Discerning the Lord's Body

Pastor Stuckwisch writes about the importance of discerning the Lord's body and blood in the Sacrament.  In the article, he points out things that pastors can do (beyond what they say) to help the parishioners understand that this cup and this bread IS Jesus' blood and His body.

I remember the friend who told me that some in his congregation complained that he elevated the host at the Pax Domini, and that he knelt at the altar.  "Pastor," they said with a little bit of derision, "you act like it's really Jesus there."

Ummm...

How does a person respond to that?  "Exactly"?

Who Needs to Listen to the Lord?

Pastor has been pointing out in stories how often people know what the Lord says, know that it's true, and yet keep acting in opposition.  This happened over and over again in the stories of King Saul.  He knew that David had been anointed by the Lord.  And yet he was determined to get rid of David and make sure his own sons were lined up to be the next king.  He knew what God said; he knew it was true; and yet he had no intention of listening to it.

Another example is 2 Samuel 3.  Abner (who had been the commander of Saul's army) had fought against David all along, as Saul pursued David.  Saul died.  Abner set up Saul's son as king, in opposition to David's kingship.  Abner fought against David.  Then, lo and behold, Abner got ticked at Ishbosheth (Saul's son who was ruling Israel) and said in verse 9 that God should zot him [Abner]  if he doesn't go and help set up David as king over all Israel "as the Lord has sworn to him." 

Seriously?  Abner knew all along that the Lord had sworn to give the kingdom to David.  And still he was scheming, warring, and rebelling.  He thought he would thwart GOD? 

Yup.
(Ain't it amazing that we can be so dense?)
(And why is it so easy to see when it's other people doing it?)

Canning Circus

I may never can again.

Things did not go well when I attempted to put up some incredible chili last week.   So yesterday I made chili and froze it.   The goal for today was to can either salsa or plain tomatoes.  Taking the lazy way out I decided to can the tomatoes plain.  However, it failed to be "the lazy way."

1.  Accident with the pressure canner which was supposed to be doubling as a water bath.  Boiling water.  Exploded.  On me.  (Lots of cold showers and many applications of fresh aloe mean that I ended up with only a few blistered areas.  The treatments resulted in most places settling down to bad first-degree burns.)

2.  Broken handle on the canner lid when it hit the floor.

3.  Lots of water all over the floor.  When the shower was colder than I could stand, I'd get out and would make attempts to mop up the kitchen's puddles.

4.  Then Maggie accidentally dumped the mop bucket.  All the water from the canning accident --plus the water that had been in the bucket from mopping earlier-- was back on the floor.  I'm glad I could laugh at that instead of cry.

5.  One of the canning jars broke.  The canner was full of tomatoes floating around in the canning water. 

6.  Water boiled out of the canner onto the stove, extinguishing the flame on the burner, while the natural gas kept pumping out into the kitchen.  Hooray for open windows!!!

So what all else went wrong?  I can't remember at the moment.  But this list seems mighty short compared to how the day actually went!

I now have
a) very clean kitchen counters,
b) a floor that's been mopped three times since Monday, and
c) some nice tomatoes in the freezer.

Moral of the Story #1 -- Quit canning.
Except for jelly.
Moral of the Story #2 -- When I forget this lesson, make sure I never can anything in quart-sized jars again ... unless I buy a regular water-bath canner.  Pints will be the limit for water-bathing in the pressure canner.

I'm going to have to wear real shoes to work later this week.  Flip-flops are really a lot easier on my burned foot.

Remind me again why this is supposed to be worth it?

Fresh-Tomato Chili

Saute together in a humongous pot:
1.5 pounds hamburger
2 onions, finely chopped
1 large sweet green pepper, finely chopped
1 large hot pepper, minced (or a medium-sized very hot pepper)

Meanwhile, use the food processor to chop up a whole gob of tomatoes (about a gallon of diced tomatoes with their juice).

