I drove my parents up to Syracuse just now, flung them onto the airport departures curb, kissed them goodbye, and hightailed back to Binghamton ahead of the snow which is now falling heavily and silently from the sky. E, eyes watery and pink, just informed me that
'when I think of you, I think of your parents.'
She is very sad.
R is very sick.
A is racing cars, 'Theeeese twwwwo caaaars are raaacing and........the oooone thaaat wiiiins wiiillll get the goooldeeeeeen trophyyyyy.' A for reasons only known to himself, is now always speaking in slow motion.
G is having a nap.
And I, secretly, am praying for all those poor babies out there that are being born today and won't be having a birthday for years and years.
Friday, February 29, 2008
While We Were Yet Sinners
I'd honestly been planning to start doing some preschool work in a more formal way with A starting Monday. He needs the structure and the challenge. So I actually had all my books in a stack and was getting ready to photocopy and organize and make charts and the whole bit. At which point, I guess, God said to himself, Oh no, that's not good, and arranged through miraculous means to have A's name put on a list for a preschool I didn't even know about, that is, get this, free, where he will go Every Day for 3 and a half hours.
In my dreams I'm a fabulous homeschooling mother with loads of children and an orderly but cluttered house. But God continues not to give me this dream. So far E is very happy in her Kindergarten, and we get a long very well when she comes home, instead of struggling against each other all day. And I do piles of chore like work around church, and pastoral care, and preaching, and my house is sort of clean. And now A is going off to school as well, freeing up more time for the church. Very curious.
And all of this, amazingly, undeserved. While I wasn't pulling it together, while I wasn't even thinking about it, while I was scattered, while I was yet planning to do my own thing without consulting God, God organized school for A. What a great salvation.
In my dreams I'm a fabulous homeschooling mother with loads of children and an orderly but cluttered house. But God continues not to give me this dream. So far E is very happy in her Kindergarten, and we get a long very well when she comes home, instead of struggling against each other all day. And I do piles of chore like work around church, and pastoral care, and preaching, and my house is sort of clean. And now A is going off to school as well, freeing up more time for the church. Very curious.
And all of this, amazingly, undeserved. While I wasn't pulling it together, while I wasn't even thinking about it, while I was scattered, while I was yet planning to do my own thing without consulting God, God organized school for A. What a great salvation.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Excuses
I’m getting set to pack all the kids off to the doctor to be diagnosed with pink eye. So infuriating. I’m stripping beds and washing everything and compulsively washing my hands. But there is probably no way I’m going to avoid it.
But the main reason I’ve left off blogging all these days is that my parents are here and there’s been lots to do.
Monday I took the train into NYC and then the subway and the airtrain to jfk to meet my parents. I was impressed that I still am able to navigate around the world. We drove out of the city in a rent car with a fancy and bossy GPS system. But it was very helpful to be told, after having made a mistake, how to fix it.
Tuesday the snow started to fall mid morning, and kept falling all day. Thick, heavy, wet snow that packed down easily into ice. The schools all let out at noon.
Wednesday I ran to the hospital to pray for someone before surgery, and then zipped back in time to feed the baby, leaving my poor mother to stand with E in the freezing cold waiting for the bus after an hour delay. And, of course, the bus was late. And then a noon Eucharist and a dash over to a preschool that has had an opening and has accepted A, at this late date to be in the program (so exciting—was feeling anxious about whether or not it was the right thing but as we got ready to leave from visiting he came unglued, having been under the impression he was going to get to learn something right then, ‘I want to learn! I want to learn!’ were his exact words.)
So now we’re all off to the doctor about pink eye. Tomorrow my parents go on to the next stop (boo), and we’ll all be so sad.
In between dashes I am grieving the death of William F Buckley and reading all over online about his life and all he did. I’ve been reading National Review religiously since Seminary and am a compulsive reader of NRO. A very sad day.
But the main reason I’ve left off blogging all these days is that my parents are here and there’s been lots to do.
Monday I took the train into NYC and then the subway and the airtrain to jfk to meet my parents. I was impressed that I still am able to navigate around the world. We drove out of the city in a rent car with a fancy and bossy GPS system. But it was very helpful to be told, after having made a mistake, how to fix it.
Tuesday the snow started to fall mid morning, and kept falling all day. Thick, heavy, wet snow that packed down easily into ice. The schools all let out at noon.
