Reading Challenge 2015

How to Respond to Eastern Religions -- finished Jan 7
Crunchy Cons, by Dreher -- finished Jan 13

Holy Housewifery -- finished Jan 17
Wild Swans, by Chang  -- finished Feb 25
Light in the Dark Belt: Story of Rosa Young -- March 7
Heidelberg Disputation -- finished April 2 
On Being a Theologian of the Cross, by Forde -- April 13
Broken: 7 "Christian" Rules ... to Break-- May 1
Let's Roll, by Beamer-- finished May 4
Christ for Us, by Preus


Flatland
Pioneer Girl (biography of Laura)
The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You,  by Aron

One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich

Somewhere Safe with Somebody Good, by Karon -- March 30
Beyond the Mists, by Benchley
Cutting for Stone, by Verghese


Re-reads:
Narnia
~ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe -- May 17
~ Prince Caspian
~ Dawn Treader 
~ Silver Chair
~ Horse and His Boy -- finished April 16 [audio]
~ Magician's Nephew -- finished May 12 [audio] 

~ Last Battle
Harry Potter
Hammer of God



With Maggie:
Anne of Ingleside -- finished Jan 16
Rainbow Valley
Rilla of Ingleside

Penderwicks -- finished Feb 24
Carry On, Mr Bowditch
On to Oregon
Across Five Aprils

Swallows and Amazon series
or Little House series (again)
or Little Britches series
or Five Little Peppers


Additional Suggestions from Friends:
Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up
Hardcore Poor, by Sangree
Joel Salatin's 2007 book about food practices in the USA
Simply Classical
On Our Way Rejoicing, by Trobisch
Richest Man in Babylon
Finding Kansas
Our Island Story
Luther the Reformer, by James Kittelson
The Right to Be Wrong, by Seamus Hasson
How to Bake Pi, by Cheng (SCI 510.1)
Bitter is the New Black (817.6 LAN)

Faith, Hope, and Ivy June

House of Living Stones
Bride Most Begrudging
A Star for Mrs Blake
Caleb's Crossing

Catechism Olympics

The last day of school at church is a short day.  Nearly all of it is spent with chapel, Catechism Olympics, and closing prayer. 

I can't figure out why, but Catechism Olympics is FUN.  I haven't been able to attend for quite a while, due to my work schedule.  But this year I could go.  Grown-ups cannot participate, but it's fun in the same way as observing a spelling bee or the geography bee. 

First game: kids were divided into groups of three.  It was pretty much just like their weekly term quizzes, but lots of terms, and from the Old Testament stories for the whole school-year. 

Second game: Divided into girls versus boys.  This seemed unfair to me, as it was 3 against 11.  I was going to bolster the girl-side (even if I am a grown-up).  Pastor would not allow it.  The second game turned out to be "Name That Tune" with the learn-by-heart hymns from this past school year.  No wonder I was kicked out.  (I could've "named that tune in zero notes" for over half the songs.)  But the girls did well.  They didn't win, but it was close.

Third game: Another contest with terms, this time from Christmas stories and Easter stories.  Miss a question -- sit down.  Last one standing won.  Candy bars for prizes.

Fourth game: Another elimination game.  This time with reciting the catechism.

Finally, a hymn sing.  Each kid got to pick something from the hymnal and we all joined in singing.

NICE morning. 

No Greater Joy

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

So What Does "Forgiveness" Mean

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

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

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

The Passing of a Homeschooling Era

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

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

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

If Your Heart Condemns You

I never noticed how those two verses work in tandem.

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

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

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

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

Belle

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

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

Blessed Are the Dead Who Die in the Lord

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

Random thoughts:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Lord, my Shepherd, take me to Thee.  
Thou are mine.  I was Thine 
even e'er I knew Thee.  
I am Thine for Thou hast bought me.  
Lost I stood, but Thy blood 
free salvation brought me.  TLH 523



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

Advent Wreath

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

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

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





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

Mom

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

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

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


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

Anniversary

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

Okay.  It's been a year now.

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

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

Mom's Escapades

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

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

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

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


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

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

Garden Report

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jam-Packed Parking Lots

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

rivals the parking lot of

a Walmart on the Saturday before Christmas.

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

'Tis the Word

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

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

Wait a minute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

Boring Old Update

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

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

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

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

What else?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today's Laugh

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

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

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

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

A Granddaughter

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

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

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

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

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

Jimmy and Shakespeare and APT

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If You Measure It ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lock & Lock

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

I used them and found out.

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

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

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

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


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

instruments of torture

A crucifix.
The cross was not only an instrument of death.
It was also an instrument of torture.

And we choose to hang a depiction of this torture-device on the walls of our homes and our churches.