When the hamburger is browned and the veggies soft, add
1 Tbsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
1 tsp garlic powder
3 Tbsp dried parsley
1.5 Tbsp chili powder
1.5 Tbsp cumin
1/4 tsp basil

Stir well.  Add tomatoes.  Mix. 
Drain water from 4 pints of of canned kidney beans.
Add beans to soup.  Heat.  Adjust seasonings.



Mmmmmm.   This is the chili which I tried to can, and I shouldn't have.  Batch #2 is bypassing the pressure-canner and going straight into freezer bags.   Mmmmmm.

Offering to Help

As my mom's health began taking a turn for the worse last year, she mentioned one of her regrets.  She says she wished she'd done more things to help her parents as they got older.  At the time, Mom heeded the advice of the social workers and the nurses and the therapists, who all say not to do things to help an elderly or disabled person, if that person is capable of doing the job for himself. 

This makes sense.  Right?  If we cater to a toddler, that child will expect to be waited on.  That child will not grasp for independence.  We will thwart the child's motivation to "Do It Myself!" when we overhelp.  So would it not be the same for a person who's had a stroke or other health impairment?  Are not those multitudes of little, daily tasks sort of like "therapy" practice?

And yet, how much frustration do we allow to crowd in on a person's life?

When we're raising our kids, there's a question we continually bump into:  "Is he ready for this?"  Is Joey wetting his pants because he's not developmentally capable of using the potty, or is he just being stubborn about peeing in his diaper?  Is Susie refusing to stay in her bed at night because she truly needs company and comfort, or is she just being manipulative of her parents?  When your homeschooled 9-yr-old cannot read and cannot memorize his times-tables, is it because he's a lazy so-and-so (and will not do the work), or because he's a late-bloomer (and cannot do the work)? 

But that question doesn't go away when the kids grow up!

We end up with sore muscles.  Do we keep up that exercise regimen we just started?  Or do we give the sore body a rest to recuperate?

Do we give help to the neighbor who's struggling to return the grocery cart to the cart-corral?  Or do we let the man do it himself, as it is his day's exercise? 

Do we help a teenager straighten out the jumbled words coming from a brain that struggles with auditory processing?  Or do we leave her on her own to figure out why we don't understand her question?

I am capable of coming into the kitchen while carrying a bushel of tomatoes.   But I am glad when someone opens the door for me.  Just because I could do it, doesn't mean they should let me.  Or make me.  It's polite to offer help.  It's kind.  It's a courtesy that we should offer to one another.

Those of us who teach children have watched as our students reach the saturation point in their learning.  A fourth-grader wants to read a book for fun that's easy enough for second-graders. Isn't that okay?  Or do we make him read up to his ability level all the time?  A teacher lectures, but must give the students an occasional break to get out of their seats, walk around, chat for a couple of minutes, etc.  When our brains are taxed by new concepts, or hard skills or ideas, we may need a short break.  We need time for the new information and new skills to gel, to settle, to become part of us and our thinking.  That goes for post-stroke therapy, or learning to walk again after an accident.




It keeps coming back to "I can't" versus "I won't."  When someone can't, we respond very differently from when they won't. 

But how do you know which it is?

The Pressure Canner

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I've had my fill of tomatoes.  Wow!  Even two weeks ago, I didn't suspect that it would be possible to get tired of tomatoes.  Ever.  But sadly, the tomato sandwich no longer calls to me, enticing me, whispering that I should have a second, or a third, or a fourth.


Now the work of continuing to put them up.

Earlier this week I made a huge batch of chili.  BEST chili I've made in years.  I put seven quarts into the pressure canner.  Phooey.  Every single one of them leaked.  The seal on three lids stayed, but I am suspicious of those jars anyway.  Tonight I hauled out one of the jars that didn't seal; after 90 minutes in the canner, the flavor had changed.  It's still perfectly acceptable, but it's not blow-your-socks-off yummy any more. 

