Starck's Motherhood Prayers

I'd heard so many wonderful things about the book. 

Even though the author is a pietist, I figured that wasn't reason to write off the book.  [Pun.  Bad pun.  Oops.]   I figure that a Christian who values piety so highly (even if too highly) may have some good things to say about prayer.

And boy oh boy, what mixed feelings I have!

On the one hand, I am amazed by the prayers.  They are drenched in scripture.  These samples are what fervent prayer is all about: speaking back to God what He has spoken to us, holding onto His promises, fitting those promises and those words to our situation.  Rebekah explains this superbly.  And I think this is why Emmanuel Press publishes the book.  (By the way, their cards are gorgeous!)

On the other hand, when I first opened the book, Starck and I got off on the wrong foot.

The first thing I saw when I flipped through the book to get an idea of what was there?  A prayer that God would guard me from seeing any deformed person throughout my pregnancy (pp 16, 19).  And if by chance I should see a deformed person, I pray that God would guard my child from being affected by the sight.   Maybe I'm being too touchy, but that really hacked me off.  As I crabbed about it to Gary, he asked who I saw without an arm when I was pregnant with Katie.  And he pondered how it happened that I "saw" somebody's heart defect and palate defect when I was pregnant with Maggie.

The next thing I noticed was the part about the churching of a mother, and how a mother will spend six weeks after childbirth at home resting.  I realize that people respond differently to childbirth, and I realize that some mothers appreciate this hiatus from work and being out among other people.  But to use Leviticus to make a law of this?  And to tell mothers that they are disobeying God to get out of bed and do some work in those first weeks?  No wonder Starck is talking about the mother's weakness and how she needs to pray for strength!  After spending two weeks in an ICU bed recently, I am weak.  Too much rest destroys a person's strength.  It is not "wantonness" deserving of "injury for wanting to be wiser than God" (p 53) for a woman to "move about" during this time. 

I understand and agree with Starck's comments about how it's better for mother and baby when the mother is cheerful and thankful.  But it's going too far to say that "an outburst of hot temper" during pregnancy indicates "impatience at her fruitfulness, and consequently an act of ingratitude" for which God may punish her (p 16).  

Similarly (p 64) we hear that God has placed children into our keeping, and if they be lost, "then shall thy life be for its life."   I see where such a statement could flow from pietism.  But those who believe in original sin and know that it is the Holy Spirit (and not we ourselves) who preserves us in the true faith, such people cannot believe that God punishes Christian parents whose children go astray.

So I approach the final chapter with caution.  The naughty perspective is such a small portion of the book.  So much of the book flows from scripture to another scripture to hymn stanza and back to more psalms.  What will he say about the barren mother?  I noticed that, in Rebekah's review, she said she hadn't read that concluding chapter.  In my opinion, that's just as well.  The dear friend who gave me the book said that the chapter on barrenness was full of information that helped her, and she said there was truth there which was hard to hear, but nevertheless the words were good.  My perspective was a little ... uh ... angrier.

I think Starck tries to delve into the hidden mysteries of God when he attempts to give reasons why God chooses to withhold the gift of children from some couples.  And some of those reasons can be very hurtful.  And untrue.  And can contradict what we so often say about the good gift of children to those expectant mothers who are distressed about finances or the future.  And again, he goes too far when he says that married people should beware of "importunate prayers" because God may just go ahead and give them a child that will make them miserable for the rest of their lives (p 72).  ("Take that, you peons.  Don't question Me.  Don't keep praying to Me.  Yes, I did say to pray persistently.  But don't be too persistent.  Because then I'll teach you a lesson.  Ha!  That'll show you not to keep begging."  Uh, yeah, that's not my God.)

Thing is, there's some truth there.  It's not good to keep demanding things of God as if we are the boss and He is the servant.  But the pietist apparently has a good knowledge of when he's praying in a holy way, as opposed to those who pray in grief and feel the accusations of Satan that they are Not Content Enough.

While there is much good to be found in this prayerbook [again, see the review over at Concordian Sisters] I really would much prefer Luther's Prayers or Gerhard's Meditations on Divine Mercy or even the Pastoral Care Companion.



One more thing:  Although the title is "Motherhood Prayers for All Occasions," it's not.  It's for the perinatal time; it's not for all occasions.*  The book is not for mothers whose kids are off in the army.  It's not for mothers whose kids are getting married or divorced.   It's not for mothers whose children have all died.  It's not for mothers whose kids have left the faith and/or left the family.  It provides prayers for the one particular niche, which is either a strength or weakness in the book, depending on your own perspective and place in life.

