Country Dancing

Mr Toad's Character

What a difference 100 years can make!

Background:  Maggie and I weren't sure what new book to start after our last read-aloud concluded.  We'd run across a reference to The Wind in the Willows in her math book [yes, I did say math book, odd as that may sound to those of you who don't know Fred] and I realized that Maggie had not heard TWitW last time the family had read it.  [Amazing problem that homeschool mothers have!  Some children have the audacity to not be born yet when you did something that all the kids were supposed to experience for "school."] So anyway, we grabbed a copy from the library and started reading.  I enjoyed the book well enough when we read it 20 years ago, but I'm finding it positively delightful this time!!  Maggie appears to be finding it acceptable. 

In The Wind in the Willows, Mr Toad likes new things.  He likes nice clothes.  He flits from one new curiosity/passion to another.  When he fell in love with boating, he ditched his previous passions.  When he decided to go traveling in a gypsy carriage, he was done-done-done with boating.  When he discovered a motor car, he promptly dropped his interest in traveling in his gypsy carriage. 

My impression is that, when the book was written, this Affinity For The New was seen as a character flaw.  Most of the other animals were more content with their place in life and with the simple pleasures of their surroundings.  Not Mr Toad.  The other critters bore with Mr Toad's idiosyncrasies.  He was curious about new things and always wanted to find out more about whatever-was-novel-today.

Today, in our society, in our economy, it's all flip-flopped.  Contentment is not considered good.  It's often considered hokey.  It's often considered unpatriotic (as contentment won't boost consumerism).  And it's definitely considered "dull."  Desire-for-the-new is held up as a cherished characteristic. 

We even run political campaigns with the promise of CHANGE.

My, how values have ... uh ... changed.

I have gobs of pictures to download off my camera. But in the meantime I will steal borrow some other people's snapshots.

Alia raking leaves.

Our friend Rachel caught a lovely picture of Maggie!

Olivia and Andrew.

Olivia and Maggie.

Mandy and Paul.

Zoe in the pile of leaves.

Surely in Temples Made with Hands...

I used to love "Built on the Rock the Church Doth Stand."  It has some great lines and a good, strong tune. 

But when I began to understand that Jesus really truly IS there in the Divine Service -- there in His word -- there in the Supper -- there in the preaching -- there in the absolving -- I began to be troubled by

Surely in temples made with hands
God the most high is not dwelling.
High above earth His temple stands,
all earthly temples excelling.

But He is dwelling here, in this building, in this nave, in this chancel, on this altar.  He is!

When I crabbed about that line to Pastor Wiest, he told me to "take it up with Paul" because it's exactly what the apostle said when he was preaching in Athens, at Mars Hill.  Well, just go and hog-tie me, Pastor Wiest!  Darn it, how can I argue with the apostle who was inspired by God to say it?

But it still bothered me.

So after church today we looked at the Greek.  And now it makes a little more sense.  All through John -- especially where Jesus talks about abiding in the word, and abiding in the Spirit, and abiding in Him, and His abiding in us -- it's a different word.  It's not the same kind of "dwell."  So often "dwelling" is "living" or "abiding" or "remaining."  But at Mars Hill, when Paul said that God does not "dwell" in earthly temples, it's more like God isn't housed in earthly temples, like, y'know, "contained."  

Well, now, that makes loads more sense. 

He does abide here in our churches.  He does remain there.  He does dwell with us there.  But He's not limited there; He's not locked up there.

So now I'm wondering what impression the song gives other people.  Maybe I'm the only one.  Maybe everybody else thinks it's a no-brainer that God is everywhere and yet at the same time is specially located in the holy place of our churches.

Hush That Timer!

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

"Whose timer?'
Nobody answers.

"Hey, Andrew, is that your timer?"
"No, I didn't set it."

When I find Gary, "Hey, did you set the timer?"
"No."

When I find Maggie, "What's the timer for?"
"I don't know."

"Well, somebody must have set it for something."

But nobody owned up to it.





Oops.
Oh yeah....
I wanted to remember to not forget the perma-press in the dryer.

Oops.