When I canned the salsa, I forgot to add the lemon juice.  (These days, the low-acid tomatoes require added acid to ensure safety when water-bath canning.)  So I don't know whether to put those salsa jars in the refrigerator, or whether they will be safe enough in the basement pantry for a couple of months.

I know that it's supposed to be better to can your food than freeze it.  I know canned food is safe even when the freezer fails.  I know it's easier to heat the canned food quickly.  But if I spend hours of work canning, only to botch it up and have the taste go downhill, is it okay if I just cross my fingers and hope the freezer keeps doing its job to preserve my goodies?

Me

It so happens that, due to the holiday and scheduling flukes, I ended up being off work for nearly the whole week.  My jobless week included church, a trip to visit my mom, lots of tomatoes and canning and cooking, Bible class, laundry, and some schoolwork with Maggie.  And about 20 hours before I was due to clock-in at work again, I realized:

I feel like myself again.  

I have this sense that "me" is back.

I wish I could do something about that.
Thank God I could be a stay-at-home mom and housewife as long as I did.

This Is a Good House

We have been flirting with the idea of looking for a house in town so that Maggie will be close to the library, church, the stores, the rec center, and possible employment opportunities.  When we moved here, we knew we wanted to be close enough to town to walk or bike.  But it is an hour walk -- for me or Gary -- more for Maggie.  Could we ever find another house that's comparable?

Difficult aspects of this house:
Big yard to mow.
Big deck, so it's hard to keep up.
Three miles from downtown.
No dining room; breakfast nook is tiny.

Nice aspects of this house:

Brick.  Warm.  Little wood to paint.
Newish roof.
Dry!  No mildew.
No water in our basement even when others have flooding.
Not an apartment/condo where you share walls, basement, and entryways.
Established garden space, with room for more,
and asparagus, cherries, berries, etc, are already solid.
Mortgage is decent; what's comparable in town seems pricier.
Radon mitigation system in place from former owners.
Kitties allowed outside; in town they must be leashed.
Large garage; plenty of parking space in driveway too.
Most of the windows have been replaced.
Light and bright and airy.
Fantastic neighborhood.  Safe.
Well water is healthier and tastier than city water.
No water or septic bills.
Lower property taxes than in town.
And finally, we're already here, settled.  (I hate moving.)

I can see why people downsize to smaller homes when the yardwork and housecare becomes burdensome as they age.  On the other hand, it could possibly be cheaper to pay someone else to do that rather than live in town with the extra costs there.  The big question is whether Maggie can develop enough strength and endurance to transport herself into town when necessary.  Thing is, there are two businesses here in town that work with the Dept of Vocational Rehabilitation; our current home is, at most, half-mile further from many of the homes in the center of town, and right now we're closer than many to these two business.  So while it may be convenient now to be closer to downtown, it might actually move us away from potential jobs for Mags.

Where's that crystal ball when you need it?

Mysterious Chemical

It's time for that biannual job -- weather sealant for the deck.  Step 1: clean the deck.  Don't use the power washer. Don't wear myself out with too much elbow grease.  Instead, this time I would use the chemical wood cleaner. 

I realized, when we had cleaned about 1/4 of the deck, that we were halfway through the jug of this blue cleaner-stuff.  Do a little math:   "Gary, while I keep applying this, would you run to the hardware store and buy another gallon?"  He did.  When the first jug was empty, we opened the second.

It was brown. 
And it smelled turpentiny.
And it looked oilier.

But the label was exactly the same.  I pondered whether they had changed to a new formula??  I began to use it.

But something was wrong.  Gary came over from his part of the job (where he was using the hose) to have a look.  He too thought something was wrong.   So we quit for the evening.

A couple of hours later, my hands were burning from the chemical (even though I had been wearing rubber gloves).

Nothing on the website about recalls.

