No Greater Joy

My favorite sympathy card arrived today.  I had the biggest, silliest grin on my face as I read it.  There was nothing silly about the card, but the joy I found in that card was so overwhelming that I couldn't help but laugh with delight.  And pretty soon, as I continued to think on it while washing dishes, my eyes began to tear up. 

In his third epistle John says, "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in the truth."

My goddaughter quoted a hymn for me.  Only four stanzas because that's all that fit on the back of the card.  "All Christians Who Have Been Baptized ...."  Oh my goodness!  What better hymn when a person faces death -- her own or the death of a loved one? And there were so many awesome bits of her note.

But the best part of all?  The line on the card said, "May friends comfort you, faith uphold you, and loving memories heal your heart."  She crossed out "loving memories" and wrote in "Jesus."

[Oh, shoot.  Now I'm starting to get misty-eyed again.]

She said she didn't like the part about loving memories bringing healing.  So she adjusted the wording. 




John's right.
I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in the truth.

So What Does "Forgiveness" Mean

"Forgive the shooter."  Those were the final words of the man who was shot in a murder spree a couple of weeks ago. 

Charlie Sykes (one of our favorite talk-radio guys in our area) didn't understand.  "How could he say that?  I couldn't do it.  Does that make me a bad Christian?  What does it mean to 'forgive'?!"

"Peter from Sussex" called in with a very good answer.  He got to say a lot.  (The set-up and the conversation with Pastor went from about the 5-min mark to about 13-minutes.)  Then Charlie continued the topic with other callers, as he struggled to understand forgiveness.  Now Charlie should come to Didache.

The Passing of a Homeschooling Era

This morning I purchased postage stamps.  The artwork is exemplary.  Half the sheet is full of quotes and history-tidbits. 

And nobody will say, "MOM, let ME see!!"  "No, me first!"  "Wow!"  And my favorite: "You aren't going to put those on letters and send them AWAY, are you?  Do you HAVE to?"

This morning was a huge reminder of a life that's been left behind.

If Your Heart Condemns You

I never noticed how those two verses work in tandem.

John tells us (1 John 3)
If our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart and knows all things.
If our heart does not condemn us, we have confidence toward God.

A condemning heart? No problem.  God is right and our heart is wrong.
A confident heart?  Again -- no problem. 

John isn't giving us a message of "Buck up and stop letting your heart condemn you, you pitiful weakling of a doubter."  Quite the contrary.  John says, "No matter how you feel, no matter what kind of accusations the devil hurls at you, Jesus' forgiveness takes care of it all and we are safe in Him."

It sure is great to have somebody who can point these things out to me ... even though it seems so obvious now that I wonder how I never saw it before.

Belle

A 2014 movie set in the 1700s in British society.  Rated PG.  A biracial girl is being raised by her dad's uncle and aunt.  Who is prejudiced, and who pretends not to be?  Beautiful costumes and scenery.  Awesome acting.  Based on a true story.  Plot covers the biographical aspect of Dido and her family, as well as the legal aspect of slavery in Britain.

Rachel told me she knew I'd want to see this.  Boy, she was right!  After she loaned me her Netflix DVD and I returned it, I left the movie on my Netflix queue so I can see it again.

Blessed Are the Dead Who Die in the Lord

My mom died last weekend.  It so happened to be exactly 25 years after the death of my goddaughter.  Funeral and burial were this week.

Random thoughts:

Mom's family is awesome.  I have the funnest cousins in the world, and some mighty nifty uncles and aunts.

When my daughter-in-law saw a picture of Mom (in a swimsuit) in her late teens (one of the photos that Dad took with him when he went off to his military stint), Mandy said, "Paul, your grandma was a fox!"  For some reason, Paul did not appreciate this perspective.

The nurses in the oncology dept are superb.  Is it because they're more used to people dying?  Or maybe it's just the individual nurses we happened to encounter.  In my opinion, they outshone the nurses on other floors.

I'm impressed by the funeral home.  They're not "slick."  They have been genuine and helpful and kind.

