Who's Hiding in the Closet?

So a gay basketball player comes out of the closet and is lauded for it.  In the wake of the announcement, a sports analyst mentions that the Bible says homosexuality is a sin as is any sexual activity outside of marriage.   Oh my goodness -- the horrors of what he said!  The station apologizes.  The sports analyst is forced to apologize.

And then the news release about how the government is looking into enforcing anti-proselytizing regulations, thus forbidding soldiers from telling others about their faith, even to the point of being able to court-martial them.

Wow.

Do Your Sins Pile Up?

Some Christians think that we commit sins, and then we go to confession or go to church or go to the Lord's Supper, and [zap] Jesus wipes away our sins.  And then we go about life, oops, here-a-sin, there-a-sin, everywhere-a-sin-sin.  So we're dirtied up, and we have to go to church to be cleaned up again, ... and the cycle repeats itself.

Pastor often tells us, "NO, that's not what it is."  If it were, that would mean our confessing was the thing meriting God's forgiveness.  Also it would be denying original sin, as if there were days (or hours) (or moments) when we could be spiffied-up and sin-free.  Also it would mean we could have no certainty about our salvation because we could never know whether we'd [oops] sin and then die before having a chance to Get It Fixed At Church (or at least in our personal verbal prayers).  Pastor likes to use an example from a M*A*S*H episode, where Frank Burns is jumping back and forth across the threshold of the tent's door, chanting, "I'm in.  I'm out.  I'm in.  I'm out."  Being in God's grace is not like that; it's not like we're covered by His forgiveness, and then are out, and then are back in after the absolution in the Divine Service, and then back out again next time we lose our temper.

Hearing "I forgive you all your sins" does not mean a pile of sins is erased, brought down to zero-level, before we start piling up sins again.  No.  Because of Jesus' blood shed on the cross, God sees utter perfection, holiness, righteousness, purity.  Going to confession or going to the Lord's Supper doesn't change our status in God's eyes.  What absolution does is to reorient our blind eyes from our navel-gazing, and open our eyes to see ourselves as God sees us, as He declares us to be.

The Express

Ernie Davis -- 1961 Heisman trophy winner -- first black guy to do that.

The movie made a great story.  Gary and I enjoy sports movies.  This had the added themes of history-and-racism, as well as showing a strong family. 

[For those bothered by Language, there is some.  But it's not gratuitous; it's practically necessary with what's happening in the story.]

That Radio Is Driving Me Nuts

So an old heavy-metal rock band is coming out with a new album pretty soon.  On three different days since this song debuted recently, I've been at work listening to the DJ's push this song.  It plays repeatedly!  And it's long.  And very very repetitive.  "God is dead.  God is dead. God is dead."  I tried looking up the lyrics to count how many "God is deads" are in the song.  I couldn't find the lyrics online, but I'm guessing at least five dozen "God is deads" each time this thing gets air-time, which puts me at 200-400 "God is deads" per day.

As I drove home from work, I wondered what would be an appropriate and allowable response.

If I'm not busy I could walk over to the radio and turn down the volume.  I'd have to explain to my partner why, and tell him he could turn the volume back up in eight minutes or so.

I could sing out loud what I've been singing to myself -- a Good Friday hymn.  "O sorrow dread.  Our God is dead, but by His expiation of our guilt upon the cross, gained for us salvation" and subsequent stanzas.

I could sing out loud a response: "He lives, all glory to His name.  He lives, my Jesus still the same.  Oh, the sweet joy this sentence gives: I know that my Redeemer lives."

Or I could just continue to bite my lip and pray.  I've listened to shocking and putrid things on that radio station -- both songs and the talk/banter.  But until now I haven't considered anything so drastic as turning off the radio and forcing the other person to listen to the dreaded Quiet.

Third Use of the Law

My friend Cheryl recently pointed out a blog post.  In spite of trying to curtail my computer-time, I went and read.  I clicked on a link in the post, skimmed another blog post, clicked on another link, etc.  Apparently there is (again!) quite the ruckus in the Lutheran blogosphere about the place of "preaching sanctification."  But one thing became apparent to me in the 10 minutes that I bopped around a few sites (that is, before I grabbed control of myself and headed to the laundry room to wash sheets).

Much of the "Woe is us!  We need to preach more sanctification!" is motivated by the decaying culture out there in society.  There's political pressure for homosexual "marriage."  People kill babies unborn ... and born.  Foul language is prevalent.  Sleeping around is common.  Terrorists and madmen go on killing sprees.  This is terrible, and we want it fixed.  If the preachers preached more law, maybe it would change.

It sounds to me like what we're clamoring for is actually more "First Use of the Law."  Not more "third use."  But then again, maybe that's a clue that we don't use the law:  if it's preached, it will function as the Holy Spirit wills.

Garden Report

It's that time of year when we go through a LOT of hand soap, trying (somewhat in vain) to clean hands when we come in from the garden.

Two raised beds have been cleared of overgrown walking-onions, shoveled, fluffed with half-rotted leaves underneath, and the soil on top raked smooth.  A couple of mini-rows of lettuces have been planted.

The compost pile has been turned into a potato bed.  Last year we accidentally grew a nice batch of potatoes from some Yukon Gold that were supposed to be rotting in the compost pile.  Because the compost pile was lighter, airier, fluffier than typical garden dirt, the potatoes grew bigger, cleaner, and prettier-shaped.  Hey, I could use an accident like that again!   So I put a 15" layer of last fall's leaves on top of the compost bed.  In each spot where I was going to plant the potatoes, I put a pint of dried manure, the potato, and another pint of manure.  I then sprinkled a very thin layer of manure across the top of the leaf bed, just to finish off the bag.  On top of that, another 8" of leaves.  On top of that, about 3" of gunk off the burn pile (wood ash, dried leaves, leaf ash, and lovely rich dirt from stuff that had been at the bottom of the pile for a few years).  Now, will it work?  Will I grow a lovely batch of organic potatoes?  Or have I spent my energy today for no food, but just a day outside, enjoying the fresh air and the SUNshine and the birds singing?  Oh, and some sure-to-be-sore muscles.   ;-)

Eighty-percent-dead cherry tree is down.  Gary managed to knock it over without a chainsaw or ax or anything; that poor thing was in sorry shape (and yet somehow still quite productive).  The baby next to it is up and budding. It was a sucker that we left to grow, and for two years it bore fruit just like the parent-tree. 

I gathered the icky, wet, half-rotted, gucky leaves off the garden and put them in black 30-gallon garbage bags.  I hear tell that in the space of several months they should rot into leaf mold.  A)  Now the garden soil can begin drying a bit.  B)  Stunning that I can be so hyped over the prospect of rotting leaves -- woo hoo!

One of the lilacs looked pretty rotted-out too.  So I knocked that over.  Boy howdy, we have a LOT of wood to burn!

A Long Way From Chicago

The whole idea of "coming-of-age novels" makes me want to barf.

But maybe that's because of how those have been written in the wake of the Hippy 60's.

On the other hand, I suppose you could call the Little House books "coming-of-age novels" too, and I'm crazy about those.

A few years ago, a friend insisted we had to read listen to the Richard Peck novels, A Long Way from Chicago and A Year Down Yonder.   The audio-book is read by Ron McLarty ... and is a hoot.  A long car ride recently gave me the opportunity --finally!-- to listen to these stories.  These books are so good (and funny) (and heartwarming) (and great for grown-ups too) that it's almost hard to believe how new they are.

Mom, I think you'd like these.  Because of the Newbery awards, they're widely available in libraries.  And they're set in Piatt County, during the Depression years, with occasional references to places such as Bement and Decatur and Farmer City.  Fun fun fun!

(Warning to Katie, though.  It's not time for you to read them ... just like it's not time for you to be reading Ramona out loud in your house.)

Praying FOR People

I can wash the dishes "for you" because it will benefit you to have clean dishes.  Or I can wash the dishes "for you" because it's your job but I can do it instead of you.

Usually we think of praying "for somebody" something we do on their behalf, something that will benefit them.