The next day I called the manufacturer.  They had not heard any complaints.  They told me which jug contained the correct cleaner.  (The blue one was real.  The brown one is the Mystery Chemical.)  I took the bottle back to the store to swap it out.  I explained to the store's owner and the manager what had happened.  The guys couldn't believe it.  We checked all the jugs on the shelves; there was another weirdo one. 

Right now, my guess is that the brown liquid was one of the active ingredients in the wood cleaner, unmixed.  I hope that someday I'll find out what it was. 



Moral of the story:  I really ought to trust my gut-level instincts more.  Why do I keep rationalizing possible reasons/excuses for things?  Why do I always assume that I'm being stupid, that I'm not understanding, that the other guy is right?  It seems like I too often end up regretting it.

The Mini-MoPed Girl

Dear Neighbor,

I understand.  And I agree that most people are over-protective of children.  I understand that your 7-yr-old daughter is having a grand time zipping around the neighborhood in her new toy.  I understand that it's good for her to play outside instead of being zoned out in front of a television or video game.  I understand that a little freedom is important to her development.

But I have news for you.  A helmet is not enough protection for a child who is operating a motorized vehicle.  On public streets.  At 15-20 miles per hour. 

I assume your child does not have a license to operate.  After all, she's half the minimum driving age.  And her inability to notice oncoming traffic or to stop-&-look at intersections tells me that she'd fail a driving test if she were old enough to apply for a license.

I'm sure you are blissfully ignorant of how many close calls your daughter has had.  I doubt she realizes the close calls either.  Luckily the cars that she has come close to smashing into have seen her first, stopped, and sat still, waiting, while your daughter narrowly missed damaging their vehicles. And she goes on her merry way, unrattled.

I hope we can figure out who you are and where you live before the day the ambulance arrives.  I'd rather talk to you sooner instead of later.

Susan

Hiring the Good Employees

I am not the manager.  I am not the supervisor.  But I've seen quite a few tellers come and go during the months I've spent at my job.  Some went on to promotions.  Some quit.  Some lost their job.  And I've noticed a pattern.

There is an indefinable, unpinpointable characteristic that distinguishes the good employees from the bad.  And it's got something to do with compassion for others. 

Employees can put on a show about being polite, but for some of them the politeness comes with relatively little effort because of the concern they have for helping the other guy.

Employees can be hard workers because they know the boss will smile upon them for it, but if their hard work is done only to earn the boss's favor, it's hard to keep up the effort when he's not looking.   Others work hard because it's part of their desire to help their customers and their co-workers. 

Employees can complain behind the backs of the nasty customers, but then their crabby rebuttals [spoken surreptitiously to co-workers] affect their attitude so that it oozes out around the edges to all the customers.  Others understand that a rude customer may be "rude" simply because she didn't hear the cheery greeting to give a pleasant response, or because something tragic is going on his life.

Most people who are looking for jobs these days must apply online.  Sometimes hundreds of people apply for a handful of jobs.  There is no way for an employer to get that "feel" for what the prospective employee is like, to assess those indefinable "vibes."  And there is no way for the guy who's job-hunting to be able to "sell" himself on the basis of that most-important quality.  That's hard for the guy who needs a job.  But it's also a difficulty for the person who's doing the hiring.  I'm beginning more and more to think that, if I'm ever in a position of making hiring-decisions, my gut-level intuition should have a lot more clout than my reason and logic.

Update

Tomatoes are doing nicely.  Best year for peppers I've ever had.  We ate some awesome stuffed-pepper skillet the other day.

Maggie and I went to the science museum today.  They have a bed of nails to lie on (to demonstrate dispersion of pressure).  We tried it.  Prickly.  But not painful.

Bethany and Evan moved back to Madison.  You get a big ol' crew of workers on moving day, and yowza, the work goes fast!

Monday was a potluck tailgate party at the Brewers/Cubs game.  A whole bunch of people from church attended; it was one of the events for the 50th-anniversary celebration.  Fun night.  The best part was the home-run ball hit right to our section, the first major-league homer for that player.  Maggie has decided that she is a Cubs fan. 

