The Long Winter

At the end of a very long, hard, blizzardy winter, the people of DeSmet were much relieved to feel the warm winds of the Chinook. They rejoiced over the melting snow and the arrival of spring. But it took another whole month before the railroad tracks were cleared of snow, such that the trains could finally make it through with supplies. They knew the end of the problem had arrived. They knew winter had been defeated. And yet, their rescue had not come to fruition.

(Come to think of it, this is not unlike Christ's death winning the victory, while we continue on in this valley of sorrow until the rescue comes to fruition in our own deaths or the end of the world.)

Church's fund-raiser yesterday brought in enough money to pay the fuel bill from last winter. So we can ask our propane-supplier to bring us a tankful. This means we'll have a stove. This means our hot water heater will work. This means we can bathe and do laundry without boiling water on the stove at church. This means that when the next cold snap comes, we'll have a furance that works. This is good news.

However, we're still waiting to know when this will happen. The money is there. But will the company bring us fuel just because we say "the check is in the mail" (even though it really would be)? Will we need to drive the check to them (a two-hour round-trip)? Will they send out a truck to fill our propane tank, with the promise that we'll give the check to the driver? Even though the money is there and we can buy propane now, it will be late Monday at the earliest, or even as late as Friday (hopefully no later!), before we actually experience the joys of turning on the hot water faucet again.

And I'm really really looking forward to the ease of cooking in one kitchen instead of shuttling between two. Besides that, the church kitchen is currently unusuable due to flies. I'm not a neat freak. I do naughty things: I eat food off the floor. Yesterday my friend Kathy rolled her eyes when she caught me grabbing a dirty glass out of her sink instead of getting a clean one out of the cupboard. The day before, Kathy rolled her eyes as she caught me eating olives off kids' plates after they'd finished their pizza. But even I get the heebie-jeebies, thinking about cooking in a kitchen so disgustingly filled with flies. (I am going to HAVE to go get bug-bombs for church soon.)

Pew Cushions

The roof at my father-confessor's church is being redone. Crunchy stuff keeps falling down in the nave. You can't really see it come down, but it's crunchy when you walk. And the hymnals have a fine powder on them. That's why the pew cushions were removed -- to ease clean-up.

Oh my goodness! The organ sounds wonderful! The chanting sounds wonderful! The congregational singing sounds wonderful! I never imagined that those pew cushions (which aren't even on the back of the pews, but just the seats) could make so much difference!

Kitchen

You know what? It is immensely inconvenient to have your cupboard/pantry/refrigerator about 300' from your stove/sink.

The septic system was hogging our attention as the problem. And then we discovered that our propane tank is nearly empty. The gauge reads "zero," but we don't smell the skunk oil that lurks in the very dredges of the tank. Not yet. So no heat. (I am so glad for these nice warm days!) Not until the bill from last winter gets paid. But it also means I have to cook over at church. It's not easy to drag everything back and forth. But as long as I can use the stove at church and as long as I can boil water over there to use in the wash machine over here, we can stretch out the propane so as to (hopefully!) have hot water for bathing until the propane company consents to fill our tank.

By the time dinner was nearly cooked today, it crossed my mind that maybe we should just knuckle under and eat out. Then I realized that for our family to eat two meals at a low- to average-priced restaurant, we would have to spend more than Gary earns in a day. That just doesn't seem like a good use of funds.

I keep telling myself that all sorts of people struggle along without a kitchen now and then, such as during a remodeling project. But people who can afford a remodeling project can probably also afford to eat out sometimes. And people who are remodeling a kitchen still have a bathroom where dishes can be washed in hot water .... with a drain to remove the water from the house! (Ain't it amazing how a little Doing Without makes you appreciate the mundane?!?) I keep telling myself that we could make do with electric skillets and crockpots, but even with that, I'd have to be cooking in the bedrooms to avoid overloading the wiring in the kitchen and dining room which is so wacky.

Is this what we call "Making Memories"? LOL!

Pastor Prowatske

The funeral is on Saturday. Of course, we care about his wife and daughter and how much they must miss him, and we pray for their comfort. But it didn't hit me till Bible class this morning how much I will miss him. He didn't talk as much during class as certain other people do. But when he did, oh!, the sweet things he said. The insights. The exegetical help. Always pointing to the cross and what Christ has done for us.

And he loved his hymns and his hymnal. I doubt anyone but Pastor P and I would "accuse" Pastor Bender of not liking to sing. Sometimes we'd have a 15-stanza hymn for the hymn of the week, and Pastor would tell us which 4-5 stanzas we'd sing for prayers during Bible class. Then Pr Prowatske would protest that we should sing ALL the stanzas, and I'd agree. Or I'd say, "Hey, you can't leave out the 6th and the 9th & 10th!" And Pr P would back me up.

Pastor Prowatske said that they'd always sing every stanza of any hymn he chose for his congregation. His daughter liked that. I'd like that too!

We have no cause to mourn or weep.
Securely shall this body sleep
Till Christ Himself shall death destroy
And raise the blessed dead to joy.

For they who with Him suffered here
Shall there be healed from woe and fear.
And when eternal bliss is won,
They'll shine in glory like the sun.

Beach

Maggie started swimming lessons today. One of the local resorts is letting the Rec District use the hotel pool. Having never had her in swimming lessons before, we didn't know which level to choose. The teacher was impressed with her skills and suggested that she might be better off in the next level up. So next week we'll do that.

With its being such a pretty day and so nice and warm, we decided to stop by the beach on our way home. It was gorgeous. But ....

We discovered what a difference the daily grooming all summer makes. There was seaweed piled up along the shore. Normally that is raked away daily. The sand was not groomed, so there were some ant hills and there were gull droppings. During summer, those usually get disturbed and cleaned up daily. And on top of that, yowsa.... several chilly nights and one hard frost sure does make a big difference in the water temperature of the lake. Maggie swam for about ten minutes, and then couldn't take the cold any longer. That means it was too cold for me to even think about getting wet!

Summer will be back in just 9 more months.

Update

For those of y'all who've asked:
No. My backyard is not ripped to shreds yet. No, the repairmen will not be here this week. The appointment is currently set for Wednesday the 26th.

At this point, we're ready to forego all the water-usage restrictions we've put on ourselves, and just go ahead and have the septic tank pumped however often it needs it. We can't go another full week or longer without being able to drain water from our home.

Isaac

The Gospel this Sunday (in the one-year series) was from Matthew 6. Jesus invites us to look at how He takes care of everything He has made, and He promises that He will take care of us because we are so much more valuable than the birds and the flowers. Why worry when God is on our side, a God who daily and richly provides us with all that we need to support this body and life?

But then things get rocky. Maybe a person doesn't have plumbing, and thinks "woe is me." Maybe a person doesn't have heat in his home, and thinks God's falling down on the job of providing for him. Maybe a person doesn't have a steady (or sufficient) income, and frets over what the future holds.

And yet, Jesus promises to take care of us. So sometimes, through the power of the Absolution, a person may even have his little heart calmed from fear of what the future holds as far as temporal goods. After all, if you have no food or home, if you have no money, if your health is shot, "what can man do to me?" Jesus lives, and now is death but the gate of life immortal. To live is Christ, and to die is gain. The Lord gives; the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

But then,
sometimes,
there's another loss.

What happens when God withholds His word? (Or, at least, it appears that that is His plan.)

God promises to uphold us in the Faith. God promises to do this through the Word, and only through the Word. When it appears that God Himself is abandoning a person, when God Himself (who is Truth itself) is reneging on His promise, that makes the loss of income or home or family or friends or health seem like piddly little problems.


God had told Abraham for decades that He would send a Savior. A Savior that would come through Abraham's son. Nope, the heir of Abraham's house wasn't gonna be a good enough heir. Nope, Abraham's son by his quasi-wife wasn't gonna be the one either. It would be Isaac. THAT was the son who was the promised seed of Abraham.

Then God said, "Kill him."

We tend to look at that story and think about the obvious.

GOD said, "Kill him"??? But this God says, "You shall not murder." This God disapproves of human sacrifice. What's up with the "Kill him"??

We think of how much Abraham and Sarah loved their son. They love him as much as we love our children. When a child dies, the parents' heart is broken! How could they inflict that sort of pain on themselves?

But both those are temporal difficulties. BIG difficulties, to be sure. But still, temporal, earthly difficulties.

When God told Abraham to kill Isaac, that meant something even bigger. "I'm taking away My promise. I told you that I would send a Savior who would be the son of Isaac. Well, now I'm asking you to kill Isaac."

Think about what that meant to Abraham. For all reasonable intents and purposes, God was saying that He was changing His mind and not sending a Savior after all. No Savior for Abraham and Sarah. No Savior for the world. No atonement for sin. No way to restore communion with God.

The loss of the world's salvation and the loss of God Himself is a whole lot bigger deal eeeeven than the loss of one's dearly beloved child. But any reasonable person could see that that was the consequence of killing the son through whom the promised salvation would come.

But even when it appeared incontrovertible that God was going back on His promise, He wasn't. And Abraham trusted that God knew what He was doing. God grant us to trust Him even when there's evidence that He "doesn't care."

Zion mourns in fear and anguish,
Zion, city of our God.
"Ah," she says, "how sore I languish,
bowed beneath the chastening rod!
For my God forsook me quite
and forgot my sorry plight."

"Let not Satan make thee craven.
He can threaten but not harm.
On My hands thy name is graven,
and thy shield is My strong arm.
How, then, could it ever be
I should not remember thee,
fail to build thy walls, My city,
and look down on thee with pity."

