Monday, July 23, 2007
Off to Higher Things
The boys and I are on our way to the youth conference in Minneapolis this week. We enjoyed supper at Culvers earlier. Now we've stopped for the night in Eau Claire. Paul kept saying as we drove through this part of the state, "Wow, this looks like Wisconsin. Oh, I feel like an Illinois tourist!" Now for a good night's sleep because I'm sure we won't be getting much sleep for the rest of the week.
Government Mandated Schooling
I live with only five people. Within 36 hours after the release of The Deathly Hallows, THREE of these people (unbeknownst to each other) informed me:
"Guess what the evil people do? They outlaw homeschooling and other private schools!"
"Guess what the evil people do? They outlaw homeschooling and other private schools!"
The Fishbowl for the Pastor's Wife
A few weeks ago I met the new wife of a previously-widowed friend. In making polite conversation, she learned that I was a pastor's wife. So she was interested in why I attended Bible class at my father-confessor's church. I acknowledged that there were some pretty nice things about being "just one of the laymen" without being The Pastor's Wife. She was trying to be understanding and sympathetic, thinking about the experience of some other women she knew who were married to pastors, and thinking that would be my experience too.
She talked about how it's hard to live in the fishbowl. I explained that doesn't bother me tremendously. After all, I blab all about our lives on the Internet here anyway. And I know that in this rural area, everybody's life is fodder for the gossip mill; it's not unique to the pastor's family.
She suggested that it's hard for kids to live up to the expectations of being pastor's kids. I don't think my kids had too much of a hard time with that. For one thing, the only thing I impressed on them was what they did or didn't do because they're Christians. No special standards for the pastor's kids, except that we wouldn't allow them to volunteer to mow the church lawn. Now, my kids WERE held to some standards occasionally because we didn't want to give homeschoolers a bad name. "You be polite today. We don't want people to think poorly of other homeschoolers just because of some dingbattiness today on our fieldtrip."
Next my friend's wife suggested that it's hard for pastors' wives because they're expected to do so much at church. But I don't. My husband is the pastor. I have enough to do with my own activities. I am careful not to do more at church than I would if I were married to the plumber. So that's no big deal for me either.
What I like about going to Bible class somewhere else is being free to ask questions in Bible class. I don't have to worry about the stupidity of what I ask, or the depth of what I ask, or the peripheralness of what I ask. I know that my questions don't reflect on the pastor there like they do here (though it's probably not the same in all congregations), and that provides a certain level of freedom to receive God's word without worrying about what people think.
That's the fishbowl that worries me. Not whether my house is clean. Not how my children behave. Not how involved or uninvolved I am in church activities. Not my lack of stylishness. But that people may think my beliefs, my confession, my thoughts, my struggles, are reflective of what their pastor thinks. They may be the same; they may not. But given that people will assume my thoughts are likely to reflect the pastor's thoughts, I do not say much at church here. That's why the freedom to participate in Bible class out of the fishbowl can be so helpful.
She talked about how it's hard to live in the fishbowl. I explained that doesn't bother me tremendously. After all, I blab all about our lives on the Internet here anyway. And I know that in this rural area, everybody's life is fodder for the gossip mill; it's not unique to the pastor's family.
She suggested that it's hard for kids to live up to the expectations of being pastor's kids. I don't think my kids had too much of a hard time with that. For one thing, the only thing I impressed on them was what they did or didn't do because they're Christians. No special standards for the pastor's kids, except that we wouldn't allow them to volunteer to mow the church lawn. Now, my kids WERE held to some standards occasionally because we didn't want to give homeschoolers a bad name. "You be polite today. We don't want people to think poorly of other homeschoolers just because of some dingbattiness today on our fieldtrip."
Next my friend's wife suggested that it's hard for pastors' wives because they're expected to do so much at church. But I don't. My husband is the pastor. I have enough to do with my own activities. I am careful not to do more at church than I would if I were married to the plumber. So that's no big deal for me either.
What I like about going to Bible class somewhere else is being free to ask questions in Bible class. I don't have to worry about the stupidity of what I ask, or the depth of what I ask, or the peripheralness of what I ask. I know that my questions don't reflect on the pastor there like they do here (though it's probably not the same in all congregations), and that provides a certain level of freedom to receive God's word without worrying about what people think.
That's the fishbowl that worries me. Not whether my house is clean. Not how my children behave. Not how involved or uninvolved I am in church activities. Not my lack of stylishness. But that people may think my beliefs, my confession, my thoughts, my struggles, are reflective of what their pastor thinks. They may be the same; they may not. But given that people will assume my thoughts are likely to reflect the pastor's thoughts, I do not say much at church here. That's why the freedom to participate in Bible class out of the fishbowl can be so helpful.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Take Heed Lest Men with Base Alloy
What I have done and taught, teach thou,
My ways forsake thou never.
So shall My kingdom flourish now
And God be praised forever.
Take heed lest men with base alloy
The heavenly treasure should destroy;
This counsel I bequeath thee.
Alloy. Two metals blended. Not a pure metal.
Base alloy. What they would do with coins when they wanted to cheapen them. Take the real silver or real gold, melt it down, mix in just a little bit of cheaper metal, and shape new coins. Who'd know that the purity wasn't what it had been? The purity was just a little "watered down."
In the history of coinage, we see what happens when the standards of purity aren't maintained. A little of the cheap stuff is added. And then it happens again. And again. Over the course of months or years or decades, there is virtually no precious metal left in the coins.