Boy oh boy, I heard over and over and over from visitors how nice Mom was, how sweet, how they'd never met anyone so kind.  (Yup.  Pretty good assessment, that's for sure.)

I guess I'd never realized (until talking with Pastor while making funeral arrangements) that Mom didn't really have any hobbies.  She was at church for everything.  She invested a lot of time in her family.  She had her job.  And other than that, she helped people.  She didn't have time for hobbies and interests: she was too busy providing assistance others.

We didn't eat ham-buns at the funeral dinner.  (The funeral was obviously not in Wisconsin.)  County Market makes phenomenal chicken.  Delicious call on my sister's part to go with the chicken instead of the sandwiches.  Mmm mmm mmm.

Isn't it amazing that God gives pastors who will minister to those who are sick and dying?  Men who will come even when it's past their bedtime.  Men who keep coming back, even if there be no visible response from the member.  But still they come with the gospel of forgiveness of sins.  Thanks be to God.

My brother pointed out that, when the funeral home came to pick up Mom, she did not moan or grimace or cry out in pain.  Every time somebody had moved her for the previous 3+ weeks, it had been excruciating for her.  No more.  "And God shall wipe away every tear from their eyes....  There shall be no more pain."


Death cannot destroy forever.  
From our fears, cares, and tears 
it will us deliver....  

Lord, my Shepherd, take me to Thee.  
Thou are 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.  TLH 523



ADD footnote:
For certain of you who object to the word "funnest," I'll have you know that the computer did NOT flag that word as a misspelling or grammar-oops.  So HA.

Advent Wreath

A friend of mine does gorgeous wood-working.  He's been turning his hobby into a small business.  Look at some of the things he's made.

The Advent wreath is in the shape of a cross.  It can hold tapers or the little votive candles.  (I can find votives in purple and pink much easier than I can find tapers.  So I prefer the little glass globes for the stumpy candles.)

The Christmas-tree ornaments are delicately worked and make a full nativity set.  When I saw them on the Christmas tree at church, I coveted them.  When a set went up for sale at our school's annual fund-raising auction, we were lucky enough to get a set for ourselves.  Woo hoo!





Matt's website isn't fully set up yet.  But for those of you who know us, the website will give you enough information that you would know how to contact him if you want to purchase something to be crafted over summer for gift-giving next fall/winter.  For those who will be attending symposium, there may be some of these beauties for sale there; there were last year, at least.  For those of you who don't know us, there's information on the website about a craft booth in Spring Green.  (He doesn't know that I've bragged about him here in public, and I'm not finding information online.  So there's nothing for me to point you to, for easy-breezy ordering information.  If there's something you'd be interested in, you'd just have to write or call and start asking questions.)

Mom

Things continued to go downhill for my mom.  Two weeks after her fall, there was a precipitous decline, but somehow she managed to live through it.  We enrolled her in in-hospital hospice.  Her gazillion meds were discontinued.  Not long after that, she was awake and aware and discussing with my brother that she agrees it's time to stop all these life-extending measures. 

She's been 10 days without dialysis now.  She's not eating.  Mom is dying slowly.  At one point, someone reminded her about going to be with Jesus, and she asked plaintively, "What's taking Him so long?" 

The hospital lost her hearing aid.  That's sad.  When you wish for her to be able to hear many times "I love you" and "Jesus loves you and forgives you and cherishes you," she struggles to hear.  Last time I was there, she kept reaching for the volume-control on her hearing aid, trying to turn up the sound, and she couldn't find it.  Nevertheless, God will be faithful to His promises to her.


Every wound that pains or grieves me
by Thy stripes, Lord, is made whole.
When I'm faint Thy cross revives me,
granting new life to my soul.
Yea, Thy comfort renders sweet
every bitter cup I meet,
for Thine all-atoning passion
has procured my soul's salvation.   (TLH 144:3)

Anniversary

The doctor has been telling me all along, "You're still healing.  You have to give yourself a full year."

