chaos around them -- like jars of crunchy peanut butter that were left unattended on the counter and a cell phone charging cord left plugged in with no cell phone attached to it. Don't kids know these days that seal levels are rising because they are leaving cell phone cords plugged in for no apparent reason? It's outrageous!

Coming tomorrow: Breaking down the final 4 points of page 28 of the  "General Interference with Organizations and Production" manual.

On A Night In Haiti When God Prevailed

Waterfront living in Haiti

It was one of those nights in Haiti where the heat was relentless. It's a long, suffocating heat that would leave me drenched in sweat and exhausted. I waited in vain for a breeze; even the slightest, gentlest stirring of the air to offer even a token amount of relief.

Instead all I got was fear.

Even today, more than three years later, I don't know how to explain it. It's a fear I could feel, the distinct and inescapable understanding that evil was in my presence and, in the simplest of terms, that something very bad was taking place. Except for the fact that I was alone in the small bedroom, save for a fellow missionary sleeping soundly nearby, oblivious apparently to the unceasing heat and the evil hovering among us.

I would later learn from our generous hosts that the rural, hillside cinder block home we were staying in had been built in a neighborhood of occupied by at least nine witch doctors who plied voodoo and, I would surmise, did not much care for the American missionaries carrying the hope of the gospel to a people in desperate need and the hearts to elevate lives.

As I lay sweating and succumbing to whatever force enveloped me, the fear welled up to the point that I remember my breathing became labored. I remember distinctly feeling like my lungs and heart were being squeezed. I was convinced I was not going to leave Haiti alive and the only way I would depart would be in a coffin. Whether it was delirium, or some sort of vision, or some other supernatural occurrence such as spiritual warfare, I can't be sure. I do know that I've never been more scared in my life.

I think about that night frequently. It is seared into my memory. Certain events in life we carry with us and they arise frequently out of the millions of memories of our past. Many bring us a smile, some may bring sadness, others a laugh.

This memory of that night in Haiti brings an understanding to me. It's a knowledge beyond something I know in my mind, like a fact I can recite. It's an intimate understanding of the power of God, of His love for me. Because in the depths of my fear, in a dark place of seemingly inescapable evil, I came to an understanding of who God is and how He cares for me.

I prayed for relief from the enveloping fear. As I prayed I felt compelled to reach underneath my bed and fetch my Bible. By the light of my cell phone I opened to Psalm 62 and read these words:
"Truly my soul silently waits for God;
From Him comes my salvation.
He only is my rock and my salvation;
He is my defense;
I shall not be greatly moved."

As I read the whole Psalm a peace washed over me. It wasn't instantaneous, but more like having something very heavy slowly lifted off my chest. It was, I believed, good overcoming evil. It was love prevailing. It was true power exercising its might and conquering evil on behalf of a wounded man. My circumstances didn't change. The heat didn't relent, the dark night remained, the voodoo practitioners were still nearby.

What changed was my focus was taken off my circumstances and my fear and on to the God who sent His beloved Son to die for me. Fear takes prisoners. God frees lives. God is my shelter and defense fighting on my behalf; I'm never going it alone.

One of my favorite verses in the Bible is John 14:27. In the verse Jesus gives a promise and says simply, "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

I know that peace intimately. I encountered it on a suffocating night on a hill in a Haiti village, where a darkness of profound fear was overcome by the illuminating light of God's overpowering love, spoken to me through words that are as alive to me today as they were to the Psalmist thousands of years ago.

What We Do Best As A Family Is ...

Family should be one big celebration

Maybe it's because there's a lot of us. Maybe it's because we love to laugh and make each other laugh. Or maybe it's because we've always had little kids around who reach big milestones on a regular basis. Whatever the case, over the last several days I was struck by something that happens a lot here at Team Sabo.

We celebrate.

We celebrate little things. Like a lost tooth. The displaced little tooth is taken around the house and shown with great pride to each brother and sister. The new gap in the mouth is admired and analyzed and there's long discussions of whether the Tooth Fairy is broke thanks to the Sabo kids.

We celebrate funny things, like 4-year-old Judah telling MerriGrace about his latest dream. It was a dream where he forgot to put on his pants and underwear but went out in public anyway. Now I when I have had those dreams of being buck naked in public, it was more like a nightmare. Judah had a different response: "Whoops!" he told MerriGrace. That's a story worth celebrating.

We celebrate attempts to conquer the English language, which is no small feat for a 2-year-old like Seth. He likes his apples cut in half, with the skin off and smothered in "pinka butter." Although he means to say "peanut butter," we all think "pinka butter" is just so much better. Because it makes us laugh.

We celebrate one of the biggest moments in a Sabo kid's life -- the day of turning 10 years old. -- with regularity. You see, at the age of 10 a Sabo lad or lass becomes a "big kid." There's all sorts of benefits to being a big kid. Not only have they hit double digits, but they can stay up later at night. They are entrusted with more freedoms, like playing video games. There's also a certain amount of responsibility -- they may be counted on to help out more with the little kids. Now that we can definitely celebrate.

We celebrate when the kids in college come home for the holidays or on a weekend. Sometimes the younger kids make welcome home signs. Or they color pictures. Sometimes they bake cookies. Sometimes, like tonight, we honor a special request and make chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. All the time there's a ton of hugs.

In another week we'll celebrate in a big way a first for our family. Taylor is marrying Bethany. The excitement in the house is palpable. We've been doing a countdown for months. Today Olivia was modeling the dress she is going to wear. We giggled over the snazzy shirts and ties Judah and Seth will be wearing. We've dug out photos of when Taylor was but a wee Sabo to share at the wedding reception. And the great thing is that we'll have many, many more of these types of celebrations.

We celebrate potty training and riding a bike with no training wheels and going to Busch Gardens and family vacations and picking blueberries and getting baptized and a little kid reading their first book and getting a driver's license and birthdays and a million other things.

We celebrate life because life should be a celebration. I view this life I have, my wife and all these kids, as a gift from God. And gifts are worth celebrating.