A Fun Afternoon

Swimming pool!

Cold beer. Hot day. Good thing.

I think somebody has her sports mixed up.

I can never keep track of this horse's name. Alia keeps changing it.

"Mmmmm. Spinach! Nanna, may I have some of your spinach? I love spinach." And the mommy says this is not the same kid who eats at her house. Plucking it out of the garden must give it some magical tastiness properties.

Sitting in the strawberries. Zoe was trying to help weed. We made a good dent in the mess.

A blackbird decidedly unhappy to see a hawk hanging around.

Yesterday's Tally

One batch of potato salad.
Two batches of granola.
One large batch of applesauce-oat muffins.
One batch of Katie-&-Zoe-safe muffins.
One batch of home-made caramels.
One batch of kombucha.

To the farm to buy milk.
To the bank's night deposit for a drop-off.
To the grocery store to nab this week's loss leaders.
Three loads of laundry.
Watering the garden.
Weeding more of the strawberry patch.
Prep work for a tray of baklava.
Prep work for two batches of Glenda's Most Evil Dessert.
Our first attempt at home-made mozzarella. 

And because of all that, I washed dishes eight times.

Today I go to "work."  That's the place where I get paid ... and where I rest up from my so-called day off.

Colin and Gary -- Almost Twins

My dear friend Jane and I are married to guys who look like brothers.  Their family used to be members of Gary's congregation in south central Wisconsin.  When they moved to Indiana, Gary suggested a congregation for them to join.  The first day they showed up there, people said, "Wow, you look just like a pastor we know."  Even though these folks hadn't told him yet who they were thinkin' of, Colin told them, "Yes, I do, and he's my pastor."

So Katie attended a reunion this weekend with some of her dear friends.  Alia liked Colin right away.  She kept calling him Papa. 

Why does that make me so incredibly happy?!!!

Their Love for Paul

The Galatians loved Paul. They listened to him. They welcomed him. They received his preaching. When they begin to turn to another gospel, Paul reminds them how, if it were possible, they would have "plucked out their own eyes and given them" to Paul (Galatians 4:11-15).

This shows their deep affection for their pastor. But it's not just their love for him. What moves them is also their love for others. Christians want others to hear the good news of the forgiveness of sins. The Galatians desired not only what was good for their pastor, but also that their pastor be able to continue in his work.

Being an Interested Person

In responding to Cheryl's comment in the previous post, I was reminded of a story from Andrew's class this spring.  The assignment was to give a speech.  The speech was supposed to be "relevant." 

Andrew picked the topic of Norse mythology.  He had all sorts of interesting things to tell.  But was it "relevant"?  No.  In a stretch for relevancy, he discovered that there were 20,000 people in the US who practice that religion.  So we, uh, need to be informed so that, uh, we can understand those folks.  Yeah.  That'd be it.  There's the relevancy.  Yup. 

Apparently, the teacher didn't buy the pitch for being relevant.  But the speech was good.  It was [ta da!!] interesting.  Andrew said his classmates paid attention and asked questions!

This illustrates that sometimes a person is interesting because the listeners are interested.  People who are curious and who are excited to learn... these folks will often find others interesting. Some people find almost everything to be interesting!


Maybe "interesting" is in the eyes of the beholder.

Being an Interesting Person

I imagine that I used to be an interesting person. You may disagree with this, but hey, at least some people used to find me interesting!  It's become clear to me, however, in the last several months that I'm no longer interesting. (At least, not to most people.)  

Not long ago, a friend posted a link to an article about How To Be More Interesting (page 1) and (page 2).  It reflected some of my ruminations.

First, interesting people have ideas.  They're not bland.  They're not conformists.  They have opinions.  They're engaged in life. 

Second, the people around them care to listen to those ideas and opinions. 

And that's what's changed for me. 

If I'm around people who are interested in the Packers' season, they're going to find me boring.  I don't care who the coach is, or what player has been benched, or which team they're playing next.  

I used to be interesting when I hung out with people who cared about the things I cared about: cooking, raising kids, gardens, music, theology, Shakespeare plays, homeschool curriculum, politics, alternative medicine.  If I spend a lot of time with people who don't care diddly about these things, then they're going to find me boring.  What do I have to talk about?  What are my ideas?  People who aren't interested in those topics anyway sure aren't going to care what I think of an already-boring-to-them subject.

I used to be interesting when I wasn't afraid to express my opinions.  The old maxim about not discussing religion and politics makes it easier to get along with co-workers and neighbors.  But if religion and politics are what you think about, care about, talk about, keeping your lip zipped makes you appear boring.

I used to be interesting when I had time to read, to watch movies, to be learning all sorts of cool stuff alongside my kids.  I was filling up my head with nifty ideas, and we'd all be discussing those things as we sat around the table or ran errands or did chores.  Now I just try to keep up with the basics.

Gary's trying to stay up on sports so that he can interact with folks.  It's a great plan.  I don't have the time and energy to delve into that yet.  Maybe someday.  But for now, I will be content with being boring ... except for those dear times when I can be with people whom I find to be interesting!

Forensic Justification

Some of us do not want to emphasize forensic justification.  "Oh, there's so much more to it than that.  That's an old-fashioned model.  Let's get beyond that."

But as we heard in Bible class last week, there's courtroom talk all through John and Paul:
witnessing
testimony
testifying
truth
paying the penalty.

That's sounds pretty forensic to me.

Cilantro

Fresh cilantro.  Mmmmm.  Maybe that's what heaven will smell like. 

Biblical Numbers

They may be cool, but are they important? 

They must be.  Between Jesus' ascension and Pentecost, the apostles decided they needed to replace Judas.  WHY?

For some reason, these guys knew that eleven wasn't an okay number.  There were supposed to be twelve.  (Okay, so they didn't get it that there was a twelfth, and God would send Paul along in due time.  That's irrelevant for the moment.)  Regardless of who the twelfth would be, they knew that something about the twelveness was important. 

I'm betting that there are other numbers that are more important than I can understand too.

This Is Serious Stuff

So, is fussiness a bad thing?  I've often noticed the particular care my pastor takes with the items on the altar after communion.  He sets the vessels in just the right place.  He makes sure the veil is neat and straight and the corners are folded just so. 

Some people might find that to be too picky.  But it sends a message (although I'm pretty sure that's not why he does it).  It sends a message that these things matter.  That this is serious stuff.  That this is not to be rushed through.  That something precious and important is happening here.

An article in Touchstone (hat tip: Rick Stuckwisch) illustrated the difference between the pastor and the soldiers at a military funeral.  The pastor was a little casual.  The soldiers were precise in executing their military rites. 

At the late service on Good Friday, the final distribution hymn ended a big fat minute or two (or three?) before Pastor was done at the altar.  Silence.  We waited.  We watched.  The silence continued.  He was taking his usual pains with making sure everything was just so.  More silence.

Earlier in the evening, we'd heard the Passion According to St John.  At the very end of the story, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus wrapped Jesus' body in linen and laid Him in the tomb.  And there was Pastor, ever-so-carefully draping the linen over the vessels where Jesus' body and blood had been minutes before. 

I was not the only one who had to brush away a tear.

Did it matter?  Would Jesus have been any less there, any less forgiving, had Pastor been hastier and more casual?  No. 

But it still matters.
The careful attention-to-detail confesses something about what's happening there, in that place, at that time, through that bread and that wine.  It confesses something about what that bread and wine IS.

And what do we confess when we hurry through and are okay with sloppiness?

Prom

School Tour

Kids tour colleges they're considering, right?  It's not as common to tour high schools, largely because most people don't consider the options and then make a choice.  Well, Maggie and I toured our local public high school yesterday.

There are a lot of nice things about it.  Most of the classrooms have many huge windows!  I also like the block scheduling they use: instead of 8 classes per day, taken all year, kids take 4 classes per day and finish the whole course in a semester.

There is a policeman who spends his days at the school.  I have mixed feelings about that.  It's creepy that it's considered necessary.  And yet, if it is necessary, I guess it's good he's right there.

The guidance counselor has worked with homeschoolers before.  He's worked with special-needs kids before.  He's never worked with a special-needs homeschooler transferring in.  So if we do this, we're breaking new ground.  He also reminded me that Maggie could take one class at the high school if we preferred that over full-time enrollment.  That's something to consider, although the transportation would probably be a problem. 

