Day by Day

Rattlesnakes and Temper Tantrums

2012-02-13T14:20:00.002-06:00

I got lost again this morning. On the internet, that is. I shared a photo earlier today on Facebook that my cousin's son, Tanner, had shared. It's of another cousin's barn that sits just up over the rim of Pine Canyon along the Sunset Highway between Wenatchee and Waterville.

That little Facebook post led to an unstoppable urge to see some pictures of Pine Canyon. I have a different blog post rattling around my head, that will maybe feature a funny story or two, and would include a detailed description of driving up Pine Canyon in a lemon of a Buick Regal. But the post is simply not forthcoming today.

What started out as a really good post in my mind, turned into a lengthy stream of consciousness with too many thoughts squished into a single paragraph with hugely ran-on sentences. (Is a run-on sentence written in the past a ran-on sentence I suppose not, since all sentences one reads are written in the past and if this were the case they would all be ran-on sentences instead of run-on sentences so I suppose there is no such thing as a ran-on sentence what to you think?)

But one thing I did find warranted its own smaller blog post.

Joe often dreams of us being able to buy property in Washington that we could use when we visit the relatives. It's just a dream, really, because we don't get there often enough to want to maintain a property there.

When I stumbled upon this ad for a couple of lots for sale in the Rimrock Meadows neighborhood, it made me feel nostalgic. And it called to mind two somewhat poignant memories.

I don't know what Rimrock Meadows is today, but it appears to be some sort of resort association where members can go to camp and swim and play tennis or Foosball.

But what I associate with Rimrock Meadows is the rodeo. There was the Omak Stampede, too. Rimrock Meadows and the Omak Stampede. Those two names, in my little girl's mind, meant rodeo.

I have two memories that I think happened at Rimrock Meadows. I have no idea if they really did; but I'm pretty sure they happened somewhere. And I'm pretty sure it was at some sort of rodeo or horse and cowboy thing. I think I was probably three or four years old at the time.

We were walking along the dusty pathway, in some facility that was was set amidst the sage hills and rocky terrain of Eastern Washington. Prime rattlesnake country. There was a large group of us there, friends and relatives. I believe I was walking with either my aunt Elinor or my mom's best friend, Mary Ann, who is also kind of my aunt. It just might have been Mary Ann's daughter, Peggy, too. She's mixed up with this memory somewhere, in that crazy way memories get jumbled up. I remember that whoever I was with had strappy seventies sandals on. Probably Wrangler jeans, too. But the jeans are not important to this memory, as the sandals are. Probably my small size at the time made the visual impact of what happened next more lasting.

Suddenly a rattlesnake slithered over the open toe of my companion's sandal. With a wisk and a whisper, the snake was gone as quickly as it had appeared, seemingly in a hurry to escape the meandering crowds. No harm was done, but I remember it being talked about throughout the day. I'm pretty sure I asked both ladies about this episode at one time or another later, and nobody remembered it. But it's a very real memory for me.

The other memory I have is of a possibly more humorous and slightly embarrassing nature. I threw a temper tantrum. A raging temper tantrum. Apparently I liked the flavor of onion rings. Apparently I didn't know they sometimes had discernible onions within them. Again, there was a group of us. We were in one of those outdoor eating pavilions that one finds at a county fair or festival. I remember the wall going about half way up. We were able to look out above the wall at all the passers by. The group of us were sitting at several tables. The menu items were the type of fare that came in a plastic basket with red checked tissue paper to soak up the grease.

I had ordered onion rings and was really looking forward to them. The fragrance on the air screamed out grease and salt, and I couldn't wait for my food to come. But as I took the first bite of my much anticipated onion rings, imagine my youthful chagrin when I pulled that bite away from the crispy salty edges, and a string of onion dangled from my chin. Horror of horrors! An onion in my onion rings! Who put that there? I don't want them! I don't want onion rings with onions! Take them back and get me some different ones! Waaaaaah! Waaaaaah! Sob and wracking sob.

I don't know how long I carried on, and I really don't know if it was as much of a production as it is in my memory. But I remember first my mom, then my dad, then a variety of other friends and relations all trying in futility to calm me down. I remember my dad, particularly, trying to explain to me that all onion rings had onions. But I was having none of it! You can't fool me! I was absolutely convinced that they were all lying to me, in that grown-up sort of way, in order to pacify me in my anger. What did they take me for, anyway? I'm not as gullible as all that. Hmmph.

I did a little search on google to see if I could find anything about the Rimrock Meadows of my memory. I didn't find much. But this little news article from the June 7, 1972 edition of the Spokane Daily Chronicle was kind of fun. I would have been five that summer, and it appears that Rimrock Meadows was being dedicated that year.

What this tells me, though, is that if my memory has any basis in reality, I'm ashamed to realize I behaved in such manner at the ripe old age of five. I had really hoped it was a mere three or four.

Homecomings

2012-02-11T10:20:00.000-06:00

In my family, I'm the second oldest of eight children. My siblings and I attended a Lutheran prep school during my high school years. Martin Luther Prep School was in Prairie du Chien,Wisconsin. Our home was in Washington state. Most years, during the school year, we only got home at Christmas.

But what a joyful homecoming it always was. For those few days we were home, we were the center of attention.

First was the buzz of activity at the airport. The excited greetings from Mom and Dad first, and then all the younger siblings. A happy circle of attention. But how did those little ones get so big? They were always so much bigger than when we left home!

Next was the hellos and hugs with the families of the other students from our area who also attended MLPS. There were three families besides ours, in the Puget Sound area, whose kids attended school with us. It was always great fun to see everyone at those airport reunions each fall when school started, returning and leaving again at the Christmas holiday, and at the end of the school year each spring.

After the initial greetings, and a frantic look to make sure everyone was accounted for, we took off on the mad rush to the baggage claim and eventually out to the parking ramp. There was the ride on the subway from the satellite terminal to the main one. Escalators, subways, more escalators, the baggage claim conveyors, at each point the recorded voice, in several languages, directing newcomers in the right direction and warning all to use due caution with the automated doors and other dangers. Everyone aglow with the excitement of togetherness. Families reunited. Loved ones together after a lengthy separation.

Eventually Mom and Dad managed to get us all in the suburban. Then the trip home. We lived about 45 minutes from the airport, so we had a little bit of a drive amidst all the excitement. Everyone had so much to tell about and ask about. Everyone talking at once. I was always eager to show off how much more mature and intelligent I was than when I left. "Really. Mom. Dad. See. I am growing up."

Often it was late when we got home, so the first meal home might be breakfast the next day. But again, that buzz of excitement. Younger siblings wanting to sit closest to big sisters. Big sisters eager to make up for all the love and affection from these dear little ones that they had missed while away. And to shower them with the same.

I'm thinking of this today because my Jeremy is home. Yesterday, after Joe went into Thief River Falls to help Jeremy pack his things to move into his new apartment, he came home with Joe. Jeremy has two days to stay. This reunion is somewhat different than those from my childhood. There is no airport, no lengthy car ride with everyone talking at once. But there is the same buzz of excitement. Everyone wants to be with Jeremy. Everyone wants to be his favorite.

Jeremy, in his way, showers the little ones with affection. He brought his "Magic the Gathering" cards to play with those who enjoy such escapes from reality. He brought, believe it or not, a TV, a wii, and a ps3. Right now, as I'm writing here in the living room, Jeremy has the TV set up on the piano bench. The little ones are gathered around on stools and couches. They are watching Jeremy play something. Probably I don't want to ask. Sophie just commented on the pool of blood...

"What game is that Jeremy?"

"Dark Souls. The hardest game to come out this year."

"Hmm."

Yes, my son is a gamer. Shaggy hair, ripped trousers, shoes taped together. At least that's how he looked last week. I did the parental bale-out thing and bought him new pants and shoes. I was glad to note yesterday when he arrived, that he was wearing his new things. I have no idea what he wears when he is away, but at least he appeased his mom by wearing decent clothes when he came to visit. Apparently, customers at the Wal-Mart where he works have commented on his shaggy hair, because he mentioned that he had to buy some hairbands to use at work, to keep the jungle out of his face.

But yes, this older sibling homecoming thing seems to be universal. Mom watching for signs of maturity. Younger siblings excited to see their brother and get his attention. Big brother bringing toys along to ingratiate himself with the younger ones. Different but the same. Families together. Love.

I love my oldest son. Heart and soul. I love to see everyone so happy together. I love the familiar feeling of such homecomings and the memories it called forth this morning.

That's Good, That's Bad

2012-02-10T11:24:00.000-06:00

Did any of you ever read That's Good, That's Bad, by Joan Lexau, as a child? It is a book that stands out in my mind from my early childhood and Weekly Reader days. It tells the story of a jungle boy who at the start of the story is taking a walk in the jungle. In turn, he gets pursued and then makes an escape from various jungle animals. As the narration progresses, each of these events is followed by either a, "That's good," or, "That's bad," depending upon whether the boy is being pursued or making an escape.

I feel kind of like that today.

Lately I've had so very many things weighing on my mind, about which I'm trying not to obsess and wrest control from God.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Philipians 4:6-7

Last nigh something big transpired that brought me a modicum of peace and comfort. That's good.

Call upon Me in the day of trouble;
I will deliver you, and you shall glorify Me. Psalm 50:15

But then one of daughters confessed to me some mischief she had been about, and some unintended results of that mischief. This brought me a modicum of angst. That's bad.

Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30.

And so things go in this temporal life. God blesses us in some obvious way. That's good. We have troubles. We worry. That's bad.

We remember the promises of God's presence with us and His provision. That's good.

We sin and need God's forgiveness. That's bad.

We are given such forgiveness through Jesus. In the Word of God. Through our Baptism. Through Holy Communion. Through Confession and Absolution. That's good.

We have the promises God's grace and forgiveness to give us eternal peace and comfort. That's good.

That's very good.

I'm Starting to Get a Little Excited...

2012-02-08T15:18:00.000-06:00

Just starting. The excitement is trickling into my system at a pathetically slow rate. But Rick Santorum's excellent showing yesterday is helping to get the election juices flowing.

We've had such a whirlwind of ups and downs in Conservative politics and society in general the last several years. There was ambivalence during the last campaign until the "Republican machine" candidate, John McCain, chose Sarah Palin as a running mate. That choice generated a little bit of excitement. People became energized.

We had the economic crises and bailouts, both before and after the election. Obama was elected and initiated so very many power grabs I wouldn't even know where to begin. The health care bill stands out as the uber power grab.

There's been the TEA Party movement (and the left's vitriolic misrepresentation of it), Wisconsin's "Governor Walker vs the Teachers' Unions" battle, and the Occupy movement.

It's really been too much.

Somewhere along the way, I lost all interest in current events. I even started listening to country music. Really. That's how bad things are. If getting drunk and getting ditched by your best girl is better than real life, isn't that pathetic?

I threw up my arms and said with the psalmist,

Why do the nations rage,
And the people plot a vain thing?
The kings of the earth set themselves,
And the rulers take counsel together, ...
He who sits in the heavens shall laugh;
The Lord shall hold them in derision.

And really, that's so true. What do our little participations in such things matter, anyway?

Come, behold the works of the Lord,
Who has made desolations in the earth.
He makes wars cease to the end of the earth;
He breaks the bow and cuts the spear in two;
He burns the chariot in the fire.

But here's the rub. Even knowing full well that God controls things, and believing that He works everything out for good, we still have a responsibility. God has placed us in a land with many freedoms. He has blessed us to live under a government system in which we are privileged to be able to participle. How far each person takes such a privilege is between them and God. But for me, that means doing what I can to at least try to help the candidates closest to my views attain office.

Usually that means I try to keep up with current events and the issues facing our nations and the different sides of each issue and the variety of opinions about how to solve such issues. I try to attend precinct caucuses. I try to help my local political party of choice in whatever way I'm able. I give money to candidates when we can.

But that "doing what I can" thing, that gets a little bit gray. God has given Joe and I many little hands to train and hearts to love and souls to fill with knowledge of Him. And what is a more primary responsibility? Being involved in politics, or raising children? Kind of a no-brainer there.

I complain frequently about the busyness in our lives and our lack of family evenings. I begrudge the fact that our kids, being in public school all day, now also have occasional evening obligations. We don't allow them to participate in many things. But even so, considering how many children have, it still adds up to considerable disruption in the evenings.

With that in mind, I was very unsure this last week or so, whether I was going to attend last night's Pennington County Republican caucus. When I consider how few nights we have together as a family, taken with my political ambivalence of late, and remembering that God controls all such things anyway, I was rather disinclined to attend.

But then I thought about all the Ron Paul supporters who I knew would be out in droves ... Just kidding... that's for two good friends who I hope know I love them ...

I don't really know why I decided to attend. Probably a very wide and indefinable set of factors. Not the least of which was the supper fiasco during the final minutes within which I needed to make my decision. Nothing like a little supper time fiasco to drive a mother out for the evening, right?

But I must say that I'm cautiously happy about Rick Santorum's victories around the country last night. Cautious because it's too early to tell whether these victories will be another step in a bigger victory, and also because no candidate is perfect. Anything can happen.

But suddenly, the primary season is just a little bit more exciting than it was at this time yesterday.

Adrift in Etherland

2012-02-08T11:09:00.000-06:00

There is, oh, so much information in the world. So many things one could learn. So many things that are most definitely not important, in which one could lose oneself. Maybe someone with a tendency toward ADD is more susceptible to such wanderings than others? It always amazes me, though, when I go on such a tour of google or wikipedia or even the World Book Encyclopedia, me how many things there are to be interested in.

This morning, for instance, I'm trying to write a post about my ambivalence toward the election process this year, how strange that is for me, and how Santorum's Minnesota straw-poll victory, combined with a similar caucus victory in Colorado and a non-binding primary victory in Missouri made me happy enough I'm feeling the stirrings of political excitement. See, it only took four lines to say that, but somehow I got lost along the way. Badly lost.

I was looking for a quote I've seen attributed to Edmond Burke. "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Then I discovered that this particular quote is not even an actual documented quote. It is considered a contested quote. It, and many similar versions, is currently thought to be a conglomerate of Burke's views.

I also discovered that a version of this quote shows up in Tolstoy's War and Peace, "All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing." I've never read War and Peace. It's been on my list. But after taking about two months one winter to read The Brothers Karamazov I decided I didn't have time in my life for War and Peace. There are only so many hours in a day. And a busy mom has no business reading tomes. Especially when the only reason she wants to read such a book is to be able to say, "I did it!" Which truthfully, is pretty much the only reason I'd do it. To be able to slide it into conversation, to drop a line every now and then about the a certain character or philosophy or quote. To be able to look smart and well read and be admired for being an academically accomplished person. (Yes, I have a little vanity thing which which I struggle.)

After reading a little while about Tolstoy, I went back to Burke and found this little nugget that pleased me.

Manners are of more importance than laws. The law can touch us here and there, now and then. Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation like that of the air we breathe in. from Letter #1 of Letters on a Regicide Peace (1796)

That quote put me in mind of the reason Joe and I had originally decided to homeschool our children and my one big regret with sending them into public school. The quote is not altogether similar, but it did remind me of one of my primary parenting philosophies. Kids in school can learn school stuff, the rules or rudiments of reading, writing and arithmetic. But, their little persons, their characters, are so much more important than those rules and basics of academics. This shaping and building of character is simply not a teacher's job. How can a parent accomplish such a monumental task in a few short evening hours?

Leaving aside parenting philosophies, the next stop on my morning wanderings through the world of information took me to Burke's Letters on a Regicide Peace. Did you see that in the quote above? What an interesting title! Whatever does it mean? It was irresistible to me.

Apparently Burke did not think much of Prime Minister William Pitt's attempts to make peace with the revolutionary government in France in the early years after her revolution. France's governing body was officially called, in English, the French Directory, but Burke referred to it as the Regicide Directory, because of its renegade abolition of the Monarchy (or Regent).

But interestingly, the letters are written in the Juvenalian style. Hmmm. Does that mean written as through from the mouth of a youth?

As a matter of fact, no. Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis, who is also known by the English form of his last name, Juvenal, was a Roman poet in the early centuries AD.

Oh, and look, he wrote in dactylic hexameter. Wow, that's so cool! I remember learning about iambic pentameter, and I can guess that hexameter must mean that there are maybe six sets of beats...but what about the dactylic part? Doesn't it just make you want to know more?

According to wikipedia,

Dactylic hexameter (also known as "heroic hexameter") is a form of meter in poetry or a rhythmic scheme. It is traditionally associated with the quantitative meter of classical epic poetry in both Greek and Latin, and was consequently considered to be the Grand Style of classical poetry. The premier examples of its use are Homer's Iliad and Odyssey and Virgil's Aeneid.

Oh, boy, more food for thought. Where can I go from here?

Take a breath, Mary. Your coffee is cold, your writing time is used up, and what have you to show for your time? A few assorted bits of trivia rattling around your brain? That's about it, and not very important to your primary vocations of child rearing and homemaking. Also not very important to the secondary (or is it tertiary?) vocation of blogger.

And in case you're wondering, as I was, what comes after tertiary, it's quaternary, quinary, senary, septenary, octonary, nonary, and denary. Sadly, there is no similar number relating to the eleventh of something, but the twelfth, in case you ever need to use it, would be duodenary. Just imagine,... it doesn't have quite the same ring, though,...Duodenary Night, by William Shakespeare...hmm.

Vvvvvvveeerrrrryyy bbbbiiiiggggg ssssiiiiiggggghhhhhh.

So in order to say I at least accomplished something, I quickly wrote this up so that you, my readers, can maybe smile a little. Maybe you can pat yourself on the back, and say to yourself, "At least I am not as bad as theMom." Or maybe even, you'll go on to some big and important earth shattering accomplishment because of the little seeds of curiosity planted by accompanying me on my little informational junket through the ether world.

Arranged: Three Takes

2012-02-05T18:01:00.001-06:00

Last night I watched the movie, Arranged, by Cicala Filmworks, starring Zoe Lister-Jones and Francis Benhamou. The film pleased me very much on an emotional level; but at an intellectual level it gave me many things to think about.

As far as appealing to the senses, this film is a prize. It it beautiful. The actors and actresses are lovely to look upon, and excellently cast. The settings, too are wonderful. And not just beautiful, but bleak, lonely, uncomfortable, confused, according to need. The visual touches coincide perfectly with the various aspects of the plot.

The primary story line is based upon the true story of an Orthodox Jewish teacher in Brooklyn, who develops a close friendship with a devout Islamic woman, the mother of one of her students. In the movie, the friendship is similar. But in the film, both young women, Rochel and Nasira, are teachers in a Brooklyn public school. The women share the obvious bond of living within a traditional societal system, and yet also participating in the mainstream world. But it soon becomes apparent that they have another thing in common. The parents of both young women are in the process of finding a match for their daughters.

After I watched the move, my mind was spinning with contradictions. Firstly, I loved the movie! Besides the beauty of the movie, I loved the respect shown to those of traditional lifestyle. Although we have few blatant religious rules that dictate such a lifestyle, we do choose rules for our family that are more traditional than many. I have many friends who have chosen a much more traditional lifestyle than we have. I have Lutheran Christian acquaintances who even now discuss the merits of arranged marriage and encourage the idea that marriage is bigger than in individual choice.

We don't allow our children to "date." We've tried to teach them that dating ought to be a way of finding someone to marry, not just passing time socially with a peer of the opposite gender. In that light, it is to be reserved for people of a certain maturity, and participated in only by those who are ready for marriage and actively looking for a spouse. And their behavior during the process ought to reflect a respect for the goal of finding a Godly spouse.

I very much appreciated the respect shown by the producers of Arranged to not only a traditional lifestyle, but toward religion itself and devout people of faith.

I liked the stereotyped personality of the principle. She was quite one-dimensional, which in general detracts from a production. But by including such a personality, but the film was able to encapsulate in a short amount of time, the kind of pressures and bigotry against which people of traditional lifestyles and strongly held religious convictions stand, and the insulting attitudes to which they are routinely subjected.

However, as I thought more about the film, and tried to set the emotional appeal aside in order to really think about the movie, there were a few things I didn't like.

OK, here comes a big paragraph of statement insurance. I don't want anyone to think I'm claiming any kind of expertise in this. These are just some thoughts based on the limited experiences I've accumulated and the somewhat eclectic reading I've done. I realize I live a fairly sheltered life, in the sense that I've mostly lived in homogeneous communities. When I have lived in more multicultural areas, it was years ago. And I've never lived in an ultra-urban, mixed city like Brooklyn.

However, I found the movie to be a little bit more pro-Muslim than pro-Jewish. Not outside of what might be considered normal character sketches. It's entirely possible that the producers simply chose two kinds of family personality and two kinds of individual personality and randomly assigned them. But this bent was noticeable enough that it made me question the motives of the producers. While Nasira was very confident and comfortable in her own skin, Rochel was reserved, sometimes to the point of social awkwardness. Nasira's family seemed mostly comfortable with the friendship between these two girls, whereas Rochel's family could not accept it (it appeared to have more to do with the social risk to Rochel's marital prospects than to any innate bias against Muslims; ie, what would the neighbors think?).

I don't have much first hand experience with either of these people groups, so perhaps the cultures are accurately portrayed. I'm finding it difficult to express my concerns without engaging in judgement based upon mere stereotypes, which is exactly the sort of thing the movie seems to stand against.

The Witherspoon Institute conservative thinktank in Princeton, NJ, gave the film a positive write-up in, "Arranged: Happily Wholesome in a Brooklyn World".

New York Times movie reviewer, Jeannette Catoulis, reflected what I believe to be a rather typical contemporary lack of understanding toward traditional religion and traditional lifestyle choices in "Teachers United".

But I read some of the variety of comments on the New York Times article. I think they capture some of my mixed thoughts on the movie. Comment #14 reflects perfectly why I enjoyed the film.

Comment #17 reflects some of my negative instincts about the film. The commenter here seems more extreme and vitriolic in his opinion than I feel. But I can see the validity in some of his concerns. In fact, I had noticed several of them myself. I think the commenter goes too far; but the film does seem somewhat self-conscious in its mainstream portrayal of the Muslim family.

Most of my discomfort with this film stems from an issue I have read and written about in the past. We in our western world, however multicultural we like to think we are, always run into a catch-22 with the religion of Islam. When discussing a film about intercultural relationships, and respect for differences, a person feels somewhat shallow or calloused taking stand against a certain culture. But that is the exact dilemma our multicultural, global world cannot escape with Islam.

Extreme Christianity is often compared to strict Islam. But there is a significant difference. The violent element of what might be called extreme Christianity, is outside of a true Biblical perspective and therefore marginalized. Whereas in Islam, the most extreme elements are those who are most faithful to the original intent of the religion. I have only a cursory familiarity with any Islamic people at this time in my life, although I have known a few previously, well enough to engage in polite conversation, but not really know them. But I have read and studied the religion quite a bit, including several books written by people both currently within Islam and also former Muslims, who live in fear of their lives because of leaving their religion. My husband has read the Koran several times and has assured me that the violence espoused by the most extreme factions of Islam, and by the main of Islam during the Middle ages, is in fact very much in line with the teachings in the Koran.

The truest interpretation of Islam's holy writings demand either the destruction of or conversion of anyone outside itself. The religion also allows for adherents to punish its followers who are not ardent enough. And Islam also allows its followers to lie to anyone who is not Islamic. That leaves those of us outside the religion at a decided disadvantage in understanding, and in bridging any cultural divides.

I am not saying here that a woman like Arranged's Nasira, or a family like hers, could not exist. I'm trying to show an intrinsic difficulty with it. There are many Islamic families that do not support the extreme elements of the religion. But they are in danger if they are too obvious about their dislike of it. In many areas they cannot safely be too friendly with those outside their religion. There are individuals and families each year, especially in Islamic countries, but even in the West, who are persecuted through physical, emotional, and economic means for being too accepting of other people and ideas. It happens.

And simply because of the permission within the tenets of the religion to lie to those they consider infidels, a person outside Islam who has interaction with an Islamic family or individual, can never be confident that what they are seeing is the true face of Islam, or of the individuals with whom they are acquainted.

In our multicultural, global world, we like to think we can all just get along, but the very essence of the religion of Islam is so far removed from our western ideas that I'm not altogether sure that particular bridge can be crossed.

For a look at true Islam and it's difficulties in the West, see Cruel and Usual Punishment, by Nonie Darwish, and Infidel, by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. Both books also highlight the violent nature of Islam in Islamic countries. Saved by her Enemy is another book that shows the danger to Muslims who are too friendly toward those outside the religion. There are many others with first hand experience who have written on this subject, but these are three books that I found very compelling.

Joe has read several things by Bet Ye'or, and highly recommends them.

Foggy, with a Chance of Hoarfrost

2012-02-03T12:58:00.000-06:00

As I was leaving Lana's, I saw this pretty scene

We've had several foggy days in a row. That thick, soupy fog that can make a person feel a little desperate after consecutive days. I missed my walk on Wednesday, because a couple of my little ones were sick. But I was out there today, really grateful to be a part of the foggy outdoors rather than viewing it from my living room window.

Or from the windshield of the car. But that would be a different story. A story that would involve blowing through a stop sign at 55 mph last night on the way into Oklee to see the girls' One Act Play. A story that would also include a woman who is very thankful that God protected her from any cross traffic. Said woman is also thankful God allowed her to slow down enough while flying thorugh the intersection, so as to land safely on the gravel road that continued after the stop sign. But, like I said, that would be another story.

Today's story is one of a lovely walk with friends on a mild and frosty morning. And really that's all there there would be to say about it. Except that Joe handed me the camera on my way out of the house. I probably reacted a bit skeptically, since he's the picture guy around here and I get nervous any time someone hands me a camera.

While we walked, I tried to put myself into Joe mode. It took awhile to get started. The camera stayed securely within it's case around my neck for the first several laps around Lana's farm. But then I remembered I had it, so the ladies and I started looking for things that would make nice pictures. Joe always gets all these cool close-ups, but I don't' think I have the eye for that. Mine just ended up looking kind of dumb. I really like several of the scenery type shots I got. It's too bad we have gunk in our camera lens that shows up well in several of the shots. But if you look past that, you can enjoy a photo-journal walk with us, on the farm, on a frosty morning.


I love the fences in this shot, and the bale in the foreground.

Heading north, between the cattle yard and the woods

The roadway curves to the west.

We don't walk this route when the weather is inclement. It's too exposed. But its very picturesque to look upon.

Brad's cattle are standing like statues.

One of Lana's flower beds during its winter slumber

Hoary trees along the path

A shrub bedecked in her lace shawl

Although not a great shot, it shows the main driveway into the farm. It's another area we sometimes have to avoid when the wind is bad.

Of Interest to Adoptive Parents and Adoptees

2012-01-29T12:33:00.002-06:00

On the way to Grand Forks yesterday, we heard a segment from the CBC out of Winnepeg, on a show called The Next Chapter that might be of interest to those whose lives have been touched by adoption.

The show highlights the book, Somebody's Child, by Bruce Gillespie and Lynn Van Luven, an anthology of adoption stories, written by adult adoptees, adoptive parents, birth parents, and others.

Two of the contributors, Judith Hope and Christina Brobby, were interviewed on the radio show.