Non-Christians think it's really weird.  WHY would you do that?  How could you wish to see that?
For example, David Denby wrote a review of Mel Gibson's Passion (in the March 2004 New Yorker) wherein he expresses horror over the torture, the scourging, the crushing, the nails, the blood.

Yes, the crucifix shows an instrument of torture.
But it shows me that it was MY torture that was due to me, and I don't have to endure it because Someone else did.

If you don't believe that, no wonder it seems weird to glory in the cross of Jesus.

"The message of the cross is foolishness 

to those who are perishing, but to us who 

are being saved it is the power of God....  

The things which are despised, God has 

chosen" (1 Cor 1).

The Palm Sunday Gospel

The first time I saw it, I didn't like it.  Chairs lined up in the chancel.  Kids helping with the reading of the Gospel. 

But it didn't take long for me to change my mind.

We're used to the Christmas pageant, where the kids help tell the story of Christmas.  Why not do something similar for Holy Week?

The Gospel reading for Palm Sunday is long -- the entire Passion account according to Matthew, Mark, or Luke.  Here we have a tradition of the story being read in different voices.  Pastor is the narrator.  One boy reads the words of Jesus.  Other boys take the parts of Pilate, Peter, Judas, Caiaphas, etc.  Girls speak the sentences of servants, crowds, or groups.  There are no costumes; the kids simply wear their choir robes (cassock and surplice).  There is no "acting out"; they just sit in their seats, and rise when it's their turn to speak.  There is none of that "Oh, isn't he cute?!" that you so often hear with regard to Sunday School Christmas programs.

Benefit 1:  It's easier to stay tuned in for the reading, without the mind wandering, because the voices change.

Benefit 2:  Easier on Pastor's voice, with a week of many sermons coming up.

Benefit 3:  The kids learn the story well.  No, seriously, I mean, really!!  The story is ingrained in them!  Pastor works with the kids (approx ages 10-14) for a couple of weeks ahead of time so that they speak clearly, no mumbling, no stumbling over words, no improper inflection to mislead.  They practice; they talk about what's being said and why; they discuss doctrine; they understand the importance of presenting God's word to the congregation.  And they learn story and remember it.

Don't Let the Facts Get in the Way

Property tax bill lower?  A lot lower?  That seems to be a common theme around these parts recently.



Why?  One of the reasons is that the state kicked in funding for the tech schools (known in some other states as junior colleges), partially for property-tax relief and partially to help train skilled employees to companies who need them. 

I found myself in a conversation with someone who was thrilled about his lower taxes.  When he discovered the cause for his much-lower property taxes, he responded, "So this is because of GovernorWalker?"  "Well, yes, I guess it is."  From the way he asked the question, I thought he was pleased.

But he wasn't.  He hates Walker.  He disagrees strongly with some of the governor's decisions and leadership.  His response?  "I'll just pretend I didn't hear that."

Daniel Notes

Nebuchadnezzar's vision in Daniel 2:  The statue of the man had a gold head, silver chest, and so forth, down to feet made of iron and clay.  And it was destroyed by ... a stone. People with various views of millenialism make quite the to-do over the different kingdoms and who they are and what the end will mean.  But the "stone" is Christ.  (See Psalm 118, Matt 21:42, Matt 16:18, and Psalm 91.)  Christ's kingdom is weird: it is not "of this world" (John 18:36).  The king's dream was about "the latter days" which is not a futuristic event but is rather the last twenty centuries (Dan 2:28 and Acts 2:17).


In verse 2:28, Daniel reports that God has revealed the meaning of the dream to Nebuchadnezzar.  He doesn't say that God revealed to him the meaning of the dream ... because Daniel is nothing in himself.  He is only the instrument that God uses to speak to others.


Nebuchadnezzar's faith: It always seemed to me as if Nebuchadnezzar must have believed in the Lord, but I could never point to anything definitive.  But after listening to the class discussion recently, I am more convinced.  In chapter 3, Neb realizes that the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego saved them.  So he declares, "Hey, everybody!  Worship that God, or I'll have you chopped to pieces."  Um... yeah ... faith doesn't exactly come about by threat of force.  But after Neb's little crazy-escapade, he begins his proclamation with "Peace to you" and all honor going to the Lord and none to himself.  He says the Lord gave him back his kingdom and his majesty; Neb didn't get it back for himself but received it.  And the last we hear from him is praise to Yahweh, in words that sound similar to the Magnificat.

eShakti

I'm done.  We haven't been fully satisfied with anything we've ordered from eShakti.

First dress (for Maggie) -- Too narrow in the shoulders.  Cannot be worn at all.

Second dress (for me) -- Fits okay but not quite right.  Definitely wearable and attractive.  But really should have a couple of alterations.

