That Gnawing Fear

All through the Psalms we hear praise for God's having brought His people through the terrible events that befell them. 

So why don't I do that?

Let's be logical. 
Let's be reasonable.
Here's how it often works:
Bad stuff happens.
God rescues us.
We are taught afresh that He cares (!) and that He will help (!).

So why do we panic then at the thought of the next bad thing?

The novel I'm currently reading is set in central Asia in the 200s BC.  The king hated opposition; it made him angry; it made him frightened. 

He had struggled for power all his life, and every man he'd defeated and killed made him more afraid.  One day he would not discover a plot in time, and with every victory he grew less certain of his own power.  (Horses of Heaven by Gillian Bradshaw, p 119)

"With every victory he grew less certain of his own power."

Yes.
That's it.
Upside-down though it be.
Plots and suffering and tragedy make us less certain of our own power.  It should not, however, make us any less certain of God's power.

Personally, I'd be more comfortable with a life where nothing went wrong, than with a life where God keeps rescuing me.  But that wouldn't be the Christian life, now, would it?

Facebook Friends

I now have nearly as many "friend requests" as I have friends. 

I struggle to cope with my computer addiction.  I don't want to miss what's being talked about.  I hate being geographically-distant from friends, and emails/FB/blogs help me stay a little bit in-the-loop.  Because of my lack of self-discipline, I use other self-controls.  One scheme is to limit myself to fewer-than-100 Facebook friends. 

My self-imposed rule is that FB friends are
~people I lived with (parents, siblings, children),
~people who live with people I lived with (in-laws, some of the nieces/nephews)
~a few close friends
~some of my kids' best-buddies
~a few folks from church

If I'm friends with the wife, I probably am not friends with the husband too.  I figure I'll hear news of their family from one of them.

Gary and I have a nice balance between our FB accounts.  I have few friends, but I can actually keep up with them.  That way, Gary hears about interesting things he might not otherwise notice.  Gary, on the other hand, has loads of friends.  This means he can contact people for me through his account, or let me see pictures, or hunt up information for people that are my in-real-life friends (or acquaintances) but aren't my FB friends. 

So if I haven't accepted your FB-friend request, don't be hurt.  It's nothing personal.  It's my feeble attempt to do some chores and interact with my family instead of spending my time glued to the computer. 

"It Hurts When You Brush My Hair"

I hereby publicly apologize to my daughters when I told them emphatically, "NO, it does NOT."

When your scalp is not used to being brushed,
when your hair is not very long,
those bristles may indeed hurt a person's head.

On the one hand, I'm glad to know this.  Hee hee hee -- it means I have hair long enough to need brushing --  y'know, just so that it doesn't stand up in spikes and make look all punk-rock.

On the other hand, as I hauled out the brush and began to smooth down the spikes, my first thought was, "Oh man!  The girls were right.  This does hurt." 

Oh, the heartlessness of mothers...

Concord and Peace

"Give to all nations concord and peace" (from the Litany).

Christians over in Babylon (aka, Iraq) could obtain "peace" by submitting to the demands of ISIS.  They could have "peace" by renouncing Jesus and converting to the [ahem] peaceful religion of Islam ... whose adherents are currently robbing, torturing, and murdering those who won't convert or flee.  (This NBC story has no gory pictures obvious on the site, and doesn't contain all the stomach-turning details of many other news reports.  Fair warning: I didn't check the videos, to know what awful things might be contained there.)

Jesus said, "Peace I leave with you.  My peace I give to you.  Not as the world gives do I give to you.  Let not your heart be troubled.  Neither let it be afraid." 

Nope.  His peace isn't the kind of peace we usually want.  Peace and calm.  No conflict.  No pain.  No suffering.  That's the peace we long for: "Can't we all just get along?"

Thank God when we are permitted that kind of peace.  But Jesus' peace can be way different: "not as the world gives."

And then we pray the Litany.  "Give to all nations concord and peace."  Lord, we'd sure like the happy and comfortable kind of peace where everybody is polite and helpful and non-confrontational.  But if that's not Your will in every time and every place, we beg You to give to all nations the peace that Jesus provides in the forgiveness of sins and oneness with Him.

Do the Mashed Potato!

Yukon Gold versus Russets.

Organic versus standard chemical-laden large-farming techniques.

Backyard versus trucked-from-Idaho.

Dug-this-morning versus sitting-in-a-plastic-bag-for-over-a-month.

They look different.

They taste different.