* Footnote:   Well, I guess in a way it's for all people,

no matter what the occasion, because the prayers use 

Bible verses which apply to anyone struggling.  But 

the specific application is only to that one portion of 

 motherhood.

Such an Obedient Wife!

They're telling me stories of things that happened in the hospital -- things I do not remember.

They tell me that when the medical staff removed my breathing tube, I didn't exactly remember to breathe.  The machine had been doing the work for me.  I was weak.  Breathing wasn't on the top of my priority list.

So Gary would notice me go 20 or 30 seconds without a breath.  My oxygen level would go down.  "Susan!  Breathe!"

So I would.

Apparently, after one of these big breaths, I pointed out to him that I was a Very Obedient And Submissive Wife.  I breathed when he told me to!

Hey, I figured he should appreciate the "obedience" for those brief moments.

the absolution

Jesus said, "Come unto Me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest."  And that rest is that He forgives your iniquity and remembers your sin no more.

Hallucinations

A friend asked recently, "So what did you experience when you collapsed from the aneurysm?"

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The book/movie "Heaven Is For Real" has been popular.  Nearly all my life I've heard stories of near-death experiences.  So what did I experience?  Nothing.

Maybe I wasn't that near death?

Or maybe it was something else?

My pastor is diligent to visit those in the hospital in serious condition.  Coma?  The guy needs to be visited frequently!  Surgeries, drugs, and breathing tubes?  Pastor is there a lot!  He says such times of weakness (especially with the drugs and anesthesia) are prime opportunities for Satan to wreak havoc in a Christian's life.  It's critical that the person be receiving the Gospel ... even if the person isn't intellectually comprehending the words.  It's a battle of God's angels versus Satan's angels.

I've heard stories of horrible hallucinations while people were on narcotics.  Even though I did hallucinate, it wasn't ugly.  I remember having an argument with myself about talking to one of the people in my room -- a person I knew full-well was NOT there.  But that person-who-wasn't-there was talking to me, and it would've been rude not to answer.  I remember reaching out to brush away stuff that was hanging too close to the hospital bed -- stuff that wasn't there.  I remember reaching for a pair of scissors (who knows why?!) that I just couldn't get a good grip on ... merely because they weren't there.  I hated the narcotics and the unreality it foisted on my mind.  But looking back, I'm realizing that nothing was horrible.  Monsters did not chase me.  Nobody threatened my life.  And best of all, there were no demons. 

And I wonder if any of this plays into the lack of "near-death experience."

Death cannot destroy forever.
From our fears, care, and tears
it will us deliver.
It will close life's mournful story,
make a way that we may
enter heavenly glory.

Lord, my shepherd, take me to Thee.
Thou art mine.
I was Thine even e'er I knew Thee.
I am Thine for Thou hast bought me.
Lost I stood,
but Thy blood free salvation brought me.

Without Electricity

Can't clean. 
Too dark to dust or pick up.
No electricity for the vacuum.
Can't mop or wash; no water.

Can't call Mom or Paul to chat; phone needs electricity. 

Can't watch television or videos.
Can't chat with friends on the computer.
Can't write blog posts.

Can't soak in the bathtub.
(Can't flush either.)

Can't go for a walk (because it's still storming outside).
Likewise, can't do anything with the garden.

Can't play board games because it's too dark.
Can't play piano; it's digital.
Can't do baking-chores.

Can't work the garage-door opener.
Can't run fans or air-conditioning.
Can't get snacks or cool drinks from the fridge.
Can't leave the porch light on for the one still at work.
Can't have him microwave his supper when he gets home.

CAN read next to the west window, until the sun is closer to setting.
CAN talk to the other people in the family.
CAN go to bed early.

Hoo-boy -- we are dependent!

Thanks be to God that we had no damage -- only inconveniences.

Middle Age

Forty is the old age of youth.
Fifty is the youth of old age.

Yes.

a French proverb

found in Jan Karon's 

"A Continual Feast"

Jesus, the Plagiarist?

Well, maybe it's not considered plagiarism, seeing as how the Lord wrote the Old Testament.  So if He takes the words from the psalms and "makes them His own" in the High Priestly Prayer, that's not really stealing words, is it?

John 17: Sanctify them in Your truth; Your word is truth.
Psalm 119 (resh): The entirety of Your word is truth.

What's extra-nifty, though, is that the bulk of the High Priestly Prayer is about Jesus' praying for the preservation of His apostles and other disciples.  They're about to face temptation.  They're going to fall away.  And He prays for the Father to keep them.