Past the Boundaries

When I was a little girl, there were places I could go. Places far far away from home. There was the playground: it was three blocks away! Then I got older and went to school: it was five blocks away! The two good buddies I made at school were girls who lived (pretty much) between me and school. In the neighborhood, we just didn't play with kids who lived more than a half-block away. So having friends from five blocks away was really stepping out into the big wide world!

Now I live in the country. I drive two miles before I even come to a stop sign. Four or five miles to the nearest little villages.

We're visiting my folks for a few days. Having skipped three out of the last four days jogging, I knew I couldn't allow myself to skip it while out of town again. So today I jogged down to the playground, and [gasp!] kept right on going past it! I usually jog two miles a day, and when I got to my grade-school, I had completed only 1/4 of my jog. So I had quite a ways to go yet before I could even turn around and head back home.

It's a funny feeling to go past the boundaries. It gives an odd feeling of being all grown-up, and yet the amazingly fresh memory of how "far away" those places were -- places that were once off-limits because of being a whole mile away. It's a funny feeling to be halfway home from my old grade-school, and see the intersection near my parents' house up ahead, and realize that if I were at home, traversing that distance wouldn't even take me to the next-door neighbor's house.

I can't even imagine how it must be for Texans and Alaskans to find themselves in a small midwestern city where everything is so close by, where the FAR end of town is about 15 minutes away, where that 15-minute radius can offer nearly any store or restaurant or entertainment you could wish for. Being from a place with low population density, in my hometown I now feel like a gawky tourist.

Poison in the Cup

Today's office hymn included the portions:
What God ordains is always good.
His loving thought attends me.
No poison can be in the cup
That my Physician sends me.
and later
What God ordains is always good.
Though I the cup am drinking
Which savors now of bitterness
I take it without shrinking.

Poison usually tastes bitter. It's a protection for us: the natural reaction to the bitter taste is to spit it out before the poison gets into you.

However, medicine usually tastes bitter too. (Or at least, it did in the old days before we came up with all the chemical concoctions we have for medicine now.)

So if I am drinking the cup which savors of bitterness, I will be inclined to think that it's poisonous. But it could be medicine from the Physician. Hard to tell, based just on the experience of bitter taste. According to the hymnist, what God gives will be good, even if it appears to my senses to be dangerously poisonous and distasteful.

A Good Pastor

Once upon a time, a congregation was between pastors. They asked a man to serve as vacancy pastor. Having a full-time job, and knowing their financial plight, for three years this man did not accept pay for his weekends preaching and teaching. Years later, people in the congregation would talk about what a good pastor he was, that he gave his paychecks back to the congregation.

It was certainly a generous and lovingly sacrificial thing to do. But what happens in the future when other pastors work full-time caring for the congregation and need their paychecks? According to the Gospel, we don't get what we deserve; God always gives us better than we deserve. If people cannot pay for a pastor, should they be deprived of one? Seems to me the answer should be "no." And yet, how then would the pastor provide for his family?

Girls Cry

Back in August, my young friend Matthew and I were talking about the new Harry Potter book. I'd recently finished it, and he was about halfway through. I said something about the parts that made me cry, but of course he didn't want to hear anything about it yet.

Several days later, Matthew had finished the book. We were talking about what we liked, what surprised us, what disappointed us, how we felt about different people's deaths, etc. One thing Matthew wanted to know was "So what was it that made you cry at the end?" He understood my tears over Percy's return. I also told him that I knew, about five pages before it happened, that Neville was going to kill Negini, and that just started the tears to flowing. "But that's a GOOD thing! Why would you cry over that???" I tried to explain, and the closest I could come was pointing out that sometimes people cry at weddings. Well, Matthew could understand how people would get emotional and cry from happiness at a wedding. But this was battle. This was Neville. This was defeating evil. This was altogether different from a wedding!

We fussed with each other about that for a bit. Then Matthew pulled his dad over, "Do you know what made her cry?? When Neville killed Negini! Can you believe that?" And his pa said, "Well, yes, Matthew. She's a girl." "What's that got to do with anything?" "Well, son, girls are different from boys. Get used to it. That's the way it is."

So last Thursday at church, an envelope was handed to me. Cash from an anonymous donor. I headed out the door and took a walk and cried.

Why cry? That's just stupid. The gift was a good thing!
Girls are different from boys.

Today a friend got tapped to be a mediator for another anonymous gift. After the first phone call, I headed out to jog, and I cried (with a smile on my face).

How stupid. The present is a good thing!
Girls are different from boys.

As the day progressed and we tried to finagle some arrangements to make this surprise work out, I realized that it might not work out. But you know what? (It's so cool!) Even if the tangible physical benefits of the gift didn't come through, the knowledge that somebody(s) loved us enough, cared enough, to bother with this ... just the knowledge that they tried to pull this off was awesomely and unbelievably buoyant. It was encouraging. It meant so much ... even if it didn't pan out.

Then came the bad news from the county and the repairman. But minutes later came the good news from our local looper-mediator that the plans were all in place from the anonymous folks who desire to provide some comfort to my family. That helps so much!

Tomorrow night -- long hot showers! Here we come!

And I am the poster-child for "girls are different from boys."
Because sometimes girls cry when it makes no sense at all.

Psalm 103:13

As a father pities his children,
So the Lord pities those who fear Him.
For the Lord knows our frame;
He remembers that we are dust.

No matter how weary I may be of carrying water, no matter how tired I may be of walking 400' in the rain and/or the chill just to go brush my teeth or use the potty, it's still easier than thinking of my kids having to do the same thing.

It always seems easier to be sick yourself than it is to ache over your children's sicknesses.

I think Mom is not having an easy time knowing our current difficulties with water. Likewise, I keep thinking that this is easier than it will be, someday, when Katie and Nathan are going through the same thing we're going through now.

Oh, how we [Harry Potter readers] can understand Molly at the very end of book #7, going after Bellatrix!

So when David tells us that the Lord has compassion on His children, it's not just the compassion of loving them so much because, after all, they are His children and not somebody else's. But He has the compassion of one who would rather suffer Himself than see His people hurting.

Carnival

For lots of good reading and ideas on homeschooling, the new week's collection of blog posts is listed at Why Homeschool. Enjoy!

Normal?

Everybody left the house this morning. EVERYBODY! Paul went to work. Andrew went to a volunteer job working at the horse barn. Philip is on a two-week temp job and it's days this time. Gary had Winkel (circuit pastors' conference). Maggie and I headed out to do errands.

Six people. Four cars. Five different directions.

The rest of the world thinks this is par-for-the-course. Yikes. What are homes for anyway??

Plumbing Update

Problems with the parsonage septic system were discussed today at church. As if the church wasn't having money problems enough, we are facing a repair bill equal to about 3-4 weeks of offerings. And that's if we're lucky and the whole system doesn't have to be replaced; the bill could be 3 months worth of offerings.

We've been using the kitchen and toilets and sinks at church as much as possible. Given the size of our family, the repairmen expected to have to pump out our non-operational septic tank twice a week. Over Labor Day weekend, we filled it to overfull in just four days; discovering that ugly surprise on Tuesday revealed the immensity of the problem. The tank was last pumped five days ago, and it's only half full. We're doing good on curtailing water usage!! Given what the repairmen said, it'll be another two weeks of trying not to let any water slip down any drains in the house. But we've decided to loosen the reins a bit and give the kids permission to go potty at home during the night instead of making them walk next door to church.

If the repairman finds the field in bad shape too, we'll need a whole new system. Then church will need to get bids. Furthermore, the rebuilding will take longer. I'm thinking it could be mid-October before I can enjoy simple pleasures such as washing up a dirty pot and letting the water just run down the drain.

Katie, when we come to visit, I'm going to get in your shower and drain the hot-water tank!

Practicing Lawlessness

Matthew 13:41 The Son of Man will send out His angels, and they will gather out of His kingdom all things that offend, and those who practice lawlessness, and will cast them into the furnace of fire.

Obviously, those who will have nothing to do with the law, those who live hedonistically, those who mock the importance of the law -- obviously they are "practicing lawlessness."

But isn't it also "lawless" to use the law in such a way that one thinks one is meriting God's favor? Wouldn't it be lawless to make a god out of obedience to the law?

Which Stanza Are We On?

How ingrained is that old hymnal, in ways that I don't even realize?

In LSB, some of the hymns have five stanzas in the music score. Whenever we get to verse 4, I skip to verse 5. I finally figured out why. Without even realizing it, my brain counts how many stanzas we're on. Number 4 means I sing the bottom line of words, right above the bass clef. That's what's been ingrained in me all my life. But now stanza #4 often isn't the bottom line, but the next-to-bottom line.

Even after I figured out the problem, I still keep making the mistake. I even will make the same mistake 3-4 times in the same hymn. I wonder how long it's going to take to drive that out of me.

Teaching Singing

Some kids just learn to sing naturally. Some don't.

For the last month, my 12-yr-old and I have been spending 5-10 minutes a day trying to have her match the pitch I play on the piano. The first several days we just stuck with one note that was in the middle of her comfortable range. Then we expanded to three notes. After a month, she can hit those three notes right most of the time on the first try. As she got better and better at those three notes, we've slowly expanded to a whole octave now. The accuracy on those new notes (the ones we've only been working on for two weeks) isn't quite there, but it's improving.

We started with steps ("seconds" for those of you who know music) and now have progressed to doing skips sometimes ("thirds"). We've also added "Glory Be to Jesus" because it's a rather simple song musically -- good for starters.