A Raft of Children

2012-01-28T11:59:00.000-06:00

I have a friend who likes to refer to our family as a raft, as in, "The Abrahamsons have a veritable raft of children." I have always accepted this at face value, chuckling a little each time I hear it. But this morning, just out of curiosity, I looked up this use of the word raft. In what context, I was wondering, does the word raft mean many?

It turns out the context is a grouping of waterfowl. As in a cluster of waterfowl, resting together, all bunched up, on the water...a raft. Makes sense. But not exactly applicable to a family.

But wait! Maybe it is! Many are the illusions to life as a sea, waters, a river; the nice times are times of calm, the hard times are storms...So, yes, yes, yes! I do have a raft of children. God put us together to comfort and lift each other up, to provide protection and warmth. We are bound together on the sea of life, through waters both calm and stormy.

Now particularly, the reason I was thinking of my raft of children today, in all their glorious variety and mystery, was because this morning I took the time to pray for each of my children. It's not a new thing that I pray for my children. My life, minute by minute, is one of prayerful surrender to God and His wisdom and grace. I'd never survive otherwise. But it's different to actually consciously pray for my children, both thanking God for the blessing each of them is, and asking God's grace and guidance for whatever particular struggles each child is dealing with.

Recently my friend, David, shamed me. And it was a good thing. A good kind of productive shame that brought me to a realization of something I have been neglecting in my life. Dave mentioned his personal Bible study habits. Check this out! He has worked his way through the entire New Testament in the People's Bible series, and is as far as Isaiah in the Old Testament. Amazing!

It dawned on me, though, through this conversation, that it has been a few years since I've been disciplined enough to spend any private time in God's Word. Probably since I put my kids in public school. I used to do my own Bible reading or study in the morning before everyone was up, but now I have to get them all up early. What was formerly a time of peace and serenity has been replaced with a flurry of activity.

We do try to have breakfast and bedtime devotions with the family, which might include any of the following: memory work, Bible reading, singing a hymn, prayers. So I am not totally "Wordless." But just as sitting in church with a raft of children can make it difficult to focus on the message, so too, family devotions can be filled with many distractions. I don't want to downplay the power of God's Word here. I fully believe that God's Word can accomplish those things for which God sends It, even when we don't feel any particular concentration toward or uplifting feeling from It. But it is also good for one to spend some time really studying and meditating upon God's Word. I realized after my conversation with David that I had not done any of that lately.

One of my goals for this new year is to spend some time by myself, reading the Bible. Really it was not so hard a change to make. Generally my alarm goes off at 5:30 anyway, at which time I do any breakfast prep that needs to be done that early, and then crawl back in bed until I have to get the kids up and rolling at 6:15. Now I stay up and have a cup of coffee and read my Bible.

It helps that Matt found us a "new" coffee maker at the second-hand store. We had been using a speckled blue enamel percolator on the stovetop. That gets a little bit putzy, keeping half a brain on the stove, turning the heat down once it starts to perk, and setting a timer,... But now we have a nice Mr. Coffee that even has a timer to start the coffee each morning before I get up. Cool stuff.

Now each morning my coffee starts in all by itself at 5:15. I stumble out of bed at 5:30. I take care of any breakfasty things, such as getting a coffee cake in the oven or starting the oatmeal or rice. I pour myself a cup of hot coffee and add my daily tablespoon of coconut oil. Then I make my way into my favorite morning reading spot and pull out the Bible.

I've been trying to get through Romans, but sometimes I feel quite stupid in the early in the morning. I've taken to reading two chapters each day, one I review from the previous day, and then I continue on to the next. By the time I've read each chapter the second time through, usually I have a handle on it. Some parts of Romans are still not easy, but whether I understand everything or not, it's still good.

Some mornings, I have extra time before I have to get everyone else up. I've been using these extra minutes to pray for my family and friends, and for things of concern to me in the community and world. Most times I tend to lump together all my family concerns. I kind of metaphorically throw up my hands in one of those groanings and sighings that the Holy Spirit understands better than we ourselves. There is so much to pray for, after all, where does one start?

But today, I took time to pray for each child individually. I considered each child and thanked God for the good and wonderful parts of each personality. I lay before Him the challenges and hurdles with which each of them struggle. And I asked for wisdom in handling all that He has given me. After thinking about each of my children, these many personalities, with their gifts and challenges, the various individual logs that compose our raft, I was humbled. I am in awe that God would choose to entrust to such pitiful servants as Joe and I, the privilege and responsibility of raising such a raft of beautiful people. Wow!

God is gracious and good and full of compassion. And He seems to have a higher confidence in us than do we ourselves. But I pull out of the front pocket of my heart one of my favorite Bible passages (it's a good thing they don't wear out over time, isn't it?). And trust what God told St. Paul after Paul asked three times for God to take away the thorn in his flesh, "My grace is sufficient for you. My power is made perfect in your weakness."

My Walking Team

2012-01-26T10:55:00.002-06:00

Here's to my walking friends. I consider your company during exercise an immense blessing in my life. I love you all and am ever so thankful we have each other.

Mary, Jan, Lana, Connie

About a year ago, I started exercising with Connie L, in her basement. We kept this up throughout the winter last year. We used our pooled exercise equipment in Connie's basement. And we cheered each other on. Having another person to keep me accountable is good, but the visiting we did was even better.

When spring came, we walked outside. Soon, Lana N. and Jan D. joined us, and we took turns walking along the roadways near each other's homes, throughout out the summer. We jabbered away many miles.

When fall came, we looked forward with sad hearts for the day we'd have to move inside due to cold or snow or wind. We tossed around several ideas of how we'd all fit in one place to continue our mutual conversation and consolation during the drudgery of exercise. Then Lana had the idea of using the apartment that had been added to her house for her late mother. Currently Lana uses it for a guest apartment and extra space.

When the cold weather loomed nearer, she got the space all cleared out, and we brought over our various pieces of equipment. We have two tread mills, an exercise bike, a Cardio-Glide, a Gazelle, and a mat for stretching or floor exercises.

But the cold weather didn't come and we continued to walk outside. Eventually, with the fall and winter wind becoming chillier, we settled into walking only at Lana's house. They have an extensive home site on their farm, with roadways and paths around the various buildings and wooded areas. It is quite sheltered, with several options for walking different directions, depending upon the wind. We meet at 8:00 am and try to go for at least an hour. Our rough estimate is that the primary route we go is about 1/4 mile long, and we usually walk 7 or 8 circuits.

Since Christmas time, we've have to finally resort to our indoor equipment. When the temps sunk to 15-20 below with wind chills of 35-40 below, we surrendered. But what a blessing that we had such a long and mild fall!

We were able to walk outside again yesterday. It was a bit breezy, but we chose a route that mostly avoided the southerly wind. There was one section we had to pull our hoods a little tighter, but there was another section we all took off mittens or hoods, and talked about how warm it was.

I am glad we have the option of the indoor equipment. And it's nice to have a change to work some different muscle groups.

But the fresh winter air just can't be beat!

Sophie's Birthday Dinner

2012-01-26T09:50:00.001-06:00

Sophie and Stella

I'm not always very successful at pulling off a birthday dinner. We don't usually have company, so that takes some of the heat off, but I still get stressed out. I like to have something special for birthdays but when I am in a stage of barely handling the regular stuff, I get a little frazzled trying to do anything special.

The night before Sophie's birthday, she asked if she could pick a meal for her birthday. Well, I had not planned on that. I hadn't even really thought of it, because my brain is currently keeping track of many other things. Her birthday really snuck up on me.

I felt pretty bad when she asked. I explained to her that although I try to offer to fix a dinner of the child's choice on his or her birthday, it doesn't always happen. I told her I'd put on my thinking cap, and come up with something special.

A little while after I put the kids to bed, Sophie came back out with a couple of cookbooks. She and Clara have each gotten a few simple ones from Grandma A., which they keep in their rooms. Sophie had gone through a couple of them before drifting off to sleep. She had picked out a pasta dish and a dessert that she asked me if I could do.

The pasta dish was pretty much the same thing as a pasta with Carbonara sauce. That would be easy enough.

The dessert she wanted was individually steamed pumpkin custards. I make custard quite a bit. I make it in a 9"x13" pan, however, and not individually. I explained to Sophie that I didn't have any glass custard dishes, but that maybe I could do it in muffin tins. She seemed fine with that, so everything was good.

But the day of Sophie's birthday did not go as planned. Another thing I forgot was her birthday treat for school. Homemade are not allowed (don't get me started on that one...). I don't go to town very often. So it generally happens on a child's birthday, that I've forgotten to pick up a treat for him or her to share with the class. I end up running into town for the stupid store-bought treats (expensive, full of processed junk, lots of packaging...oh yeah, I was not going to go there. Sorry.) Where was I? Oh, yes, in town. I end up running to town for the treats, and then have to drive down to Plummer to drop off said treats in time for them to be shared. Grrr.

But I love my kids; and I'm told that this is the sort of thing a "good mom" does. And since I do so want to be a "good mom," ... well, you get the idea.

This time, it was a pretty quick trip. I only made two stops, but even so, it ended up being later than I wanted when I got home. Going to town wears me out, so I always like to sit for a bit with a cup of coffee or tea when I get home. I did a little writing while having a cup of tea, then pulled myself together for the supper rush hour, which that night would include a birthday celebration!

I started to get everything ready for the requested menu items, and realized I had forgotten to get pumpkin in town. Now, I do have pumpkin in the freezer. But since I had forgotten to get it out to thaw the night before, I planned to buy some since I was going to town anyway. Shoot, there goes that plan. By that time the kids were home from school, so I asked Sophie if I could make her a cake instead. I offered to make custards for breakfast tomorrow. That suited her fine. But, alas, she asked for chocolate cake.

Now here I'm going to take another little side trip to tell you about something that tends to happen in kitchens where many different people help with the cooking and baking. I'm sure it is familiar to some readers. But I'm also pretty sure some of you will have handy little systems in place to handle such difficulties. I'm pretty much a "systems" train wreck, so ... well ... , I don't have any such handy systems in place. We pretty much just fly by the seat of our pants around here.

What happens is this. I'm blessed to have girls who like to bake. Just about every weekend, or any other day off from school, someone is in the kitchen baking. I don't always keep careful track of what they make and what they've used. So when I finally get into the kitchen to make something myself, often the supplies of several key ingredients have been exhausted.

Now getting back to Sophie's birthday. She agreed to have cake, but wanted chocolate. I planned to use the Fudge Cake recipe in the Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook, but adapt it for Gluten Free. Alas, no sugar. Very little cocoa powder. No lard. Hmmm. Not to worry, though. I'm pretty good at improvising. The sugar, however, I couldn't improvise. I suppose I could have done honey, but I already was adapting for gluten free. Substituting honey for sugar is yet another risk factor in final product quality. I wasn't willing to take the risk with a birthday cake at stake.

So I called Connie. And that Connie! Not only did she have a brand new, unopened, four-pound bag of sugar, she even offered to bring it over so I wouldn't have to leave everything half finished to hop in the car and come over. Thank you Connie! What a friend.

Eventually I got the cake in the oven, and the Pasta Carbonara ready to serve. I also made a wilted lettuce salad, since I had hot bacon grease from the Carbonara sauce. We had whipping cream left over from the Carbonara sauce, so we whipped it up to serve over the warm cake in lieu of frosting, which I also couldn't make because I had no powdered sugar or cocoa powder.

This probably sounds very chaotic, and it probably was. But unfortunately, this has become such a way of life that it didn't feel chaotic. In fact I felt in control, and on top of things, all the snags considered. When everything turned out great, I was very pleased.

Wilted Lettuce Salad
Gluten Free Pasta Carbonara
Gluten Free Chocolate Snack Cake

Gluten Free Chocolate Snack Cake

2012-01-26T09:27:00.000-06:00

This recipe is adapted from the Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook recipe for the Fudge Cake, that they recommend for use with their Black Forest Cake. I served it warm, with a dollop of whipped cream.

Gluten Free Chocolate Snack Cake
2 c gluten free flour mix*
1 c almond meal
1 3/4 c sugar
1/2 c cocoa powder
1 tsp baking powder
3/4 t baking soda
1/2 tsp xanthan gum
1/2 c coconut oil
1 1/3 c water (approximately) **
1 tsp vanilla
2 eggs

Mix dry ingredients together.
Work in coconut oil until mixture resembles course crumbs.
Make a well in the center and add eggs. Mix them a bit with a wisk.
Add vanilla and water, leaving a little bit to add after mixing. Add additional water to produce a batter that is about the consistency of pancake batter; it should pour into the pan and spread on its own without having to spread it with a scraper. (see notes below at the **)
Pour into greased 9x13" pan.

Bake at 350 for 30-35 minutes, or until toothpick comes out clean.
Cool on wire rack.

*I use Kelli and Pete Bronski's Artisan Gluten-Free Flour Blend. This mix has a very small amount of xanthan gum already in it. If your flour blend contains no xanthan gum, you may need to add a little bit more than I did. If it contains enough xanthan gum for, say, biscuits or pancakes, you may not need to add any.

**Because of the wide variety of Gluten Free flours available, and the ensuing differences in how liquids are absorbed, it's always hard to give an exact amount of liquid to use. This recipe seemed very runny when I put it in the oven, but it came out great. Soft and light inside, with a little bit of crispiness to the top. Use your own judgement, and experiment to find the right amount of liquid for the flour mix you prefer.

Gluten Free Pasta Carbonara

2012-01-26T09:24:00.000-06:00

Gluten Free Pasta Carbonara

1 lb bacon, diced
3 eggs
3 tbs GF whipping cream
3 tbs bacon grease
2 lbs GF spaghetti
1/3 c freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1/3 c freshly grated Asiago cheese

Fry bacon until crisp. Drain on paper towel and set aside. Reserve 3 tbs for the pasta. (A nice accompaniment to this recipe is a wilted lettuce salad, since you will have extra bacon grease.)
Cook pasta according to package directions; I always add a bit of olive oil to the cooking water to help reduce sticking. Gluten free spaghetti in this volume seems to have an extreme tendency to get stuck into a big lump as it cooks. I always check and stir it frequently, and come prepared with a fork and table knife handy to start separating the clumps as they cook.
In a small dish, beat the eggs gently with a wisk. Stir in cream. Set aside.
When pasta is nearly done cooking, drain and rinse with cold water. Return to cooking pot with a small amount of fresh water, just a skim of liquid on the bottom, 1/8" or so. Stir in the bacon grease. Cover and put on medium high heat. Your goal here is to create a quick steam that will reheat the pasta without it over-cooking.
When pasta is hot and steamy, stir in the egg and cream mixture, and cook until egg cream mixture is slightly thickened. Remove from heat.
Stir in cheeses and bacon.
Serve.

Wilted Lettuce Salad

2012-01-26T09:17:00.000-06:00

My mom always made wilted lettuce salad during the summer, using fresh leaf lettuce from the garden. To this day, the taste of a wilted lettuce salad fills my heart and mind with summery thoughts.

Wilted Lettuce Salad

You will need: bacon, lettuces, onion, and grape tomatoes, apple cider vinegar, and sugar.

Brown four slices of diced bacon. (More is good, too, but you will have to pour off some of the grease to save for something else, or there will be too much for a proper dressing. A good rule of thumb is 2 parts vinegar to 3 parts oil.) Remove cooked bacon pieces from grease and let sit on paper towel. Reserve grease in the skillet or cooking pot.

Tear up lettuce or greens of your choosing to fill a big mixing bowl. Add about 1/3 of a medium onion, cut into finely slivered pieces. Toss in a handful of halved grape tomatoes. Toss gently together.

Reheat bacon grease if it has cooled. When hot, add 1 tsp sugar and 2 tbs apple cider vinegar. Stir to dissolve sugar.

Make sure all your other supper things are ready; this is not a recipe you can make ahead or let sit very long once it's prepared.

When sugar is dissolved in hot bacon grease, pour over salad mix, add cooked bacon pieces, and toss gently. Serve immediately.

Velma T.'s Vitamin Revitalizer

2012-01-23T11:47:00.003-06:00

I'm really enjoying reading Moon Over Manifest, the 2011 Newbery award winner by Clare Vanderpool. Ms Vanderpool combines a casts of colorful, loveable characters, a little history, entertaining news articles from the past, and advertisements for helpful remedies to whatever ails you. Add several layers of mystery and a spunky protagonist, and the author hit just the right recipe for a really enjoyable book. She also included within the book, a story within the story, and the ensuing two settings, both of which she does well enough that a reader can see and here and feel the story. The primary story takes place in the late 1930s, the dust bowl, depression and prohibition. The secondary story consists of flashbacks, in the form of old letters and the stories of the local diviner, which take the reader, along with the protagonist and her girlfriends, twenty years back to the days when the local boys were going off to fight in the Great War.

Considering the short, gray days of winter, and the blah feeling that often afflicts me this time of year, I'm thinking I might try to get ahold of some of this featured elixir.

Velma T's Vitamin Revitalizer
Need a pick-me-up? Try this
chemist's solution to low
energy and stamina. With a
carefully tested combination
of iron, potassium, and calcium,
it will give you a new spring
in your step and you'll be able
to accomplish the many tasks
asked of you throughout the day.
Just one teaspoon at morning
and night and you will have the
wherewithal of your youth. See
Velma T. at the high school to
get your Vitamin Revitalizer today.

The Lengthening of Days, a Meditation

2012-01-23T07:42:00.001-06:00

Joseph Farquharson Glow'd with tints of evening hours

While the earth remains,
Seedtime and harvest,
Cold and heat,
Winter and summer,
And day and night
Shall not cease.

Numbers 8:22

Vincent Van Gogh Enclosed Field with Rising Sun

In the heavens God has set a tabernacle for the sun,
Which is like a bridegroom
coming out of his chamber,
         And rejoices like a strong man to run its race.
Its rising is from one end of heaven,
         And its circuit to the other end;
         And there is nothing hidden from its heat.

Psalm 19:4-6

A Golden Excerpt for a Cold Day

2012-01-19T16:10:00.001-06:00

I drove into Thief River Falls today. Twenty-five miles. In the cold temps. In my car.

My toes froze. It took me about an hour to warm up once I got home.

But I had forgotten to get a birthday treat to send to school with Sophie. Since our school district does not allow homemade treats, I have to think ahead, and I'm not always very good at that. The check-out lady at Hugos commented on my boldness, coming out on a day like this. But when I explained that I was in hot pursuit of a birthday treat, she well understood my heroics. It's what moms do.

Remember in These Happy Golden Years, when Laura taught school in Brewster settlement, twelve miles south of DeSmet? She stayed during the week with a family, the wife of whom was suffering from prairie madness. Although they were not yet a couple, Almonzo, with help from his faithful Morgans, Prince and Lady, drove his horse-drawn cutter each Friday to pick Laura up so she could spend the weekend with her family. He then returned her to Brewster each Sunday afternoon.

Laura was not quite comfortable with this arrangement, not wanting to be under any sort of obligation to Almonzo. So one Sunday, she finally blurted out somewhat clumsily,

I am going with you only because I want to get home. When I am home to stay, I will not go with you any more. So now you know, and if you want to save yourself these long, cold drives, you can.

Little did Laura know that this would be the week Mrs. Brewster would become totally unhinged. Laura was awoken one night by the sounds of uproar. When she peeked out the curtain that separated her bed from the rest of the room, she saw Mrs. Brewster standing in the moonlit room waving a butcher knife and screaming at her husband to take her home.

Laura knew she had two weekends left before the end of her term. She knew Almonzo would not be coming for her on Friday, after her cold-hearted comments the previous Sunday. She dreaded the thought of spending the weekend with Mrs. Brewster.

Friday dawned cold, with a fiercely blowing wind. Laura could not keep the schoolhouse warm, so the kids studied with their coats on, and took turns standing near the stove.

Laura dreaded the day's end. She was afraid to go back to the house. She was sleepy, but she feared to sleep in Mrs. Brewster's house. All day tomorrow and all day Sunday she must be in that house with Mrs. Brewster, and much of the time Mr. Brewster would be at the stable.

As Laura's day trickled by, and the students studied quietly in the frigid classroom, Laura fretted. She worried about the weekend; she wished she had not told Almonzo of her intentions so soon; she considered letting the students out early because of the extreme cold; and she worried about the students walking home. And in the midst of all these worries, she heard a sound that brought joy to her heart,

Suddenly she heard sleigh bells. They were coming! In a moment they were at the door. Prince and Lady passed the widow, and Clarence exclaimed, "That Wilder's a bigger fool than I thought he was to come out in this weather!"

Read about Laura's trip home in the chapter titled, "A Cold Ride."

I'll share this last quote, however, that it might bring a new perspective to anyone who feels aggravated at our mere twenty-something degrees below zero. Especially considering all our modern conveniences, such as heated vehicles and cell phones, that make travel today safer and more comfortable than it was for Laura and Almonzo.

"You took a long chance, Laura," Pa said soberly. "I did not know that Wilder was starting until he had gone, and then I was sure he'd stay at Brewster's. It was forty below zero when that crazy fellow started, and the thermometer froze soon afterward. It has been steadily growing colder ever since; there's no telling how cold it is now."

Outgrowing our Mudroom

2012-01-13T14:41:00.001-06:00

Yes, I know, I know, nobody ever feels like they have a big enough mudroom. And we are fortunate and thankful to have one at all. We even have a 1/2 bath right off it. I really can't complain.

But today's despond is a little different than the desire for more space. I mean the kids are getting too big for the mudroom.

When we moved in, Darrow L. immediately built us three rows of hooks. Nice brass ones, with a prettily stained wood rail behind, and a nice shelf above the highest row.

One row on one wall, at a medium height. Two rows on the other wall, with hooks for short and tall users.

Ten years ago when we moved in, our oldest kids were 5, 7 and 8. Jeremy, Matt, and Louisa used the eight middle-sized hooks. The three younger ones used the six short hooks. Joe and I had the five tall hooks for our stuff.

Over the years, we've had to limit everyone to two hooks a piece. One for jackets and sweatshirts, and the other for a winter coat and snowsuit. Right now, we have just the right number of hooks. Well pretty much. Joe and I, and Matt and Louisa, are all sharing the five tall hooks. But that's OK. We're allegedly all old enough to pick up after ourselves, and if we have extra coats or jackets, to hang them appropriately in our bedroom closets. It mostly works OK.

But the problem I noticed today is with the short hooks. This year, Stella's snowpants are too long for the short hooks! Oh, no!

How sad! In just a few short years, I will have no more little ones. There will be nobody with short enough snowpants to use the row of short hooks.

I know it's silly. But I can't help wanting to break down and shed a few sentimental tears.

A New Year, A New Day, A New Start...AKA Embracing Holy Baptism

2012-01-11T12:12:00.002-06:00

I was bemoaning to one of my girlfriends recently how many things I'd like to change in my life and how frustrating it is to me when such things are resistant to change.

This is the story of my life and sometimes it drives me crazy. Sometimes it makes me bitter. Sometimes it just plain gets me down.

I want a more peaceful home.
I want my kids to be kind to each other and stop the physical assaults they seem to perpetually rain down upon each other.
I want to re-establish the idea of inside voices.
I want to have family time and read aloud each evening.
I want to be able to finish a sentence with one child before having to listen to the next three coming at me from other directions.
I want to more consistently administer discipline in my home.
I want to allow my older kids to do some teenager type things, but without any disruption to our family life.
I want to feel less angry when such things do disrupt.
I want more concentration.
I want more energy.
I want more self-control.
I want to have more patience when I deal with my kids.
I want to love my husband better, and to think of him, and his needs and wishes, before myself and my own.

I don't ask much, really? OK, well maybe I do. But they're all good and wholesome things for which to wish and pray, right?

But in this sinful world, even such good and wholesome things do not happen simply because I want them to. Even if I pray earnestly for them. In some of these things I may see gradual improvement over time; I may see periodic temporary improvements in others. I may even eventually conquer one or two items on this list. But most likely it would soon be replaced with another desire to fix something else that is broken in my life, family, or personality.

And that's because of the somewhat depressing reality that I am a broken creature. We are all broken. We will never attain perfection. Never. Most of us never even come close.

According to St. Paul in Romans 7:13-25, speaking of the Law of God and how it works in our lives,

Has then what is good become death to me?
Certainly not!
...
For we know that the law is spiritual,
but I am carnal, sold under sin.
For what I am doing, I do not understand.
For what I will to do, that I do not practice;
but what I hate, that I do.

If, then, I do what I will not to do,
I agree with the law that it is good.
But now, it is no longer I who do it,
but sin that dwells in me.

For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh)
nothing good dwells;
for to will is present with me,
but how to perform what is good I do not find.

For the good that I will to do, I do not do;
but the evil I will not to do, that I practice.

Now if I do what I will not to do,
it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells in me.
I find then a law, that evil is present with me,
the one who wills to do good.

For I delight in the law of God
according to the inward man.
But I see another law in my members,
warring against the law of my mind,
and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin
which is in my members.

O wretched man that I am!
Who will deliver me from this body of death?
I thank God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!

So then, with the mind
I myself serve the law of God,
but with the flesh the law of sin.

I've heard people, people who who do not fully understand Christianity, say of Christians that we are focused on guilt. I suppose one might say that after reading what I've just written. But my purpose for writing such is not to dwell on my guilt. Although there are moments of weakness in which I feel to an extreme degree the burden of my guilt, generally it does not rule me.

I know that in spite of having a such a sin-filled nature, every inclination of which is only evil continually, (Genesis 6:5) I have a clean slate before God.

St. Paul continues in the very next chapter, Romans 8:1-4,

There is therefore now no condemnation
to those who are in Christ Jesus,
who do not walk according to the flesh,
but according to the Spirit.
For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus
has made me free from the law of sin and death.

For what the law could not do
in that it was weak through the flesh,
God did by sending His own Son
in the likeness of sinful flesh, on account of sin:
He condemned sin in the flesh,
that the righteous requirement of the law
might be fulfilled in us who do not walk according to the flesh
but according to the Spirit.

And further on in the same chapter, Romans 8:31-39

What then shall we say to these things?
If God is for us, who can be against us?
He who did not spare His own Son,
but delivered Him up for us all,
how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?

Who shall bring a charge against God’s elect?
It is God who justifies.
Who is he who condemns?
It is Christ who died,
and furthermore is also risen,
who is even at the right hand of God,
who also makes intercession for us.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?
Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution,
or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?
As it is written:
“ For Your sake we are killed all day long;
We are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.”
Yet in all these things
we are more than conquerors
through Him who loved us.

For I am persuaded that neither death nor life,
nor angels nor principalities nor powers,
nor things present nor things to come,
nor height nor depth,
nor any other created thing,
shall be able to separate us from the love of God
which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Now we have that straight. That's a relief. And I don't mean that flippantly. I know that I'll be in heaven someday. That's wonderful news! The best news, truly.

But if you're like me, it still doesn't help much with the whole daily living thing. I mean, I'm still a poor housekeeper. I tend toward laziness. I run out of patience and yell at my kids. I snap at my husband. I get busy with something and forget to make supper. Yeah. Really. Sad, but true.

All my battles are still with me. There is still this temporal life to be lived.

This is where I find it helpful to remember my baptism. Remember back at the beginning of this post I mentioned a friend to whom I had been expressing my frustration over such things. This is what she replied, "The Gospel means a constant new start, which, frankly, is mind-blowing and difficult to really absorb into the places that need it."

Yes. Mind-blowing. And difficult to absorb.

