Paul started his first college class today. Well, that's not precisely true. Last year he took a class in electronics which was self-paced. (Essentially a self-taught homeschoolish class at the local tech school for which he got real live college credit.) But today was his first regular class with a regular teacher and regular students and regular assignments. Kinda sorta like Claire's first day of school. Only Paul is significantly older.
I predict he's going to do well in this class.
His huge whoppin' assignment for this week is to read a short article and figure out what "Engfish" is. I think it took him about 15 minutes. Whatever happened to that rule-of-thumb that a kid is supposed to spend at least two hours prepping for every hour in class???
After Andrew and Paul and I did grammar together, and after he had answered his parents' nosy questions about how his class went, I was curious. I wanted to read this article too! It was great. It was a homeschool mommy's dream! It was all about how writing should be about communicating ideas, about writing expressively, about interesting writing. AND the article was about how schools stomp this out, how schools teach boring writing, "proper" writing, dull writing.
Just an hour or two earlier, I had read over Andrew's writing assignment for today. It was interesting! I tried not to gush too much, but it was SO much better than last time we had officially worked on writing lessons. His exercises were not dull. He used interesting words (even if he couldn't spell them precisely). He used colorful (but not fakey) phrasing. I was so impressed with his writing! And it's because last year he was writing in "Engfish" (the "proper" school writing) and this year he was just "talking on paper." And then Paul brought home this article -- serendipitous!
Paul's writing IS charming. It's interesting. It makes a person laugh almost as much as Paul's witty in-real-life commentary. His spelling and grammar probably aren't quite what they should be. But even those have come a long long way in the last couple of years. But, oh!, the way he writes is just a joy to read. I think his prof is going to like him.
Now, if only she will teach him how to write a term paper and make footnotes!! I hate teaching the procedures on research papers almost as much as I hate teaching sewing.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Stuff
Lucked out today at the DMV! We have been needing to get Andrew's (non-driving) state ID card renewed. I sat tight yesterday and didn't go, because Monday tends to be a horribly busy day. When we showed up today, we didn't even have time to sit down and wait before they called us; we walked straight to the window. Yee haw!
Andrew also needs new sandals. But his feet are bigger than what's available in stores. Payless theoretically carries his size, but usually not wide enough. And when they do have some in his size, there are usually only a handful of choices. So I websurfed for sandals in his size. Oy! The price! We wanted some $5 flip-flops. Fat chance.
It's not raining today! Finally a chance to cut hay. (No, we don't have cattle. No, we don't have timothy and alfalfa growing. It's just the lawn.) The newspaper reports that the average August rainfall is 4". The day Philip left for Japan we had 7". And since then another 7-8" more. We're on high ground, and even our lawn is soggy. At least the basement has only had dribbles of water coming in now and then. I don't know what this will do to the farmers' crops. But at least it's beginning to replenish the water table that has been dropping so badly the last several years.
Andrew also needs new sandals. But his feet are bigger than what's available in stores. Payless theoretically carries his size, but usually not wide enough. And when they do have some in his size, there are usually only a handful of choices. So I websurfed for sandals in his size. Oy! The price! We wanted some $5 flip-flops. Fat chance.
It's not raining today! Finally a chance to cut hay. (No, we don't have cattle. No, we don't have timothy and alfalfa growing. It's just the lawn.) The newspaper reports that the average August rainfall is 4". The day Philip left for Japan we had 7". And since then another 7-8" more. We're on high ground, and even our lawn is soggy. At least the basement has only had dribbles of water coming in now and then. I don't know what this will do to the farmers' crops. But at least it's beginning to replenish the water table that has been dropping so badly the last several years.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Micro-Managing
When my older kids were homeschooling, they were insatiably curious. They needed to find out how things worked. They needed to know the treasures hidden in the pages of books. They needed to talk and ask questions and look up answers. If I wanted them to learn something, I could find a book at the library, leave it lying around on the couch, and the kids would inhale it.
Last night I was bummed and looking at a magazine for a bit. (What? Wasting time selfishly like that? What's up???) An article on Ken Hendricks mentioned that he found success by (in part) allowing his employees to fail. He said that if they're not allowed to fail, they won't think. And when they don't think, then it takes a whole lot more work to manage them.
That's why I'm having so much more trouble homeschooling these days.
My two youngest aren't insatiably curious. They will do the schoolwork I require of them. Sometimes they do it begrudgingly and none of it sinks in. Sometimes they do it well. But I have to tell them what to do every step of the way. I can't say "read this book" and have them do it. I have to remind them each day to read it, and tell them how many pages, and ask them questions to determine if they understood or retained any of the information. I can't say "do your math" and have them figure out that they should do the pages following the pages we did the previous day. I can't put "German" on the to-do list and expect them to figure out what I've told them repeatedly: listen each day to the 15-min tape until you know it, and then go on to the next tape.
Like Ken Hendricks said, it takes a lot of work to manage people when they don't want to think for themselves. When the kids want nothing more than to veg out with video games and tv and comic books, it's nearly impossible for one mother to micro-manage one student and still manage to get dinner on the table and get the laundry done. And I have more than one student.
Last night I was bummed and looking at a magazine for a bit. (What? Wasting time selfishly like that? What's up???) An article on Ken Hendricks mentioned that he found success by (in part) allowing his employees to fail. He said that if they're not allowed to fail, they won't think. And when they don't think, then it takes a whole lot more work to manage them.
That's why I'm having so much more trouble homeschooling these days.
My two youngest aren't insatiably curious. They will do the schoolwork I require of them. Sometimes they do it begrudgingly and none of it sinks in. Sometimes they do it well. But I have to tell them what to do every step of the way. I can't say "read this book" and have them do it. I have to remind them each day to read it, and tell them how many pages, and ask them questions to determine if they understood or retained any of the information. I can't say "do your math" and have them figure out that they should do the pages following the pages we did the previous day. I can't put "German" on the to-do list and expect them to figure out what I've told them repeatedly: listen each day to the 15-min tape until you know it, and then go on to the next tape.
Like Ken Hendricks said, it takes a lot of work to manage people when they don't want to think for themselves. When the kids want nothing more than to veg out with video games and tv and comic books, it's nearly impossible for one mother to micro-manage one student and still manage to get dinner on the table and get the laundry done. And I have more than one student.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Jokes
From the new Reader's Digest:
For Rachel:
I went to a bookstore and asked the salesman, "Where's the self-help section?" She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.
For me:
About a month ago, I got a cactus. A week later, it died. How depressing: I'm less nurturing than a desert.
For Glenda (hoping she'll still love me anyway):
I didn't understand NASCAR until I met some NASCAR fans. You talk to a couple of NASCAR fans and you'll see where a shiny car driving in a circle would fascinate them all day. I can make fun of NASCAR fans because if they chase me, I just turn right.
For Rachel:
I went to a bookstore and asked the salesman, "Where's the self-help section?" She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.
For me:
About a month ago, I got a cactus. A week later, it died. How depressing: I'm less nurturing than a desert.
For Glenda (hoping she'll still love me anyway):
I didn't understand NASCAR until I met some NASCAR fans. You talk to a couple of NASCAR fans and you'll see where a shiny car driving in a circle would fascinate them all day. I can make fun of NASCAR fans because if they chase me, I just turn right.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Earlier Communion Age
Luther said something somewhere about how staying away from the Supper causes us to grow cold to it. The practice within our church body (LCMS) for quite a few decades has been to offer the rite of confirmation at the end of eighth grade, associating it very closely with an age typically considered to be a "graduation." Most people interpret this (quite unfortunately) as giving the "reward" of the Supper to those who have "passed the test" for confirmation class, to those who have attained a certain level of maturity or cognition.
Some pastors see how harmful it is for people to draw the conclusion that they earn the right to commune by going through a certain set of theological coursework. These pastors also desire to feed Jesus' lambs who are under their care and who are asking to partake. They realize how easy it is for people to draw the conclusion that the Supper must not really be too terribly important. After all, if they tell me I can get by without it just dandy for 14 years or more, why should I believe what they say about the Supper's importance when they've been teaching me all along (by their actions) that I don't really need it?
Pastor Stuckwisch has a lovely piece about a first communion tomorrow for one of his sheep. Because of some typical objections, Pr Stuckwisch and Pr Grobien make some additional comments on the topic elsewhere.
As a mother, I have been at a loss to explain to my children why they couldn't commune. The rule here (among others) is that children must be able to say the six chief parts of the catechism. My youngest had a much harder time with that than the others. I don't suppose it did her any harm to memorize the words. But she didn't understand them like I would've wished, and that made it harder for her to commit the words to memory. The struggle to accomplish the task did not increase her worthiness to commune. Children (or retarded adults .... or even bright adults, for that matter) are worthy because of what Jesus has done for them, and they have faith in the words "given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins." When they are under the care of the pastor in that place, being shaped by his teaching, saying "amen" to it and desiring to hear more and more, barring them from the Sacrament for years will teach them to despise it.
Some pastors see how harmful it is for people to draw the conclusion that they earn the right to commune by going through a certain set of theological coursework. These pastors also desire to feed Jesus' lambs who are under their care and who are asking to partake. They realize how easy it is for people to draw the conclusion that the Supper must not really be too terribly important. After all, if they tell me I can get by without it just dandy for 14 years or more, why should I believe what they say about the Supper's importance when they've been teaching me all along (by their actions) that I don't really need it?
Pastor Stuckwisch has a lovely piece about a first communion tomorrow for one of his sheep. Because of some typical objections, Pr Stuckwisch and Pr Grobien make some additional comments on the topic elsewhere.
As a mother, I have been at a loss to explain to my children why they couldn't commune. The rule here (among others) is that children must be able to say the six chief parts of the catechism. My youngest had a much harder time with that than the others. I don't suppose it did her any harm to memorize the words. But she didn't understand them like I would've wished, and that made it harder for her to commit the words to memory. The struggle to accomplish the task did not increase her worthiness to commune. Children (or retarded adults .... or even bright adults, for that matter) are worthy because of what Jesus has done for them, and they have faith in the words "given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins." When they are under the care of the pastor in that place, being shaped by his teaching, saying "amen" to it and desiring to hear more and more, barring them from the Sacrament for years will teach them to despise it.
Sunlight
While bopping around the internet today, trying to find extra math drill for a child on ratios and proportions, I bumped into an article on the benefits of sunlight, as well as links for more information on how sunlight prevents cancer, not causes it. Helpful reading!
No Swimming
I took Mags to the beach yesterday even though I thought it was kinda chilly. But even SHE doesn't want to go today: it's 63. It's mid-August. It's 63. Dinner today is Bubble-n-Squeak because it's something cozy warm. We're also finally getting around to eating Katie's birthday cake because we needed something in the oven to warm the house. (At least Katie made her own cake at her place, and Rachel had her shot at the birthday cake last week too. Thanks to Sandy's sister, we have a mega-zuke to shred and make into cake!)
It's been raining almost daily for a week and a half. The load of rain started with 7" in a day. (That day there was significantly more rain a little south of here.) Things have greened up considerably. April showers bring May flowers. August floods and showers and rains make the grass grow like gangbusters. You don't expect to have to mow twice a week this time of year!
It's been raining almost daily for a week and a half. The load of rain started with 7" in a day. (That day there was significantly more rain a little south of here.) Things have greened up considerably. April showers bring May flowers. August floods and showers and rains make the grass grow like gangbusters. You don't expect to have to mow twice a week this time of year!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Grocery Prices
I love my grocery store. I love the way Woodmans was run when Mr Woodman was still alive. And from a customer's perspective, it hasn't gone downhill since he died a few years ago. Any time we go visiting elsewhere, I am thankful for Mr Woodman.
When Katie and Nathan moved to Fort Wayne, we made a trip to the grocery store to fill the cupboards and fridge. I gasped at the prices. They gasped at the prices. They were thrilled with the low prices at Walmart. I was horrified at the high prices at Walmart. Same prices, doncha know....
One of the stores in our county had some super-duper ultra-low-price wonderful coupons that they mailed out recently, trying to draw people into the market that is now under new management. I saw the prices on the coupons and thought they were acceptable. Stopped by today while I was in town to grab 3# of brats for $7. Not cheap, but an okay price. Do you know what they charge normally? Four dollars a pound! Same for the chicken breasts that I splurged on. They advertised 2.75# for $7, but it turned out that it was only 2.38#. (That business of switching prices from the coupon to the reality, or from the shelf to the check-out lane, has bugged me before. It's illegal. And it does nothing to engender customer satisfaction. Especially when they are totally nonplussed when you point it out to them.)
This summer I started noticing prices at other grocery stores. I think we would have to increase our grocery budget by $300 per month if we lived somewhere where Woodmans was unavailable. Wikipedia lists the cities in Wisconsin and northern Illinois where there are currently Woodmans markets. But don't let the Wiki post scare you away: I almost always find the quality of produce, meat, and dairy to be superior to the local "regular" grocery stores.
When Katie and Nathan moved to Fort Wayne, we made a trip to the grocery store to fill the cupboards and fridge. I gasped at the prices. They gasped at the prices. They were thrilled with the low prices at Walmart. I was horrified at the high prices at Walmart. Same prices, doncha know....
One of the stores in our county had some super-duper ultra-low-price wonderful coupons that they mailed out recently, trying to draw people into the market that is now under new management. I saw the prices on the coupons and thought they were acceptable. Stopped by today while I was in town to grab 3# of brats for $7. Not cheap, but an okay price. Do you know what they charge normally? Four dollars a pound! Same for the chicken breasts that I splurged on. They advertised 2.75# for $7, but it turned out that it was only 2.38#. (That business of switching prices from the coupon to the reality, or from the shelf to the check-out lane, has bugged me before. It's illegal. And it does nothing to engender customer satisfaction. Especially when they are totally nonplussed when you point it out to them.)
This summer I started noticing prices at other grocery stores. I think we would have to increase our grocery budget by $300 per month if we lived somewhere where Woodmans was unavailable. Wikipedia lists the cities in Wisconsin and northern Illinois where there are currently Woodmans markets. But don't let the Wiki post scare you away: I almost always find the quality of produce, meat, and dairy to be superior to the local "regular" grocery stores.
Justification
Pr Weedon had a post yesterday that I loved. I have been scolded for thinking too highly of justification. But in his post, Pr Weedon noted the difference between preaching about justification and preaching justification.
Chicory
In late June, I started smelling that lovely, spicy perfume again. Most flowers smell sweet, but there's that one time of year when the countryside is full of that spicy smell. I was never sure what it was. But I did note this year that that was about the time the chicory had started blooming, and the only other thing out right then was the sweet clover. About a week later, the red clover and the Queen Anne's lace started blooming too.Today the county mowers made their semi-annual trek down the highway, laying waste the "weeds" that grow up alongside the road. And the wonderful spicy smell was back temporarily. It must be the chicory. Thing is, sniffing a chicory flower doesn't seem to have that same wonderful odor. So I'm not sure whether I've got the right plant pegged for the perfume, or if it's just that so many thousands of them blooming at the same time makes for a smell that can't be detected when you've got your nose stuck into ONE bloom.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Pink Eye
I woke up this morning with the worst case of pink-eye I've had in over a decade. Now that I look back, I realize I had a few minor symptoms yesterday and the day before, but didn't notice them to do anything about it.
This morning I started with our regular pink-eye treatment: wash your hands well about every 30-45 minutes, and then spend about a minute totally sloshing and dousing the eyeball with fresh running water. It didn't seem to be helping as much as usual. So I tried something new: garlic the Wonder Cure.
I cut a slab of raw garlic and taped it onto my bottom eyelid. Since the skin is very thin there, I put a very thin layer of vaseline on my eyelid first, so as to decrease the burn of the garlic. And it did feel mighty hot! After an hour, I washed my eyes again and used a band-aid to attach another slab of fresh raw garlic. Now I'm seeing some improvement in the pinkness, swelling, and goopiness. Hooary for garlic!