Could that ever happen with doctrine? Just a little something wrong is allowed to stand. Over time, a little more base alloy is snuck in. Slowly changes are made and people don't notice.
Purity of doctrine is important. Faith lives from the truth. Of course, in this sinful world, errors and false doctrine will continue to hound us. That doesn't mean that errors and false doctrine are okay. But neither does it mean we're damned to hell if our doctrinal comprehension should happen to be in error on some point.
In coinage, base alloy can eventually turn the coins into worthless slugs; the treasure can be destroyed through slow dilution. So too, in doctrine, so much "base alloy" has been added in some churches that they are no longer Christian -- they no longer possess the treasure.
When people get upset over a "little thing" like a "minor doctrinal point," it's not because they're hard-nosed legalists. (Well, sometimes it is. But not always.) It's often due to their proper love of what is good and what is true, and their fervant desire not to lose that treasure.
My ways forsake thou never.
So shall My kingdom flourish now
And God be praised forever.
Take heed lest men with base alloy
The heavenly treasure should destroy;
This counsel I bequeath thee.
Alloy. Two metals blended. Not a pure metal.
Base alloy. What they would do with coins when they wanted to cheapen them. Take the real silver or real gold, melt it down, mix in just a little bit of cheaper metal, and shape new coins. Who'd know that the purity wasn't what it had been? The purity was just a little "watered down."
In the history of coinage, we see what happens when the standards of purity aren't maintained. A little of the cheap stuff is added. And then it happens again. And again. Over the course of months or years or decades, there is virtually no precious metal left in the coins.
Could that ever happen with doctrine? Just a little something wrong is allowed to stand. Over time, a little more base alloy is snuck in. Slowly changes are made and people don't notice.
Purity of doctrine is important. Faith lives from the truth. Of course, in this sinful world, errors and false doctrine will continue to hound us. That doesn't mean that errors and false doctrine are okay. But neither does it mean we're damned to hell if our doctrinal comprehension should happen to be in error on some point.
In coinage, base alloy can eventually turn the coins into worthless slugs; the treasure can be destroyed through slow dilution. So too, in doctrine, so much "base alloy" has been added in some churches that they are no longer Christian -- they no longer possess the treasure.
When people get upset over a "little thing" like a "minor doctrinal point," it's not because they're hard-nosed legalists. (Well, sometimes it is. But not always.) It's often due to their proper love of what is good and what is true, and their fervant desire not to lose that treasure.
1 Kings 19:11-12
The OT reading recently was the story of Elijah escaping from Ahab after the Baal/Yahweh showdown at Mount Carmel.
"The Lord was not in the wind. ...
The Lord was not in the earthquake. ...
The Lord was not in the fire."
But there were all those times God did send wind and earthquakes and fire, like the Flood and other judgments. And even times when the Lord was IN the wind and the earthquakes and the fire. Think of the wind at the crossing of the Red Sea (Ex 14). And the earthquakes and fire at Sinai (Ex 19). And the fire at the calling of Moses (Ex 3) and when Aaron's sons burned the off-limits incense (Lev 10).
So it's not that God is never in the wind and the earthquake and the fire. But the comfort is that God comes looking for us when we run away, puts up with our pity parties, and assures us that the gates of hell shall not prevail against His Church (no matter what it obviously looks like). The comfort is in the still, small voice of the word of God's forgiveness and God's faithfulness.
If we are faithless, He remains faithful, for He cannot deny Himself.
O faithful love that shepherded through faithless years;
Forgiving love that led us to Your truth;
Unyielding love that would not let us turn from You
But sent us forth to speak pardon and peace. (LSB 558)
"The Lord was not in the wind. ...
The Lord was not in the earthquake. ...
The Lord was not in the fire."
But there were all those times God did send wind and earthquakes and fire, like the Flood and other judgments. And even times when the Lord was IN the wind and the earthquakes and the fire. Think of the wind at the crossing of the Red Sea (Ex 14). And the earthquakes and fire at Sinai (Ex 19). And the fire at the calling of Moses (Ex 3) and when Aaron's sons burned the off-limits incense (Lev 10).
So it's not that God is never in the wind and the earthquake and the fire. But the comfort is that God comes looking for us when we run away, puts up with our pity parties, and assures us that the gates of hell shall not prevail against His Church (no matter what it obviously looks like). The comfort is in the still, small voice of the word of God's forgiveness and God's faithfulness.
If we are faithless, He remains faithful, for He cannot deny Himself.
O faithful love that shepherded through faithless years;
Forgiving love that led us to Your truth;
Unyielding love that would not let us turn from You
But sent us forth to speak pardon and peace. (LSB 558)
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Change of Plans
Why must Higher Things consistently plan their conferences for mere DAYS following Harry Potter releases???
The boys must read the book prior to arriving in Minneapolis, where many a friend will have already read the book and be discussing it -- and letting slip spoilers.
We put the audio-book on hold at the library. We had hoped to listen all day today and tomorrow and part of Monday. I don't know whether the audio-book is available in bookstores, but it's not available yet at the library (as I was disappointed to find this morning when I tried to pick up the book). Happily, the grocery store had a cartful of The Deathly Hallows for a mere $22 each, so I grabbed one this morning.
There's just not enough books to go around our house so that we can read it to ourselves prior to the HigherThings-imposed deadline. So we're attempting to do tag-team reading-aloud. Don't know if this is going to work. Sure did mess up all sorts of plans for having Jim Dale read to us today while we build swords, puttered in the kitchen, folded laundry, and other things.