Third dress (for Maggie) -- After a long wait, they notified us that they were out of that particular fabric.  They credited us for the dress.

Fourth dress (for Maggie) to replace the third which never came -- We paid for a customized (more modest) neckline than the standard one, but the dress arrived very lowcut, with virtually no cloth in the shoulders.  That results in an ill fit, so that even with a scarf or a tube-top for modesty, the dress falls off her shoulders.  After three weeks of calling, leaving messages, waiting for responses and not getting them, I finally heard back.  They say the dress is exactly what I ordered.

I quit.  If I return the dress at this point, my refund will be too small to purchase another dress without handing over yet more money.  No use trying. 

I thought, with eShakti, I had found a solution to the problem of sewing for Maggie.  Supposedly they have all the information already gathered to customize a dress to a person's measurements.  I thought I would no longer have to create a pattern, sew a mock-up, adjust and build a new pattern, sew another mock-up, and then readjust the pattern before sewing the real dress.  Nope.  Back to the hard way.

Today's Laugh

George delivers wine to liquor stores, grocery stores, and restaurants.  Yesterday he pulled up to the loading dock at the grocery store, right next to the bakery truck.  The delivery man was poking around in the back of the truck, setting aside some boxes to be hoisted onto the dolly.  By the time George had made his deliveries and returned to his truck, the bakery fellow was perched on the edge of the truck bed, thinking about climbing out of the back of his truck and meandering indoors with the first part of his delivery. 

George asks, "So, are you going to get off your buns, or sit around and loaf all day?"

And after I related the tale last night at supper,

witty Maggie pipes up with, "And the bakery 

guy responds, 'Oh, quit your whining.'"

Thank You for Taking Your Kid to Church

You didn't do it to make me happy.  You don't even know me.

You did it because you love Jesus.
And because you love your kid.

But here's the thing.  You took your children to church, even when they were little and it was hard.  You taught them Bible verses and the catechism and hymns.  Now your child is all grown up.  He moved away from home. 

This Sunday somebody's child and her husband were visiting our church.  After communing, she returned to her pew, singing the hymn, even without her hymnal. 

Or there was the time somebody else's child showed up at our church.  He showed up every Sunday, driving an hour to get here.  He knows the liturgy.  He knows the hymns.  He wants to join the congregation.  People wonder, "Where did he come from?" as if it's not quite normal to find 20-somethings rejoicing to come for worship, and having learned those precious words by heart. 

Hey, maybe it's not normal.  But it is good.
And it is encouraging to us old folks.

Psalm 78: Telling to the generation to come the praises of the Lord,
And His strength and His wonderful works that He has done.

Matthew 16:  I will build My church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it.

Wild Swans

Wild Swans.  By Jung Chang. 
Biographies of three women (grandma, mom, and daughter) in 20th-century China.

Thoughts:
Foot-binding?  Never realized how torturous and painful it would have been.  I just thought it was about keeping women's feet "small" -- not deformed-small, as in smaller-than-a-1-yr-old's.

Communism wasn't the real problem.  The big problem was Mao's hunger for power and his vengeful spirit.

Some people think anarchy is okay because it's a way to get rid of the entrenched power/authority that is being misused.  But anarchy is destructive to a vast degree.  Furthermore, powerseekers will fill the void.  Reading this book showed me that even bad government is better than no government.

Introversion was a bad bad thing in China.  If you wanted a little solitude, most people interpreted that as cutting yourself off from the masses and thinking you were better than others.  It must be unbearable to know that your need for a little peace and quiet means people see you as arrogant and aloof.

I knew almost nothing about China or Chinese history.  Until a few weeks ago, I'd never heard of the Cultural Revolution:  wreck buildings, ruin libraries, overthrow religion, destroy stuff.  And now, this week's news tells us of a similar destruction in Mosul.

"Because You're Feeble"

I took something to work today, something that is a little heavy and a little clumsy-to-carry.  One of my co-workers said, "Don't you carry that upstairs!"  I asked why not.  "Because you're ... well ... feeble."  I laughed.  I carried it upstairs.  But the comment touched my heart.

I guess I put on a good front as far as healing.  Friends see me go to church.  They know I go to work.  Apparently I look "good as new."  But I'm not.  I'm limited.  I must rest.  It's easy for me to overdo and then end up with repercussions.  Sometimes I am frustrated by offers of "help" to accomplish something, when the Real Help would be a simple acceptance of my "No, I cannot do that."  I have to beat myself up quite enough to say no to commitments (work or fun!); when people question my "no" it's so much harder to stick to my guns about what's necessary for my health.

So it's all warm-&-fuzzy when people at work make allowances, when they occasionally offer to let me do some sit-down work while they stand and wait on customers, when they try to intercept me before I do something that they think might be too much for me.  Mushy though it be, these simple acts make my heart swell with joy and thankfulness!