And yet,
I continue to buy food from the store.
The gardening is SO superior.
But it takes time and energy that I don't have (at least, not in the amount I desire).
Same for the farmer's market:  I should go there more frequently, but the time, energy, and money are too often more than I can come up with.

Nanna's Hat

Matthias is crazy about this hat.  Some friends at church saw his joyful face on Sunday: "Oh, look how happy he is to see his grandma."

No.  Not really.  He was just happy to see my hat. 

Yes, he likes me, and he will smile and laugh and be happy when he looks me in the eye.  But if he looks me straight in the hat-brim instead, then watch out world! because sparkles will be dancing from baby boy's eyes.

And for those who are wondering how the hair-growth is coming, this is the 3-month picture.  The last bare-headed picture I posted was at 7-weeks growth, so it's come a long ways.  I still don't like it, but I'm no longer mortified by my hair.

And yes, I'm vain.

It's Kind of Peaceful Being Grounded

This evening I get to drive to church, under Gary's supervision.  I have SO been looking forward to being able to drive again!  I will be able to take myself to work and to church and to the grocery store. 

And yet ...
yesterday and this morning ...
I keep thinking that it's kind of been nice not going anywhere.  I hate running errands.  Introverts love to hole-up at home.  For the last couple of months, when I get up in the morning, I've not had to decide which errands to run, which places to go.  I've been stuck at home, except for the times my family has graciously chauffeured me to church or to doctors or to those occasional errands which managed to pile up enormously. 

As of tomorrow, it's back to normal -- deciding which errands musts be crammed into the day along with all the other responsibilities.

As anxiously as I've been awaiting the return of my driver's license, I'm surprised by the sense that I'll also be losing quietness and calmness.

It Still Itches

Still fighting the poison ivy.  The rash has improved, but I keep breaking out in new patches.

What can I wash next?!

I've scrubbed the couch with Fels-Naphtha soap, let it dry, and then shampooed it regular-like.  I washed the cushion on my wooden chair.  I have washed blankets and sheets and pajamas and jeans and slips repeatedly (in Fels-Naphtha).  This morning I've had the bed sheets soaking in a strong F-N solution; I'm going to wear these sheets out with all the washing.

I washed the handles of all the outdoor tools that have been used in the last couple of weeks.  I soaked the garden gloves in F-N solution and washed them repeatedly.  I used a F-N solution on the door knobs, light switches, refrigerator doors, faucets, remote controls, etc.

I even washed the cat.  Poor Athena.

I need to spend more time sitting on the couch, reading and watching TV and resting, applying the astringent that dries up the sores and relieves some of the itch.  But I also need to figure out how I keep being re-exposed to the poison-ivy oil ... because it seems like it should be Taken Care Of by now!

Memories

It's not "throw-back Thursday" so we'll call it "toss-back Tuesday." (Do ya buy it? Do you, huh?) For some reason, I've been having a grand time looking at old pictures recently.

Katie and Maggie

On the picnic table.  But why?

Wedding [cheese-]cake.

Happy day with happy friends.

All Fifteen of Us

Rachel and Matt; Gary; Maggie; Alia and Zoe; Andrew and Olivia; Susan; Mandy and Paul; Matthias, Katie, and Nathan; Philip

Teaching Cursive Without a Book

Lowercase cursive, in a logical order.

Before teaching each letter, show the child where the printed letter is "hiding" in the cursive letter.
Also have a strip or poster of nicely-written cursive letters on the table or on the wall, for the child to refer to.

These first seven letters can be taught individually and then easily connected to each other.

e, l

i, u, t

m, n

Write some combinations:
Men.  Let.  Net.  Eel. Mutt.  Mile.  Time.  Et cetera.


Now they get a little harder.
Also show how some letters connect to each other at a higher point instead of on the baseline:
o, b, v, w.

Teach the grouping:    c, a, d, o
All four begin the same way.


You know "u."
Build off it to form v and w.

You know "l."
Build off it to make h, k, b.

Use "a" and "i" and "u"
with the below-line loop
to make g, j, y.

Teach the backward, below-line loop
to turn "l" into f
and "a" into q.

weirder ones:
p -- starts sort of like the end of a skinny "g" but then circles
r  -- starts sort of like "i" but heads off to the side and then turns a corner down
s -- starts sort of like "i" but finishes with the southeast quarter of "8"
x -- half an "n" and then cross it
z -- starts like an "x," but add a corner and then end like "g"



Make sure lower-case is well-learned (with words too, not just individual letters) before adding capitals.