The hallways are full of posters promoting environmentalism.  (And no, I ought not be surprised.  My logical head knew it would be that way.  But I was still surprised by how many posters!)

There's no microwave in the school cafeteria for nuking lunches.  Either buy lunch there (which doesn't look like a good plan, from what we saw on the menus) or take a cold lunch.

Classes start at 7:25.  In the morning!  The school bus picks up at 6:30.  This would mean Maggie should be hitting the hay around 8:00 if she goes to school next year.  Yikes!

The hallways and the classrooms seemed bright and cheery.  But not in the special-ed area of the school.  No windows in those classrooms.  Small rooms.  Darker rooms.  Drearier hallway.  That seems wrong.

Maggie and I are both finding ourselves in this weird Land of Unknowing.  On the one hand, we're talking about next year as if she's going to school -- what classes she'll take, what to do about lunch, how she'll figure out her locker combination, etc.  And yet we're also assuming that we'll go on with homeschooling -- looking forward to APT next fall, considering which curricula we'll use for various subjects, thinking about fieldtrips and volunteering at the library, etc.  It's strange to be expecting both mutually-exclusive things to happen.  Hopefully we'll know a lot more after next week's big meeting.

Can You Punish AND Forgive?

Somehow I always had the idea that forgiveness meant that you wouldn't be punished.  "I forgive you" meant that you wouldn't have to stay after school, or wouldn't have to pay for the broken window, or wouldn't have to go to jail.

I don't think I'm the only one with that idea.

After all, look at the judicial system.  Listen to the media.  The criminal is really really sorry for what he did.  Because he's sorry, that means he should be forgiven.  And of course, "forgiveness" means that he won't have to be incarcerated.  Right?  Wrong.

We tend to do the same thing with kids.  How often have you heard parents say, "But I can't spank him now.  He said he was sorry, and I forgave him!" 

First problem with that is that you'll raise a brat who learns to lie about Being Sorry. 

Second problem is that a kid learns that punishment means he's not forgiven.  Oooh.  Ick.  Do we want to teach that lesson?  Heck, no.  But when we [as a society or as parents or as teachers] do refrain from punishing a kid who's truly sorry, what happens to that same kid when punishments come later, at another time?  Does that mean Daddy doesn't forgive me this time? 

And worse, do we conclude that when bad stuff happens, it means that God doesn't forgive?

Certainty

Luther's always talking about "certainty."  Again and again, he says that thus-and-such cannot be true, because if it were true we would have no certainty.

I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why "but then we would have no certainty" meant X-ing out an argument without further consideration.  Wasn't that just wishful thinking?  "Hey, I want to be certain of my salvation.  I want to be certain that I am God's child.  And if we can't hang onto our certainty, then let's just ditch that idea!  After all, we can't let it mess up my certainty."

So I finally asked.  "Where does the Bible tell us that God wants us to be certain?  I don't see a passage like that anywhere."

And the answer?  "I have called you by name; you are Mine.  Does that sound iffy to you?  I forgive you all your sins.  Is that conditional?  As far as the east is from the west, so far have I removed your transgressions from you.  That sounds like God really means it, like He's certain.  There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.  Any chance there might be some condemnation for you?  No?  Well, that sounds pretty certain to me."  As the Bible verses poured forth, it became clear.

If God tells the truth, then, by-gum, we can be certain.

Murder and Lies

Jesus told the Pharisees, You are of your father the devil, and the desires of your father you want to do.  He was a murderer from the beginning and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him.  (John 8:44)

If God's word is truth,
and if God's word gives life,

then Satan's lies about doctrine
is how he murders.




His murder "from the beginning" was what he said to Eve: "Did God really say ...?"

Update

This is the Weekend Of The Crazy.  Andrew's done with spring semester except for one final on Monday.  Prom is this weekend, so that means Maggie & Andrew at a party last night, Bryce here for the weekend, and Andrew at the dance tonight.

Katie and family moved this week, and I have done nothing to help.  Well, ... other than watch the girls on Thursday.  That was a fun day.

Maggie worked at the fish fry at church last night, attended the concert, spent the night with Olivia, and helped with church's clean-up day this morning.

Gary substitute preaches at one church tonight and at a different church tomorrow (both a 40-minute drive away).

It's museum-swap weekend, which means we can get in free to a museum we want to visit but don't have a museum membership for.  We really should go.  I really want to go.  But I don't function well when I try to squeeze in too many activities.

Monday Maggie and I are set up to visit the local high school, just to get a feel for it, in case we find their IEP* offer sounds like it would be necessary.

I need to go dig in the garden so the tomatoes can get started on their growing.  (But there's schoolwork, and housecleaning, and goofing off on the computer....)




*IEP = Individualized Educational Program

Interactions with the School

So I've been trying to ask for a few years what the special-ed program at our local public school is like.  They wouldn't talk to me until we had Maggie evaluated.  Okay, so when I tried to make an appointment this spring for an evaluation, they first told me they couldn't even evaluate her until I enrolled her.  After my spending hours of reading statues and regulations and preparing to show them what their legal duty was, they figured it out on their own that I was right.  So we began to set up the evaluation.

Now I know why there are legal time limits on how soon the school is required to get this finished. 

It was weeks before I heard back after they mailed the letter saying there would be an evaluation.  I had to call them several times, asking why I hadn't heard from them.  (And if you know me, you know that I always wait too long, always give people the benefit of the doubt for their pokey response-times.)  Now I'm trying to make an appointment for a tour of the school.  And nobody is responding to my phone calls. 

If this is the kind of response (or lack of response!) I'm getting as a school-shopper, what kind of response will I get once we've decided to enroll a kid?  Don't salesmen usually put on their best behavior, their quickest response times, their nicest charms, when they're trying to gain a customer?

Lars and the Real Girl

Upon the recommendations of several people, we put Lars and the Real Girl onto our Netflix queue.  Because of the plot description, however, we kept bumping it further down the queue.  We'd watch movies, and over time, Lars would climb back to the top of the list.  Then we'd send it back down to #50 or so.  That happened several times.

Last week the movie arrived in the mailbox.  Oops.  Our list-monitoring slipped through our fingers there for a couple of weeks.  So we went ahead and watched the movie.

Oh. My. Goodness.

It was the best thing I've seen in ages.  It is NOT what you expect, given the premise.  I want so badly to muse upon the story here, but it's the kind of movie that I don't want to ruin for anyone.  (How often do you watch a movie that you honestly have no idea where they're going to go with it?)

It's a movie about love.  It's a movie about mental illness.  It's a movie about family.  One person described it as warm and funny and yet painful.  Yes.  It's sweet in so many ways!

Devotional Materials versus The Bible

Maybe you've heard it too.  In my past, authorities would often say that we should focus on the Bible.  They didn't say it was wrong to use devotional writings, but that the Bible was what was important.   And they've certainly got a point.

But if Jesus says that it's important not only that He suffer, die, and rise again, but also that this be preached (Luke 24), maybe that's part of the point of devotional writings.   For example, there are sections of Luther in his Galatians commentary, or pages of Day by Day, which are sweet as can be!  And these passages take Scripture and expound upon it, driving home the "for you" nature of what's in the Bible. 

These writings aren't "versus" Bible-reading, no matter what that Sunday School teacher told me way-back-when.

Stuffed Brain

Writing helps me think.  Writing helps me solve problems.  Writing helps me wind down. Writing helps keep me sane.  (Or at least helps me fake sanity.)

My blogging recently has been shallow.  There are all sorts of topics I want to write about, but they would take time.  It doesn't take long to write, but it does take time to think things through before writing them.  And I don't have time to think these days.  (No time to think?  Gasp!)  And then ideas sit in my mind, piling up, befuddling me, being jumbled with other piles-of-ideas.  And it all leaves my blog in a boring state, t'boot.

Y'know how you feel so much better after you've cleared the kitchen counters, or cleaned the bedroom, or organized that closet?  Getting rid of clutter feels great!  Well, I could use a week with no responsibilities except for straightening out my brain. After all, clutter there needs to be thinned and put in order too.

Sheer Hosiery

Remember "tights"?  Winter tights were like thick socks that little girls wore, but they went all the way up to your tummy instead of just up to your knees.  Summer tights were much thinner than winter tights, but still much thicker than the nylons that Grown-Ups (tm) wore. 

