Private Hospital Rooms

The kids and I recently began reading Farewell to Manzanar, a book about the relocation of Japanese-Americans during WWII. The Wakatasuki family managed to keep the family together on the buses headed out to the concentration camps, and also managed to snag a unit of one of the barracks for their family. However, the family was too big to all fit in one unit, so one of the married daughters and her husband ended up with strangers (as did nearly everyone else in the concentration camp). On Thursday, we were reading about the difficulty of that lack of privacy for them and how desperate the couple was to find something –anything-- that would get them out of the situation of living with strangers.

Friday I drove down to my hometown to sit with Dad in the hospital while Mom went to a funeral and the sibs were at work. For the first three days of his recuperation from surgery, Dad hadn’t exactly been being a very patient patient. (Incidentally, things were MUCH improved by the time I arrived.)

During the day I began to realize how very nice it is to have a private room in the hospital. When Maggie has been hospitalized she always had a private room except for the first ICU (in Madison) where there was a huge amount of space between beds due to all the ICU equipment. When I was in the hospital having babies, I didn’t have roommates. (One time, the whole maternity ward had been closed for over a week, and they had to open it up and call in staff for me and baby Paul.) When my friend Steve was in the hospital, there was never a roommate with him when I visited.

To share a room (especially a small room) with a stranger, that makes the whole experience a little different. There are two tv’s running. There are two sets of conversations. You know that whatever the therapist says to you is heard by the other patient and his family. You know that the conversations with visitors are being overheard. The amount of noise or amount of light in the room is something to take into account for the other person. If you want to pray or sing, you wonder how that’s going to affect the other patient. If the other patient has a potty mouth, that’s affecting you.

I know that hospitals used to have wards, and I used to think that semi-private rooms were an unnecessary luxury. But in my old age now, getting cranky and used to my privacy, I’m really glad that next month in Milwaukee I know we’ll have the luxury of a private room for Mags. Boy, I am spoiled rotten.

Luke 8

I was editing Pr Fabrizius's volume on Luke this morning. One of the questions was about the woman with the continual flow of blood spending "all her livelihood" on physicians. I got distracted from verb tenses and commas, and thought about that phrase. Interestingly (at least, interesting to me), the father of the prodigal son also divided out his "livelihood."

That woman spent all her money. And what good did it do? No good for her. But her expenditures served a purpose in teaching us something about Jesus. Her expenditures thus served me. The father in Luke 15 sacrificed his "bios" (Greek word for "life" or "livelihood"). The woman couldn't buy health. The prodigal father gave to his son who wasted it. But it was all for the purpose of showing us the compassionate heart of the only One who can give forgiveness of sin, and thus also give health and life.

And being a hymn addict, I couldn't help but think of Rist's
"Lo, stained with blood,
the Lamb of God, the Bridegroom,
lies before thee,
pouring out His life that He may to life restore thee."

Granted, it's not the same word "life," but I like the thought nevertheless.

And then the other thing I noticed was something connected to the earlier part of the chapter. The woman with the flow of blood saw (in verse 47) that "she was not hidden." Those same words were used in verses 16-17. What is secret will be revealed; anything hidden will come to light. When she found that she was not hidden, she came to Jesus in fear, love, and trust, and worshiped before Him, confessing her faith in Him, confessing that He is the One who heals all ills, confessing that she wanted what He had to give. Her faith was in Jesus, and He made her well. And this is not hidden from the people around her, nor hidden from us ... because it points us to the lamp (Ps 119:105 and John 1) who is held up on the cross to bring light to the whole world (Is 60).

Tying Up Loose Ends

The centipede infestation continues unabated. Neighbors have told us they're having the same problem, so it must be something with the weather or the crop-harvesting. Poor Andrew -- he doesn't tend to be bothered by bugs, but centipedes just gross him out, and he's been talking frequently about moving away from this house! Like, NOW!

The guy who left the political yardsign in our front yard still has not been back to retrieve his sign. This amuses me.

