Edifying music and random thoughts on the day

It is 7:30 in the morning here and I'm drinking this wonderful coffee that Lil gave me that I ground myself waiting to call Jimmy who is probably otherwise engaged and listening to Vaughn Williams accompanied by Annalivia on the xylophone. Why those English composers didn't incorporate the six-note xylophone into their compositions, I'll never know. They were missing out.

I haven't posted in the last few days, but it's not for lack of trying. I crafted a brilliant post on immigration reform and then lost it when blogger.com went down. Scurvy curs. Of course, reverting to my seminary days, I was researching as I went along and didn't save often enough, so now, in order to arrive at similar brilliance, I'm going to need Annalivia to take another long nap, which probably isn't going to happen anytime soon. So. Apologies for nothing of real relevance on here.

We've been up since 5:45, but yesterday, theBug slept until 8:30, even though I got up at 7 and moved her back to her own bed. Then she took a three hour nap starting at 11. And went to bed at 7:30. It was amazing. Of course, consequently, she was awake at 5:30 this morning, but there's nothing like a day of real rest to give one a hope for the future.

We've been listening to my new cd A Vaughn Williams Hymnal this morning and over the last few days. It is lovely. Annalivia sometimes stands in front of it and sings with it. Pretty precious. We alternate it with the Kings of Leon so we can dance like crazy fools. I think she prefers Kings of Leon, but it's too early for that now. I wonder if Kids Bop will ever make a version of the Kings of Leon cd. We'll need to stop listening to it when she can recognize what the words actually are saying.

This afternoon we're going to go see my friend Amy and her new husband Jim. They are expecting a baby in November so I'm taking them tons of Annalivia's toys that she never plays with and some other stuff I hope they'll like. What I'd really like to do is give them all the stuff we bought that we only used half of and won't use the other half, but that'd be a little rude. With the sistahs, I could do that, and actually do. But with friends, well, it's just cheap.

Well, it's time to call Jimmy and wake him from whatever reverie he's in this morning. It's 7:45, for goodness' sake! Time to wake up and get on with the day.

Recipe: Pretty awesome pitas

Today is a baking day -- one where the air conditioner remains off and the oven remains on. So I'm making the most of it with sandwich bread, pita bread, pumpkin et al. muffins and my new favorite breakfast food- baked oatmeal. Of course, I planned poorly and started the oven not remembering that two recipes call for eggs. And the egg-man won't bring eggs until this evening when he picks them up from his aunt after work. Oh well.
ANYWAY -- point of all this -- the pitas I made today are WONDERFUL!! So, so, SOOOOO much better than the kind you buy in the store. I used the Montana Wheat Lil gave me for my birthday. It is a very soft, fine wheat. I usually like my whole wheat a little nuttier and coarser, but this wheat makes a great sandwich bread when mixed with spelt.
Pitas
1 cup warm water
1/4 cup yogurt
1 T honey
2 t salt
1 1/2 T olive oil
3-3 1/4 cups whole wheat flour
1 t yeast
Put in bread machine on dough setting in order stated or if mixing by hand, mix water, yogurt and yeast. Add honey, salt, olive oil. Incorporate flour, knead til smooth. Cover and let rise til double. Punch down and divide into 8 parts. Let rest for about 10 minutes. Form into patties about 1/4 inch thick. Heat a non-stick skillet or griddle on med. high heat for about 5 minutes. Cook each pita about 3-4 minutes on a side -- they will puff up if skillet is hot. Prick any large pockets of air to make an even surface. You may have to turn down the skillet as it gets hotter -- I start on med. high and move to med.
These are SO good. Now I'm empowered to try tortillas later this week! Wow.

Making space

Yesterday, for the first time since I moved into the parsonage five years ago, the living room/dining room was empty.

Dennis and I had decided to shampoo the carpets that had not been cleaned since I moved in, and really, hadn't been cleaned before that for goodness-knows-how-long.

I woke up at 6:00 to the sounds of grunting; Dennis was single-handedly moving all the furniture into the guest bedroom (which just happens to be across the hall from our room). I was in grumpy-wake-up-mood and not very nicely asked him to close the door since the Bug was snuggling with me expecting that we'd get up in a couple of minutes. Well, an hour and a half later, the Bug and I emerged sleepily to see NOTHING in our living/dining room.