It still astounds me that it can be so hard and take SO much practice to learn where the notes are, and how to make your voice hit a particular note instead of just some note somewhere in the general vicinity. But persistent practice has paid off. I'm proud of what's she's pulled off and how much she's improved!

Grape Jelly

We didn't used to like grape jelly. That's because we got it from the store. Grape jelly made from your own grapes is altogether different.

But I found something to make it even better. I tried it two years ago and the jelly was fabulous. Went back to regular method last year, and the flavor of the jelly suffered (although it was still loads better than store jelly). Today I made grape jelly again and got a super-duper product.

Instead of smashing up the grapes and cooking them in water and extracting the juice, I put the grapes through my juicer. I have to send the leftover grape-mush through the juicer again and again, until it's finally dry enough that no more juice is being squeezed out. It makes a humongous mess; seeds flying everywhere and grape-stained hands and table. (I did the work outside.) Jelly made this way has such a good strong grapy flavor because no water is added. I used the pectin's recipe for grape jam instead of grape jelly, because so much of the fruit gets squeezed into the juice.

You'd never win a prize at the fair for this grape jelly: it doesn't have that clear, bejeweled look. And it's not lumpy enough to be proper jam. Nevertheless, the results make this jelly more valuable to me than any blue ribbon.

Twenty-six jars of jelly later, I learned two things. Jelly-making really does make me happy, and helps combat depression. (No wonder we've gotten totally overloaded with jam sometimes in the past.) Second, when you work in a kitchen with counter-space, everything is SO much easier! (I had to use the church kitchen because of the difficulty we're having with plumbing at the parsonage.)

Using Games

In the past, I was a sucker for any game which could be considered educational. We didn't play them as much as I envisioned myself playing board games or card games with the kids. Nevertheless, I kept picking up interesting-looking games at Goodwill, and now there's quite a stack. I need to clear out some space in this house, and have been sorting through those game piles.

We've been a little short on geography studies recently. So about a month ago, I took a "Carmen Sandiego" game, ditched the playing pieces and the board and instructions, and saved just the stack of trivia cards. We've been using two cards a day (4 questions per card) for geography. Some days it takes a couple of minutes. "Which country is the island of Sicily part of?" "What's the biggest country that touches the Asian part of Russia?" Other days we have to do some serious hunting in the atlas or looking up information in the encyclopedias.

These are multiple-choice questions. Often I avoid giving the kids the options, at least, at first. Today the question was "Which sea (named after a color) is in eastern Europe?" The choices were Black Sea, Red Sea, and Blue Sea. "Black Sea" was easy enough, even prior to their hearing the choices. But we looked at each other. Blue Sea?!!? We all felt like dummies, not having any clue where the Blue Sea was. Then we decided maybe it was a decoy answer. Sure enough, a quick peek in the index of the atlas revealed no such thing as a Blue Sea. Eight of these questions a day sure has given us a lot of geography study in a relatively fun and painless way, in little time segments, with no lesson planning on my part.

I would like to add the cards from some other games too. "Uncommon Sense" and "Hugger Mugger" are word games that come with a box of puzzle-cards. "Tri-Bond" is more well-known, and it would serve a certain child well in learning to see connections between words, learning to problem solve and think outside the box. I bought a game about animals and environments from National Geographic that would have lots of usable science questions in it. The game "Chronology" is about putting historical events in order. All of these sound like they could serve nicely, should we decide to do a few cards a day. This makes use of their educational value much more easily than hauling out a board game that's going to take 1-3 hours to play.

Job Hunts

Child #2 didn't getten chosen for the job that looked to be a likely prospect. Major bummers. But for others who, like him, are still hunting, child #3 has recommendations about avoiding monster.com as you look for employment.

Baby with the Bath-water

In movies of olden times, sometimes you see the women going to the door with a bucket of dirty dish-water, and throwing it out, into the street or onto the yard.

How come their shoes didn't get wet? And don't tell me that "they threw the water away from their feet." Yeah, sure. You try throwing a dozen or more buckets of water each day and see how dry your shoes stay.

And I wonder how many spoons they threw out into the street? You can't see through the dirty dish-water to see if you missed any of the dishes lurking in the bottom of the bucket. And whoopsie-splash, there go the spoons with the water.

Deuteronomy 23:18

You shall not bring the wages of a harlot nor the price of a dog to the house of Yhwh your God for any vowed offering, for both of these are an abomination to Yhwh your God.

The Bible verse of the week is from Deuteronomy 6: "These words which I command you today shall be in your heart. You shall teach them to your children." And I wondered, "What words? What words did Moses say to which he is referring here?"

So Monday I skimmed Deuteronomy to see what the words were. All rules? Anything about the promises? Anything about the sacrificial system? What?

And as I skimmed, my eyes happened to notice this one verse. "You shall not bring the wages of a harlot to the house of Yhwh." My first thought was that this verse must be the reason why some pastors say they wouldn't accept an offering that was given from a lottery/gambling winning.

But then the second thought slammed me. What about Mary Magdalene? She was one of the women who provided for Jesus and the apostles (Luke 8:1-3). And some of her money was ill-gotten gains. Nevertheless, her money provided for the tabernacle of Yahweh.

Romans 10:4 -- For Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes.

No Other Gods

It may be a humongous pain to have no way to dispose of water from your house. But it's way way better than not having water at all. As long as there's a potty nearby, you can take a walk to borrow a toilet. There are even porta-potties available to rent, should the weather become cold enough that you don't want to go for a walk to use the potty. There are laundromats to wash your clothes. And as long as you have a well that is operative, you can get drinking water and cooking water.

Sometimes we laugh in amazement at the Old Testament Israelites. Tempted to worship WHAT? A statue that they made for themselves out of gold? How dumb is that? Enticed into worshipping a totem pole? How could they be so idiotic?

And yet ...
one of my gods is my well and my plumbing. (Definition of "god": that which you need to be happy, and without which, life is just not okay.) Now, how totally stupid is THAT -- to have workable plumbing as a god? Certainly no better than a golden calf!

Before Me

Pastor has mentioned on various occasions that he likes "You shall have no other gods" much better than the older catechism which said "You shall have no other gods before Me." He says that, as a child, he thought it sounded like "You shall have no other gods before Me" meant that it was okay to have other gods, so long as you kept the true God as #1.

And yet, maybe that's the way it is.
Maybe that's the way it has to be.
Not that it's okay to have other gods.
But that we recognize that we do have other gods.
And that we always will in this life.
And having other gods does not mean we're not Christians.
It just means that we're Christians plagued by the Old Adam.
Having other gods is sinful and must be repented.
But struggling with that sin does not mean we are altogether lost.

Not Back to School

Public school started today. We've been hitting the books in a very UN-unschooly way for the last two weeks: with lists, and assignments, and grading papers, and other scary concepts.

But today, to celebrate the Passing-By Of The School Bus, some friends from the city came down and went to the beach with us. Laura writes about it on her blog and shares the pictures. That was the nice part of the day.

The Problem with Homeschooling

Here's the problem with homeschooling. Your children use the water in your house. (I mean, really, now, can you believe they DO such an outlandish thing?!?) So when you don't have water, then your children do not have the option to do their flushing at school, cannot take their showers after P.E. at school, and cannot have their dinner dishes washed at school by the ladies who work in the cafeteria.

CoW and Woodmans

The women are mad.

Changes are being made to my beloved grocery store. They expanded the produce section, moved some aisles, did a little rearranging. Nobody can find anything. Every trip to the grocery store results in commiserating with total strangers (or overhearing others commiserating with other total strangers) about where the brown rice went, or where the salad dressing went, or where the spices went. I can no longer tell Child-A to run down a certain aisle and fetch the peanut butter while Child-B runs down another aisle to fetch the lemon juice while I head down a third aisle to pick up pasta. We must hunt for our food.

I. am. not. a. lioness.
It is not right to have to hunt for food in Woodmans.

It takes twice as long to do the grocery shopping now.
(One of those Total Strangers told me it's taking her three times as long to buy her groceries now.)

A month or so ago, when the renovations were just beginning, I was searching for sunflower nuts. They weren't where they belonged. I found a complete mess in the next aisle over. Carts in aisle 3 were full of what had been pulled off the shelves in aisle 4. Employees jam-packed aisle 3, putting items back on the shelf. No customer cart would fit through that aisle. Abandoning my cart at the end of the aisle, I managed to squeeze my way through, hunting for my sunflower seeds. A manager asked if he could help. I teased about their moving things all around. Then he made the mistake.

He told me that they weren't "moving things all around." They were only taking the contents of each aisle and moving them one aisle to the north. Ha! I started rattling off for him which things were in different places, and how things had been on the top shelf on the south side of the aisle, but were now on a middle shelf on the north side of the aisle, and further west. After hearing a mere START on list of items that had been hidden (NOT "just moved over an aisle"), he halted me and admitted that, yes indeed, maaaybe some things had been "moved" a little more than he'd realized.

The women who are hunting the aisles for spaghetti sauce and apple sauce and cheese sauce all understand this! But the ones making the changes don't think it's any big deal. They're making improvements! They're giving us a better store! It's all to serve us better! The women are mad.




The Commission on Worship was given the unenviable task of combining two old hymnals into one new hymnal. Changes had to be made, due to choosing either the TLH version or the LW version. Like at my grocery store, the changes are noticeable. Every little spot in the new hymnal where there's something like "He imparteth consolation" changed to "There He sends true consolation," I notice. Every place where a half note and then a quarter note is switched around to a quarter then a half, I notice. When they left out a stanza or two (say, for instance, in "The Church's One Foundation" or "Jesus, Thy Boundless Love to Me") I stumble.

