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. 

Assessing a Child's Reading Level

We're making arrangements for Maggie to be evaluated by the public school.  It's one of those things we never wanted to do, but we suspect that we're going to have a hard time accessing services from the county and the state if she has not ever been in The Government System, proving her need for assistance and accommodations.

Before she goes in for their evaluation, however, I want to have a sense of where she stands on their scale.  As a homeschool teacher, I know my students.  It doesn't matter how they compare to others, ahead or behind.  It doesn't matter what grade level they're at.  I'm not going to learn any useful information from a standardized test.  By simple observation and knowing my students/kiddoes, I have what I need to help them continue to learn.

However, that's not how the school views things.  They want grade levels.  They want test scores.  They want percentiles.  They want to compare children and line up a pecking order organize them into skills-groups. 

So how does one determine a kid's reading level?  I have a sense of what Maggie can read easily, what she can struggle through, and what's too hard.  When I hunted for online reading tests, they were stupid.  They had lists of words for kids to read.  That's not a reliable way to test reading!  So I'm having her read to me some chapters of books with an assigned grade level.  If she can read it correctly and understand what's going on in the story, that tells more way more than having her rattle off a list of unrelated (and increasingly difficult) words.

But how do I know whether Little House on the Prairie is a 3rd-grade book or a 7th-grade book?  Guess what?  I found the Scholastic website.  You can type in the name of a book.  If Scholastic carries it, you'll find both the reading level and the interest level.  (By the way, Laura's story is rated as grade 4.3.  I'm skeptical about the interest level, though.  The website says 3rd grade.  I say my 3-yr-old granddaughter likes it, my 8-yr-olds liked it, my teenagers liked it, and I still like it!)   Another graded list is available from a Massachusetts school.  This one can be sorted by reading level, by title, or by author.

So far, it looks like my guess of Maggie's reading level is likely to pan out according to this in-depth test.  I wonder if the school's test will be as realistic.

Installation Pictures

Pastor Suelflow was the installer.

President Suelflow, Pastor, Deacon, and Gary.

The ones Gary confirmed. All but one of my kids were there that day, and Bethany. (Some of you will remember when "and Bethany" used to be her name? LOL.)

Gary and me.




Some pictures have been posted to church's website.  Thanks to Mike and Laura!  (Their camera takes much better pictures than mine, so I didn't even bother pulling my camera out of my purse that day.)

The Burden of Raising a Handicapped Child

Go read Scott's reflections on being the dad of a kid with Down Syndrome!

And then,

don't be a burden.

Again Given Us Grace to Receive This Sacrament

Surely you couldn't take things for granted as much as I do.  Surely not.

The post-communion prayer we've used recently speaks of "grace to receive the holy body and precious blood" of Jesus.

Think about that.  Grace to receive.  Think about how many different things that means.

There are grape vines growing, wheat growing, and people who can make that produce into wine and bread.  The weather has been good enough.  There are people who tend the vines, people who drive the combines, and people who have the skill to turn grapes into wine without letting it become vinegary.  It's all by God's grace.

We have cars and gasoline.  We have a ride to church so that we can receive Christ's body.  That ride (or our ability to walk to church) is a gift of God's grace.

Our church building is still there.  It hasn't been blown away in a tornado, burned in a fire, or been bombed by terrorists.  Those things happen to Christian churches sometimes.  But as we are in church, praying this post-communion collect, we still have that physical place.  And a pastor.  That's only by God's grace.

The liturgy has been preserved to us.  The preaching of the Gospel continues to go forth.  That's not anything we can pat ourselves on the back for.  That's due to God's grace.

Attacks on Christian freedom notwithstanding, we are still free to assemble weekly or daily for preaching and prayers and the Sacraments.  There's no suspicion that when we pull around the corner into the church driveway, we'll find armed guards there, rounding us up for prison, torture, or execution.  That's due to God's grace.

For those of us who are in churches where the Lord's Supper is celebrated at least once a week, we rejoice in the frequency of this gift.  There are churches, even among us, where the Sacrament is offered only once or twice a month.  There are churches in other denominations where it is offered a few times a year.  But for us, Sunday after Sunday, the Lord has been gracious to give us Himself to eat and to drink for the forgiveness of our sins.

But more than anything else, He has graciously preserved us in the faith.  That's not something I do.  It's not something you do.  And it's certainly not chance.  We still believe in Him; we still desire Him; we still long to come to the Supper.  That too is a miracle of God's grace.

The Best Thing I've Ever Read on Depression

Well, maybe not the absolute best thing.  But really really good.

The author of the article recognizes that life is not a bed of roses, and we do not deserve perpetual happiness.  Anyone who's looking for that, any doctor who is trying to help his patients achieve that, lacks understanding about the theology of the cross.  That does not, however, mean that drugs (aka medications) ought never be used to treat depression.

Pastor Esget referred to the article and had a few other good things to say himself.

Sainthood

Saints.  "Forgiven sinners."

Contrary to what is taught in some parts of Christendom, saints are not the super-holy ones whose virtue and good works make them better than the rest of us.

In class last night, Pastor pointed out that, in Paul's epistles, he would refer to a whole congregation as "saints" or "holy ones."  If an entire congregation (even in Corinth!) could be called "saints" then there's something wrong with the typical definition of the word.

Attachment Parenting

There was no such term when my kids were little.

But it explains what I did.  And it also explains why I was so different from other friends with whom I shared so much in common.  At the time, I didn't know how to explain it.  Sometimes I would say, "But I like my kids."  However, that implied other people didn't, and that's not true. 