This morning I started with our regular pink-eye treatment: wash your hands well about every 30-45 minutes, and then spend about a minute totally sloshing and dousing the eyeball with fresh running water. It didn't seem to be helping as much as usual. So I tried something new: garlic the Wonder Cure.
I cut a slab of raw garlic and taped it onto my bottom eyelid. Since the skin is very thin there, I put a very thin layer of vaseline on my eyelid first, so as to decrease the burn of the garlic. And it did feel mighty hot! After an hour, I washed my eyes again and used a band-aid to attach another slab of fresh raw garlic. Now I'm seeing some improvement in the pinkness, swelling, and goopiness. Hooary for garlic!
Lunch
Yesterday we spent a great day with my parents and sibs and the cousins. Mom brought a picnic lunch for us all (what a treat!) and we did a little hiking and a lot of talking. Well, there were some of us who did a lot of hiking....
My folks also shared some of their garden bounty with us. We had our first corn-on-the-cob of the summer. And oh my goodness, it's delicious! Butter and salt and pepper on hot corn. With tomato and cheese sandwiches! What could be yummier?
My folks also shared some of their garden bounty with us. We had our first corn-on-the-cob of the summer. And oh my goodness, it's delicious! Butter and salt and pepper on hot corn. With tomato and cheese sandwiches! What could be yummier?
Monday, August 13, 2007
Noah Saved
The end of 1 Peter 3 tells us that Noah and his family were "saved through water." This confused me for a long time. Okay, so the ark floated on the water, and so the water saved them from the devestation caused by the Flood. But if the Flood and its destruction hadn't happened in the first place, then the water that saved them wouldn't have been there. And thus no need to be saved.
But from different things said in Bible class and sermons over the last year or two, I've started to catch on to something else. (Maybe this is incredibly obvious to most people, but it sure wasn't to me!) The water that saved Noah wasn't saving him from the flood waters. The water that saved Noah was saving him from the evils of the society in which he lived, saving him from the false doctrine being preached everywhere around him, saving him from dangers greater than drowning.
But from different things said in Bible class and sermons over the last year or two, I've started to catch on to something else. (Maybe this is incredibly obvious to most people, but it sure wasn't to me!) The water that saved Noah wasn't saving him from the flood waters. The water that saved Noah was saving him from the evils of the society in which he lived, saving him from the false doctrine being preached everywhere around him, saving him from dangers greater than drowning.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
VBS
I totally wrote off last week as far as math, spelling, history, or housework. All I planned was to get meals on the table (that included one grocery-run), take Maggie to the beach for a little while daily (30-90 minutes), and go to "VBS" (from about 4:30 to 10:00 by the time the driving and socializing was factored in). We managed that, and not much else! Now I need to catch up on laundry; I only got a few loads done during the week.
VBS was held in the morning for the kids. They worked on memorizing the Lord's Prayer section of the catechism. They studied Bible stories from Holy Week with regard to Jesus' prayers. They learned more of the liturgy by heart, so they'd be able to pray along during Sunday services. Even if I had been able to drive my kids for the morning sessions, they were too old to attend that part anyway. So we just heard about that from some of the older kids who were helping.
The sessions in the evenings were for everybody: one child yet to be born, toddlers and preschoolers, right on up to the senior citizens, including one dear man who was ordained more than 60 years ago.
Each day the prayer retreat started with Evening Prayer. I appreciated my boys' observation that it's awfully hard to SAY the Phos Hilaron (instead of chant it). After prayers, we all ate. Then we prayed the order found in Congregation at Prayer, including Psalm 51, a passage from 1 Cor 10, the Sixth Petition of the Lord's Prayer, What Is the World to Me?, and consecutive readings each night from Acts. Then Pastor had some lecture and some discussion on prayer, and why we pray, and what we pray for, and prayer habits, and the salutary use of prayer books, and some misconceptions about prayer, and looking at some Bible passages on Jesus' prayer life and what He taught His disciples about prayer. When the evening was nearly done, we prayed Compline together.
At the end of the week, Pastor asked for any reflections on all this praying we'd been doing throughout the week. My thought was "Where do I sign up for the family-friendly monastery?" I didn't want the week to be done already. I wonder if it would be possible to have the discipline and the time to fit all that prayer and meditation into daily life. Or is that why a retreat is a retreat: being away from the regular hub-bub of life ... and math books?
VBS was held in the morning for the kids. They worked on memorizing the Lord's Prayer section of the catechism. They studied Bible stories from Holy Week with regard to Jesus' prayers. They learned more of the liturgy by heart, so they'd be able to pray along during Sunday services. Even if I had been able to drive my kids for the morning sessions, they were too old to attend that part anyway. So we just heard about that from some of the older kids who were helping.
The sessions in the evenings were for everybody: one child yet to be born, toddlers and preschoolers, right on up to the senior citizens, including one dear man who was ordained more than 60 years ago.
Each day the prayer retreat started with Evening Prayer. I appreciated my boys' observation that it's awfully hard to SAY the Phos Hilaron (instead of chant it). After prayers, we all ate. Then we prayed the order found in Congregation at Prayer, including Psalm 51, a passage from 1 Cor 10, the Sixth Petition of the Lord's Prayer, What Is the World to Me?, and consecutive readings each night from Acts. Then Pastor had some lecture and some discussion on prayer, and why we pray, and what we pray for, and prayer habits, and the salutary use of prayer books, and some misconceptions about prayer, and looking at some Bible passages on Jesus' prayer life and what He taught His disciples about prayer. When the evening was nearly done, we prayed Compline together.
At the end of the week, Pastor asked for any reflections on all this praying we'd been doing throughout the week. My thought was "Where do I sign up for the family-friendly monastery?" I didn't want the week to be done already. I wonder if it would be possible to have the discipline and the time to fit all that prayer and meditation into daily life. Or is that why a retreat is a retreat: being away from the regular hub-bub of life ... and math books?
General Prayer
It was once common for Christians to pray together, in their churches, each week (or even each day), for many needs of their communities, nation, and the Church. In the general prayer, the Church prays for the preaching of the Word, for mercy, for pastors, for the President and Congress, for temporal justice and temporal peace, for our enemies, for those who are sick and dying, for those who are oppressed, for the poor, for freedom from calamity and poor weather, for safety for those who travel, for schools, for widows and orphans, for our own ability to work and serve our neighbors, and so much more.
Most churches don't do that any more. We want prayers that are more "relevant." We want to pray for the things we notice, for the things we feel, for the things that we worry about. Now, don't get me wrong: there's certainly nothing wrong with praying for those specific things. It is good to pray for our shut-ins and those who are sick in the congregation. It may be good to pray for rain for your own garden, but better to pray for "seasonable weather" for the whole congregation, as Bob's garden may've been thoroughly doused last night.
But the General Prayer is still a good thing. It addresses a multitude of needs and situations that we might not think to pray for. It addresses the needs of all the sick, not just Grandma Meier. It asks for God's benevolence toward all widows, not just for my college roommate who was widowed at a young age. It causes us to pray for the judges and policemen who keep anarchy at bay so that we may live quiet and peaceable lives in all godliness and holiness.
Have you noticed that, as churches have moved away from the general prayer during Sunday services, society has gone downhill? I'm not saying that there's a cause-and-effect relationship. I'm not saying that, nationwide, politeness and courtesy would be magically improved, and crime magically decreased, and employees magically becoming hard-working, if only more congregations would pray the general prayer. But it's interesting to think about how vast numbers of people were led to pray for the needs of strangers, if only doing so for five minutes on Sunday morning when led by their pastors. And now they don't pray for such things because we have more "relevant" and "personal" needs to ask God about.
Maybe there was some real wisdom in the ancient liturgy of the Church.
Most churches don't do that any more. We want prayers that are more "relevant." We want to pray for the things we notice, for the things we feel, for the things that we worry about. Now, don't get me wrong: there's certainly nothing wrong with praying for those specific things. It is good to pray for our shut-ins and those who are sick in the congregation. It may be good to pray for rain for your own garden, but better to pray for "seasonable weather" for the whole congregation, as Bob's garden may've been thoroughly doused last night.
But the General Prayer is still a good thing. It addresses a multitude of needs and situations that we might not think to pray for. It addresses the needs of all the sick, not just Grandma Meier. It asks for God's benevolence toward all widows, not just for my college roommate who was widowed at a young age. It causes us to pray for the judges and policemen who keep anarchy at bay so that we may live quiet and peaceable lives in all godliness and holiness.
Have you noticed that, as churches have moved away from the general prayer during Sunday services, society has gone downhill? I'm not saying that there's a cause-and-effect relationship. I'm not saying that, nationwide, politeness and courtesy would be magically improved, and crime magically decreased, and employees magically becoming hard-working, if only more congregations would pray the general prayer. But it's interesting to think about how vast numbers of people were led to pray for the needs of strangers, if only doing so for five minutes on Sunday morning when led by their pastors. And now they don't pray for such things because we have more "relevant" and "personal" needs to ask God about.
Maybe there was some real wisdom in the ancient liturgy of the Church.
Amniocentesis
Genetics and pre-natal testing are often discussed among mothers of special-needs kids. I heard a recent conversation about the dangers of amniocentesis. Is it dangerous to the mother? Is there a risk of miscarriage? How can we lessen the likelihood of problems resulting from the test? Are the risks worth the benefits of the test?
And thereupon followed a nice, scientific, comforting discussion of how the risks are not that great, and it's worth it to have the peace of mind that comes from finding out your fetus is not afflicted with the same malady as your older child.
Not dangerous? Balderdash! Among this group of women, the whole point of amniocentesis is to KILL "defective" children! That's why people are taking the test. It may not be dangerous to the mother to have the test. It may not be dangerous to the child (assuming the child measures up to proper standards of genetic purity). But that test brings DEATH to the child who doesn't measure up.
Is it dangerous? Good grief. Death by torturous dismemberment, and burial by being sucked into a vacuum and tossed in the hazardous-waste pile. And people ask, "Is it dangerous?"
And thereupon followed a nice, scientific, comforting discussion of how the risks are not that great, and it's worth it to have the peace of mind that comes from finding out your fetus is not afflicted with the same malady as your older child.
Not dangerous? Balderdash! Among this group of women, the whole point of amniocentesis is to KILL "defective" children! That's why people are taking the test. It may not be dangerous to the mother to have the test. It may not be dangerous to the child (assuming the child measures up to proper standards of genetic purity). But that test brings DEATH to the child who doesn't measure up.
Is it dangerous? Good grief. Death by torturous dismemberment, and burial by being sucked into a vacuum and tossed in the hazardous-waste pile. And people ask, "Is it dangerous?"
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Blog-Readers
My apologies to those readers who have a blogger or netvibe subscription. I relabeled a bunch of posts tonight, so your reader will be full of repeat posts. (There is one new one in there, at the end of the long list of oldies.)
Pastoral Visits
The pastor does not make social calls. He makes pastoral visits.
When a person is sick or dying, he may not feel up to having visitors. That's to be expected. But nobody tells the medical doctor, "I don't feel up to visitors today. You can't come by." The sickness and the desire to avoid visitors is precisely the evidence that you need the doctor's care. AND the pastor's care!
Apparently hospice workers and nurses and home health aides do not understand this. If this is some unimportant factoid they heard in class and promptly forgot, the family is going to have to take action to make sure the helpers know. You know those signs that go up in houses when oxygen is in use? A warning with instruction? Maybe we need big signs like that in the home when a loved one is sick and dying: "Anybody who answers the phone always says YES when the pastor suggests coming over. No matter how the patient is feeling today."
When a person is sick or dying, he may not feel up to having visitors. That's to be expected. But nobody tells the medical doctor, "I don't feel up to visitors today. You can't come by." The sickness and the desire to avoid visitors is precisely the evidence that you need the doctor's care. AND the pastor's care!
Apparently hospice workers and nurses and home health aides do not understand this. If this is some unimportant factoid they heard in class and promptly forgot, the family is going to have to take action to make sure the helpers know. You know those signs that go up in houses when oxygen is in use? A warning with instruction? Maybe we need big signs like that in the home when a loved one is sick and dying: "Anybody who answers the phone always says YES when the pastor suggests coming over. No matter how the patient is feeling today."
Friday, August 10, 2007
Breads
For VBS, we're sharing suppers at church. Tonight Pastor is bringing chili, but they needed bread and salad. Because making bread makes me happy, I volunteered to bring that. My first batch of bread this morning was herb bread that I made into breadsticks. It's just my standard whole-wheat recipe, but I added about1 Tbsp garlic powder
4 Tbsp dried parsley
1 Tbsp onion powder
1.5 Tbsp thyme
1 teaspoon basil
1 teaspoon black pepper
1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese
Because it was shaped into breadsticks, it needed only about 15 minutes to bake instead of 35. It smelled marlevous.
Next batch was a standard French bread, white flour. [Sigh. I didn't figure I should make all the bread be as healthy as I usually make for us.]
The next set was my Twist Bread. This is something served at one of the swanky restaurants in Lake Geneva. I came up with a way to replicate it. It doesn't taste particularly fantastic (like the herb bread). It's just extra pretty with the yumminess-level of regular homemade bread.First I make the dark bread. The color comes from using about 80% whole wheat and just a little white flour. I also use coffee instead of the water, brown sugar or molasses instead of the usual sugar, and throw in a tablespoon of cocoa just for extra depth of brownness. While that begins to rise, I make a plain old batch of white bread dough.
When they're ready to shape, cut the dough into smaller chunks, each color into as many finished loaves as you'll want. Press each dough ball into a flattish rectangle, then put one brown rectangle on top of one white rectangle. Press them hard and flat together so that the brown dough won't separate from the white dough while rising. Pick up the rectangle, and flip over one end once or twice, so that the rectangle is twisted. Lay the rectangle down again and press hard to flatten. Then shape the dough for a loaf in the regular way, sealing and pinching as you roll. When cut, you get a very pretty marbling of brown and white.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Philip's Escapades
My son is now gallavanting around Japan. (Yes, Mom, he made it there safely!) Gary asked Philip to post daily to his blog because we can't contact him via phone. Click here for his website and updates.
Praying Hymns
We are currently attending VBS. Mornings are for the kids to study Jesus' prayers during Holy Week and to work on their catechism memory-work. Evenings are for everybody to attend what Pastor is calling a "retreat on prayer." Paul had an interesting comment on what his mother got him into. Andrew didn't particularly want to go along the first night, but was quite happy to return the second night.
One of the points Pastor made was that we don't "read" the psalms or "say" the psalms, we PRAY them. He mentioned that people have a sense that they shouldn't come into church or leave to go potty or whatever during the prayers. When everyone has their heads bowed and their hands folded and Pastor is praying, even pagans know to be respectful of that and be still. But he said people are perfectly willing to come and go (or whisper to the neighbor) during the psalms. But we are praying the psalms and should have that same sense of respect for those prayers as we do when Pastor is praying the collect or the general prayer.
This reminded me of some friends who were expressing some dissatisfaction with back-to-back hymns during communion distribution. They said they like some quiet time during communion so that they can pray and meditate. But that's what the hymns ARE! They are prayers. They guide our meditation. If we learn to think of the hymns as our prayers, then they are not an "interruption" to our prayers during communion, but add to our prayer.
One of the points Pastor made was that we don't "read" the psalms or "say" the psalms, we PRAY them. He mentioned that people have a sense that they shouldn't come into church or leave to go potty or whatever during the prayers. When everyone has their heads bowed and their hands folded and Pastor is praying, even pagans know to be respectful of that and be still. But he said people are perfectly willing to come and go (or whisper to the neighbor) during the psalms. But we are praying the psalms and should have that same sense of respect for those prayers as we do when Pastor is praying the collect or the general prayer.