The thing is, it was AWESOME!! There was no junk, no mess, no stuff that we've been needing to deal with that we've just shoved into the bookcase to await the perfect time (which, strangely, never seems to arrive). Of course, all of said junk, mess, stuff was crammed into a much smaller room, but nevertheless, we tasted freedom!

Yesterday, after shampooing carpets and letting them dry, we moved the furniture back into the room, but not all the furniture. And we rearranged the stuff we had. I also took the art off the walls and the few knick-knacks we had, we haven't put back yet.

I'm not sure much of it will come back, actually. There are a few things like the woman pot Roo made that needs to come back. And the photos of the family are great, instructive entertainment for Annalivia.

But I find myself wanting to divest of our stuff. I don't know why, really. Most of the things we haven't moved back are things I used to love. I guess now I just love my people more and since things don't love me back and yet do take up a lot of time and energy, they are on the losing end of this choice.

A while ago, Ann V. had a post over at Choosing Home wherein she mentioned that she had walls and windows as her decorations in her house. I've thought about that a lot lately (an aside -- it's kind of amazing that one person can be so dern inspiring!). Anyway, when Dennis and I went to Kentucky on our engagement trip, we stayed at Shakertown. We both loved the simplicity of that place -- the way the architecture was the decoration. Of course, both of us thought it would just be IMPOSSIBLE to live without all of our things. But, as I get older, and well, poorer, thus being unable to afford the cleaning lady, thus being much less tolerant of things that must be dusted myself, I find myself thinking that not only would it be POSSIBLE, but BLESSED. How much more cool is it to spend time with loved ones rather than cleaning? Granted I live in a 1950's ranch-style house right now where architecture is not a strong aesthetic pull, BUT someday we won't. And wherever that is, looking at the glory of creation will be much more edifying than French advertising posters.

Anyway, we have succeeded at making some space -- both mental and physical-- here at Casa de McStew. Of course, there's a back bedroom now stuffed to the brim, but we'll deal with that later.

Fire, wind, and warblers

Today is Pentecost and I am up WAY, WAY too late finishing up last minute things for church (read: putting the finishing touches on a sermon).

Every Pentecost, my little congregation arrives in our red clothing and tries to be as charismatic as an elderly mainline congregation can muster. I've a feeling that it will be our hymns that will redeem our attempts tomorrow. My favorite Spirit hymn, Sweet, Sweet Spirit will be the first of the day. Of course, our hymnal has it about three whole steps above anyone over-50's early morning singing voice, but we'll manage and our voices will be magnified somewhere by the rushing of wind. Happy Pentecost!

"There's a sweet, sweet Spirit in this place and I know that it's the Spirit of the Lord.
There are sweet expressions on each face, and I know they feel the presence of the Lord.
Sweet Holy Spirit, sweet heavenly dove, stay right here with us, filling us with your love.
And for these blessings, we'll lift our hearts in praise.
Without a doubt we'll know that we have been revived when we shall leave this place.
There are blessings you cannot receive, 'til you know him in his fullness and believe.
You're the one to profit when you say, "I am going to walk with Jesus all the way."
Sweet Holy Spirit, sweet heavenly dove, stay right here with us, filling us with your love.
And for these blessings, we'll lift our hearts in praise.
Without a doubt we'll know that we have been revived when we shall leave this place."

Hilarity in stardates

As a former fan of Star Trek the Next Generation, I want to refer anyone interested to this hilarious blog. Scroll down to Laundry Breakdown. One of the most hilarious things I've read this week. If you aren't at least a closet Trekkie, you'll probably want to skip this recommendation. Sistahs, you'll want to read this and listen to this hilarious Picard Song. Make sure your speakers are on. It's a little long, but funny.

On being "real"

I was listening to the radio the other day and a speaker said, "God doesn't want you to be perfect. God wants you to be real."

That which is real could be the start of pretty much any ontological discussion. Real, according to dictionary.com is "Being or occurring in fact or actuality; having verifiable existence; True and actual; not imaginary, alleged, or ideal." True. Actual. Verifiable. Genuine. Authentic.