In recent years I've been noticing "sheer" on the labels of panty hose.  Sheer, huh?  Aren't they ALL sheer?  Apparently not.  I finally figured out one of the reasons for the opaque hose: they hide tattoos.  (Boy, the things I've learned in the last year.) 

How to Keep the Law

So there's the active obedience of Christ.  He followed rules.  He did what He was supposed to do.  And there's the passive obedience of Christ.  He took the punishment that the law demanded. 

You want to make God happy with how you obey the law?  You can try and try and try.  You can do your darnedest to follow the rules.  You might even do a bang-up job of it!  But you're not going to do it absolutely totally perfectly, every single day of your life.  After all, there was that naughtiness one day when you were learning to crawl, which you might not remember, but your mom will.  And what does the law demand for that?  Yup, "the wages of sin is death." 

So the only way to keep the law would be to spend eternity in hell, if only in payment for those occasional slip-ups.  If you don't suffer eternally, then you didn't do what the law demanded, did you?  But if you have to spend eternity in hell to fulfill the law's demands, then you can't enjoy God's company in heaven, because you're in hell, and .... oh ... phooey, ... there's just no way to do it!

Exactly.

That's just how STUCK we are when we want to earn heaven.  It's an impossibility, an inescapable conundrum.   

But with God, all things are possible.   Who will set me free from this body of death?  Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory in our Lord Jesus Christ! 



Keeping the law. 
It's not just about doing everything right. 
It's mainly about living through the punishment.

A Quick Run-down of Recent Events

My sister's baby was born.  He was a few weeks early and spent time in NICU because he just can't seem to stay warm.

Gary's mom was hospitalized the same week Matthew was born.

I'm subbing at work again this week, third week out of four.  Next week I think I'm back to a more manageable number of hours.

Lots of rain.  Garden is still on hold for the sake of mud.

Katie and Nathan and girls are moving to a new apartment later this month.

Maggie has testing next week at the public school.  We have an IEP meeting planned for the end of the month.  Then we have to decide what to do with their recommendations.

Andrew finishes his spring semester at the end of next week.  Then he and Olivia are going to prom that weekend.

I'm finishing up two different editing projects. 

Gary had some interviews regarding a different position with the company he works for.

And a lot of other stuff that is important, but not so succinct ....

"But I Heard What You Said"

I'm trying not to be paranoid.

There are people who are nice to me.  At least, they're nice to my face.  But I hear them talk behind other people's backs ... and be nice to their face.

So why should I think they're not talking about me behind my back?

It makes me want to clam up and hide in self-defense, so as not to give them any more ammunition.

Strawberries

I guess we'll be buying them this year instead of eating delectable homegrown ones.  

After that warm spell in early March, the weather seemed to go into refrigeration mode.  My strawberry plants didn't know what to make of it.  After lots of pruning away last year, they needed to replenish themselves, but haven't been able to.  When I checked the patch today, I saw that the plants were already blooming and quite a few of the strawberry flowers had black middles, which I suspect means they were killed by one of the recent frosts.

The small cherry tree suffered the same fate.  It looks pitiful.  The larger, older cherry tree blooms later and will probably bear a little.  Luckily, the apples haven't bloomed yet.

Y'know, this isn't the solution I was wanting for carpal-tunnel problems that result from hulling strawberries and pitting cherries.

Since Jesus Crossed What River?

Death's flood has lost its chill
since Jesus crossed the river.
Lover of souls, from ill
my passing soul deliver.  (LSB 482)

A choir director or a pastor or somebody told me once that this was an allusion to the river Styx.  Greek mythology.  The place of the dead.  Charon ferrying the dead person across.

Really?

But this year it crossed my mind that many aspects of mythology have roots in the truth.  Sure, the truth was twisted, sometimes almost beyond recognition.  In this case, the truth is that Canaan was the Promised Land to which God was leading the children of Israel.  And Canaan is a type of the promised land.   As the Israelites were baptized in the crossing of the Red Sea and then spent decades on their pilgrimage, so we are baptized into Christ and then spend our lives on a pilgrimage.  They crossed the Jordan River into the promised land.  We cross from our earthly pilgrim life into the promised land of heaven.  Maybe the Jordan is where the myth of the Styx came from.

So maybe the hymn isn't alluding to the Styx, but maybe the story of the Styx found its beginning in God's story.

Hoarding

Warm days.  Need shorts.

Rather than doing the usual quickie clothes-switch, I did it right this time.  No grabbing a couple of things out of the boxes here and there.  I pulled everything out of the drawers and closets, sorted through everything in storage, and pulled out only enough clothes to be reasonable: several outfits for work, a couple that can be worn to church but wouldn't be allowed at work, and play clothes for only three days per week.

Thrown away:

~ A sweatshirt that was so stained that even *I* was ashamed to be seen it.  Even in the garden.  Same for a pair of shorts that were too small, too-often mended, and horribly stained.

~ My favorite pair of shorts!!  (Eventually cotton simply disintegrates.)

~ Pantyhose full of snags but not actual holes yet.

~ Socks that have two quarter-sized holes (per sock, not per pair) in the soles.



Put away:

~ Wool socks that weren't worn during winter because I wore my flipflops that make my feet feel wonderful in spite of the cold.

 ~ Jeans that are too tight -- because I intend to fit into them again.

~ Sweatshirts and other warm sweaters that were necessary before middle-aged hormones warmed me up. 

~ Same for the CuddleDuds.

~ Lovely dresses that crowd the closet, but are otherwise fine and will be hauled out another year.

~ Same for the T-shirts that bring back memories, but there are too many.

~ Same for the excess jammies.

~ A couple of beautiful skirts for which I have not yet found matching tops.


Brought out:

~ A couple of sundresses.

~ Shorts.



What was removed greatly outnumbered what was added.  I can [gasp!] open & close my dresser drawers without cramming clothes down into the drawers.  I can find what's in the drawers.  And I can look through the closet. 

"They" say I should get rid of the stuff I put away.  "They" say I won't lose weight and be able to wear it again.  "They" say that you should get rid of something that you haven't worn in a year. 

I say I'm not ready.  Who knows when I'll get the perfect hand-me-down top to go with that skirt I love so much?  If I had enough money to buy an all-new wardrobe every season, it would be different.  If I had enough fashion sense to want to wear up-to-date clothing, it would also be different.  But I know what I like, no matter how frumpy I look.  And I really like "shopping" in my basement instead of heading out to the mall and forking over cash. 

So there. 

(When I'm ready to move into a one-bedroom condo, maybe I'll have the sense to change my hoarding ways.)

Jelly Legs

It's been about three and a half years since I stopped jogging every day.  Gaining weight and changing shape is one result.  But what's far more important is that I've become weaker in every way.  I keep determining that I will get back in shape.  But between time constraints and physical pain, I don't.

So with good intentions I set off today on a mini bike ride.  Baby steps, y'know.  I planned for a whoppin' mile-and-a-half.  Today I almost had to get off the bike to walk it up the hill in front of Luecks' house.  Good grief.  Came home to a heart thump-thumpin' away and legs that felt like jelly.

And it crossed my mind that I really have empathy for Maggie now.  Not sympathy.  Not instructions.  Not cheerleading.  But empathy. 

And I'm wondering if the cysts and the misshapen foot bones and the leg pain, all of which combined to end my jogging regimen, were gifts from God.  Maybe these things put Maggie and me at the same point.  Maybe if we are equally out-of-shape, equally inept, equally weak, we can make our feeble attempts together. 

Or maybe I'll continue in my discouragement and physical weakness. 

I hope not.  I gotta try again tomorrow.  We gotta.

Penance and Prayer

 "So why would a priest give out the Lord's Prayer for punishment?"


-- Asked by Maggie today as we were reading chapter 37 in Ivanhoe, where the head of all the Templar knights was assigning penance to the guy in charge of the local group of Templars.  The penance was 13 Our Fathers at Matins and 9 at Vespers, plus six weeks fasting from meat.


Assigning prayer as punishment.  Excellent point.
Is praying really that distasteful, that you only do it when you're trying to ingratiate yourself with God?

Gath

In one of our Bible stories this week (1 Samuel 5) the ark of the covenant was captured by the Philistines.  All sorts of bad stuff happened in Ashdod, where the Lord's ark was.  Then the ark was taken from Ashdod to Gath.  The same bad stuff happened in Gath – plague and tumors.  The Philistine people concluded that Yahwah was zotting them.