Wednesday I ran to the hospital to pray for someone before surgery, and then zipped back in time to feed the baby, leaving my poor mother to stand with E in the freezing cold waiting for the bus after an hour delay. And, of course, the bus was late. And then a noon Eucharist and a dash over to a preschool that has had an opening and has accepted A, at this late date to be in the program (so exciting—was feeling anxious about whether or not it was the right thing but as we got ready to leave from visiting he came unglued, having been under the impression he was going to get to learn something right then, ‘I want to learn! I want to learn!’ were his exact words.)
So now we’re all off to the doctor about pink eye. Tomorrow my parents go on to the next stop (boo), and we’ll all be so sad.
In between dashes I am grieving the death of William F Buckley and reading all over online about his life and all he did. I’ve been reading National Review religiously since Seminary and am a compulsive reader of NRO. A very sad day.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
my sermon for this morning
When my parents moved to Africa,
they figured that they needed to build a house,
and very importantly,
dig a well.
The digging of the well was a big deal. A well digger had to be found and contracted with and promises were extracted about the length of time to dig and the depth of the well and so forth. I was very young at the time so I don’t remember any of the particulars. But I was aware that during the dry season the well would dry up. For whatever reason, the well digger hadn’t dug far enough. It’s possible that he hit volcanic rock and couldn’t go on, or that he gypped my parents. Who knows? Every dry season we would have to gather huge plastic barrels and drive to a well 2 kilometers away that had been seriously dug by the UN or somebody like that. I loved going to the big well with the huge pump, but I know it was a real hassle. We had to be so careful with water—filtering, measuring it out. It helped that it wasn’t Running in the house. We kept it in huge cool clay jars. But the most outstanding, and, looking back, horrible thing happened after we’d been there for a while. The water in our well began to taste bad. And every day it tasted a little worse. I don’t even know how to describe the taste of this water—at once stale and rotten, clay like and foul. There was no way to filter out the taste, though we washed the filters every day, and boiled the water, trying everything to get rid of it. Finally a well digger was called, a different one. I remember watching him climb down into the well. He was down there for a little bit and then climbed back up with a bucket full of, anyone want to guess? Dead rotting lizards. From thence forward the water in our well was called DLW—Dead Lizard Water. I was sort of nostalgically sad to move to our new house and new well a few years later, to regular water, rather than DLW.
What happens if you don’t have water?
Exactly. You die.
You might be able to go many days without bread,
but you cannot go many days without water.
Without water, you die.
Jesus and his disciples have been walking in the heat of the day. And, stopping at about noon, he sends them into a town to go buy food. Jesus sits down in the shade and waits and within minutes a woman comes to draw water. This is an exhausting hour to be out. The sun is relentless. But it’s better to come now, by herself, than endure the judging looks and whispers of other women. The woman puts her pot down by the well and catches her breath. Jesus considers her and then asks her if she will draw him some water. He is thirsty, he would like a drink. His disciples will probably be hours buying food. The woman couldn’t be more surprised. Jesus is obviously Jewish. Jews don’t speak to Samaritans. Men don’t speak to women, in public, unaccompanied. Even for a drink of water. ‘Really?’ she says, ‘You want me to give you a drink of water? How is it that you are even speaking to me?’
And then Jesus, because he is God, and when you meet with God you get the Really Big Questions answered, not so much the little ones, Jesus gives her a lot more theology than she bargained for. ‘If you knew who you were talking to’, he says, ‘you would ask me for water, living water.’
She doesn’t quite understand what he is talking about. ‘You don’t have anything to pull it out of the well with and the well is deep. Where are you going to get it? Are you better than Jacob, who gave us this well?’ she asks.
If you’re out in the heat of the day, drawing water by yourself because no one wants to be with you, caught in a situation that seems to have no out, no solution, having drunk the disgusting water of this life, and someone walks into your life and offers you living water, if you’re sensible, like the Samaritan woman, you don’t waste time being coy or pretending not to understand. ‘Are you greater than Jacob who gave us the well?’ She asks the main question, ‘Are you greater?’
Because if Jesus is greater, then she can trust him.
Basically ‘Yes, ‘ says Jesus, ‘If you drink out of this well you’ll have to come back tomorrow because the water you take away with you today will run out. If you drink my water, you won’t ever run out. You won’t be thirsty for ever. You won’t die. You will have eternal life.’ This woman has her wits about her. She doesn’t mess around. ‘Sir’ she says, ‘give me this water.’