Okay.  It's been a year now.

Changes to learn to live with:
~ sciatica
~ need for an extra two hours of sleep per night
~ headaches when I overdo
~ a perpetual infection that needs to be kept to a minimum
~ introversion has been greatly magnified
~ walking slower 
~ easier to get rashes and sunburn
~ fuzzy-brainedness (that irritates Gary when I complain of it because he says I still have a better memory and thinking ability than most people ... which doesn't make it any easier for me to adjust to)

BUT ...
I'm talking, driving, going to work, and able to do pretty much whatever I did before (except that I must do So Much Less of it.)

Mom's Escapades

When a frail woman's walker meets a snag on the parking lot, at the same time a gust of wind pushes at her, the results are not happy. 

My mom fell last week.  She was unresponsive.  The trauma team's first concern was the bleeding in her head.  Second concern was getting her on dialysis.  They finally got around to a feeding tube, both for nutrition and some critical daily medicine that's available orally but not for IV's.  For the first few days there were some brief periods of mumbled speech and quasi-awareness.  But after three days she finally began to wake up.  That's also how long it took us to convince the doctors to take x-rays to check for a broken hip. "Our first concern is the head trauma."  Right, guys.  And that's been stabilized, so quit poo-pooing her excruciating pain and check for broken bones.

After two days of her "being here" again, delirium set in.  My brother finally convinced the doctors to treat the infection she had begun prior to the fall, the infection which was the reason for taking Mom out to the doctor last week, which was when she fell. 

Mom is lucid again and has improved enough to leave ICU.


At one point last week, when she was first beginning to wake up and there was great pain from being repositioned, Mom said, "Jesus died for me.  That's all that matters.  He died for me.  That's the big thing."  Yes.

And when I was remarking on her doozy of a black eye, I suggested that she looked like she'd been in a fight.  "A fight with the sidewalk," she mumbled.  Yes.  I agreed.  Mom quipped, "The sidewalk won."  Ah, a sense of humor peeking out from behind all those injuries!

Garden Report

Strawberry bed is under control.  It did not receive necessary attention last summer, so it was thinned-with-a-vengeance in the last couple of weeks.  Soil somewhat loosened, without threatening the roots of remaining plants.  A couple inches of compost applied.  I have Good Intentions (TM) of treating the bed properly after the plants bear this year.

Last year's dead vines have been burned to a small pile of ash.  That was no simple feat, but it has been accomplished.

Gary cleaned out the dead asparagus leftover from last year.  I really should get out there and till a bit, before the new growth begins to pop up.  It's weedy.

A bunch of last year's leaves have been piled deep on one of the raised beds, with potatoes planted [today] in those nice loose leaves.  I've been seeing good results in both growth and harvesting when the potatoes aren't buried in dirt.  I topped the humongous pile of leaves with some of that lovely old compost, partly to encourage the leaves to compost down, but mostly to keep the leaves from blowing away. 

I took some of that spare compost and filled in the big hole by my clothesline.  After septic-line repairs last fall, the soil has settled badly.  I planted a bit of grass seed there.  And I laughed at the oddball spots the tulips are popping up after last fall's visit from the backhoe and the whole dirt-rearrangement scheme.

Lots of pruning to do -- fruit trees, berries, grapes.
Still need to get a bed ready for lettuces.
Lots more outdoor work awaits, but I'm trying to prioritize tasks and to limit how much I allow myself to do.  Can't overtire because of the repercussions to health.

Jam-Packed Parking Lots

Menards, on the first lovely, warm, springy weekend-day after a long Wisconsin winter

rivals the parking lot of

a Walmart on the Saturday before Christmas.

People checking out with rakes,
building materials,
landscaping paraphenalia,
bushes or seeds to plant,
and anything else to do with OUTDOORS.

'Tis the Word

Mark the sacrifice appointed,
see who bears the awful load.
'Tis the Word,
the Lord's anointed,
Son of Man
and Son of God.

