Packing up the Sea Green Room

The following is a post I did during the packing last winter.  For some reason it didn't get posted.  It gives a little glimpse into what we were feeling and doing.  I suspect it was from late March or early April.

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I was feeling a little melancholy yesterday afternoon. 

Tues and Wed last week Elsie was home for spring break; she and I boxed up her possessions.  Then she said goodbye to a few friends and returned to Mankato.  She will not be home again before we move. 

Louisa was home for the weekend; she and I boxed up her possessions.  This is what's left of Louisa's stuff.  Her firearms and bow, and the dress she'll wear her last Sunday here.   Kind of sad and lonely looking.

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I will confess here that I was tickled when I saw that the congregation did not repaint this room. The pictures I took didn't turn out well, but on one wall, Louisa has light greenish yellow rather than the bluish green. I was skeptical when she first wanted to do this, about how the colors would turn out. But I ended up really liking it.

On the yellowish wall, she used the bluer color to write the words to a favorite song. On one of the blu-green walls, she used the yellower color to freehand the words to verse 4 of Psalm 23 above and alongside the double doors, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me."

Catching up

I can't believe I've not blogged since before we moved  in April.  Wow!!!!

I'm not even going to try to make a nicely written summary of everything that's happened since then. I plan to write a few little posts on some of the bigger things that have happened.

But for now, some highlights:

• Sad to leave our old home.
• Excited to meet our new people.
• Former members gave us a great send-off with a parish-wide final service and a nearly all-afternoon going-away party.  We had a huge turn-out of helping hands to load the truck and finish off the packing.  And I am still embarrassed by how we left the parsonage.  But we are grateful to those who said, "Just go, ... we'll finish up.  There's not going to be anyone moving in right away anyway."
• New members helped much here, with unloading truck and unpacking necessities.  And they worked diligently to build a second bathroom in our basement.
• Living on the edge of a small town rather than 13 miles from closest smaller yet town.
• Farm fields across street one direction, much used BNSF railway line closer in another direction than our mailbox was at the old place.
• Kids can play in the creek and catch crawdads in one direction and can walk to library, pool, grocery store, bakery, in other direction.  
• Lesser used city park with playground and extensive green space right next to our house, and separating us from the rest of town.
• Tight fit in smaller house, still trying to figure out how to best make it work.
• Installed storage shelves and working on additional living space in basement.
• Louisa and Else came home from college for summer.
• We get to see more of Jeremy, less of Matt.
• Clara spent most of the summer at Tiffany Bs outside of Plummer, MN, doing farm chores with horses and other animals, helping with toddlers, continuing to train her filly, working for Doc Hagen 
• Swimming lessons and annual pool pass = very brown kids and mom, and some pretty good swimmers
• Louisa and Elsie working at Clara City Care Center as CNAs
• Joe's office in the living room = oft-frustrated dad and many spur-of-the-moment outings for mom and kids
• First one-day VBS experience: Jesus the Good Shepherd: prophecy and fulfillment.  The church here does three one-day VBS's a year, one at Christmas, one at Easter, and one during the summer.
• Helped Louisa move to Moorhead and into her first apartment.  
• Egress window in basement done.

Besides that, I can say that we love our new church and our new members and our new community.  Just as each pastor is wonderful and challenging in his own way, and each pastor's wife and family, can be both a blessing and a challenge, so too each new home and community, and each of a pastor's calls presents it's own challenges and blessings.  We are still getting to know everything and everyone here and they are still getting to know us.  But in all things, God is good.

The summer has flown by, with getting settled, kids coming and going, Bible camp, visiting new members, and all the regular stuff like meals and laundry and cleaning toilets. And eating and preserving all the wonderful garden produce our new members and friends have provided for us.

We look forward to next Sunday attending the installation of Pastor Jeff Merseth as the new pastor of Clearwater Lutheran Parish.  Jeff and Megan and their kids are very dear to us, as are the members Joe formerly served, and among whom we lived and made a home for over 13 years.  We pray for all involved God's richest blessings, and many years of joy through this special temporal manifestation of the Communion of Saints.