When I get really thirsty, as Matt can attest, I very often get weepy and start to cry. Usually for no reason. Being dehydrated makes me feel sad. If I find that I’m crying for no reason, the best thing is to run to the sink and drink a whole glass of water very quickly.
Jesus is spiritual water. And its very easy to dehydrate spiritually by not paying attention to him. If you wake up in the morning and get on with your day without talking to Jesus (that’s praying) and learning about him (that’s reading the Bible) and inquiring of him what he wants you to do that day, you will come to the end of the day spiritually thirsty. And, because you started out without a necessary spiritual drink of water, as you go on you will have to drink something to survive. So you might take a big drink of frustration and anxiety, or maybe of anger. Or it might be more obvious than that, to survive, you might take a big drink of drugs, or drink from a relationship you know is wrong. How long is your spiritual thirst quenched on these things? A few minutes, maybe even a whole day. But you’ve been drinking from the worldly well of death. If you’re thirsty for something, the first thing is to read a psalm, pray for five minutes. Drink from the living water of Jesus. Orient yourself towards him. This is what the woman does. Jesus helps her do it.
‘Go’, he says, ‘get your husband and come back.’
‘I don’t have a husband,’ she says.
‘I know’ he says, ‘you don’t have a husband, you’ve had five husbands, and the guy you’re with now isn’t your husband.’ Jesus wasn’t from there, there’s no way he would have known, Except he’s greater, Except he’s God. So he knows who she is and what she’s done. He knows all the choices she’s made. He knows how she’s settled, again and again, for guy after a guy, drinking from the lying fountain that people can satisfy your needs, give you want you want. What water are you drinking of, this morning? Are you drinking the water of death? Are you settling for something less than the water of life?
Standing there, this woman does not waste time. ‘Sir, I can see that you are a prophet.’ She makes a beeline for the center, for the point. Verse 20 ‘Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, but you say we should worship in Jerusalem.’ She’s asking a most basic question about worship. Worship is the First thing, the Main thing. Worship is the deep pure crystal clear well water of life. If you are worshiping God, here on Sunday morning, during the week, if you are orienting yourself towards him, then you are drinking the water of life. You’re going to be able to go a distance. She has asked the most important question. Where should we worship? How should we worship?
‘In spirit and in truth,’ says Jesus. You worship in the Spirit of God. When I’m on track and paying attention to Jesus and I go to church, I often feel like I’m in a spiritual water fall. I’m getting the big drink I need. But that means coming on God’s terms, in truth, worshipping him the way he wants, the way he lays out.
The woman is a smart cookie, ‘I know that the Messiah is coming and when he comes he will tell us all things’. Its like she knows who he is but she’s still a little afraid she might be wrong.
‘I’m him’ says Jesus, ‘I’m what you’ve been waiting for.’
She picks up her water and trucks back into town to get some people. Jesus and his disciples stay two days in the town. Everybody wants to talk to him and hear what he has to say and get to know him. Anyone who could effect Such a Change, in Such a Woman, must be worth getting to know. And many of them were waiting for the Messiah also. So much headway is made here, by Jesus and his disciples, that after Jesus ascends into heaven, and the apostles begin to be persecuted, many of them come back to Samaria to continue to preach and build up the church.
What are you drinking, this morning? Are you drinking the spiritual equivalent of Dead Lizard Water? The vile rotting filth of this world? Are you spending your time watching really worthless TV every evening, or reading books that aren’t worth your time, or trying to live off a habit or addiction. Are you spiritually drying out in the world because you’re not drinking the Water of Life, not immersing yourself in Jesus, in his word? We’re in the middle of Lent. Are you Living with Jesus? Or are you continuing to die in the World? Don’t waste time. Don’t mess around. The hour is coming And Now is. Drink Up.
they figured that they needed to build a house,
and very importantly,
dig a well.