This week and next I'm not scheduled for any extra hours at work.  I'm just working my own hours without any substituting.  I hope all the new tellers work out so that this stability-of-schedule lasts for a while.  This week I'm learning to balance the ATM.  Next week I will be trained on being a morning-opener.  New stuff -- hooray!

Maggie and I cleaned the garage.  Now I can use it for lunch tables for a baptism dinner someday soon.   :-)

Andrew started classes today.  Well, class.  He is taking only one this semester.  He still has his part-time pizza job.  Saturday is his first day of CNA-type home-visitation job.  

School (and thus chapel) starts next week.  Today was my last day to sleep past 6:30.  I should learn to go to bed in the evenings.

Roman Soldier?

Our town hosted "Heritage Days," a montage of historical re-enactments, all the way from ancient Greece & Rome, up to WWII.  Fun times!  And it gets better every year.

Wisconsin Senate Race

Jeff Fitzgerald.

For all you undecideds, take a look at our Assembly Speaker. He stood firm with Gov Walker.

Granted, any of the four candidates will make a good Senator.  And I will vote for whoever is running against Tammy; she's all for bigger government, higher taxes, and more govt regulations.

But choosing between the four on Tuesday?  Tommy isn't as conservative as I'd like.  Mark has pulled some shenanigans in recent elections, so that he's not my top choice.  Hovde sounds good in many ways, but he's unproven; without a voting record (and being what I consider an out-of-stater) I have no way to know whether he's feeding me a line he thinks will gain my vote, or if he's genuine.

Jeff Fitzgerald has endured the nastiness thrown at him, and still has governed well.   I encourage you to vote for him on Tuesday.

Romney-Ryan Rally

I haven't been in a traffic jam this bad in years.  Even when on my rare forays into Chicagoland, I haven't seen this kind of traffic for a long long time.  But people were polite and safe and (for the most part) patient drivers, so that helps.

There were, of course, protesters.  I counted 23.  I may have missed 1 or 2.  I wondered how the network news would report the number of protesters.

Of all the folks who spoke (Congressmen, national leaders, state leaders, etc.), Scott Walker and Paul Ryan received the most enthusiastic reception.  The crowd is reported to have been 8000 to 10,000+ (and since we needed tickets to enter, they actually have a count of attendees, and not just a guess).  

What to Call the In-Laws

When you're a kid, you don't know what adults call their in-laws.  After all, parents usually refer to their in-laws as "Grandma" and "Grandpa" around the munchkins. 

So when you get all grown-up and acquire yourself some in-laws, you have to figure out what to call them.  It feels funny to start calling someone "Dad" who used to be "Mr Lastname."  But hey, what may feel funny at first is something you get used to eventually.  The problem comes when there are objections.

Maybe the bride's mom doesn't want her daughter calling another woman "Mom."  Maybe she thinks, "That's my spot!"  Maybe the groom feels like it would be betraying his father to call somebody else "Dad."  Maybe you don't feel comfortable enough around the spouse's family to use such close & endearing names.  Maybe [gasp] there's some dislike. 

When Gary and I got married, we didn't know what to do, and nobody told us.  When I asked about calling my mother-in-law "Mom," I was told no, but that I could call her "Mother."  (Unfortunately, to me, "Mother" is a term of exasperation, rather like when a parent uses a child's full name; kids usually know that they're in trouble when they're summoned with the middle name and last name in addition to the first name.  That's how "Mother" feels coming out of my mouth.  Because "Mother" sounded disrespectful to me, I didn't want to use it for my mother-in-law.  Maybe I should have anyway.) 

When two of my girls got married, we didn't know what to tell them.  We did tell them that we thought "Mom" and "Dad" would be good, but that it was up to them because we recognized that it might make the husbands uncomfortable or make the guys' parents uncomfortable. 

In hindsight, I think we botched it. 

