Aprons

Maggie and I have been sewing this week.  We started this project last spring when we found the oh-so-exciting fabric for half-price.  Julie (Olivia's mom) had worked on some simple sewing skills with the girls nearly six years ago, putting together a baby blanket for Alia.  This week Maggie progressed to facings, ties/straps, patch pockets, and [gasp] curved seams. She also learned that her mother is a freak about ironing while sewing!  Everything must be ironed, ironed again, and then ironed a little more for good measure.

For the record, "See and Sew" patterns ["EASY to make!"] are not that simple.  And the directions cannot be followed by somebody unless she has some pretty good sewing experience already under her belt.  Boy, howdy, I thought an apron pattern would be a good start on sewing.  Not this pattern, though! 

We now have enough aprons to go around.

And we have aprons that will make us smile.

And I have the knowledge to use my old apron pattern (the one I used in 8th-grade sewing class for my first garment-production) next time I get the itch for apron-sewing.

(I think the flounce on the bottom of the apron makes me look fat.  Or pregnant.  But "Does this make me look fat?" is a naughty naughty question.  So I will not ask it.)

Matthias's Baptism

Okay, so it's a six-week-old picture 

that I should've posted a long time 

ago.  I'm behind...

Let This Cup Pass From Me

"You know, Dad, I really don't want to do this whole suffering thing.  Don't you suppose I could get out of it?  It'll hurt.  I'll die.  I don't want to.  But if You really really really want Me to do it, okay.  Fine.  I guess I will.  If I have to."

Is that what we think Jesus' prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane was?  If it were me (that is, me at my absolute best) then maybe that's what I'd mean by "Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me.  Nevertheless, not what I will, but as You will" (Matthew 26).

But Jesus wanted to die for us.  His love compelled Him.  He did not go to His suffering unwillingly.  "A Lamb goes uncomplaining forth, the guilt of all men bearing." 

What He didn't want was to be separated from His Father.  He is the true Man, the man Adam failed to be.  Man's life is from God, and the worst thing that happens to man is to be separated from Him.  Adam, who was in communion with God, willingly chose to turn away from Him.  Jesus, who (more than anyone) had the right to be one with the Father, willed to not be separated from Him.  But His will and the Father's will were one, and Jesus willed to saved.

So when we hear next week, "Ohhh ... I don't really want to do this," we need to remember.  It's not "I don't want to suffer."  It's not that our Savior is suddenly having a fit of me-first that He's struggling to overcome.  It's "I don't want to be separated from You."

RUINING Children's Lives

Are you a parent?  You are ruining your child's life.  Yes.  Yes, you are.  Go check out Beth Woolsey's blog to see how terrible you are.

For one example, read what awful thing Jamie reported about her dictatorial mothering:

My child will be calling Child Protective Services and suing for $20,000 cash because I threw out a gnarly toothbrush and replaced it with a fresh, new one, which is clearly child abuse.

How about Michelle's cruelty?

I don't let my 1-year-old lick the bottom of people's shoes.

Oh!  Alas for those poor children who endure such suffering!

Bowed Down

My posture has gone downhill significantly in the last couple of months.  I keep noticing how slumpy I am while driving, how my shoulders droop when standing.  I keep telling myself to straighten up, and my faked-out good posture lasts for a whoppin' five minutes.  Or less.

This week I noticed in the psalms where it says "I bowed down heavily, as one who mourns" or "my soul is bowed down to the dust" or "the Lord raises up those who are bowed down." 

Huh.  So it's not just a figure of speech.
The body really does end up "bowed down" when the heart grieves.

Soft Foods

ice cream and sherbet
pudding and yogurt
mashed potatoes
fruit smoothies
scrambled or over-easy eggs

tomato soup
chicken-noodle soup
beef-noodle soup

pancakes
Dutch oven-pancakes
macaroni and cheese
tilapia in coconut-milk sauce

winter squash
pumpkin pie
applesauce
canned peaches
creamed spinach
banana
baked sweet potato
scalloped creamed-corn

soft bread (no millet or bulghar)
quiche
lentil soup
baked beans
chicken and dumplings
egg roll guts
burrito
fajita
cole slaw
tuna salad
bubble-n-squeak
muffins

spaghetti
stroganoff
meatloaf
pizza lentils
lasagna
chili
gumbo
crab with rotini
chicken pot pie
shepherd's pie
zucchini skillet
pulled beef in a barbecue sauce
hamburger-corn-noodle casserole
African peanut soup
teriyaki chicken and rice
red beans and rice
Mom's fried chicken

I Guess "It's All Relative"

Our church has far more than her fair share of musicians.  In addition to organ and piano, there are flutes, strings, and various horns.  And the voices!  Plenty of good singers, especially one soprano who is second only to Julie Andrews in my book.  Ahhhhh, lovely!