Circumstances will force me to get used to the grocery store, whether or not I like the changes. If I make a mistake in the renovated grocery store, if I can't find the cat food, I have to search and search and search until I conquer. That's not how it is with the renovated hymnal though. If I stumble over words, if I am distracted by the changes to the point that I cannot pray the hymns and the psalms, there's no "natural consequence" to remedy that. Those hymns and psalms aren't likely to show up again for months, or even until next year.

Now that we're suffering through the growing pains of getting ourselves back into one hymnal shared amongst all the synod, I hope that next time there's a new hymnal, the changes really will be so minor that it does not cause pain. Ot (like at my grocery store) will some people think "new and improved" is more important than sticking with what people know? The store has a vested interest in shuffling things around; it's a ploy to get people to see more items and thus spend more money. The Church, however, has a vested interest in not changing; the saints need to have the liturgy and hymns ingrained deeply into their beings.

Raspberry Candy

Until a couple of years ago, I'd never had schnapps. All I knew about schnapps was that it was popular among my classmates in high school. Schnapps or beer: that was what I heard under-age people drank at parties.

Then my friend Sandy mentioned putting peach schnapps in her tea. Now, I love peach tea! But it's a lot more expensive than the plain black Lipton or Luzianne. So I checked out this schnapps concept. Turned out that (with a rebate) I could bring home a whole bottle of peach schnapps from the liquor store for only $2. That's less than one package of Bigelow or Celestial Seasonings tea.

Schnapps IS good in tea.
Turned out it was pretty good straight too. (No wonder it was so popular among kids.)

Last winter I was having raspberry cravings. My berry canes didn't bear, and there was no raspberry jam, no raspberry pie, no raspberry juice, no raspberry nothin'. So I decided to check out a bottle of Bols black raspberry liqueur. Oh my goodness! It was SO good. I think my son was concerned that I was becoming an alcoholic: I drank up the whole bottle in less than a month. (C'mon. It's less potent than the port wine we use for communion. Just one drink a day, and the bottle would be polished off in a week and a half.)

When Philip was expressing concern to Rachel that Mom was drinking that raspberry stuff too fast, I had him taste it. Then I had Rachel taste it. They both thought what I thought: wow, this is the best raspberry candy I ever ate! Tried some out on Sandy too; she thought it was really good.

It goes great in a fruit smoothie. Black raspberry liqueur goes great on top of ice cream. And you know what I tried it in yesterday? Instead of vanilla in the granola recipe, I tried the raspberry liqueur. Oh my goodness, didn't that turn out yummy!

What You Have Commanded

This week's collect is
Almighty and everlasting God, give us an increase of faith, hope, and charity; and that we may obtain what You have promised, make us love what You have commanded; through Jesus Christ,...

I've always heard that in such a works-righteous way. "So that we can get the stuff You promised, make us love to do obey the Ten Commandments and all those other rules."

But what are some of Jesus' commands?
Go and baptize (Mt 28).
Sending out the apostles (Jn 20).
Forgiving the penitent (Mt 18).
Take; eat; this is My body (1 Cor 11).
Feed My lambs (Jn 21).

If He causes us to love these things He has commanded (the call to repentance, the preaching of forgiveness, and the Sacraments), we will most certainly "obtain what He has promised."

BIG Spoon

Maybe I'm getting gross in my old age. Or maybe I'm getting practical. Sometimes you have to stir a big mess o' something. Meatloaf. Bread dough. Biscuits. Tortilla dough. Lettuce salad. Fruit salad. I have broken so many handles on big plastic spoons. And when I use a good, sturdy-handled spoon, it takes so long to mix those things.

But hands..... hands are very good utensils. They're big. You have two of them. (Well, most of us do.) They even have fingers that aren't stuck in one position. Sure is a lot faster to mix up a humongous fruit salad with your clean hands than with a couple of spoons.

When a neighbor taught me to make tortillas, the recipe called for "cutting the lard into the flour." (Are you listening, Rachel? Pie crust hint here.) She said you coooould cut in the fat with a pastry blender, or you could cut it in with two knives being wielded scissors-like. But she said what worked best was just mixing it with your hands, pinching the lard into the flour, making smaller and smaller pieces of the fat until it was "crumbly" or "the size of small peas" or whatever the recipe calls for.

Personally, I prefer the oil pie crust that Rachel made for her apple pie. But let it not be said that she lacks the equipment for making a pie crust with lard. If you can imagine the ASL sign for "money," that's basically what you do with the fat/flour mix, running it through your fingers with that rubbing motion. And you didn't want to take the peels off the apples anyhow: more flavor with the peels, more nutrition, more color.

Psalm 92 and Works

For You, Lord, have made me glad through Your work;
I will triumph in the works of Your hands.
O Lord, how great are Your works!

What is His work? Making me glad? Creating the world? "Wealth, peace, and gladness, comfort in sadness"? These are indeed His works. "All the glory be Thine."

And yet, the pre-eminent work is His passion. His suffering. His death. His paying the price for our rebellion. That is what makes me glad. That is what is great. That is where I find my triumph.

The only other "work" in the psalm is "workers of iniquity." Strangely (or not so strangely???) there is no reference to work done by the saints. The righteous grow. The righteous flourish. The righteous bear fruit.

Toady

Earlier this week, one of Maggie's exercises for auditory therapy was to narrate back a short non-fiction paragraph on the differences between toads and frogs. We have toads. Lots of toads. Baby toads sing sweet music on spring evenings. Grown-up toads gulp down mosquitos. (Gotta love those toads these days!) But Maggie has little experience with frogs. Serendipitously, that evening, shortly after Mags went to bed, a tree frog appeared on the living room window. I got her out of bed to see it, and its little sitcky footpads, and how skinny its body, and how smooth its skin.

My children and I, however, are hiding indoors these days. Even with screens on the windows, even taking shelter indoors as much as possible, our skin is as bumpy as a toad's. I don't hold much hope for these mosquitos to be gone until after some good hard frosts.

I hear tell that the parsonage is being painted on Saturday. The prep work will be done on Wednesday, which involves taking the screens off the windows. We are NOT having screenless windows open this week! We'll all have malaria or West Nile or something! I guess that means I have to resolve my mind to the fact that I'm going to have to endure air-conditioning later this week. (The house will be closed up; time to haul out the allergy meds.)

Fear, Love, and Trust

I remember asking in Sunday School and adult Bible class and even in college theology classes about that word fear. I asked a gazillion times. I was never satisfied with the answer.

The popular answer in the last few decades is that it doesn't reeeeally mean "fear." It means "reverant awe." I bought that for a while. But I don't any more.

After several years of regularly going to private confession, I suddenly realized that I fear my pastor. But I love him. And I trust him. HOW can you be afraid [and I mean shaking-in-your-boots, knees-knocking, palm-sweating afraid] of someone that you love so deeply and trust so thoroughly? It doesn't make sense. But I know from experience now what it is to "fear, love, and trust."



So yesterday, we be readin' some history. The section we were on was the death of King Charles of Sweden, and his final advice to Gustav Adolph. One of the sentences was "Fear God."

So Maggie asks, "Fear God???? Why would he tell his son to fear God? That sounds like you should be afraid of Him."

So the mother says, "Well, .... uh, .... yeah. What's the problem with that?"

So the child says, "But God loves us. Why would you tell anyone to be afraid of God?"

And the mother, feeling totally hopeless, feeling like all has been futile, and wondering if the child has ever listened to the words coming out of her own mouth, responds, "You shall have no other gods. What does this mean?"

And child says, "We should fear, love, and trust in God above all things."

Mommy says, "We should do WHAT? Why would you tell someone to fear God?"

Yikes!
Stymied!
Confusion!
Hey! What's going on here?

So the ever-helpful teenager assists his little sister. "Well, Maggie! Aren't you afraid of Mom sometimes?!?"




Hmmmmm. It's one thing to realize you yourself fear your beloved pastor. It's another thing altogether to realize your children are discussing that you are the fearsome one.

Slave to the To-Do List

I make lists. I must. I have no memory. I remember a friend telling me once that list-making wasn't good. If it was important, you'd remember it. For example, you remember to make dinner every day without its being on the list. (Actually, I've gotten so busy and so forgetful these days, that I do have to put "dinner" on the to-do list.) She didn't make grocery lists either; if it was important, she'd remember to buy it. And if she forgot, and if it was important enough to need, she'd just go back to the store. That's definitely easier for someone to say when she lives 2 minutes from a variety of stores. For me, running to town to pick up what I forgot will cost me two hours and $7 in gas.



Tena has been writing about her new venture of homeschooling -- the days that go well and the days that make you want to pull your hair out and run screaming to the airport to escape to a new (and lonely) life in the Bahamas. Life has interfered with her well-laid homeschooling plans, but she's dealing with it, and putting the priorities where they belong (such as the new roof on the house).

Why can't I do that any more?

I used to know that the learning that happened with LIFE was more important than the schoolbooks. I simply couldn't comprehend the idea of people turning down an opportunity for a really cool fieldtrip because they had seatwork to accomplish with the kids. I couldn't understand how real-life learning could be supplanted by the all-important textbook.

But now I'm falling into that trap.

"Help me! I've fallen, and I can't get up!"