I realized as I thought about this, that I have a problem being a real Christian. Because for me at least, being an authentic Christian is very complex. And I find that I have a hard time representing the complexity within me to others.

Very often, rather than just letting myself be me, I instead take the cues of what- kind- of- Christian- I- should- be- today from the folks around me. For example, I am LOVING hanging out at the Choosing Home Forums and have been SO incredibly inspired by these women who, well, "choose home." But I am not *using terms with which I'm uncomfortable* a "conservative, evangelical" Christian. Not even close, really. And sometimes I feel like I'm representing myself as different than I actually am.

I love being with my church people and even leading them sometimes(!), but I'm not a wise sage when it comes to policy and practice. Not even close, really. And I CERTAINLY am not aBible scholar, though I know I should be. Sometimes I feel compelled to represent myself as both sage and scholar, when really I haven't a clue of what to do or where to go to find the answers

I love crazy irreverent humor. I love to make fun of myself and some of the most joyful moments in my life have been laughing raucously with others who will laugh at themselves. I am not a saint. Not even close. Nor am I a comedian. And to pretend to be otherwise isn't honest either.

I'm finding as I move into 31 that I am dissatisfied with being a chameleon, but also dissatisfied at being uncovered as a weird creature without category -- a platypus, if you will. I find myself wishing I was like the brilliant, faithful women at CH, or the amazing pastors and preachers I've known and know, or the hilarious commentor on the BBC. Without the superlatives, these things are me -- wife/momma, pastor/preacher, commentator. It's silly to be envious of not fitting into a category, but I still wish, wish, wish there was one for me.

It seems so immature now that it's in writing, yet I sense there are others (all of whom may be related to me) who struggle with this, too.

I guess the solution is simply to be more honest and seek answers to my existential queries in prayer. After all, I guess God knows my category and loves the reality of me, even if I'm not sure about me yet.

Just when ya think you're unique

Holy cow, Dawn is right! [Edit -- not "holy cow" because Dawn is right *oops!* "holy cow" because of the following info.] There apparently is a long and varied White Rabbit tradition beyond the reaches of the McClure family or even the Eureka High School bandos. Crazy.
Anyway, I googled "rabbit first month" and was shocked to find all sorts of info. Here's some.

WHITE RABBITS ON THE FIRST OF THE MONTH - "In some parts of Lancashire and the adjacent counties, it is unwise to shoot a black rabbit. This is because they were once believed to be ancestral spirits returning in that form. In Somerset, white rabbits are said to be witches. That anyone really believes this now is improbable; nevertheless, white rabbits are not popular as children's pets, and they are usually left severely alone, and are not shot. A luck-bringing custom found all over Great Britain is to say 'Rabbits' or 'White Rabbits' once or three times on the first day of the month. It must be said early in the morning, before any other word has been uttered, otherwise the charm loses its force. In some districts it is considered necessary to say 'Hares' or 'Black Rabbits' when going to bed on the night before, as well as 'Rabbits' or White Rabbits' in the morning. If, however, the speaker becomes muddled and says 'Black Rabbits' on rising, bad luck will follow. The looked-for result of all this is variously given as general good luck during the ensuing four weeks, or the receipt of a gift within a few days." From the "Encyclopedia of Superstitions" by E. and M.A. Radford, edited and revised by Christina Hole, Barnes and Noble Books, 1996. First published in 1948.

That's a little too weird for me.

I guess there are others who also view this as a big game. However, apparently there are people who are even more retentive than we who have codified rules. For example...

Here are the basic rules for White Rabbit.