Sometimes I feel so inferior, so inadequate.  In some of the congregations I've been in, I was one of the top-notch musicians, one of few who could play a little piano and read music.  Here, I keep thinking that I should quit choir so that the rest of the group isn't dragged down by my voice.  (I remember so clearly the reunion of our high school choir, with tapes playing of our concerts.  The girl with the prettiest voice heard the spot on the tape where I had a brief solo, and she wondered who that was and didn't remember anybody with that poor a voice ever being in choir.  That's the kind of thing people don't say to your face, but sometimes the truth spills out accidentally.)

And then I was visiting at my mom's church a few weeks ago.  Heading out to the parking lot with a friend, a stranger stopped us.  "Do you go to church here?"  No.  "Could you?"  No.  "Why not?"  I live in Wisconsin.  My confusion grew as she joked that I commute each week.  Then she explained: "You have a beautiful voice.  It would be great to have you here singing every week."

Weird.

Even though, in my environment, I have a barely mediocre voice, that little comment gives me the courage to remain in choir.

Spaetzle

My husband is not a fan of soup.

Oral surgery and missing teeth?  You get soup.

The soups I made recently really hit the spot for him.  I pureed the little bit of carrot, onion, and celery into the meaty broth.  The noodles were these awesome German spaetzle that I picked up at Aldi.  On the one hand, $2 for a one-pound bag of noodles seemed pricey.  But they are SO good.

Now, more oral surgery.  We need more soup that is pleasing to a non-soup fellow.  And Aldi discontinued the spaetzle.  Oh NO!  The price of that tasty noodly goodness is double (or more) at other stores.  I bought it anyhow.  Gary needs to eat.

When those noodles come back to Aldi as a "special purchase" again, I am buying BOXES and BOXES of them. 

Cranford

BEST movie I've seen in a long time!   Cranford is even better than Downton Abbey.  (Except shorter.  Too bad it's only five episodes.) 

Beautiful costumes.
Lovely scenery.
Superb acting.
Wonderful plots and character development.

Story is set in a small town in England in the 1840s.  The story is full of life and death, romance, gossip, power, and pleasant everyday life.  And it's funny -- SO funny!

Modern Art

Maggie and I are watching the Sister Wendy videos about art history and art appreciation.  Neither one of us likes it much, but it's one of those things I make the kids do for school.  Cultural literacy and all that. 

In the Christian-homeschooling world, I had heard that Impressionism was bad.  It was the first step in a break-from-reality in paintings, the beginning of a slippery slope.  So, does that make me bad?  You see, I like the Impressionists.  Now I know that the Impressionists cared about beauty.  Even if they were painting impressions instead of realistic depictions, it was still about beauty.

Today as we watched the show about modern art, Sister Wendy told us that an important contribution that Picasso made to the world of art: breaking from the notion that art would be about beauty.  With modern art came the choice to paint what was beautiful or not.  Ugliness and violence was worthy of art too.  (Oh, yeah?  That's one doozy of a "contribution" to art.)

We also learned about a modern artist who believed in the big bang theory.  His art therefore showed a mess, a big ugly mess.  Because, you see, disorder and disarray are where new life and fresh things are created.  (Uh huh....)

Sister Wendy kept telling us that modern art is about freedom -- "freedom from the constraints of reality."  Yes.  Freedom from being bound to the rules.  Yes.  Freedom to think and dream without limitation.  Yes, that sounds to me like "nightmares." 

And that would be why I don't like modern art.
It's not just my silly little preference.
It's about God and reality and beauty and truth.

Reading the Blessing

Maybe the young, new pastor is shy and thus unsure of himself.
Maybe the pastor had been immersed in "contemporary worship" and is now discovering the blessings of the liturgy, although he's not yet grounded in the pattern of those words.
Maybe the pastor is having health problems so that his memory (or speech) is uncharacteristically jumbled.