Just a very quick snip of sentimentality in the midst of a day of catching up on laundry

In the process of getting our whole household sorted and packed up to move, I find it increasingly hard to keep up with the regular stuff.  Besides that, the pile of "not sure where to put this" stuff is growing exponentially. 

The living room is a twisted, jumbled wreck of boxes and bins that are either 1) waiting for those few more things that I just know I will find to fit in them; or 2) filled with the miscelleny of life in a ten person household and waiting to be sorted.

Besides that, my couch had been, until the last hour or so, heaped high with clean laundry, some folded, some not.

To get to the chair I like for my morning coffee, I have to wend and wind my way through the mess, planning the route ahead of time to descry a way through, and looking at each step before setting my foot down.  And all this without spilling my coffee. 

I've mostly managed to keep the dining room table mostly clear.  But we have a second table in our dining room, still sitting there from before Christmas when Jeremy came with his gang.  Every time we've gotten it cleared off, it fills up again before we get it out of the room.  And now that we're trying to pack to move, it has become an extra place to stack and sort and store temporarily.  Which leaves us squeaking and squishing our way around the regular table and seats when we have to sit down to eat or answer the phone or anything over that direction. 

And I so I deemed today the day to get caught up on folding the clean clothes and sorting out all the bits and pieces of packing that has stacked up.

I find that I'm just ready to be done.  I'm not in a hurry to leave this community and this town and these friends.  But if it has to be done, I'd just as soon it just BE DONE. 

Something that is perhaps unique to a pastor's family situation, is the attachment we feel to two communities.  Our hearts are in two places.  We are attached to these people here, and caring for them in times of happiness and sorrow.  They've been our family for the last thirteen and a half years.

And yet we're eager to form those same attachments with our new church family.  Different ones have been periodically calling to check on things since Joe accepted the call.  But in the last week, we've had more calls from more people.  Asking about Joe's preferences in scheduling things in his first few weeks there; asking about our preferences about paint or other household repair issues; and so on. 

Today one of the ladies called to ask about window shades.  She and some of the other ladies noticed that the current shades were nearing the end of their lives.  And so she and her husband had purchased shades for some windows and were wondering about doing more before we come. 

It's a rare thing in today's world to feel such love and care and support from people that one doesn't even really know.  It's a gift in this broken world to see the members of Faith showing such love for their new pastor and his family.

And we see the same love here, too.  Our people here have offered to help in so many ways.  Some have taken a load of stuff to the thrift store or metal recycling.  Another friend has picked up several loads of boxes and other packing materials from a local business.  Others have come to help me clean or pack.  Another friend taught Sophie how to finish the binding on the quilt she started long ago, and will take time from her schedule to teach Clara with the same.  She also bought the kids a bucket of ice cream and some Fruit Loops as a special treat.  Others bless us with gifts of money or food items to help out during this time.

And it's not becasue they are trying to hurry us away.  It's because of the blessing of love between them and their pastor and his family.

I find myself constantly on the verge of tears, thinking of leaving here.  And also emotional when anticipating the joy of being in a new community of similar love and support.

But to add one more thing to my precarious state, ... the snow melted.  That is usually not a bad thing.  It is this time, though, since it exposed my new flower bed that the kids and I put in last summer.  Oh, I was looking forward to finishing it off this summer and nurturing the young plantings through another growing season, enjoying their growth and beauty. 

We had planted a clump birch out our living room window the first summer we were here.  We had to replant it twice because of damage from weather, kids, and youth group outings.  But finally it's a wonderful clump of white and black boles and silvery green leaves.  When I first planted that birch I envisioned it surrounded by a perennial bed, with a raised hill curving around one side.

I imagined.

And dreamed.

And hoped.

And had babies.  And mowed lawn.  And planted vegetables.  And put in other flowers here and there.

Finally last year was able to create my long awaited landscaping.

And this spring, we will leave before I even see it coming back to life after it's first winter's rest. 

It creates a strange mix of sadness and excitement, and tears of joy and frustration, when I  contemplate, among other bigger things, my flower bed here and the newly painted living room walls in the Clara City parsonage.