And that's what Psalm 119:153-160 is all about.  "Revive me."  "Plead my cause."  "Redeem me."

Katie's Kloset

What do you do with used medical equipment when Grandma or your dad no longer needs a walker or a shower-chair or a Cpap or whatever?  In Waukesha County, people can donate medical supplies to Katie's Kloset.  If you're in need of medical supplies, you can borrow it from Katie's Kloset (assuming the item you need is currently available). 

It's a great way to clear unused supplies out of your home and get them into the hands of people who need them!

It's a great way to save money if you need an item for only a few weeks or a couple of months!



A year or so ago, I was wishing there were a way for our congregation to set up something like this, but the space just isn't available.  And now I find out that there's no need, because somebody else in the county is already providing this match-making service.

"Going to Church"

When I was little, we went to "church."  "Going to church" meant Sunday morning or maybe a Wednesday-evening Lenten service.  It didn't mean dropping by the building to pick up the sweater you left there yesterday.

In recent years, friends talk about going to "Divine Service" or to "worship" or to "Mass" or to "prayers" or even to "celebration service."

[that moment when the light bulb clicks on]

Augsburg Confession, Article 7:  The holy Christian church is

the assembly of all believers among whom the Gospel is preached in its purity and the holy sacraments are administered according to the Gospel.

If you look at it that way, "going to church" doesn't sound any different from "Divine Service"!

Asking for Help

... also known as "bossing people."

I had to gather all my gumption to order-around little kids, to make them pick up their toys, to make them stop hitting a sibling, to write a thank-you note, to do their chores.  I kept making myself do it, for their sakes.  But boy, oh boy, I was not one of those moms who thought it would be realistic to have the kids doing all the housework for me by the time I was 40. 

This week I discovered why.

I can ask people to work alongside me.

I cannot ask people to do something for me if I am goofing off, resting, lying on the couch watching tv letting my brain heal.  I cannot ask people to clean house while I sit on the deck and read a book.  Even if they goofed off earlier while I worked, I can't seem to flip the scenario and ask them to work now while I rest.   

Last night, I asked for help.  There were groceries to be unpacked, hamburger to be repackaged and labeled and frozen, recycling and trash to be hauled to the curb, dishes to be washed, cat box to be cleaned.  All four of us pitched in, and the chores were done in about 15-20 minutes.  If I'd tried it myself it would have been more like two hours. 

I have to learn to request people to work while I don't. 
It's hard.
But I'm going to need to learn to do it before I'm 95.

(By the way, my mom will totally understand this dilemma.)

Hair Growth

7 weeks after the surgeons shaved it bare

17 days after surgery

It's growing.  Slowly.

I was mistaken for a man (by a friend!) last week.  And someone told me on Sunday that he much preferred the "babushka look" to the ... uh ... the "other." 

Yes!  Me too!

It's nice that Alia no longer seems afraid of me with my "boy hair."

Gary has encouraged me to take weekly pictures of the hair growth.  Because I have been frustrated by the changes in my hair as I age, he figured that evening out a huge bald patch on my scalp would be the perfect time to see what my hair did at different lengths.  When I came home from the hospital, Rachel cut my longer hair to match the fuzz over the surgery site.  When I'm in public, I usually wear a scarf or a baseball cap. 

The fact that I'm blogging about this probably betrays way more vanity in me than I want to own up to.

The scar site on my scalp doesn't show any more.  I think (I hope!) that my hair is long enough now to protect the scar from sunburn.  But I'm still being careful during midday; Pam warned me to watch out for sun on the scar tissue.

I do not think my hair will be long enough by the time of the wedding [just one month!] to go bare-headed yet.  Andrew asked Gary to keep his beard, even though it's summer, so that Gary would "look like Dad" in the wedding pictures.  Well, that lady ain't gonna "look like Mom."  But what are you going to do?!  LOL.

Strawberry Picking

Katie has done a LOT to tend the garden since I crashed.  When it comes to picking sweet berries, the girls are quite happy to help.  Alia loves it when we find insects or other small critters in the garden for her; she and I have different opinions, however, as to which of those creatures/pests should live or die.

I am SO glad we changed the strawberries last year, transplanting berries into a raised bed and putting grass seed in the former berry plot.  It's made the mowing much easier because we [well, they] are no longer mowing around an odd-shaped plot.  And I can help with picking/tending berries as they're easier to reach, and I can even sit on the boards at the edge of the bed.  Besides, the number of weeds is minimal in a raised bed compared to the ground-level plot.