There are times when it's important that the book be opened and be read, so that the words are right.  Obviously, nobody is expecting the pastor to go through the entire service, including the Prayer of the Church, including all the seasonal variations in the preface and the collects, with all of it memorized.  It's important to read the book.

But aren't there sections that we learn by heart?  "The Lord bless you and keep you.  The Lord make His face shine upon you, and be gracious unto you.  The Lord lift up His countenance upon you, and give you peace."   Isn't that something we hear often enough that we learn it without even trying to memorize it?  It always surprises me when I see an experienced pastor looking at the book instead of at the people as he blesses them.

But, hey, definitely better to be reading it

than to be making up your own thing!

What Do Patients Know, Anyway?

So I'm visiting my mom in the hospital.  She's tired and needs an uninterrupted nap.  I sit out in the hallway, blocking her door, to make sure she has 15-20 minutes without anybody disturbing her.  I work on my Sudoku and tune out the conversations in the hallway.

Then a voice breaks through.  An unidentified nurse is exasperated.  "She keeps insisting that I check her blood sugar levels.  It's like she thinks I don't know how to do my job!  Why does she keep reminding me?  I am the professional here.  I've been trained.  She's just a patient."  Another nurse commiserates. 

I understand they have quite a few people to care for.  I realize not every patient can have the attention they want, exactly when they want it.  (That's one of the reasons I think it's important for patients to have someone there with them, someone to fix the pillow, to get a glass of water, to help get out of bed for a trip to the bathroom, etc.)   BUT ...

medical care is not just about science.  It's about people.  Different people have different needs.  A medicine that works for Joe may not work for Bob, even if they have the same illness.  Patients who live with chronic conditions know what's necessary.  They know what pills work better at what time of day.  They know what routines their bodies need.  They often know these things [gasp] better than the professionals do.

And then ... there is an ugly truth.

Sometimes nurses DO forget.
Sometimes they DO need to be reminded.
Maybe it's because they're truly busy and overworked.
Maybe there was an emergency in another room.
Or maybe they got too busy talking with co-workers about cute new Easter dresses.

Then add in that a patient endures the fall-out of a few doozy screw-ups, or a patient struggles to explain why something that's a minor problem for most people is a huge problem for her.  The doctor had told the patient to insist on proper care and to ask and to be pro-active and to remind the nurses.  A nurse protests that she "doesn't need to be reminded."  And somehow, we aren't so sure about that.

Reading Challenge

Back in December, when everybody else was making their challenge lists for 2014, I didn't.  Maybe I can't plan for such pleasures right now.  But for now, here are some ideas I had early in the year, and how far I've come:

finish proofreading New Testament Catechist  [done Feb 11]

Light from Heaven (the last Mitford book) [done March 6]
the Father Tim series, by Jan Karon

the Kristin Lavransdatter series, by Sigrid Undset
Bridal Wreath [done March 27]
Mistress of Husaby
The Cross

Hammer of God (again)

The Complete Guide to Creating a Special Needs Life Plan, by Hal Wright


Anne of the Island
Anne of Windy Poplars
and maybe a few more in the series
(with Maggie)

likely some proofreading on Bible Stories for Daily Prayer



possibly
a Luther biography with Maggie
Narnia again
a book or two by Jillian Bradshaw
maybe try out an Elizabeth Gaskill book
something by Beverly Engel or Robin Stern
Quiet by Susan Cain

Kleinig

Oh boy!   I don't know when I'm going to listen to these, but .... oh boy!!!
These are from the Michigan District conference this spring. 

Receptive Piety

Receptive Meditation

Self-Examination    Clearing the Conscience

Vigilance of Spiritual Warfare

Physical Self-Restraint      Fasting / Feasting

Family Altar     Table Devotions for Daily Sanctification

Q & A session

(My "tag" on this is from the Gerhardt

 symposium.  These presentations aren't 

from that 2007 conference, but the same 

theologian is speaking.)

I Can Brush My Teeth

When a teenager asked Pastor during the quiz today, "Can you read question 3 again?" he grinned and winked at the adults in the room and said, "Yes, I CAN....   ...  ...   Oh -- would you like me to?"