But maybe sometimes we also pray "for somebody" by speaking to God prayers as if we were the other guy praying for himself.  Praying "in his stead," as it were.  Putting ourselves in the other guy's shoes and then begging God for what's good for that neighbor.



This may not be the way we usually think of "praying for him."  But maybe it's one of the ways we learn (experientially) about the words "substitutionary" and "vicarious" and "priestly."

Best Thing Ever

Every time we've sung "I Know That My Redeemer Lives" this Easter, I remembered my mother-in-law's funeral.  It was the final hymn.  The casket was escorted out by the funeral director, and the pall bearers (including my sons) followed. 

The guys put their hymnals back in the pew rack and filed out, singing the hymn (from memory) with the rest of the congregation. 

Is there anything in this earthly life that's better than that?

Liturgy as Teacher

How does a pastor know what to say when he's teaching somebody?

I've seen my pastor do it in numerous contexts: teaching from the liturgy.  Somebody is getting married?  My kids tell me he went through the vows and the wedding rite, talking about what it means, what it teaches, what it shows, what God does in that rite.  Or maybe a young pastor wants to know how to be a pastor, what to do.  So Pastor uses the ordination vows as a guideline to discuss the work of a pastor.  Or maybe people have questions about death.  He may start discussing the funeral rites.

I like that.  Not only does the liturgy tell us what we need to know when we're asking, but it also means that every time you're there again (a baptism, a wedding, a first communion, etc) you've got all that fleshed-out and expanded-upon discussion to illuminate what God is doing & saying in those rites.

The Culture's Attitude Toward the Church

Archbishop Francis Cardinal George said a couple of years ago, "I expect to die in bed, my successor will die in prison, and his successor will die a martyr in the public square."

President Matt Harrison quoted this yesterday on Issues Etc and added one more clause: "And his successor will help rebuild from the ashes."

Don't Break the Playmobiles

Zoe (age 2) was playing Playmobiles at our house.  She declared the little brunette to be Alia.  The little red-head was Zoe.  The man was Daddy.  The woman was Mommy.

But Zoe kept yanking at the Mommy's left hand.  "Zoe, don't do that.  You don't want to break the Mommy."  You see, Playmobile aprons come off and on.  Playmobile boots come off and on.  Playmobile hats come off and on.  Zoe was stymied: she could not take the left hand off.  "Mommy.  Hand.  Mommy.  Hand.  Hand.  Off."

Oh.  Sometimes it takes a while for me to get it.

The child finally consented to imagine that the Playmobile-Mommy's hand was off.

Holy Gho... Spiri.... Ghos.... Spirit!

Andrew has scolded me for saying "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost" at the start of prayers.  "Mommmmm, how long is it going to take for you to quit doing that?!"

Last week Maggie was distracted when she said "Holy Ghost" to match what she expected to be my mistake, but I got it right and said "Spirit."  So we clashed anyway.

So I busted a gut when David Scaer (who has a bit of the same problem) mentioned what his pastor told him:
"The Holy Ghost is scary." 



Oh, bad puns.  How I love them!

My Talents

People in their right minds never take pride in their talents.

spoken by Miss Maudie

(end of chapter 10 of To Kill a Mockingbird)

as to why Atticus's children didn't know 

about his awesome on-target shooting skills

Thing is, don't people take pride in their talents?  Miss Maudie's statement makes perfect sense -- our talents have been given to us by God and are nothing to take credit for.  But we do.

Recent Doings

Maggie and I began sewing some aprons last week.  Well, "began" "sewing" I guess.  I bought the fabric months ago.  We pinned and cut out the pieces.  Then it all sat.  Maybe we'll haul out the sewing machine later this week and begin again.

Snow in April.  Over and over.  Bah humbug.

Took all my days off last week to head off to Minnesota.  One evening with Paul and Mandy, enjoying supper and conversation and seeing their workplaces. 

Spent a whole morning relaxing in a Starbucks, all by myself, drinking tea and reading the Formula of Concord in preparation for attending three-quarters of the "It's the Law -- Or Is It?" conference put on by the Association of Confessional Lutherans.   As much as I love my family, my introverted self is yearning for another few days of self-indulgent quiet and reading ... and maybe movies.

Most of the speakers at the conference were great.  Rolf Preus especially.  I intend (?) to blog about my notes, not because anybody out there in cyberspace cares, but because this blog is where I keep my notes for myself.  But boy, I've been doing a lousy job blogging recently.  I want to, but there are other responsibilities.

Thoroughly enjoyed an evening out with friends.  It was an early evening: the other three had early flights that morning, and I was expecting a late night of driving the following evening.  But, oh, dinner was delicious, company was delightful, and conversation was interesting and encouraging.

The drive home from Minnesota was stressful.  My aging body doesn't take long drives well in the first place.  But because of the snowstorm, there was a huge accident with a three-hour delay.  Three hours -- that means by the time I hit Wisconsin, I should have been well over halfway home.  This is the rare instance when a person begins to wonder about GPS...   (No, I don't want GPS.  When we've used Andrew's, it kind of drives me nuts.  Ha ha ... drives me nuts.....)

Little girls are coming over tonight for a sleep-over.  Nathan has surgery tomorrow to remove one of the pins in his broken-but-healing ankle, and it will be early.

An attack of Murphy's Law:  A mere two hours after cleaning the oven, the meatloaf fat spilled over the edge of the pan and smoked up the kitchen.  Two weeks later, pizza-cheese fell off the pizza and burned onto the bottom of the oven, smoking up the kitchen.  Hey!  That'll teach me to clean the oven!!

New plan I should try for my goofing-off-on-computer time:  what if I went on Facebook only once a week?  Being away from the computer, I determined to catch up on FB this afternoon, but do it quickly, with light skimming.  Not exactly like exercising self-control as I ought, but it might be a better use of time without cutting off contact with loved ones who aren't Right Here In Person.

Oh, Poop!

Stealing a story that my son-in-law told about my granddaughters recently:


Alia and Zoe wouldn't stop talking about poop.  So Dad finally put an end to it: "No more using the word poop!"

Alia wanted to know if they could talk about pee.  No, that wasn't acceptable either.  

Could they talk about food?  Of course.
Could they talk about people?  Why, yes. 

"Well, you know, Daddy, when food goes through people it becomes ..."

Bye-Bye Van

Over two years ago, the transmission on the van started slipping.  Then there was a slight leak in the exhaust system.  That leak became a hole that made the van roar with the noise of a small airplane.

This past week we found a Corolla and bought it (even without taking it to our mechanic for a once-over ... still afraid that we may come to regret that).  The jury is still out on whether the new car will be driven primarily by Andrew or Gary.  They're probably going to trade back and forth until they decide.

The junk man came to haul away the van this weekend.  It is entirely unreasonable how sad it made me to see the van leave.  I had to fight back tears.  We owned it for 13 years; we took it on vacations; we drove it on gazillions of errands; we no longer have a vehicle with which to haul small furniture or bicycles.  Even though it was in cruddy shape, I miss it.  That's dumb, but that's the way it is.

Oh, Foolish Ones

When Jesus meets the disciples on the road to Emmaus that Sunday afternoon, they tell Him everything that had happened that weekend.  They had all the facts: their teacher's death, an empty tomb, women who heard a message from angels, Peter and John seeing that the body was missing.  "Too bad He didn't turn out to be the redeemer as we'd hoped." 

And Jesus tells them, "Oh, foolish ones and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken."  And then He proceeded to tell them AGAIN what the Old Testament taught about the Messiah.  And He proceeds to preach the Gospel to them.  He proceeds to tell them about the forgiveness won in the blood of the Messiah to save sinners.

Do you have that kind of patience when people are that tuned out to what you've been telling them?  I sure don't. 

When I am foolish and slow of heart to believe, Jesus doesn't scold.  He doesn't reason.  And He certainly doesn't give up in frustration because I didn't believe Him before.  He treats us just as He treated the Emmaus disciples.

He gives more.
And forgives yet again.