Capitals that are generally like lower-case cursive, but bigger:
a, c, k, m, n, o, p, u, v, w, x, y, z

Capitals that are very like the printed letter:
b, h, l, q, r

Other capitals that will need a bit of teaching:
d, e, g
i, j
f, t
s

Empty Nesting

I miss Andrew.

No, I'm not sitting around pining for him, wishing he hadn't gotten married and moved out.  By "missing him" I mean that I keep forgetting that he doesn't live here.

We're ready to go to bed.  It's a night Andrew is scheduled to work.  Better unlock the porch door and turn on the light so that he can come through the door easily in half an hour, after we're asleep.  Whoops -- no! -- he's not coming home here.

Last Tuesday morning, only two leftover sandwiches remained from the wedding.  Maggie asks, "Mom, shall I leave one of these for your lunch?"  "No, I had one for breakfast already.  But you shouldn't eat them both.  Leave one for your brother."  "Uh, Mom ... he doesn't live here any more.  He's not going to be around to eat the sandwich."  Oh.  Yes.  That would be true.  Hmm.

I need an errand run (and I am still on the post-seizure driving-ban).  That's okay: I can ask Andrew to pick something up for me later in the day.  Oops.  Wait.  He's not here running his own errands and thus able to slip in an extra stop for me. 

I awake in the morning and see that Maggie's bedroom door is standing wide open.  Her bed is neatly made.  Andrew's bedroom door is closed; he must still be asleep.  I can't find Maggie anywhere in the house.  Eventually I realize that Andrew's bedroom is now Maggie's bedroom, and she is still in bed, behind that closed door.

How long until I stop being surprised that Andrew doesn't live here any more?

And by the way, do you realize how little food 

is required for only three people?  Freeeaky!! 
How little cooking; how few dishes; how little 
laundry?  It seems unreal.

A Few Wedding Pictures

"Jesus Christ is the Light of the world."

My mom with me & Gary, Andrew & Olivia.

The happy couple.

Maggie, Olivia, and Andrew.

The wedding party.  [sigh]  Boys will be boys.

First dance at the reception.

Be Prepared!

Is it possible to "be prepared" without hoarding?

Part of the problem is not knowing what to "be prepared" FOR.
~ Being prepared for power outages and huge blizzards would require a stocked pantry and candles and flashlights and kerosene heaters and offline resources.
~ Being prepared for a terrorist attack might require the same things, as well as heirloom seeds and ammunition, as well as oddball stuff like knowledge of medicinal herbs, and do-it-yourself equipment (tools, well-water with a handpump, wood stove, non-electric grain-grinder), and maybe even being debt-free.
~ Being prepared to flee might require some of the items/knowledge listed above, but it would also require a memory full of hymns and psalms and catechism and Bible verses.  And good hiking shoes.

Preparing a pantry full of emergency meal rations and batteries won't do any good if you're flooded out or if you're a refugee.

Old-fashioned paper maps and compasses and backpacks and and water-purifying tablets may be necessary for someone who must flee, but they won't be much use during a massive blizzard that isolates you for a couple of weeks.


Oh, I want to be a pack-rat!  I want to store things I may need someday.  I hate running to the hardware store for a 9-cent bolt.  When my jammies wear out, I want to dig a "new" pair out of the hand-me-down box and not have to shop for more.  I want my years of Backwoods Homes available to teach me how to be self-reliant.  I want scrap fabric and used buttons.  I want sleeping bags and a propane lantern.  I want iron skillets and an outdoor cooking-tripod.

A recent article, The Problem with Minimalism, makes the excellent point that people must store goods ... unless they have enough money to buy whatever needs replacing whenever they have a need.  That includes parts for car repair.  And it includes packed-lunch versus grabbing fast-food.  And it includes toys and educational supplies and old-fashioned books that your grandchildren will need long after your children have outgrown those items.

But what about balance?  There was the day when Paul had outgrown of many of his shirts, and had worn out the rest.  I knew there were shirts in his size in the basement's hand-me-down collection.  We hunted and hunted and found nothing.  We finally bought a few shirts at Goodwill.  A few months later, sorting through the massive collection of clothing, I found nineteen t-shirts and polos in his size.  NINETEEN.  But the collection was so unwieldy as to be useless when we needed to grab something.  That was when I pulled back a bit, before I hurtled from Hoarder-Cliff.