I can brush my teeth.
I can go up and down the stairs to do laundry.
And if I forget to toss in a pair of socks, I can run downstairs again to add them to the load.
I can get myself a drink.
I can pick up my fork and feed myself supper.
I can even drive a car to the store and do an errand.
I can see well enough to read a book.
I can stand up in the shower.
I can kneel by the sink and use my neti-pot.
I can pick up my glasses and put them on my face.

This weekend I am particularly thankful for what I can do.  I so seldom realize what a great blessing these tiny things are, and how difficult life can be when these simple things are daunting tasks or even completely impossible.

My mom had surgery a week and a half ago.  Now she's recuperating and trying to get her meds regulated again and trying to get her hands & feet to DO what her brain is telling them to do.  It makes a person thankful for patient and tender CNA's and nurses.  And when I whine at Gary because I "only" accomplished laundry and bread-baking and mopping and vacuuming and supper and a half-day at paid work (and there was so much more that "should've" been done) I should be slapped.

I can brush my teeth.
And I can shower.
And I can go potty by myself.
That right there is a lot to be grateful for.

And if those were impossible, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him. He shall be my salvation" (Job 13).

"I believe that God has given me my body and soul, eyes, ears, and all my members, my reason and all my senses, and still takes care of them....  All this He does out of fatherly, divine goodness and mercy, without any merit or worthiness in me."

Depression

A post about some practical ways to show love and give help to someone who's depressed.  (Thanks for posting the link, Lora.)
And a related post about a few "natural treatments" for fighting depression.

So, They WERE Told, and Quite Clearly

Continuing on the theme of "but I always pictured it that way,"
somehow I always figured the disciples were caught off-guard by Jesus' arrest and trial and crucifixion. 

Pastor has told us again and again that Jesus told them repeatedly what was coming.  There are even several story-headings in my Bible that say "Jesus predicts His death" or "Jesus predicts His death a second time" or "third time." 

But there at the start of Matthew 26, already halfway through Holy Week, it's there again, in plenty of specificity.  Two more days.  At the Passover.  Delivered up to be crucified.

It's not even like the guys had to remember for a couple of weeks.  Or wonder how it was going to happen.  How much plainer could He be?!

The Blood of the Passover

Blood on the doorposts and lintels. 
The Angel of Death passed over those houses.

Maybe it was pictures from Sunday School lessons.
Maybe it was something I saw in a movie.

I always pictured in my mind the people painting the blood onto their door-frames.  You know, smearing it on in a rather tidy, complete way.

But Exodus 12 says the people were to dip the hyssop in the blood of the lamb and "strike [or touch] the lintel and the two doorposts with the blood."  The lintel.  The two doorposts.  That makes three applications of blood.



What happens in baptism?
I baptize you in the name of the Father
[splash]
and of the Son
[splash]
and of the Holy Ghost.
[splash]

"This Cup Is ... "

"This is My blood ..." Jesus says in the gospels written by Matthew and Mark.

But from Paul we read this very cool (and yet mind-boggling) thing:  "This cup is the new testament in My blood" (Luke 22 and 1 Corinthians 11).

This cup IS ... a ...

word.

Not "this cup contains ...."

Not "my blood is ...."

Any testament or a covenant is a word.

A promise.

This cup is a word.

Hallel

Sometimes it takes a while for the pieces to come together for me.

Piece #1:  Psalms 113-118 are a unit (the "Hallel" or "praise") used in connection with the Passover.

Piece #2:  When the Lord called Abram, He promised that, in Abram's seed, all the nations of the earth would be blessed.

Piece #3:  The Jews of Jesus' day thought they were the bees' knees, and that Gentiles weren't worthy.  Now, granted, that promise to Abraham was getting a mite "back-in-time" from their perspective.

Piece #4:  The Jews of Jesus' day were still singing the Hallel at Passover.  You can even see record of it in the chants of Palm Sunday when Jesus rode into Jerusalem. 

Piece #5:  Psalm 117 is about the Gentiles praising the Lord for His merciful kindness.


Wouldn't this mean that the people singing this liturgy should've gotten it that God's love is for the whole world and not just their own little selves?

(Shhh.  You don't suppose there are things in that we blow right past in the liturgy, singing without realizing what we're saying?...)