Landmarks for Matt

Back: Joe and Matt; Middle: Clara, Elsie, Mary; Front: John, Donna, Inge, Stella, Sophie

Matt

There's a stealth video on here that will start as soon as you go to this page.  I do want the video embedded, but I'd prefer if viewing it and starting it on demand.  But I couldn't figure it out, and neither could Techy-Maestro, Joe.  So, well, sorry if it's annoying. 

I haven't been writing much lately.  I'm busy getting my life together after the many years of behindedness.

Like that word? Behindedness.  Say it loudly and proudly.  Behindedness.

I like it.  It's my life in a nutshell.  But it's getting better.  Slowly but surely.

But we have many things happening around here. 

Matt graduated the other day.  Over a week ago already.  We successfully pulled off a Taco Bar open house, but not without help from many.

Connie and Lana spent many hours helping me clean the garage and house; and plan and orchestrate all the arrangements; and collect needed items such as tables, chairs, garbage bins, coolers, etc; they cooked up taco meat and made bars; and they replaced the worn indoor/outdoor carpet on our garage steps with some new-to-us nicer carpet and also extended it all the way to the outside door.

Louisa's friend, Rachel, one of our "adopted" children, came and helped in the house for a day. Among other things, she braved the kids' rooms.

Joe's mom and dad and all our kids helped with all the last minute setting up on Saturday and Sunday between graduation Friday night, and the open house Sunday afternoon.  Joe's dad mowed lawn and other outdoor and garage things.  Joe's mom did indoor cleaning and organizing; and helped set up the garage.  Joe's mom and Clara cut up all the vegies for the toppings.

My friends, Shirley and Marlene, brought bars; and Clara made a big batch of macaroons.  Joe's mom Marlene kept the bars stocked up, and did various other serving tasks, so I could relax and enjoy my day.

And I did enjoy it.  I had a blast.  I never imagined that hosting something big like that would be so much fun.  But it would never have happened without all the help.  I thank everyone from the bottom of my heart.  And I'm sure there were others who helped, too, to my apologies if I've forgotten anyone by name.

And now Matt is off to join the Marines.  He is in Fargo at this minute, awaiting his flight to San Diego.  Or perhaps he's already in the air.  Marine Corps Recruit Training is 13 weeks long.

The first week is orchestrated chaos.   Meaning the plan exists, the chaos is intentional, but from the descriptions I've read, it is chaos to those coming in.  These kids have no contact with the outside world during that week.  No watches.  No set schedule.  Meetings and paper work; strange sleep hours and locations, and not much of it;  drill, or the beginnings of drill, since the recruits start out with very little understanding of and experience with working together.  By the end of the week, they will be assigned to a platoon, working and learning under a collection of Drill Instructors, who each play a role, from father figure to bad guy, and various points in between.

After that the training consists of three phases, the first three weeks being the most grueling and overwhelming.  They have usually settled into the routine jumping when and how high the instructor demands.  They've mastered or at least gained familiarity with the many terms and rules and methods, and the history and traditions of the Marine Corps.  These are memorized with rote drilling and mnemonic aids.  Recruits also have a week of swim training and a couple of weeks of rifle marksmanship training, during both kinds of training there is alleged to be less yelling. 

The Crucible a 54-hour field exercise, takes place the final week. in which the recruit must put to use all the skills he has learned in training.  Upon completion of The Crucible, the recruits receive their the Eagle, Globe and Anchor pin, and are called a Marine for the first time.


And after that, the last Thursday of Recruit Training is family day, when family members are encouraged to come spend the day with their recruit.  Friday is graduation.  We hope to be able to attend, but we're still working out how exactly that will happen.  In the last few months, I've been forced to admit that our van is probably not up to the trip.  But we're praying God will work something out for us in this regard.

When I left Matt in Fargo yesterday he was excited, and of course nervous and apprehensive of the unknown.  And of those moments the recruiters advised would come.  Those moments when the recruit wonders why on earth he ever wanted to become a Marine, and is tempted to throw in the towel.  Keep Matt in your prayers.  He will need them at those moments. 