Those worker-gals (in the photo above) forgot to take their berries home with them yesterday. So instead we are going to hog the benefits of their work.  We will enjoy strawberry shortcake for somebody's "birthday" today.  We'll have to pick some berries and drop them off for Katie's family another day.  Unless one of the other kids beats us to the next pickin' ....

Whoever Denies Me Before Men

Pastor has often heard me (and possibly others) moan about the verse in Matthew 10:

Whoever denies Me before men, 
him I will also deny before My Father who is in heaven.

In Sunday's sermon he pointed out what happened the night when Jesus was betrayed.  Peter denied Him.  Repeatedly.  Shortly after he swore he'd never do it.  

Did Jesus deny Peter?  No.

No.  He didn't deny Peter!!  
"When we are faithless, He is faithful, for He cannot deny Himself."

So it is true what the preceding verse says: 

Whoever confesses Me before men, 
him I will also confess before My Father who is in heaven.

And that promise trumps the damning word of law.
 

Dear Diary ...

Discharged from outpatient speech therapy last week.
Discharged from outpatient physical therapy yesterday.

Borrowed Maggie's bike yesterday and rode back and forth in front of the house for two or three whole minutes, in yet another attempt to put a smidgeon of muscle back into my legs.  I did not topple over.  I did, however, get off the bike and walk it up the steeper inclines. 

The therapists warned me against overdoing; they said I must do a lot of "nothing."  They said that's when my brain does its healing.  I don't know how to do nothing.  I watch tv and read and do Sudoku's.  I drag myself through an easy chore or two.  I'm to the point of needing naps only when I overdo a bit. 

I've been watching Call the Midwife.  So many friends have raved about the series.  I have mixed feelings.  At the beginning, it seemed like the longest one-hour show I'd ever watched.  But after we got to know the characters and the setting, that aspect improved.  Overall, I get to liking the show, and then an episode pops up that infuriates me.  It's one thing to have a story about a brother and sister committing adultery, and then her committing suicide.  It's another thing altogether to have this relationship extolled as the right kind of love and passion and fulfillment.  Similarly, I can understand the reason why this series would set forth a story about a woman with "too many children" and her attempts to abort the next baby.  But that story takes on a completely different aspect when the narrator bookends the story with commentary on the Pill and the need for safe abortion to protect women from the Burdens Of Childbearing.  Then, when I've calmed down, I decide to give the series "one more chance" and the next episode gets me hooked again.

Andrew drove me to therapy the other day.  A soap opera was playing in the waiting room.  He was reading, but he caught glimpses of his first soap.  On the way home, he commented on the vengeance and hatred.  At my last haircut [no, I mean, the last regular haircut, y'know, in the salon, not the post-surgery head-shaving] I was sickened to see what was on soap operas today.  I remember people telling me when I was in college that they were inappropriate for Christians (or even decent people) to watch.  I thought that was overly legalistic.  I don't know if I've changed or if soap operas have worsened that much.  But now I'm inclined to agree: watching soaps today is submitting to the brainwashing of the culture.  (Oh, man, I'm gonna get hate-mail now....)

The strawberries are coming in abundantly.  I think we should replant healthy babies again this year, late in summer.  The difference in berry-size is significant.  And last fall it looked like those spindly, frail starters couldn't possibly produce anything.  I had to freeze some berries because we're bringing in more than we can eat ... and jam-making seems too risky right now with my brain-scrambles and my lack of physical strength.

God is certainly doing my garden-watering for me.  I did not get around to pruning the grapes, the cherries, or the apples.  Right now, the grapes vines look to be producing plenty of fruit and jam and juice.   The apples trees --which produced NOTHING the last three summers-- have baby apples.  I must have been pruning the wrong twigs in previous years.  Now, how do I figure out what I did wrong so that I don't repeat my mistake ... because these trees desperately need pruning as soon as fall's cool weather sets in.

I have not touched a lawn-mower since before my crash.  Gary has borne the brunt of that chore, with some help from Rachel.  We are deeply thankful that the neighbors have helped mow, and one has offered to loan his riding lawnmower to Gary occasionally!