But this comment reminded me of what I memorized during my Sunday school days, and what I teach my children during theirs, from the section on Baptism in Luther's Small Catechism,

Such baptizing with water means that the old Adam in us should, by daily contrition and repentance, be drowned and die with all sins and evil lusts; and that a new man daily come forth and arise, who shall live before God in righteousness and purity forever.

And Luther continues as is typical, with a Bible citation to back up that truth,

St. Paul writes, Romans 6:4: “We are buried with Christ by baptism into death, that just as He was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.”

When I first learned this, I tended to think primarily in terms of God's Law. Everything I was taught seemed like more work for me. More things I had to be able to do. It was a bit daunting.

So too, this section from Luther's catechism and the included Scriptural quotation, seemed like more work for me. Something I have to accomplish. I have to get up each day and bury my old Adam. I have to somehow dredge up this illusive new man and carry him around all day without dropping him.

Impossible!

But what I've learned since then is that I don't have to do it. Really. Not only does baptism work faith in the hearts of those little babies who are given the Sacrament. It also gives us, perpetually and continually, the blessings of baptism. It's not a command but a gift!

Stunning!

My baptism gives me daily contrition and repentance. For me it drowns and kills all sins and evil lusts. And it brings to life for me and in me that new man who shall live before God in righteousness and purity forever. It's not a command but a blessing. A gift. A promise.

Not a threat, but a comfort.

I'm still not perfect. Believe me, my old Adam can cook up enough temptation and sin to keep my New Man hopping. But in faith, I cling to the knowledge that it's all good. Through Jesus, through His perfect life and sacrificial death, I am given purity. I am righteous before God. I am a new creature.

Mind-blowing. But true.

(Edited at 4:35pm: coincidentally, Lutheran hymn writer extraordinaire, Mark Preus posted a new baptism hymn today on his Lutheran Hymn Revival blog. Check it out.)

Word Games

2012-01-05T13:59:00.001-06:00

Because I was feeling a little bit snarky while writing my previous blog post, I asked Joe to preview it for me, specifically to temper any snarkiness that crossed the line of decency.

"Could you check to see if my facete is too cruel?" said I.

Joe got to chuckling and smiling to himself, so I assumed I had said something wrong. Joe and I are both word geeks, so we kind of go around in circles, each trying to catch the other in some error.

"Why are you giggling? It's facete, isn't it? I suppose it isn't a word?"

"Oh, I"m not saying it isn't a word. I've just never heard it used that way." Then he rambled a bit about word roots and the definition of other potentially related words, such as facet, facetious, etc. But soon he got up from the table and rummaged around to find a dictionary. He simply couldn't let it go.

After a few minutes of flipping pages, Joe asked, "And how might you spell facete, if it is a word, that is?"

Yikes! I got to thinking maybe Joe was going to win this round. But I spoke out more confidently than I felt, "F-A-C-E-T-E," and then a few minutes later, "or maybe it's ...E-E-T, " and then, a few minutes later still, when it became quite obvious Joe was finding no such word, "I don't know...how is facetious spelled? Maybe it's F-E-C..."

Using the Second College Edition of Webster's New World Dictionary, published in 1970, Joe did not find facete. He found facet, facetiae, and then facetious, but no facete. Interestingly, facetiae is a plural, a collection of witticisms. But apparently there is no singular, or at least was not 1970.

But I was not inclined to be beaten so easily. Today we have google. We can find nearly anything we search for hard enough.

In the Merriam-Webster online dictionary I find, as did Joe, facet, facetiae, and facetious. But hold everything! I also find facete, although it is labeled, archaic. And, oh snap! It is also alleged to be an adjective. What's up with that?

I was all excited thinking I might get to call this round a draw. But even in it's archaic form, that word did not mean what I though it meant.

Inconceivable!

Major Logical Disconnect

2012-01-05T13:29:00.000-06:00

I feel really bad about the shooting of Mt. Rainier National Park Ranger, Margaret Anderson. Please do not take the following rant as in any way an attitude of disrespect for the deceased. In fact, the reason I've been following this story is because of the way the story pulled at my heart strings. Ms Anderson had two young children; it is a tragedy when any young children are left motherless. It is also hard when any law enforcement officer is killed in the line of duty. Certainly a two-fold tragedy!

However, a quote included in the Huffington Post article by Mike Baker, portrays a major lack of cohesive thought. I can't see why Mr. Baker even included it unless he was hoping the Huffpo readership is so anti-gun that such readers would not stop to think about the content. I suppose to be fair, I could imagine that he only wanted to highlight the stupidity of the anti-gun crowd, ... but ... somehow ... well ... it is Huffpo ... sorry if I have trouble stretching my imagination that far.

Let me set the stage here, according to the information included in Baker's article.

Benjamin Barnes was under a restraining order, because of his violent tendencies, thought to be due to post traumatic stress disorder related to his military service.
Barnes was released from his army service due to driving under the influence and transporting private weapons illegally.
Barnes appears to have fled to Mt. Rainier National Park to escape investigation regarding a shooting at a house party south of Seattle at which four people were injured. The article stops short of alleging Barnes was the shooter, but only just. It is certainly implied.
Barnes disregarded the Park Ranger checkpoint set up to enforce vehicle chain requirements.

So, we already know Barnes was given to violence. He didn't respect weapons laws. We are lead to assume he had recently shot several people. And he blew through a Ranger checkpoint in the moments preceding the shooting.

And yet according to the article, this tragedy is refueling debate over a 2010 law that allows legally permitted gun carriers to carry their weapon in national parks.

As proof of this refueled debate, Baker found Bill Wade, outgoing chair of the Coalition of National Park Service Retirees. Hmm. Already I'm convinced. Nothing against Mr. Wade; I'm sure he's a decent guy. But by including this big long position title, "outgoing chair of the Coalition of National Park Service Retirees," the author calls upon readers to listen carefully to the quote. To respect the opinion. But instead, I think to myself sarcastically, "Oh, a prestigious position, indeed! Kind of makes me wonder how long Baker had to search to find the opinion he wanted."

(For any couch logicians out there, Joe just informed me this is called the fallacy of appeal to authority. It actually has a name. The gentleman has been the chair of a reitree group. He is a former Park Service Employee. The title says nothing about his knowledge of guns, gun laws or gun crime statistics. But the man's title is included to give credence to the assertions being forwarded.)

According to Mr. Wade, as quoted in the article, "The many congressmen and senators that voted for the legislation that allowed loaded weapons to be brought into the parks ought to be feeling pretty bad right now."

Mike Baker continues the article with more of Mr. Wade's opinion, "Wade called Sunday's fatal shooting a tragedy that could have been prevented. He hopes Congress will reconsider the law that took effect in early 2010."

So, in spite of Barnes' violent tenancies, a previous firearms citation, the fact that he was fleeing a crime scene at which numerous people were injured by gunshot, and the obvious disregard he showed for Park officials by ignoring their checkpoint, we are supposed to believe that were it illegal to bring weapons into a National Park, Barnes would have stopped somewhere along the way to deposit his guns for later pick-up. Or perhaps he would have turned around when he got to the park entrance. Or maybe, if he simply forgot about the law until the checkpoint, when he got there, instead of racing through it, he would have stopped, apologized for having weapons in his vehicle, and surrendered them at that time.

But sadly, history shows people are swayed by such arguments.

Reminds me of the Gun Free Zone parody that circulated a few years back.

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

2011-12-25T01:22:00.002-06:00

Hark the glad sound! The Savior comes!

Mystical Nativity Sandro Botticelli

If you like this post, you may also enjoy further Christmas meditation in Scripture and art, in the 2010 Twelve Days of Christmas series from my Poems and Paintings: Day by Day blog.

It was the worst of times,...NO, it was the best of times...

2011-12-24T22:16:00.001-06:00

I'm taking a break from the rush and rumble of getting ready to pack up and leave with a family of the size of ours. There are ten of us leaving tomorrow, allegedly right after church. Our actual departure time remains to be seen.

At times like this, I'm not usually very pleasant to be around. Generally, in the days preceding the RUSH, I get kind of overwhelmed feeling and start to fizzle out. I do next to nothing, because it's all a little bit too much for me; my brain freezes up.

Then at the last minute, I start to rush around, frantically throwing things together and hollering and screaming at my kids. Not a pretty sight. Then my husband gets frustrated, thinking the kids are deserving of the verbal abuse they are enduring, and he gets into the action. Ooh, not a good scene.

Then I, who know deep down that the emotional mess is of my own creation, try to sooth things over and get us on the road.

And we always eventually get going somehow.

But really, truly, getting ready for a trip is for me one of the worst of times.

And why, I ask, when I can predict so precisely how things are going to play out, can I not do something to change this sorry state of affairs? My prayer this time is that even when things get frantic, I refrain from the yelling and screaming. I want to have a happy Christmas.

So far, so good.

Today, I got up and got moving in a timely fashion. I made a chore list for the kids to tackle during the day, so that when we do eventually leave, the house is in a not-quite-so-messy state. My main job for today was to tackle the infamous Mt. Washmore. Da-da-da-daaaa. (That was scary, evil organ music, that notorious phrase from Beethoven's Fifth, in case you can't tell.)

I also had several odds and ends to take care of, PLUS, sort out and wrap all the Christmas gifts, AND (since I have five girls with winter birthdays, two of whom are on Dec 27th), I generally buy for birthdays and Christmas all at once for those girls, and end up sorting and wrapping for those occasions, too.

So, I was a little bit busy today, but in keeping with my goal (no maternal ugliness) I tried to stay upbeat and happy all day, and gave myself little minutes to rest my brain in between things. Like the minutes it's taking me to write this, for example.

Jeremy called me this morning when he got home from work; that was a treat. We exchanged our Christmas greetings and miscellaneous pleasantries; and I arranged for us to drop off his gifts on our way out tomorrow.

I even took time to do my pilates.

I listened to 80s music on my MP3 player while I washed and folded laundry.

And yet, the clock marched on. My goal was to have our family Christmas doings at 3:00 or 4:00 pm, but I was still folding clothes at 6:00. Sigh. But no ugliness. I decided I'd have to leave a small portion of Mr. Washmore standing.

I forged ahead and decided on the minimalist approach to wrapping gifts. I gathered all the assorted bags and packages of clearance and second hand purchases I've accumulated throughout the year. I summoned my husband to "join me in my chambers." (That may sound a bit risqué to the uninitiated, but the phrase is used by Mrs. Moody in the Little Britches books by Ralph Moody. Read them if you haven't. They are wonderful books for all ages.)

Where was I? Oh, yes, in my chambers. Joe had just joined me. As I pulled each item out of the packages, his assigned task was to add it to the appropriate pile, youngest to oldest, lined up along the floor of our room. Generally, we've tried to limit ourselves to one modest new or special gift per child, and we fill in with fun things that I pick up here and there. So when it's time to finally wrap the Christmas gifts, there is a bit of play, moving some things from one pile to another, until I am satisfied the arrangement will be appreciated by all. After Joe and I did the first tentative arrangement, I excused him from the process and finished manipulating the bounty by myself. It's kind of a one person job.

When I had all the piles arranged to my liking, I put into motion my emergency minimalist gift wrapping procedure. A plastic bag for each child...tied shut at the top...labeled with permanent marker. I loaded all the bags into a big box, and then threw a blanket over it all. This sleigh of sorts, Joe and I then pulled and carried into the living room, and set next to the tree. It wasn't fancy, but I reminded myself that all the trappings of the season, including pretty papers and trims, is not what really matters.

By the time we had everything ready, it was nearing 7:00pm. The kids still needed bathed; we had not eaten supper; and the packing for tomorrow was not yet started. But... NO MATERNAL UGLINESS... right? Take a deep breath, Mary, and just enjoy the moment.

We gathered everyone in the living room. I had Matt light the candles on the Advent wreath, and all the others around the living room. We turned off all the lights in the house except a table lamp near Joe. He read to us the Christmas story from both Matthew and Luke. Then we turned off the lamp, and each of us got to choose a Christmas hymn to sing.

It was the best of times.

When we were done with our Christmas worship, we started the part the kids were all waiting for. We opened our oh-so-lovely presents. I sat down by the erstwhile sleigh and, starting with the oldest working to the youngest, one at a time, I gave each person their plastic shopping bag. Each got to open his or her own, before we moved onto the next. Anticipation built as we worked our way down to the youngest ones.

After the gifts from Joe and I were opened, the kids handed out all the treasures they had prepared for each other these last few weeks. Colored pictures, puzzle pages ripped from a favorite activity book, candies saved from their treat bags at church, lip balm, lotion, a favorite book, a hand-me-down clothing item...I love to see how creative the kids get in giving to each other with our limited resources. Probably one of our favorites was one Stella gave to Sophie. She had used the pretty unused gift tag from one of her gifts. She filled in her and Sophie's names in the to and from spots, and because it had such a pretty ribbon on it, she gave it as a Christmas tree ornament for Sophie. Priceless!

It was the very BEST of times.

My Sophie gave me a singing card and a windowed locket containing within it a different colored gem symbolizing each of the fruits of the Spirit. Clara gave me the painted turtle sculpture that she made in art class last year. Joe plans to get me the 2012 Writer's Market guide. And my friend, Christine, who makes beautiful jewelry, and from whom I got some pretty things for my oldest girls, sent along a little treasure for me also: a beautiful, sparkly bracelet that I am wearing as I write this. It is winking provocatively at me. I keep wondering what it is up to, with such a merry glimmer in its eye.

Jesus' birth, our heavenly Father's gift of His only Son, is the greatest gift of all. But my mother's heart joyfully drank in my family's Christmas celebration. Now I am refreshed to tackle the rest of the things on my list.

Well, I wish I was anyway. I am filled with a warm glow of the love of God and my family. But truth be told, I'm really pretty tired and kind of ready for bed already.

Avalanche!

2011-12-22T12:43:00.000-06:00

Do you remember the game, Blockhead, from back in the '70s and '80s? Players would take turns stacking colorful blocks of various shapes and sizes in such as way as to balance their blocks on the sometimes tottering stack, while at the same time making it difficult for the following players to find a spot to successfully position their own blocks.

Apparently it is still available, but not with the cool '70s look I remember.

Blockhead was fun as a game.

But when we're talking real life, and the constant state of one's countertops, tabletops, and any other horizontal surface in one's home, life can get a bit dicey.

I've learned to live in a state of heightened awareness of the potentialities such a situation affords. I'm always cautious of how I set something down, lest it start an avalanche that will pull over the last several months' worth of debris, and cause the contents of an entire countertop to slither and slide, and tumble and rumble, quickly to the floor. This morning I saw something that might have brought a more timid soul to her trembling knees. I, however, am thoroughly acclimated to living within this constant state of, uh, expectancy.

One of the places in our home that seems to constantly build up clutter and then also consequently have that same clutter tumble and slide to the floor is the half-wall that divides our upstairs hallway from the stairs to the basement. The stacks in this location can get a little more precarious than those in other locations, since the tumbling papers and toys and books and other miscellany pose an additional risk to any poor unfortunate who might be walking up the stairs at the moment an avalanche occurs.

And yet, still we stack.

Today, as I was walking from the kitchen to the living room, walking along that previously described half-wall, I noticed the all too familiar, precariously stacked oddments along the top edge of the wall. But then, shudder, I saw a disaster of worse than usual potential, just waiting to happen.

Now picture with me. The heap of junk that is sitting upon the top of the wall consists of several layers of books, papers, magazines, notebooks, puzzles, and games, among other sundry flotsom of life with ten kids. Each layer gets a little wider, so that along the top of what is a mere seven inch horizontal surface, the pile that accumulates is perhaps a foot high, but might also be a foot wide or even more. The edges hang over the hallway floor, but also teeter dangerously above the stairway.

This morning, as I passed this jumble,... there... sitting upon the top of everything... as nice as could be... only slightly askew,... sat one of Joe's pint jars that uses for drinking glasses.. serenely waiting there... with about three inches of coffee in the bottom. There it sat, just looking for an opportunity to creep off at the slightest nudge. Just waiting for one of the overhanging edges to get bumped or jostled. Just waiting.

Heavens to mergatroyd! I grabbed it quickly.

A disaster dodged. Am I ever glad I saw it when I did.

Christmas Shopping in Brrrrmidji

2011-12-10T09:55:00.002-06:00

Yesterday we had two running around things to accomplish, in opposite directions. We had to go to Fosston to pick up the van, which had spent the night at Carco getting its pre-winter check-up done. And we had to deposit some money in the bank somewhere. After picking up the van, Joe took the little girls home, and I continued on in the car to do the banking. But first, I had to decide where to go. Fosston has no Wells Fargo, so my banking options were to drive 48 miles back north into Thief River Falls to deposit the money there, and then pick up a few things at Wal-Mart; or continue east on US 2 into Bemidji, about another 45 miles, but then be able to catch a variety of stores. It may seem a no-brainer to head into Bemidji with its relative multitude of shops, and it being a few miles closer to Fosston. But if I went into Bemidji, I’d have to drive about 75 miles home after shopping; whereas if I went into TRF, I would be only 25 miles from home at the end of the day.

What to do...what to do...

I don’t generally indulge in unplanned trips to the ”big city” (especially unattended by little ones). But it is Christmas season. And I felt the draw of Bemidji’s Goodwill. So I headed in that direction. It was a nice day for a drive anyway; cold, but crisply clear with a sparkling blue sky.

I wanted to get to the bank by 3:00, so my deposit would go in before the weekend, but I was cutting it kind of close. I pushed it as much as I dared. Since I got a written warning a few weeks ago, compliments of Officer Norland of the Minnesota State Patrol, I’ve been a bit more cautious of late. I pulled into the bank parking lot at 2:55, but there was a hold up in the bank (3:00 on a Friday...I should have known) and I stood in line for almost ten minutes.

When my turn finally arrived, I immediately asked if it was too late for a deposit to go in before the weekend. The teller said that yes, it was. But that I could put it in the ATM until 9:00pm, and it would be credited immediately. Whew. A little luck.

Or maybe not.

I may have mentioned a time or two that I’m a certified techno-phobe. We finally got debit cards just a few months ago; and I felt very cool and accomplished after I learned how to slide it through the little gizmo and sign my name. But the ATM, now that I’ve never done. Really. Never. Well, that’s not quite true. About three months ago, in Grand Forks, they had a promotion for the new envelope free deposit. If I tried out the machine, I’d get a dollar to deposit, just to try it out. The teller there gave me my complimentary dollar and then patiently took me out to the ATM in the entry, and walked me through the process. Oh, OK, easy, cheesy. No sweat. Nothing to fear.

So, there I was, three months later, in the drive through lane, about to do it all on my own. Take a few cleansing breaths, Mary, you can do it...

Oh, no! What’s my PIN number? Shoot, shoot, shoot. Didn’t I write it down somewhere? Ummm,...one of the kid's birthdays? my childhood pet? favorite hymn? Grrr. I drew a complete and utter blank. Well, there was nobody behind me, so I decided to dig through my purse and try to engage my brain. I remembered writing it down. Another thing I’m very poor with is remembering numbers, so yes, if you ever rob me, you’ll probably find a few PINs or passwords. But you’ll have to figure out which goes to what. They are not labeled. I'm so sure...I'm not THAT dumb!

I took a few minutes to dig through the month's worth of receipts and the miscellaneous detritus of a mother’s purse. I guess it needed cleaned out anyway. Oops, a car pulled in behind me....I pulled into a parking spot until I could figure it out.

Well, it’s too late to make a long story short. I ended up going inside again, and waiting in line again, and ashamedly confessing to the teller what a misfit I am, since I don’t even know how to use the ATM. She kindly and patiently helped me to set a new password,...and suddenly...excellent timing...I remembered the old one. Hmmm. So I simply re-entered the old one, so my new one is my old one. I remembered it long enough to complete the transaction once I was back out in the drive through. It remains to be seen how long it will stay in my brain without being dislodged by some factoid of more pressing import.

Nice start to my afternoon of shopping.

By then it was 3:30, and I had wasted half an hour. But besides that... drat... I ought to have remembered, the middle school buses come in a swarm at that time of day past the west exit of the parking lot. After waiting for what felt like 40 buses to pass, I was finally once again on my way. But it did leave me wondering...If I only come to Bemidji about four or five times a year, and if it seems like I always get caught waiting for the buses at that particular parking lot exit at that particular time of day, does it imply that I’m always rushing to get to the bank before 3:00, and always arriving late?

At any rate, off to Goodwill and Twice But Nice. I’m not telling what I got there, but let’s just say it was probably too much...

(No books, though, Char, or small appliances; you’d have been proud of me. They did have a Braun immersion blender I picked up, and hemmed and hawed over. It’s nice to have an extra one around if a previously purchased second-hand one goes on the fritz. But I put it back, since I was Christmas shopping; strangely none of my kids has an immersion blender on their wish list.)

After cleaning out the second hand stores, I scurried across the street to Ben Franklin, simply because I love looking at fabric and yarn. But I didn’t buy any. Really. I was a good girl. There was lots of very cool yarn that I would have loved to buy. There was even one of those free promotional patterns for a very pretty plush afghan. But it took 11 skeins of yard, and the yarn around which the pattern was designed was $6.00 a skein. A $66 afghan? Really? Do regular people really have that much money to spend on yarn? I was stunned. I seriously can’t even imagine. I’m so penny pinching that it almost kills me to buy the multi colored yarns that switch from one color to another throughout the skein, because they are smaller skeins for the same price as the larger solid-colored skeins.

After doing that quick and very deflating calculation, I returned to the car empty handed, and moved on to Target and Wal-mart. I didn’t get much at Target, but I like that dollar section at the front of the store. I can always find some sort of doodads with which to fill the “box of tricks” I keep in my basement.

OK, now here’s a confession, it's embarrassing. But this made me really mad, so I have to tell you about it. After that whole frustrating altercation with the teller machine earlier, wasting half an hour of my limited time in town, my debit card wasn’t even accepted at Wal-Mart. I didn’t spend that much!!! I know the money was in there! Why would they tell me that if I used the stupid ATM, the money would be immediately available, if it isn’t going to be?!? I’m going to have to call the TRF bank this morning and figure it out. It was very frustrating. I wrote a check, so it was not really a big deal. But still...Embarrassing!

By the time I wended my way through the milling crowds of holiday, Friday-evening Target and Wal-Mart shoppers it was, predictably, much later than I had wanted to stay in town. I still needed to put gas on the car and get a cup of coffee for the drive home. (Did any of you notice the strange preposition in that last sentence? Now tell me, who puts gas on a car? It would just run off, wouldn’t it? You put the gas in the car. Except if you live in Minnesota, you put gas on the car. Don’t ask me. I can’t explain it. I’ve lived in Minnesota for a total of eighteen years now, and it still sounds strange enough to me that I have to interject this little explanation into my post, so that any non-Minnesotans reading this don’t think it’s a typo.)

Now where was I? Oh, yes, gas and coffee. I pulled into the Murphy USA adjacent to Wal-Mart, and filled up. I got back in the car while I let it fill, which I’ve learned the hard way is a bit risky when the temps are low. When I first moved to Northern Minnesota, I once let about 8 gallons of gas overflow onto the pavement, because it was too cold to trigger the turn-the-pump-off thing. Strange but true. That little sign that warns you not to leave the pump unattended while filling, it’s for a purpose, and now I know. I still get in the car if it’s cold, but I keep my eyes on the pump. And when the number of gallons going in approaches the number I expect the car to need, I keep a close eye on the nozzle.

Last night my luck held and no gas was spilled. But when I went in to pay for the gas, I remembered that this particular gas station doesn’t have hot coffee. I make this mistake at least once a winter. I should know better. I ought to have filled up at that place several miles out of town. But once I hit the road, I don’t like to stop.

So I still needed coffee. I gave into all the pent-up frustrations of the day, and indulged in a Caribou Coffee. It was really handy, and I felt like I needed a little treat.

Finally, 7:00, and I was just heading home. I had hoped to be home in time for a late supper. I didn’t leave any instructions for Joe, so I felt a little negligent. And for some reason both our cell phones were missing when I left home earlier; so I had no way to call and check on how everyone was doing on the home front. (Not going to mentioned any names, but after the kids got home from the basketball game last night, I asked about the phones. A certain one of them happened to have them both. You know who you are...)

The drive home went quickly. It started out with John Denver’s Thank God I'm a Country Boy, which you may find hoaky, but it’s one of my favorite songs. Between the happy song and the warm fancy coffee, I was feeling a bit revved up. Glad to be heading home, happy with my purchases, always ready for a little road trip. That lasted about half way home until I heard a song that made me cry. Hey, it’s OK. It's been all of about two weeks since I’ve had a good car cry. I was due.

It was Clay Walker's The Chain of Love. Again, perhaps hoaky. Maybe I'm waxing maudlin in my old age. I saw on Wikipedia that when it was originally released, one reviewer called it sickly sweet.

But I loved this song. Really loved it.

Clay Walker - The Chain Of Love (Official Music Video)

Really, really love it.

Walking in a Winter Way of Life

2011-12-05T11:35:00.001-06:00

I was going to be really creative and think up all new lyrics to Walking in a Winter Wonderland, in order to tell about my morning walk. But I'm more comfortable with prose than poetry. You'll just have to forego the pleasure of my verse.

When we got the kids up this morning, it was a whopping 3 above zero. Oooh, a little cold. But by the time I left for my walk at 8:00, it was down to zero. I bundled up in my sweatshirt and parka, wrapped my extra long and wide scarf around my head three times, and took off for Lana's.

I pulled up into Lana's drive; as is typical, I was a few minutes late. She had already been around the barnyard a couple of times. See, when you get all bundled up, you can't wait for your partners inside or you overheat. And you can't really come outside and just stand around waiting either. So Lana sometimes gets in a few more rounds than the rest of us.

Today when I arrived, she was finishing up a round. She approached my car as I got out and pulled myself together. She bemoaned the fact that her glasses were fogging up because of her warm breath filtering up through her neck gator and landing on the cold glass. She set her glasses on the back window of my car.

I contemplated doing the same. But I'm really, really blind without my glasses. Really. Blind. I'm not at all comfortable without them. I thought if I could adjust my scarf correctly, I could make it work.

And so we started out.

As Lana and I were finishing our first round together, we could see through the trees that Connie's car had pulled into the drive. Unlike myself, Connie's not typically late, but she's been battling a head cold. We were both surprised, pleasantly so, that she was up to walking on such a cold morning. Jan was with her, so we had our complete foursome.

We tried to keep a brisk pace this morning, to keep the warm blood pumping into our extremities. We all adjusted various times to find the optimal warmth for our particular apparel items and metabolism. I pulled my fingers up into the palm part of my gloves and balled my fists to warm my thumbs, which had gotten cold on the drive over. Lana and Jan traded hand coverings, because Lana's hands were too hot in her mittens and Jan's were getting cold in her gloves. Connie had enough layers on, that she was getting a bit too warm. I kept fidgeting with my scarf to get it just right.

But I soon realized that the whole "adjust the scarf to keep the glasses clear" thing was not going to happen. So I settled for scooting them down to the end of my nose to see over the top. Which worked fine until my shoe came undone. I must have been kind of wriggling my foot or trying to look down past the foggy glasses or something, because Lana asked what was wrong. I said, "I think my shoe is undone, but I can't see far enough to tell for sure." She looked down and sure enough, my shoelace was dangling.