Doctors and therapists said to give myself at

least a year before I could even begin to expect

be back-to-normal.  And it hasn't been a year yet.

 

Besides, as I learned in September, it's  important

to allow for "margin."  If I hover Just This Side of

"too much," one mishap shoves me over the edge.

  And that results in pain and illness that I really

don't want to deal with.

Reading Challenge 2015

How to Respond to Eastern Religions -- finished Jan 7
Crunchy Cons, by Dreher -- finished Jan 13

The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You,  by Aron
Let's Roll, by Beamer
One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich
Light in the Dark Belt: The Story of Rosa Young
Wild Swans, by Chang  -- finished Feb 25
On Being a Theologian of the Cross, by Forde
Holy Housewifery -- finished Jan 17
Flatland
Pioneer Girl (biography of Laura)

Somewhere Safe with Somebody Good, by Karon 
Beyond the Mists, by Benchley
Cutting for Stone, by Verghese

Re-reads:
Narnia
Harry Potter
Hammer of God



With Maggie:
Anne of Ingleside -- finished Jan 16
Rainbow Valley
Rilla of Ingleside

Penderwicks -- finished Feb 24
Carry On, Mr Bowditch
On to Oregon
Broken: 7 "Christian" Rules Every Christian Ought to Break

Swallows and Amazon series
or Little House series (again)
or Little Britches series
or Five Little Peppers

Jesus' Works in Psalm 115

Those idols in Psalm 115?  They have eyes that do not see, ears that do not hear, mouths that do not speak, noses that do not smell, hands that do not handle, and feet that do not walk.  "Those who make them are like them; so is everyone who trusts in them." 

I find it fascinating that the Gospels mention Jesus' healing-miracles for every single one of those body-parts.*  He healed cripples and made them to walk.  He gave hearing to the deaf and sight to the blind.  He loosed tongues.  He got into trouble with the Pharisees for fixing the fellow's withered hand that Sabbath day in the synagogue. 

It's almost as if the Man of Faith, who never had an idol in all His life, can even undo the idolatry that is part of our sinful nature.

* Footnote -- Except for noses.  That's

 not explicitly mentioned in the Gospels.

But Jesus did heal lepers, and it's likely

 that such healing fixed rotted noses. 

Avoiding the Caffeine and Sugar

Doctor told me that I could cut down on a repeat-infection by staying away from coffee, tea, and sugar.  Boo.  Hiss.

I know some of y'all like your coffee black, the way grown-ups drink it.  But I sure do like mine with sugar.  I'm wussy.  Oh, and the tea: Mississippi sweet-tea is too much like Kool-aid for my tastes.  But I sho'nuf do like me some sugar in my tea.  BUT my mommy told me once-upon-a-time that three weeks straight with NO SUGAR in your coffee will teach you to like it black.  She and Dad toughed it out.  And they never wanted to go back to sweetened coffee.  (Or so they said.  Maybe they fibbed?)

Well, I made it for more than three weeks with no sweetener in my beverages.  Not even stevia or honey.  So I can do it.  I don't want to do it.  I want sugar.  Still.  Months later. 

What I discovered, however, is that hot water works for me on par with unsweetened tea and coffee.  Plus, if I want to ratchet-up the flavor of plain old hot water, a little lemon juice or cranberry juice or orange or lime is wunderbar.  Better than unsweetened tea or coffee.

But
still not as good as tea and coffee with sugar.

Where Was Jesus Baptized?

The Israelites entered the Promised Land when they crossed the Jordan River (Joshua 3).  This is not only a historical, geographical fact, it's also a picture/foreshadowing of Christians crossing into heaven after a pilgrimage through the wilderness of life. 

Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River.  I always thought that was because [duh] the Jordan River just happened to be the one that was available for John the Baptist.  A simple fact of geography and nothing more.

But it IS more.  We are joined to Him in His death and resurrection (Romans 6).  In His baptism, He takes our sin upon Himself and gives us His righteousness.  This is our entry into the promised land.  Baptism is when the Father says also to us, "This one is My beloved son."

Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River.
A simple fact of geography.
And a big, sweet, beautiful theological truth
of what has been
and of what is yet to come.

Hooray for Antibiotics!

Avoiding doctors and hospitals is high on my priority list.  If I can cure something with sleep and herbs and garlic instead of with a bottle-of-something-from-Walgreens, I'm gonna try. 

That said, doctors and modern medicine can do aMAZing things!! If it weren't for her surgeons, Maggie wouldn't be alive. If it weren't for my surgeons last spring, I wouldn't be walking, talking, driving, and going to work any more. And just this past week, a granddaughter ended up in the hospital. From a splinter. A lousy little splinter that appeared to been removed easily and cleaned up just fine at the time. A century ago, kiddo may have died from that splinter and ensuing infection and how it was trying to spread. But in 2015, it's [cough] "no big deal." A bit o' minor surgery to clean the wound. Antibiotics pumped straight into her blood. Just one night as an in-patient. And thus Jesus cures her!