Goliath was from Gath.  He would have known this.  This plague would’ve been during his lifetime or maybe shortly before (during his parents’ lifetime).  But still, he shows up on the battlefields a few chapters later, sassing God.  Amazing.

Not Seeing

In Luke 24, we hear about the Emmaus disciples whose eyes were restrained, and they didn't recognize Him.

In John 20, we hear about Mary, weeping in the garden.  When she saw Jesus, she didn't know at first who He was.

I never put those two stories together before.  Huh.
The blind shall see ....  (Isaiah 29)

Gathered to His People

In the Old Testament, when people die, it often says, "He was gathered to his people."  I always thought that meant his soul went to be with the departed saints who had gone before.  But we heard last week in Bible class that it's more likely a reference to burial.  The believers were often buried in the same tomb as the rest of the family, so that their bones were together.  What's more convincing is the stories of those who weren't "gathered to their people" -- like Sarah (who was the first in Abraham's family to die and for whom the family's burial plot was purchased) and Joseph (who was mummified).

The Boss's View of My Kid

It makes me so gosh-darn proud when my kid's recommendation gets somebody a job!

Katie got her job at Burger King because the manager figured hiring any of Philip's siblings would be a good move.

Philip got his job at Borders because Rachel worked there.  But more than that, Rachel's reputation carried enough weight through the whole region that Anthea, Coral, and Maria were hired at other Borders stores.

Tony asked Andrew the other day if he should hire James (one of the guys at church).  Andrew said yes.  Because Andrew had recommended Matthew, and that turned out so well for the boss, the owner decided to take another recommendation from Andrew.

Heeding my kid's recommendation on who-to-hire says a lot about what the boss thinks of the kid's work ethic, reliability, and intelligence!

Looking Professional

There's some standard of what it is to "look professional."  Although I am aware of it, I don't value it.  There is a dress code at work, and I haven't gotten in trouble for looking unprofessional.  I don't have the manicure.  I don't have the spiffy suitcoats.  I don't have the right shoes.  I don't have the make-up.  I don't have the right haircut with the blond highlights.  But I am clean and I abide by the dress code.  And so far that's fine.

I am disgusted by the articles in the "Home" section of the newspaper about staging a house that's for sale.  I realize that the sellers may have to do it.  But I'm disgusted with a society when our decision-making is so heavily influenced by such things.

So when I hear about staging for job interviews, I am likewise disgusted.  I realize that the person applying for the job has to play the game.  But c'mon, really, do we think that having the Right Kind of folder or Right Kind of briefcase or Right Kind of car should give one person an edge in being hired?

Cookie cutters.

We say we value creativity and individuality and open-mindedness and problem-solving.

We lie.

We value rubber stamps and cookie cutters.

Signed,
The square peg who doesn't want
sandpaper to fix me so that I'll fit
the round hole

Hosiery for Tall Girls

"One size fits all."  HA.  Big fat lie.  HA.

I have discovered two possibilities for those of the lanky-leg problem.

First, there's a problem with "knee-highs" that come up to mid-calf, nowhere close to your knees.  I tried the smallest size of "thigh-highs."  I don't know what's wrong with my legs; thigh-highs in my size simply do not work.  My thighs may be too fat; they may be too thin; the band at the top always ends up scootched down by my knees.  So, if I buy the size intended for a scrawny girl of 5'0", the thigh-highs will fit me as just-above-the-knee socks.  And that works fine for skirts that hit well below the knee.

One problem solved.

Second, there's a problem with panty-hose that you take out of the package, and you could swear that this pair of stockings was manufactured for a 6-yr-old.  C'mon, they're stretchy.  But not that stretchy.  I recently bought a package of Leggs Queen-Plus hose.  According to the package I'm too skinny to wear these.  But my rule-of-thumb is to buy a pair of hose for somebody who weighs 50% more than I do, and then the stockings might actually fit.  When I pulled this pair of Leggs Queen-Plus out of the package, they were the most freakin'-long hose I'd ever seen in my life.  It was awesome!  It gave me hope!  I have no idea how a 5'2" and 240# woman would ever ever ever get into these hose, regardless of the claims on the package's sizing chart.  I think the Queen Plus was made for someone 110-160# who's got a 32-36" inseam. 

Second problem solved ... assuming the hose I bought were actually what they were supposed to be, and not some lucky fluke of a mistake that made its way past quality control into my home. 

Easter Hymns

Easter hymns are full of phrases about how we want to sing for joy; or that Jesus rose from the dead so we sing alleluia.  Lots of the lines in Easter hymns are about our response to the resurrection.

Some Easter hymns have a different kind of line, a more objective statement.  For example, "Let us feast this Easter day on Christ, the bread of heaven.  The word of grace has purged away the old and evil leaven."   Or "For the sheep the Lamb has bled, sinless in the sinners' stead."  Or "My Savior there was laid where our bed must be made when to the realms of light our spirit wings its flight."  Or "Love's redeeming work is done, fought the fight, the battle won.  Lo, our Sun's eclipse is o'er; lo, He sets in blood no more."   Or "Thou, of life the author, death didst undergo."

But it seems like the wonderfully rich lines that so often show up in Lenten hymns and communion hymns (and other sections of the hymnal) are not as abundant in Easter hymns.  I don't understand that.  Look at what Easter is.  Look at all the references to it in the Old Testament and in the epistles.  There's plenty of fodder there for allusions and imagery and depth of theology.  It is there, mixed in with the alleluias. 

I guess that's why those few that are particularly meaty and beautiful and eloquent are so special. 

Doctor Visit

Maggie's been coughing for nearly four weeks.  A small cough took a turn for the worse when she picked up more germies from somebody at church.  She couldn't sing at Easter.  She began to improve, but then worsened.  Over the last few days, she began to be unable to talk after coughing, felt like there was something stuck in her throat, and finally complained that it was like she wasn't able to breathe when she was done coughing. 

At that, they squeezed us in right away.  X-rays showed no pneumonia, but there is an unevenness in her lungs, with the right one better than the left.  (The left was the one that collapsed after her last open-heart.)  So now it's a round of non-cillin antibiotics, oral steroids, and an inhaler.  I intend to make my first batch of homemade yogurt to help her get through the antibiotics. 

Husbands, Be Considerate

Our catechism portion for the week includes:
"Husbands, be considerate as you live with your wives, and treat them with respect as the weaker partner ..."

There's something about those two words set next to each other -- "be considerate" -- that makes us think about manners and politeness and opening the car door for your lady, and picking up your dirty socks, and making sure you call when you're going to be late for supper.

But that's not what it means.  It means "take into consideration."  When you look at some non-NIV translations, that becomes clear.  "Think about the fact that she has been called to submit to you, even when you're selfish and boorish and lazy.  Take into consideration that she is supposed to respect you when you prove yourself quite worthy of disrespect."

Men should still pick up their dirty socks and call when they're going to be getting home late.  But there's so much more to husbands' being "considerate as you live with your wives."

Ghosts.

What's up with the ghost stories?  Several of my co-workers are interested in ghosts.  One went haunted-house hunting.  They read books about ghosts.  They watch tv shows about ghost-hunting.  The other day they were talking about the shows, explaining to me what happens on the shows, and how some really freaky things are found now and then.  One of the gals asked, "Wait.  Does this talking about ghosts scare you?  Should we change the subject?" 

No.  Ghosts don't scare me.  I am a baptized child of God.  Death and Satan no longer have dominion over me.  Besides, dead people are dead, in heaven or in hell; they aren't hanging around here. 

What scares me is the fascination that this society has with demons. 

Young people today seem to have a sense of "spirituality," knowing that there's more to life than skeptics and materialists can see.  But their curiosity is leading them to demons-pretending-to-be-ghosts.  The "normalness" of this curiosity is way scarier than ghosts.

Luke 24:8

The question was posed tonight: "Why was it the women and not the apostles who first saw the resurrected Lord?"

Several answers --all of them true-- were proffered.   One person gave a theological answer.  One gave a practical answer about the women's loyalty to do what needed to be done (anointing the body).  Another gave a practical answer about the men's hiding in fear, so that meant the women would of course see Him first since they were the only ones out. 

But Pastor suggested an answer which I found hilarious in its sheer truthfulness. 