This reminded me of some friends who were expressing some dissatisfaction with back-to-back hymns during communion distribution. They said they like some quiet time during communion so that they can pray and meditate. But that's what the hymns ARE! They are prayers. They guide our meditation. If we learn to think of the hymns as our prayers, then they are not an "interruption" to our prayers during communion, but add to our prayer.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Mamapalooza
Last Saturday Maggie and I headed to a get-together of homeschoolers. It was a long drive, but a good day. My friend Cheryl, who hosted, has posted photos on her blog, as well as a synposis of the day. Mom can see pics of some of my friends, and my kids will find that the picture of me is pretty good (as photos of me go, anyway). Many thanks to those who planned the day and prepared the food and activities!
Tourists
People do not like poop on the beach.
Nevertheless, people like to go to the beach and feed bits of bread crust to the ducks and sea gulls.
When you put food into the front end of the bird, what do you expect to come out of the back end of the bird? This is not rocket science.
Nevertheless, people like to go to the beach and feed bits of bread crust to the ducks and sea gulls.
When you put food into the front end of the bird, what do you expect to come out of the back end of the bird? This is not rocket science.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Fitted Sheets
I've been trying to figure out how to salvage fitted sheets when the cloth isn't at all worn out, but the elastic has gone. It crossed my mind that maybe I could sew elastic crosswise around the bottom of the corners. But then I wondered if it would be easier just to sew a 12-18" strip of fabric to all the edges, so that there would be something to tuck under the mattress. I suppose I could just buy a new set of sheets, but it seems a shame to waste this one set when the cloth is still in such good shape, and pretty, and comfortable.
Kitten
Seeing as how several people have asked in the last few days about Rosie, I guess I should make a general announcement. She is alive. She didn't die from being run over by the car, and her recuperation continued. She is now running around like a crazy Cowabunga Kitty, attacking everything, racing full speed through the house, being utterly stupid and falling off things and smashing into things. Her favorite stunt of the last few days is to take flying "superman" leaps off beds onto the floor several yards away. Sometimes she seems to sit funny, as though her hip is not healed altogether correctly. But she can run and she can jump and she can leap after bugs.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
The Unjust Steward
Today's Gospel began with
He also said to His disciples, "There was a certain rich man who had a steward, and an accusation was brought to him that this man was wasting his goods. Luke 16
I think this begins back at the start of chapter 15. The tax collectors and sinners were hanging on Jesus' every word. The Pharisees and scribes were crabbing about Jesus' indiscriminate grace. So Jesus told them a parable (the lost sheep). Then another parable (the lost coin). Then another parable (the lost sons). And then another parable (the unjust steward), this one to His disciples who would be His stewards/apostles.
In the story of the unjust steward, we start with a certain rich man. The parable of the prodigal son starts the same way. The story of the prodigal son was about a son who was wasting the father's goods. The story of the unjust steward was about a steward who was wasting the rich man's goods. Both wasteful dudes ended up in the good graces of the rich guy. The parable of the prodigal son ends with a party to celebrate the son being welcomed back into his home. The parable of the unjust steward ends (verse 9) with Jesus' comment about being received into an everlasting home.
What does this mean? Beats me! But it's not a coincidence that these two stories have so much in common.
He also said to His disciples, "There was a certain rich man who had a steward, and an accusation was brought to him that this man was wasting his goods. Luke 16
I think this begins back at the start of chapter 15. The tax collectors and sinners were hanging on Jesus' every word. The Pharisees and scribes were crabbing about Jesus' indiscriminate grace. So Jesus told them a parable (the lost sheep). Then another parable (the lost coin). Then another parable (the lost sons). And then another parable (the unjust steward), this one to His disciples who would be His stewards/apostles.
In the story of the unjust steward, we start with a certain rich man. The parable of the prodigal son starts the same way. The story of the prodigal son was about a son who was wasting the father's goods. The story of the unjust steward was about a steward who was wasting the rich man's goods. Both wasteful dudes ended up in the good graces of the rich guy. The parable of the prodigal son ends with a party to celebrate the son being welcomed back into his home. The parable of the unjust steward ends (verse 9) with Jesus' comment about being received into an everlasting home.
What does this mean? Beats me! But it's not a coincidence that these two stories have so much in common.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Incense
Let my prayer rise before You as incense,
the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice. Ps 141
At the For You youth conference last week, we had plenty of chances to meet in the chapel for worship. For evening prayers, Pastor Kind used incense.
Being a typical Lutheran who has very little experience with incense, it was very interesting to me to WATCH the incense. I like the idea of incense, assuming the building is large enough and assuming my asthmatic daughter isn't too close to the altar. But I always thought of incense as going UP, like prayers going up to God. I guess I thought of it as very much like smoke from a chimney.
But it didn't just go up. The incense billowed out and up. And as I watched it through half an hour of prayers, I saw how it thinned out and spread. Not just up, but throughout the chancel. Throughout the nave. Up and out and through. Even down. And even when you lost sight of the smoke, it wasn't gone. You could smell the perfumed incense permeating the air, beautifying the place. Couldn't see it, but it was there.
From Bender's Lutheran Catechesis, page 29:
The Lord's Prayer shows us that our lives are made holy by God's Word that is received and believed. We cry out to Him because we believe in what He has promised us. The Lord's Prayer directs us sinners where to find our help. This is the holy life of faith in Jesus Christ.
Thinking about that incense, it's like prayer. Prayer rises like incense, not like smoke from a chimney. Prayer doesn't just go UP to God. It goes out and through our lives. It may not be visible. As it spreads its perfume, our lives are made holy by the Word that is spoken to us and by us in our prayers.
the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice. Ps 141
At the For You youth conference last week, we had plenty of chances to meet in the chapel for worship. For evening prayers, Pastor Kind used incense.
Being a typical Lutheran who has very little experience with incense, it was very interesting to me to WATCH the incense. I like the idea of incense, assuming the building is large enough and assuming my asthmatic daughter isn't too close to the altar. But I always thought of incense as going UP, like prayers going up to God. I guess I thought of it as very much like smoke from a chimney.
But it didn't just go up. The incense billowed out and up. And as I watched it through half an hour of prayers, I saw how it thinned out and spread. Not just up, but throughout the chancel. Throughout the nave. Up and out and through. Even down. And even when you lost sight of the smoke, it wasn't gone. You could smell the perfumed incense permeating the air, beautifying the place. Couldn't see it, but it was there.
From Bender's Lutheran Catechesis, page 29:
The Lord's Prayer shows us that our lives are made holy by God's Word that is received and believed. We cry out to Him because we believe in what He has promised us. The Lord's Prayer directs us sinners where to find our help. This is the holy life of faith in Jesus Christ.
Thinking about that incense, it's like prayer. Prayer rises like incense, not like smoke from a chimney. Prayer doesn't just go UP to God. It goes out and through our lives. It may not be visible. As it spreads its perfume, our lives are made holy by the Word that is spoken to us and by us in our prayers.
Fashion
Rachel tagged me for the "Personal Style Quiz" that's making its way around our friends and acquaintances. I'm not tagging anybody else because I can't remember who's done it and who hasn't, and I don't want to go look.
Rules: You have to choose one of the two. You cannot answer "neither" or "both." You can indicate that you like both or neither, but you must state a preference.
Animal fiber or plant?
Plant. I like cotton but love linen. Wool itches.
Natural or synthetic?
Natural.
Ornate or simple?
Simple to the point of boring.
Color or Neutral?
Probably color. Although... the blue in blue jeans is something I treat as a neutral, and that might change the answer.
Pastel or Vibrant?
I have equal amounts of both. But the red I like is vibrant so I'll pick that.
Blue/Green or Red/Orange?
This is the nastiest question on the whole quiz. I like blue and dislike most greens on me. I love red and don't want to wear orange (unless it's Illini orange, but that's disconnected from fashion). I refuse to answer on the grounds that "blue/red" is not set in opposition to "green/orange." So there!
White Gold or Yellow Gold?
Easiest question on the quiz -- yellow gold!
Gems or texture?
Huh? Gems? Texture? Where? I say ditto to Rachel's answer: "I lack the necessary fashion vocabulary and cannot answer this question." Even reading other people's answers hasn't given me enough of a clue to understand this question.
Watch or no-watch?
No watch. I kept jamming watches. Too much wiggling and movement, so those "self-wind watches" would always get overwound on my wrist and stop running.
Comfort or fashion?
Oh, wait. I take it back. This question is as easy as the one about yellow gold. COMFORT! I look dorky, but I'm comfortable.
Trendy or classic?
Classic.
Cables or lace?
Cables? What, in socks and sweaters? Some of my favorite dresses have had white lace collars. But I suppose I have more cable-knit sweaters than I have lacey things.
Heels or flats?
Oh, look, another no-brainer. FLATS.
Flip-flops or sandals?
Birkenstock sandals.
Skirts or pants?
Since jeans are pants, the answer must be pants.
Geometric or floral?
Geometric? Would that include stripes? I think I have more stripes than florals, but no other geometrics.
V-neck or turtle-neck?
Turtle neck. And even more so after last winter's multiple trips to the chiropractor because of cold breezes on my neck.
Skulls or butterflies?
I don't think I have any butterflies, but it would be a possibility. But I don't think I'd ever be happy with anything with skulls.
Loose or snug?
Loose. (Remember that question on comfort?)
Long hair or short?
Long. Short hair makes an ostrich-neck look even longer.
Headbands or barrettes?
Why is SCRUNCHI not an option? Headbands look better on me than barrettes, but they usually make the backs of my ears hurt. Cloth headband, however, would usually be preferable to barrettes.
Shoulder bag or handbag?
Shoulder bag.
Rules: You have to choose one of the two. You cannot answer "neither" or "both." You can indicate that you like both or neither, but you must state a preference.
Animal fiber or plant?
Plant. I like cotton but love linen. Wool itches.
Natural or synthetic?
Natural.
Ornate or simple?
Simple to the point of boring.
Color or Neutral?
Probably color. Although... the blue in blue jeans is something I treat as a neutral, and that might change the answer.
Pastel or Vibrant?
I have equal amounts of both. But the red I like is vibrant so I'll pick that.
Blue/Green or Red/Orange?
This is the nastiest question on the whole quiz. I like blue and dislike most greens on me. I love red and don't want to wear orange (unless it's Illini orange, but that's disconnected from fashion). I refuse to answer on the grounds that "blue/red" is not set in opposition to "green/orange." So there!
White Gold or Yellow Gold?
Easiest question on the quiz -- yellow gold!
Gems or texture?
Huh? Gems? Texture? Where? I say ditto to Rachel's answer: "I lack the necessary fashion vocabulary and cannot answer this question." Even reading other people's answers hasn't given me enough of a clue to understand this question.
Watch or no-watch?
No watch. I kept jamming watches. Too much wiggling and movement, so those "self-wind watches" would always get overwound on my wrist and stop running.
Comfort or fashion?
Oh, wait. I take it back. This question is as easy as the one about yellow gold. COMFORT! I look dorky, but I'm comfortable.
Trendy or classic?
Classic.
Cables or lace?
Cables? What, in socks and sweaters? Some of my favorite dresses have had white lace collars. But I suppose I have more cable-knit sweaters than I have lacey things.
Heels or flats?
Oh, look, another no-brainer. FLATS.
Flip-flops or sandals?
Birkenstock sandals.
Skirts or pants?
Since jeans are pants, the answer must be pants.
Geometric or floral?
Geometric? Would that include stripes? I think I have more stripes than florals, but no other geometrics.
V-neck or turtle-neck?
Turtle neck. And even more so after last winter's multiple trips to the chiropractor because of cold breezes on my neck.
Skulls or butterflies?
I don't think I have any butterflies, but it would be a possibility. But I don't think I'd ever be happy with anything with skulls.
Loose or snug?
Loose. (Remember that question on comfort?)
Long hair or short?
Long. Short hair makes an ostrich-neck look even longer.
Headbands or barrettes?
Why is SCRUNCHI not an option? Headbands look better on me than barrettes, but they usually make the backs of my ears hurt. Cloth headband, however, would usually be preferable to barrettes.
Shoulder bag or handbag?
Shoulder bag.
Psalm 18:20-24
The Lord rewarded me according to my righteousness,
according to the cleanness of my hands He has recompensed me.
For I have kept the ways of the Lord,
and have not wickedly departed from my God.
For all His judgments were before me,
and I did not put away His statutes from me.
I was also blameless before Him,
and I kept myself from my iniquity.
Therefore the Lord has recompensed me according to my righteousness,
according to the cleanness of my hands in His sight.
I always had a problem with psalms like this. God's gonna pay me for all the good I do.
Uh, then I'm toast.
Pastor could explain and explain and explain. And I could understand, but my heart would still set up shields at words like these from Psalm 18. He could explain that it's talking about Christ. He could explain that it's talking about the New Man of faith in me. But still .....
And today I noticed something. "MY iniquity." Look at that: "I kept myself from MY iniquity." Think about that! If I have iniquity, if it is part of me, how do I keep myself from it? "I kept myself from my elbow"? "I kept myself from my eating"? How would that work anyhow? It's altogether different from keeping myself from my house or my car or my toothbrushing.
And with the admission that I have iniquity, that sheds some light on "my righteousness" and "blameslessness" and "keeping His judgments before me." Maybe, just maybe, there's a both/and goin' on there?
This is the name by which He will be called:
The Lord Is Our Righteousness.
If you toss Jeremiah into the mix, maybe "rewarded me according to my righteousness" could be understood as "rewarded me according to my Jesus." And maybe "according to the cleanness of my hands" would be that He recompenses "according to my baptism."
according to the cleanness of my hands He has recompensed me.
For I have kept the ways of the Lord,
and have not wickedly departed from my God.
For all His judgments were before me,
and I did not put away His statutes from me.
I was also blameless before Him,
and I kept myself from my iniquity.
Therefore the Lord has recompensed me according to my righteousness,
according to the cleanness of my hands in His sight.
I always had a problem with psalms like this. God's gonna pay me for all the good I do.
Uh, then I'm toast.
Pastor could explain and explain and explain. And I could understand, but my heart would still set up shields at words like these from Psalm 18. He could explain that it's talking about Christ. He could explain that it's talking about the New Man of faith in me. But still .....
And today I noticed something. "MY iniquity." Look at that: "I kept myself from MY iniquity." Think about that! If I have iniquity, if it is part of me, how do I keep myself from it? "I kept myself from my elbow"? "I kept myself from my eating"? How would that work anyhow? It's altogether different from keeping myself from my house or my car or my toothbrushing.
And with the admission that I have iniquity, that sheds some light on "my righteousness" and "blameslessness" and "keeping His judgments before me." Maybe, just maybe, there's a both/and goin' on there?
This is the name by which He will be called:
The Lord Is Our Righteousness.
If you toss Jeremiah into the mix, maybe "rewarded me according to my righteousness" could be understood as "rewarded me according to my Jesus." And maybe "according to the cleanness of my hands" would be that He recompenses "according to my baptism."
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Lazarus
For the last several years, I've been puzzling over the stories of the anointing of Jesus. John says (chap 12) the dinner was at Bethany, Lazarus was there, and Martha served. Luke says (chap 7) the dinner was at Simon the Pharisee's house. Mark says (chap 14) and Matthew says (chap 26) the dinner was at Simon the Leper's.
Topic for Bible study today was John 11, the raising of Lazarus. Pastor mentioned that Pr Wiest suspected that Lazarus ["God is my help"] was possibly an alternate name Jesus gave to Simon the leper, like He gave the name Peter to Simon the fisherman. That really makes a lot of sense.
Topic for Bible study today was John 11, the raising of Lazarus. Pastor mentioned that Pr Wiest suspected that Lazarus ["God is my help"] was possibly an alternate name Jesus gave to Simon the leper, like He gave the name Peter to Simon the fisherman. That really makes a lot of sense.