1. Full credit will only be awarded for live contact. This means either meeting in person or speaking to the other person on the phone.
2. Contact will be determined based upon the time where the individual is residing when contact is made. In other words, if I'm in Wisconsin and I'm calling you in California, I can only get points if it is 12:00 a.m. or later in California.
3. Contact must occur between one second past midnight on the first day of the month and midnight of the 11:59.59 on the first.
4. Partial credit may be awarded for unusual and creative contact. This could include items such as flowers, balloons, sky-writing, dancing messengers or other similar efforts.
5. The receipt of the special message must occur prior to 11:59.59. Contestants are bound by honor to report receipt accurately.
6. Faxes, e-mails and letters will not be considered valid contact.
7. January 1 of each year will count for double credit.
8. Contestants must be of age to enable them to initiate contact in future months. In other words, it's no fair to white rabbit a new born. The winner each month is entitled to gloat during the remainder of the month.
9. It is not legal to disguise your voice in order to make other contestants believe that they have reached a party other than yourself.
10. In the event of any question over the interpretation of these rules, final determination shall be made by a mutually agreed upon, neutral arbitrator.

I think I personally prefer a loosely codified set of ambiguous rules so as to allow the sisters/participants to create and/or refute a rule as befits the particular charge being levelled by another, more sinister sister/participant. It's just more fun.

My daughter o' the boy-hair

Victim of her mother's scissors and her own propensity for wiggling. Poor child.

The rabbit that is white

Well, it is the first of the month and knowing that Marissa will get an automatic update, I feel compelled to say, "WHITE RABBIT!"

The advantage of having a barista as a sistah...

is that one has access to really good coffee. Really good. Yum. Thanks, Lil!

Or perhaps they can't hear us because we're not saying anything

The United Church News, the print news service of the United Church of Christ published an article, "Amplifying the Mainline" this month. The article addresses the woeful lack of presence by mainline church leaders in major news media. It cites a report by the research group, Media Matters that indicates that mainline churches, who according to the article, happen to hold one-quarter of America's church-going membership, are rarely, if ever, represented on national news reports.
The article also goes beyond merely lamenting the presence of mainline church leaders in discussions of Christianity to focus on the work of the Institute for Religion and Democracy, an institution dedicated to reforming the mainline church through a return to biblical principles. In the article it's called a "neo-con" organization that has been launching systematic attacks on the mainline denominations "to disrupt mainline churches, discredit their national agencies, and 'decapitate' mainline leaders. "
So now we know why mainline churches have been failing to reach the hearts of the American public. It's "their" fault.
Or -- and I know this is a stretch -- perhaps it's not someone else's fault at all. Perhaps it's because we haven't had anything to say.
For at least four decades mainline churches have been more focused on holding together crumbling infrastructures and maintaining outdated hierarchies than focusing on what gave us our status as, well, status-symbols in the first place, which was a very pointed and real effort to reach the unchurched. Somewhere along the line, we figured that since we didn't see anyone who was unchurched, they didn't exist. That, or they were "over there" in some far off country or they were young and foolish and would join our ways if just given enough time, though we'd be darned if we were going to expend much effort on them in the meantime. We had proud histories of ministry and change. We rested on them, clung to them, and held them up whenever anyone asked about our relevance in the world.
Into that void, stepped the young upstarts, the evangelical, pentecostal, and charismatic churches who bothered to connect with youth, made mission a priority, worked on being relevant in their communications, and decided to make history now rather than reflect upon it.
Et voila! Evangelicals on the rise, mainline in decline.
Clearly it was "their" fault.
Ok. I know it's more complicated than all of this, but really -- do we have anyone to point to other than ourselves? We're the ones who have let this happen, who have treasured institutions over individuals, structures over Spirit, process over people. This mess is all us, not "them."

The thing is, if we want to change whether we are heard, we cannot use our scant resources to work against those we see as our antagonists. That's just immature and childish. Nor can we adopt the victim mentality with which we are all far too familiar and whine about how those mean big voices are drowning us out. So what if "they" are out to get us? Shake the dust off our feet and get on with ministry, for heaven's sake.
It's time to move beyond this and start actually doing what our denominations were founded to do -- put faith into action without leaving our brains at the door.
The fact is -- the mainline churches do actually have a pretty large leg to stand on when it comes to Biblical theology. We've got pretty good ideas, really, and a history to back us up and inspire us, not excuse us from action.

But in order to speak, we're going to have to have something to say. As the article in United Church News said, quoting Robert Edgar, general secretary of the National Council of Churches said, "It's time for mainline church leaders to spend less time trying to hold their organizations together, and speak instead about those issues that God cares about -- that God cares about the poor. God cares about justice. God cares about the stewardship of the Earth."