Gary drove Maggie and me to the library last night.  First trip since my crash.  The library had notices about a town meeting that would deeply impact that future of the library.  Turned out the meeting was due to start just a few minutes before we left the library.  We drove straight over to town hall.  Both Gary and I ended up testifying briefly.  I'm glad we went.  Most of the citizens there were of the opposite viewpoint.  I think it was encouraging to the town board to hear us few taxpayers/voters in agreement with them.  It's probably also good that ALL the citizens attending were not of the one opinion, but that some of us agreed with the board's decision.  (I'm kind of scared to see how the local weekly paper quotes me: it's not exactly the most accurate news-reporting I've ever seen.)

We have lots of new members at church.  It is such an encouragement to see them arrive to visit, and revel in the liturgy and the preached gospel, to see their eager attendance at Bible class.  And they come back and bring friends.  Lovely!

You know what?  If you don't dust for long enough, you can't dust.  You have to use a wet, soapy cloth to scrub dirt off the furniture.  Each day I tell myself that I'm going to do a little housecleaning.  Just a little.  And it's harder to clean stuff than I expect.  Partly because I'm weak.  Partly because the dirt is thicker.  Ick.  (Thing is, before my daughters get any bright ideas to come over and help, I have to sort and file and toss and eliminate ... so that cleaners can find the horizontal surfaces in need of cleaning.)

At symposium last week, I found myself boasting to out-of-towners about the people at church.  We have done very little cooking since I arrived home from the hospital.  Our fellow-saints are preparing meals and bringing them to us.  I am absolutely overwhelmed by the generosity.  And the delicious cooking. 

I began weaning off the shingles drug (the one for nerve pain, aka my arachnoiditis).  Going from 3 pills daily to 2 was okay.  Going from 2 to 1 pill has been a bit much.  I thought I'd be weaned off the drug entirely before seeing the neurologist for my follow-up visit.  I doubt it now.  I'm too whiny about the nerve pain again.  I look like a dope, carrying a pillow around with me, so I don't have to sit on a hard pew or chair at church.  Too bad.  Dopey-looking is better than whiny and suffering.

That's enough update. 
I have all these scribbled notes for things I want to put on my blog/diary.
But there's only so much sitting at the computer that my body can take. 
So now I'm stopping and heading off to find a pain-pill.  
Have a happy day!

Kristin Lavransdatter

Medieval Norway. 
Historical fiction, particularly a love story or a story of motherhood.
Theology.

Okay, here's the deal.  If you're interested in any two of the above three topics, you should enjoy the Kristin Lavransdatter trilogy.

Me?  I didn't care diddly about medieval Norway.  But, hey, I learned something as I read through these books.  (Warning: it sure wasn't easy reading for me.  And to be fair, I started the series before my brain broke.  Even back in early spring it was a stretch.  For a while after my hospitalization, I considered reading Kristen to be therapy.)

I want so much to chatter on about the book.  Oh, uh, I mean, uh, critique it.  Yeah, that's it.  But I don't know how I can say anything without giving away spoilers.

My friend Polly would often recommend the Kristen series to people who were gathering a new reading list for themselves.  Last year, several other friends decided to read the series.  The books got a nearly-universal thumbs-up as more people recommended them enthusiastically.  And now I'm part of the crowd. 

More Brain Recovery

Speech therapist and physical therapist told me last Friday that I had "met all the goals" which had been set for me in the hospital.  I'm still in need of plenty of work: strength, endurance, speed.  While my legs still look spindly, we can now feel that there's something in my calves besides bone and skin-cover.  Although I appear to be building up some small amount of muscle, I still have not regained any of the weight lost during the hospital stay.  (Now, the flabby stuff on my belly which disappeared?  It can just stay gone!   The muscles in my legs --puny though they were-- need to come back, please!)

I am allowed to do light housework now.  Problem is, I can only tackle one thing per day.  Today it was picking strawberries and lettuce from our small garden.  Yesterday it was out-patient therapy and a short trip to the grocery store.  Day before was church and a bit of time with the kids.  Tomorrow is laundry and therapy and evening church; this will definitely require in-between napping.  I don't know when the vacuum cleaner and I will ever become reacquainted.

I've been given permission to begin weaning myself off the nerve-pain medicine.  I think I'll be off that drug prior to my follow-up visit with the neurologist.  I've bent the ear of two doctors, two therapists, and one nurse.  Nobody will budge on beginning to wean off the anti-seizure drug.  Thing is, I am really getting annoyed by its side-effects.  The neurologist suggested that the side-effects should lessen as I get rid of the other med. 

My boss is still patiently waiting to hear from the neurologist about my follow-up visit.  Turns out my employer was required by law to hold my position for me for only two weeks.  They have been more than generous in finding substitutes for me on the work-schedule.  They do want me back if at all possible.  It's so awesome to have a good employer that acts according to the Table of Duties' "To Masters" section.