A Story: The Dark Night of the Soul

One Tuesday evening twenty-some years ago, I sat in a classroom at the seminary with about 100 other women.  The sem offered mini-classes for wives, and this one was crowded because it was being led by a popular teacher.  One of the wives brought up her fear for the rest of us.  You see, according to her, the rest of us weren't really Christians.  We hadn't really turned our lives over to Jesus.  We hadn't really made Him lord of our lives.  She knew what we were like because she used to be one of us, thinking that she was a Christian.  But then, ah, then, she had a conversion experience, you see.  She wanted us to realize our dire straits so that we too might Make A Decision For Jesus and thus be saved.

Her proof-text for all this was from Matthew 7: "Not everyone who says to Me, 'Lord, Lord,' shall enter the kingdom of heaven....  I will declare to them, 'I never knew you; depart from Me, all you who practice lawlessness.'"  She accused the whole class of being the ones who thought they were doing the Lord's work but who would be surprised at the end of the world when Jesus says, "Get lost; I never knew you."

I remember well how the teacher/pastor let her keep talking.  I remember well how he said somberly, "Yes, that passage frightens me.  How do I know if I am the one to whom Jesus will say, 'Depart from Me'?"  I remember well how that evening terrified me.

For three weeks, life was hell.  I knew I couldn't pray for help.  After all, God only hears the prayers of Christians, and I obviously was not a Christian.  I don't think I talked to Gary about it at the time; it would be shameful to tell him about it.  I was afraid of death, afraid of a freak car accident or whatever might suddenly kill a 20-something gal.  Death meant an eternity in hell; I wasn't a Christian.  I was trapped in my imperfection.  I had no hope.  There was nothing I could do to ensure that I was living up to God's standards.  Nothing I could do to ensure His wrath would not zot me to hell. 

Then, blessedly, this came up, somehow, in a conversation with our pastor.  Tom Baker [no, not Four, and not Puddleglum, but the pastor] lavished the Gospel upon me.  He told me that Jesus was the one who baptized me.  He told me that God chose me, that I couldn't choose Him.  He told me that Jesus' death on the cross forgives my sin.  He kept telling me and telling me and telling me, forgiving me, blessing me, pointing me to Christ and His work instead of ro my navel-gazing.  I suppose it might have been a little like Luther's tower experience.  "You mean He forgives me?  Me?  But it really is true that I'm as sinful and unbelieving as this 'holy' woman accused.  And still, Jesus forgives me???"

Today I can see how God worked good through that hellish situation.  What the devil means for destruction, God uses to draw needy people to Himself.  I have had to learn again and again what Pastor Baker gave me that day, that week, that month.  Yes, the accusations of Satan (and that sem wife) on that horrible Tuesday night so long ago, ... the accusations are true.  But truer yet --and oh so much bigger-- is my Savior's love for me and His blood shed to save me. 





Through the years I wondered how the teacher could stand in front of class and allow that woman's accusations to stand unanswered.  Through the years I wondered if he too had been damned by her words.   Was the pastor so full of doubts that he could not defend the scores of women in the room that night?  Had someone come to him later with the good news of the forgiveness of sins?  Had someone brought him the peace that Pastor Baker brought to me?  How sad it would be to "hope"* that Jesus' righteousness would cover you, while continuing in the uncertainty that Jesus might instead announce on the Last Day, "I never knew you."

 *Footnote: Sometimes "hope" means

 a sure and certain hope, something 

that is incontrovertible.  But too often

 "hope" means merely wishful thinking.

In Christ Jesus 

we have boldness

and access  

with confidence

through faith in Him.   (Eph 3)

Gobs of Tables

Today is garbage pick-up.

So we're driving to chapel this morning, and I see a table out with the neighbor's trash.   I was gripped by an overwhelming urge to brake and turn around and nab that table!

Maggie didn't understand.  She doesn't remember Nanna's basement.  Nobody in my family ever bought tables.  We just took one from the stash in my grandma's basement.  Why she had a penchant for collecting tables, I do not know.  But she did.

And as revealed by this morning's fight with myself over "To dumpster-dive, or not to dumpster-dive?  That is the question," there must be a smidge of Nanna's need-for-tables in my genetic make-up.

Loving the Beautiful People?

He has no form or comeliness.
And when we see Him, 
there is no beauty that we should desire Him.
He is despised and rejected by men,
a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.  (Isaiah 53)

Oh, so if there were beauty, 
then maybe we would desire Him.

In other words, 
we desire what pleases us, 

what makes us happy, 

what is beautiful to us.

"Well, DUH," you say. 

"Who desires what's despicable?" you say.

Oh.

Yeah.

There is One who does.

How weird!

How blessedly weird!