Matt's Great-Grandpa, Stanley Kindler, was a Marine in the Pacific Theater during World War II. Matt feels honored to follow in his Grandpa's footsteps.  But also, for that reason, he feels a little extra pressure to succeed, in order to make Grandpa proud.

God collects our tears

This is for Rhonda who lost her dear husband; and for Ella, Isaac, Paul, Lily, Gloria, and little Anna, who lost their dear Papa in a plane crash last evening.

God's Word is full of so many beautiful metaphors. And with God, being so great and awesome as He is, some of them are probably not metaphors so much as a mere human image of His goodness and compassion.

It's hard to see that goodness and compassion when something terrible happens. And so we must turn to, and cling to, those images of His goodness in the Bible. Our human words of comfort and peace will be hollow and empty, due to the intensity of your pain. And even God's Words will sometimes feel void. But at core They are foundational. And real. And They will sustain you in the deepest parts of yourself, even when you can't see or feel or think the comfort They contain.

Psalm 56

Be merciful to me, O God, for man would swallow me up;

Fighting all day he oppresses me.

My enemies would hound me all day,

For there are many who fight against me, O Most High.

First the psalmist acknowledges our enemies. On this earth, they are sometimes physical enemies. But more often they are spiritual and emotional enemies of our own weakness, and the temptations of the devil, the world, and our own sinful flesh. They assault us on all sides. Our pain, heartache, doubts, fears, confusions, worries.

Whenever I am afraid,

I will trust in You.

In God (I will praise His word),

In God I have put my trust;

I will not fear.

What can flesh do to me?

The psalmist continues with an affirmation of trust in God. This world is temporal. Our human flesh, the ways of this world, they have no eternal power over us. God is bigger then are they. "In God I have put my trust. I will not fear. What can flesh do to me?"

All day they twist my words;

All their thoughts are against me for evil.

They gather together,

They hide, they mark my steps,

When they lie in wait for my life.

Shall they escape by iniquity?

In anger cast down the peoples, O God!

Another paragraph about our many enemies follows. Again, not always a physical enemy. The imagery here reminds me of how we chase ourselves around in our brain sometimes, filled with the doubts and frustrations and pains of this life.

You number my wanderings;

Put my tears into Your bottle;

Are they not in Your book?

When I cry out to You,

Then my enemies will turn back;

This I know, because God is for me.

In God (I will praise His word),

In the Lord (I will praise His word),

In God I have put my trust;

I will not be afraid.

What can man do to me?

Now the psalmist once again turns to God and His goodness. Just think about this a minute, "You number my wanderings; Put my tears into Your bottle; Are they not in Your book?" God knows all our weaknesses, all our enemies, every doubt and confusion. He knows our every tear; yes, He even has a bottle for them.  He records them in His book.  Even when we are so broken in every physical and emotional way that we risk breaking spiritually too, even then God is with us. He sustains us with His eternal comfort and Fatherly goodness.

Vows made to You are binding upon me, O God;

I will render praises to You,

For You have delivered my soul from death.

Have You not kept my feet from falling,

That I may walk before God

In the light of the living?

And a final paragraph, acknowledging our trust in God's promises, and in the ultimate promise of eternal life with Him. "You have delivered my soul from death...that I may walk before God in the Light of the living."

Rhonda and family, your Adam is walking before God in the Light of the living.  Amazing!  And so very sad for you who are still walking here on this earth.  God be with you at this time.

Feeling Maudlin; aka my Fledglings are Learning to Fly and will Gradually be Leaving the Nest

If you don't like mushy, sentimental stuff, better not read any further.  I'm going to try to put into words how I'm feeling right now.  It's personal, and parts of it might be somewhat poetic, because that's how things are aligned in my brain right now.  Not poetic, as in rhythmic and rhyming.  But poetic, as in nature and words and sounds and feelings all coming together, into something that seems to be forcing itself out of my brain and heart, and onto my blog.

My oldest son graduated a year ago.  At that time, he moved home with no definite plans.  Then he moved to a nearby town.  After a several month stint of living on his own and providing for himself, he is living at home again.  It was not terribly traumatic for me to let go of him.  He didn't go far, and now he's back.  Probably he will leave again.  Perhaps he will go further afield this time. 