That lead to a big discussion and a few chuckles about all of our glasses being so useless. We spent the rest of that round cooking up silly rescue ideas. If somebody stumbled into the woods, another of us would be sure to come and get her; and somebody would give a holler if one or another of us was about to get tangled in a piece of farm equipment.

When we got back to the driveway, I veered off to the cars to tie my shoe and deposit my glasses. Yes, I had surrendered to the frosty air and decided to walk blindly. But then, really, looking over the top of my glasses is no less blind than just taking them off. But still, when one is a blind as I, glasses become a security thing. If they are at the end of my nose, I know they are there if I need them. I could always breathe on them and clear them off if need be. But I bravely set them on the back window with Lana's glasses and forged on.

I heard Brad calling to the ladies as they passed his shop, "It's nice and warm in here if you want to come in and warm up." After having slowed down for a little bit, and thereby cooling off a little, the warmth was tempting. By this time, we had all developed a hoary layer of frost on our scarves and headgear. But instead of giving into the desire to warm up, I jogged past the shop to catch up with the others. When I caught up with them, I kept up my jog. I told about how books about dogsledding, or those set in the old days of horse and sleigh, often describe having to get down periodically to jog alongside, to keep warm. The mushers and drivers would stomp their feet and pound their chests to get the blood to their extremities.

Well, the girls decided they wanted to give that a try. After a few steps of it, somebody said, "Hey, this really works. Let's try to make it to those bales up there." And so we jogged past the cowyard and laughed as the cows watched us pass.

I do realize that zero is hardly extreme in the big scheme of things. But taking a walk in such invigorating weather gives a person a little lift, simply because of the spirit of adventure and accomplishment it imbues.

The Goal of a Godly Home and the Frustration of Never Attaining It

2011-12-01T10:30:00.000-06:00

“I have told you these things,

so that in me you may have peace.

In this world you will have trouble.

But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

John 16:3

A friend posted this passage to her facebook today and I thought it fit well with the direction of this particular post I've been working on seemingly forever (really, the post editor shows I started it on October 7. My, my, am I ever pokey!). This passage admits that this life will have its struggles, but clearly tells us where to find the comfort we need when things get hard.

As a stay at home (formerly homeschooling) mother of a large family, arguably the most basic part of my identity goes against the grain of mainstream society. I am first and foremost a mother. And I have lots of kids.

In that sense, I am a rebel. That in and of itself is not a problem for me, since I've struggled with a wayward and difficult personality all my life. My dad used to say that I intentionally chose the most different, or unusual, or even argumentative stance on anything. Just to be difficult. And some might say this big family thing is another example of my penchant for troublemaking.

But I don't think so. Yes, in this day and age, a large family is somewhat unusual. OK, very unusual. And it does take a certain amount of chutzpa to go against the societal grain. But in the larger historical sense, within the Christian tradition, children have always been considered a blessing from God; they were desired and prayed for; and a large family was considered a bonus. And historically speaking, letting God decide one's family size was assumed. It was, simply put, the right thing to do.

Joe and I didn't set out to "have a big family," although being the second oldest of eight children, I certainly grew up knowing the value of a large family. But we do believe that God knows better than we, how many children we ought to have, and how far apart we ought to have them. It's so much less stressful that way.

I've read that there is a trend toward larger families, especially among conservative Christians. And I've seen a bit of that myself. During our homeschooling days, among other homeschool families, it was not at all unusual to know others who also had a larger than average number of kids.

But within that trend, there is a bit of a problem. Most people today are not from large families. So if they follow the path of fully embracing God's blessings and His plan for their family, and if God chooses to bless such a couple with a large family, they may not know quite how to go about the logistics of it all. Most young people who are starting a family today did not grow up with any example of parenting a large number of kids, or of managing a large household. Periodically, I find myself in the role of "elder matron" to a younger mother, providing her with mentoring and advise on how to make things work. And quite frankly, I don't always feel up to that task. Just ask my kids. I'm not really a picture-perfect kind of mother. And I'm a horrible housekeeper.

In this role of elder matron, I often talk to women who seem weighed down with a sense of failure. And I have often felt this same way myself. We mothers so want to do everything right for our children. We want to give them the very best opportunity to become responsible, moral, and God-pleasing adults. We want to provide a healthful and peaceful home life. We have admirable and God-pleasing goals. So why doesn't it work? Why can't we get it together?

One reason I've seen, in both my own life and the lives of other women, can be brought on by these same very noble and God-pleasing goals. It is easy to lend such goals or ideals a sense of near-idolatry. We so ardently want a certain kind of Godly home, that the type, or ideal, takes on an import that is out of proportion with the very same God-pleasing lifestyle we are trying so hard to achieve. And when that goes awry, as it often does in this sin ridden world, we can easily become frustrated or even depressed.

One of the biggest challenges in my adult life as a wife and mother has been letting go of the man-made standards I had imposed upon myself. I have sometimes struggled to be joyful, or even just content, with who I am as a woman of God. And one of the biggest hurdles to contentment and joy that I've seen, both in my own life, and in the lives of other women I speak to, is coming to peace with the things I am realistically able to accomplish, and the standards I am able to hold up for my children and family.

What do I mean by man-made standards, or ideals? One of the ways we make decisions for our families is by listening to and emulating those parents or families we respect and admire. A husband and wife each has a different example of parenting from his or her own upbringing, but also brings into a marriage any ideas he or she has picked up along the way.

We also see how our friends are making their homes and raising their families; we read about a variety of philosophies and practices in magazines, on blogs and internet groups, through parenting groups or homeschooling groups, etc. We hear radio interviews and attend presentations. With today's global communication and transportation, we can find examples of various lifestyles and parenting methods just about anywhere.

And so we must glean. First and foremost, we must examine everything through the lens of God's Word. But we also use our common sense, instinct, and unique personalities to come up with a personal style of parenting and homemaking that works for us.

But remember, everyone is different. I can't say this often enough. Everyone is different, every couple is different, and every family is different.

Each couple's children inherit the genetic make up of their parents. We pass on to our children parts of our personalities, some of which are great and wonderful, but others which are not so much so. Some of what they inherit from us will be a constant struggle to them, just as it is to us.

But not only that, they also see and emulate both the good and bad behavior of their parents. This all adds up to a particular flavor of family dynamic that is unique to each couple's home.

When I started out parenting, I really wanted to do the Laura Ingalls thing. Back to basics, and old fashioned rules. I inherited from my upbringing a, "Hard work is good," ethic, and also a good share of the somber German attitude, "If it's fun or pleasurable, it's bad."

I was raised in a very regimented family. We had clearly defined rules and punishments and formulas for everything. And I always imagined that I'd follow in my parent's footsteps in those ways, too. Follow the formula, and everything's all right. Right?

Wrong.

God has laid out my life for me. He showed me through many struggles and failures and feelings of beating the proverbial head against the wall, that, "What worked for your mom and dad does not work for you and Joe."

Firstly, I am not my mom. In fact, I myself am adopted, and so I don't even have the genetic personality or gifts that my mother has. Secondly, I married a man very different than my dad, and so another flavor was brought into our home. Along with that, yet another mix of genetic code was passed on to our children. Joe's and my personalities, Joe's cultural background, and our kids' new and unique dispositions didn't seem to go well with the "formulas" I had been holding as the ideal. Hard as I tried, I couldn't make it work.

It was a very painful process to have to let go of those ideals. God definitely put me through the crucible, until I let go of the false god I had built up in such ideals. And yes, I mean false god. The ideal had become the goal. Living up to the standard was more important to me than simply loving my children and making a home. If I didn't do it "well enough" or "the right way" then I felt as though I had failed, and I was not a happy Mama.

But when I found that those rules or standards I wanted to use in my home, which I had totally expected would work in my home, weren't working with the particular family with which God had blessed me, with what did I replace such standards? How does one leave off what one has held to as an almost Biblical ideal, and find something of equal value with which to replace it? How does that work in practice?

What has worked for me is to keep in mind a set of long term parenting goals. Joe and I set these goals many years ago. It was part of an exercise for short, medium, and long term homeschooling goals which I did back when my youngest were just reaching school age. I very highly recommend every young family write down a set of such goals. In busy life, the short term goals will change frequently, and may not get written down. But having something on paper, especially for the long term goals, to which one can return time and again, is a very useful thing.

My long term goals are very basic. And when taken in the light of such long term goals, many of the daily rules and strictures and formulas loose their ability to overwhelm or imprison.

For instance, consider some of the things I strive for and struggle with: I want to have order in my home. I want to teach my kids to be orderly. I want to punish when needed in a reasonable, timely, and consistent fashion. I want to have a happy, joyful home. I want to read to my kids nightly. I want to have wholesome and nutritive meals, and clean, well-organized clothing.

These are all things I desire for my home and family. But none of those things are part of my long term goals.

My long term goals go more like this.

I want to raise God-fearing children who are able to confess their sins and turn to their Savior for forgiveness and for the mantle of His Righteousness.
I want my adult children to be able to be responsible citizens according to their abilities, who have the skills to provide for themselves and whatever number of dependants God gives them.
I want my adult children to be well enough versed to be able to communicate the hope that lies within them.

That's about it. Simple, huh?

Would I like the kind of "ideal" family with all generations working together, which I used to hear about within the homeschooling community? Yes. I like to think so. But is that kind of family the only God-fearing model? Nope.

Would I like to be more organized with my household tasks? Yes, absolutely. But is it necessary to my long term goals. Nope.

Would I like to not have to periodically rummage through the dirty laundry in order to find those "not so dirty" things in which to clothe my children for an outing? Yep. But not a necessity.

Would I like my children to be able to work together to do dishes without bickering? Oh, boy, would I ever! But more than that, I want them to know where to bring the sin of their bickering and harsh words, and how to forgive each other as Christ forgives us.

Why am I rambling on about this? Because this is exactly the type of thing that can wear a mother down. We easily see the very many things we are not accomplishing. We readily feel the weight of the enormous responsibility we face day by day and minute by minute.

We, many of us, have very high expectations and standards with which we'd like to run our families. But things don't always run the way we'd like to see them run. We aren't always able to incorporate the various formulas we are lead to believe will work well.

But if we have long term goals to which we can refer when things seem to be going poorly, we can cast our heart to those goals. We can refocus on what's really important, and let everything else sort itself out in time.

We are all still wonderful women who have many things to offer the world, both in our parenting, and also in every other interaction we undertake daily. We may always struggle to want to do things a certain way, by a certain set of lifestyle, parenting, or homemaking standards. And that's OK.

Other times we may decide to strip down our life to the simplicity of those long term goals. We can remember those goals at their most basic, and see how our particular personality can accomplish such goals in a way that is more in tune with who God made us. It's not a sin to be disorganized and flighty, for instance. It's a challenge. But not a sin.

And so with many of our daily struggles. There will always be things we wish we could do better. There might always be those standards or ideals we wish we had better maintained within our family. We may feel as though our children will never learn to get along and work together.

But we must never become envious of women and families that seem so much better at it all than we feel. And we must not covet a skill set or personality profile we or our children don't possess.

By living each day in our baptismal grace, and holding to the eternal truths and things of eternal import, we can learn to forgive ourselves of our failures, just as our heavenly Father has forgiven us. We can find contentment, peace and yes, even joy, in the singular women God has made us, and the unique family with which God has blessed each of us.

For I know the plans I have for you,”

declares the LORD,

“plans to prosper you and not to harm you,

plans to give you hope and a future.

Jeremiah 29:11

The Lord our God is Good! Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T08:45:00.000-06:00

The Angelus Jean Francois Millet

As for God, His way is perfect;
The word of the LORD is proven;
He is a shield to all who trust in Him.

“For who is God, except the LORD?
And who is a rock, except our God?

God is my strength and power,

And He makes my way perfect.

He makes my feet like the feet of deer,

And sets me on my high places.

He teaches my hands to make war,
So that my arms can bend a bow of bronze.

You have also given me the shield of Your salvation;

Your gentleness has made me great.

You enlarged my path under me;
So my feet did not slip...

The LORD lives!
      Blessed be my Rock!
      Let God be exalted,
      The Rock of my salvation!...

Therefore I will give thanks to You, O LORD, among the Gentiles,

And sing praises to Your name.

II Samuel 22:31-37, 47, 50

Tears, Wolves, and Rodney Atkins

2011-11-22T10:42:00.001-06:00

I almost hit a wolf on the way out of Thief River Falls the other evening. I'm pretty sure it was a wolf, but I suppose it might have been a coyote.

I was driving the Smiley Road; must have been just east of the river. I was feeling a little bit blue, because I had passed Alison and Jona's new house, looking all happy and peaceful with its lights all aglow in the winter night. Yes, to be quite frank, I was crying. Sobbing, in fact. It's so easy to know God is good and merciful and has a great eternal plan. But knowing and feeling are two very different things. And it just plain feels unfair that this young couple has to bear such great grief.

And so I was crying.

I was trying to wiggle a tissue from my purse when I got to the part of the trip, where the woods comes right up to the road on both sides, and the compacted snow and ice are pretty much ever present. I had to give up on my tissue pursuit until I got past the icy area. Bleary eyes on ice is bad enough; I didn't think I ought to add distracted driving into the mix.

Once I was past the icy spot, I once again attempted to work the tissue out of my purse. Just as I got it free, I sensed movement out of the corner of my right eye. Out of the ditch, just ahead of the car, darted a gray figure. Shot like a bullet, straight for the side of my car. I flinched, but tried hard to stay the course and not veer out of its path.

At first I thought it was a deer. I saw the gray figure for only a split second. It was all so quick. I looked back thinking it would run right into the back side of my car, at the passenger door area, or the back wheel. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

I'm quite sure it was not a deer. It ran low to the ground and darted rather than leapt. Even in the brief moment I saw it, I sensed its skulking posture. But it seemed bigger than a coyote ought to be, and fuller, and... well... just plain big.

The adrenaline of that pretty much chased my tears away for the next few miles.

Until I heard Rodney Atkins singing It's America.

It's a high school prom
It's a Springstein song
It's a ride in a Chevrolet
It's a man on the moon
And fireflies in June
Kids sellin' lemonade
It's cities and farms
And open arms
One nation under God
It's America.

Anybody have another Kleenex?

Tribute to Jacob

2011-11-14T11:14:00.002-06:00


Jona with his boys: Jacob, Joshua, and Noah

I know of a sleep in Jesus' name,

A rest from all toil and sorrow;
Earth folds in her arms my weary frame

And shelters it till the morrow.
My soul is at home with God in heav'n;

Her sorrows are past and over.

I've been wanting to post about our friend Jake's sudden death, but until now have not. At first, it seemed as though I'd somehow cheapen his death, or the pain the closer friends and relatives are suffering to post about it on a blog. I also don't want to seem to glorify my own pain, when others must be hurting exponentially more than I am. But I generally post about the things that are on my mind and this certainly has been the dominant incident on my mind of late.

Jacob Robert Bernier, son of Jona and Alsion Bernier, died suddenly at nearly 18 years of age, from problems related to the multiple congenital heart defects with which he was born.

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

Job 1:21

When we first moved here, almost ten years ago, Jake was seven, almost eight. My Matt was also seven. Trisha Bernier was almost nine when we moved here, and Jeremy was eight and a half. Louisa and Noah Bernier were both five. And Josh Bernier was three and a half, right between Clara, who was almost two, and Elsie who was almost four.

Their family homeschooled and so did we. They lived only about five miles from us at that time; and although that sounds like a somewhat large distance, in this neighborhood, it is not. They were near neighbors who lived just around the corner, and down the block a ways. Of course, the "corner" was a mile and half up the road and "just down the block" was another 2 1/2 miles. And so the Berniers ended up being some of our first friends in our new community.

When we arrived at our new home sight unseen, in early December of 2001, after driving for a day and a half through a horrible blizzard, many of the members of the churches Joe was to serve were here to meet and greet the new pastor, to feed us supper, and help unload the van. They were strangers to us, but they welcomed us with open arms and open hearts. Alison tore off a piece of a paper plate, wrote her phone number on it for me and said, "Call if you need anything. Anything. Really."

Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor, giving preference to one another.

Romans 12:10

Alison and Trisha

And after a few days, I did call Alison. I don't remember what I called about. But I do remember how nice it was to have another young mom who had put herself at my disposal to help with whatever I needed at my new home. That paper plate stayed hooked to my fridge with a magnet for several years. Long after my fingers had memorized the order of the digits in her number, I liked to see that corner of paper plate. It reminded me of the kindness Alison and her family showed to us when we were strangers in a strange land.

A few weeks later, we were invited to the Bernier's house for pizza. Jona had won a big "pizza party" from PizzaHut and they kindly offered to share it with their new pastor and his family, as their Christmas gift to us. The pizza was great; but the friendship, and the invitation for an evening with another family, was nicer than the pizza.

"Is any pleasure on earth as great as a circle of Christian friends by a good fire?"

C. S. Lewis

During the course of that evening, Alison and Jona told us about the things their Jake had been through. I may get some of these details wrong. He had been through many things already at that young age. Jake was born with only two functioning chambers in his heart. He had a little tiny bit of a third chamber that was undeveloped, and no fourth chamber at all. Jake had some transposed vessels, and faulty valves.

Jake had two heart surgeries when he was young, during one of which he suffered a stroke. At the time Alison was telling us about this, the doctors had done all they could. Jake was monitored regularly and was on a mix of medicines that was keeping him alive. I believe Alison described it as being the vascular pressure which was mostly responsible for circulating his blood; his weak heart was only adding a small amount of help.

But Jake was surviving, and even thriving as a young boy. He was not able to participate in everything in which his siblings participated. And everyone knew that his life was precarious. God might decide to take him home at any time. But Jake was always active and stayed plenty busy. He was a great reader and kept his mom busy as she schooled him at home.

Jake and Matt hit it off right away, having many of the same interests. Throughout the years, they built forts and made campfires; they hunted and fished; rode snowmobiles and four wheelers; and just plain bummed around. After the Berniers moved closer to Thief River Falls, we didn't see them as often, but the boys still managed to get together. Joe or I would often drop Matt off at their house on our way into town; sometimes we'd pick him up again on our way home, but often we'd arrange a ride the next afternoon with one of our neighbors who work in Thief River. Matt would take his school work along, and the boys would have a sleep over with plenty of time to play and do school.

Once Matt started attending public school, the boys saw each other even less, but they still managed to spend time together now and then. Sometimes Jake's family would spend Sunday afternoons at Alison's parent's house, and when they did, Matt was usually there for part of that time. And when Matt didn't have after school activities, the two boys spend many Wednesday afternoons together. One of Jake's chores once he got his driver's license was to drive his younger siblings to our church's Wednesday school, and then find something to do to pass the time until they were done. He always came up to the parsonage to see if Matt was free. If Matt was around, they'd take off to parts unknown. Sometimes they went into Oklee to see Jake's Bernier grandparents, or his Uncle Cole at the body shop. Sometimes they went to the Lundeen grandparent's place or the great grandparent's farm. Sometimes they went to the river to fish, or just hike around and visit.

A friend loves at all times.

Proverbs 17:17

Although Matt and Jake were good buddies, and although Alison and I became close friends, I feel as though I never knew Jake very well. I was always a kind of scary mom, being not of a gushy type of friendliness. I often think of myself as Aunt Marilla, Anne's adopted mother in Anne of Green Gables. So especially until I began to teach Sunday School, I didn't get to know the other kids at church very well. I think they were kind of scared of me. I seemed a bit stern. So Jake would come up to the house, ask for Matt and then hustle back down to church. If Matt was home, he might hustle down to Matt's bedroom. Perhaps it was partly due to his heart troubles, and not only because I was scary; or maybe it was just because of the constant commotion around here, with so many more people than most homes contain. But somehow, Jake never really hung around our house much, so I didn't get to know him well.

Regardless of how well I knew Jake, my heart is breaking for all who grieve his departure. For my son, who at only 17 was pall bearer for his best friend. My heart is breaking for Alison and Jona; although they knew they might have Jake only a short time, and although God granted Jake almost 18 years, their human hearts cry out that it was not enough. My heart is breaking for Josh and Noah and Trisha, because they will never see their dear brother again in this life. My heart breaks for Jake's grandparents and great grandparents, and aunts and uncles, who not only grieve themselves, but also will worry about everyone else who is hurting.

I'm not much of a crier, but I have cried over this. I've cried more in the last week than I have over anything else in my life. I don't cry much around the house, but I cry in the car. The car is my thinking spot and some things are just easier to not think about, I suppose. But whenever I am alone, my sadness is hiding just around the corner, waiting to jump out at me in the quiet moments. I have yet to drive anywhere and not ended up sobbing as I'm driving down the road. (Watch out everyone, if you see me coming.)

But, alas, we know that this world and this life are temporal. We know that Jake believed in Jesus as his Savior. In spite of our great grief, we know that we will see him again.

But I do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep, lest you sorrow as others who have no hope.

I Thessalonians 4:13

In spite of having such a severely malformed heart at birth that the doctors didn't quite know what to do for this child, God allowed the doctors to keep Jake alive for 17+ years to give joy to his family and friends. The Holy Spirit put His name on Jake through the washing of Holy Baptism; and kept him in faith through His Word and Holy Communion.

But now, thus says the LORD, who created you, O Jacob, And He who formed you, O Israel: “ Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are Mine."

Isaiah 43:1

Jake is in heaven with his Lord and our Lord, and his sufferings are over.

For I know that my Redeemer lives,
      And He shall stand at last on the earth;
And after my skin is destroyed, this I know,
      That in my flesh I shall see God,
Whom I shall see for myself,
      And my eyes shall behold, and not another.
      How my heart yearns within me!

Job 19:25-27

It's easy to remember, in our brains, those promises of God. Our hearts need constant reminders. I pray that God grant peace and healing to all the broken hearts in our community.

The LORD is my shepherd;
         I shall not want.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
         He leads me beside the still waters.
He restores my soul;
         He leads me in the paths of righteousness
         For His name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
         I will fear no evil;
         For You are with me;
         Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
         You anoint my head with oil;
         My cup runs over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
         All the days of my life;
         And I will dwell in the house of the LORD
         Forever.

Chillin' on an Ice Road...Alex Debogorski on large families

2011-11-09T10:39:00.002-06:00

I saw King of the Road, by Alex Debogorski at the library the other day. The sub title is True Tales from a Legendary Ice Road Trucker. The cover also shows a little logo thing from the History Channel that says, "As seen on Ice Road Truckers." Had I noticed these things when I picked up the book, I might have realized that there is a History Channel show with such a name, and I could have researched it to find out ahead of time that this is a reality show that's been going on for five seasons now and features the author of this book. But I didn't notice these things at all. And since I'm notoriously lacking in pop cultural literacy, I didn't know about the show at all until talking with people about this cool book I was reading.

What I did notice was the cover picture of a fellow who has that "good old boy" look to him, standing next to a big rig. I noticed the ice and snow. And I thought of the lonely and fatalistic man-against-the-elements tales of the far north by Jack London, to which I am inexplicably drawn.

So I checked it out, brought it home, and started reading.

Well, I'm going to come right out and say that Alex Deborgorski is the polar opposite of Jack London. This book, which tells the story of Debogorski's childhood, coming of age years, and how he ended up being an ice road trucker, is a hoot. Totally fun and off the cuff; filled from cover to cover with unbelievable yarns that Mr. Debogorski spins with the skill of the born story teller.

The book is a quick read, with plenty of breaking off points in between the anecdotes, that allow a busy mom to read a bit and then easily put it down until the next cup of coffee.

I want to share particularly the following couple of paragraphs that portray a view of family that one does not often find in today's world. It was wonderful for me to read something like this and to know that this author is out there in the mainstream and even pop culture world, becoming a publicly recognized figure of sorts, and that he holds this rare view of children.

I know that children are a blessing from God. I am comfortable that God gave Joe and I each of our kids, and that each one is special. But I still sometimes feel as though I ought to feel guilty or stupid for having so many children. Even among friends with whom I share many basic aspects of my world view, I find that most people kind of think, "Enough's enough, lady."

So it was refreshing to me to read this.

For some reason, working class white families are having fewer and fewer kids. What's that all about?

People will say, "We can't afford to have more than two kids."

So at what point in history could people afford to have a lot of kids? Do you think the pioneers could afford large families? Do you think the farmers with one little tractor and a couple of horses could afford to have a large family? The fact is, people have never been able to afford large families. The previous generations recognized a simple truth--kids are not a liability, they are an asset. People have to turn their thinking upside down.

My aboriginal friend Richard Cadieux says we'd better watch out because the population of Indians is growing like crazy and we white people are having small families. And he's right. The aboriginal people know that kids are a joy. Money isn't important. People are important. And your family is your only true wealth in this world.

Alleluia!

Recommended Poetry Books for Children

2011-11-05T15:40:00.001-05:00

Favorite Poems Old and New: Selected For Boys and Girls
by Helen Ferris Tibbets and Leonard Weisgard
This is my favorite poetry book. It contains poems at a variety of levels, arranged by topics such as seasons, animals, going places, historical figures, etc. The indexes are handy, because they not only list by author and title, but also by common titles or first lines.

The Golden Flute: An Anthology of Poetry for Young Children
selected by Alice Hubbard and Adeline Babbitt
This is another collection that I enjoy very much. We picked this up used somewhere along the way, and it's gotten much use throughout the years. The audience is a bit younger in the one than in Favorite Poems Old and New. The chapter categories are similar. The indexes include a comprehensive list of possible subjects under which one might find a certain poem. It's too bad this nice volume is no longer in print.

Book of Famous Poems
Compiled by Marjorie Barrows
These poems are especially suited for introducing young children to many classic poets and poems. It includes a familiar verse or two from many longer poetical works, the knowledge of which was at one time considered part of our cultural heritage. There are little mostly black and white inset decorations here and there to lend interest.
At the bottom of the front cover, this book includes the note, "A Companion Book to One Hundred Best Poems for Boys and Girls." I'd love to find that one somewhere, too. It appears it was briefly republished in 2004, but doesn't look as cool as the old one.

The Random House Book of Poetry for Children: A book of 572 Poems for Today's Child
complied by Jack Prelutsky; illustrated by Arnold Lobel
We have this book sitting around somewhere, but I haven't used it as much as some of the others. I believe it includes a higher percentage of contemporary poems. The kids like many of those for the silliness they lend. Lobel's illustrations make this nice for the kids to read on their own, or just fun for pre-readers to peruse.

Classic Poetry: An Illustrated Collection
Edited by Michael Rosen, Illustrated by Paul Howard
We used this one for school one year, and then it got put away with the school books. I really need to get it out again.

The Oxford Illustrated Book of American Children's Poems
edited by Donald Hall
This one, too was put away with the school books, so I can't tell you much about it, just that we liked it. This one is not as large a volume as some of the previous ones, but I thought that since its focus was American poetry, it might be useful to build a sub-category in the cultural literacy framework in a reader's brain.

The Poetry for Young People series. I love these books. We used to get them from Scholastic; they usually came in a three- or six pack. We'd give them away for gifts, or put them in our kids' Christmas stockings. Most books in this series are available in paperback or hard cover each title highlighting an important poet or topic, and colorfully illustrated to keep the interest of the younger children. Featured poets are Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Carl Sandburg, Edgar Allan Poe, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Edward Lear, Emily Dickinson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Langston Hughes, Lewis Carroll, Maya Angelou, Robert Browning, Robert Frost, Robert Louis Stevenson, Rudyard Kipling, Wallace Stevens, Walt Whitman, William Blake, William Butler Yeats, William Carlos Williams, and William Shakespeare. Featured themes are American Poetry, Animal Poems, and The Seasons. Also available is A Treasury of Poetry for Young People, which includes the complete text and illustrations from the books on six American poets from the above list. I'd love to have this entire set.