Ash Wednesday

This morning after chapel, last year's palms (from Palm Sunday) were burned to ashes (for the imposition of ashes later today).  There is a rite that goes with this; it's not in the hymnal so I can't find the exact words.  But there's something in there about how ashes show the frailty of our bodies.  "All flesh is grass, and all its loveliness like the flowers of the field.  The grass withers; the flower fades, because the breath of the Lord blows upon it.  The people are grass.  The grass withers...." (Isaiah 40)

Boy, that hits you different after you spent last Eastertide in ICU.  Frail bodies, indeed!

Talking Math

I recently bumped into the oh-so-cool blog "Talking Math with Your Children."

~ Fun stories that let you watch children learn when you don't have little ones to provide such amusement in your own home.

~ Ideas to encourage math-thinking in kids.

~ The importance of using numbers casually in everyday conversation, and how this habit will affect children's math-thinking.



I could waste a lot of time perusing this blog just for funsies!

For now, two quick comments:
First, the author put together an awesome book of shapes where you're supposed to figure out how "one of these things is not like the others; one of these things is not quite the same."  It will work for 3-yr-olds or 50-yr-olds. 

Second, a quote from the blogger:

Many things that you hope to remember, you can remember by encountering them frequently. Tabitha has never sat down with flash cards to memorize her single-digit addition facts. Yet she is in second grade and is starting to feel confident with them.

This is where I get skittish about "classical ed" for math [accepted by some as "Just memorize the factoids already and don't expect the kids to understand what's going on].  Granted, I realize that some kids do fine with "just memorize it and practice enough that you can rattle off the drill, and then later you'll learn to understand."  But some kids don't handle that well!  How this Tabitha learned is the same way most of my children learned their math facts: if you figure it out repeatedly, soon you've accomplished two things.  One: you've learned it, that is, memorized it.  Two: you understand the concept already ... even to the point that, if you should "forget it" some day, you'll easily be able to figure it out quickly.

Now, go play some math!

Can't Stay Clean

Maggie mopped the kitchen floor while I was gone yesterday.

I came home.  Kitty jumped into my lap.  I [shhh!  shhhh!] requested someone to sneak a pair of scissors over to me.  I trimmed knots and lumps out of kitty's fur.  I was careful with gathering the clumps, but still ... it's a hair-trim.  Little bits of fur scattered and drifted.

We don't have toddlers living here.  This must be our version of the rule that milk MUST be spilled on a freshly mopped floor within 17 minutes of the mop drying.

Twelve Minutes

Grandkids were dropped off here on Monday morning.  Katie told me what she'd brought for food and gave me a list of phone numbers. 

No sooner had Mommy and Daddy left than Alia (6 yrs old) tells me that she NeeEEEeeeds a peanut-butter-&-Nutella sandwich.  "It's been TWELVE minutes since I ate breakfast, Nanna.  I am SOooooo hungry!" 

"Twelve minutes?!  Oh my.  Really?!"

"Yes, Nanna.  Twellllve minutes.  I neeeEEEeeed a sandwich!!"   This is, of course, accompanied by elaborate gestures and vocalizations of one nigh onto dying of starvation.

After a bit of this [ahem] bantering, I leave for a minute or so to help Zoe with something.  I come back to the kitchen, and Alia dives in again.  "It's been TWELVE minutes since I ate.  I neeEEEeeed food, Nanna!  I neeEEEEeeed a Nutella sandwich!" 

Please understand that it takes about 7 minutes to drive from their home to ours.  They'd been here for a few minutes already.  Doing a fairly good job of hiding my desire to laugh, I told Alia, "You know, sweetie, twelve minutes ago, I think your parents were already locking the door of your apartment and you were headed down the stairs and out to the car.  I'm not so sure of your timetable on all this." 

A moment of regrouping.

"Nanna, it's been THIRrrrrTEEeeN minutes since I ate.  I'm starving!!  I neeEEEeeed a peanut-butter-&-Nutella sandwich."

Update

Not blogging.  Missing it.

A couple of big snows.  I think we finally (!) have all the snow removed. 

Taxes finished.  Woo hoo!

Maggie's pneumonia is gone.  Colds and general illness in the house aren't plaguing us at the moment.

Babysitting kids more than normal. 

Trying to catch up on schoolwork that was neglected during Dec/Jan illnesses.

Big news: another grandchild on the way.  Yee haw!