As a mother, I know I must be prepared for the fledgelings to leave the nest.  My brain knows this.  My heart is in denial.

Tomorrow Louisa leaves home for her trip to Italy.  She will be there for just over nine months.  We will still be with her tomorrow; we are leaving after church for the Twin Cities to stay the night.  Her plane leaves early Monday morning.

By the time she returns, Matt will be graduated from high school, and will be in San Diego, CA, at his Marine Corps basic training.  We took family pictures recently with the idea in our minds, "Only God knows when we will all be together again."

My brain and my heart of faith reminds me that this is not our real home.  We are all strangers and wanderers in this vale of tears.  We walk the paths along which God leads us.  We accomplish the tasks He lays before us.  We fall.  We get up again.  We bask in the love and forgiveness of our heavenly Father.  We rejoice.  We cry.  We tell others of the reason for the Hope the lies within us.

But through it all, we know that this is a transient world.  We live for God, and in Him, through Jesus, we will rise again to live together in eternity. 

But my heart of flesh loves this world.  I love my family.  I love the people and things God has given into my stewardship.  I don't want to let go of them.  I really don't.

The weather outside is perfect today.  Perfect for my melancholy.  I am fighting a little bit of a chest cold, so I'm spending the day mostly in my room.  I read awhile, nap awhile, and cough awhile, play a little computer solitaire, and check my facebook and e-mail. 

But directly behind my head is the great outdoors.  I have the bedroom window open.  It's a very blustery fall day.  The sound of the wind as it fights its way through the tall poplars is that of a rushing and mighty blast.  The gusts come wave upon wave.  Loud and robust, and then quieting until only a trace of white noise remains.  The merest whisper.  But before the sound disappears completely, it starts up again into a raging vengeance.  The sound conjures up images of autumn.  Of drippy days and falling leaves.  All the greens and reds and oranges and yellows of summer are fading.  They will be replaced soon with the grays and tans and whites of a Minnesota winter.  Already some of the leaves are turning.  These last few windy days have already brought many leaves scurrying through the sky and across the lawn. 

Yes, this is a perfect day for my grief.  My heart is crying.  It is heavy with sadness.  It's not an unexpected sadness.  But the weight and mass of it has surprised me.

I have snippets of songs running through my head.  In their entirety, the songs don't match our situation.  But different lines of different songs flit continually through my subconscious mind, and when I stop and peer into the dark recesses, I can grasp the little edges of these songs for a brief look.

"It's like walking in the rain and the snow, and there's no place to go.  And you're feeling like a part of you is dying."

"And the wind will whisper your name to me."

"Sunshine, on my shoulder makes me happy.  Sunshine in my eyes, can make me cry."

"All the leaves are gone, and the sky is gray."

And this last.  It's probably the least fitting, but somehow, there it is, wrapping itself around the corners of my heart and mind, along with all the others. 



I think that perhaps it's the optimism expressed with, "I wake up to a sunny day!"  So with that in mind, Mary, get on with it. 

You've had your little cry, now on to the sunny day.

A Tale of Three Joshes

I am luxuriating right now in a little free time.  Really free.  I am at the library in Thief River Falls working on a few personal computer projects.  At least that's what I'm supposed to be doing.  But I got a little sidetracked.  Any surprises there? 

It all started when, as I was setting my laptop and purse, etc, on the library table, I glanced at the magazine rack directly adjacent to it.  No, let me back up.  First, I was looking around at the quilts hanging above the library in the Theif River Falls Quilters Guild's annual quilt show.  I don't get to this library very often, but I'm always pleasantly surprised when I happen upon the quilt show.  These lovely quilts will be on display the entire month of April.  Come and look if you get a chance.

My admiration of the quilts led me to thoughts of appreciation for the TRF library.  Generally I use the Red Lake Falls library, and I love it for many reasons, not the least of which is the friendship I enjoy with the librarian there.  But this morning, I was feeling thankful for the library here in TRF.  So I was glancing around at all the many things they have to offer, and taking time to really notice things.