If it weren't for HT, we could enjoy reading this book at the leisurely rate of 100 pages of reading aloud per day. But now it's just stressful to try to get to the end of the story in three short days. We've been waiting for this book for years. And now it's just become another chore for me instead of something to enjoy.
The boys must read the book prior to arriving in Minneapolis, where many a friend will have already read the book and be discussing it -- and letting slip spoilers.
We put the audio-book on hold at the library. We had hoped to listen all day today and tomorrow and part of Monday. I don't know whether the audio-book is available in bookstores, but it's not available yet at the library (as I was disappointed to find this morning when I tried to pick up the book). Happily, the grocery store had a cartful of The Deathly Hallows for a mere $22 each, so I grabbed one this morning.
There's just not enough books to go around our house so that we can read it to ourselves prior to the HigherThings-imposed deadline. So we're attempting to do tag-team reading-aloud. Don't know if this is going to work. Sure did mess up all sorts of plans for having Jim Dale read to us today while we build swords, puttered in the kitchen, folded laundry, and other things.
If it weren't for HT, we could enjoy reading this book at the leisurely rate of 100 pages of reading aloud per day. But now it's just stressful to try to get to the end of the story in three short days. We've been waiting for this book for years. And now it's just become another chore for me instead of something to enjoy.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Not Answering Questions
A homeschooling mother answers questions. It's what she does. It's who she is. EVERY mother answers enough questions to make her head spin. But homeschooling mothers have another whole arena of questions to answer. And ask. And explore.
Kids with VCFS ask questions. When my youngest was about 4-6 years old, she asked questions. Persistent questions. When I was overwhelmed by it, other mothers assured me that it was normal and healthy for kids to ask lots of questions. They said their kids ask lots of questions too. I remember thinking how they just didn't understand. After all, I have five other kids. They asked lots of questions too. But nothing like Maggie's questions! (Some people call this perseverant behavior.)
Gary and I have discovered that we ought not answer Maggie's questions. It can get a little maddening to answer the same question repeatedly. Maggie's repetitious questions are her way of checking on whether she is actually remembering something correctly. We've tried to teach her to say, "This is what I think I remember," and then state what she's thinking, and continue, "Am I right about it?" But she rarely does that.
After all, why should she? She wants to ask. And it works: usually I answer. After all, that's what homeschooling moms do.
This week though, I've been trying harder to catch myself. I feel like a huge meanie, refusing to answer her questions. But she's asking questions she knows the answers to. And she's asking them repeatedly. Sometimes I've been callously saying, "I'm not answering that; you know the answer," and then ignoring her. Sometimes I need to ask her questions, guiding her through some steps to help her realize that she actually does know the answer. But she's figuring out that she does indeed know the answer.
I think I need an Impatient Pill for when I'm feeling like a niiiice mommy who wants to help her child by answering questions. What Maggie needs much more than answers is the prodding to figure out that she knows the answer already.
Kids with VCFS ask questions. When my youngest was about 4-6 years old, she asked questions. Persistent questions. When I was overwhelmed by it, other mothers assured me that it was normal and healthy for kids to ask lots of questions. They said their kids ask lots of questions too. I remember thinking how they just didn't understand. After all, I have five other kids. They asked lots of questions too. But nothing like Maggie's questions! (Some people call this perseverant behavior.)
Gary and I have discovered that we ought not answer Maggie's questions. It can get a little maddening to answer the same question repeatedly. Maggie's repetitious questions are her way of checking on whether she is actually remembering something correctly. We've tried to teach her to say, "This is what I think I remember," and then state what she's thinking, and continue, "Am I right about it?" But she rarely does that.
After all, why should she? She wants to ask. And it works: usually I answer. After all, that's what homeschooling moms do.
This week though, I've been trying harder to catch myself. I feel like a huge meanie, refusing to answer her questions. But she's asking questions she knows the answers to. And she's asking them repeatedly. Sometimes I've been callously saying, "I'm not answering that; you know the answer," and then ignoring her. Sometimes I need to ask her questions, guiding her through some steps to help her realize that she actually does know the answer. But she's figuring out that she does indeed know the answer.
I think I need an Impatient Pill for when I'm feeling like a niiiice mommy who wants to help her child by answering questions. What Maggie needs much more than answers is the prodding to figure out that she knows the answer already.
Piles in the Garage
For the last few weeks, I've been trying to sort. There's too much stuff in the house. I have a pile in the garage that is destined for the dumpster. A pile that is headed for Goodwill. A pile that will probably be stored in the house as our own little "stash" (something for Philip to raid when he moves out in a couple of months). A pile of stuff that needs to be kept, but must be put in a more reasonable place than where it currently lives.
Over the past 15 years, I have definitely become one of those people with a Depression-Era mindset. Things can't be thrown out because you know there won't be money to replace it later. I hate storing and packratting; if there's much of that, you can't find things when you need them anyhow. But it's hard to get rid of things, especially with Maggie's special needs. I eliminated so many toys when she was 4 or 5, and it turned out that toys I'd thought she would've grown out of were actually toys she hadn't grow into yet. That makes me hesitant to get rid of too much.
Nevertheless, today I have gotten rid of
the wicker paper-plate supports,
quite a few tablecloths,
gobs of plastic spoons and forks saved by my in-laws,
an aluminum saucepan,
bunches of old ice-cream buckets,
many board games,
picture cards to reinforce kids' Bible study,
and much more.
At meals, we're currently using the leftover napkins from our wedding. (Did you know that paper napkins get a bit stiff and non-absorbent after 26 years?)