I Saw Esau: The Schoolchild's Pocket Book
Illustrated by Maurice Sendak; introduction and notes by Iona Opie.
If you are accustomed to Sendeck and his quirky humor, you will enjoy the illustrations in this title. The book is by a British publisher, so to some here in America, parts of it might seem somewhat coarse or inappropriate. We got this book for Matt when he was quite young, maybe four or five. One illustration that the kids found quite,... uh,... mezmerizing accompanied the rhyme, "I one my mother, I two my mother, etc." Sendeck's illustration featured a mother nursing a toddler. At each line of the rhyme the child gulped down more of the mother, beginning with one breast at the line for "one," and both breasts for the line with "two," etc., ending with the mother being completely consumed at the line, I eight my mother. It's been years since I've looked at that one, but I believe there was also some portrayal of naked children, or children engaged in arguably shocking varieties of naughtiness.

Books by Paul Fleischman; one of his specialties is poems for two or more voices to read together. The one I linked, Big Talk, is poems for four voices.

Anything by Shel Silverstein or Jack Prelutsky. These men are/were geniuses with words and picture language. The kids love going through their collections on their own, once they can read independently.

Picture book collections by Douglas Florian. He has many fun and creative spins on language.

Family Poetry Night at the Abrahamsons

2011-11-05T09:06:00.000-05:00

When the kids were younger, we tried to have family time every night. What did we do for family time? Mostly we read. We always had a read-aloud going, sometimes we played games, and Friday was movie night. Periodically I would ask the kids to memorize a poem suitable to their age and ability; we'd then plan a night of recitation. If you are not a homeschool family, this probably sounds artificially quaint or anachronistic even. I mean, really, who makes their kids recite poetry and calls it entertainment?

But please understand, Joe and I are both lovers of the written word. We don't have television, and at that time tried to limit even a DVD on the computer to Friday movie nights. We intentionally strove to instill in our kids an appreciation for the simple things of life.

And we were homeschoolers. So we could call such evenings "school." Besides the enjoyment of "simple things" we were striving to instill, we were teaching with these poetry recitations. The children honed their skills in elocution, memorization, and speaking in front of others; they broadened their exposure to famous poets and poems, built their vocabularies, and gained familiarity with rhythm and sound. And we'd often get little history lessons in, too, if a particular poem had historical merit, such as Walt Whitman's Captain, my Captain, which he wrote after Lincoln's death. Any time we spent on these things in our evenings was time we did not have to spend on it during our school days.

But alas!

Gradually the increasingly greater age span of our children made finding a books or activities that would interest all of them at once more difficult. The older kids were often busy with evening activities. One or another child sometimes had school work or lessons remaining into the evenings. Or Mom and Dad were simply tired out. Gradually our family time slipped to periodic, then rare.

Lately, after the additional changes to our lifestyle due to having our kids in public school, our evening family time has dwindled to almost non-existent. We try to stand firm on evening devotion and prayer time, but even that is challenging some nights. Some kids fall asleep before we're ready, other's are coming in at all different times. Supper gets late, or chores take longer than expected.

This has been a very sad thing in my life.

This fall, I've tried, striven, demanded that we regroup and get back to this time together. I'm trying, with only moderate success, to be more faithful about an early supper. I'm trying, with mixed results, to get most of the supper prep dishes washed up while I'm preparing the meal. I've asked Joe to try to be home from his office during the evening, to lend a helping hand, or simply to "be there".

And I've worked to initiate a "no computer from 5:00-8:00 pm" rule. This has probably been the hardest, since we have such bad habits. The computer sits in the kitchen. Somebody is always on it. Whoever is sitting here might visit with whoever is preparing supper. The younger kids are always running through, and they know that if Joe or I is not the one fixing supper, we can be found at the computer during that time. So they come there to visit with us.

But there is also much just plain, mind numbing, spacing out to whatever is on it, to the avoidance of everything else in the home. It's like we've forgotten how to live without staring at the stupid computer. I think a big part of it is that Joe and I have become so overwhelmed with the responsibilities that come with raising this many kids, that we've resorted to escapist computer use to deal with the pressure.

Bad, bad, bad.

How to we get back to better habits?

For one, we're starting with read-aloud. I am bound and determined to keep plugging along no matter how many or few kids are home. No matter if supper dishes are done or not; dirty dishes will always wait until morning. No matter if Joe and I have laryngitis, as we did this week--one of the older kids read for us; they are able. No matter what!

We're reading Little Britches by Ralph Moody. Read this book if you never have. In fact, read Moody's whole series of autobiographical books. He has been described as the male counterpart to Laura Ingalls Wilder.

We've actually read this book several times for read-aloud, but not for perhaps four of five years. Even though it is one we've read previously, I chose it because 1) since it's familiar to the older kids, if they miss some, it's OK; 2) its story draws in boys and girls alike; 3) its timeless themes of hard work, independence, and family, is of interest to a variety of ages; and 4) it's a family favorite, so I'm hoping to play on my older kids' sentimental side-- if they are tempted to think, "Stupid family time," they might instead think, "Hey, I remember this part!"

So far so good. Not perfect, but we're still hanging in there. I started my mission to recapture family time about a month ago, and we've gotten through 11 chapters. We are mostly all still eager to get to the living room once Joe or I call, "Family time!" But we still don't get to it every night. It's something to continue working toward.

Last night we did something different. Matt was off at the hunting shack with the family with whom he hunts; Clara and Sophie were at a slumber party; and Joe and I still have this annoying laryngitis type bug. I especially didn't want Clara and Sophie to miss Little Britches, since they are old enough to be fully engaged in it, and young enough to not really remember much from the earlier times we've read it.

So we needed something different. Yes, it was Friday, so we could have had movie night, but sometimes it seems as though the kids see so much video type stuff these days anyway, that even movie night is no longer special. That's another thing we have to try to change.

I decided to try an extemporaneous poetry night. I called the little ones over, grabbed a couple of my poem books, and quickly assigned each of the four little ones a little something to learn. Then I assigned Louisa, Elsie, and Joe each one younger child to help, and I helped Inge. She really is too little to quickly learn much of a poem, but I helped her learn John 3:16. Much more valuable that a poem in the long run, anyway.

Joe helped John learn the first verse of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's, Paul Revere's Ride.

Listen my children' and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.
On the eighteenth of April, in seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

Stella memorized Apple Blossoms by Helen Wing

The apple blossoms grow so high
Upon the branches of our tree,
I can't reach up to smell them; so
They send their perfume down to me.

Louisa helped Donna memorize the first verse of Helen Hunt Jackson's, September. At least, that is what she was supposed to help Donna learn. Jackson's poem begins,

The Goldenrod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

But, yes, well, my Louisa apparently wanted to add a little,... uh,... pizzazz to our recitations. Donna, for her part, learned well what Louisa taught. But that stinker, Louisa...What's a mom to do with such a girl?

Apparently, Donna, being unfamiliar with the word orchard, kept saying, "apple turds." (I'm not sure what this says about my family. A four year old is more familiar with turds than orchards. What can I say?) So Louisa built off this little confusion to come up with an entirly new ending to the poem,

The Goldenrod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees with apple turds
Smell yucky and taste gross.

Hmm. Poor little Donna, standing there in front of us, saying her little poem in all seriousness; and Joe and I staring aghast for those first few heartbeats of realization. Then, of course, we all kind of chucked, Joe and I reprimanded Louisa for being so cheeky, and I quickly taught Donna the correct words so she could do it again, the right way this time. That Louisa!

We finished off our poetry night with us older people reading our selections. Elsie read The Moon, by Robert Hereford; and Louisa read The Road Less Traveled by Robert Frost. I, with my croaking voice, read through the rest of Paul Revere's Ride. Joe chose Longfellow's, Excelsior.

I'm sure they would never admit it, but I think even the older kids had fun, in a quiet (or cheeky) sort of way.

It's Italian, not Math, Mary!

2011-10-31T13:06:00.000-05:00

I just took an on-line Italian quiz. No, I wasn't merely wasting time. Although I did have other things I wanted to be doing today.

My Louisa is hoping to be a foreign exchange student in Italy next academic year. She's learning Italian using Rosetta Stone. But since Italian isn't one of Rosetta Stone's more commonly requested languages, it doesn't come with any supplemental materials, such as worksheets, tests and quizzes. So I'm dinking around in the virtual world today, trying to find something she can use to reinforce what she's learning.

I studied Italian for two semesters in college. But I don't really remember anything. Or at least not much of anything. I had also studied German for three years in highschool. Highschool level language studies progress at a much slower pace than do college level courses. I think a foreign language sticks with a person better when done at a slower pace.

I traveled to Germany immediately after having studied Italian in college. We stayed for three weeks with a family who spoke almost exclusively German. When I first got there, I kept saying, "Si," rather than, "Ja," and, "Buon Giorno," rather than, "Guten Morgen."   But by the time we went to Italy at the end of our six weeks of traveling, I couldn't remember any Italian. Almost nothing! I think the German I learned in highschool resurfaced during my three week stay in Germany, and fully chased away any Italian I had managed to absorb during the previous college semesters.

Good thing many Germans travel to Italy for their holidays. Most Italians we needed to speak with spoke German pretty well. So between their second language skills and our own, we communicated more easily than in either Italian or English.

So I'm not really much help to Louisa in her Italian language studies.

But I did have a pretty good classical type or college prep education, and I have always been a huge reader. From that combination I have a little bit of ability to connect words that sound alike, or have similar roots, and can often make a reasonable guess at the meaning of isolated foreign words. Especially in Italian or Spanish, since they have so many similarities to Latin, which is the root of so many of our English words.

I can guess at German and Norwegian words or phrases for a different reason. Since they are not romance languages, they don't get their foundations from Latin. But they have similar roots to the English language (it's the whole Anglo-Saxon thing, I guess). So they often just sound similar to our English words. Guten Morgen, for example does not sound too much different than Good morning.

But I digress, sorry. I'm a word geek, I find languages very fascinating. When I was young I wanted to learn all the languages in the world. We had a retired neighbor whose surname I can't spell correctly, so I'm not going to try. He's just going to be, "The neighbor." He had worked, I believe, for the national government (maybe state department) in some international capacity. The neighbor had collected over his years of service a good number of languages. Something like eight or nine. I always held him is awe because of this talent.

The neighbors were the kind of older couple who kept a little dish of candy just inside the door. They liked for us kids to come over and visit. We'd ring the doorbell and visit a few minutes and leave with our little piece of candy. But behind the polite little visits with The neighbors, underneath the desire for that little piece of candy, was always the idea that this man was very cool. He knew lots of languages. Wow!

With that whole language thing in mind, just to see how I could do, I tried my hand at this Italian language quiz of common phrases at Quiz Tree a few minutes ago. I did have a little help from Joe, who also does not speak Italian, but is a bigger language geek than I am. He didn't help me with all of the questions, but for a few I couldn't decide between the two more likely answers, I'd ask his opinion. I think I got all the questions correct. The little answer blinked green when I answered all of them.

Just to be sure that I was interpreting the quiz blinks correctly, I just did a test and yes, it blinked red when I intentionally answered one wrong. As you can see from the screenshot I took of my quiz scores, I got the following results.

Think about that a minute.

Score: 640/700
Accuracy: 100%

Hmm. Joe's response, "It's Italian, Mary, not math!"

Motivational Travail

2011-10-24T12:26:00.000-05:00

I've been struggling with motivation lately. Change has always been hard for me. I prefer to find a groove and stay in it.

Now that the kids are in school, rather than at home full time, I find it takes most of the summer to get things figured out around the home, to be able to orchestrate the troops and actually get anything done. Then summer is done and I have to figure out how to manage three little ones, and still get the normal stuff done, and even occasionally get to a "catching up" type job. Eventually I even aspire to the "getting ahead" type jobs. But then I get to feeling a little manic and have to rein in my dreams, lest I end up succumbing to the all too familiar sense of failure when such dreams do not come to fruition.

That said, even though it's not really a very interesting blog post, I'm going to list my goals for the day, in the hopes it will shame me into actually focusing long enough to accomplish a little something.

put in a load of wash
get lunch on (dinner, to any northern Minnesotans)
do dishes
put in another load of wash (yes, unfortunately, I have a heap of dishes waiting today; the wash load will probably be ready to change; sad but true)
sweep kitchen floor
sweep dining room floor
put another load of wash in
read to little ones and get them to quiet time
pick up living room and vacuum the floor
fold some of Mt. Washmore
switch another wash load
plan after school snack and supper

Not very exciting, but very real. If I get that much done, it will be a successful day. Probably, now that I look at the time, if I get half of that done, it will have to count for a successful day. Sigh. Late getting going again today.

Thank you to a Faithful Reader

2011-10-24T12:13:00.000-05:00

First I want to thank a blog reader who I know a bit personally, but not well. Thank you, Corella, for sending me the Teresa Bloomingdale address. It tickled my fancy, and I was able to nod my head and laugh at many spots.

As a blogger, it's always fun to meet someone who reads my blog. And if that person has little or no connection to myself, its kind of a bonus. I expect my family and friends to read occasionally, if for no other reason than to find out what's up with Mary and Joe. But it pleases me in a special way to be able to write things that please strangers or near strangers.

Corella is the daughter of a sainted woman to whom Joe served as pastor in Oakland Park nursing home for the first several years we lived here. I don't believe I ever met her, but enjoyed getting the photo greeting cards her family periodically sent out; and I've enjoyed meeting her family at a variety of community occasions.

Corella has commented that she enjoys reading the things I write about the area and community in which she was raised. I fear I've not been doing a very good job of that lately. I looked back with chagrin the other day at the slim number of posts I've actually gotten done in the last several months.

Thank you, Corella, for bringing a smile to my face. How thoughtful of you to take the time to pop that address in the mail for me!

Prayers for this Young Lady

2011-10-20T09:20:00.000-05:00

"So, a lion and a cheetah were running a race." Joe started this joke at lunch Tuesday. I burst out laughing, and then reached out and slugged him. It was just so silly, and I could already hear the obvious ending.

John was home from school that day, so Joe finished the joke for him. "The cheetah crossed the finish line first, but the lion hollered, 'You're a cheata!' to which the lion replied, 'You're a-lyin'!' "

I was still giggling when Joe told me where he heard the joke. But my giggles were quickly replaced by a teary feeling and a little catch in my throat, when he said that this was one of the jokes our young friend, Hannah, was telling the emergency room staff when she was being evaluated the other night. And that sums up Hannah. When her world is crashing down around her, she is thinking about others, and inserting a little joy in their lives. Apparently, when another young girl came in after having been injured in a car accident, Hannah entertained her in like manner.

Hannah is a twelve year old friend who is not exactly a member of any of our churches, but it feels like she is. Her mom, Allie, grew up in the Nazareth congregation, and because of all the close family ties in our area, even though Allie and her immediate family are members of a church in Thief River Falls, we see them often, and we have become as close to this family as to other families in our churches.

In many ways, Hannah is a typical middle-class American kid. She likes Hollister clothes, plays cello in the local school orchestra (I think that's the correct big stringed thing), and has played hockey every winter since she was little. But Hannah had been blessed with one of the biggest hearts I've seen in a person her age.

One example of her selflessness is her work at The Valley Home in Thief River Falls. She volunteers at this nursing home almost daily during the summer; and spends some evenings and Saturdays there during the school year. Her sparkling personality and kind demeanor are a joy and comfort to the residents there. A few years ago, when she was probably only nine or ten, she orchestrated a fund drive to get a Wii system for the residents at Valley Home.

But Hannah is going through a traumatic time right now. She has been experiencing seizures of unexplained origins for the last three weeks or so. These seizures have been increasing in frequency and intensity. Monday afternoon the seizures became severe enough that Hannah was once again taken to the hospital in TRF, and then later rushed again to Fargo for care.

By the time Joe got the second call Monday, near midnight, the medical practitioners were not sure they'd be able to stabilize Hannah to get her through the night. Her seizures at that point, according to the scans they were running, were coming almost constantly, with several layers of seizure on top of each other.

We praise God that He allowed the doctors to get Hannah through that night. She was flown to the Mayo Clinic's St. Mary's Hospital in Rochester on Tuesday. It sounds as though she is gradually improving with the care she is getting. But it is a scary time for her and her family, as they wait for God's timing in allowing the doctors to figure out the mystery of the source of and solution to her seizures.

Hannah's immediate situation is not the first bump in the road along which God has asked Hannah and her family to walk in recent years. Only a few years ago, Hannah lost her Uncle Ryan, still a young man, in a tragic car accident.

And just a little over a year ago, Hannah's mom, Allie, had a stroke at the young age of 34. Allie has been so valiant at all levels of her recovery. It's been a time of physical, emotional, and spiritual challenge and healing. God surely has worked in Allie's life through that hardship; she has documented her journey on her blog, A Stroke of Hope. Allie still struggles some days with confusion, fatigue, and a residual lack of motor control.

Yet somehow, God in His wisdom is asking this family to go through still more. They must once again wait on His timing, and trust His will.

To all of you, Hannah, Allie, Aaron, Nolan; Cheryl and Rodney, Aric and Lucas; Joni and Ricky, Kelly and Emily and Matthew; and all of yours; we love you all and pray God's comfort and peace as you walk this path.

There are so many good and applicable Bible passages I could insert, but I'm going to include here my favorite, from way back when I was in high school and we sang a choral rendition of these verses in choir. During my high school and young adult years, the following words seemed to speak to the emotional earthquakes and roarings with which adolescence is fraught.

Psalm 46:1-3
God is our refuge and strength,
         A very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear,
         Even though the earth be removed,
         And though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;
Though its waters roar and be troubled,
         Though the mountains shake with its swelling.

Hannah, you, and all of your family, are going through a very tangible and horrific kind of earthquake and roaring. But I think the words very picturesquely capture what you must be going through. Remember that God is your refuge and strength, even amidst such mind- and heart-shattering times. Even when the metaphorical waters roar and mountains shake, He is with you, carrying you through it all.

Readers can check on Hannah at her Caring Bridge sight.

Techno-success

2011-10-09T15:33:00.000-05:00

I'm really not very technologically inclined. I do blog, but that's only because Blogger does everything for me. I just click, and type, and there it is.

But through the years of blogging, I've periodically had to mess with the HTML stuff, if the formatting of something periodically freaks out on me. I'm not really very comfortable doing this, because I just don't have room in my head to store the translation of all the symbols and doohickeys that make up the HTML language.

So how it works for me, when I run into some sort of formatting difficulty on blogger, is to find something that is working correctly in a different blog post, or a different part of the same blog post. I then click the little HTML option, find the code for the section I want to emulate, copy and paste that section, and then tweak it for the part I'm working on.

Most of the time that works reasonably well.

This last week, the gadget that links the ads for my Amazon associate account stopped working. This is a handy little thing that doesn't really earn me any money, but it potentially it could. I started it for my book review blog, so that if anyone was interesting in purchasing a book I reviewed, they could handily go to Amazon to purchase it. And if they did, after coming from my link, I'd conceivably get a small portion of the profits for my part in the promotion of the product. Now in reality, I don't have many readers, and those who do read are primarily low-budget, used book types like myself. (Or kids looking for answers for their school assignments. That's a big part, too, for some of the titles. I can always tell when a certain school district or area has assigned a certain book. All of a sudden I'm hit with people from the same geographic area checking my review. Some of them are even silly enough to ask me for specific information about the book. "What are the major themes in The Evolution of Calpernia Tate?" for instance.) Since Amazon waits to send any "income" until an associate has earned at least $10, I'm still waiting to see that first payment. Right now I'm sitting at about the $7 mark, so I have yet to see any earnings. But it's still fun to include the links, so I keep on doing it.

So anyway, as I was saying, the gadget that Blogger provides to handily link these Amazon products, stopped working. I went to Amazon associates customer service and asked what the deal was. But since the gadget is apparently provided by Blogger, Amazon couldn't help me any. But they did send me a link to some of their own gadgets and widgets and doodads. So I went to their page and explored a few of their options and nothing worked exactly the way I wanted it to. One option provided me with the same frame my Blogger widget did, but I couldn't wrap any text around it. And who wants a big blank spot in their blog? Not me, anyway.

I was getting a bit frustrated, until I suddenly remembered my former HTML experiments and thought to myself, "Ahaa! I can do this!"

I simply took the "embed" HTML from the Amazon associates page, and pasted it in the HTML section of my post. Then I copied and pasted the HTML code from a successfully posted Amazon Associates ad.

I figured if I could compare the two, I could easily change the few things that were different.

But alas! It was not to be so simple.

(OK, in this part of the post, I had actually included the html as I saw it, but in the Compose window fo Blogger. I figured then it wouldn't be translated into anything, but still show the code. But when I ran the preview, there wat the two adds. One with text wrapped around, the other without.

So you'll have to trust me that the are very different. Instead of just a few little differences to iron out, hardly anything was the same. The entire set-up was done differently.)

These babies are quite different. What now? What now? What to try?

But wait. This is like a math puzzle, or a problem on a standardized test. Look for the patterns. Figure it out, Mary.

Usually I checked for the differences. The things that seemed out of place in the code. But this time almost all of it was different. Maybe I had to look for the meager similarity, instead. Upon closer perusal, I noticed that the similarity was the part between the quotation marks. Although the info was different, both sets of code had the quotation marks and the stuff inside the quotation marks began with http://. Ahaa! A web address.

Well, it was worth a try anyway. I simply took the format that worked the way I wanted it to, but replaced the web address from between the quotation marks with the one from the code Amazon had suggested.

And voile! I did it. And since then, I've done it two more times. I am so cool!

Of course, I can't really figure out how to spell voile! or how to get the little accent thingy...so I guess I'm not really all that cool. Live and learn, live and learn...

Celiac Awareness, The Virgil Crest Ultra Marathon, and Dedication

2011-10-09T14:51:00.000-05:00

Some of you may remember me periodically blogging about gluten free blogger, Pete Bronski. Mr. Bronski is a writer. He's written a handful of books about adventure sports. I read Hunting Nature's Fury, which he co-wrote with storm chaser Roger Hill. I was unable to ever get the one I really wanted to read, At the Mercy of the Mountains, since no libraries in the statewide network have it. Drat! It's that mountain thing, again. One can't drive back and forth over Washington's Cascade Mountains all one's early years without absorbing a bit of fascination with the majesty and awe of mountains.

Mr. Bronski also does freelance writing for magazines of similar vein. And he engages in various extreme sporting events and includes reports on such activities in his blog.

I know of Pete because I follow his blog, No Gluten, No Problem. I am a frequently commenter. I periodically write to ask him questions about celiac related topics. So throughout the years we've developed one of those strange virtual acquaintance things.

Pete and his wife, Kelli, have authored two cook books. I own, Artisanal Gluten Free Cooking. You can find more information at the link.

I hope to get their second, Gluten Free Cupcakes, soon. I thought I had reviewed it when we had it from the library, but I see I haven't reviewed any books since June. (Yikes, am I ever behind!) You'll have to follow the Amazon link for the reviews there, but I really liked this book. I don't bake cupcakes often, (like, never?) but during the weeks we had this book from the library, Louisa just went to town. We had a different artistically invented variety of cupcakes every night for a while. I am in awe of the ways the Bronskis incorporated such a variety of ideas in to beautiful, artfully presented recipes.

A week ago, Pete ran his second Virgil Crest Ultra 50 mile marathon. Besides running for his own adventure, Pete also uses his races to raise money and awareness for Celiac disease. Last year, he ran in spite of a gluten reaction, and finished in 11 hours and 34 minutes.

This year Pete's challenges were different. Instead of a mere gluten reaction with which to contend, the mountains and hills were saturated and slippery with mud. But on top of that, Pete had spent the previous ten days dealing with a mysterious illness. In his own words, written the Wednesday before the September 24, race, "So to recap: since just this past Thursday, I've seen my primary doctor, an ER doctor, a dermatologist, an opthalmologist, and an infectious disease specialist. Those five doctors have variously diagnosed me with: a staph infection (not it), Lyme disease (also not it), contact dermatitis from poison oak (doesn't explain my systemic symptoms, and which, by the way, doesn't grow in New York!), a bad spider bite with systemic reaction (it's not a spider bite, trust me), and a contact dermatitis allergic reaction and bad drug side effects/allergy (possible, though I'm still skeptical)."

In spite of all, Pete finished the race. Again, I'll use his words, "I crossed the finish line in 12 hours 15 minutes. I had finished. Not only that, but I was only 30 minutes behind last year's time. Given both a) the muddy conditions and b) my recent illness, I was more than thrilled. It was the most difficult day of racing, and the most painful and hard-earned finish, I've ever had. By a long shot. And it felt good. (That sounds crazy, doesn't it?)"

Great job, Pete! What an achievement. But yes, it does sound a bit crazy. To get the full impact of his physical condition, the condition of the trails, and his race day, You'll have to follow the links I included above. Wow! That's some dedication! Or just plain crazy.

I believe you can still give money to celiac research via Pete's First Giving page. Check it out to support celiac awareness and research.

The Magic Meadow

2011-10-09T09:00:00.002-05:00

Most homeschool families are familiar with the biographical and historical picture books of Ingri and Edgar Parin D'aulaire. Besides the historical value of the biographies of notable historical figures such as George Washington, Pocahantas, and Bemjamin Franklin, the D'aulaire's are known for their vivid lithography. Their biography of Abraham Lincoln, for instance, won the Caldecott Medal in 1940.

But until reading about their lives in order to write this post, I didn't realize how very prolific was their body of work, and how interesting their backgrounds.

Edgar was born in Germany, but was of Swiss citizenship. His father was Italian, and his mother appears to have been an American who lived in Paris. Both his parents were artists. Edgar studied under Henri Matisse.

Ingri was Norwegian.

After they married and came to America, both pursued careers in art. They were drawn into the world of Children's literature by the director of the New York Public Library, and worked together to produce eventually 27 picture books.

They seem to have specialized in the folk tales and historical figures from their combined cultural backgrounds, producing stories of Norwegian, Swiss, and American heritage, and also an extensive book of Greek Myths.

A few months ago, before the school year started, I took my elementary aged kids to the open house at their school. The school librarian had placed a couple of boxes of "free" books in the hallway. Even though I was in the thick of weeding out our home library, I simply could not pass it by without taking a peak. And as any true bibliophile can understand, it's pretty hard for me to take a peak at a box of old books without finding at least a couple that simply need to come home with me.

One of the books I found in these boxes was The Magic Meadow by Ingri And Edgar D'alaire. This book presents many apsects of Swiss heritage, including the story of William Tell, the freedom loving representative governmental system of the Swiss cantons, the rugged beauty of the Alps, and a snippet each of folklore and the history of tourism based economic development. And as a constant backdrop, through it all, flows the quaintly beautiful lithograph illustrations.

I'm not sure how the D'aulaires managed to come up with a story that included so much, but somehow it all holds together. As are most of the D'aulaire books, this one, too, tells a sweet story with lasting value at many levels.