New glasses weren't adjusted right and my eyes were all googly-weird until I drove back to the optometrist (wearing the old glasses) a few days later.  Nice to be able to see again.

Book I'm reading is harder than anything I've read since pre-stroke.  But I'm enjoying it.  Biographies of Chinese women in the 1900s.

Starting this week, my work schedule is increasing two hours a week.  May not sound like much to you, but it seems like a humongous step to me.  Also, I have a follow-up with the neurologist soon.

Looked at a house in town this past weekend, thinking a move would give Maggie access to places (church, library, grocery store, pharmacy, doctor, gym, park, possible jobs, etc) without being chauffeured.  Some extra freedom for her.  But the house, a duplex, wasn't okay.  And we have some serious reserves about moving into the village anyway.  At least, the condition of the house made for a no-brainer decision!

Holy Housewifery

It looks like an old-fashioned manual on how to be holier-than-thou.

It's not.

The book is a delightful combination.
If you can look past the occasional references to praying to the saints, you find humor and pretty decent theology.

Imagine a combination of Martin Luther, Matt Harrison, John Kleinig, and Peter Bender -- on topics of vocation and joy and marriage and contentment and suffering and serving-the-neighbor (albeit a bit short on the Gospel).  Stir in a hefty amount of humor similar to Erma Bombeck's (yes!!).  Sprinkle lightly with some Roman Catholic perspective.  

It's a very quick read. 
By Ethel Marbach. 
Published in 1964.

Reading Challenge 2015

Challenge is probably too strong a word.  Maybe "plans."  Or "tentative plans."  Or wish list.

How to Respond to Eastern Religions -- finished Jan 7
Crunchy Cons, by Dreher

The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You,  by Aron
Let's Roll, by Beamer
One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich
Light in the Dark Belt: The Story of Rosa Young
Wild Swans, by Chang
On Being a Theologian of the Cross, by Forde

Holy Housewifery (because somebody mentioned it jokingly on Jenny's FB page and I happen to have a copy)

Somewhere Safe with Somebody Good, by Karon 
Beyond the Mists, by Benchley
Cutting for Stone, by Verghese

Re-reads:
Narnia
Harry Potter
Hammer of God



With Maggie:
Anne of Ingleside
Rainbow Valley
Rilla of Ingleside

Penderwicks
Broken: 7 "Christian" Rules Every Christian Ought to Break

Swallows and Amazon series
or Little House series (again)
or Little Britches series
or Five Little Peppers

Kid's Choice: Mom-at-Home or Mom-at-Work

The story comes from many different families.  Kid says, "Mommy, don't go to work today.  Stay home with me."  Mommy says, "Well, I could quit my job and stay home with you.  But if I do, then we don't have money to buy the things you like.  Don't you like going to the go-kart track?  Don't you like going out for pizza?  Don't you like the toys we buy and the Buzz Lightyear sweatshirt you chose last week?  If I didn't have a job, I wouldn't have money to buy those things."  Kid thinks a bit.  Kid says, "Go to work, Mommy."

People laugh.
People think it's so cute.

I would be embarrassed to announce proudly that my kid would prefer material stuff from me than my company.  (That is, assuming that Mom's income is not buying necessities such as rent, groceries, and medicine.) 

My question:  WHY does a kid answer, "Go to work, Mommy"?  Because the child is accustomed to day-care, does he see only the loss of stuff and not the gain of his parents' attention?  Is it that the child naturally prefers indulgences to being with parents?  (I suspect not but may be wrong.)  Has the child learned that the parents think the toys and outings are a higher priority than copious time together as a family? 

Community -- Consumerism

Consumerists

find and express their personal identity through the consumption of products.  Its ultimate goal is the spread of happiness and well-being through the improvement of material conditions, and the creation of general increase of wealth.
There's nothing objectively wrong with material progress, and a great deal right with it.
The problem is the way we relate to our materials gains.

Crunchy Cons, page 29

A society built on consumerism must break down eventually for the same reason socialism did: because even though it is infinitely better than socialism at meeting our physical needs and gratifying our physical desires, consumerism also treats human beings as merely materialists, as ciphers on a spreadsheet.  It cannot, over time, serve the deepest needs of the human person for stability, spirituality, and authentic community.

Crunchy Cons, page 49

Community -- Technology

Americans naively accept new technologies, thinking only of what these technologies can do, but never what they can undo.

Crunchy Cons, page 33,

referring to Neil      

Postman's Technopoly

Yes.

TV.  Facebook.  Smart-phones.  Email lists. 

But they're here.

No undoing it.

How do we respond, 

using the technology wisely,

and yet preserving what that technology will undo?

Community -- Individualism

Free-market, technology-driven capitalism, for all its benefits, tends to pull families and communities apart by empowering individuals and encouraging --even mandating-- individualism.  Most Americans would say, "Hey, what's wrong with individualism?" not thinking about the social costs of strained and even broken familial and communal bonds.  