I'm still struggling with what to do with the rocker. Sometimes things just break beyond repair. But when it's got memories of many babies rocked in the chair for two or more generations, you keep thinking that maybe you should find somebody else who has more skills, somebody who might be able to fix it.
Still lots of clothes and books to go through, and more closets and other things tucked away. This takes more brain effort than I have to spare at the moment.
Over the past 15 years, I have definitely become one of those people with a Depression-Era mindset. Things can't be thrown out because you know there won't be money to replace it later. I hate storing and packratting; if there's much of that, you can't find things when you need them anyhow. But it's hard to get rid of things, especially with Maggie's special needs. I eliminated so many toys when she was 4 or 5, and it turned out that toys I'd thought she would've grown out of were actually toys she hadn't grow into yet. That makes me hesitant to get rid of too much.
Nevertheless, today I have gotten rid of
the wicker paper-plate supports,
quite a few tablecloths,
gobs of plastic spoons and forks saved by my in-laws,
an aluminum saucepan,
bunches of old ice-cream buckets,
many board games,
picture cards to reinforce kids' Bible study,
and much more.
At meals, we're currently using the leftover napkins from our wedding. (Did you know that paper napkins get a bit stiff and non-absorbent after 26 years?)
I'm still struggling with what to do with the rocker. Sometimes things just break beyond repair. But when it's got memories of many babies rocked in the chair for two or more generations, you keep thinking that maybe you should find somebody else who has more skills, somebody who might be able to fix it.
Still lots of clothes and books to go through, and more closets and other things tucked away. This takes more brain effort than I have to spare at the moment.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Heavy Cream
I've been skimming only the very top of the cream, the really thick stuff, the stuff that whips up nice for desserts. The cream jar happens to be full to the brim right now. (Ah, the luxury!!)
A child took a nearly full jar of milk from the fridge and asked about starting a new cream-jar. "Nope," I said, "I already skimmed that one." He looked quizzically at the layer of cream floating on the milk. I continued, "I've only been skimming the heavy cream. You know, the stuff that sits at the very top that's all thick."
Sits at the top of the jar? Didn't we learn in science class that the stuff on top is the lightest, the least dense? What's heavy goes to the bottom of the jar. So what's with the term heavy cream?
A child took a nearly full jar of milk from the fridge and asked about starting a new cream-jar. "Nope," I said, "I already skimmed that one." He looked quizzically at the layer of cream floating on the milk. I continued, "I've only been skimming the heavy cream. You know, the stuff that sits at the very top that's all thick."
Sits at the top of the jar? Didn't we learn in science class that the stuff on top is the lightest, the least dense? What's heavy goes to the bottom of the jar. So what's with the term heavy cream?
Environmentalist Theology
Liberals don't want to believe in original sin. They think children are by nature good and sweet and wonderful. They think it is the way we bring up people that ruins them. Criminals wouldn't be criminals, after all, unless they'd been victimized first.
Nature is good and pure and gentle. (Now, don't tell me about lions eating gazelles. That's good and gentle too, silly.) It is eeeevil man that destroys the environment, makes plastics, and cuts down thejungles rainforests so that little critters are left homeless.
So where DID this evil greed come from that destroys the environment? How did the purity of the native peoples get twisted into something so horrible that we now do wretched things like drive SUVs? Didn't we learn our greed from somebody? But from whom ... because we're born all nicey-nice and only learn to be bad from being taught to be bad? So who was the first Bad One?
Nature is good and pure and gentle. (Now, don't tell me about lions eating gazelles. That's good and gentle too, silly.) It is eeeevil man that destroys the environment, makes plastics, and cuts down the
So where DID this evil greed come from that destroys the environment? How did the purity of the native peoples get twisted into something so horrible that we now do wretched things like drive SUVs? Didn't we learn our greed from somebody? But from whom ... because we're born all nicey-nice and only learn to be bad from being taught to be bad? So who was the first Bad One?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I Hate Shopping
I'm not coping well.
It's gotten so I hate going to town to do the errands. Yesterday was errand day. I managed to blow it off. Of course, that means I had to do it today. But today I just couldn't bear the thought of 4-5 hours of errands and shopping. So I blew it off again. I took the kids to Pizza Hut for lunch. (Going to a restaurant for no reason? That's unusual enough that Paul threatened to call the police and have them arrest me and demand information on where the real mother is.) Then I let Andrew pick up an item for a new Belegarth sword while I picked up a little fruit at Aldi.
I had intended to blow off more of the afternoon by going to the arboretum and sitting by the lake, reading to the kids and doing some fun stuff for me while Paul took photographs. Maggie wasn't keen on it because that lake doesn't have swimming. Paul decided to work on his pictures on the computer. So I did a little housecleaning and laundry. But I spent the day looking forward to blowing off the evening at the beach.
We got to the beach only to be disappointed that the rules had changed. They used to charge entry fee until 6:00. Then a couple of years ago, they changed it to 7:00. We got there tonight (first time to the beach this summer) and the gate is now monitored until 9:00. So much for that. Pretty disappointing. Maggie's wondering if we can buy a pool for the backyard now....
It's gotten so I hate going to town to do the errands. Yesterday was errand day. I managed to blow it off. Of course, that means I had to do it today. But today I just couldn't bear the thought of 4-5 hours of errands and shopping. So I blew it off again. I took the kids to Pizza Hut for lunch. (Going to a restaurant for no reason? That's unusual enough that Paul threatened to call the police and have them arrest me and demand information on where the real mother is.) Then I let Andrew pick up an item for a new Belegarth sword while I picked up a little fruit at Aldi.