Purging and Cleaning and De-Cluttering, Oh My!

Why is there such a huge internal struggle between "We could use this" and "We need this"?  It's easy for my head to know which is which.  But to get rid of something we "could use" is a booger!

Skittle Bowl

Watching one episode of Downton Abbey, we gasped when we saw the family playing Skittle Bowl.  "Hey!  We have that!"

It belonged to my cousins, and it came to us when my aunt (Katie's godmother) was moving and thus decluttering.  Seeing the game in the show reminded Maggie of its existence.  She hauled it out and has been playing a lot.  She's figuring out how to "roll" the ball to obtain better scores.

And she's learning to score bowling.  Tsk tsk tsk -- the kids these days don't get to learn how to keep score in bowling because the computers do all the work for them.  But she seems to be figuring it out nicely this week at home.

I love the clatter of those wood pins falling -- it's such a pretty sound!

Snow

Snow-mixed-with-rain every day this week.  But we've comforted ourselves with "At least it's not sticking." 

And this morning, middle of April, I look out the window ...

and it's sticking. 
It's not deep enough to shovel yet.
But the grass, the deck, the neighbors' roofs -- snow.


Intellectually I know that I'll be leaving the house without a winter coat in, oh, say, a month.  But in my gut I don't believe it will ever happen:  I'll be wearing a winter coat for the rest of my life ....

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie

Well, I sure was schnookered by that review.

The reviewer wrote that "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie" was a movie about an unconventional school teacher in Scotland in the 1930's; she wanted to inculcate in her students the love of "goodness, truth, and beauty."  Hmm.  Sounds kind of like me.   And yet there were niggling remembrances from my childhood that this was a "bad movie" that grown-ups whispered about.  Really?  It was "bad" because she was an unconventional teacher?

So we ordered it from Netflix.  Put it in the DVD player.  And began to wonder if the movie might be going somewhere in spite of how it was stacking up. 

After 30 minutes, I turned it off because the "unconventional teacher" was having multiple affairs with men and brainwashing the girls with liberal politics.   Not wanting to Give Up On It Too Early, I checked Wiki.  Sure enough, this teacher's "unconventionality" is worlds --universes-- different from my "unconventionality." 

Yeah, the DVD is back in the mailbox even though I didn't see the end of the movie. 

And for those of you who know how much I hate stopping a book or magazine or movie or lecture in the middle, you know that's a drastic step!

Chilly Easter

So I think this was the first Easter Vigil ever where I sang the Song of the Three Young Men (including the lines "You frost and cold, bless the Lord; you ice and snow, bless the Lord") when there was ice and snow right outside the window next to me. 

And then shortly before sundown on Easter, after all the kids had left, I looked out the window, and what did I see?  Snow.  More snow than mere flurries.  Snow dumping out of the sky.  It had been warm enough that it didn't stick to the deck for more than a few minutes.  But still. 

Yoo hoo!  Spring?  Where are you?




But you know what was cool?  On Easter morning, with all the grey skies and the cloud cover, there was not a hint of being able to tell where the sun was hiding behind those thick clouds.  And as the organist was playing the intro to "Thanks to Thee, O Christ Victorious" I was hearing the [ahem] real first verse to that hymn (TLH 207) which is:
Like the golden sun ascending,
breaking through gloom of night,
on the earth its glory spending
so that darkness takes to flight,
thus my Jesus from the grave
and death's dismal dreadful cave
rose triumphant Easter morning
at the early purple dawning.

And that was when the sun broke through for all of about two minutes.  Just long enough to shed light on that hymn!  Like the sun and the creation just had to bust in and join the celebration indoors at the altar!

They Didn't Love Him Back

Okay, so Jesus was mocked.
And they beat Him up.
And the Father's wrath was poured upon Him.

Bad stuff.  Painful stuff.

But somehow, this morning, listening to Pilate say, "Your own nation and the chief priests have delivered You to me," a different pain appeared. 

Those people scheming to get Him killed, those were His people.  He chose them.  He gave them not only their lives and breath, but their nation and their land.  He sent them prophets to call them back to Himself.  And now for three years He'd been healing them, preaching to them, forgiving them, helping them.

And it annoyed them so much that they wanted Him dead. 

These weren't just some people that a nice God wanted to save because He's full of love and goodness.  These were His very own people. 

What ache is there like the ache of unrequited love, especially when you're pouring yourself out for one who not only doesn't appreciate it, but hates you because you love?

"Funny" to Forgive Somebody?

One morning recently, as we were opening at work, somebody inadvertently left out a step.  Beep beep beep.  The alarm sounded. The security company phoned to determine whether the alarm was an accident or something alarming.  My boss answered the phone and jumped through the hoops to verify what needed to be proved.  She concluded with, "I'm sorry.  I forgot to ...." After her brief explanation, she listened for a moment.  And then she started chuckling.

When she got off the phone, she told us that he'd said, "Oh, I forgive you." 

She was amazed by that.  He'd said, "I forgive you."  That was really weird.  WHY would he say, "I forgive you"?  She laughed about that on-and-off for another 15-20 minutes. 



A friend of mine told me that they'd been taught in premarital catechesis not to say, "I'm sorry" and "That's okay."  They'd been told it would be more helpful to say something on the order of "I hurt you" or "I sinned against you" and to respond with "It's forgotten" or "I forgive you for Jesus' sake."

At our house and with my friends, we usually say "I'm sorry" and "That's okay."  Sometimes I feel guilty about that.  It's hard to say "I forgive you" not because the forgiveness is hard.  What's hard is the admission that, yes, what the other person did was just plain wrong and sinful.  It's easier when we act like it's not a big deal, when we sweep it away with "That's okay." 

I know people who are so good about saying "I forgive you."  I want to hear "I forgive you."  But saying it?

What I saw the other day makes me realize that there are two completely different meanings behind "I'm sorry."  One is contrition, and the only response is to forgive.  But most of the time in our country, "I'm sorry" is a polite phrase.  There is no sorrow or grief behind the words.  So "I forgive you" sounds bizarre, funny, maybe even insulting, to those who aren't sorry-from-the-gut when they say "sorry."

The Power of Baptism

There's something in Narnia that always confused me.  Always.  In The Last Battle, at the end of the book, one of the Calormenes ends up in Aslan's Country.  (In case you've never read the books, this suggests that devotees of a false god will be saved if they have misunderstood their god and imagined him to be like the true God, so that they were kinda sorta worshiping the true God even though they didn't know Him by His true name.)

What would this say about baptism?

Is what we think about God the important thing, the main thing?  What about baptism, where God places His name upon us?

Can people misunderstand what their religion teaches, believing falsely when the truth is taught, OR believing rightly when falsehoods are taught?  Yes, obviously.  Can people die in the faith prior to receiving the gift of baptism?  Yes, of course.  But what happens in baptism --to be made a child of God-- is no small potatoes.  It makes a difference.  It changes who we are.  It gives us access to God. 

And I can't figure out how that fits with this tiny section of The Last Battle of Narnia.

The Couch of Recuperation

When you're sick, where do you head?  To the couch?  Or to your bed?

Maggie asked me once why Beaver Cleaver's mother would send him up to his bedroom when he was sick.  Similarly, watching Downton Abbey, we see people sent to their bedrooms when they are sick. 

But for us, it's the couch. 
When I was a kid, it was the couch. 

I think it's partly because the television is in the living room, where the couch is.  The tv helps keep a sicko entertained and quiet.  But that's not all.  If I had a tv in my bedroom, I'd still prefer to lollygag in the living room when ill. 

I don't want to be alone, tucked off in another room, when I'm sick.  I want to have my loved ones around.  Even if I am snoozing for much of the day.   And when others are sick, I want to go about many of my chores while still keeping an eye on the sick one, available to fetch things or help. 



(This should probably teach me something about the importance of sitting with people who are stuck in the hospital.)

Holy Week

Pastor Esget writes briefly about why this week is different from all other weeks of the year.  This week is everything.  (And for somebody who's still fighting off the colds that have been passed all over this winter, I really don't want to lose my voice this week, of all weeks!) 