Palm Sunday.  Palms.  Donkey.  Crowds.  The Passover psalm applied to Jesus.  "His disciples did not understand these things at first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things were written about Him and that they had done these things to Him" (John 12). 

Wait a minute.

These things --these things in Zechariah and the Psalms-- were written about Him. 

Moses wrote stories about Jesus.
Isaiah wrote about Jesus.
David wrote about Jesus.
Jeremiah wrote about Jesus.
Joshua and Samuel and Ezekiel and Solomon wrote about Jesus.

All those stories about Jephthah and Samson and Isaac and Ezra and Aaron and Nebuchadnezzar and Abel and Daniel -- they show us stuff about Jesus.  So when we sing this week, "Tis the Word," and when we're reading the story of Jesus' trial and scourging and crucifixion, it IS the "Word," the scriptures' stories, all tied up in one Man's suffering and death.

"Even If I Have to Die With You ..."

Peter swore up and down that he wouldn't deny Jesus. 
Jesus said he would.

From our vantage point, we see the story unfold.  We see the courtyard of the high priest and how Peter swore up and down that he didn't know Jesus. 

My son pointed out something today I'd never noticed.  In the upper room, Peter really meant it.  Not only did he have "good intentions," but he began to follow through out at the Garden of Gethsemane.  The soldiers arrive.  Peter draws his sword and starts to fight.  He was going to stick by Jesus, even if he had to die with Him, and fight those enemies.

But Jesus said to put the sword away. 
Put the sword away?!
What kind of nonsense is that?!
Dying in a fight is one thing.
That would be protecting yourself, but losing in the end.
But to give up?
To die willingly?
To accept the unfair attack without hitting back?

That's when Peter said, "I'm outta here" and "I do not know this fellow."




A Lamb goes uncomplaining forth
the guilt of all men bearing....
O wondrous love! 
What hast thou done?
The Father offers up His Son.
The Son content descendeth.  [Gerhardt]

Jesus is weird [Isaiah 55:7-9].

Boring Old Update

No matter how much vacuuming and dusting we do, it's never done.  One of the cats is shedding abominably.  I keep wishing I were heartless enough to shave her bald.

This coming week: church every single day!  This is the week I live for.

The just-past week: Besides work, we
a) celebrated a birthday by seeing Cinderella in the theatre.  It was amazing!  We also ate walleye and french fries at Culver's.  Mmmmm.
b) dealt with a pair of broken glasses that were less than two months old.  The frames must have been defective.  But it took three trips to a nearby city and a phone call to the national headquarters before we could resolve who was paying for the replacement.
c) one day of errands with ELEVEN stops: drop off a kid; bank; courthouse; liquor store; grocery storre; Target; Best Buy; Aldi; another bank; another grocery store; and a stop at church.  Almost 3 1/2 hours, but boy oh boy, it wiped me out.
d) filled out legal paperwork ... and wondered why I had to get it off the internet ... because the snail-mail forms never showed up in our mailbox.  So where are those snail-mail forms with name and address and birthdate and other bits of personal information?

Last week:
A humongous mess as I took over the whole choir room at church to divide up the files I've been sorting since September.  I finally arrived at the point where I couldn't thin and rearrange any more, not until I got everything out at once and reshuffled.  It exhausted my mind and my body, but now I can return to working on small portions of the project in reasonably-sized doses.

What else?

Mom moved into a assisted-living/nursing home arrangement.  She loves the place.

I worked on the strawberry bed before the weather turned icy again.  I have no clue whatsoever how we're going to handle the garden space, plants, compost, brush, etc.  Lack of time and energy means reducing the amount of work/commitments I make.  And I'm not good at backing out of things I think are important.

Maggie's been continuing to work out and her weight/size are stable.  I however have been eating too much chocolate. 

Gary got a few new teeth and is adjusting to them.

I'm almost done with the new Mitford book.  I love Mitford.  Part of me wants to just start reading the series over again right away.  But I'm going to stick with my reading plan and fit in a few other things first.  Honestly, though, I wouldn't be surprised to find myself going back to At Home in Mitford soon.