1 Down, 2 To Go
Katie got a job! Yee haw! Woo hoo! Hooray hooray!
Hoping to post similar yee-haws about some other people in the near future.
Hoping to post similar yee-haws about some other people in the near future.
Psalm 15:4
Who may abide in the tabernacle, in God's holy hill?
He who swears to his own hurt and does not change.
How often the Lord swears His promise in the Old Testament to the patriarchs! He swears to Adam and Eve that the Seed would crush the serpent's head. He swears to Noah that He will not destroy the world with water again. He swears to Abraham that He would make of him a great nation, and that his son would save the nationS. He swears to Jacob that the land would be given to him. He swears to David that his son would sit on the throne forever. And those examples just scratch the surface.
God swore to His own hurt. Isaiah 53 and the ends of the Gospel accounts show how much it hurt Him to make those promises. Still, He would not renege on the promise; He would not change.
He who swears to his own hurt and does not change.
How often the Lord swears His promise in the Old Testament to the patriarchs! He swears to Adam and Eve that the Seed would crush the serpent's head. He swears to Noah that He will not destroy the world with water again. He swears to Abraham that He would make of him a great nation, and that his son would save the nationS. He swears to Jacob that the land would be given to him. He swears to David that his son would sit on the throne forever. And those examples just scratch the surface.
God swore to His own hurt. Isaiah 53 and the ends of the Gospel accounts show how much it hurt Him to make those promises. Still, He would not renege on the promise; He would not change.
Psalm 11:5
The Lord tests the righteous,
But the wicked and the one who loves violence His soul hates.
Interesting. That's one of those contrasts. God hates the wicked, but He loves the righteous. But the word isn't loves, it's tests. A person being tested sure doesn't feel like he's loved. He feels like he's being picked on.
Somehow, Abraham offered up Isaac anyway. He didn't think God was picking on him. No wonder he is called "father of the faithful."
But the wicked and the one who loves violence His soul hates.
Interesting. That's one of those contrasts. God hates the wicked, but He loves the righteous. But the word isn't loves, it's tests. A person being tested sure doesn't feel like he's loved. He feels like he's being picked on.
Somehow, Abraham offered up Isaac anyway. He didn't think God was picking on him. No wonder he is called "father of the faithful."
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
For You
I took the boys to Minneapolis last week for the national Lutheran youth gathering. The theme was "For You." There were a lot of good things, even if there were some inconveniences with the location of our housing.
But what they did with the title of the conference bothered me. Even before we registered for the conference we would get mailings about the conference that used that phrase "for you" in a variety of ways. They were working on getting travel information "for you" to get from the airport to the conference. They would have the conference schedule available "for you" on thus-and-such a day. They had arranged busses to the ball game "for you." The phrase "for you" was also used in sermons and catechesis, usually connected to the Gospel and what God has done for us.
But the cutesy nature of how they overused the phrase "for you" (almost in a "marketing" type of way) did not set comfortably with me. And I realized why on Sunday morning. When Pastor preached, "Christ died for you. For you He took on human flesh and ...." my brain recalled all the cute little "for you" phrases I'd heard in connection with the conference. When I was at church on Monday night, and the Pastor said, "This is My body, given for you,..." I thought of all the silly little ways "for you" had been tossed around the previous week.
Somebody will say I'm a pietist. Somebody will say that I need to learn how to laugh and have a good time. Somebody will say I'm too picky. Nevertheless, those words "for you" are so totally precious and sacred that it seems to me they were bastardized last week. And I wonder how long it will be before I can hear those words clearly and rightly again.
But what they did with the title of the conference bothered me. Even before we registered for the conference we would get mailings about the conference that used that phrase "for you" in a variety of ways. They were working on getting travel information "for you" to get from the airport to the conference. They would have the conference schedule available "for you" on thus-and-such a day. They had arranged busses to the ball game "for you." The phrase "for you" was also used in sermons and catechesis, usually connected to the Gospel and what God has done for us.
But the cutesy nature of how they overused the phrase "for you" (almost in a "marketing" type of way) did not set comfortably with me. And I realized why on Sunday morning. When Pastor preached, "Christ died for you. For you He took on human flesh and ...." my brain recalled all the cute little "for you" phrases I'd heard in connection with the conference. When I was at church on Monday night, and the Pastor said, "This is My body, given for you,..." I thought of all the silly little ways "for you" had been tossed around the previous week.
Somebody will say I'm a pietist. Somebody will say that I need to learn how to laugh and have a good time. Somebody will say I'm too picky. Nevertheless, those words "for you" are so totally precious and sacred that it seems to me they were bastardized last week. And I wonder how long it will be before I can hear those words clearly and rightly again.
Calendar
One of my most essential homeschooling supplies is my calendar. It's available from Miles Kimball and is boring as all-get-out. No pictures. Nothing pretty. But the supremely attractive feature of this calendar is that each day has a roomy 2" x 2.5" box for writing in appts and stuff. There's also a space for notes at the top of each month, as well as two weeks of the next month on the bottom of each page. The order number is 553545, the "Giant Write-On Calendar," and costs a whopping three bucks. (Shipping costs more than the calendar itself.)
Prevention
If you feel a sore throat coming on, you can suck on zinc-&-C lozenges. If you feel a cold sore coming on, there's Abreva. If you can tell that you're starting mastitis, you interrupt the progression of the illness by clearing the schedule, taking a nap, using moist heat, and nursing a lot. With a cold, you start chugging orange juice and home-made chicken soup, and popping echinacea capsules. When a boil starts, you reach for a slab of garlic to tape onto the spot.
But what is the preventative measure when a person feels a bout of depression beginning?
But what is the preventative measure when a person feels a bout of depression beginning?
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Bugs
When I put the lid on the compost bucket last night, I did not seal it tightly.
Y'know, some people poke fun at Luther for what he said about mice and bugs. He agreed with Aristotle that, though it is obvious mice give birth to mice, mice also originate from decay. Luther also said dung beetles come from horse manure.
What if they DO? If I leave the lid on the compost bucket, there aren't bugs in it. But when I left the lid of the compost bucket loose, there were gazillions of little fruit flies and gnats. They weren't in the house before. It sure looks like they sprang out of the cantaloupe rinds and garlic peels!
I wonder how long till all these little pests die off?
Well, one lesson learned about the compost bucket ....
Y'know, some people poke fun at Luther for what he said about mice and bugs. He agreed with Aristotle that, though it is obvious mice give birth to mice, mice also originate from decay. Luther also said dung beetles come from horse manure.
What if they DO? If I leave the lid on the compost bucket, there aren't bugs in it. But when I left the lid of the compost bucket loose, there were gazillions of little fruit flies and gnats. They weren't in the house before. It sure looks like they sprang out of the cantaloupe rinds and garlic peels!
I wonder how long till all these little pests die off?
Well, one lesson learned about the compost bucket ....
Just Children's Stories
Warning. Depending on how careful you are with avoiding any details, this may possibly have a Harry Potter spoiler in it. I don't think it does. But I'm giving fair warning just in case.
Hermione didn't believe the children's stories. They aren't real. They're just children's stories. They're make-believe.
Some people did believe them. Sometimes they were thought to be loony. Sometimes Christians are thought to be loony for buying into those "myths."
Sometimes what appears to be "just children's stories" are much more. When Aslan told the children that they would not return to Narnia, they mourned their loss of Aslan. But he told them they would learn to know him by another name in their world. Narnia is not "just a children's story."
We were talking last night about whether J. K. Rowling intended for Harry Potter to be a Christian story, or if it was just a good story in which some of us saw something more. They say Tolkien did not intend for the Lord of the Rings to be a Christian story, but Christians certainly see a lot of truths encased in the story.
I assumed that's what was going on with Harry Potter too. Now I'm not so sure. That business about the Bard's tales not being "just children's stories" seems like it could be a clue about the very volume I'm holding in my hands as I read about Hermione & Xeno arguing over those "children's stories." Maybe that volume too is "not just children's stories."
I don't like fantasy. I don't enjoy magic in my stories. I don't like talking animals in stories, or elves, or goblins, or any of that stuff. But Narnia and Harry Potter are different. They aren't fantasy. They're theology. And they're stories I'd hate to miss just because they're dressed up in a literature-genre I'm not usually fond of.
(With 150 pages to go in the last Harry Potter book, I reserve the option to revisit this post and stamp my feet and say that I take it all back. Y'know, if it all turns out very wrong, very different from what I expect.)
Hermione didn't believe the children's stories. They aren't real. They're just children's stories. They're make-believe.
Some people did believe them. Sometimes they were thought to be loony. Sometimes Christians are thought to be loony for buying into those "myths."
Sometimes what appears to be "just children's stories" are much more. When Aslan told the children that they would not return to Narnia, they mourned their loss of Aslan. But he told them they would learn to know him by another name in their world. Narnia is not "just a children's story."
We were talking last night about whether J. K. Rowling intended for Harry Potter to be a Christian story, or if it was just a good story in which some of us saw something more. They say Tolkien did not intend for the Lord of the Rings to be a Christian story, but Christians certainly see a lot of truths encased in the story.
I assumed that's what was going on with Harry Potter too. Now I'm not so sure. That business about the Bard's tales not being "just children's stories" seems like it could be a clue about the very volume I'm holding in my hands as I read about Hermione & Xeno arguing over those "children's stories." Maybe that volume too is "not just children's stories."
I don't like fantasy. I don't enjoy magic in my stories. I don't like talking animals in stories, or elves, or goblins, or any of that stuff. But Narnia and Harry Potter are different. They aren't fantasy. They're theology. And they're stories I'd hate to miss just because they're dressed up in a literature-genre I'm not usually fond of.
(With 150 pages to go in the last Harry Potter book, I reserve the option to revisit this post and stamp my feet and say that I take it all back. Y'know, if it all turns out very wrong, very different from what I expect.)
Prophecy
Luke 10:24 -- Blessed are the eyes that see the things you see; for I tell you that many prophets and kings desired to see the things you see, and have not seen it, and to hear the things you hear, and have not heard it.
Warning. Warning.
Harry Potter spoiler to follow.
Maybe.
Sometimes I wonder what it was like for the people of the Old Testament to know Jesus, to believe in Him, and yet not have the intellectual knowledge of how the Promise was going to pan out.
I'm not done with The Deathly Hallows yet. When my family was listening to Pastor Stuckwisch on the 7-29 radio program yesterday, I heard something while carrying a laundry basket through the room: Harry dies as he defeats Voldemort. My husband gasped and reached to shut down the volume before I heard any more secrets.
THAT was a secret?
C'mon, I knew THAT. I knew that from way back when I first starting reading the books (when #4 was newly published). I can't remember when I figured it out, but I know that I knew prior to finishing reading book #4.
I didn't know the details. I didn't know in which book it would happen. I didn't know that Dumbledore would die too. I didn't know whether Snape would turn out to be good or bad. But I knew the anointed one would give his life to defeat the evil one. And as I continue to read, the details continue to unfold.
And it crossed my mind: is this what it was like for the believers in the Old Testament? The slow revelation of details? But knowing all along the basic plan?
Warning. Warning.
Harry Potter spoiler to follow.
Maybe.
Sometimes I wonder what it was like for the people of the Old Testament to know Jesus, to believe in Him, and yet not have the intellectual knowledge of how the Promise was going to pan out.
I'm not done with The Deathly Hallows yet. When my family was listening to Pastor Stuckwisch on the 7-29 radio program yesterday, I heard something while carrying a laundry basket through the room: Harry dies as he defeats Voldemort. My husband gasped and reached to shut down the volume before I heard any more secrets.
THAT was a secret?
C'mon, I knew THAT. I knew that from way back when I first starting reading the books (when #4 was newly published). I can't remember when I figured it out, but I know that I knew prior to finishing reading book #4.
I didn't know the details. I didn't know in which book it would happen. I didn't know that Dumbledore would die too. I didn't know whether Snape would turn out to be good or bad. But I knew the anointed one would give his life to defeat the evil one. And as I continue to read, the details continue to unfold.
And it crossed my mind: is this what it was like for the believers in the Old Testament? The slow revelation of details? But knowing all along the basic plan?
Monday, July 30, 2007
Harry Potter and Galatians 1:6-9
Pr Stuckwisch was interviewed on Issues Etc last night. Although I could not listen, the rest of my family did. My husband also told me that Pastor S mentioned on his blog the number of people who called in to the show and claimed that it is evil to read Harry Potter books. (I haven't looked at Pastor's recent blog posts, seeing as how I'm not done with the books yet.)
This is what I decided yesterday morning. You can argue with certain Christians till you're blue in the face about whether Harry Potter books are good or bad. But the problem isn't the books. The problem isn't magic. The problem isn't sanctification. The problem has nothing to do with the philosophy of literature. The problem doesn't even have anything to do with whether we're feeding lovely and pure things into our minds (Philippians 4:8). The problem is that they have a different Gospel, a different Jesus (2 Corinthians 11:4).
Of course, there are people who don't like Harry Potter because they're not fans of that style of fiction. No problem. But it's no use arguing about Harry Potter books with those who say it contradicts Christianity. Because we're starting with different definitions of what Christianity is.
This is what I decided yesterday morning. You can argue with certain Christians till you're blue in the face about whether Harry Potter books are good or bad. But the problem isn't the books. The problem isn't magic. The problem isn't sanctification. The problem has nothing to do with the philosophy of literature. The problem doesn't even have anything to do with whether we're feeding lovely and pure things into our minds (Philippians 4:8). The problem is that they have a different Gospel, a different Jesus (2 Corinthians 11:4).
Of course, there are people who don't like Harry Potter because they're not fans of that style of fiction. No problem. But it's no use arguing about Harry Potter books with those who say it contradicts Christianity. Because we're starting with different definitions of what Christianity is.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Beach Pass
After some consideration, I decided to gather the money to buy two beach passes.
Since school let out and the neighbor kids are home, I'd noticed Maggie had become ever more dependent upon their company, her attitude had gone downhill, and she was no longer able to entertain herself. In other words, she was always bored unless she was playing with friends who were proving themselves to be a less than salutary influence. Now, don't get me wrong: they aren't bad kids. It's just that too much time with friends seems to make my kids icky. So I determined that we needed to curtail most of the playtime with the neighbors.
However, because of Maggie's scoliosis, she needs to be outside, playing, exercising, in the sunshine and fresh air. But what is there to do outside when you've become accustomed to playing with your friends and are now cruelly deprived of them? So she has a new bike, one that fits her taller size. And we've hauled out the scooter. But she's really missing those hours that she spent in the neighbor's pool.
That's why I bought the beach pass. Cheaper than buying our own oversized inflatable pool. Less convenient geographically. More convenient as far as effort needed to take care of it.
On that day I bought the pass, we couldn't go to the beach because I had to fetch Gary from O'Hare. The next two days we couldn't go to the beach because Harry Potter was newly out and we didn't get our audio version, but had to read aloud for hours upon hours each day. The next five days I was out of town and couldn't take Maggie to the beach. So the next day we were rarin' to go. Drove over to the village with the beach... not a place to park in the whole town. Not one! The Lions were having their annual Lobster Boil fund-raiser, and there were no available parking spots even 1/2 mile away.
Disappointment reigned. But do you know how sweet my husband is? He took Andrew to town to do the paper route, and he did my part of the route for me, so that he could drop Maggie and me off at the beach and then fetch us when they were done doing my job for me. And then Maggie and I drove over tonight too, and I got in four chapters of Harry Potter. Before we even left the beach, Maggie was trying to elicit a promise from me to take her back tomorrow.
Sun, fresh air, and exercise. Some of our main anti-scoliosis weapons. I may feel like I'm goofing off at the beach, but those early puberty years of great gains in height are when scoliosis worsens the most. So what we do now for Maggie's back will have consequences for the rest of her life. So I guess I need to find time to go to the beach again tomorrow. And I suppose that means I'll have to read more Harry Potter!