And amazingly, that weird, unearned love makes the ugly one beautiful. 

Demon Possession

"Can a Christian be demon possessed?"  I've lost count of how many times I've heard people ask that question.  And this week I heard a most awesome answer.

Christians can and will be attacked by the demons.  That's not possession; it's an attack.  A person may wonder if it's demon-possession.  It may feel the same.  It may appear to be the same.  But in the end, does it matter if we know whether it's an attack or possession?  After all, the remedy is the same thing: "Depart, you unclean spirit, and make room for the Holy Spirit!" ... and then the comfort of the forgiveness of sins for Jesus' sake is applied to the afflicted one.

How awesome is that?!

Devotions

"O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall show forth Thy praise."

Is that really so difficult to say?

I recently attended a gathering.  The devotions had no invocation, no versicles, no creed, no hymn, no psalms, no canticles.  The devotions started with a religious reading, followed by a prayer.  You'd think we could have at least prayed the Lord's Prayer.  (Jesus did say, after all, "When you pray, say 'Our Father....'")

We've been reading John Kleinig's book Grace Upon Grace for Bible class this fall.  In it, he talks about how God's people are made holy by things like the invocation, creed, Our Father, and the benediction.  As I read that section of the book, I reflected on how impotent we think those words are.  They seem silly to most of us.  They seem little.  They seem like the same-old-same-old. 

And then you throw together more than a hundred Christians, and we pray, and I feel cheated (yes, cheated!) that we can't even say "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."  We can't have someone read a psalm to which we can respond with the Gloria Patri.  We can't confess the Faith together -- "I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth...." 

Really, dear pastors.  God gave you the words to say.  You can find them in the book.  He ordered you to speak them for my comfort, for my strengthening, for my life.  Would you please just say them?!

Jereboam's Sign

The man of God was sent to Israel to prophesy to King Jereboam (1 Kings 13).  The Lord told the prophet not to eat or drink while he was there.  When the king invited him to stay for lunch, the prophet said no.  When a false prophet invited him for lunch, the Lord's prophet said no.  But then the false prophet scammed him, saying that the Lord had had sent a message for the guy to stay and eat after all.  So the prophet did.  I feel for the guy in the story.  He'd done the hard job of reporting bad news to the king. He'd already said "no thanks" a couple of times.  Then he listened when someone lied to him.  I can sympathize with his reticence to being rude to the men of Israel.

Still, he died.
The Lord said "Don't eat while you're there."
He ate.  He died.

It seems like such a small thing he did wrong.

But this is a sign to Jereboam.  Death was the result when Adam and Eve turned from God's word.  Because we forget those stories of ancient history, God gave a fresh sign to Jereboam: "Act contrary to the good word I have given you, and it will result in death."  If such a small disobedience resulted in the prophet's death, how could Jereboam ever hope to escape death for leading God's people into idolatry and false worship?  What God says will surely come to pass.

Darned Allergies

I polluted my body today.  Attending a conference, I consumed a cup of coffee (with sugar), a cup of tea (with sugar), some white-bread noodles with lunch (although I had the sense to skip the white-bread sandwich), store-mayo on the cole slaw, a delectable clam chowder (sigh -- dairy, of course), two bites of cake, a small Pepsi, a handful of white-bread pretzels, and two glasses of beer.   And I failed to take my enzymes with lunch.

Ah-choo!
Ah-choo!

At least I had the self-control to NOT guzzle sweet-tea all afternoon and to keep my hands off the candy-bars.

Ah-choo!
Ah-choo!

So this is why I bother to take my vitamins, drink my kombucha, take my enzymes, bake my whole-grain-laden brown bread, mix my own salad dressings, etc.  All that dag-blasted effort I put into eating right must make a difference after all.  One brief day of minor indulgences and this is how much I itch and sneeze?!

Tomorrow I will do better.

I hope.

A Cascade Effect

It's common for those with some level of monetary security (even though it's not wealth) to look down on those without.  I remember years ago when Rush would dispute the line, "There, but for the grace of God, go I."  He had a point.  It does matter that people rein in their spending and that they work hard and make good decisions.

But what I've been noticing is how bad situations multiply.  Also, how good situations multiply.  It's like there's a spiral, going up or going down.  It's like there's momentum in one direction, momentum that can be slowed or increased, but which is very hard to reverse entirely.