The digging of the well was a big deal. A well digger had to be found and contracted with and promises were extracted about the length of time to dig and the depth of the well and so forth. I was very young at the time so I don’t remember any of the particulars. But I was aware that during the dry season the well would dry up. For whatever reason, the well digger hadn’t dug far enough. It’s possible that he hit volcanic rock and couldn’t go on, or that he gypped my parents. Who knows? Every dry season we would have to gather huge plastic barrels and drive to a well 2 kilometers away that had been seriously dug by the UN or somebody like that. I loved going to the big well with the huge pump, but I know it was a real hassle. We had to be so careful with water—filtering, measuring it out. It helped that it wasn’t Running in the house. We kept it in huge cool clay jars. But the most outstanding, and, looking back, horrible thing happened after we’d been there for a while. The water in our well began to taste bad. And every day it tasted a little worse. I don’t even know how to describe the taste of this water—at once stale and rotten, clay like and foul. There was no way to filter out the taste, though we washed the filters every day, and boiled the water, trying everything to get rid of it. Finally a well digger was called, a different one. I remember watching him climb down into the well. He was down there for a little bit and then climbed back up with a bucket full of, anyone want to guess? Dead rotting lizards. From thence forward the water in our well was called DLW—Dead Lizard Water. I was sort of nostalgically sad to move to our new house and new well a few years later, to regular water, rather than DLW.
What happens if you don’t have water?
Exactly. You die.
You might be able to go many days without bread,
but you cannot go many days without water.
Without water, you die.
Jesus and his disciples have been walking in the heat of the day. And, stopping at about noon, he sends them into a town to go buy food. Jesus sits down in the shade and waits and within minutes a woman comes to draw water. This is an exhausting hour to be out. The sun is relentless. But it’s better to come now, by herself, than endure the judging looks and whispers of other women. The woman puts her pot down by the well and catches her breath. Jesus considers her and then asks her if she will draw him some water. He is thirsty, he would like a drink. His disciples will probably be hours buying food. The woman couldn’t be more surprised. Jesus is obviously Jewish. Jews don’t speak to Samaritans. Men don’t speak to women, in public, unaccompanied. Even for a drink of water. ‘Really?’ she says, ‘You want me to give you a drink of water? How is it that you are even speaking to me?’
And then Jesus, because he is God, and when you meet with God you get the Really Big Questions answered, not so much the little ones, Jesus gives her a lot more theology than she bargained for. ‘If you knew who you were talking to’, he says, ‘you would ask me for water, living water.’
She doesn’t quite understand what he is talking about. ‘You don’t have anything to pull it out of the well with and the well is deep. Where are you going to get it? Are you better than Jacob, who gave us this well?’ she asks.
If you’re out in the heat of the day, drawing water by yourself because no one wants to be with you, caught in a situation that seems to have no out, no solution, having drunk the disgusting water of this life, and someone walks into your life and offers you living water, if you’re sensible, like the Samaritan woman, you don’t waste time being coy or pretending not to understand. ‘Are you greater than Jacob who gave us the well?’ She asks the main question, ‘Are you greater?’
Because if Jesus is greater, then she can trust him.
Basically ‘Yes, ‘ says Jesus, ‘If you drink out of this well you’ll have to come back tomorrow because the water you take away with you today will run out. If you drink my water, you won’t ever run out. You won’t be thirsty for ever. You won’t die. You will have eternal life.’ This woman has her wits about her. She doesn’t mess around. ‘Sir’ she says, ‘give me this water.’
When I get really thirsty, as Matt can attest, I very often get weepy and start to cry. Usually for no reason. Being dehydrated makes me feel sad. If I find that I’m crying for no reason, the best thing is to run to the sink and drink a whole glass of water very quickly.
Jesus is spiritual water. And its very easy to dehydrate spiritually by not paying attention to him. If you wake up in the morning and get on with your day without talking to Jesus (that’s praying) and learning about him (that’s reading the Bible) and inquiring of him what he wants you to do that day, you will come to the end of the day spiritually thirsty. And, because you started out without a necessary spiritual drink of water, as you go on you will have to drink something to survive. So you might take a big drink of frustration and anxiety, or maybe of anger. Or it might be more obvious than that, to survive, you might take a big drink of drugs, or drink from a relationship you know is wrong. How long is your spiritual thirst quenched on these things? A few minutes, maybe even a whole day. But you’ve been drinking from the worldly well of death. If you’re thirsty for something, the first thing is to read a psalm, pray for five minutes. Drink from the living water of Jesus. Orient yourself towards him. This is what the woman does. Jesus helps her do it.
‘Go’, he says, ‘get your husband and come back.’
‘I don’t have a husband,’ she says.