Luke tells us that the women "remembered His words."  Women do indeed have a tendency to remember what someone said, where he was standing when he said it, what tone of voice he said it in, and what else was going on when he said it.  Women remember details and love to talk talk talk, hash it all out, and talk about it some more.  Men say, "Huh?" 

Maggie

I met with the psychologist at the public school this week.  We've arranged for an evaluation for special-ed services.  There will be some assessments.  Then the government will put together an Individualized Educational Plan that we can accept, adjust, or reject.  We hope to keep homeschooling, but we do need to find out how we can get help for things that we will not be able to provide for Maggie after a certain age.  I told the psychologist that what seem to be insurmountable hurdles to us are health insurance and help with her finding a job.  She responded that those are easy for them; they do that all the time, and it will work out.  So that gives me some hope that we can continue to do what's best for our daughter, and still get past those hurdles.

When I mentioned Maggie's teacher-aiding in the kindergarten classroom at our congregation's school, the psychologist mentioned the high school's early childhood training program and asked if that would be work Maggie would be interested in.  Yes, she'd be interested.  Yes, she'd be good at it.  But because she's immune depressed, she gets sick easily, and she takes a long time to get over it.  The psychologist said that a daycare or a school is probably a very poor choice for work then.  Hmm.

Maggie's been sick for two weeks now. 

Last winter's illness really got to me.  I found it to be more worrisome than her open-heart surgeries.  (Maybe because it dragged on so much longer?)  And it makes me suspicious of what might be coming whenever she starts another cold.

A little cough during Holy Week turned into a bigger cough.  She didn't sing at Easter.  She's been lazing around, resting.  She improved enough that we went ahead and did the oral surgery, which went fabulously.  But in the last day or two, she's taken a turn for the worse again. 

And then I wonder why I'm fretting over history lessons and Ivanhoe and long division, when sometimes it seems the goal is just to be able to sit up, try to eat a little, and keep breathing.  I get used to life when we're acting fairly like "normal people."  But then something comes along to remind me that simple stuff is a little trickier, and I ought not be taking the "regular life" for granted.

God Is Faithful

The God of peace Himself will sanctify you wholly 
and keep your spirit, soul, and body sound and blameless 
at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.  
He who called you is faithful, and He will do it.

This verse from the rite of private confession (taken from 1 Thessalonians 5) always struck me that God would be true to His promise.  And He will!  But it's not just that.  It's also that He is the one who IS faithful, who believes rightly, who is blameless.  He is faithful to keep His word, but He is also the faithful man in every way.  His sanctity, His faithfulness, is given to us and becomes our own, so that we too are blameless.

Tea Party with Tigger

Chocolate Pudding

After oral surgery, a person needs soft foods.  Soft foods include pudding.  Chocolate pudding.  I don't often care to make chocolate pudding; it always seems to have a graininess to it.  But the kid who had her teeth ripped out of her head ordered up chocolate pudding instead of vanilla or banana. 

Instead of following the recipe (starting with the vanilla pudding recipe, and adding cocoa powder and increasing the sugar) I just threw in a 1/4 cup of semi-sweet chocolate chips before I started cooking the pudding.  It was so good!  Oh my goodness.  I've never had better chocolate pudding in my life.

Not the Slave, But the Son

The Lord told Abraham, "[Eliezer] shall not be your heir, but one who will come from your own body shall be your heir"  (Genesis 15:4).

Sunday's [1-year] epistle was "This is He who came by water and blood -- Jesus Christ; not only by water, but by water and blood" (1 John 5), and a week ago John swore that blood and water came out when the soldier pierced Jesus' side (John 19).  The Church is created from the water and blood which come from Jesus' side. 

In Abraham, we see some truths about Jesus.  The one who came from Jesus' own body shall be His heir.

Zoe and the Recorder

Oh, the way her face lit up when she first heard the squeak she made!

Waiting for God's Promises

So Pastor's talking this morning about how long Sarah and Abraham waited for that baby.  Twenty-five years.  Along the way, they had options for God.  But those weren't what God had promised.  They had to wait.

Then Rebekah, their daughter-in-law, had to wait.  So Abraham didn't see his grandson until 85 years after God told him he would be the father of a great nation. 

And then Rachel didn't conceive very quickly either.

What I'd never noticed before was Leah's side of the family.  In the line of promise, Judah's daughter-in-law Tamar was waiting around for a good long time before she conceived too. 



The angel told Joseph to name the baby JESUS "for He shall save His people from their sins."

Masks of God

Larvae? 

Really?  That's the word?

"Vocation" seems to be a popular topic among Lutherans in the last decade.  We often hear about how people are "masks of God" to one another, so that they are the hands and voice that serves the neighbor, that we are how God takes care of people.  So I'm reading something in Luther, and I notice the translation larvae was in the footnote.  Sure enough, when I hunt up the Latin, "masks" or "specters" or "ghosts" is the English for larvae.

For those of us who teach science to children (or even who were taught science once-upon-a-time), that word has an interesting double meaning.  The "larvae of God" to one another.  Huh.

"All About Me"

This alphabet meme was going around a while back.

Age: 51
Bed Size: Queen
Chore You Dislike: keeping homeschool records
Dogs: nope -- cats instead
Essential Start of Your Day: psalms
Favorite Color: for clothes, probably a deep red
Gold or Silver: definitely gold
Height: too tall, but shrinking already
Instruments You Play: a little piano; even less guitar and recorder
Job Title: the real job = home-maker and teacher; the job-for-$ is bank teller
Kids: six by birth, two by marriage, and two grandkids
Live: in Wisconsin for nearly half my life
Mom's Name: Doris
Nicknames: not usually -- but sometimes Suze (from Mom) and Susannah (from Steve)
Overnight Hospital Stays: tonsillectomy which I should have refused
Pet Peeve(s): spelling and grammar mistakes on labels and signs  -- how are kids supposed to learn what's correct when they see mistakes plastered on bread labels and McDonald's signs?
Quote From a Movie: So when the devil throws your sins in your face and declares that you deserve death and hell, tell him this: "I admit that I deserve death and hell, what of it? For I know One who suffered and made satisfaction on my behalf. His name is Jesus Christ, Son of God, and where He is there I shall be also!"
Right- or Left-Handed: left
Siblings: one brother, one sister, three sisters-in-law, three brothers-in-law
Time You Wake Up: usually around 6:30, but I'd prefer it was 8:00
Underwear: every day
Veggie You Dislike: I used to dislike kale, until Rachel introduced me to kale chips.
What Makes You Run Late: underestimating the time to do that One Last Thing
X-Rays You Have Had: dental
Yummy Food You Make: nearly all of it -- I am a good cook
Zoo Animal You Like Best: I could've spent hours watching the colony of small monkeys that used to be at the Madison zoo.

Ann Romney and Michelle Obama

So the first lady had to work outside the home because the Obamas couldn't afford the luxury of having her be a stay-at-home mom. 

And Mrs Romney stayed home and raised five kids, having to cut expenses in the early years, just like normal people.

So one family feels the need to increase income.  The other family decides to stick with the income they have and make sure they live within their means.  Does this tell us anything about how they'll handle the nation's budget?

INRI

So at the beginning of Holy Week we hear the epistle  to the Philippians.  Because of His humbling Himself to the death of the cross, God highly exalted Him, so that "at the name of Jesus, every knee shall bow, in heaven, and on the earth, and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father. 

And then on Good Friday we sing, "Christ the rock of our salvation, His the name of which we boast ..."

And what inscription sits atop the cross?  Pilate wrote --and refused to wussify it-- "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews."  That cross, that name, that dead body -- His the name of which we boast.



Galatians 6: God forbid that I should boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.

A Non-Christian Easter Celebration

How do non-Christians celebrate Easter? 

I know how non-Christians celebrate Christmas.  It's pretty much the same sort of things our family does, minus the church services.   But our Easter celebration is almost exclusively the church services.  Okay, we eat ham for dinner, but we do that on non-Easter days too.  And depending on the ages and availability of children/grandchildren, we either hide some M&M's in plastic eggs, or just break open the bag of M&M's.  Eating M&M's isn't normal for us; that's something unusually celebratory.  But c'mon, ham and M&M's surely isn't much of a celebration for normal people.

When I was at work during Holy Week, I listened to people wish each other "happy Easter!"  And this week, I've heard people talk about their Easter celebration.  I don't know what that means, though.  As I've listened, I gather it's got something to do with families getting together and candy.  Some people who don't usually go to church might go to church for Easter.  But many don't, and yet they still "celebrate Easter." 