And it would really help if we knew what we were talking about. Most of us are terrified by the evangelicals living next door because they know the Bible and we don't. Well, the way to fix that is to read the Bible. Get into a personal relationship with Jesus. Find the mission to which He is calling us. Put faith into action.

And while we're at it, let's just ignore the people trying to derail the plan. Let's not get distracted. Let's not stoop to that level. If conservative groups in our denominations want to call us faithless, so be it. Let's not turn around and call them simple. Let's not prooftext unless we want to be prooftext-ed to. Let's not express pity for the poor fools while looking down the nose at them either.

Let's just follow Jesus.

This seems like a no-brainer to me. If we want to be heard, why don't we start saying something worth hearing. Better yet, why don't we let our actions speak louder than our words. Let's change the world. Eventually, they'll hear what we have to say.

So that's what a weekend feels like

One of the inconvenient side-effects of my calling is that my family doesn't get to have a weekend very often.

But on extended weekends, we get to have almost two days of time that is just ours. And it is always wonderful.

This time, we went to Eureka for the Memorial Day festivities. We had a good trip down. Annalivia read.

We were greeted with news from Lil and Jake that Fetie II will be joining us in February next year, which is beyond exciting. Kalin fixed my blogs and it was just absolutely amazing to watch her work -- staring at source code with fingers flying. Roo and I went to the cemetery together and had a time to drive around Eureka together like we used to do as high schoolers. Dennis and Jake fixed things and tinkered with the endless little jobs always available at the farm. Annalivia played with her cousins and hung out with Grandpa Bob. Mom made a great dinner and spent some time just chatting with us.

Got to watch a sunset at the farm (though not the one in this pic that Kali took a couple of days ago.)

On Monday we joined Grammy and Gramps for the parade. Then went to the cemetery for a wonderful program. The speaker was a guy who has served two tours of duty in Afghanistan and he simply shared stories of fallen comrades. It was so incredibly moving. Really amazing. I once again was glad I made the trip.

Dennis and I had great conversation on the way home and Annalivia did amazingly well on the trip. After she woke up about 45 minutes into the trip, she sang to herself and talked a lot, ate some snacks and stuff, but didn't fuss at all. She did so well, in fact, that we ended up running errands and getting a new portable dvd player to replace one that died. We also bought a gas grill that we've been eyeing. So we got home and had hamburgers, corn on the cob, and watermelon. It was just really, really nice. We had a weekend. Wow.

The real thing

It was a dreary, drizzling, cold Memorial Day -- the kind that comes after a week of beautiful weather when the sun has shined and the sky has been robin's egg blue and everyone has been looking forward to the holiday weekend because the foretaste of gorgeous weather has been so divine. But then Memorial Day dawns cold and wet and everyone's hopes for the day deflate.
Even in the best weather this parade is for the die-hards. The American Legion leading off, the high school band following, a couple of antique tractors, a skittish group of horses sandwiched between the classic cars and the town firetrucks, it is eight blocks down Main Street to the cemetery where hundreds of people huddle around an aging sound-system to hear a person who has no training in public speaking address what it is to be an American. It is not perfect or even polished, but I make the two-hour trip home to Eureka for the Memorial Day parade and program because regardless of what is happening in our country, my faith in it is fortified there.

However, on this day with rain coming down, the plans had been changed. The parade had been cancelled and the program had been relocated to the high school gymnasium.
My sister, aunt and I were unloading a car in my grandparents' driveway. The cars were sloshing by on Main Street and we were hustling to get the goods inside before a little rain became a lot of rain.
But we were stopped in our tracks by a tinny rimshot. tap, tap, tap We looked around wondering what in the world was going on. The parade had been cancelled, right? tap, tap, tap Perfectly rhythmic, it got closer. tap, tap, tap

Four people appeared on the hill, marching in perfect step towards the oncoming traffic on Main Street. They were wearing full Civil War regalia. One was beating a drum. One was playing a fife. One was carrying a musket and in the center one carried the flag.