A person may have been in a devastating car accident.  A woman may have been abandoned by her husband, with children to care for.  Maybe a house fire.  Maybe cancer or some other disease.  Maybe a house that turns out to be termite-infested or full of mold.  Sure, bad things happen, and people can (and do) work hard to rise above the circumstances.  But when there are ongoing health problems, it makes it harder to obtain work and advance in the company.  When there are financial problems, there's that much less money available, and so maybe a person can't take advantage of a good deal when it pops up.

And in the same way, good situations feed off themselves.  Maybe a teenager can find a good job because the parents have connections.  If there's extra money, it can go toward investments, or toward paying off a house (or buying the next car with cash) so that less is wasted on interest.  A person with good health can expend the effort and ability to do things that not only save money but also increase well-being; consider older folks who cannot shovel their own walks or clean their own gutters and what it will cost them to hire someone to handle those chores. In this society, a person with nice clothes and pretty looks will face different opportunities than those with haggard and grizzled appearance.

Katie was telling us today how some of the people Nathan runs into at work look down on those who have less.  Katie was listening to moms at the library who are pleased that one of them found a maid who will work for very little money.  In both cases, it was like the poorer people deserved what they got.  And it is true that poor choices will often result in uncomfortable results while responsible choices may result in more freedom.  But certainly not always! 

What are people supposed to do when they're stuck on the downward spiral?  Can we intervene in others' bad-momentum and slow it or reverse it?

The Sun's Bedtime

Last time Pastor went to Scandinavia to preach, he came back and reported to Bible class about his trip.  They were there in early summer; the sun wasn't down for long overnight, and the nights didn't get dark-dark.  I thought it was tremendously interesting that he mentioned how they didn't get tired.  It would get to be midnight or later, and they would notice the clock which told them how late it was.  But their bodies didn't tell them.

The sun is setting earlier and earlier.  And I am so sleepy.  I need naps on the days I'm not at work.  On days I don't nap, I'm yawning away by 7:00 and struggling not to nod off by 8:00 or so.

If this is virus-fighting, I should be giving in and sleeping, letting my body use its reserves to fight the germies.  If this is "the sun went to bed so I should too" I probably ought to be fighting my desire to laze (and popping more D3 capsules).  The trick is figuring out which is which.

Baptismal Pooping

What is it with my kids?  "Receive the sign of the holy cross," and some water connected to "I forgive you all your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost" ... and they filled their diapers to overflowing.* 

Twenty-three years ago today my baby spent the church service wrapped in a kitchen towel.  You'd have thought, by this point, that on a baptism Sunday I'd tuck a change of clothes into the diaper bag.  But no.  I forgot.  And Paul outpooped the poops of all his older sibs.  After the baptism rite, I bathed the other end of the kid, snagging a dish towel from the kitchen drawer so he wouldn't be cold and naked.

Also on this day 23 years ago we sang "Oh, How Great Is Thy Compassion" for the baptism hymn.  Pastor Wieting initially thought it was the oddest request he'd ever had for a baptism hymn.  Really?  "And in our deep degradation, Thou hadst mercy so that we might be saved eternally." Ah, yes, it works just dandy as a baptism hymn.  I'll sing it again today.  Maybe others in the family will too.


* Except for the two youngest. 

Bronchitis Treatment? Or Coincidence?

Salt water from a neti-pot can clean out sinuses.  Salt-water gargles can soothe a sore throat and wash away excess mucus from the throat.

Monday night I was wishing so bad for a "neti pot" that could wash snot out of bronchial tubes and the lungs. 

For some reason, it crossed my mind that hot, moist compresses might help.  Soaking in a hot tub might do something, but that's not long enough.  So I placed a wrung-out hot washcloth at the base of my neck, covered it with a heating pad, used a wide Ace-bandage to strap the heating pad to my upper chest, turned it on, and went to bed.  (Okay.  Okay.  I know the instructions that come with the heating pad say you should NEVER sleep with the heating pad on.  It's a fire hazard.  Or you could burn yourself.  I'm sure they're right.  I was a bad bad person to go to sleep with the heating pad turned on.)

About three hours later, I woke up, coughing.  I spent an hour --an entire hour-- disturbing Gary's sleep mightily, coughing and coughing and coughing up mucus and snot-balls.  It was disgusting!!  But amazingly, by morning my chest was no longer tight.  It's not like I was done coughing for the next two days, but my health was much better than I'd expected it to be.