Since school let out and the neighbor kids are home, I'd noticed Maggie had become ever more dependent upon their company, her attitude had gone downhill, and she was no longer able to entertain herself. In other words, she was always bored unless she was playing with friends who were proving themselves to be a less than salutary influence. Now, don't get me wrong: they aren't bad kids. It's just that too much time with friends seems to make my kids icky. So I determined that we needed to curtail most of the playtime with the neighbors.
However, because of Maggie's scoliosis, she needs to be outside, playing, exercising, in the sunshine and fresh air. But what is there to do outside when you've become accustomed to playing with your friends and are now cruelly deprived of them? So she has a new bike, one that fits her taller size. And we've hauled out the scooter. But she's really missing those hours that she spent in the neighbor's pool.
That's why I bought the beach pass. Cheaper than buying our own oversized inflatable pool. Less convenient geographically. More convenient as far as effort needed to take care of it.
On that day I bought the pass, we couldn't go to the beach because I had to fetch Gary from O'Hare. The next two days we couldn't go to the beach because Harry Potter was newly out and we didn't get our audio version, but had to read aloud for hours upon hours each day. The next five days I was out of town and couldn't take Maggie to the beach. So the next day we were rarin' to go. Drove over to the village with the beach... not a place to park in the whole town. Not one! The Lions were having their annual Lobster Boil fund-raiser, and there were no available parking spots even 1/2 mile away.
Disappointment reigned. But do you know how sweet my husband is? He took Andrew to town to do the paper route, and he did my part of the route for me, so that he could drop Maggie and me off at the beach and then fetch us when they were done doing my job for me. And then Maggie and I drove over tonight too, and I got in four chapters of Harry Potter. Before we even left the beach, Maggie was trying to elicit a promise from me to take her back tomorrow.
Sun, fresh air, and exercise. Some of our main anti-scoliosis weapons. I may feel like I'm goofing off at the beach, but those early puberty years of great gains in height are when scoliosis worsens the most. So what we do now for Maggie's back will have consequences for the rest of her life. So I guess I need to find time to go to the beach again tomorrow. And I suppose that means I'll have to read more Harry Potter!
Monday, July 23, 2007
Off to Higher Things
The boys and I are on our way to the youth conference in Minneapolis this week. We enjoyed supper at Culvers earlier. Now we've stopped for the night in Eau Claire. Paul kept saying as we drove through this part of the state, "Wow, this looks like Wisconsin. Oh, I feel like an Illinois tourist!" Now for a good night's sleep because I'm sure we won't be getting much sleep for the rest of the week.
Government Mandated Schooling
I live with only five people. Within 36 hours after the release of The Deathly Hallows, THREE of these people (unbeknownst to each other) informed me:
"Guess what the evil people do? They outlaw homeschooling and other private schools!"
"Guess what the evil people do? They outlaw homeschooling and other private schools!"
The Fishbowl for the Pastor's Wife
A few weeks ago I met the new wife of a previously-widowed friend. In making polite conversation, she learned that I was a pastor's wife. So she was interested in why I attended Bible class at my father-confessor's church. I acknowledged that there were some pretty nice things about being "just one of the laymen" without being The Pastor's Wife. She was trying to be understanding and sympathetic, thinking about the experience of some other women she knew who were married to pastors, and thinking that would be my experience too.
She talked about how it's hard to live in the fishbowl. I explained that doesn't bother me tremendously. After all, I blab all about our lives on the Internet here anyway. And I know that in this rural area, everybody's life is fodder for the gossip mill; it's not unique to the pastor's family.
She suggested that it's hard for kids to live up to the expectations of being pastor's kids. I don't think my kids had too much of a hard time with that. For one thing, the only thing I impressed on them was what they did or didn't do because they're Christians. No special standards for the pastor's kids, except that we wouldn't allow them to volunteer to mow the church lawn. Now, my kids WERE held to some standards occasionally because we didn't want to give homeschoolers a bad name. "You be polite today. We don't want people to think poorly of other homeschoolers just because of some dingbattiness today on our fieldtrip."
Next my friend's wife suggested that it's hard for pastors' wives because they're expected to do so much at church. But I don't. My husband is the pastor. I have enough to do with my own activities. I am careful not to do more at church than I would if I were married to the plumber. So that's no big deal for me either.
What I like about going to Bible class somewhere else is being free to ask questions in Bible class. I don't have to worry about the stupidity of what I ask, or the depth of what I ask, or the peripheralness of what I ask. I know that my questions don't reflect on the pastor there like they do here (though it's probably not the same in all congregations), and that provides a certain level of freedom to receive God's word without worrying about what people think.
That's the fishbowl that worries me. Not whether my house is clean. Not how my children behave. Not how involved or uninvolved I am in church activities. Not my lack of stylishness. But that people may think my beliefs, my confession, my thoughts, my struggles, are reflective of what their pastor thinks. They may be the same; they may not. But given that people will assume my thoughts are likely to reflect the pastor's thoughts, I do not say much at church here. That's why the freedom to participate in Bible class out of the fishbowl can be so helpful.
She talked about how it's hard to live in the fishbowl. I explained that doesn't bother me tremendously. After all, I blab all about our lives on the Internet here anyway. And I know that in this rural area, everybody's life is fodder for the gossip mill; it's not unique to the pastor's family.
She suggested that it's hard for kids to live up to the expectations of being pastor's kids. I don't think my kids had too much of a hard time with that. For one thing, the only thing I impressed on them was what they did or didn't do because they're Christians. No special standards for the pastor's kids, except that we wouldn't allow them to volunteer to mow the church lawn. Now, my kids WERE held to some standards occasionally because we didn't want to give homeschoolers a bad name. "You be polite today. We don't want people to think poorly of other homeschoolers just because of some dingbattiness today on our fieldtrip."
Next my friend's wife suggested that it's hard for pastors' wives because they're expected to do so much at church. But I don't. My husband is the pastor. I have enough to do with my own activities. I am careful not to do more at church than I would if I were married to the plumber. So that's no big deal for me either.
What I like about going to Bible class somewhere else is being free to ask questions in Bible class. I don't have to worry about the stupidity of what I ask, or the depth of what I ask, or the peripheralness of what I ask. I know that my questions don't reflect on the pastor there like they do here (though it's probably not the same in all congregations), and that provides a certain level of freedom to receive God's word without worrying about what people think.
That's the fishbowl that worries me. Not whether my house is clean. Not how my children behave. Not how involved or uninvolved I am in church activities. Not my lack of stylishness. But that people may think my beliefs, my confession, my thoughts, my struggles, are reflective of what their pastor thinks. They may be the same; they may not. But given that people will assume my thoughts are likely to reflect the pastor's thoughts, I do not say much at church here. That's why the freedom to participate in Bible class out of the fishbowl can be so helpful.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Take Heed Lest Men with Base Alloy
What I have done and taught, teach thou,
My ways forsake thou never.
So shall My kingdom flourish now
And God be praised forever.
Take heed lest men with base alloy
The heavenly treasure should destroy;
This counsel I bequeath thee.
Alloy. Two metals blended. Not a pure metal.
Base alloy. What they would do with coins when they wanted to cheapen them. Take the real silver or real gold, melt it down, mix in just a little bit of cheaper metal, and shape new coins. Who'd know that the purity wasn't what it had been? The purity was just a little "watered down."
In the history of coinage, we see what happens when the standards of purity aren't maintained. A little of the cheap stuff is added. And then it happens again. And again. Over the course of months or years or decades, there is virtually no precious metal left in the coins.
Could that ever happen with doctrine? Just a little something wrong is allowed to stand. Over time, a little more base alloy is snuck in. Slowly changes are made and people don't notice.
Purity of doctrine is important. Faith lives from the truth. Of course, in this sinful world, errors and false doctrine will continue to hound us. That doesn't mean that errors and false doctrine are okay. But neither does it mean we're damned to hell if our doctrinal comprehension should happen to be in error on some point.
In coinage, base alloy can eventually turn the coins into worthless slugs; the treasure can be destroyed through slow dilution. So too, in doctrine, so much "base alloy" has been added in some churches that they are no longer Christian -- they no longer possess the treasure.
When people get upset over a "little thing" like a "minor doctrinal point," it's not because they're hard-nosed legalists. (Well, sometimes it is. But not always.) It's often due to their proper love of what is good and what is true, and their fervant desire not to lose that treasure.
My ways forsake thou never.
So shall My kingdom flourish now
And God be praised forever.
Take heed lest men with base alloy
The heavenly treasure should destroy;
This counsel I bequeath thee.
Alloy. Two metals blended. Not a pure metal.
Base alloy. What they would do with coins when they wanted to cheapen them. Take the real silver or real gold, melt it down, mix in just a little bit of cheaper metal, and shape new coins. Who'd know that the purity wasn't what it had been? The purity was just a little "watered down."
In the history of coinage, we see what happens when the standards of purity aren't maintained. A little of the cheap stuff is added. And then it happens again. And again. Over the course of months or years or decades, there is virtually no precious metal left in the coins.
Could that ever happen with doctrine? Just a little something wrong is allowed to stand. Over time, a little more base alloy is snuck in. Slowly changes are made and people don't notice.
Purity of doctrine is important. Faith lives from the truth. Of course, in this sinful world, errors and false doctrine will continue to hound us. That doesn't mean that errors and false doctrine are okay. But neither does it mean we're damned to hell if our doctrinal comprehension should happen to be in error on some point.
In coinage, base alloy can eventually turn the coins into worthless slugs; the treasure can be destroyed through slow dilution. So too, in doctrine, so much "base alloy" has been added in some churches that they are no longer Christian -- they no longer possess the treasure.
When people get upset over a "little thing" like a "minor doctrinal point," it's not because they're hard-nosed legalists. (Well, sometimes it is. But not always.) It's often due to their proper love of what is good and what is true, and their fervant desire not to lose that treasure.
1 Kings 19:11-12
The OT reading recently was the story of Elijah escaping from Ahab after the Baal/Yahweh showdown at Mount Carmel.
"The Lord was not in the wind. ...
The Lord was not in the earthquake. ...
The Lord was not in the fire."
But there were all those times God did send wind and earthquakes and fire, like the Flood and other judgments. And even times when the Lord was IN the wind and the earthquakes and the fire. Think of the wind at the crossing of the Red Sea (Ex 14). And the earthquakes and fire at Sinai (Ex 19). And the fire at the calling of Moses (Ex 3) and when Aaron's sons burned the off-limits incense (Lev 10).
So it's not that God is never in the wind and the earthquake and the fire. But the comfort is that God comes looking for us when we run away, puts up with our pity parties, and assures us that the gates of hell shall not prevail against His Church (no matter what it obviously looks like). The comfort is in the still, small voice of the word of God's forgiveness and God's faithfulness.
If we are faithless, He remains faithful, for He cannot deny Himself.
O faithful love that shepherded through faithless years;
Forgiving love that led us to Your truth;
Unyielding love that would not let us turn from You
But sent us forth to speak pardon and peace. (LSB 558)
"The Lord was not in the wind. ...
The Lord was not in the earthquake. ...
The Lord was not in the fire."
But there were all those times God did send wind and earthquakes and fire, like the Flood and other judgments. And even times when the Lord was IN the wind and the earthquakes and the fire. Think of the wind at the crossing of the Red Sea (Ex 14). And the earthquakes and fire at Sinai (Ex 19). And the fire at the calling of Moses (Ex 3) and when Aaron's sons burned the off-limits incense (Lev 10).
So it's not that God is never in the wind and the earthquake and the fire. But the comfort is that God comes looking for us when we run away, puts up with our pity parties, and assures us that the gates of hell shall not prevail against His Church (no matter what it obviously looks like). The comfort is in the still, small voice of the word of God's forgiveness and God's faithfulness.
If we are faithless, He remains faithful, for He cannot deny Himself.
O faithful love that shepherded through faithless years;
Forgiving love that led us to Your truth;
Unyielding love that would not let us turn from You
But sent us forth to speak pardon and peace. (LSB 558)
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Change of Plans
Why must Higher Things consistently plan their conferences for mere DAYS following Harry Potter releases???
The boys must read the book prior to arriving in Minneapolis, where many a friend will have already read the book and be discussing it -- and letting slip spoilers.
We put the audio-book on hold at the library. We had hoped to listen all day today and tomorrow and part of Monday. I don't know whether the audio-book is available in bookstores, but it's not available yet at the library (as I was disappointed to find this morning when I tried to pick up the book). Happily, the grocery store had a cartful of The Deathly Hallows for a mere $22 each, so I grabbed one this morning.
There's just not enough books to go around our house so that we can read it to ourselves prior to the HigherThings-imposed deadline. So we're attempting to do tag-team reading-aloud. Don't know if this is going to work. Sure did mess up all sorts of plans for having Jim Dale read to us today while we build swords, puttered in the kitchen, folded laundry, and other things.
If it weren't for HT, we could enjoy reading this book at the leisurely rate of 100 pages of reading aloud per day. But now it's just stressful to try to get to the end of the story in three short days. We've been waiting for this book for years. And now it's just become another chore for me instead of something to enjoy.
The boys must read the book prior to arriving in Minneapolis, where many a friend will have already read the book and be discussing it -- and letting slip spoilers.
We put the audio-book on hold at the library. We had hoped to listen all day today and tomorrow and part of Monday. I don't know whether the audio-book is available in bookstores, but it's not available yet at the library (as I was disappointed to find this morning when I tried to pick up the book). Happily, the grocery store had a cartful of The Deathly Hallows for a mere $22 each, so I grabbed one this morning.
There's just not enough books to go around our house so that we can read it to ourselves prior to the HigherThings-imposed deadline. So we're attempting to do tag-team reading-aloud. Don't know if this is going to work. Sure did mess up all sorts of plans for having Jim Dale read to us today while we build swords, puttered in the kitchen, folded laundry, and other things.
If it weren't for HT, we could enjoy reading this book at the leisurely rate of 100 pages of reading aloud per day. But now it's just stressful to try to get to the end of the story in three short days. We've been waiting for this book for years. And now it's just become another chore for me instead of something to enjoy.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Not Answering Questions
A homeschooling mother answers questions. It's what she does. It's who she is. EVERY mother answers enough questions to make her head spin. But homeschooling mothers have another whole arena of questions to answer. And ask. And explore.
Kids with VCFS ask questions. When my youngest was about 4-6 years old, she asked questions. Persistent questions. When I was overwhelmed by it, other mothers assured me that it was normal and healthy for kids to ask lots of questions. They said their kids ask lots of questions too. I remember thinking how they just didn't understand. After all, I have five other kids. They asked lots of questions too. But nothing like Maggie's questions! (Some people call this perseverant behavior.)
Gary and I have discovered that we ought not answer Maggie's questions. It can get a little maddening to answer the same question repeatedly. Maggie's repetitious questions are her way of checking on whether she is actually remembering something correctly. We've tried to teach her to say, "This is what I think I remember," and then state what she's thinking, and continue, "Am I right about it?" But she rarely does that.
After all, why should she? She wants to ask. And it works: usually I answer. After all, that's what homeschooling moms do.
This week though, I've been trying harder to catch myself. I feel like a huge meanie, refusing to answer her questions. But she's asking questions she knows the answers to. And she's asking them repeatedly. Sometimes I've been callously saying, "I'm not answering that; you know the answer," and then ignoring her. Sometimes I need to ask her questions, guiding her through some steps to help her realize that she actually does know the answer. But she's figuring out that she does indeed know the answer.
I think I need an Impatient Pill for when I'm feeling like a niiiice mommy who wants to help her child by answering questions. What Maggie needs much more than answers is the prodding to figure out that she knows the answer already.