Through the drizzle, past cars splashing water at their feet, eyes straightforward, they marched. The only show of emotion on their faces was grim resolution. There was no fear or self-consciousness. No pride or proving. They were completely immersed in their task, doing exactly what it was they were to do, marching towards the cemetery to honor the dead. It was clear that nothing was going to keep them from doing their work. Nothing.

My sister, aunt and I were silent as speechless and they passed by. It was one of the most moving experiences I have ever had. We watched them silently, riveted by their devotion. And when they had passed, when we turned to look at each other, we all had tears in our eyes.

I have seen many parades since then. Some of have had fancy floats, exquisite bands, excellent timing, great candy, even.

But none have ever had the heart of that rainy Memorial Day parade. THAT parade was a lesson in patriotism I will never forget. THAT parade was an example of what being an American is all about.

O beautiful for heroes prov'd in liberating strife,

Who more than self their country loved, And mercy more than life.

America! America! May God thy gold refine til' all success be nobleness,

And ev'ry gain divine. ~ Katharine Lee Bates

Two reasons Eureka is better than the rest of the planet

1. Kali is here and she very patiently implemented my redesigned blogs with just a couple clicks on the computer. She is so cool.
2. My parents have BBC America. Dennis and I gave up satellite television shortly before Annalivia was born thinking it would encourage us to watch less television. I don't think that's been true, but we really have not missed Dish Network. Except for BBC America which I watched round the clock pre-child. Tonight I watched 8 minutes of very handsome Alistair Appleton hawking antiques wherein the phrase, "It was a cracking finish," was used. Lovely. Or should I say, "looflee".
Great place, this is.

Of peonies and parting-places

Memorial Day weekends of the past found my sister and I riding in the back of my grandparents' car, fighting hard for self-control to not tap each other or poke each other or do some other annoying thing to fill the 15 minute trip between cemeteries.

The trunk of the car would be filled with peonies -- beautiful arrangements cut from Grammy's heavy peony bushes, interlaced with greenery, placed in aluminum juice cans and wrapped in newspaper, ready to be dropped into the vases on the graves of remembered relatives. The plastic bucket and wooden handled brush were there, too. And a rag made from one of Gramps' old undershirts was tucked in between the juice-can vases.

First were Grammy's parents in the old part of the cemetery in Washington, IL, then out to the country near Deer Creek to honor other relatives, then back to Eureka to tend to Gramps' parents' graves and the smallest and most haunting, the grave of their daughter, my aunt, Patsy, who had died when she was just two years old.

We'd approach the graves carrying the peonies and a bucket. Gramps would go off to fill the bucket with water and Grammy would brush any leaves or grass from the headstone with the rag. When Gramps returned, they'd wash the stone carefully and arrange the flowers. Then they'd stand for a moment in silence.

By this time, my sister and I would be running around the other graves, careful to show the respect Gramps had reminded us of on the way there. But as I grew older, I watched this ritual more carefully. Rather than running through the gravestones, I stood by Grammy's side as she paused near her parents' graves. I watched as Gramps brushed away the grass clippings from Patsy's stone. I also stood in silence pondering these people who had come before.

This year it will be me who loads up the car with peonies and iris and whatever other flowers are in bloom. My grandparents have long stopped filling the vases and carrying the water buckets and bending over to tend the graves opting instead for a slow drive-by at their parents' graves and an amble across the hill to pause a moment with Patsy.

It is a great honor to be silently passed peony-duty. I have always found myself drawn to these parting-places -- places where we leave a remembrance of our beloveds having trusted that we do not leave them at all, for we have already returned them to their Creator's eternal care. To me these parting-places are places of deep Peace.

So this year, I will brush off the stones and place the flowers. And as a mother this year, I will wonder if when tending Patsy's grave, Grammy and Gramps have brushed the grass off of that stone and thought of the way her hair lay on her head and how they used to stroke it away. And as a daughter, I will touch the cold granite on my great-grandparents' markers and wonder if Gramps and Grammy have touched the stones on their parents' final resting places and remembered what it was like to lay a hand on Momma or Daddy as a child.