One of the Fragrances of Autumn

2011-10-04T13:52:00.001-05:00

I'm making green tomato mincemeat today. When my kids get home from school, the house will be filled with the tangy, sweet, and spicy smell of the mix, simmering on the stove. My house will smell like a Yankee Candle. But besides filling my kitchen with the rich aroma, my work will yield jars of savory, sweet goodness to use during the winter.

What is mincemeat? I can't say I've ever had the genuine article, which is apparently made with meat pieces and suet. What I make is primarily sweetened and minced green tomatoes and apples, along with raisins. It is then stewed in a tangy spice mix until thick. I can it, and occasionally take out a jar to use as fillings for pies, coffee cakes, muffins; or even as a topping for plain muffins or toast. It lets me recapture those autumn fragrances all winter long; and the smell will give a warm and homey feeling to the kitchen on a cold and blustery day.

The challenge for me most years is having enough green tomatoes and apples available at the same time. I won't use grocery store apples for this, but wait for those times when somebody has too many from their own tree to use for themselves. This year I bought several bags from Janice B.'s trees at the Nazareth bake sale. Joe's mom had brought me a bunch of green tomatoes, but I didn't have time to make the mincemeat that week. Now those tomatoes are all turning red, so they will become spaghetti sauce instead. When I mentioned to Jan D. on our morning walk yesterday that I was disappointed I didn't get my mincemeat done, she said she had plenty of green tomatoes left. Wow! She sent them over with her daughter yesterday afternoon.

I got this recipe from my mom, and I believe my grandma made it the same way. I certainly associate it with Grandma's house, but perhaps that is a fabricated memory. Here's what I believe is the the recipe the way I originally got it from Mom, but I've added commentary within parenthesis.

Green Tomato Mincemeat
8 c green tomatoes
1tbs salt
Mince the tomatoes, mix with salt, and let stand for 1 hour. Drain well.

1 tsp cloves
2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp allspice (I have this crossed out on my recipe. I don't know why, but since it's crossed out, I don't use it.)
1/2 tsp ginger
1 tsp nutmeg
2 lbs currants
1 lb raisins (I never keep currants on hand, so I generally use 2 lbs of raisins and omit the currants.)
4 c peeled and minced or grated apples
6 c brown sugar (I cut the sugar to 3 1/2 cups. Again, I don't remember why. But it is plenty sweet this way.)
1/2 c vinegar
Combine.

Stir tomatoes into the rest. Cook slowly for 3 hours (or so; watch carefully so it doesn't scorch. I've done this in a crock pot. Probably one could bake it, too, either within a pan of water, or with one sitting on a different rack. I'm notorious for letting things scorch on my stovetop, so this step is the hard part for me.)

Pack immediately into clean and hot jars. Arrange pre-heated seals and rings, then tip upside down for a few minutes.
Or process in canner 30 minutes. (I've never processed mine, and although the experts would frown upon this, I've kept it for up to 2 1/2 years. It's always stayed good.)

Enjoy!

Happy Anniversary, My Love!

2011-09-30T00:01:00.001-05:00

Greed Versus Wealth; and Those Pesky Nazi TEA Partiers

2011-09-22T15:38:00.001-05:00

I'm increasingly frustrated by being considered greedy because I believe capitalism is the best way to help everyone at all levels of society. I believe that statistics and history bear this out.

I believe that socialist policies tear down a person's sense of self. I believe that socialist policies and the dependence upon government largess enslave those upon whom such programs prey.

I heard something today on the radio that sums up well one of the intrinsic problems with current "anti-wealthy" rhetoric. Whoever was speaking at the time said something like, "Wealth is not the problem, greed is the problem. And greed is not isolated to the wealthy, nor are all wealthy people greedy. So also, poverty is not somehow more righteous than is wealth. Poor people can be greedy, too."

Marxist philosophy demands class envy. Marxism thrives on such envy, and without such envy, Marxism cannot survive. And yet, we who use such terms are considered fear-mongerers and name callers.

Speaking of name-calling, a high school Government teacher in Texas, Jonathan Bryant, called San Antonio Tea Party President, George Rodrigueza, a Nazi. I have so many problems with this I don't even know where to start. But let me list a couple anyway.

The salient points here, as I see them, are

Mr. Rodrigueza, San Antonio TEA Party president, is apparently part of a panel discussing the deportation of illegal immigrants.
Specifically, Mr. Bryant, teacher at Kennedy High School in San Antonio, is asking about the possibility of teachers being responsible to report illegal immigrants.
Mr. Rodrigueza, at his turn to respond, seems to agree with the sentiment of the previous panelist, that the law needs to be upheld.
But he adds that he'd also like if teachers would teach balanced content, and represent conservative principles to their students, instead of merely bringing a group of students with liberal placards.
Mr. Bryant says, "You can just say what you are, a Nazi."
After which he adds, "It's an objective observation, that's all." Then appears to strut back to his area, to the applause of the students.

1) Does Mr. Bryant really think Mr. Rodrigueza is killing millions of people? Is he imprisoning anyone? Is he engaged in any sort of thought control, euthanasia, or cultural purging as Nazi Germany did? Mr. Rodrigueza appealed to the law of the land. The law of the land of which Mr. Bryant is a citizen. The law of the land which allows for free speech. And the law of the land which allows for individual citizens, such as either Mr. Rodrigueza or Mr. Bryant, to become involved in changing those laws with which they disagree.

2) Does Mr. Bryant consider the response of Mr. Rodrigueza as "sins" of the same caliber as the atrocities committed by Nazi Germany? In context, then, requiring teachers to inform law enforcement of an illegal activityis on the same plain as fascism, genetic cleansing, and murder? Or was it the request to teach conservative along with liberal principles that was the clincher? I'm not sure to which part of Mr. Rodrigueza's response Mr. Bryant aimed his dart.

And does it not lessen the horrors of Nazi Germany to compare them to either opinion of Mr. Rodrigueza?

3) As a teacher, Mr. Bryant has the responsibility to be accurate. He is using irresponsible name calling to sideline a public figure's opinions without staying the course and educating anyone on how Mr. Rodrigueza's opinions might be called Nazi.

One might argue that such a forum is not the time or place to do that, but I didn't get the impression that Mr. Bryant was inclined to explain at a later time. His smirk leads me to the perception that he was very pleased with the barb he threw.

4) And fianlly, as the President of the San Antonio TEA party group, Mr Rodrigueza represents the opinions of anyone else in the area who affiliates themselves with the TEA party movement. The students Mr. Bryant teaches are of an age to be still under the care of their parents. They ought not to have to be subjected to pejorative talk against various philosophies that might be part of such a child's upbringing. By slamming Mr. Rodrigueza and his views, Mr. Bryant is painting as a Nazi anyone who agrees with either the individual opinion of Mr. Rodrigueza, or the TEA party group which he represents.

Now I realize that Mr. Bryant did not make his comment in the classroom. And I also realize that teachers are allowed freedom of speech just as the rest of us are. However, there were students present. Mr. Bryant even pointed them out at the beginning of his comments. He knew they were there. Even if there were no children present who might agree with Mr. Rodrigueza, or from families who would support the goals of the TEA party movement, Mr. Bryant is still painting such students, in front of their peers, as Nazis or at least as affiliated with Nazis.

Not cool.

St. Paul, on Human Weakness; and Other Promises of God

2011-09-19T10:56:00.002-05:00

II Corinthian 12:7-10

And lest I should be exalted above measure

by the abundance of the revelations,

a thorn in the flesh was given to me,

a messenger of Satan to buffet me,

lest I be exalted above measure.

Concerning this thing I pleaded with the Lord three times

that it might depart from me.

And He said to me,

“My grace is sufficient for you,

for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”

Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities,

that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs,

in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake.

For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Sometimes life in this world is hard. Sometimes we are thrown the proverbial lemon. Sometimes we are thrown blessings that are certainly not lemons, but that still just plain involve much work and heartache.

In my life, this is exhibited most specifically in having been asked by God to raise a large family. I am honored by His call to me to participate in this great act. I am humbled by the responsibility. And I am in constant awe that God chose such feeble participants as Joe and I, to train up this number of servants to His glory.

Ps. 46: 1-3
God is our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear,
Even though the earth be removed,
And though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea;
Though its waters roar and be troubled,
Though the mountains shake with its swelling.

Frankly, there are many times I feel overwhelmed. There have been times I have not felt up to the task.

Lest I leave any confusion, I in no way consider any of my kids to be what St. Paul referred to as a thorn in the flesh. But I do often feel as though my particular personality is not conducive to the raising of a large family. Several aspects of my personality constitute major thorns in my flesh.

I am distractible. I can't keep track of who I've asked to do what job, and whether or not it's gotten done. I often don't remember to start supper until it's too late to get it done well. I forget clothes in the washer until they stink and have to be rewashed. I consistently lose track of time. Are these skills I could learn? Could I do it better? Probably. How can someone forget that food needs time to cook, after all? It seems like a no brainer. And sometimes I do such things well for little spurts of time. But I find it takes me too much energy to focus on such things. It's mentally exhausting for me and after such a organizational spurt, I tend to crash. When I am on a roll with this sort of mental organization, I find that I neglect the kids. The organization easily becomes the goal, and such a focus takes it's toll on the kids. They tend to get into more and bigger mischief. They engage in more whininess, clinginess, bullying, etc.

Romans 8:38

And we know that all things work together for good

to those who love God,

to those who are the called according to His purpose.

“Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life,

what you will eat or what you will drink;

nor about your body, what you will put on.

Is not life more than food

and the body more than clothing?

Look at the birds of the air,

for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns;

yet your heavenly Father feeds them.

Are you not of more value than they?

Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?

“So why do you worry about clothing?

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow:

they neither toil nor spin;

and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory

was not arrayed like one of these.

Now if God so clothes the grass of the field,

which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven,

will He not much more clothe you,

O you of little faith?

“Therefore do not worry, saying,

‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’

For after all these things the Gentiles seek.

For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.

But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness,

and all these things shall be added to you.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow,

for tomorrow will worry about its own things.

Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.

I am lazy. Or perhaps I ought to say low energy. I had a friend once reprimand me for calling myself lazy compared to other moms. I was exhorted to think of myself as low energy. She spoke of an individual's energy level as being a genetic character trait. I don't know which is closer to the truth, lazy or low energy, but either way, it is certainly a reality that must be addressed. If not the sin of sloth, low energy is still a result of sin in the world, and its results effect our life.

Jeremiah 29:11
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD,
thoughts of peace and not of evil,
to give you a future and a hope.

I tend to sway between perfectionism and a lackadaisical attitude. The old, "If I can't do it perfectly, why bother," thing is a constant challenge to the management of my household. As one might imagine, with ten children, it's been quite a few years since I've been able to keep everything up perfectly. So we've been in the, "Why bother," stage around here for longer than I care to admit.

Joshua 1:9

Have I not commanded you?

Be strong and of good courage;

do not be afraid, nor be dismayed,

for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.”

Even so, even with the seemingly glaring hurdles to the proper management of a household, God chose me to mother ten children. How can this be?

My human wisdom says that this ought not to work. And yet somehow, it always does. I live in the peace of God's promises.

Jeremiah 17:7-8
Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD,
And whose hope is the LORD.
For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters,
Which spreads out its roots by the river,
And will not fear when heat comes;
But its leaf will be green,
And will not be anxious in the year of drought,
Nor will cease from yielding fruit.

The Call of a Dirt Road

2011-09-18T20:46:00.000-05:00

Is there not something beguiling about a dirt road?

On the Road is one of my favorite John Denver songs, and the line, "So I looked out the window and dreamed I was a cowboy," resonates with me regarding many a road trip as a child. But the preceding line, "I asked my Daddy, 'Where are we going?' He said, 'We'll just follow our nose,' " is the line I was thinking of today.

Today there was a church dinner at St. Petri. St. Petri is just outside of Grygla, about 20 miles almost straight north of here. It's also 4 miles to the east. But the roads don't go straight north. The main reason is that there is a river in between. But roads also tend to follow the towns, and although St. Petri is a bit east of us, the only town in between is on a road a bit to the west of us. So when following the roads, the 24 miles turn into 30.

St.Petri is located 3/4 mile off the main east/west highway into Grygla. When one leaves the church, the driveway heads south and then curves west, and then one must turns south again before reaching the highway. Today, when I reached the highway, I turned on my blinker. I pulled up to the stop sign, and pulled slightly into the turn as I stopped.

But then, oh my, but then! I looked ahead. And the dirt road called my name. "Come hither, my maiden, and drive upon my mysterious ways. Come, see what I offer in sights and sounds. Breath deeply of my fragrance and taste of my pleasures."

I do realize full well that the mystery of the straight and flat roads near us is not so intense as that of a mountain road in Washington, or the rolling hills and dales of Wisconsin. But when one looks ahead and the road disappears into the horizon; or when it passes through a grove of cool and shady trees right up near the edges; or when one spies up ahead a narrow bridge; or better yet, you come to a sign that says, "Minimum Maintenance Road;" all these things can lend a touch of mystery to an otherwise uneventful 30 miles.

So when I heard the call of the gravel road, I heeded it. I flicked off my blinker and pulled straight across the highway.

From the back seat emanated the sound of a collective groaning. Amidst the groaning, I heard questions and comments, "Aren't you supposed to turn?" or "I have to go to the bathroom, so don't take all day," or my favorite, "You always drive us into the ditch when you do this."

But still, I plugged ahead. I tuned out the voices plaguing me, and forged on, into the wild blue yonder.

And I had a wonderful time of it.

"Candy" Reading Series for the Junior High or Highschool Reader (or even adult)

2011-09-14T20:08:00.000-05:00

Conspiracy 365
by Gabrielle Lord

I first reviewed this series just over a year ago. This post is a follow up of sorts, so it will make more sense if you read that one first.

I've not yet finished this entire series, even though they are very fast reads. One book takes me maybe three or four hours. It's been somewhat challenging remembering which one to request from the library at the right time, and then having a free evening to read it when I do finally get it.

I really recommend this series for anyone who likes adventure, suspense, heroes and a heroine, and just a hint of romance. There is also an element of fantasy, since many of the "nick of time" escapes that protagonist, Callum Ormond, manages would never work in real life. At least, hair breadth escapes do not generally work one after another for an entire year, constantly, as they seem to do for Callum. But I suppose, the entire premise is a bit fantastical in the first place, as is the steady stream of dramatic dangers that Callum encounters.

I picked up August and September at the library yesterday and yes, sadly, have finished them both. When I got to the end of September, it ended so suddenly that I kept turning the page for several tries, thinking I had missed some pages. But alas! it was just the next cliffhanger. I'll have to wait to get the next couple in a few more months...

So far, there is only one spot at which I think the author committed a gross inconsistency. But even that, I'm not sure without checking back, which I probably will never do.

To reiterate a point upon which I touched in the original review, these books are clean. Not even any swearing. The hint of romance is very innocent and sweet.

For such a quick moving story line, with next to nothing besides the perpetual action, the three primary characters are well developed, and continue to develop well in each consecutive book. They really live in the sense that when the story is done, the readers is left feeling a little lonely for those friends he has to leave behind until he picks up the next book.

I'm in the process of trying to reduce number of volumes in our home library by 1/3, but even so, if I found these second hand and cheap, I'd buy them in a heartbeat. In each volume, there always seems to be at least a few things that I would like to recheck. It would be an especially nice collection for a reluctant young male reader.

On the Benefits of Public Libraries to a Free Society

2011-09-13T16:54:00.000-05:00

This is what I prepared to deliver to the Red Lake Falls City Council and the Red Lake County Commissioners. I was asked by my branch librarian to prepare something for these groups, to solicit their continued support for the local library during these difficult economic times. I also prepared a brief outline for the members to follow, highlighting the quotes and summarizing the point for which I was using each.

All quotes except the last, are readily available on the internet, on any quote page, and some biographical pages. The final quotation is from a discussion of the trend toward library programs, at the expense of providing more traditional library services.

Hello. My name is Mary Abrahamson. I’m a mother of ten. My husband is a pastor of four churches, east and north of here. Until a year ago, I taught most of our children at home. They are currently enrolled at RLCC, both in Plummer and in Oklee. We are avid library patrons. We use many of library services, and also try to pay back a fraction of what we receive by helping with summer programs when we can.

I’m going to share with you a brief quote from each of three of America’s founding fathers and early presidents.

"Liberty cannot be preserved without a general knowledge among the people, who have a right...and a desire to know." ~ John Adams, in his 1765 Dissertation on the Canon and Feudal Law

"If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of civilization, it expects what never was and never will be." ~ Thomas Jefferson, in a letter to Colonel Charles Yancey in 1816

"A popular government without popular information or the means of acquiring it is but a prologue to Farce or Tragedy or perhaps both. Knowledge will forever govern ignorance, and a people who mean to be their own Governors must arm themselves with the power knowledge gives." ~ James Madison wrote to W. T. Barry, in 1822

We are blessed to live in communities and countries that allow us to have a say in our government. We elect officials at all levels of government. If we choose, we may attend caucuses. We can sign petitions and call our representatives. Our systems of government allow us many opportunities to be involved with the process of governing.

But in order to arm ourselves for this responsibility, we need access to information. The public library is an important source of information, whether in the form of internet access, books on the local shelves, books ordered through the broader regional system or throughout the entire state. Through our Red Lake Falls branch library, that little building just across the way, regular people like myself have access to all the knowledge in the world.

We, the people, make our society what it is. Regular people in our communities, our neighbors and friends, perhaps even some of you, serve on boards and committees within a variety of service, civic, and business entities.

If not in any official capacity, most of us are at least in a position to set an example for the youth in our communities, even if only as parents and friends of the young people in our neighborhoods. This too is leadership.

But in order to do all these things well, we need access to the means of self-improvement. Perhaps John F. Kennedy said it most succinctly...or I ought to say, he planned to say it, since this quote is from a speech that was to be delivered in Dallas, TX, on the day of his assassination, “Leadership and learning are indispensable to each other.”

∼ ∼ ∼

Libraries in one form or another, have been in existence from ancient times. It’s fairly common knowledge that there was a library in ancient Alexandria during the Greek empire; archaeologists have found evidence of libraries throughout the ancient middle east from as early as 2500BC, and onward. These were collections of manuscripts, and repositories of information.

The the modern public library in America is something different. The Straight Dope website had the best definition of the modern library that I could find. The author used these marks to distinguish the idea of the modern public library. It
1) is publicly owned and supported by taxes;
2) is open to any citizen who desires to use it, and
3) contains a wide range of material, both popular and scholarly.

Using that definition, public libraries in America got their start in the early to mid 1800s. By the early 1900s, the idea had flourished and libraries were making their way into communities across the country. Andrew Carnegie, who donated so much of his own money to promote and build libraries throughout the country said, “There is not such a cradle of democracy upon the earth as the Free Public Library, this republic of letters, where neither rank, office, nor wealth receives the slightest consideration.”

The public libraries in our communities today have changed a bit in the last 200 years, and even since the time of Andrew Carnegie. But they still fall into those same three points mentioned above. The library systems have changed. The inter-connectedness to each other around the state, country and even globe has increased markedly. The manner of accessing the materials, and even sometimes the format of the materials themselves. But our public libraries still offer for anyone who chooses, an immensely wide opportunity for learning and improving oneself, and also for leisure time enjoyment of the written word.

“The student has his Rome, his Florence, his whole glowing Italy, within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world and the glories of a modern one.” ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Your local library offers fiction and non-fiction books and magazines for all age levels. There is internet access for online research and pleasure. Audio books and DVD; downloadable e-books for those who have the proper readers. If a local child is interested in aviation or gardening, beekeeping or pet care, he or she can find help and learning at the library. A retiree can check out the latest book from a best selling novelist or research his or her family tree. A person can read about fixing the roof or building a chicken coop. A teen can get the information he needs to decide whether or not to attempt to replace the head gasket on his car’s motor. And a sports fan can keep up with the achievements of her favorite college teams.

There are a wide variety of programs going on all the time at the library. The regular things The Red Lake Falls branch library lists on the website include a preschool story time, a writer’s group, family nights, and craft days. Each summer the library sponsors a program that offers extra enrichment, such as presentations by artisans, dancers, singers, and a variety of other entertainers. Within the last year there have been several “Meet an Author” events, which include a brief talk on some aspect of her trade and craft, and also, usually, a writer’s workshop, for local writers to learn from the experts. The library, through the Minnesota history legacy grant has been able to offer, for free to anyone in the community, a wider variety of cultural events which celebrate and highlight the rich cultural diversity of our state. These are things many small towns are not able to offer their people, things such as concerts by a harpist and a hardanger fiddler, and performances by a ventriloquist, singing groups, and storytellers.

“The richest person in the world - in fact all the riches in the world - couldn't provide you with anything like the endless, incredible loot available at your local library.” ~Malcolm Forbes

I’ve read that at times of economic downturn, such as during the Great Depression, library use increases markedly. I asked our local librarian about this, and she affirmed that they have definitely seen this to be true during our recent economic woes.

I understand that the government entities that support the public libraries are also experiencing hard times. And I am not fully comfortable with asking everyone in the community to support with their tax dollars a service of which not everyone chooses to make use. However, for the enrichment of your community, you have in the past supported, and probably will continue to support a variety of none-essential services. I am here today to make a plea that the local branch library be one of those none-essential services that you choose to continue to support.

I was given a stack of information on the local library and also on the regional system. I am not a professional researcher, so things like statistics, and pie charts, and cost comparisons, these things go in through my eyes and hide away in a dark corner of my brain. I read through the materials I was given. I tried to prepare a clean and crisp analysis of the library’s needs. And I couldn’t do it.

But I am a library user. I love my library and the many things it offers. I believe in the idea of an educated populace. I believe the services offered by our Red Lake Falls branch library play an integral role in offering educational and leisure opportunities to the people of Red Lake Falls and the surrounding communities.

I understand that our local branch is struggling financially. I’ve noticed that the hours of operation have been re-arranged and cut several times in the last few years. Various services have been cut

I’ve been told that the library is short $4,874, just to maintain the services they currently offer. There is a certain amount of patron demand to reinstate the hours and days of operation that have been cut. The total anticipated operational cost of $54,276 would not allow for that. It would only sustain the current operation.

If you flip to the back page of the paper I handed out, you can see the numbers presented clearly before you.

I don’t know what you spend on other none-essential programming, such as ECFE, summer rec, and theater programs. But I agree with the sentiment in this nugget I found from Walter Cronkite, “Whatever the costs of our libraries, the price is cheap compared to that of an ignorant nation.“

And I’ll leave you now, with a final quote, it actually appears on the front flap of your paper. It is an excerpt from Darwin, a researcher at the Askville question and answer forum at Amazon.com regarding Andrew Carnegie‘s vision.

“[Andrew] Carnegie had two main reasons
for donating money to the founding of libraries.
First, he believed that libraries added
to the meritocratic nature of America.
Anyone with the right inclination
and desire could educate himself.
Second, Carnegie believed that immigrants like himself
needed to acquire cultural knowledge of America
which the library allowed immigrants to do.
Libraries for Carnegie were the ultimate extension
of democracy to the people.

He felt that the sheer existence of a library
and the individual’s right to use it was essential.
He did not see the library as needing to reach out,
but rather to allow in anyone who wished to come.
His formal education ended at the age of 12,
and he was exceedingly affected by being unable to afford
the $2.00 per week fee to join the "free" library,
so he resolved that libraries should be free and open to everyone.
That is why over the doors
of The Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh,
carved in stone,
are his own words,
"Free to the People."

As a self-made man
he believed anyone could do likewise
as long as the tool (the library)
was there to be used.”

Thank you for your time.

What's So Difficult About a Cup of Coffee?

2011-09-04T17:23:00.001-05:00

On the joys of reading together

One of the great joys of our years of homeschooling was family read-aloud time. We read so many great children's books. So many memories rapped up in those stories. Evenings spent snuggled together, all of us sprawled around the living room or heaped together on the couches, little voices begging, "One more chapter! Don't stop here! Please!" Those are richly emotive family-togetherness memories. But there are also the less tangible things, like the shared memories of vivid characters or compelling plots to look back on, and the discussions and learning that flowed from the story lines, exotic or historic settings, or character traits.

I can't really blame our current difficulties with read-aloud time on our decision to put our kids in public school, although it would be easy to do that, since our time together was vastly shortened after that grave day. But the truth is, we had pretty much stopped any consistent read-aloud times about two years prior to our kids going into public school. We always had a book we were allegedly working on, but the nights we actually spent reading together were progressively fewer and fewer in number. It had gotten too difficult to span the large age range of our kids without older kids complaining about the dumb babyish stories, or younger ones being bored and unable to follow the more complex story lines. Instead of the cacophony of happy sounds when Joe or I called, "Time for read-aloud!" we more and more often had grumbling and complaints.

The mother in me grieves for those lost days of togetherness. But I've yet to find a way to recapture them, even for the younger kids. For whatever combination of reasons, we just can't make it work.

One book we ended up reading two times throughout the years, is Red Sails to Capri, by Ann Weil. As generally happens when we've read a book together, we ended with a collection of favorite passages from this book, that get tossed out again and again, in a variety of related situations.

The family of Michele Pagano, the primary character in Red Sails for Capri, runs an inn. Each family member has chores to do, but the kitchen is Signora Pagano's domain. She cooks like a dream, but is unable to pass on her culinary skills, since she cooks using a combination of scolding and cajoling the food into its proper form, and singing. Each task has a certain song to go along with it; from the musical scores, Signora Pagano determines when to add an ingredient, or how long something ought to be beaten or cooked.

Michele and his father agree to help some of the inn's visitors find a mysterious cove whose history is fraught with danger. In an attempt to dissuade them from what she is convinced is a perilous mission, Signora Pagano refuses to cook for the guests or her family. The men of the family step up to the plate, or they attempt to do so. But Signore Pagano and young Michele don't know how to coax the food to do what it ought, nor do they know the songs that accompany the food preparation. This comes to a head one morning, when the two are expected to prepare a soft boiled egg for one of the guests. After several attempts, it still cannot be passably accomplished.

"What is so difficult about an egg!" they implore.

From eggs to coffee
This morning, I had that phrase in my head several times, but with regard to my morning coffee. First off, one of the girls had a little accident with a baking dish the other day. The way the story came down to me, is that the baking dish flew from the dish drainer and landed on the coffee maker, breaking the carafe. Frustrating, but not the end of the world. I wasn't too worried since I try to keep some spare carafes on hand, extras I've picked up at second hand stores. But apparently, I have no such spare on hand this time.

Not to worry...I also have a spare coffee maker from Joe's grandparents. But alas! We have been unable to figure out where we tucked it away.

But even so, this is not a travesty. Joe came home with a blue enamel percolator from a member the other day. So yesterday we successfully perked coffee, without a problem. Mmmm. I've always preferred perked coffee to dripped coffee, anyway.

Today however, Joe came into our room at a little before 7:00, as he was getting ready to leave for his earliest service. I was still in the throes of slumber, so he nudged me awake to tell me that he couldn't get the coffee to perk right, but if I wanted weak and wimpy stuff, there was coffee ready. I rolled my eyes. How hard can it be to perk coffee?

After awhile, I roused myself to get up and try the weak and wimpy stuff. Anyone who knows Joe can appreciate the fact that "weak" and "wimpy" are relative terms with regard to coffee. Joe prefers to be able to stand up a spoon in his coffee, so I kind of assumed I'd be able to drink his weak and wimpy stuff without a complaint.