We have taken to making to-do lists for school. One child will keep up with his work quite well, as long as I've got a detailed check-list for him to follow. Another child will keep plugging away at his master-list for high-school requirements, trying to get finished in a timely way so as to get on to the next step in life. The youngest child loves to check things off her list ... even if she's not exactly doing the things on the list. If certain students need micro-managing, I don't have the energy to keep straight all the micro-managing swirling around in my brain and coming out my voice. Some of the micro-managing must be relegated to The List.

But then that list has power. Too much power. A power that I don't approve of, and yet am enslaved to, somehow.

I spent over 6 hours driving on Wednesday. Today will be nearly 6 hours by the time I crash into bed tonight. There are problems with the septic, so yesterday was spent trying to identify the problem, and today was dealing with repairmen. Philip has been getting "lessons" in vehicle shopping. Today the purchase was made, and he got lessons in sizable business transactions and then doing what must be done to appease the government and give them their cut. One little girl garnered herself the biggest punishment she ever had in her short life. Then there's laundry and cooking and bread-baking and job. (Forget the cleaning.)

And still,
all the while,
The List sits there with its silent demands
that math be done
and history be discussed
and physics be studied
and currents events be read
and so forth and so on.

On the one hand, buying Philip's car and fixing the septic is higher priority than today's physics sub-chapter. (Just as Tena was saying about their roof being more important than textbook lessons.) And yet, that basic academic stuff gets relegated to the back burner all too easily. That's okay when the kids are interested in life and learning and books. But if they're not.... well, then, somebody somewhere sometime has to divert their attention from the Veg-Out Screen. Even when Real Life comes calling with its incessant demands. Somebody once told me that it's all about the urgent usurping the place of what is most important. But the urgent needs are "urgent" for a reason.

And I just don't know how to deal with the conundrum.

What Now?

It's not raining, but the basement keeps getting wetter. And it stinks. This is not a good sign.

Busy Work

As a homeschooling mom, I used to detest busy work. Unfortunately, plenty of what's available in homeschool catalogs is busy work. Even worse, a huge amount of the work kids do in conventional school is a waste of time. Do kids really need to write out complete answers to the questions at the end of a chapter? Or is it enough to know the answers to the questions, and not even write out any answer (much less complete sentences). Do you even need questions at the end of the chapter? Maybe it's enough for the kids to know what they read!

But this year, I'm looking for busy work to assign. I feel like a wash-out as a teacher to have to resort to this. These days I have to be too specific about what I'm requiring of the kids. I'm having to micro-manage them more than is healthy. But if someone would be content playing video games and reading comic books all day, I'm not okay with that. Busy work may not be educational. It may not be stimulating. It may not encourage thinking skills. But it can keep someone [ta-da!] busy! If busy work prevents a kid from studying salutary topics, then the busy work is harmful to education. But right now, I'm not seeing any harm that could come from a vast increase in amount of assignments.

Clean Refrigerator

Things are crazy-busy right now. And my brain is filled with thoughts of articles I'd like to write, a place where I'd like to try to get a job, and a host of other NEW responsibilities to add to the to-do list. Why do I get the urge to start new projects when I can't even handle the duties I have now?

And then the thought occurred to me: if I'm doing such a lousy job at what I'm busy with now, maybe I could have success if I did something different. Failing at this job? Find a different job where I be great! Sounds reasonable. Except that the jobs I currently have are the ones most important to me, and the last thing they need is MORE neglect.

And that is why my refrigerator is clean today. Philip and I were disappointed in the car we looked at this morning for him. My car is in the shop for a $1600 bit of upkeep. I'm telling myself that paid employment is not the solution to anything; it would just distract from the more important work of cooking and cleaning and teaching (and taking Maggie to the beach). So instead of contacting a potential employer, I just cleaned the fridge instead. Okay, so it's a small success. But it is a success nonetheless. Now, to keep car-hunting and mowing and doing history with the boys and all those other things.

Daily Bread

I don't want to pray for daily bread. I want the month's bread (actually the year's bread, or better yet, the decade's bread) lined up as a sure and certain thing. So I get terribly uneasy when the finances at church are iffier than usual.

And then what does God go and do? A thank-you check surprisingly arrives in the mail from the son of a shut-in. And an anonymous envelope of cash is handed to me. And a friend shows up to visit, bringing all sorts of spare garden produce. And a gift-card arrives in the mail from a friend. And a small check is given to the pastor. Then a neighbor arrives with treats from an over-abundant garden.

These things may not be enough to replace a paycheck (but they sure help). But I think that's not the point. God can provide for us as He wills, whether the "normal" means are in place or not.

I wonder if I'll ever learn to believe that.

Back to School?

Jane wrote up a great explanation of what LEARNING looks like when kids aren't coerced or forced into it. Highly recommended reading!

Interruptions

The sand was really wet at the beach on Saturday. Almost no one was there, including the life-guards. I wanted to spend my time there doing some paperwork while Maggie played in the water. So I plunked myself down on the [dry!] concrete base of the life-guard stand.

After working for about 10 minutes, a couple showed up. They too wanted to use the base of the life-guard stand, so that their towels didn't end up wet before they were even used. But then they sat down and started talking. Loudly. Only 6' from me. He had a piercing voice and was intent on convincing her to become one of his salesman. He was passionate (and vocal) about how great his business was.

Y'know, it's really hard to concentrate on grammar and punctuation and the nuances of particular words and how they're put together, when somebody is so intent on talking about window wells and how to increase the numbers of people who recognize that his window wells are superior to any others available. So later, when I got home, Gary asked how much I'd accomplished. I told him my pitiful tale of woe about not making much progress on my editing. (Hey, at least I got to watch the sailboats and look at the pretty lake!)

So yesterday, something happened which cauesd Gary to make an allusion to Someone who interrupted and chattered on and on endlessly so that I was unable to get my work done. And a certain young girl piped up from the next room, "You're talking about me."

I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Ended up laughing. I guess maybe she actually does realize how much she interrupts, after all. Now, to work on controling it....

Subtraction Made Easier

I hate checking the kids' subtraction when they have problems like
5006
-347.

I can do it. I am a mathematician, after all. But right now, my brain is stressed enough keeping up with the laundry and bread-baking, so checking three people's math daily without answer keys is just more effort than I wish to expend.

But you know what I discovered today? (Oh, this is SO cool!)

I'll use the above problem for an example.
Rather than having the 6 run next-door to the 0 to borrow (or "regroup" as we're supposed to say in these modern days), and then have the 0 run next-door to the 0 to borrow, and then have the 0 run next-door to borrow from the 5, and then to trickle the regrouping all the way back,...

have the 6 run-next door to the 500. Borrow 1 from the 500, and it becomes 499. And then you're all set to subtract the rest of the problem!

How easy is that?

Dry Carpet

It's been over 48 hours since we last had rain. I think August 5 was the last time we could say that we'd gone even 24 hours without rain. Almost the whole basement carpet is dry; there are just a few damp spots where it was the wettest.

I gotta post this quickquick, because the sky is heavy, the lightning is flashing, the thunder is rolling, and my initial sentence will not be true if I wait much longer to say it.

Harm in Waiting for 14

My friend Pr Stuckwisch commented recently on first communion practices in relationship to confirmation practices. On another blog, several pastors took issue with what Pastor had written.

One pastor made the point that we ought never change our practices unless they are shown to be contrary to God's word. His point was that our current confirmation traditions might not be the best, but it IS our practice, and we ought not change from it.

I agree with the principle: we ought always to avoid change unless it can't be helped. For example, I'm still having a very hard time with the new hymnal, and will for a long time. I hate change, especially at church. Like one of the Motley Magpie guys wrote: "But We Don't Do It That Way" is the laymen's protection against renegade pastors who want to make changes that they oughtn't.

But the question remains. Is our current practice contrary to God's Word? Does it cause harm?

I think we underestimate the harm it does to people when they are not allowed to commune until they are teenagers. But beyond the waiting period, does our current practice do any harm?

Yes.

What does it teach me about my worthiness?

Seven years ago we were attending a friend's ordination. The communion announcement in the bulletin said that anyone with doubts ought not commune. It just so happens that that same morning I had gone to private confession and confessed doubts which Pastor had forgiven, and yet the doubts were not automatically and instantaneously overcome. Pastor had also said that no one can ever be free of doubts until he assumes room temperature; that's what the sinful nature is, a doubter. So if having a sinful nature (with its doubts) makes us unworthy to commune, then no one could commune. I really struggled during the ordination service with whether it would be okay to commune. [Would I desecrate the holy things? Would I bring harm to myself?] But I finally decided to rely on Pastor's word that the Supper is strength and life and is given even to me who is unworthy.

But that day sent me into a tailspin. How do I know I'm worthy? How do I know my faith measures up? After all, we are told that children are not worthy to commune because they don't have the right kind of faith. Children can't reflect upon their faith. Children might not be able to properly "discern the body" and thus may eat to their judgment. Children cannot examine themselves.

Well, how do I know that I examine myself properly? How do I know that I am properly discerning the body? How do I know whether my faith is mature enough?

I asked these questions. My friends (some of whom were pastors) assured me that my faith was the right kind of faith. They cited proof of why they knew I was worthy. I'd been confirmed. I attended church every week and longed to hear the Word. I could recite the catechism. I could reflect upon my faith. They were sure that I could "discern the body" (whatever that means).

Every assurance somehow or other pointed me to myself.
Which only made the doubts greater.
Which only made the sense of unworthiness deeper.
Which only served to make me fear the Sacrament.