Tonight my husband and I took flowers to the grave of my father in law, Harold, Dennis' dad, who passed away several months before I came to this church, far too soon. I watched as Dennis crouched in front of the marker and brushed away the grass and used a little water from the irises we brought to rub away marks on the stone. His hand lingered tenderly on the picture of the tractor his mother had engraved on the stone. And I know that as he touched that Farmall, his heart was that of a little boy watching his Daddy plow the field.

Such a small space separates those we love who live now safe in the arms of God and those of us who must be content with this earthly life. In moments like those I will encounter at the cemeteries, moments of pause, the line between "here" and "there" seems so faintly drawn.

And perhaps that's because "here" and "there" are really the same; for those that have been, those that are and those that will be are all so closely held and deeply treasured in the heart of God.

It's just that in these times of reflection we see through a mirror dimly how close together we actually are.

And that is such a great blessing and a source of such deep Peace, that I find myself praying that every place will be a parting-place where every day I will be more aware of just how close to heaven we are when we rest secure in the promises of God.

Ick, ick, ick -- ack a tick!!

Annalivia, my sweet, beautiful, unblemished baby girl, had a TICK on her today!! It was in her hair and THANK GOD, I decided to put pigtails in today. I parted her hair and there it was.
My heart was pounding. I managed to get it off with very little difficulty since it hadn't really dug in. No blood was drawn. I flushed the little bugger down the drain, but I remain shaken. I know I'm being over-dramatic, but since melodrama is a specialty in my family and extended family -- I'll indulge.
Why, in the midst of all God's glorious handiwork, does there have to be little bloodsuckers like these? WHY, GOD, WHY? *swoons*

Ick, ick, ick!

Muddled in the mundane

I am not from a family who embraces the virtues of routines. This is putting it very lightly. We didn't even have a clock until I was in first grade and my mother had received tons of complaints from teachers about my tardiness, thus forcing us to join the temporal world.

Deadlines and daily tasks are struggles for me. I fight with myself to see these things as worthy of my time. I would rather see them as mundane, ordinary, less valued than whatever it is that I wish to be doing.

I used to be able to get away with this as a single person, but as a wife and mother, I can't. These daily tasks structure our days and my poor husband and daughter suffer when I decide that making dinner (which *gasping in surprise* just so happens to occur every evening) is below me this evening. My congregation suffers when I decide to forego the office to stay home and work on sermonizing here or put off a visit to hastily cook the aforementioned unplanned dinner. These tasks I have muddled in my mind thinking of them as mundane. They are not mundane; they are ordinary.

In ecclesial life, ordinary is derived from ordinal meaning numbered. And when one numbers something, it is given attention, position, and place. It is anything but mundane.

I am reminded of the Psalmist, "Lord, teach us to number our days that we might gain a heart of wisdom" (Ps. 90). I am learning that it is in paying the attention, seeing the position, and setting the place, even on ordinary tasks, that I focus not on my own fleeting desires, but on God's larger purpose for me. Oh, to gain a bit of wisdom along the way!

Once again, Ann V. has meditated upon this far more deeply and eloquently than I ever could. In her post here (which is only part 1 so be sure to read parts 2-5 in the links at the bottom of the post), she relates her daily tasks of laundry, cooking, cleaning, etc., but I think her meditations apply to any daily tasks, be they baking or filing or typing or visiting or praying.

These days are indeed a gift from God. Help me to see this in every task therein, Lord. Teach me to number my ways. Lead me to a heart of wisdom.

Amazing grace, indeed

In What's So Amazing about Grace?, Phillip Yancey writes:

"Not long ago I received in the mail a postcard from a friend that had on it only six words, "I am the one Jesus loves." I smiled when I saw the return address, for my strange friend excels at these pious slogans. When I called him, though, he told me the slogan came from the author and speaker Brennan Manning.
At a seminar, Manning referred to Jesus' closest friend on earth, the disciple named John, identified in the Gospels as "the one Jesus loved." Manning said, "If John were to be asked, 'What is your primary identity in life?' he would not reply, 'I am a disciple, an apostle, an evangelist, an author of one of the four Gospels,' but rather, 'I am the one Jesus loves.'"
What would it mean, I ask myself, if I too came to the place where I saw my primary identity in life as "the one Jesus loves"? How differently would I view myself at the end of a day?
Sociologists have a theory of the looking-glass self: you become what the most important person in your life (wife, father, boss, etc.) thinks you are. How would my life change if I truly believed the Bible's astounding words about
God's love for me, if I looked in the mirror and saw what God sees?" Brennan Manning tells the story of an Irish priest who, on a walking tour of a rural parish, sees an old peasant kneeling by the side of the road, praying.
Impressed, the priest says to the man, "You must be very close to God." The peasant looks up from his prayers, thinks a moment, and then smiles, "Yes, he's very fond of me." [pp. 68-69]

I am the one Jesus loves. So are you. Such good news, eh?