But this was not to be. The coffee was not even tan. It looked as though I refilled a recently drained coffee cup with drinking water. It had a tint. Barely.

"OK," thought I, rather smugly, "Joe must have not had time enough to perk the coffee properly." It can't be that hard, right? A percolator is not really too mechanically challenging. There's not that much that can go wrong. The water heats up, the heat causes it to spurt out the top of the do-hickey, and it drains through the basket. Not much to it.

The only other possibility I could think of in my caffeine deprived brain, was that Joe didn't use enough grounds; but I had a feeling that with Joe, such a scenario was not very likely.

I put the percolator on the burner for a little while longer. Just for good measure, I left it simmering while I quickly bathed the youngest three girls. Then, with the most challenging part of my Sunday morning out of the way, I was ready to relax with that cup of coffee.

Oooh, I couldn't wait. Got the mug from the cupboard. Set it along side the percolator. Tested the handle to see if it was hot. Gently and eagerly poured the anticipated deep brown brew.

But no! It was not to be! The liquid pouring forth was no darker than it had been to start with. I was starting to lose patience with things.

I set the percolator off the burner. I grabbed the computer chair from its slot at the counter between the kitchen and dining room. Yes, I do realize I should not climb to the upper reaches of our cupboards on a swivel chair, but by this time I was a crazy lady. I had a headache starting behind my right eye. I was beginning to feel a bit unbalanced from my need for coffee. How much worse could it be on a swivel chair?

Somewhere up in the depths of the corner cupboard, I knew I had some paper filters for the individual cup, drippy thing that we use periodically. We actually have two of these, one a personal size, and another for making an entire pot. But I was not about to wait around pouring out a whole pot and waiting for it to drip through. I needed the plastic drip thing from the bucket of misc coffee items in the lazy Susan, and the paper filter from the upper cupboard.

We have a reusable metal filter, too, but I knew that was not put away properly. I had passed it somewhere downstairs yesterday when I had my arms full of something. Apparently some youngster was unable to resist it's appeal, and had used it as a hat or a broach or a pterodactyl. When I saw it yesterday, I had made a mental note of its location, but that mental note had been flung to the darkest corner of my brain, and when I needed it, it clung stubbornly to the darkness, refusing to resurface.

It was becoming increasingly apparent that on this particular morning, a cup of coffee was not going to happen quickly or easily.

The (dis)organization of a multiple user kitchen
Those of you who have multiple older kids who help with chores might be able to appreciate the state of my corner cupboard. Ideally, the top shelf holds the bulky, flat, rectangular tupperware container in the back corners; a collection of water bottles to the left of that; and to the right and in front center, the can of coffee and the stack of filters for our temporarily defunct drip machine.

The middle shelf is for the extra-large, round tupperware lids, along with any flat round tupperware containers. Around the edges of this shelf are the teas, and whatever other non-coffee beverages we might have on hand.

And finally, on the bottom, is the measuring cups, and a vairety of small baking needs such as baking powder, corn starch, salt, etc. There is also a flat square plastic container that holds all kinds of little stuff: toothpicks, cheesecloth, colored sprinkles, and ideally, the package of coffee filters. Depending upon how full that flat plastic box is, the bigger flat items such as cheescloth and coffee filters might have to be tucked against the edge of the cupboard, ouside of the box.

But we have lots of kids who help with dishes and cooking. Much of the time, things are put away in a manner I'll call, for lack of a better term, "kind of right." It's hard for me to know each time, which child might be guilty of the locational infraction. Such infractions often end up going without correction.

The kitchen items have "a place" they are supposed to go. This "place" might vary a bit, with the normal coming and going of kitchen items, due to breakage or replacement. Because of the busy nature of a large family, the slight variances in "place" might or might not get passed on to each child who helps in the kitchen. And so each item has its proper "place. But it's also likely to have two or three other likely places, based upon who dried dishes last, or who was the last one shift things around while cooking.

And this brings us full circle to my ascent on the precarious heights of the swivelling kitchen computer chair, in the upper reaches of the corner cupboard, digging through the various possibilities of where the bag of paper trianglular coffee filters might be.

First off, I looked for the filters in the two most likely lower shelf locations. Nope.

I scanned the disorganized contents of each shelve in the same cupboard, still anticipating an easy find. Nada.

I quickly reorganized the miscellany on each shelf, hoping to discover, as I sorted, the missing filters. But no.

The good news is that now the shelves of my corner cupboard are nicely sorted. Not only is there a place for everything, everything is in its place. But I still didn't find the filters.

And so I still didn't have any coffee. It was nearing time to get everyone up for breakfast, but I really, really wanted to have coffee before the pre-church rush. And that little hint of a headache behind my right eye,...it had now spread to a dull throb behind both eyes and along the back of my neck.

In a last ditch attempt, I climbed one more time up to the upper reaches, swaying precariously on the swivel chair, and pulled out the stack of rectangular storage containers, and there, hidden within the Tupperware Snack n Store Container, were the missing filters.

Aaaaaah. A huge sigh. Finally I'd feel the relief that came with a long awaited cup of joe.

I quickly reheated the water I had put on the burner so long ago and subsequatnly pulled off again so it wouldn't boil dry during my search. I pulled out the "save for special occasions" bag of Steep and Brew grounds that my friend Lisa had sent last winter; that had gotten lost in the depths of the cupboard and so saved beyond it's recommended life expectancy; and that had been found anew during my morning's quest. I tipped in the savory grounds, grabbed the pot of water, and swiftly drenched the coffee grounds.

Of course, by that time, the morning rush ought to have been in full swing, and I was running late. Once again.

Vacation on a Dime: Part 3

2011-08-29T16:54:00.004-05:00

We've invested over the years in a collection of canvas folding chairs. Those were hard to spend the money on, but we are so glad we have them. A few years ago, we camped with friends who had a smaller family than ours. Their kids couldn't understand why we didn't each have our own chairs. I tried to explain that when travelling with camping gear for so many people, there just isn’t room for everything we might want. But by now, adding a little at a time, we are up to five big chairs and two child sized chairs.

Another camping tip coming...the small folding chairs work very well for the little ones to sit up to the picnic table benches while eating. Much better than trying to sit up to the table to reach.

We've also tried using a folding booster chair at the table, strapping it onto the bench somehow, but it doesn't work as well. We do bring it along though, if we have room, because it's one more seat for somebody during campfire time. We wouldn't have bought it just for camping, but since we have it, we bring it along.

We also always have our two umbrella strollers. They don't take up too much room, and are very handy. We use them to send the kids to fill the collapsible water bags, the 2 gal. thermos we bring, and the stock pot for hot water. Somebody always sits in them when we are around the campfire; and of course they get used for just plain taking the little ones on walks (or for sending the medium children on a walk with the younger ones while the parents and the biggest kids set up or take down camp).

Tip number three: Learn how to mend your camping equipment.

Our big accomplishment this year was to mend all the fraying and ripped canvases on our folding chairs. Elsie and I sat out in the garage for about two hours one afternoon and evening before vacation working on them. It was so nice this year to not have to keep re-adjusting the canvas in order to find the lesser ripped sections to hold the chairs together. We did four upper shoulder area repairs and two arm rest repairs.

Matt's chair had a broken foot, the plastic thing that holds all the legs in one spot, but allows them to shift when folding. Joe helped me pop out the rivets. then he helped me expand the size of the hole a bit and filed them smooth. I threaded para-cord through the parts and knotted it off with enough room for the movement it needs when folding and unfolding.
Elsie said to me, "Do you think regular people just go out and buy new chairs?" It made me smile. I was glad to share that thrifty lesson with her, and that she picked up on it without me even mentioning it.

Amy Dacyczyn, of The Tightwad Gazette fame, always said to calculate a wage for yourself in order to determine if something is worth spending the time on. With five different broken camp chairs to work on, at about what are they this year, $20 each? I figure that comes to about $20/hour. Elsie and I each worked two full hours; Joe and I probably worked about 1/2 hour each on the foot of the one. Not a bad was to spend a couple of hours.

We were very pleased with our accomplishments.

Last year was a "fix the tents" year. We invested in the elastic cording, and several different diameters of tent pole parts. We still have two small tents for which we can't find the small diameter of pole we need, but someday I will find something that works. Those little ones don't take up too much room sitting on the shelf.

All the others started out last year's vacation with good poles and elastics and ends. This year we have one pole section to replace before packing away the tents. We also have nylon and netting for patching. We haven't used it yet, but I noticed our big tent has several holes in the netting. I'm tempted to just use duct tape, but we shall see.

Vacation on a Dime: Part 2

2011-08-29T16:25:00.000-05:00

Rule Number Two

The morning we were staying at Ron and Val's, I took a walk bright and early. We had a somewhat slow morning with Val's family, sharing a cup of coffee after breakfast and a visit on the deck. Eventually we got moving and continued on our way. We already had one pair of broken flip-flops, so we stopped at a second hand store in Bozeman before continuing to West Yellowstone, MT. It's very hard to stop at a thrift store on vacation, because there is just so little room in the vehicle for anything extra. There were two pairs of flip-flops in the sizes we general need, so I bought both to have a spare. Flip-flops don't take up too much room and they do have a tendency to break at rather inconvenient times.

We arrived early enough to relaxedly set up our campsight.

This is rule number two for the Vacation on a Dime method. Tent camp. Camp cheap. Camp primitive. But buy tents with good rainflies. Trust me. Really. It can make all the difference in the world between a successful and unsuccessful camping experience.

You will have to develop a routine that works for you. Ours took several years to perfect, but I think we've got it now. You will need to spend a little money on camping equipment, but not all at once. As your family grows, you can add on to your equipment. You can find many things at yard sales, thrift stores, and end of season clearance. We've also gotten some things through the local radio classifieds if you have access to them where you live. We've done "wanted" ads through that venue several times, and almost always have more responses than we need.

Please understand that for us, a campsight involves quite a bit of setting up. This time, because we were in Bear Country, we only used three tents. Under less risky circumstances, we'd have put a couple more middle sized kids in their own tent, but we wanted the youngest middles with others this time. So we set up only three tents. We also decided against the screen tent this year, but sometimes we use that, too. Jeremy wasn't with us this year; he prefers to sleep in a screen rather than in a tent. We also use it if there is little shelter from the sun, or when mosquitoes are bad.

We have a rolling camp table, since we don't really all fit at most picnic tables anymore. This was purchased with a Cabela's gift card from someone who wanted to give our family a treat they knew we could use, but wouldn't really want to spend the money on regularly. We also drag along two small folding tables, one for a food prep table, or fireside cooking table; the other for a washing up station. Since we try to find the cheapest place possible to camp, this often means pit toilets. So I always have a bag of water on the washing up table, with bar soap along side, and a towel hanging above.

As far as other camping supplies, we have a camp stove that we use sometimes, and Joe's become an expert fire cooker. And for emergencies, we always have a sterno candle along for which we have a little frame that folds flat; but when set up, it is like a stove burner. We have a large aluminum stock pot we use for heating water. It's filled after each meal and sits on the fire grate almost all the time so we almost always have hot water for washing dishes after a meal.

As an aside, since we Americans don't often need to know this skill any more, I'm going to share this hot water tip. When water is boiling, it takes only a scant one part hot water to two parts cold, to be as hot as I can stand it for washing dishes. I can't tell you the number of times I've put in too much hot and have to dump some out to make room for enough cold.

We have a large tote bin in which we store all our camping supplies. It's quite a large bin and in some vehicles it's hard to find a place to stash it. I might opt for two smaller ones, were I to do it again. In this van, for instance, the cargo space is such that we have to put it between the two front seats, the long way. So there is no leg room in the middle seat behind. We just need to make sure the person sitting there is a carseat child who won't need the leg room.

Within the bin we have most everything we need to camp. Make a list of what you need, and look for those items second hand or on clearance. We have dishes, two sets of cooking pots, utensils, flatware, clothesline and pins, needle and thread, leather gloves, hatchet, dish soap, fly paper rolls, bungie cords, tarps and extra rope, salt and pepper and matches, and a bag of towels, kitchen towels, wash rags, and pot holders, ...each year when we're done camping, I make a note if anything needs to be replaced or if we've noticed anything else we could have used. I also make a note of those things we don't store with the camping supplies, but always need to remember, such as batteries for the air mattress inflater thing.

One warning on the tightwad camping system...it may seem to be a good idea to camp along the way to somewhere, and it probably works for some people. But we have found it immensely frustrating to try to break camp, pack away all the dewy stuff, and get everyone on the road in enough time to make it worth the money saved. Also rolling into a campsight late at night, having to set up three or four tents, and maybe even fix supper as it's dark or getting dark, is kind of a bummer.

On the other hand, when visiting others who may not have the patience or space for a group of visitors the size of our family, we've found it works well to find a campsight nearby and use it as a homebase when visiting. We like to invite friends or relatives over to "our place" for an evening of camp supper and s'mores and story telling.

Vacation on a Dime: Part 1

2011-08-29T15:46:00.000-05:00

Rule Number One

We left on our family vacation on August first. Of course we were late. Of course. We had wanted to get to Billings the first night, which means a 13 hour drive. With the time change, we gain an hour, so clock-wise, it's a twelve hour drive. But we had arranged to stay with friends, and it always seems so rude to roll in late.

But this time we did. We rolled into Billings at 10:30, and yet, Val and Ron and Ken with all their wonderful hospitality, were there to greet us and even feed us. Thank you again for all your kindnesses.

This is rule number one for the Vacation on a Dime method. When someone offers you a stopping off point, take them up on the offer.

Val lived in our area during her early childhood, and still has many relatives in the area. Joe got to know her and Ron through a series of funerals in Val's extended family several years ago. When we first stayed there during our last trip out west two years ago, I had never met them. But Joe assured me that these people, who were strangers strangers to me, seemed very genuine in their desire to have us stop over. And they have been nothing but hospitable and kind. Val and I are facebook friends, so have continued to get to know each other, and I consider myself blessed to have had opportunity to know them. My life is richer for taking a near stranger up on an offer of hospitality.

When I was growing up, there were eight us kids in the family. We were often exhorted to not impose. It was perhaps one of the most often used reasons for not doing something, "We wouldn't want to impose." So going out on a limb like this is very foreign to me. Joe's family was very gregarious. They have the gift to make friends wherever they are. Joe's grandparents have even been known to exchange addresses and keep in touch with people they have met in cafes around the United States.

It's still very difficult for me to accept openness from strangers. Even so, I do wholeheartedly encourage it. Life is richer for the risk.

Goodbye to one of the Grande Dames of the ELS

2011-08-27T17:49:00.003-05:00

When I was framing this post in my mind the other day, Joe and I got into a little discussion about the meaning of the word, Grande Dame. I thought it meant, simply, a great lady to be respected for her life's work. Joe thought it meant to be great within a particular entrepreneurial field. So I looked it up. And we're both partly right.

According to yourdictionary.com, a grand dame is, "a woman, esp. an older one, of great dignity or prestige."

Another take on it, from The Free Dictionary,

grande dame
1. A highly respected elderly or middle-aged woman.
2. A respected woman having extensive experience in her field

Wikipedia has a slightly more colorful definition,

A grande dame (in French: "great lady") is a stock character designed to represent a stereotype of an elderly high society socialite.

In popular culture, the grande dame is usually portrayed as a slightly flamboyant woman, prone to extravagant and eccentric fashion, such as feather boas, large hats, and excessive costume jewelry. She may be overly pre-occupied with the concept of "acting ladylike" and expect all those around her to conform to her own high standards of etiquette.

And lest anyone misunderstand, I'm going with the first or second definitions.

Today, the Evangelical Lutheran Synod (ELS) said goodbye to one of its grande dames, Melvina Aaberg. There is hardly anyone affiliated with Bethany College, Bethany Seminary, the ELS pastorate, or the ELS churches in Mankato and the surrounding areas, whose life was not touched by this great woman.

I first met Melvina when Joe was going to Bethany Seminary in Mankato, Minnesota. She was at that time, secretary of the Seminary and synod offices. She sat behind her desk, always ready with a sparkly smile and a kind word for anyone who happened in.

After our oldest son, Jeremy, was born, I was somewhat unused to being at home most of the day. Being a little stir crazy some afternoons, I would often take long walks with Jeremy in the stroller. Often I would end up heading toward Bethany, where Joe would be studying or working in the seminary library. Sometimes if Joe was out and about when I arrived, I'd plop myself down in the office chair and have a little visit with Melvina. Looking back, I'm sure she had many things on her secretarial plate. But she never made me feel unwelcome. In fact, Melvina had the rare gift of making everyone feel important and special.

One of the most embarrassingly memorable episodes was the time I forgot to change Jeremy's pants before heading out on our walk. In a cloth diaper that was probably very nearly saturated before we left home, then after an hour long or better walk, Jeremy was definitely very wet when Melvina took him from the stroller to set on her lap. I realized there was a problem as I watched the wet stain spread across Melvina's skirt.

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed. "I'm sorry Melvina. He seems to be very wet."

But Melvina, being the great lady that she was, was nonplussed. As I reached to remove the offending bottom from her lap, she simply grabbed a magazine and placed it beneath Jeremy's very soggy pants, and continued to bounce him on her knee, cooing at him and visiting with me, as though nothing at all was the matter.

When I think of her life, especially reading through her obituary, to refresh myself on the many things I used to know about her, I see a constant theme of service to God and man.

Melvina lost her parents when she was very young and was raised by her aunt and uncle. I remember we had talked about that, since the two of us had that in common.

Melvina worked as a Christian day school teacher and a mother. She was a pastor's wife. She was a wife of a synod and seminary president. Melvina was a young widow, with her five kids just barely raised when her husband was called to his eternal home.

Melvina worked as the synod and seminary secretary, and kept things running smoothly and efficiently even in the midst of all the technological changes during her tenure. She lent a listening ear to, and helped in any way she could, the constant stream of seminary students, and any pastors and laymen who passed through her office for synod meetings. Melvina was a friend with ready ears and an open heart for all the young seminary wives.

Melvina was a Grandma to four lovely granddaughters, about whom she spoke any chance she got.

After retiring from the Seminary secretary position, Melvina worked at the Bethany archives, keeping her hands and mind busy until her death. She was active in her church and community and continued to be a friend to the many people whose life she had touched throughout the years.

Thank you, Lord, for allowing me the privilege of knowing this Christian woman. Blessed be her memory.

Brainstorming National Defense

2011-08-24T12:30:00.000-05:00

As the title states, this is brainstorming. I've not had time to research this topic, but it's been on my mind for several years. Please share with me any further knowledge or opinions you hold.

The Congress shall have Power

To raise and support Armies, but no Appropriation of Money to that Use shall be for a longer Term than two Years;

To provide and maintain a Navy;

To make Rules for the Government and Regulation of the land and naval Forces;

To provide for calling forth the Militia to execute the Laws of the Union, suppress Insurrections and repel Invasions;

To provide for organizing, arming, and disciplining the Militia, and for governing such Part of them as may be employed in the Service of the United States, reserving to the States respectively, the Appointment of the Officers, and the Authority of training the Militia according to the discipline prescribed by Congress;

Article I, Section 8, of the Constitution

And also,

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed. The Second Amendment to the Constitution.

I've on occasion thought that the idea of a standing army is not in accordance with Constitutional principles. I consider myself a Constitutional Conservative. And as such, I've wondered whether a standing army is somewhat inconsistent with a strict constitutional outlook.

However, many people who likewise consider themselves constitutionalists, and have studied Constitutional history more so than have I, consider a standing army as necessary to national defence, which is one of the few constitutionally assigned responsibilities of our federal government. My understanding, again with little personal study, is that a standing army became the norm very early in the history of our country, and therefore through very early precedent, is considered legitimate. If I have it straight, the idea of a standing army was the source of one of the original disagreements between those known as Federalists and those known as anti-Federalists, in the struggle for ratification of the Constitution. Since those same statesmen were involved in the continuing debate after our Constitution’s ratification, and since as soon afterwards as the early 1800s we've had a standing army of sorts, that although not part of the constitution, strict constitutionalists consider a standing army as consistent with the founding principle of national defence.

Does that make sense? Have I represented the history accurately? Really, I admit, this is poor scholarship. I'd love to do a bunch of reading today to figure it all out, but I simply have other callings.

However, I did want to get these thoughts down and hopefully elicit some discussion.

Mary's thesis for today,

Whereas throughout the history of this sinful world, it's been shown time and again that the more a civic institution does for its citizenry, they are increasingly less inclined and eventually less able to do for themselves;

and whereas our founders had some very specific reasons for fearing a standing army;

and whereas the founders did provide us with an organized way for the states to take responsibility for their own defence and to contribute to the national defence, through the maintenance of a well regulated militia;

and whereas there is an inverse relationship between the growth of a standing army and the dwindling of state militias (which one might argue is a corollary of the first "whereas");

perhaps we who consider ourselves Constitutional Conservatives ought to find a way to justify our stance more closely to that which the founders intended.

Is not our military structure, the way it is today, a bit like socialism, in that the more the government does for us, the less we do ourselves, and then the less able we become to do for ourselves?

I came to these thoughts this morning while reading The King's of Clonmel, Book 8 of John Flanagan's, The Ranger's Apprentice series. Will, for whom the series is named, is a former apprentice who is now a full fledged Ranger. He is now working with the other apprentices at the Rangers' annual gathering. The Rangers in the fictional Araluen kingdom, are primarily an undercover and intelligence gathering group in this feudal system of Flanagan's world. But as such, they also assist the various Lords and battle masters with strategy when the need arises. Will's assignment is to guide the apprentices in developing a strategy for a tactical exercise, according to the assets listed in the exercise. As I read today, Will reminded the apprentices of their unstated assets, such as the trained archers each village of more than 100 citizens is required maintain.

This put me in mind, once again, of the militia system originally included in our founding documents, and my persistent questions about national defence and a standing army.

The way I understand it, militias were to be maintained by the states; each state in its freedom was to set up their militia according to their own needs and assets. But the states were not allowed the freedom to neglect this responsibility. I think I've read that not only were the citizens required to own firearms, they were responsible to know how to use them, and how to act together as a military force when needed. Part of the states' responsibility was to call periodic musters to train and to test the militias for readiness.

I've heard some say that the national guard is the modern rendition of the state militias. I don't buy that. Again, this is speaking off the cuff, because I've not researched it. Perhaps readers could comment? But the the primary way in which the militias are autonomous is that they have to be called out at the command of the state governors, and led by the command structure within such a state. Is that right? In case of some state disaster or national military need, must they be called out by their governor and assigned under the auspices of the particular military structures from within that state?

Further though, I believe the National Guards are set up uniformly throughout the nation, and their operation is subject to federal authority. And they certainly do not involve the broad societal training in firearm use and military tactics. Only those who choose must participate.

Are there still militias in the original sense? Groups of citizens who gather to maintain skills in firearms and military skill? I've been told there are. I've even been accused of being a militia type, since our family owns and practices the use of firearms both for putting food on the table and for maintaining the ability to defend ourselves and those around us. But we certainly don't participate in any military training exercises.

It seems as though the idea of "militia" today has become a dirty word and those who strive to maintain such skills are perceived as crazies. I've never known anyone who is part of a militia group, that I know of. Therefore, I can't defend or criticize such activities. All I know is the rumors, which seem to span a broad spectrum as far as the legality of activities, but also as to the veracity of the rumors.

But perhaps we need to explore the possibility of renewing the state militias. Perhaps there is a place for a lessening of the national military, and stronger state run militias. Could it work? Is it conceivable? I don't know. But I am interested by the thought that we've become locally weaker as our national defence is provided for us by the federal government. We've become so dependent upon the national military that many people aren't even aware of the many ways our military contributes to and defends our freedoms. We tend to just float through our days, complaining about one thing or another that is wrong with our country, with little or no thought for how peace and order are maintained both at home and abroad.

This seems to me to coincide with an attitude of, "Well, the government will do it. I probably won't like their decisions, but what can I do about it?" This is a typical symptom of dependency in all manner of nanny state issues. I believe an argument could be made that this attitude of dependence puts us at a higher risk of ever increasing federal encroachment on our individual and states' rights. I believe the founders would be appalled at the amount of freedom we've thoughtlessly conceded. And I wonder if the demise of the state militia system is an important facet of states' rights and limited national government. Not only are we ambivilent about our national defence and critical of it, we also have forfeited any ability to defend ourselves against any tyranny that would arise from within our borders.

Preparedness

2011-08-19T01:04:00.003-05:00

Updated 8/19/11, in order to include titles. Apparently some people

are not seeing the Amazon links. Sorry.

Do you ever wonder what you'd do if "the big collapse" happens? If the grid goes down? If life as we know it ceases to exist?

It's not really something I worry about, since I know God always provides for the "evil and the good." (Matthew 5:45) But I do think about it. I do try to make life choices that help to prepare myself and my family for such an event. Even if something like that never happens in lifetime or that of my kids, there are basic survival and creative skills that need to be passed on.

In a facebook thread tonight, on the idea of getting ride of books, this topic came up. For the reasons mentioned above, I don't ever like to get rid of "How to" books. We have many, many of them.

Here are a few of our favorites:

Eric Sloane's books are a work of art in and of themselves, but the information in these two is phenomenal. Such detail and description.

The first book, The Diary of an Early American Boy, describes designing and developing the homestead. The second is pretty self-explanatory, Museum of Early American Tools. Both books include detailed sketches of the procedures and tools being described.

Homemade Contrivances, and How to Make Them, by Skyhorse Publishing. This is so fun. It's amazing what someone can do (and without an engineering degree even!).

Joe likes Handy Farm Devices and How to
Make Them, by Rolfe Cobleigh, but I've not looked at it. I didn’t even know we had it! According to Joe, "It shows useful ways of getting things done, with materials you probably already have." He thinks this is also the one that has a section on using the carpenter's square.

I always laugh when I hear these preparedness ads for sealed meals. And how long will they last? Then what will you do? Hmmm?

It's kind of the, "give a man a fish or teach him to catch his own," thing.

After learning the techniques in Preserving Food Without Freezing or Canning: Traditional Techniques Using Salt, Oil, Sugar, Alcohol, Vinegar, Drying, Cold Storage, and Lactic Fermentation, from The Gardeners and Farmers of Centre Terre Vivante, you're one up on either of the above choices. You can be the one teaching the man to preserve his own food.

We picked up The Reader's Digest book, Back to Basics in a box of junk somewhere years ago and it's on of our favorites. It's a great introduction to potentially necessary basic skills.
I also got the Reader's Digest Complete Book of Needlework, from among Joe's grandma's things after she passed away and I love it, too. Clear and easy instructions for mastering a large variety of needlework.

The Foxfire Books are all just all-around good books describing and teaching so many useful skills by those who still practice them.

Have fun exploring the world of basic skills!

Another Take on Vacation

2011-08-17T21:48:00.000-05:00

Unexpected Pleasure
For four evenings and mornings I sipped my morning coffee and evening glass of wine on the screen porch at Morning Star Ranch, taking in the beauty of Emigrant Peak. Watching the changing light and colors as the sun came over the top from the northwest in the morning and then as it sunk behind the Gallatin Range every evening was serenity itself. I even got to watch the moon rise over the peak one evening. Wonderful!