My pastor, however, kept pointing me to Jesus and His promises and what He had done and what He wanted to give in the Supper. Whenever I argued and sassed back at him about my unworthiness and my doubts, he would point me to Jesus. But he couldn't be right. He couldn't! That's just contrary to what's taught in Missouri Synod: that I can be unworthy because of my age or my maturity or my knowledge or my understanding or my ability to reflect upon my faith. And if I can be unworthy for these reasons when I am 10 yrs old or 7 yrs old or 4 yrs old, then I have no confidence that I am "beyond that" just because I'm middle-aged now.

Eventually I came to the conclusion that the "judgment" of sickness or death (which some people say will come to some Christians, based on 1 Corinthians 11) was something I was willing to endure so as to be able to receive Jesus' body and blood and the forgiveness therein.

I figured I was the only one who had ever contemplated such things, who had ever struggled with such thoughts. But then I was talking to a young friend who had had the same fears. He said that from the time of his confirmation until about 5-6 years later, he was always afraid to commune. He did anyway. But it was unsettling because he was sure he wasn't communing "worthily." After all, if young children aren't capable of communing worthily, what makes me any more worthy than them? The only way my friend got over his uncertainty was when he had a new pastor who stubbornly pointed my friend's eyes away from himself and his "faith" to look instead at The Faith -- the truth of what Jesus did to redeem him and the promises attached to the elements of the Sacrament.

Those who are harmed by the practice of 8th-grade confirmation are not just those who are barred from the Supper.

Grocery Prices

It's so frustrating to see the grocery prices. Cheese has gone up 50% since early spring. Flour has gone up 50% in less than a year. Eggs went up 50% in the last half-year. Olive oil has gone up 50% in the last year. Apples have gone up 50% in the last two years. The cheapest brand of frozen vegetables went up 50% in the last half-year.

I'm not sure what to do to cut costs anymore. When you're already pinching pennies, when you're already making everything from scratch, when you're already buying the cheapest off-brands available at the cheapest grocery store in the state, what more could be done to cut the grocery bill? Honestly, the only thing I can think of is to survive mostly on potatoes or beans-n-rice. But we already eat less meat than most families. Given that we buy whole hogs and sides of beef from local farmers, the price-per-pound on meat is about the same as apples and eggs, about half the price of cheese, and only twice the cost of flour. So even being vegetarian wouldn't save that much in food costs.

I just have to keep telling myself that food is the priority. Animals spend most of their energy feeding themselves. If most of our income has to go to food, that's okay; it's not much different than most people throughout most of history have done. (But sometimes it's hard when you see the out-of-towners paying $100/hr per person for for the whole family to spend an afternoon jet-skiing on vacation.)

Fermentation

Years ago, we had planned a camping trip with my folks. I had filled the cooler as full as it would go, but I still had a 1-gallon jug of iced tea to take. I figured, hey, no biggie for it to sit out at room temperature for a while. Think of how often we make a cup of hot tea and forget it, and it's fine. Think of how often we leave the jug of iced tea sitting out for hours, and it's fine.

It was a plenty-warm day. We stopped by the library for about an hour on our way to the campground. We stopped by the grocery store briefly. The tea didn't fit in their cooler at the campsite, nor in the little dorm fridge either. So it sat in a shady spot. The next day I anticipated a nice glass of sweet tea, opened the lid, and found white and green fuzz on top. Mold? On tea? In less than 24 hours? Eeeeuuuuuwwww!



The other day, we got to talking about food preservation. Sugar may be bad for you, but it does help preserve food. So do salt and acids (such as vinegar). So does drying. But it's kind of amazing how I can make a jug of sweet tea today, and put 4 ounces of kombucha tea into it, along with a kombucha "mushroom," and a week later there's no spoilage. No mold. No food poisoning. I think about that long-ago gallon of iced tea from our camping trip, and I realize that it's significant that my kombucha doesn't grow mold as it ferments. But that sure sheds light for me on the reasons behind wine-making and beer-making throughout history. Fermenting somehow prevents spoilage.

And I thought I'd learned so much from reading the Little House series. Ma never preserved food that way, though!

Waiting for Synod-Wide Consensus?

Some people think that it is wrong for pastors to commune children prior to end of eighth grade. The most common practice in our church body is to confirm kids at that age, and some people think no one should deviate from that because it causes "disunity" and an uncomfortable feeling for the pastors who are asked about communing a 10-yr-old visitor or transfer.

Lex orandi, lex credendi.
What we pray is what we believe.
Likewise, what we practice influences what we believe.

The practice of confirming/communing children at such a late age has influenced what we believe about worthiness and readiness and discernment. Some pastors come to realize the harm in waiting so long to commune children who yearn to receive the Supper. Should they wait until they have synodical approval to commune 10-yr-olds or 7-yr-olds? How could these pastors even be heard when most of their brothers have come to believe that it's necessary to be 14 (or older) before being capable of being "worthy"? And as the current practice continues, it continues to influence people to accept the error that the Supper is merited by achieving a certain level of education in theology.

Procrastinator Tips

First, a couple of serious ones.

Do the things you most want to do when you have the most energy to do them.

When you're feeling stuck in your work, don't stop working. Wor on something else, like trimming your lawn, cleaning your house, or organizing your closets.


And then some others.

Overworking can kill brain cells; procrastination can re-grow them. Balance the two for optimum health.

If procrastination had only negative consequences, very few people would engage in it.

Big, Bad, Scary Neighbors

Last night Gary and I watched To Kill a Mockingbird. I had an ADD attack and noticed something that's somewhat beside-the-point in the movie: the kids had a big, bad, scary neighbor who wasn't really bad.

When I was little, we had a neighbor across the street that scared all the kids. We were afraid to walk on the sidewalk in front of her house. Some of the kids said she was a witch. I can't remember if she ever actually came out and yelled at any of us or threatened any of us, but we were convinced that she would. I was afraid of getting hit by her broom. Because of the fear factor, it was considered the height of bravery among the children to go do something pesty to her -- like walking on the sidewalk by her house AND making a lot of noise while you did.

I asked Gary if he had neighbors who had a similar reputation. He did.

Is this something common to childhood? Or maybe it WAS common to childhood. My kids grew up without neighbors (for the most part) so there was nobody to be frightened of. It could be that children are allowed outside on their own so little these days, and they have so few friends in the neighborhood these days, and even grown-ups know their neighbors so little these days, that maybe such fears are confined to a bygone era.

But now I wonder if those big, bad, scary neighbors were just nice, normal people who were annoyed by children stealing their apples or berries, or throwing rocks at their roof. Maybe the big, bad, scary neighbors weren't unreasonable at all, but just gained the reputation. I don't know. I guess I'm wondering if I'll grow up to be a big, bad, scary neighbor myself.

Rainy Season

I think I've got everything up off the basement floor or in plastic tubs so that the incoming water won't hurt it. We don't have it bad. Just damp carpet and some small puddles in the basement. Thankfully the sump pump is working diligently. I keep emptying dehumidifiers too. I can't imagine what it's like for others in our area, seeing as how we sit on one of the highest points of the whole township. And then there are people in other townships who live by rivers!

The whole world smells wet and mildewy. It didn't last week. Last week it just smelled wet and muddy. In places that have rainy seasons, how do/did people fight mildew without clothes-dryers and dehumidifiers? Everything is wet. The walls here are wet. Our chairs are wet. We open the kids' schoolbooks and the pages are wet. I'm doing laundry frequently, because the sweaty clothes and rain-dampened clothes can't be air-dried to await laundry day 3-4 days hence.

And Maggie wants to go to the beach.

Not Enough Light?

It's been dark. Two weeks of near-constant rain means dark skies to rival January's short days and lack of sunlight.

Some people swear by the benefits of light-therapy boxes. I wouldn't know. They're expensive and they take too much time/attention to use. However, some measure of relief can be found in simpler and cheaper ways.

Go outside for 20-30 minutes every day. Do it even when it's not very sunny, because there's still more sunlight outdoors than there is in your house. Don't do it early in the morning or late in the day; do it when the sun is reasonably UP in the sky so you get drenched with more of those happy rays. Go outside for your sunshine even though you don't have time for it. Some of us need the sunshine more than we need to brush our teeth or take our showers.

Eliminate curtains if at all possible. Even when they're open, they probably cut down on the light coming in the windows.

"Natural light" bulbs (such as Reveal) don't do what light-therapy does. But they sure serve the purpose in a much better way than plain old fluorescents or incandescents.

Find things to do by your sunny windows. When you're reading books to a kid (to whom you never read enough anyway...) do it by a sunny window. When you're mending, do it by the sunny window. Move your computer to a place near a window. Watch how the cats always find a sunbeam to sit in. Then steal the cat's spot.

Depression

Check out my friend's primer on what to say to a depressed friend.

Curiosity

There was no end to the kids' curiosity when I was a young mother. We wondered about the stars. We wondered about the cake batter and what each ingredient did. We wondered about the fire trucks. We wondered about certain periods of history. We wondered about what it would be like to live in the Bahamas or Alaska. The kids played dress-up. They acted out scenes from our history read-alouds. They played trucks and dolls. They asked questions (and cared about the answers).

With the younger kids, life was different. A lot of time was spent in doctors' offices and waiting rooms and doing therapy. Life was also different in that the older kids had movies and books and music that were for teenagers, not for little kids. Life was also different in that we'd gotten a usable computer. Curiosity and imagination were not nurtured in the youngest kids as it was in the older ones. And it shows in their attitude toward learning today, and it may affect them the rest of their lives.