Now, to make some bread, clean some floors, and finish Mitford ... bye-bye.

Today's Laugh

Hey, did you hear about the postman who planned an overseas trip with his wife?  He proudly announced to his friends that he was going to Spain. 

His friend Bill asked, "So will you visit Parcelona?"

The postman rolled his eyes, shook his head, and ignored the comment.

The next day Bill was telling his neighbor about the pun.  Bill related how the postman didn't appreciate the joke.  The neighbor understood how there might be lack of enthusiasm over the humor: "You know, Bill, the thing about jokes is ... it's all in the delivery."

A Granddaughter

I was so proud whenever my grandma would introduce me to people as "My Only Granddaughter."

That's really just stupid.  Why be proud of that? 
And yet, I was.

When my sister was born, that was nifty enough that I didn't pine over the loss of my "Only" status.   But even today, I remember the way Nanna would stand tall and throw her shoulders back a bit and smile over the words, "My only granddaughter."

Rachel called today after her ultrasound.  I have another granddaughter.  Woo hoo!  It thrills the heart.  (Although, as Rachel and Matt said, we'd be just as thrilled to hear that it's a boy.)

Somehow that made me think of Nanna.  And it made me realize that Matthias is "My Only Grandson."  At least for a while.

Jimmy and Shakespeare and APT

In which we figure out why someone who used to detest Shakespeare is now crazy about American Players Theatre:


Four years have passed since Gary and I headed into the city to see In Acting Shakespeare.  It seems like just the other day.  The show made a huge impression on me.  (Recent runs of IAS have been nowhere near here.  If it ever comes back to this area, I sure hope we hear about it and can snag some tickets.)

Tonight I watched Ian McKellen's Acting Shakespeare, upon which Jimmy DeVita's show is based. There were fabulous sections that caused thrills to run up and down my spine.  But you know what?  Shhhh -- don't tell anybody I said this: Jimmy's show was even better than Sir Ian's. 

Jimmy's play discussed education.
And fatherhood.
And family.
And hard work.
And art.
And how amazing words can be.
With no pontification.
It was all in a riveting story, full of laughs and even a few tears.

He tells of his youth and his blue-collar jobs.  He tells about dropping out of college.  Twice.  And how he finally ended up on a college fieldtrip where he saw Ian McKellen Acting Shakespeare ... and how he was transfixed by the play.  He too wanted to be able to affect people that way!

But when he finally convinced his dad to come see one of his performances, his father didn't like it.  Why?  Same reason I hated Shakespeare.  (Honestly, it's same reason I still hate a whole lot of presentations of Shakespearean plays.)  Too often, a Shakespeare play makes you feel dumb.  Dumb dumb dumb.  You don't understand the words.  Therefore you don't follow the plot and you don't get the jokes.  And you certainly don't get the play's commentary on power or forgiveness or mercy or grudges.

As Jimmy explained in In Acting Shakespeare, the Bard's plays shouldn't make you feel small.  They should make you feel BIG and grand and full.  If they make you feel small, there's something wrong with how the play is being presented.

Jim DeVita began to learn how to converse with the words of Shakespeare.  In the play he talked about coming to APT.  Jimmy's not the only one at APT who handles the Shakespearean language as if he were conversing.  Most of the actors and actresses do.  Every now and then you run across an intern who doesn't get it yet, and that person sticks out like a sore thumb.  At APT they tell the story in such a way that you follow it all:  the story, the jibes and barbs and witty insults, the silly love triangles, and maybe even The Moral Of The Story.  You don't go to APT so that you can pretend to be part of the [ahem] cultural elite that watches Shakespeare to show off what a Smarty you are.  You go to APT to be entertained and to laugh and maybe even to have your heart-strings tugged, because that's what Shakespeare was all about -- entertaining the masses.  And at APT, they work hard to make sure everybody finds delight in the shows.

If You Measure It ...

"If you measure something, it will get better."