I suppose Christians in other parts of the world are befuddled by American celebrations of secular Christmas.   But I am befuddled by what's involved in an American celebration of secular Easter.  Anybody have some clues?  Have you noticed what neighbors, co-workers, or non-Christian family members do to celebrate Easter?

Plowing Ahead Blindly

It's one of those days where the failures seem insurmountable, and I wonder why I even try instead of just lying on the couch, watching movies, drinking.

Usually life passes and I'm content enough to keep plowing ahead.  Just do the laundry, put the food on the table, keep the cluttered pigsty from becoming too dirty or too cluttered, go to work, squeeze in some school for Maggie.  No thinking.  Just doing.  And no stopping. 

But today.  For some reason, today I'm thinking of all the other things that need doing.  How will I ever manage any garden work?  What about real cleaning, like shampooing the carpet or fixing the drywall on that one spot in the ceiling?  I want to play piano.  I want to watch movies.  I want to go for a walk.  I want to lie in the sun and read some books.  There are a couple of projects for church that I'm itching to do (one that needs to be finished in four weeks).  And somehow, this kind of mood always makes me unhappy with the shabbiness of my rugs and my old-fashioned storage spaces and the ugly paint in the bathroom and the cobwebs draped across undone projects tucked in the corners of the basement.

Today I spent a couple of hours with Maggie, trying to put together a gift for someone, and it turns out that it won't work and we're back to square one.  We still need to find a gift, and those hours were for naught.  I need to go to a meeting with Gary tonight, and I need to put on my non-introvert facade.  I need to do a grocery run for soft foods, so that Little Miss Swollen Cheeks will have ice cream and sherbet for her sore jaws tomorrow.  Because of an overbooked calendar (a calendar that is so empty of events that many of y'all would covet it) for these few weeks I have three days at home to do all the regular work that I usually struggle to accomplish in eight days. 

Plus, right now there are thinking things to do.  I have to be prepared for a meeting with the school psychologist on Monday, as we have asked the school for an evaluation for special education services (anticipating the need for transition services and some sort of government-provided health insurance for Maggie someday).  Also, Gary has applied for a different position at his company, which would be a significant change from what he does now.  These and other matters require thought, deliberation, planning, and research.  And you can't just squeeze that in around the edges as you plow ahead blindly.  And yet, if you stop (!) and think and give something serious consideration, all that other daily stuff isn't being accomplished. 

I feel whiny.

Well, the living room was cleaned.  And next week we go back to having chapel every morning.  Now maybe I should see if I can find the bedroom under the piles of papers and herds of dust bunnies.

Exceptionally Good Deals Online

When the kids want to buy something online, and find a super-dooper el-cheapo deal, I've always been a little uneasy.  I couldn't say why.  Even though it's unlikely, I've wondered if maybe it was stolen merchandise.  Then there's also the mantra, "If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is." 

I learned recently that sometimes a disreputable company will post unbelievable prices.  After all, the customers think, why pay $30 for something when you can buy it for $4?  Yes, that's a real price.  And yes, you'll get your merchandise.  But the company might also implant malware that will log your key-strokes, so that they can obtain your passwords to various accounts as well as financial information.  If they get past your firewalls and other protection, that cheap stuff is going to cost a lot more in the long run.

Sometimes it's worth it to pay more.

A Christmas List from About 10 Years Ago

I found this tucked into a book today --

Andrew: hamster toys and a chess game
Philip: a passport and a glasses repair kit
Paul: art desk and a hat
Rachel: CuddlDuds and specialty soaps
Katie: photography class and CuddlDuds
Gary: loofah, Limbaugh Letter, black pants, outdoor fire pit
Maggie: Ken doll and a toy stroller
Susan: jojoba shampoo from Geneva Inn and potholders

In Nanna's Cupboards

Matching lids and pots.  That's math for a 1-yr-old, right?

Wisdom Teeth

So Maggie's scheduled to have her wisdom teeth out on Friday.  We've been trying to decide between laughing gas and the IV sedation.  Her teeth aren't impacted, and she actually has room for her wisdom teeth.  But vcfs folks have teeth that rot.  She's had molars erupt with decay already in them.  One of the wisdom teeth did too.  So it seems best to get rid of those teeth that are waaaaay back in the back of her jaws.

Two weeks ago she caught a cold/cough from one of the kids in preschool.  Of course, with her immune deficiencies, she is still coughing away.  Two nights ago, she had that inbreath that sounds like whooping cough.  (We went through this last year, and it wasn't whooping cough; don't panic.)  Yesterday she discovered that her inhaler helped.  So now we're wondering if we have to postpone the oral surgery, or alternately if her cold will determine which kind of sedation she needs.

What really struck me was something the nurse said when I was consulting with her yesterday.  "Well, it's still three days away.  Call us on Thursday.  It's very likely she'll be fine by then."  In two days?  Things could change in two days?  Oh.  Yeah.  I guess for most people, that's realistic.  But for Maggie, I'm thinking, "Good grief, why would I expect things to be improved in only two days?!"

Playing Barbies

McCarthyism?

So yesterday's Milwaukee Journal-Sentinal (page 3B) contained an opinion piece by one of the paper's writers.  He discussed the public's response to finding out that certain people in the media (radio, paper, tv) had signed the recall petition for Governor Walker.  The question these days is "Should reporters have the right to sign petitions?"  The employers say no.  Some employees suggest that this is like blacklisting.

Eugene Kane wrote,

The ethics code of my company is comparable to those of other media organizations that want to always remind their employees of the dangers of exposing a conflict of interest that could impede their ability to report or cover the news.

Got that?

Read it again.

Apparently the danger is not that the reporters HAVE a conflict of interest that messes with their ability to report the news.  The danger is that the conflict of interest be EXPOSED.

Yeah.

And that's why people don't trust the media.

Hunting for Eggs

What Might've Been Today's Closing Hymn

After five glorious days of multiple services, the thing that came to mind at the end of second service today was:

'Tis good, Lord, to be here,
Yet we may not remain.
But since Thou bidd'st us leave the mount
Come with us to the plain.

The end of the Job reading: "How my heart yearns within me," ....

yup.

Peter's Contrition

In the last verse of Mark 14, after Peter denies Jesus, after the rooster crows, Peter remembered that Jesus had said this would happen.  "And when he thought about it, he wept."

You know what?  I don't think that night was the only time he thought about it and wept.  Even after Jesus forgave him, even after Jesus reminded him of his call to be an apostle, even after Pentecost, I bet there were still occasions when Peter "thought about it" and wept with shame and grief. 

Good Friday Decorum?

As a kid, I remember going to Tenebrae service in the evening of Good Friday.  We were supposed to leave in silence.  At my home congregation, we didn't have the practice of leaving in silence on Thursday night, nor gathering in silence on Saturday evening (because there wasn't a vigil on Saturday night).  I don't even remember anything particularly somber about gathering on Friday.  But leaving?  Yeah.  Quiet.  Serious.  No hand-shaking and chatting.  Just leave the building and go home. 

I know that some people say that's just a tradition that's about feeling and mood, and it's not important.  My brain can acknowledge that.  But my tradition isn't exactly okay with it. 

My parents had some friends; Roy worked with Dad; they were members of the same congregation; and we often went out for pizza with them on Friday nights.  One year, Roy and Carolyn came to church on Good Friday.  That wasn't normal for them.  They were Sunday attendees, and rarely come for midweek services.  After church, they approached my folks in the parking lot.  They suggested we go out to a nearby restaurant for a milkshake. 

We did.  Bright lights.  Treats.  Cheery waitress.

That was weird. 

The Candles at Vigil

Vigil.  The wee hours of the morning.  Alone in a quiet church.  Praying.  Candles in the torch stands around the pews, flickering.  Every now and then, the peripheral vision catches movement.  Is someone here?  How did I not hear the door open?  Oh, no, it's just the movement of those tiny, lively flames.

But it reminds me.  This holy night, in this holy place, angels and saints, apostles and prophets and martyrs, pray and praise. This holy night, in other holy places (where it is already daylight), the Church throughout the whole world prays and sings of her dear Lord's passion.

Not alone here after all.