A couple of years ago I ran across a book called Raising Curious Kids by Nancy Sokol Green. At the time I thought it looked fun, but it didn't contain anything I didn't already know how to do: questions to ask, goofy experiments to try, projects to experience. The subtitle is "Over 100 Simple Activities to Develop Your Child's Imagination." If there's one thing I could prescribe to make it easier to homeschool high-schoolers, this would be it: start 10-12 years ahead of time, stimulating curiosity and imagination and thinking-outside-the-box in your preschoolers.

Ephesians 2:10

Sunday's epistle concluded with the words
For we are His workmanship,
created in Christ Jesus for good works,
which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them.

I tend to hear that as proof that God created us for the purpose of Being Good. I also tend to hear that in a rather fatalistic way, like we're robots doing the good works that have been laid out for us to accomplish.

But that doesn't fit with the rest of what the Bible says.

I noticed this week that the preceding verse says that faith does not come by works. But then this verse goes on to talk about God's works.

I noticed too this week some connections to other verses. Paul say in 2 Corinthians 5, "If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away, behold, all things have become new." We are created in Christ Jesus for good works. I find it hard to believe that Paul is talking about two separate things when the wording is so similar. And then, talking in Galatians 2 about works and the place of the Law, Paul reminds us that it is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me.

Pr Wiest told us that the "good works that we walk in" are Christ's work. We "walk in them" by faith.

Old things have passed away;
behold, Jesus makes all things new.

Can I Help?

When Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

So they try to happy-up Momma. Somebody wants to give hugs. Somebody offers to bake cookies. (With chocolate.) Somebody offers to do an unusual chore (like car washing or carpet shampooing).

WHY (why why why?) don't they understand that the thing that will happy-up Momma is just doing what they're supposed to do? Just the plain old boring stuff? Do the chores that are your chores. Maybe even go wild and crazy, and do them without being reminded! Do the schoolwork on your to-do list. Bite your tongue when the sibling-squabbles begin.

I don't need the carpet shampooed when the bathroom hasn't even been cleaned. I don't need a hug to make me happy; I need the munchkins to quit fighting over which bed the cat sleeps on. Why is this so hard for them to understand?

At least today was better than yesterday!

Engfish

Paul started his first college class today. Well, that's not precisely true. Last year he took a class in electronics which was self-paced. (Essentially a self-taught homeschoolish class at the local tech school for which he got real live college credit.) But today was his first regular class with a regular teacher and regular students and regular assignments. Kinda sorta like Claire's first day of school. Only Paul is significantly older.

I predict he's going to do well in this class.

His huge whoppin' assignment for this week is to read a short article and figure out what "Engfish" is. I think it took him about 15 minutes. Whatever happened to that rule-of-thumb that a kid is supposed to spend at least two hours prepping for every hour in class???

After Andrew and Paul and I did grammar together, and after he had answered his parents' nosy questions about how his class went, I was curious. I wanted to read this article too! It was great. It was a homeschool mommy's dream! It was all about how writing should be about communicating ideas, about writing expressively, about interesting writing. AND the article was about how schools stomp this out, how schools teach boring writing, "proper" writing, dull writing.

Just an hour or two earlier, I had read over Andrew's writing assignment for today. It was interesting! I tried not to gush too much, but it was SO much better than last time we had officially worked on writing lessons. His exercises were not dull. He used interesting words (even if he couldn't spell them precisely). He used colorful (but not fakey) phrasing. I was so impressed with his writing! And it's because last year he was writing in "Engfish" (the "proper" school writing) and this year he was just "talking on paper." And then Paul brought home this article -- serendipitous!

Paul's writing IS charming. It's interesting. It makes a person laugh almost as much as Paul's witty in-real-life commentary. His spelling and grammar probably aren't quite what they should be. But even those have come a long long way in the last couple of years. But, oh!, the way he writes is just a joy to read. I think his prof is going to like him.

Now, if only she will teach him how to write a term paper and make footnotes!! I hate teaching the procedures on research papers almost as much as I hate teaching sewing.

Stuff

Lucked out today at the DMV! We have been needing to get Andrew's (non-driving) state ID card renewed. I sat tight yesterday and didn't go, because Monday tends to be a horribly busy day. When we showed up today, we didn't even have time to sit down and wait before they called us; we walked straight to the window. Yee haw!

Andrew also needs new sandals. But his feet are bigger than what's available in stores. Payless theoretically carries his size, but usually not wide enough. And when they do have some in his size, there are usually only a handful of choices. So I websurfed for sandals in his size. Oy! The price! We wanted some $5 flip-flops. Fat chance.

It's not raining today! Finally a chance to cut hay. (No, we don't have cattle. No, we don't have timothy and alfalfa growing. It's just the lawn.) The newspaper reports that the average August rainfall is 4". The day Philip left for Japan we had 7". And since then another 7-8" more. We're on high ground, and even our lawn is soggy. At least the basement has only had dribbles of water coming in now and then. I don't know what this will do to the farmers' crops. But at least it's beginning to replenish the water table that has been dropping so badly the last several years.

Micro-Managing

When my older kids were homeschooling, they were insatiably curious. They needed to find out how things worked. They needed to know the treasures hidden in the pages of books. They needed to talk and ask questions and look up answers. If I wanted them to learn something, I could find a book at the library, leave it lying around on the couch, and the kids would inhale it.

Last night I was bummed and looking at a magazine for a bit. (What? Wasting time selfishly like that? What's up???) An article on Ken Hendricks mentioned that he found success by (in part) allowing his employees to fail. He said that if they're not allowed to fail, they won't think. And when they don't think, then it takes a whole lot more work to manage them.

That's why I'm having so much more trouble homeschooling these days.

My two youngest aren't insatiably curious. They will do the schoolwork I require of them. Sometimes they do it begrudgingly and none of it sinks in. Sometimes they do it well. But I have to tell them what to do every step of the way. I can't say "read this book" and have them do it. I have to remind them each day to read it, and tell them how many pages, and ask them questions to determine if they understood or retained any of the information. I can't say "do your math" and have them figure out that they should do the pages following the pages we did the previous day. I can't put "German" on the to-do list and expect them to figure out what I've told them repeatedly: listen each day to the 15-min tape until you know it, and then go on to the next tape.

Like Ken Hendricks said, it takes a lot of work to manage people when they don't want to think for themselves. When the kids want nothing more than to veg out with video games and tv and comic books, it's nearly impossible for one mother to micro-manage one student and still manage to get dinner on the table and get the laundry done. And I have more than one student.

Jokes

From the new Reader's Digest:

For Rachel:
I went to a bookstore and asked the salesman, "Where's the self-help section?" She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.

For me:
About a month ago, I got a cactus. A week later, it died. How depressing: I'm less nurturing than a desert.

For Glenda (hoping she'll still love me anyway):
I didn't understand NASCAR until I met some NASCAR fans. You talk to a couple of NASCAR fans and you'll see where a shiny car driving in a circle would fascinate them all day. I can make fun of NASCAR fans because if they chase me, I just turn right.

Earlier Communion Age

Luther said something somewhere about how staying away from the Supper causes us to grow cold to it. The practice within our church body (LCMS) for quite a few decades has been to offer the rite of confirmation at the end of eighth grade, associating it very closely with an age typically considered to be a "graduation." Most people interpret this (quite unfortunately) as giving the "reward" of the Supper to those who have "passed the test" for confirmation class, to those who have attained a certain level of maturity or cognition.

Some pastors see how harmful it is for people to draw the conclusion that they earn the right to commune by going through a certain set of theological coursework. These pastors also desire to feed Jesus' lambs who are under their care and who are asking to partake. They realize how easy it is for people to draw the conclusion that the Supper must not really be too terribly important. After all, if they tell me I can get by without it just dandy for 14 years or more, why should I believe what they say about the Supper's importance when they've been teaching me all along (by their actions) that I don't really need it?

Pastor Stuckwisch has a lovely piece about a first communion tomorrow for one of his sheep. Because of some typical objections, Pr Stuckwisch and Pr Grobien make some additional comments on the topic elsewhere.

As a mother, I have been at a loss to explain to my children why they couldn't commune. The rule here (among others) is that children must be able to say the six chief parts of the catechism. My youngest had a much harder time with that than the others. I don't suppose it did her any harm to memorize the words. But she didn't understand them like I would've wished, and that made it harder for her to commit the words to memory. The struggle to accomplish the task did not increase her worthiness to commune. Children (or retarded adults .... or even bright adults, for that matter) are worthy because of what Jesus has done for them, and they have faith in the words "given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins." When they are under the care of the pastor in that place, being shaped by his teaching, saying "amen" to it and desiring to hear more and more, barring them from the Sacrament for years will teach them to despise it.

Sunlight

While bopping around the internet today, trying to find extra math drill for a child on ratios and proportions, I bumped into an article on the benefits of sunlight, as well as links for more information on how sunlight prevents cancer, not causes it. Helpful reading!

No Swimming

I took Mags to the beach yesterday even though I thought it was kinda chilly. But even SHE doesn't want to go today: it's 63. It's mid-August. It's 63. Dinner today is Bubble-n-Squeak because it's something cozy warm. We're also finally getting around to eating Katie's birthday cake because we needed something in the oven to warm the house. (At least Katie made her own cake at her place, and Rachel had her shot at the birthday cake last week too. Thanks to Sandy's sister, we have a mega-zuke to shred and make into cake!)

It's been raining almost daily for a week and a half. The load of rain started with 7" in a day. (That day there was significantly more rain a little south of here.) Things have greened up considerably. April showers bring May flowers. August floods and showers and rains make the grass grow like gangbusters. You don't expect to have to mow twice a week this time of year!