Things anyone can do to improve their health.

Brilliant Dawn has posted in various fora/ forums these things that will change anyone's life for the better. This is a redaction of her great ideas.

1. Pray. Pray for God's guidance and wisdom, strength and fortitude.
2. Drink more water. Try to drink at least 8 glasses of filtered water/day. It needs to be filtered. If we put a whole lot of chlorine in our bodies, we won't be helping ourselves.
3. Move and breathe. Every step we take will change our bodies for the better. It doesn't have to be big and organized. It just has to be movement.
4. Take extra-virgin coconut oil (EVCO) as a supplement. EVCO has the remarkable ability to cleanse our digestive systems of bad bacteria and raise our body temperatures. The goal is 3-4 tablespoons a day, but start with less. Dawn suggests stirring into coffee or teas. I put it in my yogurt smoothie. Deeeeelish.
5. Eat real foods. NEVER eat diet foods, especially diet drinks. They are entirely fabricated from chemicals.
6. Take your temperature in the morning. If it is below 97.7, it means that the thyroid is not working very well. The body needs to be returned to alkalinity. She suggests, "World Organic (brand) Liqui-Kelp. Put 4 drops in a glass of water and drink it. It has NO taste. If your temp doesn't start going up - you're shooting for over 97.7, remember, then add another drop. Go a day or two - no change, add another one. "

I've been trying to follow these guidelines and they're pretty easy. I drink a lot of water and I've been drinking a yogurt smoothie with super green food powder and coconut oils added for the last week and I've lost 14 lbs in a week. Probably mostly water, but if I didn't have an ear infection and throat infection, I'd say so far, I feel pretty decent. And I'm amazed by how not-hungry I am during the day. I've been following Annie's advice and trying to eat raw until dinner for the enzyme action and have been pretty amazed that just eating fruit and veggies and the smoothie are enough for right now.

Anyway, we're all looking for the magic pill. You might try these and see where you come out on these things.

Where I am from

I am from rolling farmland thick with the scent of fresh black earth, heavy with the humidity of summer trapped in the cornfields, lit with the light of Orion's belt and the haze of the Milky Way.

I am from the fishing hill and walks to the creek, the paper tree and new kittens hidden in hay, a treehouse and dancing to Madonna's oldest songs.

I am from brick buildings and ivy, tall oaks and lilacs, leaf-catching and sorority serenades.

I am from yards of peonies, tulips, irises, roses, daylilies, a crocus bow, lilacs and moonflowers, spring beauties in April, and fire-red maples in the Fall.

I am from Main Street picnics, patriotic parades, whiffle ball games, bocce ball and jump-rope in the basement, manger sets and New Year's sleep-overs, conversations and tea around the kitchen table.

I am from division and reconciliation, fear and forgiveness, longing and love.

I am from conversations in the candlelight, confessions at camp, and calling in the mountains.

I am from regret and redemption, naivete and knowledge, faltering and faith.

I am from long-houred returns, gleeful giggles, complex scenarios and common dreams.

I am from thick glasses and a shaved head, shy smiles and bold suggestions, giddy acceptance, ever-deepening respect, and overwhelming desire.

I am from whispered prayers and fervent hopes, newborn cries and soft skin, sparkling eyes and peals of laughter.

I am from my quiet Guide, my prescient Listener, my dawning Assurance, the Gifter of all that I am, all that I have been, and all that I will ever wish to be.

Ann posted her "Where I'm From" over at Holy Experience and suggested others do the same. For more info, you'll find the original here and a lengthier instruction here, though clearly it is unnecessary to follow the format prescribed.