I had intended to blow off more of the afternoon by going to the arboretum and sitting by the lake, reading to the kids and doing some fun stuff for me while Paul took photographs. Maggie wasn't keen on it because that lake doesn't have swimming. Paul decided to work on his pictures on the computer. So I did a little housecleaning and laundry. But I spent the day looking forward to blowing off the evening at the beach.
We got to the beach only to be disappointed that the rules had changed. They used to charge entry fee until 6:00. Then a couple of years ago, they changed it to 7:00. We got there tonight (first time to the beach this summer) and the gate is now monitored until 9:00. So much for that. Pretty disappointing. Maggie's wondering if we can buy a pool for the backyard now....
Dumb Jokes
How do they circumcise a whale?
They send down four skin divers.
Bert asked Ernie if he wanted ice cream,
and he answered, "Sure, Bert."
Why did the tiger eat the tightrope walker?
He wanted a balanced meal.
What did the mother buffalo say to her son when he went off to school?
"Bye, son."
Where did the little king keep his little armies?
Up his little sleevies.
They send down four skin divers.
Bert asked Ernie if he wanted ice cream,
and he answered, "Sure, Bert."
Why did the tiger eat the tightrope walker?
He wanted a balanced meal.
What did the mother buffalo say to her son when he went off to school?
"Bye, son."
Where did the little king keep his little armies?
Up his little sleevies.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Not Our Ways
The following was taken from the tape from Bible class that I happened to listen to during this morning's jog. It was from a class on Acts quite a while back. I wonder if Pastor meant that this had something to do with us, and not just the captives that went to Babylon. Like as if it might have to do with walking by faith and not by sight.
When Judah was carted off to Babylon, the temptation for many of them was to believe that God's promises were a lie, that they would not come to pass. So in Paul's sermon (Acts 13), "I will work a work in your days, a work which you will by no means believe," that in effect says that it will be through the destruction of you -- through the Babylonian captivity -- that I will work my work, my salvation.
That is what you have in the cross. God says, "I'm gonna do something in you. You won't believe it even if you're told. I'm going to save the whole world through the death of a Jew." People think, "Man, I just can't accept that!" But God says, "I'm going to work a work in your days that, even when you hear it, you won't accept it."
For the prophet Habakkuk, he prays, "Will You not DO something? Look at this rebellious, impenitent people." Then the Lord says, "Yeah, I'm gonna do something. I told you this before. I'm going to raise up the Babylonians. They're going to come and conquer you and carry off your people." "WHAT?" Habakkuk responds, "That's NOT what I had in mind!"
Then the Lord tells Habakkuk to write the promise made to Abraham and put it on a placard. "In you and in your Seed all the nations of the earth shall be blessed" would be written on a signboard for the people to read as they were being carried off in chains to Babylon. They see the promise, but it now looks to be completely empty, gutted. Then the Lord adds, "The just shall live by faith." Faith in the promise. Those who are justified live by faith in the promise. That was their comfort to take with them. So Habakkuk's walking around with a sign -- what an idiot he looked to be. But this was God's plan.
When Judah was carted off to Babylon, the temptation for many of them was to believe that God's promises were a lie, that they would not come to pass. So in Paul's sermon (Acts 13), "I will work a work in your days, a work which you will by no means believe," that in effect says that it will be through the destruction of you -- through the Babylonian captivity -- that I will work my work, my salvation.
That is what you have in the cross. God says, "I'm gonna do something in you. You won't believe it even if you're told. I'm going to save the whole world through the death of a Jew." People think, "Man, I just can't accept that!" But God says, "I'm going to work a work in your days that, even when you hear it, you won't accept it."
For the prophet Habakkuk, he prays, "Will You not DO something? Look at this rebellious, impenitent people." Then the Lord says, "Yeah, I'm gonna do something. I told you this before. I'm going to raise up the Babylonians. They're going to come and conquer you and carry off your people." "WHAT?" Habakkuk responds, "That's NOT what I had in mind!"
Then the Lord tells Habakkuk to write the promise made to Abraham and put it on a placard. "In you and in your Seed all the nations of the earth shall be blessed" would be written on a signboard for the people to read as they were being carried off in chains to Babylon. They see the promise, but it now looks to be completely empty, gutted. Then the Lord adds, "The just shall live by faith." Faith in the promise. Those who are justified live by faith in the promise. That was their comfort to take with them. So Habakkuk's walking around with a sign -- what an idiot he looked to be. But this was God's plan.
Recently
We went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on Saturday. I couldn't decide whether I liked it or not. I got tired of the kids asking what I thought about it. Finally I decided that I think I didn't like it. Maybe I'll feel differently if I see it a few more times -- which I'm sure I will, given the people I live with. For some reason, the movie just made me terribly sad. And it wasn't sadness about Sirius or any of the obvious things in the story. I'm not sure what it was. My favorite part of the whole movie was when Neville knocked the wand out of his opponent's hand when they were practicing for the D.A. I love Neville.
Maggie cannot take care of her hair. When the tangledness of her locks caused her to break the nice, thick, fat, sturdy handle of her hairbrush yesterday, that was the final straw. She now has hair that's about 4" long. It looks really cute and curly when it's finger-combed after being wet, but she decided to brush it smooth instead.