Go read the article.  But don't skim it; let it soak in.

Don't Tell Me There's Gotta Be "More" Than "Just" the Absolution

And here's why:

Sin wrecked everything.
Therefore the forgiveness of sins fixes everything.

-- an excerpt from tonight's sermon

Oh, Those Brits

You know you've been watching too much BBC when an American character shows up in Downton Abbey, and you begin puzzling to yourself, "Hmmm, that sounds odd.  Where have I heard that accent before?"

Those Pronouns

Nearly-two-year-old Zoe was listening to a book that my mom bought once-upon-a-time for my kids.  It's sung to the tune of Jingle Bells, and the last line of each half-verse is "Jesus is with me."  I had just sung the book to Alia, and when I paused, she had supplied missing words.  As Zoe is just learning to talk in the last few weeks, when she requested a repeat of the book I didn't leave her words like "bus" or "train" or "sled."  Instead, I stopped with "Jesus is with ...."  I knew she was well-familiar with the word "me" because, when asked to identify people in the family, she would point to everyone else and state their names, but point to herself and state "me."

When faced with "Jesus is with ..." the poor child was stymied.  As a couple of seconds passed, I wondered what the delay was.  She finally decided.  "You," she said. 

Wow.  That kid understands pronouns much better than she's supposed to at this age!

Rethinking What It Is To "Be Nice"

At work I am a hypocrite.  A shell.  A faker.  My co-workers really don't know me.  Hey, I'm supposed to "act professional" ... which isn't me.  I have to put on a show at work.   So I watch what I say and don't talk as much as some of the others.  They know I'm an oddball, they know I have a voodoo fondness for curing illness with garlic, they know I homeschool and have a garden and don't go out for lunch, but they have no idea just how un-mainstream I am. 

So it always surprises me when Gary goes to the bank to take care of some business and meets people I've worked with, and comes home with reports of just how nice I am.  My first reaction is usually, "How would they know whether I'm nice?" (especially if it's somebody I worked with only a day or two).  But then I realize: they think I'm nice because I let them talk. 

Really?  That's all it takes for somebody to think you're super-nice? 

Amazing.

Pun Gone Wrong

Four-year-old Alia told me, with a sneaky twinkle in her eyes, that "a goose was coming out of my pants leg." 

Well, okay.  I wasn't sure what that meant, but that's okay.

Then her mommy said, "You mean a CALF is coming out of Nanna's pants leg??"

Oh.  Yes.  That's it!

So ... the names of some body parts aren't as obvious as others ....

Round Loaves of Bread

You know those lovely, round, rustic-looking loaves of bread?  I could never pull them off.  I tried making a round ball of dough, let it rise, and bake it.  What did I get?  Something flatter than I wanted, with edges that were way too flat.

So I tried putting the dough-ball into a greased bowl.   After it rose and baked, I would turn it out onto the cooking rack, only to find a "loaf" that was so roly-poly that it seemed tippy and unstable.  And who wants unstable bread? 

This weekend I experimented with a springform pan, the kind you use for cheesecake.  Hot diggety dog!  That's the way to do it.  The sides of the springform pan set a limit to how far the bread can spread out flat-like.  The dough is forced to rise up instead of out.  But the sides of the pan are straight, so the loaf is more even; and the loaf will not have the rounded sides & bottom that develop from being baked in a roundish bowl. 

PS: I put one large loaf of bread (maybe 4 cups of flour?) into a well-greased 9" cheesecake pan.  That worked beautifully.

Synergism

"We believe in synergism with regard to sanctification."
I've heard it from a variety of people.
Some even quote one of the "dead orthodox" Lutheran fathers.

And yet,
how does that fit with the catechism?
"I believe that I cannot,
by my own reason or strength,
believe in Jesus Christ, my Lord,
or come to Him,
BUT the Holy Ghost has ...
sanctified me."

Cardiology

Maggie's echocardiogram today looked great.  Based on how her heart sounded during last year's check-up, the doctor expected some degradation.  He was surprised and pleased that her leak is "mild."  Also "mild" is the pulmonary stenosis (narrowing of the artery). 

The other good news is that one of his patients had a valve replacement in the cath-lab.  Replacing valves via catheterization (as opposed to needing open-heart surgery) isn't common yet, but it's being done by our doctors in our hospital for patients like Maggie.  With how well she's doing, catheterization should be the norm by the time she needs help again.  Might this really mean No More Heart Surgeries?

More good news: Children's Hospital has instituted an adult clinic for people with congenital heart defects.  This means we won't have to change hospitals, and will continue working with doctors who are well-versed in heart defects (as opposed to heart disease, which is what most cardiologists deal with).

The doctor got a dose of Maggie's wit today (which seemed to tickle him).  He brought up the subject of sleep apnea and was asking some questions.  He was explaining to Maggie that sleep apnea is a problem because a person can't be well-rested when "your body keeps waking you up so that you can start breathing again."  "Well, isn't that better than NOT waking up?"  Doctor's eyebrows raised, then he smiled, then he saluted her with a high-five and laughed.

Drink of It, ALL of You?

... He gave it to His disciples and said, "Take, eat; this is My body."  ... "Drink of it, all of you ..."

Hey!  He gave it to WHOM?  Those disciples?  The ones who were soon to abandon Him?  The ones who denied Him? 

There's some comfort there!  If Jesus would give Himself to/for those followers who ran away instead of followed, then that means He'll do the same for me -- lousy follower that I am!

Velcro Paws

Folding socks and hankies and napkins. And they're sticking to my hands.  Like as if my hands are so rough and dry and scaly that they're Velcro. 

Note to self:  there IS hand-cream in the house....

Saving Money in the Kitchen

Time is money, they say.

According to a sample issue of allrecipes (which arrived in my mail this week), you pay more for convenience foods.  Are you astounded by the revelation that pre-packaged salad greens cost more than a head of lettuce, and that an envelope of taco spice mix is pricier than dumping in your own teaspoons of salt, cumin, and chili powder?  What?  You're not surprised by this news flash?  Well, the magazine offers further encouragement to avoid convenience foods:

Going DIY in the kitchen only adds about 10 extra minutes to meal prep, according to the UCLA Center on the Everyday Living of Families.

Idiots!

It might only take me an extra minute or two to add my own spices instead of using a mix.  But cooking from scratch takes more time than 10 extra minutes per meal.  Shredding cheese.  Baking bread.  Making soup stock.  Preparing dry beans.  Rolling out pie crust.  Snapping fresh green beans.  Scrubbing potatoes, boiling them, and then mashing them.  Baking granola.

Now, I'm all for the nutrition boost of real foods.  And I think it's wise to try to avoid much of the crud that hides in pre-packaged foods.  And it's definitely cheaper to do it yourself.

But c'mon, 10 minutes?  If you make a pizza crust from scratch, make the pizza sauce from scratch, cook the sausage, grate the cheese, and then bake the pizza, that's not a mere 10 minutes longer than ripping the plastic off a frozen pizza.

And I'm not even counting whacko things like making your own butter and cheese, raising your own veggies, rolling out your own noodles, etc.

Oh sure, 10 minutes.  Like as if do-it-yourself in the kitchen is a trifle. 

Toward Perfection

Admit it.  We're two-faced about perfectionism.  We say it's bad for us.  We say it's stressful.  We say, "Well, nobody can be perfect."  And yet, if we're not compelling ourselves to be perfect, we've got those teachers and bosses pushing us toward being perfect, always setting the goals higher and higher.  Once we reach the first goal, then a new goal is set.  There's no contentment, no resting, in a job well done.  Or in significant improvement.

Why is it, the closer we get to perfection, the more we're aware of our imperfection?  A kid who scores C's and B's on his tests won't flip out when he sees "C-" on his test.  But the kid who earns A's will freak over a B.  And the kid who scores 99% will be upset over a "lousy" grade like 96%.  Same thing at work.  The goal for the team is to eliminate backlogged work.  But no matter how much they improve over the year, no matter how many cases they resolve, it's never enough -- it's never perfect.  But the drive for it to be perfect is more compelling when the goal isn't as far out of reach. 