Grocery Prices

I love my grocery store. I love the way Woodmans was run when Mr Woodman was still alive. And from a customer's perspective, it hasn't gone downhill since he died a few years ago. Any time we go visiting elsewhere, I am thankful for Mr Woodman.

When Katie and Nathan moved to Fort Wayne, we made a trip to the grocery store to fill the cupboards and fridge. I gasped at the prices. They gasped at the prices. They were thrilled with the low prices at Walmart. I was horrified at the high prices at Walmart. Same prices, doncha know....

One of the stores in our county had some super-duper ultra-low-price wonderful coupons that they mailed out recently, trying to draw people into the market that is now under new management. I saw the prices on the coupons and thought they were acceptable. Stopped by today while I was in town to grab 3# of brats for $7. Not cheap, but an okay price. Do you know what they charge normally? Four dollars a pound! Same for the chicken breasts that I splurged on. They advertised 2.75# for $7, but it turned out that it was only 2.38#. (That business of switching prices from the coupon to the reality, or from the shelf to the check-out lane, has bugged me before. It's illegal. And it does nothing to engender customer satisfaction. Especially when they are totally nonplussed when you point it out to them.)

This summer I started noticing prices at other grocery stores. I think we would have to increase our grocery budget by $300 per month if we lived somewhere where Woodmans was unavailable. Wikipedia lists the cities in Wisconsin and northern Illinois where there are currently Woodmans markets. But don't let the Wiki post scare you away: I almost always find the quality of produce, meat, and dairy to be superior to the local "regular" grocery stores.

Spending

Barbara linked to a YouTube video on finances. It was a hilarious Steve Martin skit. Only two minutes. But as funny as it is, it's the best financial advice anybody could ever come across!

Justification

Pr Weedon had a post yesterday that I loved. I have been scolded for thinking too highly of justification. But in his post, Pr Weedon noted the difference between preaching about justification and preaching justification.

Chicory

In late June, I started smelling that lovely, spicy perfume again. Most flowers smell sweet, but there's that one time of year when the countryside is full of that spicy smell. I was never sure what it was. But I did note this year that that was about the time the chicory had started blooming, and the only other thing out right then was the sweet clover. About a week later, the red clover and the Queen Anne's lace started blooming too.

Today the county mowers made their semi-annual trek down the highway, laying waste the "weeds" that grow up alongside the road. And the wonderful spicy smell was back temporarily. It must be the chicory. Thing is, sniffing a chicory flower doesn't seem to have that same wonderful odor. So I'm not sure whether I've got the right plant pegged for the perfume, or if it's just that so many thousands of them blooming at the same time makes for a smell that can't be detected when you've got your nose stuck into ONE bloom.

2 Down, 1 to Go

Rachel got a job. Shall we say "hooray, with reservations"?

Pink Eye

I woke up this morning with the worst case of pink-eye I've had in over a decade. Now that I look back, I realize I had a few minor symptoms yesterday and the day before, but didn't notice them to do anything about it.

This morning I started with our regular pink-eye treatment: wash your hands well about every 30-45 minutes, and then spend about a minute totally sloshing and dousing the eyeball with fresh running water. It didn't seem to be helping as much as usual. So I tried something new: garlic the Wonder Cure.

I cut a slab of raw garlic and taped it onto my bottom eyelid. Since the skin is very thin there, I put a very thin layer of vaseline on my eyelid first, so as to decrease the burn of the garlic. And it did feel mighty hot! After an hour, I washed my eyes again and used a band-aid to attach another slab of fresh raw garlic. Now I'm seeing some improvement in the pinkness, swelling, and goopiness. Hooary for garlic!

Lunch

Yesterday we spent a great day with my parents and sibs and the cousins. Mom brought a picnic lunch for us all (what a treat!) and we did a little hiking and a lot of talking. Well, there were some of us who did a lot of hiking....

My folks also shared some of their garden bounty with us. We had our first corn-on-the-cob of the summer. And oh my goodness, it's delicious! Butter and salt and pepper on hot corn. With tomato and cheese sandwiches! What could be yummier?

Noah Saved

The end of 1 Peter 3 tells us that Noah and his family were "saved through water." This confused me for a long time. Okay, so the ark floated on the water, and so the water saved them from the devestation caused by the Flood. But if the Flood and its destruction hadn't happened in the first place, then the water that saved them wouldn't have been there. And thus no need to be saved.

But from different things said in Bible class and sermons over the last year or two, I've started to catch on to something else. (Maybe this is incredibly obvious to most people, but it sure wasn't to me!) The water that saved Noah wasn't saving him from the flood waters. The water that saved Noah was saving him from the evils of the society in which he lived, saving him from the false doctrine being preached everywhere around him, saving him from dangers greater than drowning.

VBS

I totally wrote off last week as far as math, spelling, history, or housework. All I planned was to get meals on the table (that included one grocery-run), take Maggie to the beach for a little while daily (30-90 minutes), and go to "VBS" (from about 4:30 to 10:00 by the time the driving and socializing was factored in). We managed that, and not much else! Now I need to catch up on laundry; I only got a few loads done during the week.

VBS was held in the morning for the kids. They worked on memorizing the Lord's Prayer section of the catechism. They studied Bible stories from Holy Week with regard to Jesus' prayers. They learned more of the liturgy by heart, so they'd be able to pray along during Sunday services. Even if I had been able to drive my kids for the morning sessions, they were too old to attend that part anyway. So we just heard about that from some of the older kids who were helping.

The sessions in the evenings were for everybody: one child yet to be born, toddlers and preschoolers, right on up to the senior citizens, including one dear man who was ordained more than 60 years ago.

Each day the prayer retreat started with Evening Prayer. I appreciated my boys' observation that it's awfully hard to SAY the Phos Hilaron (instead of chant it). After prayers, we all ate. Then we prayed the order found in Congregation at Prayer, including Psalm 51, a passage from 1 Cor 10, the Sixth Petition of the Lord's Prayer, What Is the World to Me?, and consecutive readings each night from Acts. Then Pastor had some lecture and some discussion on prayer, and why we pray, and what we pray for, and prayer habits, and the salutary use of prayer books, and some misconceptions about prayer, and looking at some Bible passages on Jesus' prayer life and what He taught His disciples about prayer. When the evening was nearly done, we prayed Compline together.

At the end of the week, Pastor asked for any reflections on all this praying we'd been doing throughout the week. My thought was "Where do I sign up for the family-friendly monastery?" I didn't want the week to be done already. I wonder if it would be possible to have the discipline and the time to fit all that prayer and meditation into daily life. Or is that why a retreat is a retreat: being away from the regular hub-bub of life ... and math books?

General Prayer

It was once common for Christians to pray together, in their churches, each week (or even each day), for many needs of their communities, nation, and the Church. In the general prayer, the Church prays for the preaching of the Word, for mercy, for pastors, for the President and Congress, for temporal justice and temporal peace, for our enemies, for those who are sick and dying, for those who are oppressed, for the poor, for freedom from calamity and poor weather, for safety for those who travel, for schools, for widows and orphans, for our own ability to work and serve our neighbors, and so much more.

Most churches don't do that any more. We want prayers that are more "relevant." We want to pray for the things we notice, for the things we feel, for the things that we worry about. Now, don't get me wrong: there's certainly nothing wrong with praying for those specific things. It is good to pray for our shut-ins and those who are sick in the congregation. It may be good to pray for rain for your own garden, but better to pray for "seasonable weather" for the whole congregation, as Bob's garden may've been thoroughly doused last night.

But the General Prayer is still a good thing. It addresses a multitude of needs and situations that we might not think to pray for. It addresses the needs of all the sick, not just Grandma Meier. It asks for God's benevolence toward all widows, not just for my college roommate who was widowed at a young age. It causes us to pray for the judges and policemen who keep anarchy at bay so that we may live quiet and peaceable lives in all godliness and holiness.

Have you noticed that, as churches have moved away from the general prayer during Sunday services, society has gone downhill? I'm not saying that there's a cause-and-effect relationship. I'm not saying that, nationwide, politeness and courtesy would be magically improved, and crime magically decreased, and employees magically becoming hard-working, if only more congregations would pray the general prayer. But it's interesting to think about how vast numbers of people were led to pray for the needs of strangers, if only doing so for five minutes on Sunday morning when led by their pastors. And now they don't pray for such things because we have more "relevant" and "personal" needs to ask God about.

Maybe there was some real wisdom in the ancient liturgy of the Church.

Amniocentesis

Genetics and pre-natal testing are often discussed among mothers of special-needs kids. I heard a recent conversation about the dangers of amniocentesis. Is it dangerous to the mother? Is there a risk of miscarriage? How can we lessen the likelihood of problems resulting from the test? Are the risks worth the benefits of the test?

And thereupon followed a nice, scientific, comforting discussion of how the risks are not that great, and it's worth it to have the peace of mind that comes from finding out your fetus is not afflicted with the same malady as your older child.

Not dangerous? Balderdash! Among this group of women, the whole point of amniocentesis is to KILL "defective" children! That's why people are taking the test. It may not be dangerous to the mother to have the test. It may not be dangerous to the child (assuming the child measures up to proper standards of genetic purity). But that test brings DEATH to the child who doesn't measure up.

Is it dangerous? Good grief. Death by torturous dismemberment, and burial by being sucked into a vacuum and tossed in the hazardous-waste pile. And people ask, "Is it dangerous?"