Kids with VCFS ask questions. When my youngest was about 4-6 years old, she asked questions. Persistent questions. When I was overwhelmed by it, other mothers assured me that it was normal and healthy for kids to ask lots of questions. They said their kids ask lots of questions too. I remember thinking how they just didn't understand. After all, I have five other kids. They asked lots of questions too. But nothing like Maggie's questions! (Some people call this perseverant behavior.)
Gary and I have discovered that we ought not answer Maggie's questions. It can get a little maddening to answer the same question repeatedly. Maggie's repetitious questions are her way of checking on whether she is actually remembering something correctly. We've tried to teach her to say, "This is what I think I remember," and then state what she's thinking, and continue, "Am I right about it?" But she rarely does that.
After all, why should she? She wants to ask. And it works: usually I answer. After all, that's what homeschooling moms do.
This week though, I've been trying harder to catch myself. I feel like a huge meanie, refusing to answer her questions. But she's asking questions she knows the answers to. And she's asking them repeatedly. Sometimes I've been callously saying, "I'm not answering that; you know the answer," and then ignoring her. Sometimes I need to ask her questions, guiding her through some steps to help her realize that she actually does know the answer. But she's figuring out that she does indeed know the answer.
I think I need an Impatient Pill for when I'm feeling like a niiiice mommy who wants to help her child by answering questions. What Maggie needs much more than answers is the prodding to figure out that she knows the answer already.
Piles in the Garage
For the last few weeks, I've been trying to sort. There's too much stuff in the house. I have a pile in the garage that is destined for the dumpster. A pile that is headed for Goodwill. A pile that will probably be stored in the house as our own little "stash" (something for Philip to raid when he moves out in a couple of months). A pile of stuff that needs to be kept, but must be put in a more reasonable place than where it currently lives.
Over the past 15 years, I have definitely become one of those people with a Depression-Era mindset. Things can't be thrown out because you know there won't be money to replace it later. I hate storing and packratting; if there's much of that, you can't find things when you need them anyhow. But it's hard to get rid of things, especially with Maggie's special needs. I eliminated so many toys when she was 4 or 5, and it turned out that toys I'd thought she would've grown out of were actually toys she hadn't grow into yet. That makes me hesitant to get rid of too much.
Nevertheless, today I have gotten rid of
the wicker paper-plate supports,
quite a few tablecloths,
gobs of plastic spoons and forks saved by my in-laws,
an aluminum saucepan,
bunches of old ice-cream buckets,
many board games,
picture cards to reinforce kids' Bible study,
and much more.
At meals, we're currently using the leftover napkins from our wedding. (Did you know that paper napkins get a bit stiff and non-absorbent after 26 years?)
I'm still struggling with what to do with the rocker. Sometimes things just break beyond repair. But when it's got memories of many babies rocked in the chair for two or more generations, you keep thinking that maybe you should find somebody else who has more skills, somebody who might be able to fix it.
Still lots of clothes and books to go through, and more closets and other things tucked away. This takes more brain effort than I have to spare at the moment.
Over the past 15 years, I have definitely become one of those people with a Depression-Era mindset. Things can't be thrown out because you know there won't be money to replace it later. I hate storing and packratting; if there's much of that, you can't find things when you need them anyhow. But it's hard to get rid of things, especially with Maggie's special needs. I eliminated so many toys when she was 4 or 5, and it turned out that toys I'd thought she would've grown out of were actually toys she hadn't grow into yet. That makes me hesitant to get rid of too much.
Nevertheless, today I have gotten rid of
the wicker paper-plate supports,
quite a few tablecloths,
gobs of plastic spoons and forks saved by my in-laws,
an aluminum saucepan,
bunches of old ice-cream buckets,
many board games,
picture cards to reinforce kids' Bible study,
and much more.
At meals, we're currently using the leftover napkins from our wedding. (Did you know that paper napkins get a bit stiff and non-absorbent after 26 years?)
I'm still struggling with what to do with the rocker. Sometimes things just break beyond repair. But when it's got memories of many babies rocked in the chair for two or more generations, you keep thinking that maybe you should find somebody else who has more skills, somebody who might be able to fix it.
Still lots of clothes and books to go through, and more closets and other things tucked away. This takes more brain effort than I have to spare at the moment.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Heavy Cream
I've been skimming only the very top of the cream, the really thick stuff, the stuff that whips up nice for desserts. The cream jar happens to be full to the brim right now. (Ah, the luxury!!)
A child took a nearly full jar of milk from the fridge and asked about starting a new cream-jar. "Nope," I said, "I already skimmed that one." He looked quizzically at the layer of cream floating on the milk. I continued, "I've only been skimming the heavy cream. You know, the stuff that sits at the very top that's all thick."
Sits at the top of the jar? Didn't we learn in science class that the stuff on top is the lightest, the least dense? What's heavy goes to the bottom of the jar. So what's with the term heavy cream?
A child took a nearly full jar of milk from the fridge and asked about starting a new cream-jar. "Nope," I said, "I already skimmed that one." He looked quizzically at the layer of cream floating on the milk. I continued, "I've only been skimming the heavy cream. You know, the stuff that sits at the very top that's all thick."
Sits at the top of the jar? Didn't we learn in science class that the stuff on top is the lightest, the least dense? What's heavy goes to the bottom of the jar. So what's with the term heavy cream?
Environmentalist Theology
Liberals don't want to believe in original sin. They think children are by nature good and sweet and wonderful. They think it is the way we bring up people that ruins them. Criminals wouldn't be criminals, after all, unless they'd been victimized first.
Nature is good and pure and gentle. (Now, don't tell me about lions eating gazelles. That's good and gentle too, silly.) It is eeeevil man that destroys the environment, makes plastics, and cuts down thejungles rainforests so that little critters are left homeless.
So where DID this evil greed come from that destroys the environment? How did the purity of the native peoples get twisted into something so horrible that we now do wretched things like drive SUVs? Didn't we learn our greed from somebody? But from whom ... because we're born all nicey-nice and only learn to be bad from being taught to be bad? So who was the first Bad One?
Nature is good and pure and gentle. (Now, don't tell me about lions eating gazelles. That's good and gentle too, silly.) It is eeeevil man that destroys the environment, makes plastics, and cuts down the
So where DID this evil greed come from that destroys the environment? How did the purity of the native peoples get twisted into something so horrible that we now do wretched things like drive SUVs? Didn't we learn our greed from somebody? But from whom ... because we're born all nicey-nice and only learn to be bad from being taught to be bad? So who was the first Bad One?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I Hate Shopping
I'm not coping well.
It's gotten so I hate going to town to do the errands. Yesterday was errand day. I managed to blow it off. Of course, that means I had to do it today. But today I just couldn't bear the thought of 4-5 hours of errands and shopping. So I blew it off again. I took the kids to Pizza Hut for lunch. (Going to a restaurant for no reason? That's unusual enough that Paul threatened to call the police and have them arrest me and demand information on where the real mother is.) Then I let Andrew pick up an item for a new Belegarth sword while I picked up a little fruit at Aldi.
I had intended to blow off more of the afternoon by going to the arboretum and sitting by the lake, reading to the kids and doing some fun stuff for me while Paul took photographs. Maggie wasn't keen on it because that lake doesn't have swimming. Paul decided to work on his pictures on the computer. So I did a little housecleaning and laundry. But I spent the day looking forward to blowing off the evening at the beach.
We got to the beach only to be disappointed that the rules had changed. They used to charge entry fee until 6:00. Then a couple of years ago, they changed it to 7:00. We got there tonight (first time to the beach this summer) and the gate is now monitored until 9:00. So much for that. Pretty disappointing. Maggie's wondering if we can buy a pool for the backyard now....
It's gotten so I hate going to town to do the errands. Yesterday was errand day. I managed to blow it off. Of course, that means I had to do it today. But today I just couldn't bear the thought of 4-5 hours of errands and shopping. So I blew it off again. I took the kids to Pizza Hut for lunch. (Going to a restaurant for no reason? That's unusual enough that Paul threatened to call the police and have them arrest me and demand information on where the real mother is.) Then I let Andrew pick up an item for a new Belegarth sword while I picked up a little fruit at Aldi.
I had intended to blow off more of the afternoon by going to the arboretum and sitting by the lake, reading to the kids and doing some fun stuff for me while Paul took photographs. Maggie wasn't keen on it because that lake doesn't have swimming. Paul decided to work on his pictures on the computer. So I did a little housecleaning and laundry. But I spent the day looking forward to blowing off the evening at the beach.
We got to the beach only to be disappointed that the rules had changed. They used to charge entry fee until 6:00. Then a couple of years ago, they changed it to 7:00. We got there tonight (first time to the beach this summer) and the gate is now monitored until 9:00. So much for that. Pretty disappointing. Maggie's wondering if we can buy a pool for the backyard now....
Dumb Jokes
How do they circumcise a whale?
They send down four skin divers.
Bert asked Ernie if he wanted ice cream,
and he answered, "Sure, Bert."
Why did the tiger eat the tightrope walker?
He wanted a balanced meal.
What did the mother buffalo say to her son when he went off to school?
"Bye, son."
Where did the little king keep his little armies?
Up his little sleevies.
They send down four skin divers.
Bert asked Ernie if he wanted ice cream,
and he answered, "Sure, Bert."
Why did the tiger eat the tightrope walker?
He wanted a balanced meal.
What did the mother buffalo say to her son when he went off to school?
"Bye, son."
Where did the little king keep his little armies?
Up his little sleevies.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Not Our Ways
The following was taken from the tape from Bible class that I happened to listen to during this morning's jog. It was from a class on Acts quite a while back. I wonder if Pastor meant that this had something to do with us, and not just the captives that went to Babylon. Like as if it might have to do with walking by faith and not by sight.
When Judah was carted off to Babylon, the temptation for many of them was to believe that God's promises were a lie, that they would not come to pass. So in Paul's sermon (Acts 13), "I will work a work in your days, a work which you will by no means believe," that in effect says that it will be through the destruction of you -- through the Babylonian captivity -- that I will work my work, my salvation.
That is what you have in the cross. God says, "I'm gonna do something in you. You won't believe it even if you're told. I'm going to save the whole world through the death of a Jew." People think, "Man, I just can't accept that!" But God says, "I'm going to work a work in your days that, even when you hear it, you won't accept it."
For the prophet Habakkuk, he prays, "Will You not DO something? Look at this rebellious, impenitent people." Then the Lord says, "Yeah, I'm gonna do something. I told you this before. I'm going to raise up the Babylonians. They're going to come and conquer you and carry off your people." "WHAT?" Habakkuk responds, "That's NOT what I had in mind!"
Then the Lord tells Habakkuk to write the promise made to Abraham and put it on a placard. "In you and in your Seed all the nations of the earth shall be blessed" would be written on a signboard for the people to read as they were being carried off in chains to Babylon. They see the promise, but it now looks to be completely empty, gutted. Then the Lord adds, "The just shall live by faith." Faith in the promise. Those who are justified live by faith in the promise. That was their comfort to take with them. So Habakkuk's walking around with a sign -- what an idiot he looked to be. But this was God's plan.
When Judah was carted off to Babylon, the temptation for many of them was to believe that God's promises were a lie, that they would not come to pass. So in Paul's sermon (Acts 13), "I will work a work in your days, a work which you will by no means believe," that in effect says that it will be through the destruction of you -- through the Babylonian captivity -- that I will work my work, my salvation.
That is what you have in the cross. God says, "I'm gonna do something in you. You won't believe it even if you're told. I'm going to save the whole world through the death of a Jew." People think, "Man, I just can't accept that!" But God says, "I'm going to work a work in your days that, even when you hear it, you won't accept it."
For the prophet Habakkuk, he prays, "Will You not DO something? Look at this rebellious, impenitent people." Then the Lord says, "Yeah, I'm gonna do something. I told you this before. I'm going to raise up the Babylonians. They're going to come and conquer you and carry off your people." "WHAT?" Habakkuk responds, "That's NOT what I had in mind!"
Then the Lord tells Habakkuk to write the promise made to Abraham and put it on a placard. "In you and in your Seed all the nations of the earth shall be blessed" would be written on a signboard for the people to read as they were being carried off in chains to Babylon. They see the promise, but it now looks to be completely empty, gutted. Then the Lord adds, "The just shall live by faith." Faith in the promise. Those who are justified live by faith in the promise. That was their comfort to take with them. So Habakkuk's walking around with a sign -- what an idiot he looked to be. But this was God's plan.
Recently
We went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on Saturday. I couldn't decide whether I liked it or not. I got tired of the kids asking what I thought about it. Finally I decided that I think I didn't like it. Maybe I'll feel differently if I see it a few more times -- which I'm sure I will, given the people I live with. For some reason, the movie just made me terribly sad. And it wasn't sadness about Sirius or any of the obvious things in the story. I'm not sure what it was. My favorite part of the whole movie was when Neville knocked the wand out of his opponent's hand when they were practicing for the D.A. I love Neville.
Maggie cannot take care of her hair. When the tangledness of her locks caused her to break the nice, thick, fat, sturdy handle of her hairbrush yesterday, that was the final straw. She now has hair that's about 4" long. It looks really cute and curly when it's finger-combed after being wet, but she decided to brush it smooth instead.
We spent a happy afternoon at Anthea's party yesterday. Sad that it is a farewell party. But the company brought great enjoyment into our day. Many pictures available at her facebook page. It was also a relief to me to be with other people as a certain child of mine chose to tell me several bald-faced lies earlier in the day, and that is about the worst thing I can think of for a child to do. So I was not in a happy mood to start.
Situations in individual congregations
and also from the synodical convention
causes us to pray:
Lord Jesus, Thou the Church's Head,
Thou art her one Foundation.
In Thee she trusts,
before Thee bows,
and waits for Thy salvation.
Built on this Rock secure, Thy Church shall endure
e'en though the world decay and all things pass away.
Oh, hear,
oh, hear us, Jesus!
Started the day with more to do than could ever be accomplished. Decided to postpone the weekly errands and most other jobs and concentrate on some overdue housecleaning. Instead, Andrew asked if he could start the intense and effective drawing correspondance-course that I enrolled Paul in a while back. That took an hour and a half to find the materials, watch the introductory videos, get the worksheets copied, and get started. Wasn't what I'd planned for the day, but I love it when Andrew gets an itch to learn something new.
Didn't get much sleep last night. I'd started the flour soaking for bread before we went to Anthea's, thinking that I'd come home and make bread in the evening. Well, we didn't get home till after 8:00. Started the bread. Got a phone call and let it over-rise (in other words, I forgot about it altogether). When I finally got it shaped and rising, and the oven was preheating, I dinked around on the computer for a while. Finally I began to wonder why the timer hadn't gone off to take the bread out of the oven. But I wasn't smelling the deliciousness of baking bread, and I certainly wasn't smelling bread starting to burn. So I kept catching up on blogs and email. Finally, "What on earth is going on with the bread? Is the heat too low? Did I forget to turn on the timer?" I arrived in the kitchen to find four loaves still rising on the counter. I hadn't put them in the oven yet. Yikes! (You who have memories may remember that I told you that I have no memory any more.) My goodness, we have big FLUFFY bread. (At least they didn't overrise and thus fall flat.) I took the bread out of the oven at 3 a.m. (Yes, you can roll your eyes. I'm rolling mine!) I can almost guarantee that I will fall asleep reading the joint history lesson to the kids when Paul gets home.
The crop-duster is flying back and forth in the back yard today. It is utterly amazing to watch his feats of aeronautic acrobats necessary to do his job. But it kind of makes me shudder to think of those poisonous chemicals being sprayed all through the air I'm breathing. The kids are enjoying the show at the moment.
Maggie cannot take care of her hair. When the tangledness of her locks caused her to break the nice, thick, fat, sturdy handle of her hairbrush yesterday, that was the final straw. She now has hair that's about 4" long. It looks really cute and curly when it's finger-combed after being wet, but she decided to brush it smooth instead.