The closer we get to perfection, the more we yearn to have it.

With regard to civic righteousness, striving for perfection can drive a person bonkers and hike his blood pressure.  But with regard to religion, it can become damning if we determine that more effort on our part can get us to where we measure up.

Stuff

1. My son-in-law Nathan underwent surgery on his ankle yesterday. He fell on ice in the parking lot, resulting in two fractures in his joint as well as messing up his tendon. (Or was it ligament?  I can never keep those two straight.)  No walking for ten weeks. No driving either, as it's his right foot.

2. I waited too long to go to the theatre. I wanted SO badly to see Les Miserables. All my friends told me how fabulous it was. I have freebie tickets hanging on the bulletin board, with precious little in the theatre I have any interest in seeing. I figured I could happily go see Les Mis more than once. But recent events have prevented a trip out to indulge myself. Today I tried finding a theatre that was still showing it. No go. Bummers.

3. Next Sunday we'll be singing "In Thee Alone, O Christ, My Lord" and Gerhardt's "I Will Sing My Maker's Praises." Ah! I will spend all week looking forward to it!!!  (Is that too weird, that superb hymns bring so much relief and joy?)

4. I was chatting yesterday with a co-worker (who's majoring in psychology and Japanese) about the difference in my granddaughters. At age 4, Alia has very little ability to put herself in another's shoes. That's really not abnormal; she's young. But at age 1 1/2 Zoe was already watching out for others, trying to console sad people, and showing compassion.  My co-worker said that's highly unusual (and it is); she said kids don't start learning that until age 8 or so.  Age 8?  Hmm.  That's not what I see.  I wonder if it makes a difference if they are baptized Christians, united with the One who is mercy?

5.  I finally started watching Downton Abbey.  Oh. my. goodness.  It's so good!!!

Reading Challenge: Update

"A Little Help from My Friends"
Reading Challenge

Get a list of book suggestions from your friends.  From those suggestions choose between five and ten books that you will read in 2013.  Make a list of the books that you will read and a few alternates.
And the other instructions can be found on Jane's site.

My list:
Anne of Green Gables   by L. M. Montgomery  January 24
Anne of Avonlea   (these two with Maggie) February 24
Mara, Daughter of the Nile   by Eloise Jarvis McGraw
Love Divine   by Alan Kornacki
Mitford's Out to Canaan    by Jan Karon
Christ Have Mercy   by Matt Harrison


The list that someone else made for me:
Lutheran Catechesis   by Bender Dec 27, 2012
Old Testament Catechesis   by Bender March 1
New Testament Catechesis    by Bender
Bible Stories for Daily Prayer    by Fabrizius



Alternates:
Kristin Lavransdatter  by Sigrid Undset
To Kill a Mockingbird   by  Harper Lee
Luther, the Reformer   by James Kittelson
The Right to Be Wrong   by Seamus Hasson
On Being a Theologian of the Cross   by Forde
Luther on Vocation   by Wingren



Well, I've never before set up a reading challenge for myself.  Many of my friends do so annually.  I am jealous.  But Jane has devised a teeny-tiny reading challenge (possibly just to encourage me, because she loves me).  I may not be up to the challenge; I may fail.  BUT I have a shot at it -- unlike most reading challenges which are entirely out of the realm of possibility.  Unless I want to quit homeschooling, quit cooking, quit cleaning, quit choir, quit gardening, and quit editing.  And I don't wanna quit those things.  So Mini Reading Challenge, here I come!

Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places

What's the hymn that Mick Jagger sings? "I can't get no satisfaction.  'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try...."

Yep.  That should've been the song of the prodigal son (Luke 15).  He wasn't satisfied with his father and his home.  He asked for his inheritance from a not-dead-yet father.  But it turned out that didn't satisfy him either.  Nobody in the far-off country cared about him.  He was hungry; nobody fed him; nobody shared.  Nobody cared.  He couldn't even be satisfied by eating the pigs' slop. 

When we cannot find satisfaction, we search.  We might try different jobs, different toys, different friends, different homes, different who-knows-what.  We are constantly bouncing from one thing to the next: maybe the next place/thing/person will finally please us, satisfy us, fulfill us. 

But it never does.

We keep trying.  Even with [or because of?] the speed of new technology and the vast luxuries available to Americans, yet we keep finding that the Greatest New Thing (tooth whitener, iPhone, or gaming system) didn't bring us the pleasure it promised.  Even with [or because of?] the plethora of fun entertainment available, we are bored.  Even with [or because of?] the ease of casting off uncomfortable relationships and starting new ones, we cannot settle down in fulfilling relationships. 


Augustine said:

"The heart is restless

until it finds its rest in Thee."

Whom have I in heaven but You?
And there is none on earth I desire besides You.
My flesh and my heart fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.  (Psalm 73)

Thou art the portion I have sought.
Thy precious blood my soul has bought.  (LSB 708)




Logically, it doesn't make sense to keep fighting against the one thing --the only thing-- that can give joy, satisfaction, fulfillment, love, pleasure.  And yet, we see the rebellion all the time.

Kitchen Dancing

"Have you practiced this week?" the dancing instructor asks each week.  No, we haven't.  It's hard to practice when we don't see each other much. 

The local rec league offered ballroom dance classes, which some friends wanted to take.  But alas, too few couples enrolled; the class was in danger of being cancelled.  So they went on a recruiting mission.  That's how Gary and I ended up in dance classes for January and February.  Because of his mom's death and his dad's surgery, however, Gary missed two of the first four classes, and we're still playing catch-up.

So this week, we have [gasp] actually SEEN each other.  Y'know, been in the same place at the same time!  And we've looked at our cheat-sheet, tried to practice, and hunted up you-tube instructional videos to refresh what I couldn't decipher from our class notes.

Poor kitty.  The kitchen floor space is a whoppin' 5x10' area.  Rosie is wandering around the kitchen, begging snacks, looking to be petted, and she ends up getting bumped, trying to escape, and heading right back into the path of where we're ostensibly dancing.  Who would've thunk it would be hard to foxtrot and tango in 50 sq-ft of space?  With a cat tango-ing betwixt your feet? 

Righteousness

Righteousness is nothing else than believing God when He makes a promise. 

(Luther, on Genesis 15:6)

Based on Sunday's sermon, I think this phrase might be Pastor's new favorite-saying for the upcoming weeks or months.  I love it when he finds gems like this and makes sure we get it.  Aaaah.

Posture

Is it harder to stand up straight when you're tired and weary? 

I've been noticing people.  I can't tell if it's just my imagination, or if attitude really does show in a person's shoulder and posture.

Save the Soothsayers

For real? 

But that's what Daniel did.  (Yup, Daniel.  As in "Daniel in the lions' den."  That Daniel.)

The story is in Daniel 2.  Nebuchadnezzar had a dream.  He wanted the interpretation.  But he knew the sorcerers and magicians could lie and make up any old explanation for the dream.  So the king said, "You tell me the dream first.  Then tell me what it means."    Of course, they all flipped out.   So the king said, "Kill 'em all." 

Daniel heard.  He too would be executed.  He and his friends prayed.  God told Daniel the dream and what it meant.  So Daniel went to the executioner and said, "Wait!  Don't kill all those magicians.  I will tell the king what he wants to know." 

These dudes didn't deserve to be saved.  They were false prophets.  They were astrologers and fortune tellers.  These were the kind of people that God had told the Israelites to kill when they went into Canaan many centuries earlier.  But here's Daniel in Babylon, saving their hides, showing mercy to them.


There are people who think this country has gone to hell in a handbasket.  I've talked to Christian friends who think that both the nation and the church are in such a pitiful state that it would be better for the destruction to just come and be done with it already.  If the country's going to fall apart, they say, the sooner the better.  That way (they say) the healing can start sooner.  Who cares about salvaging anything (they say)?  Who cares about compromise?  We should stick to our guns and hold out for the ideal.  Wouldn't it be better to wipe out what's been marred and make a fresh start?