Crunchy Cons, page 41

Christmas Pictures: Time for Games

Big girls played "Ticket to Ride."

 

Younger set tried their hand at Battleship.

The fellas pulled out their Magic Cards.

Community -- A Book

Eight years ago, a bunch of my friends started a book-discussion group.  I wanted to join.  But I was still homeschooling three kids.  Somebody's artery was beginning to fail and surgery was being planned.  It was the wrong time for me to be reading for myself. 

So now I'm ready. 
Already.

The book was published in 2006.  Rod Dreher wrote Crunchy Cons. 

I think now is a much better time for me to be reading this book.  I've been struggling with questions that I didn't have eight years ago.  Moving to suburbia and starting a job-for-wages has brought with it an unsettledness.  An unsettledness which I haven't been able to make sense of.  And this book is helping.

The book is about how certain traditionalists can't stand the liberals because so much of what they're about is fulfilling their lusts, unrestrained.  And yet, these same traditionalists can't stand the conservatives because so much of what they're about is fulfilling their greed, unrestrained.   The book is about how this basic premise coincides with a plethora of topics: obesity, immigration policy, how everyone bemoans that we don't know our neighbors, the fussing betwixt our township and the nearby village, organic veggies and food co-ops, a new Meijer's or a new YMCA, the tremendous importance of stay-at-home moms, and so much more.

What I'm pondering most is the thesis that many who consider themselves conservatives, aren't.  They may be in the "conservative" political party.  They may be in favor of the free market.  But if they're still driven by the consumerism that dominates this culture, they're fooling themselves.  Getting more stuff and "growing the economy" isn't conservative.  Spending time with family, appreciating beauty, serving the neighbor, working hard, being in touch with the natural world -- that's what being conservative is really about.

More Christmas Pictures

Fixing Pietism

Joe has been accused of being a pietist.  He wonders, "Am I?" 

What's the solution?

Usually the person cusses, gets drunk, and does other decidedly impious things.  Hey, if he's not pious, then he can't trust in his piety, right?  Problem solved!

Except it's not.

Sometimes the flip-side is a response.  "Am I a pietist?  Am I looking too much at my own devotion, my own prayers, my own obedience?"  So I look closer at myself.  I pay more attention to my devotions and my church-attendance and my prayers.  After all, I need to pay attention to my efforts to not pay attention to myself.

Wait.
What did I just say?

Ohhhhh....
you see the conundrum plain as day, huh?



Maybe there actually is a solution.
A solution that looks nothing like the two common fixes.

Maybe the solution is, "Lord Jesus, I am a pietist.  I want You to like me better than the next guy because I'm such a good Christian.  This is self-idolatry.  I beg You to have mercy on me, a sinner."

Do you think He will?

Christmas Pictures

Mr Photogenic

Matthias weighed down with medals.

Philip's height provides a grrreat view.

Papa and some children.

I love this happy picture!

Pre-Christmas Pictures

Church's choirs singing with the symphony orchestra.

Alia and Zoe -- shepherds in the SunSch Christmas pageant.

Broken in 2014

Broken car.  The deer ran into it.

Broken brain.  Who knew there was an aneurysm waiting to burst?

Broken garden.  But Katie helped.
Broken body.  Side effects of the hospitalization and medications.
Broken garage floor.  Last winter was COLD.

Broken pipe in the septic system.  Last winter was COLD.

Broken furnace.  Again: last winter was cold.

Broken water-filtration system.

Broken lung.  Antibiotics can do wonders for Pneumonia-Girl.

Broken car again.  Another naughty deer.

Broken different-car.  Just some aging.

Youth group began reading Fisk's Broken this year, so Maggie and I read a chapter together before the discussion meetings.  Hey.  HEY!  It was NOT supposed to be an omen!  Here's hoping for a less broken summation-of-the-year twelve months hence.

Sins and/or Ills

At Lessons and Carols the other night, we sang the LSB version of a Gerhardt Christmas hymn:

Children, from the sins that grieve you,
you are freed.

It struck me because TLH says,

Brethren, from all ills that grieve you,
you are freed.

It's like what Matthew tells us (chapter 8).  While Isaiah says, "He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows," Matthew quotes it as "He took up our infirmities and bore our sicknesses."

Even though the sicknesses wouldn't be here but for sin,
even though sin is the cause of illness and death,
sometimes it nice to know that Jesus isn't "just" the cure for our sinfulness, but is also the one who bore the brokenness of our bodies, our snotty noses, our achy joints, our headaches, our mental shortcomings, and our physical weakness.  And because He took those infirmities to the cross, that gives us a cure.  The cure.