Great Fun
Eleven Abrahamsons hiking with five Bairds on the first couple of miles of a backcountry trail south of Mammoth Hot Springs. No chance of sneaking up on a bear with this crowd. The walk totally fed my long-standing desire to do a backpacking trip some day.

Most Annoying
The fickle weather around Yellowstone was hard to plan around. Particularly frustrating, because of our tent camping and the earlyish mornings we attempted a few of the days, was the cold nights and shivery mornings. The steady heavy rain Sunday evening that drenched us and many of our things was also a bummer, since we had plans to leave first thing Monday morning.

Smelliest
Mammoth Hot Springs, but it wasn't as bad as I had remembered. Perhaps living here where the water smells so sulphury has inured me to the smelliness. Or perhaps it is the 18 years of dirty diapers.

Prettiest
I love the Yellowstone Canyon area. Besides the waterfalls, I relish all the colors, and the cliffs, and the trees hanging on the ledges. We saw an egret's nest on one of the peaks jutting from the canyon, and we could just make out the fledgling youngsters stretching their wings while tottering near the edges of the nest.

Animals
We saw elk (just cows and young ones), one bison, and lots of little stuff. No bull elks charging the vehicle. No bears until after we left the Yellowstone area; we saw one about 1/2 mile away while we were heading north in the Gallatin Valley. No moose, much to Aimee's disappointment. Seeing a moose was on her vacation bucket list.

Unexpected Ease
Coming home with clean laundry for eleven instead of duffle bags and suitcases full of two weeks worth of dirty, sweaty, smoke-filled yuck.

Disappointment
Coming into Fargo at about 10:30 pm, after being on the road for twelve hours, to find all the hotels full of Air Show attendees. Mayville had a wedding party and guests filling up their one hotel. Grand Forks was full of Air Show attendees. So after 1:00 am, we drove to Crookston in thick fog and found a really crummy room at America's Best Value Inn. But in spite of all the cruddy things there, they let us all stay in one room. We weren't going to argue. We were floor to floor people but we only had to pay for one room! And we got to attend church in Mayville, which was our hope.

Late Night Giggling

2011-08-16T05:11:00.001-05:00

I have a touch of insomnia tonight, so am using the time to catch up on vacation e-mail reading. When I opened my AOL account, I saw the following headline, "Was Pippa Faking It at Wedding?" It and its subtitle made me laugh. Not the headline itself, since I think it's a shame people affiliated with celebrity or even celebrities themselves have to be subjected to this kind of analysis. But my insomniac stream of consciousness surrounding the headline made me laugh.

The title first caught my eye, because I had to run my mental fingers through my mental file system to remember who Pippa was.

"OK, yeah, that royal wedding sister lady."

Then my eyes fell upon the subtitle, "Experts now say she may have hidden something extra under her dress." The first thing that popped into my mind was a handgun. Then I recalled the pictures of the wedding that I had scanned in People magazine while waiting for a chiropractor appointment.

"No, not really a practical place to hid a handgun. Besides, the Brits don't go in for that sort of thing."

Then I remembered one of Isabel Dalhousie's musings on the subject of Americans and guns.

This whole episode is perhaps too obscure for anyone who's not awake with insomnia, so if you're in one of those normal states of mind about which I've heard tell, you may not be amused. But the post is for the rest of us, those who don't suffer from normalcy.

Vacation Summary

2011-08-14T21:21:00.000-05:00

So much has happened in the last two weeks that I may not ever get around to writing everything that I want to say. I took notes the first week to do a blog post entitled "Vacation on a Dime." But we had so many unexpected bonuses crop up that later I had to write a post (about six pages of notebook paper) entitled "Pennies from Heaven." So hopefully I'll be able to squeeze in some writing this week. But for now, a few highlights:

The hospitality of our friends, the Frees, in Billings.
Seeing my sister Kathy's family for a quick but great day and night in the Yellowstone area.
Spending a wonderful and wild five days zipping around Yellowstone with my sister Aimee's family.
Elk, antelope, and showers (and a bonus) from Jessica K.
An unexpected kindness from strangers. (You'll have to wait for details on this one. It's amazing!)
Attending church in Mayville and having opportunity to hear our dear friend, Rolf P., preach a solid law and gospel sermon.

We're glad to be home safely and we thank God for the many blessings of the trip.

Almost Exactly Two Years Ago, I First Read Barry Goldwater

2011-07-28T11:59:00.000-05:00

When I first read Barry Goldwater's, The Conscience of a Conservative I enjoyed it immensely. I'm reading it again, and enjoying it just as fully.

As stated in the Foreword, the book, written in 1960, is Goldwater's attempt to, "bridge the gap between [conservative] theory and practice." He explains that conservatism had become something to be disparaged by those who did not hold to its principles, and something for which its adherents felt the need to apologize. He attributes this to a lack of clear articulation of how conservatism is carried out in practice to the benefit of all in society.

I love this introduction, because this is the same problem conservatives still have today. We like to blame media bias, or liberal lies, or any number of other extraneous things when our message does not resonate as strongly as we'd like it to. But we conservatives need to better learn the message. We need to become more articulate spokespersons for conservatism. We need to elect those who are statesmen and women rather than politicians. (I'm not really sure if my disctinction is valid, but this is how I define the difference between these two types of leaders. A statesman has an opinion, and is able to promote and defend such an opinion loudly and clearly, regardless of the end result. A politician tempers his or her speech to effect what he or she considers the optimal political result.)

In The Conscience of a Conservative Goldwater addresses several of the most pressing issues of his day and offered a conservative solution for each: "The Perils of Power"; "States' Rights"; "And Civil Rights"; "Freedom for the Farmer"; "Freedom for Labor"; "Taxes and Spending"; "The Welfare State"; "Some Notes on Education"; and "The Soviet Menace". The intrinsic problems addressed under many of these topics still plague us today. Some have grown to even greater threats to our freedom and American way of life than at the time Goldwater's book was written. Others have evolved to encompass slightly different issues. And still others, most notably, what Goldwater calls The Soviet Menace, have mostly evaporated, or changed enough so that his concerns (and solutions) are difficult to recognize in the situation we face today.

I have often expressed frustration that during his first presidential campaign, the soon to be President George W. Bush took up the term Compassionate Conservative, as if Conservative itself is not compassionate. I said at the time I first heard the phrase, and I still say today, that what we need is not leaders who apologize for conservatism, but someone who can explain and defend, loudly and clearly, the intrinsic compassion of the conservative political viewpoint.

Among those of my friends who tend to vote Republican, but who have no interest in being involved in the bigger discussion of political philosophy, the most often heard accusation against conservatism is that it is heartless, or that its adherents only care about money.

Apparently this idea is not new. Goldwater includes two quotes in his first paragraph of the first chapter of The Conscience of a Conservative that indicate the prominence of similar sentiments already in 1960. According to Goldwater, when President Richard Nixon was still Vice President Nixon, he had said, "Republican candidates should be economic conservatives, but conservatives with a heart."

And further, during his first term, President Eisenhower said, "I am conservative when it comes to economic problems, but liberal when it comes to human problems."

In a paragraph that is surprisingly similar to pop-political ideas, Goldwater highlights two slightly different views of those opposed to conservatism. Firstly, that liberals are interested in people, whereas conservatives are interested only in preserving privileged classes. Or further yet, a second view, that liberals care about little people, while conservatives care only about the, "malefactors of great wealth."

Goldwater, in the rest of the first chapter, claims the moral high ground for Conservatism. He states as the underlying premise of that high ground, Conservatism's belief that each man has an individual soul, that each person is capable of great and unique good, and that he or she is more than a mere animal.

In light of that belief in each person's individuality, Goldwater turns the accusation of conservatism being only about economics on its head,

...It is Socialism that subordinates all other considerations to man's material well-being. It is Conservatism that puts material things in their proper place--that has a structured view of the human being and of human society, in which economics plays only a subsidiary role.

Goldwater continues with three points defending the intrinsic morality of conservatism, basing it on the "accumulated wisdom and experience of history," regarding, firstly, the individuality of each person.

Only a philosophy that takes into account the essential differences between men, and, accordingly, makes provision for developing the different potentialities of each man can claim to be in accord with Nature.

Touching on the inter-connectedness of economic freedom and the freedom of the individual spirit,

[Man] can not be economically free, or even economically efficient, if he is enslaved politically; conversely, man's political freedom is illusory if he is dependent for his economic needs on the State.

Goldwater continues the theme of the individuality of human reality. Because of the uniqueness of each person, government cannot direct well humanity's development.

Every man, for his individual good and for the good of his society, is responsible for his own development. The choices that govern his life are choices that he must make: they cannot be made by any other human being, or by a collection of human beings.

When addressing the extent to which conservatism embraces freedom, Goldwater explains that tyranny in any form is abhorrent to a conservative. He uses as an example, the French Revolution, during which tyranny was enacted both against the peasants by the monarchy; and also by the reformers who used the new egalitarianism to reign over and terrorize whomever they chose. Goldwater sums up the conservatism of his day as being

...at odds with dictators who rule by terror, and equally with those gentler collectivists who ask our permission to play God with the human race.

Goldwater finishes up this first chapter by summarizing conservatism as being in favor of only as much government oversight as will maintain order in society. He explains that political power is a "self- aggrandizing force; that its appetite grows with eating." He exhorts "utmost vigilance and care" in keeping political power in its proper place.

The final paragraph in this introductory chapter discusses the many variations among governments on earth of the balance between order and freedom. He warns that the current battle in America is not about establishing order; but on the contrary, about preserving freedom. Goldwater suggests we always first answer this question when addressing the various societal issues facing our society,

Are we maximizing freedom?

Blue Skies and Creeping Worries: God's Got Everything Covered

2011-07-26T08:48:00.001-05:00

Mornings like this almost make up for nine months of winter.

The air is still. The sky is a crisp, clear blue. The temperature hovers just cool enough to need a warm cup of coffee around which to wrap my hands. I have a sweater on and a throw blanket over my legs. And I'm sitting on my wicker porch furniture enjoying the Northern Minnesota summer morning. My potted plants have reached full bloom, but are not yet getting leggy. The sand hill cranes are trumpeting. The hay field adjacent to my front yard has golden round bales scattered about.

I know that inside my house, I have dirty laundry waiting to pick up, sort and wash. Clean laundry to fold and put away. I have dirty floors and bathrooms. I have clutter to pick up in just about every room of the house. No, wait, make that every room of the house.

I have children to feed, cloth, train, and love.

I have three kids to prepare for the national Lutheran Youth Society convention to which they will be travelling on Thursday.

I have a list of things a mile long to prepare for our family vacation next week. As any other readers with a large family understand, I have to squeeze and tweak our spending to be able to take a nickel and dime vacation. I have to connect with my sisters to finalize our vacation destination, since the Yellowstone vacation we have hoped (and still hope) to take might be subject to the potential federal government shut-down. But unless something changes in Washington, we won't know for sure until the day we are scheduled to arrive and meet up from three distinct points of the compass.

Further off, when we get back from vacation, I have only two weeks to get everyone ready for school. I have to sort through all my multitude of semi-organized bins of hand-me-downs, and the heaps and piles of hand-me downs that never made it to the semi-organized stage, in order to find, for the younger set of kids, clothes that look decent and fit reasonably well. (The older ones thankfully no longer appreciate hand-me-downs, so they must provide their own school clothes.) I have to purchase and organize school supplies for six children. I have to attempt to get my head fully screwed on in preparation of the school year schedule.

By the time we get back from vacation, our Northern Minnesota summer will be breathing its last gasping sighs. The nights will go from cool and crisp, to cold. The garden will continue to produce cool weather crops, but the sun will no longer be strong enough to make much progress in ripening all the green tomatoes on the vines.

And sometime during the first weeks of September, we will wake up to a frosty morning. It's likely that by the end of September, we will have had our first killing frost of the season.

All these things are creeping around the edges of my mind on this beautiful summer morning here in Northern Minnesota.

It might be easy to fret or become anxious. It might be easy to give in to Satan's lies. He whispers that I'll never get everything done. That we can't afford a vacation. That I don't deserve a vacation. He tries to convince me that I'm a failure.

But I recall God's promises.

God will not give me more than I can handle.

No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it.

God will provide what I need, when I need it.

Take no thought for the morrow, what you shall eat, what you should drink, or what you shall wear. Your heavenly Father knows that you have need of these things.

Seek first the kingdom of God, and His Righteousness. And all these things shall be added unto you.

Best of all, God loves me. God has chosen and adopted me as His child, through Jesus' suffering and death.

Fear not: for I have redeemed you, I have called you by your name; you are mine.

Big Tractor and the TEA Party

2011-07-19T10:05:00.001-05:00

One hears much these days about "Big Oil," and "Big Money," and "Big Pharmaceutical," Or Big Whatever. We don't hear much about, "Big Tractor." But it's all there, just the same. Those successful tractor guys who might be deemed evil on account of their success. But more basically, the tractors about which I'm going to write later are are..., well..., big.

But before I get to back to the tractors, let me tell you about the parade. Joe and I and our family have been asked to walk in the Thief River Falls parade again this year with the TEA party float. Oh,oh, here it is again. That word. Big. We're part of that Big Group of Extremists, the TEA party movement.

I'll be glad to tell anyone all about it, and why I align myself with the TEA party movement. But for now I'm going to give only a brief overview.

What We Primarily Believe (I say primarily because I can't say that every TEA partier will believe all these things. This is a list of primary common beliefs.)

We believe in the Constitution.
We believe in Limited Government.
We believe history shows that the best way to rescue our economy is to Lower Taxes at all levels.
We believe that Those Closest to a Person or Situation can best offer Help and Assistance rather than Washington Bureaucrats.
We believe in Personal Freedom together with Personal Responsibility.

Not the Primary Reasons We Stand Together (I say it this way, not because we are none of these things. Some of the following, I hope and pray might describe none of us; other things on this list may describe many of us. But these are not the purpose behind the TEA party movement. None of the following are why we stand together.

Racist
White
Wealthy
Republicans
Militiamen and women
Violent

There are many stereotypes and false allegations being spread around by the mainstream media. And I imagine each TEA party event will be as varied as the communities in which they take place and the individuals who plan and attend such events. I've been to three TEA party events in the Thief River Falls area (not counting the parade last year). Each has been unique and interesting in it's own way.

I'd like to invite any readers who think we are violent, heartless crazies to attend a TEA Party event in your community. Engage TEA party leaders in your area in a conversation (not an argument). You may not ever agree with them. But you will almost certainly come away with an opinion of the movement different than that portrayed in the Mainstream Media.

My husband can remember playing with die-cast tractors and farm equipment when he was young. You know the kind I mean, the ones often made by Ertl, that can be picked up at stores like Runnings, Big Bear, Tractor Supply or Fleet Farm. Joe has fond memories of those tractors. Case, John Deere, and International. McCormick, Massey Ferguson, and Steiger. He even had a couple of Waterloo Boys.

But it tickles him pink to get a phone call from Kay Steiger, one of the Thief River Falls TEA Party organizers, asking us to help out.

Kay's husband is Doug. Doug and his brother, Maurice, built the first Steiger tractor in their dairy barn outside of Thief River Falls during the winter of 1957-58. They had skill, they saw a market, they built up a reputation, and they became an industry leader because of their innovation and hard work. They were able to provide jobs in the Fargo Area for many people throughout the years. They contributed to the local economy. They made a product that benefited farmers nationwide.

This story captures the essence of the American Dream. And protecting the ability of people to pursue the American Dream is what the TEA party movement is all about, in its support of freedom, lower taxes, and limited government.

Or maybe it's like detractors claim; maybe it's all about money. Maybe it's all about those greedy folks in the Big Tractor industry.

But I refuse to believe it.

Begging Chickens

2011-07-12T08:41:00.001-05:00

"Whistling girls and crowing hens Always come to some bad ends."
from Farmer Boy, by Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Although I do whistle, I've yet to hear a crowing hen. But this morning I was privileged to see a begging chicken.

After I had Matt's lunch made and had checked my e-mail and facebook for anything important, I headed out to my front porch to have my morning cup-o-joe and sit for a few minutes with Master and Commander, by Patrick O'Brian. I also snuck a peanut butter granola bar; since the big kids have been sleeping in, we don't serve breakfast until late these days. (OK, really I just snuck it because it was there. This is why I don't buy packaged foods as a rule. They have a way of calling and calling....)

When I opened the door to go out, I was greeted by both a barred rock hen and one of our cornish cross meat birds. They've taken to slipping out under the electric wire and exploring the grounds. And occasionally they even hop up our front steps. They tend to be a bit shy, so I wasn’t surprised when they both hopped back down the steps after I first poked my head out the door.

It was a bit chilly (54F), so put down my coffee and book. I came back in to grab a couple of throw blankets with which better enjoy the crisp air of a northern Minnesota morning.

I don't like cold feet, so I wrapped one blanket snuggly around my lower half, with a little extra hanging down in which to tuck my feet. The other blanket I draped around my shoulders; and so I settled in for my coffee and read. I took a few cleansing breaths as looked out on the morning I listened to its sounds. I crossed my legs and settled more comfortably into my wicker chair.

And I began to read.

The chickens had returned to the porch and were wandering around, curiously exploring the nooks and crannies among my potted plants.

After a few paragraphs I braved my coffee to test whether it was yet cool enough to drink. Alas! it was not. Sigh.

Read a few more paragraphs.

Test the coffee again.

Aah.

Now for my granola bar. Mmmm.

As I nibbled at my granola bar, and sipped my coffee, I noticed the cornish cross chicken was looking at me very intently. He came right up to my left side and just stood there looking up over the edge of my lap. I put down my book and my cup so I could give my full attention to this curious behavior. That chicken just kept staring at my granola bar and waggling his head from side to side, like chickens do, so each eye in its turn could get a good look at what that human was eating.

After several moments of him giving me the chicken version of puppy-dog eyes, Mr. Chicken moved to the other side of me, I suppose to get a different angle on the granola bar. Since I had crossed my legs, my blanket-wrapped foot was hanging at just above eye level for the chcken.

Mr. Chicken took a deep breath, spread his wings a bit, and then with a mighty flutter, he flumped his way onto my foot. (Flump, in this case, is the combination of fly and jump; because cornish cross chickens are bred to be heavy birds, they don't fly easily or gracefully.)

I giggled a little bit and just watched to see what he would do next. Soon Mr. Chicken flumped his way up to my knee.

I quickly popped the last of my granola bar into my mouth. I was not about to have to share such an indulgence with a chicken. After that, I just watched and waited.

After a little bit further exploration, he pecked a few times at my thumbnail. We've noticed that chickens like finger and toe nails; I think their slight shine must look like the iridescence on bug shells.

I was chuckling the entire time. I remember saying something like, "You better not poop on my blanket, Mr. Chicken."

Eventually, in one final attempt at making himself at home, that silly chicken plumped up his feathers and swayed a little from side to side in what gave every impression of being the chicken version of a dog's turning three times before lying down. He then proceeded to settle himself upon my knee.

I guffawed. Yes, sitting out on my front porch, nobody out there but me and the birds, and I giggled and laughed right out loud. I might have seemed a little touched had anyone happened by.

But really, that chicken reminded me for all the world of a pet dog or cat.

Or more frightening yet, is it that my lap looks so very like the soft and comfiness of a nesting box?

2011 VBS Week

2011-07-10T13:23:00.002-05:00

It was a busy week in our parish last week. We had our annual VBS program. For any readers who are not from a tradition that uses such an acronym, VBS stands for Vacation Bible School. It's a Bible and catechetical opportunity for parish kids and guests sponsored by churches during the kids' summer vacation.

I've been told that in this area and some other rural midwest areas, VBS has had a variety of names throughout the years and also a variety of methods and timelines. The one I found most interesting was that some churches that did not have a Christian Day School would hire a Christian Day school teacher from a different area to spend a chunk of his or her summer vacation teaching religion to the parish youth. This lasted often even for a month or more each summer. It was called parish school, church school, summer school, or parochial school.

When I was young, in Washington State, I think our VBS was all day for a five day week. Most programs today seem to be geared toward 1/2 days for five days.

What Joe has worked out here that seems to work the best is that we use a program geared for a five day week, but have school for three full days. The second half of the third day is a program or special activity of some sort.

The tradition here for crafts for many years has been that the older two classes do a nativity set during their last years of VBS. In the end, they are able to take home a nicely painted porcelain nativity to use in their home and to remember their VBS years. There were ladies here previously who had quite a system down for teaching the kids about the use of paints and layers and different looks. Some kids had very colorful nativities, others had more antiqued or even a bisque white look. They all ended up very nicely done.

Another tradition that these churches follow is that since its the parents' job to raise their children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord (Ephesians 6:4), the teachers of both Sunday school and VBS are expected to be the parents of the children attending. There are usually a few non-parents who step up to help out. This tradition is much different from the one with which I grew up. I grew up in a tradition that asked particular people to teach the youth. The people who were most knowledgeable Scripturally and who had a certain affinity for teaching or working with groups of children were the ones asked to teach. I see the validity of both systems. But because this tradition is so unlike that to which I was accustomed, it was a bit hard for me to get used to this system when we first moved up here.

One of the drawbacks to this system is that if a certain parent is skilled in a particular area of teaching, when that parent's youngest child has been confirmed, such a parent generally is ready to be done teaching. The VBS program can really feel the absence of such a person. For the first 7 years we were here, two ladies did the nativity sets with the kids. They ordered the sets as each child attained the age to do the nativity. They took care of the paints and the brushes. They taught the kids how to end up with a great finished product. But four and then two years ago, these ladies had their youngest children confirmed, so they are no longer with our VBS program.

Hence, the painting of nativities seems to be coming to a standstill. There are some belonging to the older kids, which are in various stages of paintedness; and the younger kids reaching the age when they ought to start theirs have not started them. When we talked about it this year, prior to the start of VBS, there seemed to be nobody who felt ready to pick up the ball and keep the tradition going.

Another change to our VBS recently is the huge increase in the number of children attending. For the first several years we were here, the attendees were mostly from two of the congregations, with an occasional child or couple of children from the other two. But those other two churches have been so blessed with young families coming in that we now have a steady attendance from all four churches. This year we had I believe, 35 children attend VBS. We had eight non-member children attend. We were missing several of our bigger family groups, because of conflicting obligations. Had these groups been able to attend, we might have had up to 50 little ones attend VBS. What a blessing to live among thriving and growing rural churches where the young people return to live near home when they are ready to raise their families!

This year we had one of our newer members offer to do the crafts. Thank you so much to Lissette R. What a feat, to handle all that, when you haven't been around in previous years to have a feel for how things work. You did a great job!

Kelly M. taught our 7 three year olds. Wow, Kellie! What patience and organization!

Laura V. taught 6 PK and Kindergarteners. She did such a nice job managing all those little ones and keeping them still and orderly!

I taught 6 first and second graders. I did not feel quite as organized as I would have liked, but we made it through the week and I think they learned something. They were fun kids to work with.

Tami S. taught 9 kids in grades three through six. Tami also teaches that age group in our Wednesday school, so she has a good handle on what they are capable of. Besides teaching the Bible stories, she works with them to get the catechism memorized and makes sure they are prepared for the higher level doctrinal discussions that confirmation class will eventually require.

Pastor taught the confirmation aged kids. I believe he had 7 kids, but I don't have the list on this computer to check for sure. He teaches them the stories, and works with them on the memorization, but also gets deeper into the bigger picture lessons the program is designed to teach.

I ought to explain here that my husband is a pastoral perfectionist. One look at our house or his garage and nobody would peg him as a perfectionist. But when it comes to his church work, he is.

This perfectionism makes it very hard for him to use any pre-packaged materials. Generally he either writes his own, or purchases from a group that offers a few pre-done programs that follow his preference for bare bones Bible and catechism studies. The way Joe sees it, in a parish without a Christian Day School, if you only have the kids for three days a summer, you better make sure the stuff they are learning is of eternal value.

So yes, this means no clowns, no space aliens, no wild west or tours of famous cities, in the name of teaching the gospel to the little ones. Who wants the kids to remember the clowns or the other characters or places, but forget the Biblical content of what they've learned.

The program Joe hoped to purchase this year was a program on the Bible as a whole, done by the Answers in Genesis group. This particular program used the acronym BASIC Training, where 'B' stood for the Bible, and focused on the unique nature of the Bible. 'A' stood for Authority, and taught that the Bible speaks truth and is the Authority about God's will. 'S' stood for Salvation and focused on the message of Salvation in Jesus. 'I' stood for Instruction and taught the purpose of the Bible being Instruction in righteousness. 'C' stood for the Confidence we can have in our Salvation.

OK, yes, the program did have space aliens, but from what we had heard, it sounded as though that part could be toned down at the discretion of the pastor and teachers. But when the materials came in the mail, they were apparently based more strongly on the life of some famous British Christian guy (John Wesley, maybe? Or William Tyndale? I've forgotten who Joe said) than on the Bible. Perhaps this man lead a good and noble life, but the knowledge of his life and work will not get kids into heaven. Hmmm. (I'm curious as to how they combined a historical British man of faith with space aliens, but then, what do I know. I didn't read the original material.)

After receiving the sample packet, with very little time to spare, Joe took the original and added or changed the Biblical content, and got rid of the biography of the famous Christian and the space aliens. Since Answers in Genesis is not from a Sacramental tradition, he also had to change the focus of the "C is for confidence" lesson. Instead of exhorting the children to look to their decision to follow Christ and the intensity of their prayer life, he tweaked it to teach the Means of Grace, the Gospel in Word and Sacrament, as the source of our confidence in Salvation.

In the middle of the rush to get the program rewritten, a storm ripped through southern Minnesota and blew more than twenty-five trees down on Joe's parents farm, one of which was landed on their house. It is at times like this that the life of a pastor can pose a unique tight spot in a person's life. Joe's parents had an emergency. They have no other living children. Joe is called to serve our churches here, way up in northern Minnesota, with God's Word. But he is also called to be a son, and to honor and support his parents.

I'm not sure whether Joe had even considered going to help his folks. Of course he wanted to. He simply did not see it as a possibility. But thank you to Kelly L., who called and encouraged him to consider going. Just as God can provide help for Joe's parents, so too, the churches would get by without their pastor for a weekend. The VBS prep would all work out.

So Joe finished the VBS re-write, got his sermon to the deacons at all four churches for them to read for him, using the family devotional Service of Prime. Then he and our oldest boys left to help Grandma and Grandpa. It turned out to be a very good thing for Joe, since some aunts and uncles and cousins who he doesn't get to see as often as he'd like came to help also. Thanks to all those who brought man power and machine power to get such a big job done quickly.

The Kelly M and I, and Lissette with her crafts, finished up most of the prep work without him. We ended up starting a little bit late on Wednesday, but the kids had fun playing and getting reacquainted. And without further ado, we started in and had a successful week.

All the kids left with a tie-dyed T-shirt. Instead of the nativities, Joe helped the older kids each make a flute. The younger kids made bookmarks, cross wall hangings, a tracing of themselves, and a picture frame. Lissette took pictures during the days of VBS, so she took the frames home and will insert a picture for the kids and then deliver them to each church for pick-up.

On Friday afternoon, we invited parents, relations, and friends for the program the kids gave. Several of the moms and grandmas provided bars for the standard, "Minnesota lunch," after which the kids gathered all their projects and headed home.

And it was three days of a wonderful whirlwind!