There is a change of relationship, a change of family, new connections being created, at a wedding.  The bride has to get used to introducing herself with a new name.  She has to get used to a new signature.  The couple has to get used to living together instead of separately in their parents' homes.  Calling the in-laws "Mom" and "Dad" is just one of those changes. 

So I'm saying it for all you yet-unmarried youngsters who are my kids' friends.  There's a theological reality here.  When you refer to your spouse's parents with words/nicknames for parents, you are teaching yourself something about who these people are and what your relationship is.  If they object to being called "Mom" and "Dad," maybe they need to learn something about this new family-relationship.  Neither should your parents object to your in-laws being called "Mom" and "Dad."  You've probably got decades together, through kids and grandkids, through illnesses and moves and job changes and fights and reconciliations and school plays and Little League games and deaths and sorrows and joys.  Y'know, "for better or for worse, ..." and all that. 

And through it all, it would be good to know that this person who raised your husband (or wife)  IS "Mom" or "Dad."  Not just to your spouse, but to you too.  And using the words helps you to believe it.

So say it.  Squirm if you must.  If you can't help it and turn red in the face, so be it.  But say "Mom" and "Dad" anyway.  In 40 years, you'll be glad you did.

Wisconsin Homeschoolers

Although the DPI now has available the online census form on which we report the enrollment of our homeschools, now is not the time to file. 

If your child has already been enrolled in a conventional school for the 2012-13 school year (even though he would not yet have attended), you may not begin homeschooling until the government receives a copy of your PI-1206.  If your child has been enrolled for the upcoming school-year, file your 1206 this week or next.

But for everybody else (those of us who unenrolled the kid last spring, or those of us who were homeschooling last spring and even before) we do NOT file the PI-1206 until after the third Friday in September. 

I know some of you want to get things checked off your to-do list.  I know some of you don't want to wait, for fear you may forget.  Put it on your calendar for September 26 or 28 or October 3.  Like all the other schools in the state, we count our enrollment on the third Friday of September.  Wait until that day, please.

Arnica Gel

Because I bruise easily, I know that every single bump into a corner of a counter-top, a piece of furniture, or a car door, will result in a bruise. A tube of arnica gel is sitting in my bedroom to alleviate carpal tunnel pain.  As I had done with my inadvertent aloe experiments, a week ago I experimented with the arnica.  Arnica on only one of the bruised spots.  The newer bruise (which was just as deep, with the same amount of pain as the older bruise) healed much faster, much more comfortably. 

How does it DO that?!

That arnica is awesome stuff!  And no, I don't get paid by the Arnica Foundation to wax eloquent about this amazing herb.   :-)

Alia's Axe

So while we're babysitting today, the 3-yr-old comes from the garage, onto the deck, with a hatchet. Andrew's eyebrows pop up, and he queries, "So ... what are you doing with the axe, Alia?"

"I want to chop down a tree."

Naturally! Silly us. Why else would a kid want an axe?

I explain, "You may not chop down a tree. I want my trees!"

"But.... But ..... I want to chop down a tree. Why do you have an axe if you don't chop down trees??"

"For chopping the branches that fall down after a windstorm."

She trots back to the garage and puts the hatchet away.

So as we're in the kitchen, putting away the food and beginning to wash the lunch dishes, I'm thinking that we really need to keep a close eye on this kid. Then Andrew gasps from the deck. Alia had picked up the cat (the younger one, the mild-mannered one, the suck-it-up-and-take-whatever-comes one) and tossed her in the kiddie pool. Surprisingly enough, the cat wasn't as pleased with the pool as was the kid in the bathing suit.

Then we went to the playground. The nice, safe playground. LOL.

Peach Pie

So when the peach pie or the apple pie contains the fruit-skin,
when the mashed potatoes have skins in them,
does that mean
a) the cook is nobly concerned about good nutrition and not wasting the food,
or
b) the cook is too lazy to peel the fruit?

I vote for choice A.  Yes.  I do.  You believe that, don't you?