We spent a happy afternoon at Anthea's party yesterday. Sad that it is a farewell party. But the company brought great enjoyment into our day. Many pictures available at her facebook page. It was also a relief to me to be with other people as a certain child of mine chose to tell me several bald-faced lies earlier in the day, and that is about the worst thing I can think of for a child to do. So I was not in a happy mood to start.
Situations in individual congregations
and also from the synodical convention
causes us to pray:
Lord Jesus, Thou the Church's Head,
Thou art her one Foundation.
In Thee she trusts,
before Thee bows,
and waits for Thy salvation.
Built on this Rock secure, Thy Church shall endure
e'en though the world decay and all things pass away.
Oh, hear,
oh, hear us, Jesus!
Started the day with more to do than could ever be accomplished. Decided to postpone the weekly errands and most other jobs and concentrate on some overdue housecleaning. Instead, Andrew asked if he could start the intense and effective drawing correspondance-course that I enrolled Paul in a while back. That took an hour and a half to find the materials, watch the introductory videos, get the worksheets copied, and get started. Wasn't what I'd planned for the day, but I love it when Andrew gets an itch to learn something new.
Didn't get much sleep last night. I'd started the flour soaking for bread before we went to Anthea's, thinking that I'd come home and make bread in the evening. Well, we didn't get home till after 8:00. Started the bread. Got a phone call and let it over-rise (in other words, I forgot about it altogether). When I finally got it shaped and rising, and the oven was preheating, I dinked around on the computer for a while. Finally I began to wonder why the timer hadn't gone off to take the bread out of the oven. But I wasn't smelling the deliciousness of baking bread, and I certainly wasn't smelling bread starting to burn. So I kept catching up on blogs and email. Finally, "What on earth is going on with the bread? Is the heat too low? Did I forget to turn on the timer?" I arrived in the kitchen to find four loaves still rising on the counter. I hadn't put them in the oven yet. Yikes! (You who have memories may remember that I told you that I have no memory any more.) My goodness, we have big FLUFFY bread. (At least they didn't overrise and thus fall flat.) I took the bread out of the oven at 3 a.m. (Yes, you can roll your eyes. I'm rolling mine!) I can almost guarantee that I will fall asleep reading the joint history lesson to the kids when Paul gets home.
The crop-duster is flying back and forth in the back yard today. It is utterly amazing to watch his feats of aeronautic acrobats necessary to do his job. But it kind of makes me shudder to think of those poisonous chemicals being sprayed all through the air I'm breathing. The kids are enjoying the show at the moment.
Maggie cannot take care of her hair. When the tangledness of her locks caused her to break the nice, thick, fat, sturdy handle of her hairbrush yesterday, that was the final straw. She now has hair that's about 4" long. It looks really cute and curly when it's finger-combed after being wet, but she decided to brush it smooth instead.
We spent a happy afternoon at Anthea's party yesterday. Sad that it is a farewell party. But the company brought great enjoyment into our day. Many pictures available at her facebook page. It was also a relief to me to be with other people as a certain child of mine chose to tell me several bald-faced lies earlier in the day, and that is about the worst thing I can think of for a child to do. So I was not in a happy mood to start.
Situations in individual congregations
and also from the synodical convention
causes us to pray:
Lord Jesus, Thou the Church's Head,
Thou art her one Foundation.
In Thee she trusts,
before Thee bows,
and waits for Thy salvation.
Built on this Rock secure, Thy Church shall endure
e'en though the world decay and all things pass away.
Oh, hear,
oh, hear us, Jesus!
Started the day with more to do than could ever be accomplished. Decided to postpone the weekly errands and most other jobs and concentrate on some overdue housecleaning. Instead, Andrew asked if he could start the intense and effective drawing correspondance-course that I enrolled Paul in a while back. That took an hour and a half to find the materials, watch the introductory videos, get the worksheets copied, and get started. Wasn't what I'd planned for the day, but I love it when Andrew gets an itch to learn something new.
Didn't get much sleep last night. I'd started the flour soaking for bread before we went to Anthea's, thinking that I'd come home and make bread in the evening. Well, we didn't get home till after 8:00. Started the bread. Got a phone call and let it over-rise (in other words, I forgot about it altogether). When I finally got it shaped and rising, and the oven was preheating, I dinked around on the computer for a while. Finally I began to wonder why the timer hadn't gone off to take the bread out of the oven. But I wasn't smelling the deliciousness of baking bread, and I certainly wasn't smelling bread starting to burn. So I kept catching up on blogs and email. Finally, "What on earth is going on with the bread? Is the heat too low? Did I forget to turn on the timer?" I arrived in the kitchen to find four loaves still rising on the counter. I hadn't put them in the oven yet. Yikes! (You who have memories may remember that I told you that I have no memory any more.) My goodness, we have big FLUFFY bread. (At least they didn't overrise and thus fall flat.) I took the bread out of the oven at 3 a.m. (Yes, you can roll your eyes. I'm rolling mine!) I can almost guarantee that I will fall asleep reading the joint history lesson to the kids when Paul gets home.
The crop-duster is flying back and forth in the back yard today. It is utterly amazing to watch his feats of aeronautic acrobats necessary to do his job. But it kind of makes me shudder to think of those poisonous chemicals being sprayed all through the air I'm breathing. The kids are enjoying the show at the moment.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Thinker?