The road hazard that I encountered on Sept 25 did some damage after all. The tires made it through, apparently unscathed. But the "flex pipe" going from the engine to the exhaust system had a gash in it. The last week I've been driving around sounding like a hot-rodder. Didn't bother to make an appt for fixing it because of plans to be in Milwaukee. So a phone call to the mechanic was one of the first orders of business when we got home on Monday afternoon. When we picked it up today, it wasn't even that terrible a bill! Hooray!

And for those of you who have asked about the hog's head, it is all taken care of. It was boiled for hours and hours yesterday in a huge pot, bigger than a water-bath canner. When Philip came home from work, he began taking the meat off. We didn't like it. He ended up throwing the meat out. I don't know if the icky flavor was due to the head having been roasted on the spit with the rest of the piggy, or if it was because of being boiled with all the other "stuff" that comes with a head (teeth, eyes, skin, etc) instead of just bone, fat, and meat.

When I was checking at one point to determine whether it was done, I reached into the pot and grabbed something that turned out not to be muscle. Oops, I yanked a tooth out of the jawbone. I didn't know if I had ruined something Philip would want, so I left the tooth on the counter. Maggie thought that was interesting, as on the previous day she'd just had a discussion about her loose tooth and that the doctor might have to pull it prior to intubation. (By the way, the tooth fairy does know to visit hospital patients under those circumstances -- so declares the nurse-practioner.)

Well, anyway, regardless of the flavor of the meat, Philip still wanted the bones. So last night he was picking apart this skull. "Oooooh, Mom, you gotta see the soft palate on this animal! Isn't it interesting?" (I hate to admit it, but it was pretty. It had a pattern that would make a very nice floor tile or wall paper.) "Hey, mom, I've got the eyeball. You wanna see?" "NO!!!" (I get really creeped out by eyeballs. And some people actually dissect sheep eyeballs for homeschool science. Yuck!) At this point, I figured it was time for me to get out of range of hearing Philip's discoveries.

I don't know where this skull is now. Maybe it boiled too long and crumbled. We can only hope.

Incense

I put the chicken in to broil for dinner about 10 minutes ago. And now I'm smelling "church." This is weird. I wonder if there's rosemary in incense. My kitchen smells like Zion Detroit and Redeemer Ft Wayne.

Hospital Update

Surgery has been rescheduled for the Tuesday after Thanksgiving.

That's seven weeks away.

We've already been waiting eight weeks. But I understood the delay there. The cardiologist said they were trying to get all the school-kids' surgeries done before classes started in September. They had to wait for an open slot on the MRI. They had to analyze the MRI results and discuss them. Then they had to schedule a place in OR for Maggie. But now it's seven more. And Maggie's grown an inch taller and 13 pounds heavier since the August cardiology appt. If she's growing faster, that's all the quicker she's outgrowing her pulmonary artery which she'd already outgrown 18 months ago. But the cardiologist says she'll be okay waiting until the end of next month. I hope he's right.

The cardio-thoracic surgeon "should" be scheduled for one surgery a day. He can do two in a crisis. He's scheduled for two a day, every day through the end of this month. He has some days he's scheduled to be out of town in November. The nurse said we could request "second slot" on Nov 14, 15, or 16. But she said the likelihood of getting bumped again was not insignificant. She said we would be scheduled for the morning surgery if we opted for Nov 28 or 29. She also said that the likelihood of getting bumped again then would be minimal; only the desperate people schedule surgery between Thanksgiving and Christmas. If we're stuck waiting seven more weeks, we're hoping that at least we can look forward to the surgeon having had some days off and little bit of a rest from his currently crazy schedule.

Somehow, though, I just can't believe we won't get bumped again. I have no confidence whatsoever that we'll go in at the end of November and actually stay for the operation. Either the doctor's schedule or Maggie's health could interfere with the planned date. Beyond the emotional preparation and the logistics of who's living where when and eating where when, and getting subs for work, there's the financial situation. The deductible is already paid this year, and so is most of the co-insurance. If this hospital stay spills over into January, it's going to cost us an extra $1800. (There I go, fretting again. I suppose I could get out Luther's devotions from a couple of weeks ago, the week the Gospel was on Matthew 6.)