When I talked to the neurologist last time, I gained a little more hope for returning to driving.  He said it makes a difference that I had a "provoked seizure" instead of a seizure that my body came up with on its own.  I guess if you go poking around in somebody's brain, sending her into a seizure doesn't mean she's going to have her own seizures later. 

I'm beginning to see what I suspect are side effects of not drinking my kombucha.  Today I talked to our doctor about the chin rash and the lower back pain.  Nothing to do but treat the symptoms.  I keep thinking that some of these things would resolve themselves if I could get back to my kombucha and my supplements and off the drugs.  But I am, so far, managing to be an obedient patient.

Still exhausted.  The doctors and therapists insist that "When You're Doing NOTHING Is When Your Brain Is Healing.  So do a lot of nothing."  No fear.  I am still quite the lazy slug.  Naps are my friend.

Okay, I think that's pretty much all the news for those of you who are asking how I'm doing. 
:-)

Cause Your Face to Shine, and We Shall Be Saved

The Aaronic benediction --
the way God told His priests to put His name on the people --
the way God designed for His people to be blessed:

The Lord make His face shine upon you
and be gracious unto you.

Psalm 31, right in the midst of the psalmist's plea to be rescued from those who are persecuting him:

Make Your face shine upon Your servant;
save me for Your mercies' sake.

I don't know about anybody else, but I think it's really cool that David, in his grief and his weakness and his prayers, grabbed hold of the liturgy to speak it back to God. 

And I think the psalm sheds light on what we hear at the end of every Service.  The pastor's not just saying some nicey-nice words about happy stuff happening to us.  He's not wishing us some inspirational, [temporally] abundant-life kind of week.  No.  The words of the Benediction are about mercy and salvation and rescue and the resurrection of the body.  These words are about Jesus and His suffering and death for us.

PS: In case I forget later where the line from

the title was drawn, it's from Psalm 80.

"We Don't Like Show-offs Around Here"

I signed up for Curves primarily because Maggie needed exercise.  We went together.  It's not the toughest, most strenuous workout.  I try to get more out of the gym-time by pushing harder on the cardio segments, swinging my arms, jogging with my knees higher, or whatever can push me to maybe (?) break a sweat.  A few times, an elderly woman has said to me, "Hey, we don't like show-offs around here."

I don't know if it's the same woman who's said it several times, or different women.  I don't know if it's a weird, back-handed compliment or if it's a genuine complaint.  I don't know if it's a clumsy but well-meaning way to try to initiate conversation with a new-comer. 

I have no idea how to respond to that comment, so I usually don't.  I usually act as if I didn't hear.  But it always leave me in a quandary: Do I take a lazy approach to working out so that I don't offend those who cannot expend as much effort as I do used to?  Do I work as hard as before, and try to explain? 

Someone said it to me again last month.  One or two minutes before my brain aneurysm ruptured.

I've wondered several times what she thought when I collapsed and they called 911 and the paramedics rushed up with the ambulance.  Was she horrified at her comment?  Did she think, "Serves her right, the show-off"? 

Maybe God in His grace caused her to not even remember that she said it.

The Holy Ghost Is Not Confetti

... but nevertheless the analogy keeps resurfacing in my mind.

It's that time of year when the maple trees are dropping their helicopter seeds.  It's that time of year when little children gather up handfuls of helicopters and thrrrrrow them up into the air, to spin and spread and float everywhere.

Or imagine the kind of confetti that flies everywhere during a ticker-tape parade.

Remember the story of the sower and the seed (Mark 4)?  The guy sowing the seed was reckless.  He took handfuls of seed and threw it everywhere.  He spread it and spread it and spread it.  Even where it would never grow.

The Holy Spirit can never be separated from the Word.
The Word can never be separated from the Holy Spirit.

Pentecost is that word --that Spirit-- blowing where the Lord wills.  Everywhere.

"I Just Want You To Be Happy"

Pastor keeps saying it over and over:  Our society believes, "All that matters is that they're happy."  Okay, I figure he's right, but I didn't know where he kept bumping into this credo. 

I've been watching more than my normal share of movies recently.  One after another after another: "I just want you to be happy" and "whatever it takes for them to be happy."  If it's not a theme, it is at least accepted-as-universal-truth in most of the movies made in the last ten years.

Weaselly little thing to sneak into our brains under the guise of niceness.  After all, who would care about what was good for a person if it might make them uncomfortable?