Jane (the one who arm-twisted me into blogging) nominated me for a Thinking Blogger award. I'm not sure that I'm eligible, or that I'm even capable of joining in. I've been diligently trying to AVOID thinking. There are blogs I love to read but have been trying to discipline myself to avoid, or to check in very infrequently. I cook and I wash the clothes, I say my prayers and do schoolwork with the kids, and sometimes I clean house or do some editing. But thinking? That takes time. And effort. And gosh darn it, it's FUN and I can go overboard with it. So I've been trying so hard not to think and just do what I'm given to do. And here comes Jane, trying to get me to list the blogs that I enjoy that make me think. Oy!
The rules are
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.
2. Link to this post so everyone can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.
Given that Jane, Pr Stuckwisch, and Barbara were all tagged this week, I guess I'm not allowed to have them on my list (although I would've chosen them). So I think I will bestow the award on the blogs that I succumb to even though they make me think more than I wish to think:
Pastor Esget
Pastor Petersen
Pastor Weedon
Elephant's Child
Emily
Tortillas
I used to try making tortillas and get utterly frustrated. I gave up on the job. But at the rate my kids go through them, buying them was expensive. Furthermore, I wanted whole wheat instead of white flour, and real fat instead of something hydrogenated.
I found a tortilla maker online. (I bought mine from this company off ebay instead of directly through their website. At the time, it was about 20% cheaper.)
We've toyed with the recipe for a while, trying to find what's lowest fat yet without sacrificing flexibility, and how high a proportion of ww flour we can use without having crumbly tortillas. This is what we've come up with:
Makes 20 tortillas.
3 cups ww flour
2 cups white flour
2 teaspoons sea salt
1/2 to 3/4 cup lard
1 1/2 to 1 2/3 cup hot water
Mix dry ingredients. Using fingers to pinch and mix, combine flour with lard. Stir in hot water. Knead just long enough to mix. Cut into 20 equal-sized balls. Cover with upside-down bowl and let rest for 1-6 hours. Heat tortilla press and cast-iron skillets. Press dough ball for about 3 seconds, then brown both sides slightly in ungreased skillet. Let cool before storing in refrigerator. These will cost 1.5 to 3 cents a piece, depending on your grocery store prices.
Corn tortillas can be made without a press. But I don't think anybody should try this flour-tortillas recipe without the heated press.
I found a tortilla maker online. (I bought mine from this company off ebay instead of directly through their website. At the time, it was about 20% cheaper.)
We've toyed with the recipe for a while, trying to find what's lowest fat yet without sacrificing flexibility, and how high a proportion of ww flour we can use without having crumbly tortillas. This is what we've come up with:
Makes 20 tortillas.
3 cups ww flour
2 cups white flour
2 teaspoons sea salt
1/2 to 3/4 cup lard
1 1/2 to 1 2/3 cup hot water
Mix dry ingredients. Using fingers to pinch and mix, combine flour with lard. Stir in hot water. Knead just long enough to mix. Cut into 20 equal-sized balls. Cover with upside-down bowl and let rest for 1-6 hours. Heat tortilla press and cast-iron skillets. Press dough ball for about 3 seconds, then brown both sides slightly in ungreased skillet. Let cool before storing in refrigerator. These will cost 1.5 to 3 cents a piece, depending on your grocery store prices.
Corn tortillas can be made without a press. But I don't think anybody should try this flour-tortillas recipe without the heated press.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Lye
In the past couple of days, I have looked at FIVE grocery stores for lye. After all, I have a little soap to make. I hate shopping. It makes me cranky to shop. But I need lye. Problem is, there's no lye to be had.
I checked online tonight. Turns out that Red Devil has pulled their product for good. I couldn't tell whether it was due to liability issues or if sodium hydroxide might be an ingredient in meth. Either way, the only way to get lye for soap-making now is to order it online, in batches bigger than I want, and fill out paperwork for Hazmat. Furthermore, shipping fees are so high that it's going to cost me $3 for lye for a half-batch. At that price, it's going to take some thought to consider whether it'd be cheaper to buy soap.
"Oh dear, oh dear, whatever would we do without the government to protect us?" she grumbles.
I wonder if the Foxfire books tell how to make your own lye.
I checked online tonight. Turns out that Red Devil has pulled their product for good. I couldn't tell whether it was due to liability issues or if sodium hydroxide might be an ingredient in meth. Either way, the only way to get lye for soap-making now is to order it online, in batches bigger than I want, and fill out paperwork for Hazmat. Furthermore, shipping fees are so high that it's going to cost me $3 for lye for a half-batch. At that price, it's going to take some thought to consider whether it'd be cheaper to buy soap.
"Oh dear, oh dear, whatever would we do without the government to protect us?" she grumbles.
I wonder if the Foxfire books tell how to make your own lye.
A Gebra Named Al
Today we finished the worst book we've read in a long long time.
I'd heard great things in homeschool catalogs about A Gebra Named Al by Wendy Isdell. A book to help students understand algebra. A book to light a fire of interest in mathematics. And so forth.
We started reading it. The story started with the main character falling asleep, so that the story was set up that it was likely a dream. I hate those.
The story went on to having a whole bunch of characters named after elements in the periodic table. It talked about isotopes. It did cover the Order of Operations in arithmetic, but it was much more about science than about math.
The writing was poor. Unnecessary dialogue. Extraneous information. A simplistic plot taken from Wizard of Oz, but without any character development or subplots.
About 3/4 of the way through the book, we discovered that the author was a girl. The book was written in junior high, won a fiction-writing contest, and then was published before she finished high school. Well, it's really not bad when you take into account the age and inexperience of the author. But on its own merits, the book was just pretty awful to read. This is not a book to read for enjoyment; it would be read purely for Educational Purposes. Problem was, it didn't do a good job of teaching either.