It is utterly amazing to me how tired we are from the change in plans. And I'm rather disgusted with myself. I keep thinking how inconvenient this is for me, how this is going to mess up our December, how I have to get back into the swing of everyday life and school and work. Goodness gracious -- there are little babies whose lives depend on having access to that surgeon today. And all I can think is how this change in plans disrupts our lives. That is astoundingly selfish. (Not that such a realization changes my selfishness....)

Maggie has been completely satisfied with the change of plans. Initially she wasn't. But when her friend Mary found out that surgery was canceled, her first comment was "then Maggie will be able to come to my slumber party after all." And so it is arranged that the girls will get together this Friday, and in the Land of Eleven-Yr-Olds, all is well.

Genesis 1:28 + Genesis 3:16-19

Pastor was talking about the curse of the fall the other day. The curse of the fall is the sorrow women have in motherhood and their desire to usurp the husband's office, as well as that the ground is cursed and work is hard and that we will die. He asked how that is related to who God made us to be. (We didn't catch on as fast as he wished.)

He pointed us to God's "prime directive" given to Adam and Eve: have babies, and exercise dominion over the earth. The curse strikes right at the heart of those two things for men and for women. So the curse isn't some tangential thing. It is entirely caught up in who we are and what we have been made to do.

How come it's so obvious when he says it, but I'd never ever figure it out without being told???

The Power of the Packers

Driving home from errands today, I didn't even notice the sign at the smut house around the corner. I noticed that I didn't notice ["huh?!?" they say] because somebody turned into the driveway of the strip joint. When I have to slow down on the highway to avoid hitting one of those prurient jerks, I can't help but think "loser!"

The incident reminded me that last week I did notice the sign at the smut house. It was flashing (something the sign seldom does). It had huge bold letters, screaming at us, to try to draw in more customers. Usually the sign tells us when happy hour is, how many girls are dancing that night, whether the bar is serving hot wings or popcorn, important information like that. But last week, the humongous sign at the strip joint flashed:

Watch the Packers Game Here Tonight!

Somehow, I thought that said something about Wisconsin and their Packer mania.

Writing Assignments

Writing is one of the things the kids are supposed to do for schoolwork. The older four didn't have as much trouble coming up with things to write about as Kid#5 does. So I finally decided that I'm just going to have to be diligent about making a list of ideas for him and append it to his school to-do list. In case anybody else is short of ideas, here are some that we're using this week. (I took many of them from "Do It Later: A 2007 Planner (or Non-Planner) for the Creative Procrastinator." I bought the book because it was so fun to read. But now I'm finding it full of ideas of projects that a bored homeschooled kid might find himself doing instead of reading comic books!)


Most importantly, write about what you read for science, history, or literature. Or something that happened recently at home, at Smiles, in the news, on errands, etc.

Other ideas might be –
Write about what you’d do with the money if you won the lottery.
Tell about the kinds of trees in your yard.
Make a list of possible New Year’s Resolutions: realistic ones and idealistic ones.
Make a list of things you’re glad you’re not allergic to.
Write about the benefits (and maybe down-sides?) of having a to-do list.
Tell about your friends who live in other states.
Write about your favorite candies.
What season is best and why?
What jobs would you never take, even if you were dirt poor?

Hospital Update

Surgery is canceled. The nurse will call later today and reschedule, probably for November they told us. The doctor did lots of heart transplants this summer, which pushed back some of the "regular" surgeries into fall. A week ago, NINE babies were born that needed immediate corrective surgery. Maggie was scheduled for 7:30 tomorrow morning, and when we started pre-op procedures they told us she had been pushed back to 3:30 in the afternoon. But before we got to EKG and blood draws and X-ray, another call came in with the need for the doctor to handle another emergency of a baby born this morning. Since Maggie is by far the healthiest of the ones needing surgery, she stays at the end of the line.