‘I know’ he says, ‘you don’t have a husband, you’ve had five husbands, and the guy you’re with now isn’t your husband.’ Jesus wasn’t from there, there’s no way he would have known, Except he’s greater, Except he’s God. So he knows who she is and what she’s done. He knows all the choices she’s made. He knows how she’s settled, again and again, for guy after a guy, drinking from the lying fountain that people can satisfy your needs, give you want you want. What water are you drinking of, this morning? Are you drinking the water of death? Are you settling for something less than the water of life?
Standing there, this woman does not waste time. ‘Sir, I can see that you are a prophet.’ She makes a beeline for the center, for the point. Verse 20 ‘Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, but you say we should worship in Jerusalem.’ She’s asking a most basic question about worship. Worship is the First thing, the Main thing. Worship is the deep pure crystal clear well water of life. If you are worshiping God, here on Sunday morning, during the week, if you are orienting yourself towards him, then you are drinking the water of life. You’re going to be able to go a distance. She has asked the most important question. Where should we worship? How should we worship?
‘In spirit and in truth,’ says Jesus. You worship in the Spirit of God. When I’m on track and paying attention to Jesus and I go to church, I often feel like I’m in a spiritual water fall. I’m getting the big drink I need. But that means coming on God’s terms, in truth, worshipping him the way he wants, the way he lays out.
The woman is a smart cookie, ‘I know that the Messiah is coming and when he comes he will tell us all things’. Its like she knows who he is but she’s still a little afraid she might be wrong.
‘I’m him’ says Jesus, ‘I’m what you’ve been waiting for.’
She picks up her water and trucks back into town to get some people. Jesus and his disciples stay two days in the town. Everybody wants to talk to him and hear what he has to say and get to know him. Anyone who could effect Such a Change, in Such a Woman, must be worth getting to know. And many of them were waiting for the Messiah also. So much headway is made here, by Jesus and his disciples, that after Jesus ascends into heaven, and the apostles begin to be persecuted, many of them come back to Samaria to continue to preach and build up the church.
What are you drinking, this morning? Are you drinking the spiritual equivalent of Dead Lizard Water? The vile rotting filth of this world? Are you spending your time watching really worthless TV every evening, or reading books that aren’t worth your time, or trying to live off a habit or addiction. Are you spiritually drying out in the world because you’re not drinking the Water of Life, not immersing yourself in Jesus, in his word? We’re in the middle of Lent. Are you Living with Jesus? Or are you continuing to die in the World? Don’t waste time. Don’t mess around. The hour is coming And Now is. Drink Up.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Politics Tonight, rather than Theology
I'm sorry to say it, but I'm totally addicted to politics. This whole election season has been a smorgasbord of delights. And its doubly interesting to me because I really don't like any of the candidates. Honestly, I probably won't be able to bring myself to vote for McCain (although, Although! I chiefly didn't like him because his wife was so strange looking. When I finally heard her utter a sentence my opinion was much improved) (And. And! I refuse to be suckered into the cattle mentality to 'rally round McCain' just because of the NYT, I won't do it.) So I feel perfectly free to watch with enjoyment And disdain. Particularly, I find it very interesting that it doesn't matter what actually happens on any given day. It really matters what is Made of what Happens. The spin cycle really works and seems to matter terribly. And voters vote accordingly. Amazing.
Home from the Library
E (having checked out three books about Laura Ingles Wilder): Did Bermanzalo believe in God?
Me: Yes.
E: Was he real or fake?
Me: He was real.
E: Did Laura believe in God?
Me: Yes she did. They all did.
E: Did the dog?
Me: Most Assuredly.
E: Bermanzalo and Laura got married.
Me: Yes they did.
Me: Yes.
E: Was he real or fake?
Me: He was real.
E: Did Laura believe in God?
Me: Yes she did. They all did.
E: Did the dog?
Me: Most Assuredly.
E: Bermanzalo and Laura got married.
Me: Yes they did.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
More from Farakala
This set includes a little Fetish House, village girls on a donkey, someone copying our house with blue shutters, and a Big RainStorm
Lying around feeling yucky looking through old pictures
Instead of doing all the things I planned today, I finally dealt with the piles of cds lying around my desk. The first picture is my house in Farakala, Mali where I grew up. Isn't it comforting looking? The second is a banner Good Shepherd made for us to give to the church in Farakala. The third is the banner hanging over Matt while he waits to preach one of the Sundays we were there. The fourth is the new church that's been built since I grew up.