That is the premise behind a new program "offered" by our health insurance.  (And by "offered," I mean that we get to pay $1000 more on our health insurance premiums next year if we don't participate.  No.  Wait.  I take that back.  We don't pay more if we aren't following this new program.  We pay less if we are following the program.  What?  You don't see a difference?  Neither do I.  But I'm guessing there's a legal technicality that matters in how it's phrased.)

Anyway, we are supposed to rack up points.  Enough points earns you the bonus money.  We get points for reading their daily health tips.  We get points each day for self-reporting on three health-habits.  They provided us fancy high-tech pedometers, and we earn points for every 1000 steps it measures.  Extra points if you have your blood-pressure tested at work at least once a month.  And much more.

#1.  Do we suspect that the requirements will increase quarterly or yearly?  Yes, we do. 

#2.  There's some comfort in hearing that loads of other folks are bothered by the tracking of personal health data and are feeling that their privacy is infringed.  And yet, everybody feels that the huge cost difference means we must comply.

#3.  Do we think this sort of thing will become commonplace with nationalized health care?  Yes, we do.  Do we suspect that mere tracking of information will eventually morph into helpful suggestions of ways to improve our health?  And then instructions?  And then demands?

#4.  The computer glitches.  OH, the computer glitches!  Points not being counted here.  Habits not being registered there.   Besides the regular computer glitches, daylight savings time threw another humongous monkey wrench into it all.  This does not instill confidence in the system.



#5.  And finally, the so-called axiom on which the entire program is built: "If you measure something, it will get better."  Sorry.  I don't buy that.

For one thing, we've seen how that works with standardized testing in school.  We test more and more and more.  And education has not improved.

The whole point of improvement-through-measuring is that we will be embarrassed to have "bad numbers" and will then work harder to prove that we exercised or skipped dessert or lost weight.  But what the ceaseless measuring does is cause us to always be looking at ourselves and evaluating ourselves.

This is navel-gazing.
It's also stressful.
Neither of these contributes to health.

Furthermore, I noticed the effect of "if you measure it" when I first chose my health habits to track.  I thought I would choose meditation as one of my options.  It would be easy to [ahem] score well, seeing as how I already have established a habit (albeit a habit that is not as consistent as I'd like).  But you know what?  It really REALLY messed with my mind and my soul and my prayers.  Just being aware that I'd have to report the number of minutes each day?  [Shudder!!]  It was so creepy that I quit after a day and a half, and chose myself a different health habit.

Measuring made it worse.  A lot worse.  Not better.

Andrew found the same thing when he had to log his food for nutrition class.  Logging it changed what he ate.  For the worse, not the better. 

When Maggie first joined Curves, she was initially interested in weighing herself daily.  Not a good plan.  That's how people become overly caught up in the numbers instead of actual health and fitness.  Occasional measurements are fine.  But measuring too often is counterproductive.

In our society, nigh onto everybody was raised in a school system that tracked and measured every little thing.  Look how people LOVE to take those little tests on Facebook that measure personality type, or which famous actress you're like, or how many of these trivia facts do you know, or which state would best suit you.
I think we've developed a mentality that takes for granted "Measuring Makes It Better."  And now we're stuck with it.

Lock & Lock

When my aunt gave me some "Lock & Lock" I thought it was just another plastic storage container.  What was she so hyped about anyway?

I used them and found out.

The cracker container really works to keep crackers as fresh as when you opened them -- even for months.

If you store wet things (chili or soup) they will not spill, even if stored on their side or upside down.

Raisins and prunes will stay soft and fresh-as-new in the small containers.

These things are fantastic!  For most of my leftover containers, I don't need something this high-quality.  But when I do, these are perfect.  I'm hoping that some of those other brands (with the same kind of seal) work just as well.


[The only warning my aunt gave me was to make sure I never put anything in the microwave with the lid on.  She said it will seal the lid to the container.  If I need the lid while nuking, I turn the lid upside down to avoid any possibility of sealing.  I even take care not to close a container if the food in it is still slightly warm.]