We found out during pre-op today that they anticipate Maggie being in for about a week. Possible that it could be a day or two less, possible that it could be longer. But they said planning for a week would be reasonable. Also, they hope to take out the breathing tube and have her wake up the same day as the surgery. For her last open-heart, she was drugged for over four days to keep her asleep, and still had the breathing tube for a few days after waking up.

It's an odd feeling to be sent home. Kinda disappointing, and it shouldn't be. We had the arrangements made -- the food taken care of for the ones at home and the ones at the hospital, errands re-arranged, Ronald McDonald House reservations, work schedules adjusted, etc. And now we just come home and go on with life, and go through all those arrangements again in a few weeks. I think the weird "let down" feeling is probably due to the desire to be in control and to know what's coming up next. Even if what's coming up next isn't such a good thing, people still seem a little more settled if our expectations aren't pulled out from under us.

Well, back to schoolwork and housekeeping and cooking. And we'll try this surgery thing again in a few more weeks. They did tell us that they try never to reschedule a second time, knowing how rescheduling throws a huge kink into people's lives and plans.

Acts 8:2

The Rev Dr Stephen Wiest entered eternal glory on October 4, 2003. Three years ago today we buried him. "And devout men carried Stephen to his burial, and made great lamentation over him."

Reformation Bloodshed

Last night, a couple of us were at a Mission Festival in Greenfield. Pr Fehrmann preached. I did listen to the sermon; really, I did. But one comment caught and diverted my attention for a while. He mentioned what happens when the Church's message begins to shift back to where it's supposed to be. When the Church gets away from preaching repentance and the forgiveness of sins, when the Church toddles into other areas like preaching morality instead of forgiveness, a return to the message of forgiveness of sins is always accompanied by bloodshed. Think of what's happened throughout history. As long as the Church focuses on morality, the persecution is not strong. But when the focus returns to forgiving sinners, things get uncomfortable in the Church; there are arguments and fighting; yes, even bloodshed.

It makes me realize that what's happening among American Lutherans today is minor. Pastors may not be getting paid all the time. Pastors may be getting fired. Pastors may be getting in trouble with the church bureaucracy. But people aren't going to jail or getting killed. We really have it pretty easy.



Suddenly today, my computer righted itself with regard to posting on blogger. My icons for the bolding and italics and hyperlinks magically returned. I suppose that means I should try again to figure out how to post pictures. But first I would need to figure out how to look at digital pictures on the computer. One step at a time....

And taking that cliche and making it literal... it really is necessary to take one step at a time -- broom in hand -- in the basement these days. The centipede infestation continues. Every time I change a load of laundry I have to sweep the floor. Then an hour later, when I head back to the laundry room again, the floor is littered with centipedes. If I don't sweep them up before I fold each load, I crunch every time I move my feet. A couple of days of this is one thing, but it's starting to get a little gross.

And on a more serious and ponderous note, I'm putting a post on the Mouthhouse Moms blog regarding kids growing up. Katie's car accident and Jane's recent blog post and the arrival of Saranita got me to thinking.

Hospital Update

This child is still snotty-nosed and coughing. Still no fever. If we're leaving for a week, we need to spend tomorrow afternoon packing. But at this point, we don't know what things will look like Monday morning and whether surgery will remain scheduled for Tuesday or not.

"Not knowing" is always so wearying. Are the kids keeping house next week for themselves or not? If we're going to be in the city, will it be for 4 days or 12? Do we have a place to stay at the Ronald McDonald House, or will we be staying with friends who are 20 minutes from the hospital? And when will we even know? I'm not sure we'll know until Monday lunchtime what next week's plan are. This drives me nuts.

That Slick-Fella's Yardsign

Well, my husband mentioned to the church council what had happened with regard to the candidate's yardsign on the church property. They all thought it was pretty rotten of him to do that, but they decided that nothing should be done other than phoning him and asking him not to do it again. So my husband did, and the man asked if he could come pick up the sign. My husband warned him that he will probably have to face an irritated woman when he comes to fetch the sign. :-) He was supposed to have come on Monday or Tuesday, and he hasn't shown up yet.