Brolin as James Hickok

Well, confessions be made, I couldn't help but notice the cover of the current issue of the Wall Street Journal Magazine on which Josh Brolin, one of my current favorite actors, gazes soberly (and yes, handsomely) at all passersby.  I first discovered Brolin while on a recent kick of watching the 1989 television series, The Young Riders, on hulu.  The show is an fun mix of fantasy and historical fiction.  It is set in the wild west, which is an immediate draw for me.  I have plans to feature it in a future post, so I'm not going to let myself get sidetracked talking about it here.  Because I loved the characters in the show so much, and because I had never heard of most of them, I did a bit of research on their lives and work.  And I requested some movies from the library which featured some of these men and women.

It was fun to see Brolin on a magazine cover begging me to pick it up and scan the article.  The article was mostly fluff.  The usual fare of Brolin's "rugged good looks", and the "layers of depth" he manages to bring to his characters.  I'm not discounting either of those things, mind you.  It's just that I've read many articles about Josh Brolin in the last several months and they all say pretty much the same thing.  This article, too, didn't included much new information.   But there was this little quote that lends some further detail to the frequent assertion that he embraces his ranch upbringing; and that he and his wife, actress Diane Lane, attempt to eschew the Hollywood glitz mentality.

...and he [Brolin] chauffeurs himself around in a black Dodge Ram--the latest in a series of pickups.  (This sounds so dumb," he says, "but I really love my truck.") 

I know many people who can appreciate that sentiment.

As I was putting the Wall Street Journal Magazine away, my eyes fell upon a second Josh, one with whose musical talents I've only recently become familiar.  Josh Turner looked out from the cover of Cambria Style with his friendly and somewhat mischievous smile.  So I had to pick that up, too.

I know nothing about Cambria Style.  The only Cambria I know of is a little town in southern Minnesota, along the Minnesota River between New Ulm and Mankato.  That Cambria, incidentally, is famous for the hamburgers served at the local bar and grill.  But I'm pretty sure that they don't have their own magazine.  Perhaps they ought to.

I get the impression that the Cambria Style magazine is about interior decorating.  It seems to feature articles that highlight products made by Cambria, and weave them into human interest type stories.

The particular human interest angle of the article in which Josh Turner takes center stage, celebrates the history the Grand Old Opry, and accounts its restoration after the devastating 2010 flooding in Nashville and its surrounds.  The restoration included Cambria counter-tops in the dressing rooms, hence the inclusion in Cambria Style. 

Josh Turner and the Opry seating

But the Josh Turner angle is what drew me into the article.  Turner credits his December 2001 appearance at the Opry for launching him to stardom.  He sang Long Black Train not once but twice, as he was sent back onstage after a standing ovation to sing it again.  In 2009, at the age of 29, Turner was inducted as a full time member of the Opry, becoming it's youngest member ever. 

"I just love how you can go there and hear a lot of different styles of country music and hear artists from a lot of different eras and get a picture of what country music really is," Turner says. But he also notes that being a member of the Opry is about giving back to the institution and the fans that helped to launch his career. "I was extremely honored to have that bestowed upon me so soon. But I knew then and I still know now that being committed to playing a show like the Opry requires a lot of responsibility."

But I titled this post a Tale of Three Joshes.  The first title that flitted through my head was something about two favorite Joshes.  But I couldn't do that because there is another Josh who is infinitely more dear to my heart than either of the pop cultures stars mentioned above. 

A young man in our church, Josh B., captures the spot of my favorite Josh.  (I did have to think through to make sure none of my many nieces, nephews  or God-children were named Josh before I could make such a claim.  But I'm safe there.  One of my best friends has a son who carries this name.  But I don't see this friend very often.  I have only seen that Josh once in his life, so although I love him vicariously, I can't say he's a true favorite.)

But I've seen Josh B. grow from a little three year old boy, to a fine junior high aged young man.

When we moved to this area ten years ago, Josh B. was one of my daughter, Clara's, first playmates.  He bought a cool cowboy vest at a second hand store once that he through he could use for their wedding.  (Sorry, Josh, I just had to include that little story.)