Self-Righteousness versus Self-Loathing

I love the quote posted by Pastor Esget today:  

The satanic powers don’t care if your illusion is one of personal grandiosity or of self-loathing, as long as you see your current circumstance, rather than the gospel, as the eternal statement of who you are.

(The whole quote is on his blog, with the citation.  But I'm posting this sentence here, lest he should change his blog address and I lose this quote in cyberspace.)

Real Music

Usually, when someone's making music, you notice the music.  But if a real person is making music with a real instrument, which vibrates a real string or a real reed (as opposed to the sounds made by electronic music), there's something else to hear -- the sound of the person using the instrument.

When a person is playing guitar, there's the sound of the fingers on the strings, sliding from one fret to the next.  When a person is playing organ, someone nearby can hear the ever-so-soft sound of the feet hitting the pedals.  When a person is singing, between lines there's that sound of air being sucked into the lungs.

I used to think those were bad-but-necessary sounds.  Now with all the electronic ways of making music, I'm happy to notice those subtle indicators of real music.

Nursery Rhyme Game -- "Throw It Out the Window"

Have you sung the "Throw It Out the Window" song?  Something came up at work once when we were between customers on a slow day, and I demonstrated the nursery rhyme song that we would use to kill time when we were on a long car ride.  A couple of my co-workers thought it was a crack-up!

Basically you start with a nursery rhyme.  The tune is on you-tube, starting around the 2-minute mark.  You sing three lines of the nursery rhyme and then flip to

threw it out the window, 

the window, the second-story window.

If you can't make it rhyme,

or sing it on time,

throw it out the window.

For example:
Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
and a merry old soul was he.
He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl,
and he threw them out the window.  (Refrain)

Or:
Jack and Jill went up the hill
to fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown
and threw it out the window.  (Refrain)

Or:
Jack Sprat could eat no fat.
His wife could eat no lean.
And so between them both, you see,
they threw them out the window, the window, ... (refrain)

Haul out as many nursery rhymes as you can remember.
And have fun!

If My Kingdom Were of This World

Jesus told Pilate that if His kingdom were an earthly kingdom, His servants would fight.

Hmmm.  Peter fought.  In the garden.  With a sword.  So apparently Peter didn't know what the kingdom of God was.  (Isn't it nice to know that our cluelessness is nothing new for God to put up with?)

Judicial Activism

The Supreme Court heard arguments about ObamaCare.  In response, the president said recently,

And I'd just remind conservative commentators that, for years, what we have heard is, the biggest problem on the bench was judicial activism, or a lack of judicial restraint, that an unelected group of people would somehow overturn a duly constituted and passed law.

He thinks it would be "legislating from the bench" for the court to overturn his health care plan.

There's this document called the Constitution.  It sets the rules for how the government is supposed to work.  It's real simple: when the Congress makes an unconstitutional law, the court is supposed to say "No no -- not permissible."  That's not activism.  That is what the court is there to do.

War is peace.
Freedom is slavery.
Ignorance is strength.
Striking down an unconstitutional law is judicial activism.


He thinks we'll buy that line.
What scares is ... we might.

Is That Kid Paying Attention?

Philip was one of those kids who would've been kicked out of school unless we put him on Ritalin.  He was bright.  He had an awesome memory.  He could problem-solve like nobody's business.  But he wiggled.  He touched everything.  He bounced.  He had to move.  If you're homeschooling, it's no big deal.  "Hey, Philip, go run across the field out back, and run back."  Some large-motor use, some exercise, some calories spent, and he was ready to play with Matchbox cars while I read some more history to him.

His father knew this.  And yet, even his father came home one night from confirmation class, frustrated as all get out that Philip couldn't sit still during class.  (Now, I realize that some people think that it's far more important for kids to learn to sit still, behave properly, and not be a nuisance to others.  But I am a bad person, and at home I cared more about whether he was absorbing the books we were reading and whether he was learning to think critically.)

Back when Philip was about 9, Gary would try to drum up discussion at the dinner table on Sunday about the sermon.  What did the kids hear?  What was the story?  What did Jesus do for us?  One Sunday, Gary directed his first question to Philip: "So, what was the sermon about today?"  The quick and innocent answer was, "I don't know; I was being good today." 

Gary looked at me quizzically.  What was this all about?!

I knew!  I was surprised Gary didn't.  It took SO much effort for Philip to sit still, to stand still, to not wiggle wiggle wiggle his way through church, not poke his sisters, not turn around and check out where everybody was sitting, etc etc, that he couldn't listen and be good.  It was one or the other. 

Is that good?  Probably not.  Do lots of people disapprove?  Probably so.  But that was the reality of his childhood. 


So, now Katie has said things to Alia's Sunday School teachers, expressing appreciation for their efforts.  The teachers don't seem to think Alia pays attention.  She is the youngest one in class.  She sometimes walks around during the lesson.  To all outward appearances (especially if the observer expects calm, compliant, classroom behavior) Alia couldn't possibly be getting anything out of class.  Her outward behavior is not consistent with what most teachers expect from a child who is paying attention.  But what she says at home to her mommy shows that she's absorbing the stories fabulously.

Yesterday the children processed with palms while they sang "Sing Hosanna to the Son of David."  Alia didn't exactly stop right where she was supposed to in the line-up.  Alia sang sometimes and didn't sometimes.  I'm sure many people would've thought she was clueless.  But just before the kids sang, "Wave your palms and sing your praises; blessed is the king who comes," Alia began waving her palm branch vigorously. 

She knew where they were in the song.
She knew what the song was saying.
And boy, she was ready to wave her palm!


(Guess what?  She's paying attention.)

Pilate Marveled

When Jesus didn't defend himself or answer questions, Pilate marveled.  Late on that Friday afternoon, when the centurion came and reported that Jesus had already died, Pilate marveled at that too (Mark 15). 

In the Passover psalm (118), we pray about the Father's acceptance of the Savior's sacrifice: "This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes." 

But it is not just we who marvel.  Pilate marveled.  All through the gospel accounts, people marveled at what Jesus said and did.  Believers and unbelievers.

It's kinda sorta like the praise song in Philippians 2, where every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord.  Even those who do not believe will finally come to the last day when Christ will be vindicated and they will have to confess the truth.  And the whole world will marvel at the redemption that we find so marvelous in these holy days.

All Those Political Phone Calls

Insanity!  Several robo-calls a day from one of the candidates for the presidential nomination.  The answering machine keeps filling up with messages.  We keep interrupting our chores and our school-reading to jump up to answer the phone, only to discover that it's a Republican-paid computer again.

I'm going to have a hard stomaching voting for anybody on the ballot.  My inclination at this point is either
1) to not vote, or
2) to vote for the guy endorsed by the one man I actually want to vote for.

Conundrum: The guy who's making all the phone calls is the guy endorsed by the man I want for my president.  So do I vote for the pesky phone caller?  Do I want to reward that sort of obnoxious behavior?

But Isn't That Arrogant?

I have more understanding than all my teachers,
for Your testimonies are my meditation.
I understand more than the ancients,
because I keep Your precepts.  (Psalm 119:99-100)

Once upon a time, when I was talking with a friend who was considering leaving the Lutheran Church to be Eastern Orthodox, he told me that I ought not disrespect my fathers.  The church fathers are our fathers.  We ought not act like petulant teenagers who think we know everything.  He certainly had a point.  Sometimes fathers do know things that the children "know" to be oh-so-stupid, and it will take a few decades before the kids find out Dad was right after all.

So what's up with this verse in Psalm 119?
Who had the audacity to say this?
Oh, yeah, it was somebody who was inspired by God.
Hmmm.

Didn't Paul praise the Bereans for searching the Scriptures to see if his message was faithful to the doctrine of the Old Testament?  There seems to be a place for asking questions.

Can we sometimes say, "I have more understanding than my teachers"?  When Luther came along, did he say anything different from the church fathers who preceded him?  Or did he just refine what had been said earlier?  When problems arise, we learn something as we deal with them.  There's a problem with the plaster in the house, and maybe we learn something about drywall.  There's a problem with the stove, and we learn to adjust the settings, or maybe we even learn how to replace a heating element with the help of a you-tube tutorial.  There are other problems too.  Some dude is selling indulgences over in Mainz in the 1500s, and somebody has to say why that's wrong and how Jesus' blood is my righteousness.  We have some other pastor-guys fighting about election in the late 1800s, and how God elects His chosen ones, and why, and when, and what it means, ... and maybe there are personalities involved and not just doctrine, so that maybe we today have insight that even our fathers didn't have in the midst of the controversy.