But godly Daniel showed mercy to those who didn't deserve it.  Godly Daniel served Nebuchadnezzar who was appointed by God to raze Jerusalem. 

What's that we pray?  That we would have peace in our land so that the word of God "may have free course and be preached to the joy and edifying" of His people?  Maybe the country is falling apart.  Maybe the country doesn't deserve to continue.  Maybe the country spites the Lord.  But does that mean Christians want to see it smashed?  No!  If Christians are to be Christlike, they will pray for mercy for those who don't deserve it, for those who don't appreciate it, for those who will even [sigh] abuse it.  And they will be thankful that the word of God continues to be preached, so that more people might be saved before any catastrophe arrives.

After all, those Magi that came to worship Jesus when He was a baby, those guys learned about the Lord from somewhere.  The Magi had not been wiped out in Daniel's day.  Daniel pleaded for them.  He went on to live a life of suffering in the midst of a country of unbelievers. And five centuries later, we see faith in some of those magicians from The East. 

Whose Side Is God On Anyway?

You know those old stories.  Elijah's ministry was finished.  Elisha was the prophet.  Israel wouldn't listen.  God was trying to get their attention.  The Syrian army had been attacking.  Then the little Israelite slave girl tells her master about the prophet who could heal him  of his leprosy (2 Kings 5).  So Naaman, the commander of the enemy, heads off to Israel and is eventually healed.

Seriously?  God helps the guy who's in charge of attacking His people?  Seems weird.  But, hey, God does weirdly-generous, merciful things.

But then look at the next chapter.  The Syrian king is hacked off at the "spy."  Turns out there is no spy, feeding insider information from the Syrian boss-guys to the Israelites.  It's just God telling Elisha what's coming.  And that's how the Israelite army avoids one attack after the next!*   Summing up, first God gave Naaman victory over Israel.  Then God gave Naaman healing from leprosy.  But then God thwarted Naaman (or his successor) and protected Israel's armies and villages.

I think God's plans in the temporal affairs of mankind just don't jive with what we think God should be up to.



* Footnote:  Amazing, ain't it, that the Israelite king can make use of what Elisha says when it comes to strategic positioning of his army (knowing that Elisha speaks the truth) and yet blow off whatever else Elisha says.

Squeamish about Using Credit Cards Online?

Gift cards.

Yup, that's the answer.

If you're nervous about the thought of putting your credit-card number out there in cyberspace, Visa gift cards can solve the problem. Our bank sells the cards for a $3 fee, and you can buy a card with any value up to $1000. Many banks sell these cards, and you can even buy them at grocery stores and department stores too. Some people use the gift cards as [gasp] gifts. Some use them as pre-paid "credit" if regular credit is unattainable. And some use them specifically for online purchases. If you want to shop at Amazon, say, you can buy a $200 card (for $203) and use the gift-card only for online shopping. Or maybe you know you want to buy a book that will cost $13 with its shipping, so you spend $16 for the $13 card. One way requires more money upfront that may sit around unused for a while; the other way eats up more in fees. But either way eliminates risk to your credit and identity.

God Is Weird

Are you frugal enough to take batteries out of a energy-hogging machine and test them, in case they still have enough oomph to run something simpler, oh, say, a remote control or a small alarm clock?  I am.  I don't want to waste the batteries.  I buy them to do a job for me.  I don't value the batteries for their own selves, but only for the work I get out of them.

It seems that much of American Christendom believes that God's love is like a battery.  He gives us His love only so that He can put us to work serving Him.  His love is what's supposed to ignite us.  So then we wonder: If we don't do our work effectively, will He withdraw His love and His grace so that it's not wasted?  After all, that's what I do with batteries. 

But maybe, just maybe, God isn't like me.

The parables in the Gospels keep showing us that God is weird.  He doesn't do things the way we'd expect; He doesn't interact with us the way that we interact with each other.

In 1 Peter 3:18, we read that "Christ suffered once for sins, the just for the unjust."

The just for the unjust???

That's weird.  That's not fair.  It doesn't seem right.

It's just plain wasteful.  Who would rescue unjust people by giving the Just One?

It's like He cares about us because of the love that pours forth out of His heart, and not because of some warped idea of using His love to manipulate us into doing what He wants.  No, that would be more like us people to do. 

The just for the unjust!

Faking It in English

Because the word-verification system made it hard for my mom to comment on my blog, I removed it.  Whoa -- I started seeing spammy comments that seldom made it through when the captcha was operating.  So now my blog is set to require my approval of any comments before they appear online.

Yowza!  My mailbox is filling up with spam.  There are more ad-comments submitted than real comments.  Most of them try to flatter me into approving their comments.  And the English is atrocious.  It can be funny how bad it is.

Some examples:


~I like what I see so i am just adhering to you.

Band-aids?


~Hello! Your article rocks as well as becoming a respectable amazing realize!??

Well, who'd want a "realize" which isn't respectable?



~It is the best time to make some plans for the future and it is time to be happy.  I have read this put up and if I may I wish to recommend you few fascinating issues or advice. 

A put up?  
And I see he has only a few fascinating issues to recommend.




~Do you mind if I quote a few of your posts as long as I provide credit and sources back to your site?  My blog site is in the exact same niche as yours. 

So this one has proper English.  But the link being advertised later in the comment had nothing whatsoever to do with anything I write about.  Do some people fall for this line?



~I thіnk thiѕ iѕ among the such a lot impoгtant info for me. 

Huh?




~Preserve up the terrific works men I've incorporated you fellas to my private blogroll.

Huh? again.  





~I personally experienced a number of intricacies employing this website.   I became asking yourself when your website hosting is OK? 

I have no idea what it is to "experience intricacies."  And there's no telling what word "became" was confused for.  



The spam-for-smut annoys me.  But some of the rest of it can be a hoot.

 

Sad Children

As I was checking out of the grocery store today, a woman was sitting nearby, holding a sobbing child.  A couple of people inquired if there were anything they could do to help, but the response was a gentle and caring "Thank you, but she's just having a bad day."  I assumed the little girl was having a tantrum because mom didn't buy the cookies she wanted, or it was getting to be naptime and the child was having a meltdown.  You know -- nothing to be concerned about.  Something that all parents cope with.

By the time my groceries were loaded into the car and I'd returned my cart, the sniffling preschooler and the woman were walking out to their car parked next to mine.  Turns out the child wanted her mommy!  And the woman was assuring her that she'd "see Mommy after she's done working." 

We think it's normal and acceptable for mommies to leave their children to go to work.  Yes, sometimes it's necessary.  But the child's tears should teach us something.

Valentine's Day

So, I anticipate seeing Facebook posts and blogposts about the wonderful dinners y'all ate and the fun things you did to celebrate.  Our Valentine's Day solidifies the proof that we are aging and practical fuddy-duddies.

I was planning to take Andrew* to urgent care, but was lucky to find our doctor had an opening in the morning.  This was followed by a trip to the pharmacist.  Gary had a bad day at work.  I fell asleep mid-afternoon reading schoolwork with Maggie.  Supper was beans and cornbread.  No chocolate, no cake, no cookies, no treats -- we can't being doin' sugar when we're still fighting off the germies.  (When will this end and we're no longer treading on the edge of the cliff?)

We did, however, go to our dance class.  Dancing.  For Valentine's Day.  At least that 50 minutes of the day sounds decidedly romantic.  Truth be told, it was more exercise than beautiful dancing.  But we'll go with romantic.  It sounds better that way.


* Footnote: Nasty ear infection.  It's improving, and he probably will have managed to avoid a ruptured eardrum. 

Vote Next Tuesday

Next Tuesday (February 19) is the primary for Wisconsin State Supreme Court Justice. 

1) There's a clear difference in the candidates.
2) The court is currently divided 4-3, with the "4th" being the seat that's contested this spring.  This election will determine the court majority. 
3)  Pat Roggensack (the incumbent) has voted in a more conservative, "strict constructionist" direction.  Her opponents are more of the "big government" variety.