We spent a happy afternoon at Anthea's party yesterday. Sad that it is a farewell party. But the company brought great enjoyment into our day. Many pictures available at her facebook page. It was also a relief to me to be with other people as a certain child of mine chose to tell me several bald-faced lies earlier in the day, and that is about the worst thing I can think of for a child to do. So I was not in a happy mood to start.
Situations in individual congregations
and also from the synodical convention
causes us to pray:
Lord Jesus, Thou the Church's Head,
Thou art her one Foundation.
In Thee she trusts,
before Thee bows,
and waits for Thy salvation.
Built on this Rock secure, Thy Church shall endure
e'en though the world decay and all things pass away.
Oh, hear,
oh, hear us, Jesus!
Started the day with more to do than could ever be accomplished. Decided to postpone the weekly errands and most other jobs and concentrate on some overdue housecleaning. Instead, Andrew asked if he could start the intense and effective drawing correspondance-course that I enrolled Paul in a while back. That took an hour and a half to find the materials, watch the introductory videos, get the worksheets copied, and get started. Wasn't what I'd planned for the day, but I love it when Andrew gets an itch to learn something new.
Didn't get much sleep last night. I'd started the flour soaking for bread before we went to Anthea's, thinking that I'd come home and make bread in the evening. Well, we didn't get home till after 8:00. Started the bread. Got a phone call and let it over-rise (in other words, I forgot about it altogether). When I finally got it shaped and rising, and the oven was preheating, I dinked around on the computer for a while. Finally I began to wonder why the timer hadn't gone off to take the bread out of the oven. But I wasn't smelling the deliciousness of baking bread, and I certainly wasn't smelling bread starting to burn. So I kept catching up on blogs and email. Finally, "What on earth is going on with the bread? Is the heat too low? Did I forget to turn on the timer?" I arrived in the kitchen to find four loaves still rising on the counter. I hadn't put them in the oven yet. Yikes! (You who have memories may remember that I told you that I have no memory any more.) My goodness, we have big FLUFFY bread. (At least they didn't overrise and thus fall flat.) I took the bread out of the oven at 3 a.m. (Yes, you can roll your eyes. I'm rolling mine!) I can almost guarantee that I will fall asleep reading the joint history lesson to the kids when Paul gets home.
The crop-duster is flying back and forth in the back yard today. It is utterly amazing to watch his feats of aeronautic acrobats necessary to do his job. But it kind of makes me shudder to think of those poisonous chemicals being sprayed all through the air I'm breathing. The kids are enjoying the show at the moment.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Thinker?
Jane (the one who arm-twisted me into blogging) nominated me for a Thinking Blogger award. I'm not sure that I'm eligible, or that I'm even capable of joining in. I've been diligently trying to AVOID thinking. There are blogs I love to read but have been trying to discipline myself to avoid, or to check in very infrequently. I cook and I wash the clothes, I say my prayers and do schoolwork with the kids, and sometimes I clean house or do some editing. But thinking? That takes time. And effort. And gosh darn it, it's FUN and I can go overboard with it. So I've been trying so hard not to think and just do what I'm given to do. And here comes Jane, trying to get me to list the blogs that I enjoy that make me think. Oy!
The rules are
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.
2. Link to this post so everyone can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.
Given that Jane, Pr Stuckwisch, and Barbara were all tagged this week, I guess I'm not allowed to have them on my list (although I would've chosen them). So I think I will bestow the award on the blogs that I succumb to even though they make me think more than I wish to think:
Pastor Esget
Pastor Petersen
Pastor Weedon
Elephant's Child
Emily
Tortillas
I used to try making tortillas and get utterly frustrated. I gave up on the job. But at the rate my kids go through them, buying them was expensive. Furthermore, I wanted whole wheat instead of white flour, and real fat instead of something hydrogenated.
I found a tortilla maker online. (I bought mine from this company off ebay instead of directly through their website. At the time, it was about 20% cheaper.)
We've toyed with the recipe for a while, trying to find what's lowest fat yet without sacrificing flexibility, and how high a proportion of ww flour we can use without having crumbly tortillas. This is what we've come up with:
Makes 20 tortillas.
3 cups ww flour
2 cups white flour
2 teaspoons sea salt
1/2 to 3/4 cup lard
1 1/2 to 1 2/3 cup hot water
Mix dry ingredients. Using fingers to pinch and mix, combine flour with lard. Stir in hot water. Knead just long enough to mix. Cut into 20 equal-sized balls. Cover with upside-down bowl and let rest for 1-6 hours. Heat tortilla press and cast-iron skillets. Press dough ball for about 3 seconds, then brown both sides slightly in ungreased skillet. Let cool before storing in refrigerator. These will cost 1.5 to 3 cents a piece, depending on your grocery store prices.
Corn tortillas can be made without a press. But I don't think anybody should try this flour-tortillas recipe without the heated press.
I found a tortilla maker online. (I bought mine from this company off ebay instead of directly through their website. At the time, it was about 20% cheaper.)
We've toyed with the recipe for a while, trying to find what's lowest fat yet without sacrificing flexibility, and how high a proportion of ww flour we can use without having crumbly tortillas. This is what we've come up with:
Makes 20 tortillas.
3 cups ww flour
2 cups white flour
2 teaspoons sea salt
1/2 to 3/4 cup lard
1 1/2 to 1 2/3 cup hot water
Mix dry ingredients. Using fingers to pinch and mix, combine flour with lard. Stir in hot water. Knead just long enough to mix. Cut into 20 equal-sized balls. Cover with upside-down bowl and let rest for 1-6 hours. Heat tortilla press and cast-iron skillets. Press dough ball for about 3 seconds, then brown both sides slightly in ungreased skillet. Let cool before storing in refrigerator. These will cost 1.5 to 3 cents a piece, depending on your grocery store prices.
Corn tortillas can be made without a press. But I don't think anybody should try this flour-tortillas recipe without the heated press.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Lye
In the past couple of days, I have looked at FIVE grocery stores for lye. After all, I have a little soap to make. I hate shopping. It makes me cranky to shop. But I need lye. Problem is, there's no lye to be had.
I checked online tonight. Turns out that Red Devil has pulled their product for good. I couldn't tell whether it was due to liability issues or if sodium hydroxide might be an ingredient in meth. Either way, the only way to get lye for soap-making now is to order it online, in batches bigger than I want, and fill out paperwork for Hazmat. Furthermore, shipping fees are so high that it's going to cost me $3 for lye for a half-batch. At that price, it's going to take some thought to consider whether it'd be cheaper to buy soap.
"Oh dear, oh dear, whatever would we do without the government to protect us?" she grumbles.
I wonder if the Foxfire books tell how to make your own lye.
I checked online tonight. Turns out that Red Devil has pulled their product for good. I couldn't tell whether it was due to liability issues or if sodium hydroxide might be an ingredient in meth. Either way, the only way to get lye for soap-making now is to order it online, in batches bigger than I want, and fill out paperwork for Hazmat. Furthermore, shipping fees are so high that it's going to cost me $3 for lye for a half-batch. At that price, it's going to take some thought to consider whether it'd be cheaper to buy soap.
"Oh dear, oh dear, whatever would we do without the government to protect us?" she grumbles.
I wonder if the Foxfire books tell how to make your own lye.
A Gebra Named Al
Today we finished the worst book we've read in a long long time.
I'd heard great things in homeschool catalogs about A Gebra Named Al by Wendy Isdell. A book to help students understand algebra. A book to light a fire of interest in mathematics. And so forth.
We started reading it. The story started with the main character falling asleep, so that the story was set up that it was likely a dream. I hate those.
The story went on to having a whole bunch of characters named after elements in the periodic table. It talked about isotopes. It did cover the Order of Operations in arithmetic, but it was much more about science than about math.
The writing was poor. Unnecessary dialogue. Extraneous information. A simplistic plot taken from Wizard of Oz, but without any character development or subplots.
About 3/4 of the way through the book, we discovered that the author was a girl. The book was written in junior high, won a fiction-writing contest, and then was published before she finished high school. Well, it's really not bad when you take into account the age and inexperience of the author. But on its own merits, the book was just pretty awful to read. This is not a book to read for enjoyment; it would be read purely for Educational Purposes. Problem was, it didn't do a good job of teaching either.
We didn't care for Phantom Tollbooth either. But it was far superior to the Gebra book. In case any of my friends have considered spending their few homeschool dollars on this book, or spending a few hours reading it aloud, I would suggest you not bother.
I'd heard great things in homeschool catalogs about A Gebra Named Al by Wendy Isdell. A book to help students understand algebra. A book to light a fire of interest in mathematics. And so forth.
We started reading it. The story started with the main character falling asleep, so that the story was set up that it was likely a dream. I hate those.
The story went on to having a whole bunch of characters named after elements in the periodic table. It talked about isotopes. It did cover the Order of Operations in arithmetic, but it was much more about science than about math.
The writing was poor. Unnecessary dialogue. Extraneous information. A simplistic plot taken from Wizard of Oz, but without any character development or subplots.
About 3/4 of the way through the book, we discovered that the author was a girl. The book was written in junior high, won a fiction-writing contest, and then was published before she finished high school. Well, it's really not bad when you take into account the age and inexperience of the author. But on its own merits, the book was just pretty awful to read. This is not a book to read for enjoyment; it would be read purely for Educational Purposes. Problem was, it didn't do a good job of teaching either.
We didn't care for Phantom Tollbooth either. But it was far superior to the Gebra book. In case any of my friends have considered spending their few homeschool dollars on this book, or spending a few hours reading it aloud, I would suggest you not bother.
Chores
I make my kids do chores.
I am lousy at making my kids do chores. They don't do nearly enough. I am not good at leaving them with the responsibility: I check up on them too often, or nag, or take the job from them to help out. I too too easily think of myself as the maid here.
Today the next-door neighbor munchkins came over to ask if Maggie could come out to play. We'd just finished lunch and some schoolwork. Maggie was starting to do the dinner dishes, which is one of her daily chores. When she was done we were going to do history and geography and a few other things. The kids responded that Maggie couldn't come out to play because she had to do the dishes.
Andrew heard the little boy (about age 7) mumble as he walked away, "Maggie's mom is so lazy."
Andrew was offended that anybody would say that about his mom. But I figured out the problem: Maggie is expected to do chores that Turk thinks are my job. So obviously I don't do anything around here, since Cindermaggie is doing all the work.
.... and pastors only work for an hour on Sunday morning. Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!
I am lousy at making my kids do chores. They don't do nearly enough. I am not good at leaving them with the responsibility: I check up on them too often, or nag, or take the job from them to help out. I too too easily think of myself as the maid here.
Today the next-door neighbor munchkins came over to ask if Maggie could come out to play. We'd just finished lunch and some schoolwork. Maggie was starting to do the dinner dishes, which is one of her daily chores. When she was done we were going to do history and geography and a few other things. The kids responded that Maggie couldn't come out to play because she had to do the dishes.
Andrew heard the little boy (about age 7) mumble as he walked away, "Maggie's mom is so lazy."
Andrew was offended that anybody would say that about his mom. But I figured out the problem: Maggie is expected to do chores that Turk thinks are my job. So obviously I don't do anything around here, since Cindermaggie is doing all the work.
.... and pastors only work for an hour on Sunday morning. Ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!
Blogging
I've had people tell me that I shouldn't blog.
One person told me that, if I don't want to get into long and involved theological arguments and debates, then I shouldn't blog at all. Another person told me that I don't have time for blogging, and he has a valid point. Furthermore, I've spent many years thinking that real-life interaction is far preferable to socializing via the computer's electronic means.
But Anthea blogged today about her upcoming move. She mentioned that she'd try to update her LiveJournal more often, and that made me so happy. My friend Erin is considering starting a blog. I hate to say anything to put pressure on her, but I know I would be very happy to read little snippets about what she (and the kids!) are up to. Even when it's just the mundane things.
I love to read my daughters' blogs. (And even my sons' who are still living here in the same house!) Sure, I talk to the girls on the phone. But I want to read the little things about Rachel's kitten or Katie seeing Nat on campus (even if she didn't get to talk to him much) and both girls' job hunts. Those little things in life are what allow me to share in the unimportant daily things that make up so much of people's lives.
Once upon a time, I spent about a year writing a nice long newsy letter each week to family. I would photocopy it and send one to my in-laws and my folks and my aunt. Now, my blog accomplishes that for me, without photocopying and without paying the post office.
One person told me that, if I don't want to get into long and involved theological arguments and debates, then I shouldn't blog at all. Another person told me that I don't have time for blogging, and he has a valid point. Furthermore, I've spent many years thinking that real-life interaction is far preferable to socializing via the computer's electronic means.
But Anthea blogged today about her upcoming move. She mentioned that she'd try to update her LiveJournal more often, and that made me so happy. My friend Erin is considering starting a blog. I hate to say anything to put pressure on her, but I know I would be very happy to read little snippets about what she (and the kids!) are up to. Even when it's just the mundane things.
I love to read my daughters' blogs. (And even my sons' who are still living here in the same house!) Sure, I talk to the girls on the phone. But I want to read the little things about Rachel's kitten or Katie seeing Nat on campus (even if she didn't get to talk to him much) and both girls' job hunts. Those little things in life are what allow me to share in the unimportant daily things that make up so much of people's lives.
Once upon a time, I spent about a year writing a nice long newsy letter each week to family. I would photocopy it and send one to my in-laws and my folks and my aunt. Now, my blog accomplishes that for me, without photocopying and without paying the post office.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Blonde Joke
Following is my favorite Blonde Joke, taken from the Irreverent Joke Page of Backwoods Home Magazine.
In honor of Melynda, who accused me on Pr Petersen's blog of spending a whole evening at Jane's telling blonde jokes.
And for Sean (who likes jokes) and his lovely blonde bride-to-be Rebekah, who are eagerly anticipating Saturday's wedding.
And for some very smart blondes in Adell.
A blonde walks into a bank in New York City and asks for the loan officer. She says she’s going to Europe on business for two weeks and needs to borrow $5000. The bank officer says the bank will need some kind of security for the loan, so the blonde hands over the keys to a new Rolls Royce. The car is parked on the street in front of the bank. She has the title. Everything checks out.
The bank agrees to accept the car as collateral for the loan. The bank’s president and its officers all enjoy a good laugh at the blonde for being so dumb as to use a $250,000 Rolls as collateral against a $5000 loan. An employee of the bank then proceeds to drive the Rolls into the bank’s underground garage and parks it there.
Two weeks later, the blonde returns, repays the $5000 and the interest, which comes to $15.41. The loan officer says, "Miss, we are very happy to have had your business, and this transaction has worked out very nicely, but we are a little puzzled. While you were away, we checked you out and found that you are a multimillionaire. What puzzles us is why would you bother to borrow $5000."
The blond replies, "Where else in New York City can I park my car for two weeks for only $15.41 and expect it to be there when I return?"
In honor of Melynda, who accused me on Pr Petersen's blog of spending a whole evening at Jane's telling blonde jokes.
And for Sean (who likes jokes) and his lovely blonde bride-to-be Rebekah, who are eagerly anticipating Saturday's wedding.
And for some very smart blondes in Adell.
A blonde walks into a bank in New York City and asks for the loan officer. She says she’s going to Europe on business for two weeks and needs to borrow $5000. The bank officer says the bank will need some kind of security for the loan, so the blonde hands over the keys to a new Rolls Royce. The car is parked on the street in front of the bank. She has the title. Everything checks out.
The bank agrees to accept the car as collateral for the loan. The bank’s president and its officers all enjoy a good laugh at the blonde for being so dumb as to use a $250,000 Rolls as collateral against a $5000 loan. An employee of the bank then proceeds to drive the Rolls into the bank’s underground garage and parks it there.
Two weeks later, the blonde returns, repays the $5000 and the interest, which comes to $15.41. The loan officer says, "Miss, we are very happy to have had your business, and this transaction has worked out very nicely, but we are a little puzzled. While you were away, we checked you out and found that you are a multimillionaire. What puzzles us is why would you bother to borrow $5000."