Josh falls in age almost exactly between two of my girls, Clara and Elsie, so as he got a little older, his friendship shifted to Elsie for a time.  But then the kids grew up even more, and it became uncool for a growing boy to play with girls. 

About the same time as his friendship with my girls began to wane, however, I started teaching Josh's class in Sunday school, so I still had a personal tie to his life.  I think I had the privilege of teaching his class for three years.  One of the great blessings of teaching Sunday school is getting to know the congregation's children more intimately.  The children in Josh's class were all fantastic kids, and I enjoyed each of them them immensely. 

I've been thinking much about Josh lately.  Last fall Josh's oldest brother, Jake, died.  Our congregation is still mourning his loss.  My family is mourning his loss, because among other reasons, he was my son Matt's best friend.  I am amazed at how suddenly the painful thoughts can overtake me.

But I know that the pain and sadness I feel can be nothing compared to that which his immediate and extended family are learning to deal with.  I know and you know that Jake is at home with his Father and his Brother.  But I also know that you still suffer.  I pray for you all continuing healing, and increasing peace. 

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all. Amen.  (II Corinthians 13:14)

We have lost a husband, a father, a son, a brother, a dear friend, a patriot and a happy warrior.

The title of this post is from Larry Solov at Big Journalism, honoring Andrew Breitbart, who passed away suddenly early yesterday  in the morning hours. Breitbart was one of the leaders of the New Media. To put it more plainly, the free media that the left is perpetually trying to silence because such media outlets don't toe the correct philosophical line.

Michelle Malkin, in her memorial piece, included the following video from of Breitbart's CPAC speech last month.    I have read things written by Andrew Breitbart, but I had never seen him speak.  I found his speech inspiring.  Refreshing.  Fun.  Not too dry.  Not too brutal.  This is definitely a speech, however, aimed at those who are already Conservatives.  It is not going to educate or convince anyone who is unsure of where they stand politically, or those who are consciously of a different mindset.  If you want to learn more about the issues Breitbart addresses in his speech, you will have to go elsewhere.  But if you want to get a little flavor of Andrew Breitbart, his personality, his charisma, please watch the video.



"There are two paths.  One is America and the other one is Occupy. " (12:49)

Earlier this week, Mitt Romney solidified his Republican primary season standing, with victories in both Michigan and Arizona.  And yet, there are still four candidates in the battle for the Republican nomination.  The various polls show that any of the four candidates still have a chance to win.  We will perhaps know more after next week's Super Tuesday races.

Most conservatives do not prefer Romney.  But I think most conservatives would agree whole-heartedly with the sentiment expressed by Andrew Breitbart in the above quote.  Sure we'd all prefer a candidate whose views are closest to those we espouse.  But we will stand behind whatever Republican candidate gets the nomination.   Our country is sliding further into chaos.  And this chaos is exactly what the Progressive leaders want to see.

There area some in the Progressive movement, I have no doubt, who believe in the agenda.  They believe in making the world a better place through the intervention of world governments.  The problem is, it never works.  It has been tried and tried and tried; and it has always let to more oppression.  More poverty.  More fear.

At the heart of any of the Marxist style socialist movements is a power grab.  Read Marx.  Read  Hitler.  Read Alinsky.  For an comprehensive analysis of the history of the various modern socialist traditions, read Jonah Goldberg's Liberal Fascism.  Goldberg includes a very extensive bibliography; so after you are done with his book, if you still have your doubts, you can read even further on the subject.

The sad thing is that history shows after any socialist regime has succeeded, after those who opposed the movement have been silenced (and yes, it's usually the permanent kind of silencing) it is always the foot soldiers who suffer.  Those who have valiantly and from the heart supported the movement, recruited new followers, and rallied the troops, those are the first to be thrown under the bus.

It doesn't matter whether it's Franco in Spain, Stalin in Russia (and the entire history of the USSR during the cold war), Hitler, Mussolini, Tito, Castro, Mao...it has always been the same. The movement needs numbers.  The speech is pleasant to the ear.  The energy is contagious.  But the end result is betrayal and oppression.

Tears, Wolves, and Rodney Atkins

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

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.

Goodbye to one of the Grande Dames of the ELS

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.