Best Laid Plans
So we came home from Vestry last night and I gagged down my enormous flax seed oil pill (works great for nursing, highly recommend it), and went to bed and lay there coughing for like 20 minutes while Matt glared at me in his sleep, and then threw up. Thought it was from coughing, but I see this morning that I have aquired the horrible throwing up bug that is going around. So now I'm staggering around the house cloroxing everything I can think of and washing stuff. I bet you all 10 cents that by the end of the day everyone will be throwing up.
Of course, today I'd intended to take the kids to the Library, and make bread, and seriously clean my spare room, and go buy a plumbing snake from Lowes and try to figure out how to plumb/snake the tub myself. Hmmm. So, I don't think I'll make bread, because that would be stupid. And probably the library is out. And serious cleaning is probably not going to happen. On the upside, I'm sure it will be an interesting and surprising day. Onwards and Upwards!
Of course, today I'd intended to take the kids to the Library, and make bread, and seriously clean my spare room, and go buy a plumbing snake from Lowes and try to figure out how to plumb/snake the tub myself. Hmmm. So, I don't think I'll make bread, because that would be stupid. And probably the library is out. And serious cleaning is probably not going to happen. On the upside, I'm sure it will be an interesting and surprising day. Onwards and Upwards!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Monastic Mothering: Or In the Service of the Church
I always assumed I’d go be a single missionary somewhere, either as part of an order, or with a mission group, or something. I was rather surprised to meet Matt and fall in love with him and discover together that babies are well worth the work and hassle. But, of course, we’re both horribly introverted and it’s a lot of psychological and spiritual work to be around people all the time, even and especially if those people are small children. It’s not like your introversion suddenly disappears when you have children. Fortunately, so far and for the most part, our children are looking to be introverts—disappearing often to play by themselves. I’m not alone in this, you can read someone else say it much better than me.
So it’s nice to think about mothering in a monastic sense—that the spiritual lessons of the monastery can also be learned in the home, lessons of patience, time, worship, service, but also being pulled out of the world. In a world where many and most women work outside the home, I am often the only person at home during the day on our street. It’s not like I can pop next door for coffee and a chat. There is a sense of isolation, of being set apart from the world for a more worthy goal.
But as I read through this article and then this post it occurred to me that I’m not really oriented toward the ‘home’ as such. I’m essentially oriented towards the ‘church’. By no means does this mean that I spend all my time at church—in the office, in the atrium, at vestry, calling people back—in all its maybe 1/3 of my total time. But it does mean that my home is really in service to and centered around, the church. The house needs to function and be clean because anyone might pop by. There needs to be food in the fridge so that the kids aren’t starving when I pack them all up and hustle them out on Sunday morning, or Wednesday morning, or some evenings. The answering machine can’t fill up because someone from church might be needing to leave a message.
As I’m writing this, horror stories are flying through my head of families that killed themselves for the church, all the kids pitching off the spiritual cliff into agnostic mushy Buddhism or something equally awful. Indeed, many of my Missionary Kid friends and classmates grew up to reject Christianity, in large part because the work overtook the family and they never heard the message that Jesus loved them too. Holy Week is always a moment where I realize that we are only a few steps from this disaster. My children have to come First. If they don’t know that Jesus loves them, then everything else I’m doing at church is a waste of my time because my priorities are out of order.
On the other hand, at this moment in time, church is fun. The kids love coming and spending all day here. For all the complaining I do, I actually do like churning out the bulletin, keeping the calendar, painting little people for the atrium, keeping up with various people, doing this noon Wednesday Lenten Eucharist. I particularly like the outreaching part—that the church is always (or at least this one is) stretching out into the world, into the neighborhood, catching the spiritual eye, offering a hopeful handshake, serving another meal. I’m really really grateful that I get to be here and work here and that my kids can sprawl out and be at home here. This morning, during Morning Prayer, as we began to say the confession (Rite One) R lay himself out on the steps of the altar and raised his voice and wept, from unhappiness, and for his sins (or he ought to have). And then he picked up his enormous head and ran to the back of the church singing.
So it’s nice to think about mothering in a monastic sense—that the spiritual lessons of the monastery can also be learned in the home, lessons of patience, time, worship, service, but also being pulled out of the world. In a world where many and most women work outside the home, I am often the only person at home during the day on our street. It’s not like I can pop next door for coffee and a chat. There is a sense of isolation, of being set apart from the world for a more worthy goal.