Sometimes we need a knock upside the head to remember that God will provide daily bread, and to let go of depending upon ourselves and our possessions.
And sometimes we have to have the good sense not to toss God's gifts in the trash, just because He provided them a couple of weeks (or several years) before we saw how much we'd need them.

But how to know which is which?

Road Work in Our Subdivision

I bet Alia would've loved to watch this!

A Few Non-Wedding Pictures

grandkids

Matt and Rachel

Rachel at a friend's wedding

Philip on his trip to Puerto Rico

Andrew's Rosie-kitty (who still lives with us)

Reading Challenge

Update on this year's reading list:

finish proofreading New Testament Catechist  [done Feb 11]

Light from Heaven (the last Mitford book) [done March 6]
the Father Tim series, by Jan Karon

the Kristin Lavransdatter series, by Sigrid Undset
Bridal Wreath [done March 27]
Mistress of Husaby [done April 30]
The Cross [done June 15]

Hammer of God (again)

The Complete Guide to Creating a Special Needs Life Plan, by Hal Wright

Anne of the Island [done July 31]
Anne of Windy Poplars
and maybe a few more in the series
(with Maggie)

likely some proofreading on Bible Stories for Daily Prayer



possibly
a Luther biography with Maggie
Narnia (again)
Horses of Heaven, by Gillian Bradshaw
maybe try out an Elizabeth Gaskill book
something by Beverly Engel or Robin Stern
Quiet by Susan Cain [done July 20]


additions beyond original list
What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Menopause [done July 29]

The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You
by Elaine N Aron

Is It Valuable? (Matthew 13)

My father-in-law collected oodles of Henry Major's paintings, drawings, and statues.  He is convinced they're valuable.  I don't think they probably are.  But I'll find out when we put them for sale on ebay.

Pastor mentioned Antique Roadshow in the sermon this week.  He pointed out that the value of an item is determined by what someone is willing to pay for it.  You may have something that you think should be tremendously valuable (such as the Russian 3-stringed guitar my father-in-law owned), but if nobody else cares and nobody else wants it, you're not going to find anybody who will pay five bucks for it. 

In the "kingdom parables" at the end of Matthew 13, Jesus sells all that He has to buy the treasure of the world.  What a wreck of a "treasure"!  But He loved.  He sold His life and His blood.  He placed value on a world of sinners who hated Him.  The Lord set an immeasurable value on the world when He gave His Son as the purchase-price.  (Really??--the world is worth GOD's suffering and death?) 

So when we think, "How could God love me?  Look at what a miserable excuse of a Christian I am," we look at what He says.  We look at what He was willing to give to buy us.  And as it is on Antique Roadshow, that is what determines value.

Cooties

But it was misdiagnosed.

Itching began last Wednesday.  Rash started Thursday and kept getting worse.  Doctor visit on Friday with a diagnosis of mites (from cuddling the cat on Tuesday and Wednesday) or chiggers (from sitting in the grass on Tuesday) or scabies (huh?).  This [substitute] doctor didn't test because these problems are all treated with the same Rx-cream and the same washing regimen.

Followed instructions carefully.
Refrained from hugging and touching anybody at the rehearsal dinner.  I told them I had cooties and to stay away for their own protection.
Wore long sleeves and long skirt and high neckline for the wedding, continuing to be careful to not-hug or at least to avoid any skin contact. 
Rash continued to get worse.
Continued to wash, re-wash, and again re-wash sheets, towels, clothes, etc.
Itching kept me up at night.
Rash continued to spread.
Sores became oozy and weepy.

Returned to doctor.  This time it was past office-hours and we went to FastCare.  This doctor diagnosed a bad case of poison ivy.  She prescribed steroids and an astringent wash for the sores.  In two hours I could already see significant improvement!  I slept comfortably last night.  Sores are healing nicely and no longer spreading.

The chigger diagnosis not only delayed treatment for the poison ivy; the medicine for it also worsened the rash and spread the urushiol oil.  It's sad that I could've felt this good for the wedding if the rash had been correctly diagnosed the first time. But at least it's on the mend now.

My Daughters

Rachel, Katie, Olivia, Maggie, Mandy

Aren't they beautiful?!!!!




A lot happening this week, some wonderful and some nasty:
broken plumbing,
returning to my job,
yardwork,
kitty's serious illness,
a kid's moving out,
company,
a humongous case of chiggers,
and a kid's wedding. 

I should post more pictures when I get a chance to see them.