So on Monday I called the county clerk, the state elections board, and the sheriff's office, asking about the rules regarding signs. Two things amazed me. First, it seems generally agreed upon that candidates aren't supposed to place signs without asking permission, but apparently it's not a "rule." However, what seems much clearer than placement of yardsigns is that no one is supposed to remove a yardsign. The elections board even said that I should call the police and have them remove the sign rather than taking it down myself. Second thing that surprised me was that the suggested recourse (from both the elections board and the sheriff's office) was to charge the man with trespassing.

Doesn't having a guy arrested for trespassing seem a bit like overkill? I think people should know about his sleazy campaign practices, but having him arrested seems like it's going a bit too far.

I was stunned by how many people told me that it's "only common courtesy" to give the sign back. (I did find out, however, that the law does not require me to give it back.) Everyone who told me about "courtesy," though, seemed oblivious to the fact that the candidate hadn't used common courtesy in asking if he could put a sign in the neighbor's yard. And he didn't have common courtesy to honor my instructions that there be no sign in my yard. I guess they think that I should respond with common courtesy no matter what he does. I suppose that's why fathers aren't supposed to shoot intruders who drop through their ceilings in the middle of the night [see "Guns in the Home" from Sept 27]. I bet these are adults who scold a little child when he grabs his toy back from the bully.

Another thing that bothered me about the conversations is the general acceptance of the idea that we should never take matters into our own hands. We should call the police and have them take the sign down, have the police return the sign to the candidate, but WE ought never be so bold as to take down a sign ourselves, even if it was put in our own yard after we said "you can't do that." I was told a similar thing once before by police, when I was reported to police for making a child leave our property when she'd been vandalizing us. The policeman knew who the trouble-maker was in that incident, but he also knew the way the law worked, and he advised us always to call the police to handle even the smallest incidents. This country is going to go broke on trying to buy enough law-enforcement.

A Hog's Head?

Son phones from work. Oh, no, panic time. This week he's learning to solder and he's already given himself a couple of minor burns.

No, it's okay. The phone call isn't about injuries.

"Mom, do you have any idea of what to do with a hog's head?"

I didn't know what was behind that question.

"Well, they are having a contest at work."

I assumed this was a contest for creative ideas of what to do with a hog's head. In a lovely fit of community spirit, the company bought one of the hogs at the county fair last month. They roasted the victim today and treated the employees to dinner.

I proceeded to explain that some people make head cheese.

"Well, ummm, I won it."

He won WHAT?

"The hog's head. They had a raffle for it, and I won. Turns out I was the only one who entered. I figured if anyone knew what to do with the head of a pig, my mother would."

Hmmm. I think that might've been a compliment.
It's hard to know for sure.

I'm certainly not surprised that he's the only one who entered the raffle.

I guess tomorrow we'll be boiling the head until we get the meat to fall off, and we'll throw some barbecue sauce on it, and have sandwiches. Any other suggestions? I sure don't have time to mess with anything complicated when we're getting ready to leave for a week or two on Monday morning.

Hospital Update

Three and a half days to pre-op, and this kid has a runny nose and froggy throat. I hope it's allergies. We haven't been good about taking the dietary enzymes with meals the last week. I've noticed my allergies have started acting up without the enzymes, and it's reasonable that hers might be too. I've started putting zinc and C and raw garlic and echinacea into her, along with a renewed commitment to the enzymes. Boy, I wonder how long it would have to be put off if we have to reschedule surgery because of a cold. At least there's no fever. Yet.

Tolerance of False Doctrine

For years I had a really hard time with the fact that so much false teaching is allowed to go unchecked in our church body. But in the last few years, Pastor has helped me understand that we believe in the "holy Christian Church" as we state in the Creed. We don't see the holiness of the Church. As individual Christians are weighed down by sin, so are church bodies. We are, individually, declared pure and righteous for the sake of Christ; so too our church is declared pure, and we don't experience its purity yet. I've had dear friends contemplating leaving the Lutheran church because it's not pure enough. So when I read Rev Rolf Preus's comments recently, I agreed completely and wanted to pass them along. I found this at Beggars All dated October 2.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The LCMS permits false teachers. You will likely not be removed from the LCMS if you promote false doctrine. It happens, but rarely. Paul Bretcher denied the deity of Christ. It took a while, but he was removed. Benke is made into a folk hero and his supporters claim to represent the true position of the LCMS.