"From all ills that grieve you
you are freed.
All you need
I will surely give you."

Broken Day

Pie-filling spilled over on Saturday night.  The oven was smoking.
Maggie and I have snotty, coughy colds.

First item of business Sunday morning?  Stepping in a big pile of kitty-barf.  Squish!

Then I caught myself right before I walked out the door to church.  Dinner in the crockpot, ready to cook while we were gone.  But it was turned off.  Flipped the switch on -- whew!

Came home from church to find dinner cooked (whew!) but the house cold.  Twelve degrees lower than the thermostat was set.  Arranged for the repairman to arrive first thing Monday morning.  I couldn't manage to start a fire in the fireplace, but Gary fixed it when he came home from church.  I couldn't bake for heat, as the oven hadn't been fixed from the pie-spill.  A friend loaned us her space heater.  Blankets, fire, two space heaters, all the body heat contained to one room -- we didn't turn into popsicles.

Adjusting blankets in the evening, we managed to knock over a pint of cranberry juice.  Not cranberry cocktail, all nice and watered down.  100% cranberry juice.  I used a lot of Resolve, and the stain did come out.  Woo hoo!

Repairman arrived this morning.  Weird breakdown, but the part was available somewhere locally.  He had it fixed by 9:30.  We can now [again] feel a noticeable temperature-difference when entering the garage from the house.  Honest and knowledgeable tradesmen are gold.

Helpful Girls

I need to watch my whining around my daughters.  I express any dissatisfaction over what needs to be accomplished and how unable I am ... and somebody shows up to tackle projects. 

On the one hand, I feel guilty.
On the other hand, I feel oh-so-relieved and grateful!

That Scary Part of Amos 5

Woe to you who desire the day of the Lord!
For what good is the day of the Lord to you?
It will be darkness, and not light.
Is not the day of the Lord darkness, and not light?
Is it not very dark, with no brightness in it?   (Amos 5:18-20)

When Pastor read those verses, I hated it.  
Where's the hope?
So, you're waiting for the day of the Lord?  
Sounds like Amos is saying, "Tough noogies.  Ain't you gonna be surprised?  It's going to be terrible!"

But what about the pillar of cloud (Ex 14:20)?  It was darkness to the one side, but light to the other.  That pillar was protection for the people of God; it separated them from those who would harm them. 

They Slumbered and Slept

Interesting what we find back-to-back in Matthew.
Chapter 25 -- the parable of the wise and foolish virgins.  They slept.  They were supposed to watch for the coming of the Bridegroom.  But they couldn't.
Chapter 26 -- the Garden of Gethsemane.  Peter, James, and John were told to watch and pray.  But they couldn't.  Instead, they slumbered.

The Opposite of "Rejoice"

Pastor is always talking about rejoicing, even in the midst of trouble. 

So. Hard. To. Understand.

In my mind, the opposite of "rejoice" is "grieve."
You know -- if you're not happy, then you're sad.

So when you run across a passage like 1 Thessalonians 1:6 ("You received the word in much affliction, with joy in the Holy Spirit"), it messes with my mind.  So I asked a simple question:  "What is the opposite of rejoice?" 

The answer?  "Despair."

Grieving and suffering and hurting and sorrow are NOT the opposite of joy.  Despair is.  Hopelessness is.  Giving-up-on-God's-mercy is the opposite of "rejoice."

Now things are beginning to make sense.

The Malefactors Crucified with Jesus

It's Luke that tells about the two criminals crucified with Jesus (23:39-43).  Luke -- who was connected to the apostle Paul. 

Paul -- who blasphemed at the cross.  Paul -- who scoffed at Jesus' prayer for those who were putting Him to death.

Paul --  who came to believe that he deserved torture and death for his sin.  Paul -- who learned to beg for Jesus' mercy.

No wonder the story is in Luke.  That story of the two criminals probably really resonated with Paul.

Apologetics

Those who like apologetics tend to think of faith as having an intellectual foundation.  They use reason to "prove" why the Bible is true.  But because of this intellectual foundation, they have little regard for the sacraments, which are supernatural, and which cannot be explained by way of reason and evidence.

Today's Laugh

We all could use a little more calmness in our lives, right?
On that note, here's a message from a friend:

"Here's some simple advice from the Dr Phil show.  He said that the way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you've started and never finished.

"So I looked around the house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished.  Soon, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of Zinfandel, a package of Oreos, the remainder of my old Prozac prescription, the rest of the cheesecake, a bag of Doritos, and a box of chocolates.

"You have no idea how freaking good I feel."

Just to clarify, for people who have no

sense of humor (and I know you're

 out there!) this is a JOKE.  Okay?
Everybody knows that you can't be
drinking liquor and popping Prozacs.