Is that really arrogant?  I know it can be.  I know the temptation is always there. 

But it's not wrong to say "I understand more than the ancients" when our view continues to be illuminated by the light of Jesus' cross.  When I am navel-gazing, and when my teachers have their eyes fixed on the Savior and His work, then I understand bajillions less than they do.  But sometimes you hear a toddler or older child confess the Faith purely and sweetly, and the teacher is embarrassed to see that her own faith is cluttered with garbage.

We are blessed to "understand more than the ancients" when our heart is captured by the things into which kings and prophets longed to look but could not see (Luke 10).

Medicinal Uses for Incandescent Lightbulbs

Save some of the incandescent bulbs you hoarded.  There are certain skin problems that need sunshine for healing.  Diaper rash, for example.  There are other rashes too that respond well to sunlight.  Some superficial infections heal as well from light as they do from medicines, with none of the prescription's side effects.

But there are times --especially in Wisconsin-- where the sun is not available for medicinal use.  Are you going to expose a baby's bare bottom to the sun in January in Wisconsin?  What happens when baby is feeling sick, nurses too often, and Mommy gets sore?  Although we may be advised to expose our nipples to sun for the healing effects, few of us live in an isolated enough place to try that.  A fungal infection on your foot could be exposed to sun easily enough, but there are other parts of the body that are not meant for display at the park or in the backyard. 

That's where an incandescent lightbulb helps so much.  Several ten-minute stints each day, with the light shining on the sore spot, makes good headway on healing sore nipples, cuts, superficial infections, and skin rashes.  Maybe I need to hide a few of my good old-fashioned lightbulbs with the first aid supplies, so they won't be used up for silly little things like providing light in the kitchen.

The Squeegee in the Shower

Don Aslett taught me to clean.  So we have a squeegee in the shower.  The shower walls should be squeegeed after every use, unless people are getting in the shower,  boom-boom-boom, one after the other.  Sometimes people forget.  Sometimes we have company that doesn't know or doesn't want to bother squeegeeing.  (Let's be realistic here -- how many people would know that they're supposed to squeegee my shower before they dry off?)

So is this too fussy?  Is this necessary?  Does it really make any difference?

Evidence #1 -- We were on vacation.  Seven adults in a cabin.  No squeegee in the shower.  No daily spritz-spritz quick-clean as we do at home.   You know what?  A bathroom gets nasty pretty fast that way.  I can live with one middle-of-the-week cleaning on vacation.  After all, it's vacation.  We're not supposed to be doing all the regular cleaning.  But I don't think I could bear a bathroom (used by that many people) that went uncleaned for a whole week.

Evidence #2 -- A few months ago we had company.  I think less than half the showerers were using the squeegee.  After a week, I needed to [gasp] clean the shower walls.  Y'know, like, scrub them.  With a cleanser.  What nonsense!  Who has time for that?  Who wants to spend money on the chemicals to do that?  When you squeegee the walls faithfully, you only have to scrub the walls once or twice a year.  [Oh, now, don't give me that.  It is NOT gross to clean the walls twice a year.  Not if you squeegee all the time.  That's how awesome the squeegee is!]

Go to the hardware store.  Spend the five bucks to buy a squeegee to hang in your shower.  Take the 45 seconds daily to use it after your shower.  Even if you're in a hurry.  It saves so much time later!!

Toasting

Maggie, Alia, and I were having a "picnic" at the "beach."  We sat on the living room floor, with our beach blanket spread out, arrayed with toy food, and filled our mini-teacups with water from the teapot and the lemonade pitcher.

Alia carefully poured water tea for each of us.  I raised my teacup and toasted the beach.  "To the beach!"  Maggie repeated, "To the beach!" and we clinked our teacups.  I said, "Hear, hear!"  Maggie said, "Hear, hear!"   And Alia clinked her cups to ours with a hearty, "We're here!"

The Old Adam and the Old Eve?

I heard a sermon recently (not here!) that referred to the sinful nature as "the old Adam and the old Eve."  The pastor said something about how the "old Eve" couldn't be reformed but "she" had to be put to death.

It kinda creeped me out, and I was thankful that the preacher accepted my objection.

There's a reason the Apostle Paul and Luther talk so much about the old Adam.  Neither Scripture nor the church fathers referred to the sinful nature as "the old Eve."  Paul wrote to the Corinthians, "For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive."  We are sons of Adam, not "sons of Adam and daughters of Eve"  --  C S Lewis notwithstanding.  Christ is the second Adam.  Christ is the Man who continues to be what man was intended to be and who does all that man was intended to do. We are joined to Him.  Therefore God sees us (whether male or female) as His son/sons.

This is not sexist language.  Neither is it sexist to refer to male Christians as members of "the bride of Christ."  When we depart from scripture's vocabulary and start in with the gender-inclusive language, whether we realize it or not, whether we intend it or not, we begin to do damage to theology.

The Tent

Two girls.  Giggling and fun.  Day after day of early-summer temperatures.  Olivia spending the night here.   Two girls decide it would be fun to set up the tent and sleep outside. 

Tent is erected.  About 9:00 the girls head to their outdoors bedroom.  After a bit, it begins to sprinkle.  No big deal.  They have a roof.  But then ... it begins to really rain.

At 11:00, two wet girls straggle into the kitchen.  The tent had collapsed.  They had to slither out, with the wet nylon draped across their backs.  We all headed out --in the rain-- to try to prop the tent up enough to haul out the wet sleeping bags, wet blankets, and wet pillows.  You know what?  In a rain, it's hard to lift even a light nylon tent.  But we retrieved the contents of the tent.

Two days later, it was no longer sopping, soaked, and dripping, so that we could set up the tent poles again, letting the muddy nylon begin to dry.  Another day, and we could take a bucket of soapy water and try to wash the mud off the inside and outside of the tent.  Another day, and we can try to finagle a way to dry the underneath side of the tent floor.  Maybe we can have it fully dry before the next rains come.

Problem is, we don't even know why it happened.  So how do we avoid a repeat?  Poor girls -- they may be traumatized for life.  I'm sure they'll remember this every time they crawl into a tent for the rest of their lives.  Hopefully they'll laugh.

Typo in LSB

A sharp was left out of the music.  At least, it was in the first printings of the hymnal.  Wide Open Stand the Gates is LSB 639.  Same tune at LSB 674, Jerusalem, O City Fair and High. In the last score of 639, middle measure, the G is supposed to be sharped.  It's the same run of notes as occurs twice earlier in the hymn.  In 674, the G needs adjustment in the second measure of the last score, where the three notes are tied.

Acolytes

Sometimes kids have a booger of a time remembering in which order to light the candles.  I heard an explanation recently that seemed so clear and easy-to-remember. 

The cross is in the middle, over the altar.  See it?  Jesus is the light of the world.  So when you're lighting the candles, start in the middle and work out from there, because it's like the light is spreading out.  When you're extinguishing the candles, you start at the edges and work toward the middle, because even when there's darkness, there's still light from Jesus.  So it's always that the candles nearest the center --nearest where Jesus hangs on the cross-- are the ones lit even when others aren't.

Isn't that simple?

The Neighbor Kids

A crew of boys were outside next door this afternoon.  They looked like they were having a grand time with their Airsoft guns.  I assumed they'd be in our yard part of the time, and they were.  That wasn't a problem.  But while I was washing dishes, the battle-zone changed from north/south to east/west.  Pretty soon, one of the fellows was escaping the enemy, running right through my muddy strawberry patch and asparagus patch.  I hurried to the back door, feeling like the Cranky Old-Lady Neighbor, and and hollered, "Guys, please stay out of the garden!  There's already stuff coming up out there."  They quickly scooted away and I hollered, "Thank you." 

The dad had just come out, and he witnessed this.  He called them together.  I didn't know what to expect -- if he'd be scolding them or complaining about me.  About five minutes later, there's a knock on the door.  The whole group of boys are there to apologize for being in our yard.

Wow!  I told them thank you, and that being in our yard wasn't the problem, but it's the garden that particularly needs to be avoided.  They again apologized and went back to play some more. 

Wow.  It's amazing what a little thing like an apology can do to soften the heart of a Cranky Old-Lady Neighbor.