On the other hand, the W/ELS will remove pastors for teaching the truth. The failure to submit to the doctrinal authority of the synod as synod is grounds for removal and the breaking of fellowship. Those who express fellowship with those removed are themselves threatened with the breaking of fellowship. This is the real "unit concept" at work.

Independent congregations develop strange and sectarian tendencies in a very short time. Pastors and congregations need mutual support and encouragement from other pastors and congregations devoted to the same truth.

Little synods that break away also become quite sectarian. Witness the self-destruction of the LCR as confessionally grounded pastors are hounded out of the fellowship for daring to apply what the Lutheran Confessions actually say to the life of the church.

How to set boundaries? It's a never ending task. I offer no solutions, just the problems we face. I've been in a synod that tolerates error while officially teaching the truth. I've been in a synod that exercises discipline on the basis of extra-biblical authority. I believe that it is better to permit the guilty to remain free than it is to convict the innocent. Call me a liberal. They say that a conservative is a liberal who just got mugged. Well, a liberal is a conservative who just got arrested. When you face unbiblical authority that lays claim to your doctrinal allegience you are facing a spiritual wickedness that poses a far greater danger to the church than does the weakness of soft-hearted Missourians who think that the Benkes of this world are just a little misled and can by means of dialogue be brought around. Tolerance of false doctrine within a synod is not nearly so bad as the intolerance of the truth. It was Dr. David P. Scaer who said that to me years ago. When I reminded him of it he had forgotten that he said it. But I have not forgotten. Scaer was, without knowing it, prophetic.

The next few years and decades will be a challenge for all confessinal Lutherans who want to belong to a truly confessional fellowship. I offer this advice to confessional Missourians looking for that ever illusive orthodox synod. Be careful! There is something more valuable than what you are seeking, and that is the truth that you already have.

One of those days

I started the grain soaking for the bread last night. When I went to put the other ingredients into the dough and knead, there was no yeast. There's always supposed to be a pound of yeast in reserve in the basement, but there's none in the kitchen nor in the basement. By the time I manage to get my hands on some yeast, the wheat is going to be way over-soaked.

I picked up the little old car from the repair place yesterday. The oil light flashed at me on the way home a few times. I checked the oil and there was nothing on the dipstick. The people that drive that particular car have been forgetting that Zippy guzzles oil like crazy. So we put two quarts in her and need to check again how low she is.

Different kid was in a car wreck. All the humans are fine. The vehicles are not.

Found a moth and two worms in the rice jar when I was making lunch.

Waiting to hear test results of a friend's biopsy.

Went to deliver papers to the paper-carriers today. It had to start pouring just as we got to town. I managed to get all the papers into the garage of the guy who has the biggest route, without getting the papers tooooo damp. And then I remembered that he's out of town and I was supposed to deliver the bundles to his substitute. Put all the bundles of newspapers back into the van, got there to the sub's house, found his whole driveway was entirely full of broken-down vehicles, and the street was entirely full of puddles.

The slimy Democrat was supposed to come by last night to talk to me and pick up his yardsign. He never showed.

Distressed about something that happened Monday night. There will be a chance to talk about the problem tomorrow.

On Saturday, our little area of the world became overrun by box-elder bugs. They're everywhere. On Sunday, that infestation was joined by centipedes. They were everywhere outdoors, crawling on everything, more than you could possibly count. It's been raining for several days, and the centipedes have migrated indoors. At least they are (so far) confined to the floor of the basement, and not the furniture nor the upstairs.

I'm ready to quit everything now and go watch tv and eat Snickers. But I can't. The laundry beckons. The children need to be fed. The bread needs to be made ahead of time for next week. I need to go to work. And one child is insistent on my helping her with schoolwork right now. Can't we just deal with FOOD first?