We didn't care for Phantom Tollbooth either. But it was far superior to the Gebra book. In case any of my friends have considered spending their few homeschool dollars on this book, or spending a few hours reading it aloud, I would suggest you not bother.
I'd heard great things in homeschool catalogs about A Gebra Named Al by Wendy Isdell. A book to help students understand algebra. A book to light a fire of interest in mathematics. And so forth.
We started reading it. The story started with the main character falling asleep, so that the story was set up that it was likely a dream. I hate those.
The story went on to having a whole bunch of characters named after elements in the periodic table. It talked about isotopes. It did cover the Order of Operations in arithmetic, but it was much more about science than about math.
The writing was poor. Unnecessary dialogue. Extraneous information. A simplistic plot taken from Wizard of Oz, but without any character development or subplots.
About 3/4 of the way through the book, we discovered that the author was a girl. The book was written in junior high, won a fiction-writing contest, and then was published before she finished high school. Well, it's really not bad when you take into account the age and inexperience of the author. But on its own merits, the book was just pretty awful to read. This is not a book to read for enjoyment; it would be read purely for Educational Purposes. Problem was, it didn't do a good job of teaching either.
We didn't care for Phantom Tollbooth either. But it was far superior to the Gebra book. In case any of my friends have considered spending their few homeschool dollars on this book, or spending a few hours reading it aloud, I would suggest you not bother.
Chores
I make my kids do chores.
I am lousy at making my kids do chores. They don't do nearly enough. I am not good at leaving them with the responsibility: I check up on them too often, or nag, or take the job from them to help out. I too too easily think of myself as the maid here.
Today the next-door neighbor munchkins came over to ask if Maggie could come out to play. We'd just finished lunch and some schoolwork. Maggie was starting to do the dinner dishes, which is one of her daily chores. When she was done we were going to do history and geography and a few other things. The kids responded that Maggie couldn't come out to play because she had to do the dishes.
Andrew heard the little boy (about age 7) mumble as he walked away, "Maggie's mom is so lazy."
Andrew was offended that anybody would say that about his mom. But I figured out the problem: Maggie is expected to do chores that Turk thinks are my job. So obviously I don't do anything around here, since Cindermaggie is doing all the work.
.... and pastors only work for an hour on Sunday morning. Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!
I am lousy at making my kids do chores. They don't do nearly enough. I am not good at leaving them with the responsibility: I check up on them too often, or nag, or take the job from them to help out. I too too easily think of myself as the maid here.
Today the next-door neighbor munchkins came over to ask if Maggie could come out to play. We'd just finished lunch and some schoolwork. Maggie was starting to do the dinner dishes, which is one of her daily chores. When she was done we were going to do history and geography and a few other things. The kids responded that Maggie couldn't come out to play because she had to do the dishes.
Andrew heard the little boy (about age 7) mumble as he walked away, "Maggie's mom is so lazy."
Andrew was offended that anybody would say that about his mom. But I figured out the problem: Maggie is expected to do chores that Turk thinks are my job. So obviously I don't do anything around here, since Cindermaggie is doing all the work.
.... and pastors only work for an hour on Sunday morning. Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!
Blogging
I've had people tell me that I shouldn't blog.
One person told me that, if I don't want to get into long and involved theological arguments and debates, then I shouldn't blog at all. Another person told me that I don't have time for blogging, and he has a valid point. Furthermore, I've spent many years thinking that real-life interaction is far preferable to socializing via the computer's electronic means.
But Anthea blogged today about her upcoming move. She mentioned that she'd try to update her LiveJournal more often, and that made me so happy. My friend Erin is considering starting a blog. I hate to say anything to put pressure on her, but I know I would be very happy to read little snippets about what she (and the kids!) are up to. Even when it's just the mundane things.
I love to read my daughters' blogs. (And even my sons' who are still living here in the same house!) Sure, I talk to the girls on the phone. But I want to read the little things about Rachel's kitten or Katie seeing Nat on campus (even if she didn't get to talk to him much) and both girls' job hunts. Those little things in life are what allow me to share in the unimportant daily things that make up so much of people's lives.
Once upon a time, I spent about a year writing a nice long newsy letter each week to family. I would photocopy it and send one to my in-laws and my folks and my aunt. Now, my blog accomplishes that for me, without photocopying and without paying the post office.
One person told me that, if I don't want to get into long and involved theological arguments and debates, then I shouldn't blog at all. Another person told me that I don't have time for blogging, and he has a valid point. Furthermore, I've spent many years thinking that real-life interaction is far preferable to socializing via the computer's electronic means.
But Anthea blogged today about her upcoming move. She mentioned that she'd try to update her LiveJournal more often, and that made me so happy. My friend Erin is considering starting a blog. I hate to say anything to put pressure on her, but I know I would be very happy to read little snippets about what she (and the kids!) are up to. Even when it's just the mundane things.
I love to read my daughters' blogs. (And even my sons' who are still living here in the same house!) Sure, I talk to the girls on the phone. But I want to read the little things about Rachel's kitten or Katie seeing Nat on campus (even if she didn't get to talk to him much) and both girls' job hunts. Those little things in life are what allow me to share in the unimportant daily things that make up so much of people's lives.
Once upon a time, I spent about a year writing a nice long newsy letter each week to family. I would photocopy it and send one to my in-laws and my folks and my aunt. Now, my blog accomplishes that for me, without photocopying and without paying the post office.
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