VOTE on Tuesday!
Put it on your calendar.
Or go "early vote" this week.
Vote Roggensack.



(PS: Katie, you've also got a primary for Assemblyman. We'll bring the paper's interviews with the candidates to church.  Although newspaper comparisons seldom give me the information I want.)

Update

I miss Gary.  He's been in Illinois 11 days of the last month.  His dad fell a week ago and had repair-surgery last weekend.  Today he moved into the nursing home for therapy.  Gary was there to help with the transition and to get more detail-stuff wrapped up. 

Snow, snow, snow.  As tired as we've been recently, I am SO thankful for the snow-blower.

I whipped up two Real Meals [whole foods; made from scratch] this week, things that were quick and easy, and earned two nights full of compliments from the satisfied diners.  Oh no, I'm building up their expectations again ....

I love sitting down and reading Anne with Maggie.  It's so pleasant and I wish there weren't so many responsibilities that get in the way.  Maggie has been doing much more, though, to help with chores and projects recently.

When you're regularly in a public place (uh, that would be at work) you get spoiled by the warmth.  Then 67 feels mighty cold at home. 

I'm ready for July.

Rotten Potatoes

That distinctive odor.  I can smell it in the pantry as soon as it starts.  So you grab the bag of potatoes, dump them all out, and find the one that's starting to decay. 

So does anybody know how to avoid getting a bag with a rotten potato?  I look the bags over before I choose one to put in my grocery cart.  My nose theoretically could sniff it out, but when I'm in the produce section by the potatoes, I always smell rotten ones.  How do you know which bags are clean and which have an on-their-way-to-putrid specimen?

Glorifying God

Glory.  

Big shiny powerfulness?  
Mighty awesomeness?

Pastor's always saying that God's glory is in His love, in His self-sacrifice, in His condescension for the sake of saving us.  Jesus is always talking about "His hour" to be glorified, and it turns out to be His suffering, death, and resurrection.

And there's the wrestling within me: Is His glory really about His suffering and death?  Isn't it about whoopin' the devil and triumphing in the resurrection and ascension?  Isn't His death just something to "get past" on the way to real glory? 

But look at what happens a few weeks later.  The disciples are out fishing and they see Jesus on the shore.  They bring the boats back to land and eat breakfast with Jesus.  Then Peter and Jesus go for that little walk and have that little chat: "Simon, do you love Me?" And the story ends with Jesus description of what would happen to Peter near the end of his life.  And then,
 

"This He spoke, signifying by what death he would glorify God" (John 21:19).

Excuse me?
Peter's death would do what?

Glorify God?

Hmmm.  Puts a new spin on what "glory" is, huh?
 

Knots in the Neck

Those pains in the neck?  I'm too tall; our back massager cannot reach them.   As I sat reading to Maggie, I tried contorting into weird positions, slumping down, anything so that the massager could hit parts of my neck.  I kept wishing there was a way to make it work.

And the next night, I walk into Aldi for produce and, lo and behold, they had a neck massager.  Not only Aldi-priced, but clearance priced.  Less than the co-pay for one doctor/chiropractor visit.  I nabbed it.  It was a hasty decision.  I detest hasty decisions!  But boy oh boy, that little contraption sure does help.

"You Will NOT Believe the Day I Had at Work"

"Bear one another's burdens" really has a lot more to do with forgiving one another's sins than it does with psycho-social "support."  And yet, today I am befuddled as to what people do when they live alone.

It was "one of those days" at work.  Boring and slow for three hours.  And then, wham!  Bam!  Ka-phlooey!  In the midst of the frenzied onslaught rush of the final half-hour, I had two naughty customers, asking for complex and/or not-kosher transactions.

The whole drive home, I was thinking of how Gary wasn't there to TALK TO about it.  I told myself that I shouldn't regale Maggie with all the gory details.  After all, she had to listen to way more than she bargained for when I arrived home from work on Thursday.  But I couldn't help spilling it all onto Maggie.  And then Katie came over to visit, and I rehashed some of it.

Gary comes home from work and often has to spill his day too.

This seems like a normal thing.  But what happens if you go home and there's nobody there to TELL?  Does it sit and eat away at your insides?  Do you phone a friend or your mom?  Do you tell the dog? 

Non-Dairy Brownies

If you can't have butter, and if you're trying to turn cocoa powder into fudgy brownies, this worked superbly!

13x9" recipe

1.5 cups white flour
2 cups sugar
10 Tbsp cocoa
1 tsp salt
1 cup coconut oil  or olive oil (solid, not melted)
4 eggs
2 tsp vanilla
1/2 cup nuts (if you're not allergic to them)


recipe for 28-35 sq-inches
(I used a a small serving dish for veggies.
A 6" skillet would also work.)
3/8 cup flour (that is, 1/4 cup + 2 Tbsp)
1/2 cup sugar
2.5 Tbsp cocoa powder
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 cup olive oil or coconut oil
1 egg
1/2 tsp vanilla


Put all ingredients into a bowl.  Mix.
Beat for another 3 minutes.
Bake a 13x9 at 350 for 30 minutes,
or the tiny pan for about 25 minutes.

Katie, even Dad liked these ... even with the coconutty taste.  The texture is just as nice as when made with butter.  They're not crumbly.  They're not dry.  Maggie told me not to eat the whole pan. I didn't -- not the whole pan.  I'm still thinking I should give this recipe a try with chilled olive oil, but that experiment hasn't happened yet.

Update from the following day:
We experimented with olive oil instead of coconut oil.  The brownies turned out even better!  I measured the olive oil, poured it into a small bowl, and then refrigerated it until it was a soft solid.   The brownies had a lovely fudgy texture, but without the coconut taste of yesterday's experiment.

Babushkas

I think those Russian women had it figured out.  They got old and wore their babushkas.  Who would see their thinning hair turning grey?  It was covered by the ever-present scarf.  They didn't have to figure out what to do with their old-lady hair.

Somehow, I suspect wearing a head scarf at work would not be part of "professional attire."


(Can you guess that I'm still trying to figure out whether to let the hair grow long again, keep it as is, or try something even shorter?!!)

The Devil's Temptation of Jesus

Pastor pointed out this morning:  
In Luke 4, the devil quotes Psalm 91 to Jesus, saying that He can jump off the roof of the temple because, after all, the angels will guard Him and keep Him safe.  But then, later in chapter 4, when the folks of Nazareth are all hacked off at Jesus for preaching gracious words and decide to throw Him off the cliff, He just walks away from them.  How?  Who knows?  But the angels did guard Him in all His ways lest He dash His foot against a stone.

Saturday

Maggie and I decided to take Gary to Discovery World before our membership runs out.  I love the aquarium there. 

Things I noticed:
~ I hate how tired I get at museums these days.  The kids and I used to enjoy spending a whole long luxurious day at a museum.  Now, two hours and I'm done.
~ When we walked past the heat sensor, my nose was blue.  Seriously?  Maggie's and Gary's noses were, y'know, alive and warm.  My nose showed as blue (thus, COLD) as my glasses.   Gary put his hand on my nose and said, "Oh, wow, your nose IS cold!"  Also, my finger with nerve damage and poor circulation showed bluer than the rest of my fingers.
~ We went in "the Hive" (which shows 3-D images-in-motion of different things) to see the Roman Colosseum.  The narrator explained how, with these computer models, it's better than being there in real life.  The reasoning that a) we can replicate what it was like originally instead of what it is now, and b) we're not adding wear-&-tear to the ruins that remain.  Okay, I see the point.  But c'mon, "better than being there in real life"???
~ I spent more time noticing women's hair styles than I spent investigating science.
~ Children at the museum seem more well-behaved on Saturdays (with their parents) than on weekdays (with their school classes).


While downtown, we used a gift certificate to eat at Buca di Beppo.  Phenomenal food!  What surprised us was the decorating.  So many pictures of Italian guys, singers and ball-players and actors and the pope.  But also photos of women that we were embarrassed to see: boobs, boobs, cleavage, and boobs.  Yikes!  The grievous part of the dining experience was that we left our doggie-bags on the table.  Argh!  That food was so awesome, and we didn't bring the leftovers home.  Woe!