We rarely got babysitters.  I missed the kids when they went to visit Grandma.  I nursed "too long."  I often kept the baby in bed with us overnight.  I had a sling to carry the babies, but more commonly carried them in my arms without the sling.  We homeschooled, so they didn't have to "face reality."   We were told repeatedly that the apron strings were too tight, that the kids would never grow up, that we were training them to become dependent upon us, that they would never able to function without mommy and daddy helping them.

HA!  Look at 'em now, all grown up.   Definitely not dependent.

Rachel told me the other day that I was a "hippie mother."  I want to ask if hippies come in a conservative variety.  And yet, I did wear the Birkenstocks.

Ides of March Party

The Latin teacher at our school decided to have a party last week for the Ides of March.  Nearly the whole day was spent with ancient Roman customs, Latin practice ("Simon Says" in Latin, anyone?), Roman clothing, Roman food, a pottery demonstration, and more.

Along with the kids in the school, she invited Maggie and another homeschooler (both of whom are in the back center of the group here).  What a blessing for us!

Kitties During the Night

All winter: no screens on the windows.
Sleeping with the bedroom door shut, and kitties on the outside.
During the night, we slept.
Novel concept.

Warm weather; screens in; windows open.
Kitty-claws ripping the screen to wake us. 
"Let me in, let me in, I want a couple of bites of kibble!"
Kitty gets the idea that she can have whatever she wants during those nocturnal hours.  She knows the threat-of-her-claws is power.
"Let me use my claws to snag the carpeting.  You'll get up to stop me.  I know you will.  Then I'll get kibble.  Or water.  Or you'll operate the all-night rotating doors."

I do not care to be woken at 4:00 a.m.
Kitty may have to be spending the rest of her nights on earth locked in the garage.

Well, I've been up for over two hours now.
At least I made a lot of headway on preparing Maggie's high school transcript in these early hours before sunrise.

Mildew

When house hunting, we looked closely for mildew.  Our realtor couldn't believe how many times I found tiny signs of mildew.  And when we did, we refused to consider the house.  We lived with enough mildew in our previous house and wanted to be away from it. 

Fetching the rocking horse out of the attic yesterday, I noticed one small spot on the roof boards with some signs of mildew beginning.  Argh!   A box (with no signs of mildew) that had been in the basement of the old house was now in the attic, shoved right up against the inside of the roof, and it spread.   The box is now in the garbage, and the inside of the roof has been scrubbed well with a bleach solution.  I've washed my hands at least a dozen times throughout the day, and I can still smell bleach on them.  Hopefully that's strong enough to kill kill kill that nastiness!

I guess we need to check other spots in the house to ensure adequate airflow.

Last Few Days

Matt had board-certification tests this week.  He takes them in Milwaukee instead of Chicago.  That meant Rachel had a couple of days to kill while he was at the test center.  They spent the evenings with his family, and she spent two days hanging around here.  It was SO nice to just be in the same house, not necessarily trying to focus on visiting, still doing chores or putzing outside, but just being together and getting plenty of time to chat.  Katie and the girls came over on Friday too, and six of us had a picnic on the deck.

We also had non-family company.  A gal from Duluth was visiting CUW.  Her dad and sister needed a place to stay, so they were with us for a night this week.

I had my weirdest day ever at work.  One sweet elderly woman came in with a check to cash, but she'd accidentally torn off the "micr numbers" on the bottom of the check, the numbers that tell which bank, which account at that bank, check number, and eventually the amount is encoded on that line too.  I also had a couple come in and tell me that they were going to take a half hour.  An exaggeration, of course.  But it wasn't.  At least they were very pleasant.  Some other weird stuff happened too.

Katie, Nathan, and the girls showed up this morning at work.  Katie needed quarters for laundry.  Alia enjoyed talking to the personal banker about the little solar-operated Happy Flower on her desk.  Zoe smiled shyly.  It was clear from the conversation that these were my grandbabies.  When they left, my co-workers asked, "So, was that your son?"  Not one of them -- all of them thought Nathan was my son, and Katie my daughter-in-law.  That was kinda sweet!

Gary did a gentle tilling over the asparagus patch.  The sedum and hostas are cleaned out from the winter crud.  Lilacs are starting to bud out.  My bleeding hearts are not thriving, but they did survive another winter.  I finished pruning the apples and cherries; I'm afraid I may have been overzealous with one of the apple trees.  I dug up around the fruit trees and now need to surround them with a hefty dose of manure.  I prepped one raised bed for planting and put in about 18" each of kohlrabi, spinach, beets, and lettuce.  I have grand plans to put out a new 3' row of lettuce/spinach every two weeks, so we can load up with salads in May and June. 

Maggie and I both need shorts.  I don't think there's anything in the basement that will fit either of us.  Bummers.  Take time for sewing, or take time for shopping.  Maybe I'll just keep wearing jeans when I'm working outside.  But that will wear out my jean-knees, prevent tanning, and make me hot.  Hmm, this problem must be solved.

Last Sunday Gary and I attended "To Kill a Mockingbird" downtown.  I had low expectations because of our only other visit to this theatre, but this show was well done!  One of my favorite actors played the bad guy.  At the end of the show, Jimmy (having played the racist bigot who framed a black man for his own crime) came out for the curtain call with his arm around the actor whom he'd done in.  It was classy.

Gary injured his hand several weeks ago, trying to open a car door that was frozen shut tighter than he realized.  Having given it time to improve, and having it get worse instead of better, he saw the doctor and is now on drugs for a week.