So was it a coincidence?  Or shall I try it again (bad bad bad to use a heating pad this way) next time a cold tries to settle in my bronchial tubes?  My logic is that we use moist heat to draw infection such as in a stye or an abscess or in mastitis or in boils.  Maybe the moist heat drew the infection together so that it could be coughed out? 

Shhhh -- The tricky part is going to 

be my trying to remember this little 

experiment next time my bronchial 

tubes get clogged.

Poll-Worker Training

Okay, so maybe I'm just kinda sorta, a-little-bit maybe, intimidated.

I went to training this afternoon for those of us who work the elections.  Voter-ID was shot down by a Madison judge.  So today we talked about what proves identity, what we can and cannot ask for, as well as what proves residency.  [Mind ... spinning....]  Since the poll-workers in our group really seemed to care about the integrity of an election (that is, everybody having his vote counted, and only one vote counted per person) there were lots of questions.  "Wait!  You don't mean to say ...."???   Same-day voter-registration is fraught with problems!

We know that turnout will be exceptionally high for next month's election.  At the end of the training session, one of the poll-workers asked just how high a turnout the clerks anticipate.  They said "high 90s."  HIGH NINETIES?!  They told us that our county had the highest turnout rate in the country for the last presidential election.  It sounds like it could be a very long day.

Write-ins?  Do you know how much longer that makes a poll-worker's day?  We have to be there a minimum of 15 hours as-is.  Every write-in ballot makes the day longer, as we have to record them by hand. 

One of the poll-workers reported that she had received phone calls at home, asking if she usually voted absentee or in person, and what time she would be voting.  She was horrified.  Why would anybody want that information unless they were scheming to submit absentee ballots in the name of other voters, bumping their votes? 

They told us that there would be "observers."  I don't know if one side or both will be there to observe.  But some of the poll-workers are aware that at least one campaign is training observers to be there to watch closely.  We were taught what observers can and cannot do.  We were warned that out-of-state "observers" will sometimes cause conflict, suggesting voting irregularities because different states do have different laws.  (For instance, one time I was registering voters, and I had a 17-yr-old come to vote.  He wasn't trying to scam anybody or hide his age.  The state they'd recently moved from allowed 17-yr-olds to vote in the primary if they'd be 18 by election day.  He and his brother and his dad initially thought I was disenfranchising the teenager.  Nope.  Wisconsin law doesn't allow that.)

Military votes can come in via online or email ballots.  That will be interesting.

I think I better make a crockpot of substantial soup to take with me that day. And hearty bread.  And beverages.  And cookies.  

What a chance to say HI to all the neighbors!

Dairy-Free Tomato Soup

Saute in some olive oil:
1 onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1-3 tsp hot pepper, minced (may substitute a pinch of red pepper flakes)
until onion is transluscent.

Add:
2 quarts of canned tomatoes (or about 4# of fresh tomatoes, chopped)
1 bay leaf

Bring to boil.  Then add:
1 Tbsp brown sugar
3 slices of bread (or 1-2 oz of soda crackers)

Continue to boil over medium heat for about 5 minutes.
In small batches, put soup through blender to puree.

In saucepan, bring 1 pint of chicken broth to a boil.
Add tomato-smoosh to broth. Heat through.
Adjust seasonings with salt, black pepper, and other spices of choice.

If soup is too thick, water it down with water (for those who must avoid dairy) or with whole milk.





Hat tip to Sue's blog. 
Thanks for the yummy suggestion!

The Conundrum of Healthy Eating

When you most need the good food,
when you most need to avoid store-bought products with their additives,
when you most need vitamin-packed whole foods,

is when you're sick or weak
and cannot prepare the usual wellness-instilling fare.

Red Leaves

Katie and the girls walked to the library yesterday.  Katie tells about the 3-yr-old's trip on her blog.  But I didn't see 1-yr-old's tale written anywhere yet. 

So Zoe had a brown, dry leaf that she could carry.  After a while, she dropped it.  When she noticed that she no longer had her leaf, the barely-talking child indicates to Mom that her leaf had gone missing.  She needed help.  So Katie picks up a red leaf and hands it to Zoe.

Zoe looks at the red leaf and says, "Hot!  Hot!" in that way babies do. "Hwwwwhhwww; hhwwwwhhww!" she blows to cool it.

I don't know about you.

But I think that's pretty

good deductive reasoning.

Wrong.  But good thinking!