The blond replies, "Where else in New York City can I park my car for two weeks for only $15.41 and expect it to be there when I return?"
Twenty Years Ago
Pastor Bender was ordained on this day, twenty years ago.
O eternal, merciful God, You have spoken through Your own dear Son, saying that the harvest is plentiful but the laborers few and that we should ask You, the Lord of the harvest, to send laborers into Your harvest. Hear now our prayer on behalf of Peter who is ordained and consecrated to be Your minister in the Church. Strengthen him mightily to take up the word of truth and faithfully to administer Your holy sacraments.
O Lord Jesus Christ, our great High Priest, who gave Your own life to be a holy and perfect sacrifice for us and for our salvation, grant Peter a heart zealous for Your people and boldness to guide, comfort, admonish, and serve Your congregation with gentleness and wisdom. Fill him, Your undershepherd, with Your love that in Your name he will seek the straying and bear up the weak. Give him the heart never to grow weary in the service of Your flock.
O Holy Spirit, strengthen and keep him in the Word of truth and life, and support him in every time of trouble and distress. Grant fruit to his labors and, when the day of labor is ended, grant him to come with rejoicing before Your presence to receive with all the saints his portion in eternal salvation.
O eternal, merciful God, You have spoken through Your own dear Son, saying that the harvest is plentiful but the laborers few and that we should ask You, the Lord of the harvest, to send laborers into Your harvest. Hear now our prayer on behalf of Peter who is ordained and consecrated to be Your minister in the Church. Strengthen him mightily to take up the word of truth and faithfully to administer Your holy sacraments.
O Lord Jesus Christ, our great High Priest, who gave Your own life to be a holy and perfect sacrifice for us and for our salvation, grant Peter a heart zealous for Your people and boldness to guide, comfort, admonish, and serve Your congregation with gentleness and wisdom. Fill him, Your undershepherd, with Your love that in Your name he will seek the straying and bear up the weak. Give him the heart never to grow weary in the service of Your flock.
O Holy Spirit, strengthen and keep him in the Word of truth and life, and support him in every time of trouble and distress. Grant fruit to his labors and, when the day of labor is ended, grant him to come with rejoicing before Your presence to receive with all the saints his portion in eternal salvation.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Music and Lyrics
Upon recommendations of two daughters, my husband and I watched Music and Lyrics with Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore. It's a romantic comedy. The basic plot is that an 80s has-been pop star needs to come up with a song right now to supply to the hottest young blonde pop star of the day. The guy can write melodies, but not lyrics. Turns out that the lady watering his plants has a knack for putting words together in just the right way. So they begin to work together under an unreasonable deadline.
This is one of the funniest movies I've seen in a long time. The language is tamer than much of what's on prime-time tv. The unchaste behavior is implied but not seen, and sex is a very minor part of the plot. (There is, however, "dancing" that is typical of rock videos today.) No violence. We started laughing at the introductory scene which shows the hit music video of the 80s has-been fellow, and kept laughing throughout! This is one I'll want to see again.
This is one of the funniest movies I've seen in a long time. The language is tamer than much of what's on prime-time tv. The unchaste behavior is implied but not seen, and sex is a very minor part of the plot. (There is, however, "dancing" that is typical of rock videos today.) No violence. We started laughing at the introductory scene which shows the hit music video of the 80s has-been fellow, and kept laughing throughout! This is one I'll want to see again.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
My Lard-for-Soap
I HAVE NO MEMORY!!
If I were 80, my kids would be gathering the following evidence (and other stories like it) to prove that I am not safe in my home, and should be committed to the nursing home where somebody could keep an eye on me.
While Philip was fetching the side of beef from the butcher on Saturday, I was cleaning the frost build-up out of the deep-freeze. Because of space issues with the last couple of half-cows, I've had to use space in the church freezer. So the first thing I did was take the properly weighed-and-measured tallow and lard out of the freezer, stick it in the cooler, and plan to return it to whichever freezer had space for it.
Turned out that the cow was a smaller one. The soap ingredients could've gone back into my freezer here. But I was pressed to get lunch on the table. "I'll do it later. I'll remember. I have to try hard to remember. Of course I'll remember: if I don't I'll be tripping over the cooler in the garage."
I forgot.
I even tripped over the cooler. But did that ring a bell in my brain. NOOOOOO!
When I went to grab the cooler today for hauling home groceries, it was heavy. The tallow was still solid. But the lard had thawed, softened, and spilled. I managed to scoop up some still-not-liquified lard and put it in the fridge. But I had a LOT of liquid piggy-fat to clean out of the cooler.
We didn't leave for errands as early as I'd desired.
And now I have to reweigh my lard amounts.
AND I don't know if I can refreeze, or if I have to make a LOT of soap in the next couple of weeks.
If I were 80, my kids would be gathering the following evidence (and other stories like it) to prove that I am not safe in my home, and should be committed to the nursing home where somebody could keep an eye on me.
While Philip was fetching the side of beef from the butcher on Saturday, I was cleaning the frost build-up out of the deep-freeze. Because of space issues with the last couple of half-cows, I've had to use space in the church freezer. So the first thing I did was take the properly weighed-and-measured tallow and lard out of the freezer, stick it in the cooler, and plan to return it to whichever freezer had space for it.
Turned out that the cow was a smaller one. The soap ingredients could've gone back into my freezer here. But I was pressed to get lunch on the table. "I'll do it later. I'll remember. I have to try hard to remember. Of course I'll remember: if I don't I'll be tripping over the cooler in the garage."
I forgot.
I even tripped over the cooler. But did that ring a bell in my brain. NOOOOOO!
When I went to grab the cooler today for hauling home groceries, it was heavy. The tallow was still solid. But the lard had thawed, softened, and spilled. I managed to scoop up some still-not-liquified lard and put it in the fridge. But I had a LOT of liquid piggy-fat to clean out of the cooler.
We didn't leave for errands as early as I'd desired.
And now I have to reweigh my lard amounts.
AND I don't know if I can refreeze, or if I have to make a LOT of soap in the next couple of weeks.
Women Submitting?
On Sunday, a female friend was lobbying my husband for something she wanted accomplished at synodical convention next week. I disagreed. She asked me why and I explained the reasons. She disagreed.
She continued to press Gary to agree with her. Then I suggested that if Gary did it, he might come home to find the doors locked and the locks changed. ;-)
Our friend did NOT approve of that. She said that women are supposed to submit to their husbands. She said the husband was the head and that he should be making his own decisions.
It didn't occur to me until today: isn't it odd that he's supposed to listen to her, but not to me?
She continued to press Gary to agree with her. Then I suggested that if Gary did it, he might come home to find the doors locked and the locks changed. ;-)
Our friend did NOT approve of that. She said that women are supposed to submit to their husbands. She said the husband was the head and that he should be making his own decisions.
It didn't occur to me until today: isn't it odd that he's supposed to listen to her, but not to me?
Tongue
Well, seeing as how Mom point-blank asked for an update, and because I suspect Katie and Rachel are wondering too....
We woke up this morning, and Rosie was still breathing. She'd rested comfortably through the night. We did the week's errands this morning -- and managed not to hit any cats as we left the garage.
Not long after we bought our last side of beef, Maggie discovered the Ramona videos at the library. They are FABULOUS! In one episode, Mom makes tongue for dinner because it's cheap and they're nearly out of grocery money at the time. Mom and Dad try to hide the identity of the meat from the kids, but tell the truth when asked directly. Ramona and Beezus flip out. As punishment, they get to make dinner the next night. Well, ever since, Maggie has wondered what tongue is like. She asked me to buy some. Now, I don't know about y'all, but around here you ain't gonna find tongue at the grocery stores. So when I bought me a cow last month [aside: I'm sure Mom and Rick and Sandy are humming a certain tune about now], I told the butcher that we wanted the tongue. We picked up the moo-cow on Saturday, and Maggie wanted tongue that very day. But I already had meals worked out, so the tongue had to wait til Tuesday.
We plunked the tongue in the crockpot for six hours on high, with a little barbecue sauce. Paul described it as somwhat like "meat pudding." The texture was indeed softer than most meats. So we offered some to Rosie, and she was SO happy to eat a bite. She's still not drinking. Last real amount of water she had was yesterday lunchtime. There's been no bleeding since bedtime last night.
The kitty has managed to sit herself up a couple of times. She's alert now and interested in what's going on around her. You can tell from her face that she's wanting to go pouncing and chasing. But she's not attempting anything yet. I have NO idea what we'll do to curtail her when she decides she's ready to go before she's actually ready to run. (Mom, I'm thinking about someone attached to a bed shortly after having a kidney removed, who decided he was ready to get up and walk.) Probably keeping her in a huge box is the best we'll be able to do. But for how long?
We woke up this morning, and Rosie was still breathing. She'd rested comfortably through the night. We did the week's errands this morning -- and managed not to hit any cats as we left the garage.
Not long after we bought our last side of beef, Maggie discovered the Ramona videos at the library. They are FABULOUS! In one episode, Mom makes tongue for dinner because it's cheap and they're nearly out of grocery money at the time. Mom and Dad try to hide the identity of the meat from the kids, but tell the truth when asked directly. Ramona and Beezus flip out. As punishment, they get to make dinner the next night. Well, ever since, Maggie has wondered what tongue is like. She asked me to buy some. Now, I don't know about y'all, but around here you ain't gonna find tongue at the grocery stores. So when I bought me a cow last month [aside: I'm sure Mom and Rick and Sandy are humming a certain tune about now], I told the butcher that we wanted the tongue. We picked up the moo-cow on Saturday, and Maggie wanted tongue that very day. But I already had meals worked out, so the tongue had to wait til Tuesday.
We plunked the tongue in the crockpot for six hours on high, with a little barbecue sauce. Paul described it as somwhat like "meat pudding." The texture was indeed softer than most meats. So we offered some to Rosie, and she was SO happy to eat a bite. She's still not drinking. Last real amount of water she had was yesterday lunchtime. There's been no bleeding since bedtime last night.
The kitty has managed to sit herself up a couple of times. She's alert now and interested in what's going on around her. You can tell from her face that she's wanting to go pouncing and chasing. But she's not attempting anything yet. I have NO idea what we'll do to curtail her when she decides she's ready to go before she's actually ready to run. (Mom, I'm thinking about someone attached to a bed shortly after having a kidney removed, who decided he was ready to get up and walk.) Probably keeping her in a huge box is the best we'll be able to do. But for how long?
Other Jokes
God was talking to one of His angels. "I just figured out how to rotate the earth so that it creates this really neat alternating pattern of light and darkness." The angel said, "So what are you going to do now?" God answered, "Ah, I think I'll just call it a day."
Moses was talking with God. "So let me get this straight. They get to have all the oil deposits, and we get to cut off the tip of our what?"
Moses was talking with God. "So let me get this straight. They get to have all the oil deposits, and we get to cut off the tip of our what?"
Monday, July 09, 2007
Table
Yesterday we were the recipients of some real furniture. [The aforementioned] Lily and Claire have a great-grandma who's moving into a smaller place. We were the lucky ones who got a very very nice dining room table and chairs.
Our first dinner table was handed down through my mom's family. My grandparents had it. My mom and her sister both had it in their homes. I love it for the memories. I love it for the border around the table: the border served the purpose of keeping glasses away from the edge of the table, as well as making a nice roadway for Hotwheels for little boys. But the bracing near the floor didn't allow for the chairs we have now: we could sit only two chairs around the table. (Definitely not a sufficient quantity of chairs!) There was also the problem that my mom and aunt said the table wobbled enough that children would often be groused at for shaking the table when someone was writing. That table is now used for sewing.
Our second dinner table was purchased for $20 used. Not in great shape then, but it was intended to serve only as our schoolroom table. Here it is, 18 years later, and holding up the dinner plates. That table was relegated to the garage today, awaiting more sorting of furniture, hand-me-down clothes, and cleaning of closets.
With the table, we were given the table linens and a pad. We put it on, desiring to keep a piece of "real" furniture in nice shape. But then Andrew had a question. "Why do people have nice furniture if all they're going to do is keep it covered up to protect it?" Hmmm. Good question. I don't have an answer for that yet. Nevertheless, I have seen altogether too many accidents with markers and epoxy to leave beautiful wood available for daily abuse.
Our first dinner table was handed down through my mom's family. My grandparents had it. My mom and her sister both had it in their homes. I love it for the memories. I love it for the border around the table: the border served the purpose of keeping glasses away from the edge of the table, as well as making a nice roadway for Hotwheels for little boys. But the bracing near the floor didn't allow for the chairs we have now: we could sit only two chairs around the table. (Definitely not a sufficient quantity of chairs!) There was also the problem that my mom and aunt said the table wobbled enough that children would often be groused at for shaking the table when someone was writing. That table is now used for sewing.
Our second dinner table was purchased for $20 used. Not in great shape then, but it was intended to serve only as our schoolroom table. Here it is, 18 years later, and holding up the dinner plates. That table was relegated to the garage today, awaiting more sorting of furniture, hand-me-down clothes, and cleaning of closets.
With the table, we were given the table linens and a pad. We put it on, desiring to keep a piece of "real" furniture in nice shape. But then Andrew had a question. "Why do people have nice furniture if all they're going to do is keep it covered up to protect it?" Hmmm. Good question. I don't have an answer for that yet. Nevertheless, I have seen altogether too many accidents with markers and epoxy to leave beautiful wood available for daily abuse.
Accident
Things are quiet here today and tears have been shed. Maggie and I were headed out to do the weekly errands, and when I moved the car I heard a very loud cat-cry. I'm not sure what I hit, or with what wheel, or how it happened, but Rosie was injured. She cannot walk, and there's been bleeding from damage to internal organs.
She fell off the piano last week and bomped her way down, hitting the keys, the bench, and the pedals. When she'd somewhat recuperated from that, she slipped on the injured leg and messed it up again. And then last week she also fell in one of her crazy antics and got caught [hanged] in the cord to the blinds, from which she was instantaneously rescued.
Just yesterday my little goddaughter Lily and her sister Claire were pointing out that a kitty was missing from Pastor B's house. I assured them that the kitty was fine and was living at my house now. And now look what I've done.
If Rosie manages to sleep this off and recuperate (which I doubt) she will not have very many more of those nine lives left to squander.
She fell off the piano last week and bomped her way down, hitting the keys, the bench, and the pedals. When she'd somewhat recuperated from that, she slipped on the injured leg and messed it up again. And then last week she also fell in one of her crazy antics and got caught [hanged] in the cord to the blinds, from which she was instantaneously rescued.
Just yesterday my little goddaughter Lily and her sister Claire were pointing out that a kitty was missing from Pastor B's house. I assured them that the kitty was fine and was living at my house now. And now look what I've done.
If Rosie manages to sleep this off and recuperate (which I doubt) she will not have very many more of those nine lives left to squander.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
1 Kings 19:10
Who said it?....
I have been very zealous for Yahweh God of hosts;
for the children of Israel have forsaken Your covenant,
torn down Your altars,
and killed Your prophets with the sword.
I alone am left;
and they seek to take my life.
As verse 18 indicates, Elijah was not entirely correct when he spoke those words. But those words actually were entirely true of Someone else.
And golly jeepers, look at where Elijah was saying those words. At the mountain of God. And he spent the night in a cave. Hmmmm.....
I have been very zealous for Yahweh God of hosts;
for the children of Israel have forsaken Your covenant,
torn down Your altars,
and killed Your prophets with the sword.
I alone am left;
and they seek to take my life.
As verse 18 indicates, Elijah was not entirely correct when he spoke those words. But those words actually were entirely true of Someone else.
And golly jeepers, look at where Elijah was saying those words. At the mountain of God. And he spent the night in a cave. Hmmmm.....
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