I fell asleep on the couch by 8:00.  When I crawled into bed, I set the alarm for 7:15 "just in case."  I knew I'd be up early.  I wasn't; the alarm woke me.  We had to skip first service and go to late.  Maggie caught the stomach-ick that has been going around; she was up sick through the night and stayed home from church.

As nice as our day together was, I'm thinking that it was more than our bodies were ready to take.

That's pitiful.
 

Recent Doings

Three days in a row at home.

Oh, it's a beautiful thing!

After two and a half months of working extra days every week, we made a trip to Illinois to visit parents.  The next week was Christmas shopping, Christmas decorating, and napping to ward off the impending illness.  The next week was Christmas and all the fun of visitors and extra Services.  The next week was the exhaustion of defeating the ice dams.  The next week I expected to be driving to Illinois again and arranged all plans around that.  But the trip was delayed by a day, so Gary traveled by himself.

While there, his mom passed away.  He was blessed to have had the opportunity to talk to her, reminding her of her baptism and the forgiveness that Jesus bestows on her, and to thank her for all she did for him, especially bringing him to the Lord.  He helped his dad with arrangements for a couple of days, came home for two days, and then we all turned around and traveled back for the funeral.  I was very thankful that my brother drove over with my mom.  (It gave my mom a chance to meet Mandy.  That girl gets enthusiastic thumbs-up from everybody in the family!  We thinks she's dandy!)

Paul started his new job in MinnesOta.  I haven't heard yet how it's going.  It's nice hours: full-time days, Monday through Friday.

Maggie and I have cleaned nearly the whole house this week.  It's about time, given the neglect it's endured.  We also finished (!) the laundry.  Well, "finished" for a couple of hours.

I cooked a Real Meal four nights in a row.  I was beginning to suspect I was no longer capable of real cooking.  But oh, the deliciousness was delicious.  Mmmm hhhmmmm.

I made two batches of soap this week.  Of course, with curing time they won't be ready for use until end of summer.  But hey, I've been putting off this task for over a year, so I'm pleased that I finally have some bars sitting and drying.

We still haven't succumbed to the germies floating about the city and the family.  Between sick tummies and terrible colds, it's nasty out there.  We're not exactly well, but we're still functioning.  It probably helped that I slept in several days this week, skipping chapel.

Maggie has exercised every day for the last week.  This is fantastic!

Andrew started his new semester this week.  He's half-time at school and working as many hours as he can get.

It's amazing how little effort, time, and money it took to fix the shower-head that was spritzing water all over the bathroom walls and ceiling.  Really?  Why did it take me so long to make a repair that was so simple?

Next up: more proofreading for CCA, shampooing carpets, a visit to the Social Security office for Maggie, and seeing if the "Christmas cards" can make it in time to be valentines.  

Fish Recipes

Thawed tilapia.  What to do with it for dinner?  Yowza -- I hit the jackpot with an online recipe.  I used 2# of fish and cooked it in two 10" skillets.  It's quick, easy, healthy, and so delicious that I'm wishing I could make it again tomorrow!

To start, grab a pint of canned tomatoes and drain the juice off for some other use; or chop a few tomatoes.  Chop a couple of onions too.  Then sprinkle a spice mix on both sides of the fillets.  (I used Emeril's Essence.  Next time I'll reserve Maggie's fillets to be seasoned with salt and pepper only.)  Heat 2-3 tablespoons of olive oil in each skillet.  Cook fillets in the hot oil for about 45-60 seconds per side. Gently lift fillets and toss the onions and tomatoes underneath.  Lower heat to low-medium, cover skillets, and cook for about 3 minutes.  Pour in enough coconut milk to make a nice sauce (about 1 cup per skillet), heat through until fish flakes and sauce is somewhat thickened and, well, saucy.  Serve over a small amount of rice.





Our other fave fish recipe is for salmon.  Meghan turned us onto this.  For each 4-oz salmon fillet, you'll combine about 1/2 Tbsp each of butter and mustard with 1 tsp of honey.  In another bowl you'll combine 1.5 Tbsp each of bread crumbs and finely chopped pecans with 1/2 tsp chopped fresh parsley.  Salt & pepper the fillet; brush with honey-mustard; sprinkle with bread crumbs & pecans.  Bake at 400 for about 10 minutes or until fish tests done by flaking it with a fork. 

I also want to try another of Meghan's recipes.  My only problem with this one is thinking ahead far enough to do the marinating. 

Moses and Elijah

Moses and Elijah both struggled with doubts.  "I don't want to be doing this, Lord."  "I've had enough of this; these people don't want to listen to me; how about I quit now?"  Or "How about You just kill me now?"  Okay, sure, they both had the problem of "hearers" who refused to listen to them.  But even more, they suffered with their own unbelief, hating it, and yet incapable of freeing themselves.  And what help is there for that?

Oh.  Yeah.  Talking to Jesus about His suffering and death that was approaching.

Holier Holiness

Cleaning my room today, I found a note 

from an Advent sermon.  I don't know

 if it's a quote from somebody famous, or 

just a distillation of what Pastor was saying 

that day.  Either way, it's sweet to think on.

The holier real holiness is,
the closer it draws near to sinners.

Violence

This two-minute video has been spreading around Facebook.  I finally watched it.  Maggie caught me crying over it.



To direct and defend our president and all in authority;
To watch over and help all who are in danger, necessity, and tribulation;
To grant all women with child, and all mothers with infant children, increasing happiness in their blessings;
To strengthen and keep all sick persons and young children:
We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord.

Quote

We rarely get enough of what we don't need to make us happy.   

(From p. 15

of  A Little Book on Joy 

by Matt Harrison.)

Little boys and their Legos.
Little girls and their Barbies.
Grown-ups and their money.
Women and their shoes.
Men and their tools.
Hangin'-out-with-friends time.
Sometimes even a Christian's "level of sanctification."


"We rarely get enough of what we don't need to make us happy."
Jesus, Jesus, only Jesus
can my heartfelt longing still. ...

What to me may seem a treasure
but displeasing is to Thee,
oh, remove such harmful pleasure;
give instead what profits me.
Let my heart by Thee be filled. 
Make me Thine, Lord, as Thou wilt.  (TLH 348)

Haircut

Same ol' long hair pulled back in a ponytail/bun.

I like the back!

I think the bangs are too short. 

 (And boy, it's weird how my profile makes me look so much like my mom but also like a cousin on my dad's side.)

The front of the new haircut. 

I haven't cried yet.  That's a good sign, right?  Considering what I was anticipating?  Yup.

The War Against the Ice-Dams

On those days before Christmas when it was raining, how often did I thankfully say, "At least we don't have to shovel it"?

Well, maybe that didn't turn out as well as I'd thought at the time.

So it turns out that the pre-Christmas rain, snow, slush, goo, froze into several inches of packed snow and ice on the roof and in the gutters. A week later when it snowed, I could roof-rake the new snow down. But not those inches of ice. Underneath the snow-ice were, in places, several inches of solid ice, just threatening to be ice-dams with the first thaw, diverting thawed snow into the attic instead of having it drip into the gutters or off the roof.

So it had to go.

Except on days I had to be at "work" [ha ha ha ... the place where I go to rest up] I spent hours daily on the ladder, with a hoe, hacking off small slices of snowpack, trying desperately to be gentle enough to Not Touch The Shingles while being vicious enough to crack the ice that needed to come down.

I'm trying to think of a part of my body that didn't ache from the work.  Not figurin' it out...


BUT you can see the results over the front door: several feet of roof that had been cleared and then sat in the sun for a couple of days.  Woo hoo!!!


And yesterday, with the warm weather, no ice dams!  No icicles!  (Now we just hope that the clean-up efforts didn't cause a different set of roof problems.)

Friends

DARE to be Lutheran!

Andrew, Philip, and Matthew have a game day.