Romeo & Juliet and the Seal of the Confessional

Friday we went to APT for our last show of the season -- Romeo and Juliet. It's not one of the plays I like, but it was being produced by one of my favorite directors there, so we organized a small group of homeschoolers to attend a school matinee.

It was the best play we saw this season! The first act was hilarious. No stuffy romance here, but all the silly fun of giggling at infatuated teenagers.

The thing that got me was the tragedy of the second act. I think the message I'm supposed to get from the show is about feuds and grudges and fighting. But instead, I kept wondering what would've happened if the pastor had been a faithful father-confessor.

Confessors must not only pronounce forgiveness to the penitent, but must also honor the seal of the confessional. This means not only that they "don't tell," but also that it is as though they never heard the confession themselves -- Jesus did. The priest in the story refused to "let God be God"; he wanted to interfere with circumstances. He wanted to settle the family feuds. He wanted to arrange temporal peace in their city. And so he took matters into his own hands. And it didn't turn out very well, did it?

Of course, there wouldn't have been much of a story if the priest had told the kids to honor their parents, if he'd refused to marry them against their parents' wishes, if he hadn't suggested the whole feigned-suicide thing. I guess stories always need a bad guy. But maybe Tybalt and Mercutio weren't the real bad guys here.

Psalm 91 + Matthew 21

Pastor keeps talking about how the job of the angels is to minister God's word. He keeps telling us how they preach in the unseen realm the things he preaches where we see and hear. He keeps telling us that it is not the angels' job to keep us out of car accidents; they are preachers.

Okay. Sounds good. But it's hard to get that through my head when that's so entirely contrary to what's out there in our world.

So this morning I'm reading the psalm appointed for the day in Congregation at Prayer.
He will give His angels charge over you
To keep you in all your ways.
In their hands they shall bear you up,
Lest you dash your foot against a stone.

Well, think of all the times Jesus is considered a stone. He was the Rock in the wilderness that provided water to the children of Israel. He is often referred to in the psalms as a rock or a fortress. At the end of Matthew 21, Jesus applies Psalm 118 to Himself:
The stone which the builders rejected
Has become the chief cornerstone.
This was the Lord's doing
And it is marvelous in our eyes.

Then He goes on to talk about people falling on this Stone, or this Stone falling on them. So when we hear about "dashing your foot against a stone," ought we maybe to be thinking of tripping over Jesus and stumbling over the message of the gospel of forgiveness in His cross? (After all, the passages that are flitting through my mind are Ps 118 and Mt 21, and we can't get a whole lot more messianic than that!)

But I keep thinking of all the things we normally say about the protection of the angels. And yet, WHO was it in Mt 4 that quoted this Ps 91 passage and turned it into a promise of protection from owies and booboos? He's not exactly the most trustworthy commentator. The more I think about this, the more it seems that Ps 91 is saying that the angels shall bear you up in their hands lest you renounce the gospel of God's love seen in Christ's cross.

Grieving Takes Time

Three years ago today was the last time Steve talked to me. I had a few more days to talk to him and sing hymns to him and sit in his hospice room with lots of other friends and family. I'm very aware of these anniversary days -- the day he was diagnosed with his third bout of lymphoma, the last day I visited him and his wife at home, the day he was admitted to hospice, etc. But this year, finally, those memories aren't wipe-ya-out painful like last year and the previous year. Those memories are still incredibly vivid, and there is still some sorrow there, but the pain isn't there like it was.

I picked up a tape from church last Thursday. It was supposed to be the Service from a couple of Sundays ago. But somebody forgot to turn on the tape recorder. So what I found (which was supposed to have been recorded over) was a tape of Bible class from Eastertide 2000. Pastor Wiest was there. He was asking questions and making comments, being theologically provocative and insightful. It was such a happy thing to hear his voice and the things he said. Kinda a nice touch to hear his voice again on the anniversary of the day I last heard his voice. And also kinda nice to know that mourning and grieving eventually ends. But shame on the person who decides that a person's grief is "taking too long."