But as I read through this article and then this post it occurred to me that I’m not really oriented toward the ‘home’ as such. I’m essentially oriented towards the ‘church’. By no means does this mean that I spend all my time at church—in the office, in the atrium, at vestry, calling people back—in all its maybe 1/3 of my total time. But it does mean that my home is really in service to and centered around, the church. The house needs to function and be clean because anyone might pop by. There needs to be food in the fridge so that the kids aren’t starving when I pack them all up and hustle them out on Sunday morning, or Wednesday morning, or some evenings. The answering machine can’t fill up because someone from church might be needing to leave a message.
As I’m writing this, horror stories are flying through my head of families that killed themselves for the church, all the kids pitching off the spiritual cliff into agnostic mushy Buddhism or something equally awful. Indeed, many of my Missionary Kid friends and classmates grew up to reject Christianity, in large part because the work overtook the family and they never heard the message that Jesus loved them too. Holy Week is always a moment where I realize that we are only a few steps from this disaster. My children have to come First. If they don’t know that Jesus loves them, then everything else I’m doing at church is a waste of my time because my priorities are out of order.
On the other hand, at this moment in time, church is fun. The kids love coming and spending all day here. For all the complaining I do, I actually do like churning out the bulletin, keeping the calendar, painting little people for the atrium, keeping up with various people, doing this noon Wednesday Lenten Eucharist. I particularly like the outreaching part—that the church is always (or at least this one is) stretching out into the world, into the neighborhood, catching the spiritual eye, offering a hopeful handshake, serving another meal. I’m really really grateful that I get to be here and work here and that my kids can sprawl out and be at home here. This morning, during Morning Prayer, as we began to say the confession (Rite One) R lay himself out on the steps of the altar and raised his voice and wept, from unhappiness, and for his sins (or he ought to have). And then he picked up his enormous head and ran to the back of the church singing.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Half a List
So I'm sitting here listening to Barack Obama and boy does he promise me the good life-no more income tax, lower insurance premiums, the best college in the world for my kids, raised minimum wage, no more poor people. Amazing. He must have a shoe in with God to be able to pay for all this. Oh, that's right. He has Hope. Hope we can believe in. Implying, of course, that the rest of us must be for Despair.
Anyway, I have half a post done but I can't think clearly to finish it tonight. I've managed to seriously clean about half the house and fold piles and piles of laundry. So my reward tomorrow is to go to church for the morning and say Morning Prayer.
Anyway, I have half a post done but I can't think clearly to finish it tonight. I've managed to seriously clean about half the house and fold piles and piles of laundry. So my reward tomorrow is to go to church for the morning and say Morning Prayer.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Just Kidding and some Controversy
So when I posted on Thursday I thought all would be well and I would shortly be seeing again. Turns out I'm still in Matt's glasses, still basically unable to see very well, still groping my way through life, still waiting for my eyes to unswell enough to put my contacts back in. And this delightful family cold is continuing its way through all four children. A remains the lone standing unsick child (but I'm sure not for long). So we’re not quite back on track.
Despite all this we're going to pack all of us up and have our Fun Family Day Off Outing be to G's 4 month Well Baby Appointment (won't that be fun). And then we're going to go buy a lot of food because we're out of everything. It should be a real treat, making our way through Wegmans on a National Holiday with 4 children. I'm sure we'll come home refreshed and rejuvenated by the solid family together time we've had.
Sarcasm aside, I'm really hoping to do some serious writing this week. It occurred to me, on Friday as I was driving out to pick up my poor sick E early from school, that this is an interesting time to be Anglican, and also that I'm in an interestingly precarious position.
For one thing, I'm ordained. I'm ordained in a body that is facing a serious theological crisis on this topic (that's my own estimation, I don't see how it can be avoided). Whatever my own feelings about it, the church is going to have to look at WO and deal with it, probably sooner rather than later. And to put it mildly, it’s awkward to be one member causing division in the body. Its not like I can point to other people and say, Oh Look, isn't it awful how they're doing that and causing so many problems. I'm part of the problem (sorry for the cliché).
But I'm also wildly conservative. As it stands now I won't be voting in the upcoming General Election because none of the candidates are conservative enough. And I'm a firm believer in shocking things like NFP and Husbandly Headship, and children being Respectful in All Things.
So on one hand I have the liberals of this world (Hi Liz) thinking, ‘Oh that poor woman. She's in such an existential mess. She should just chuck that brutal male hierarchy and embrace her true priest self and probably go be lesbian’ (I know you're thinking it, deep down, don't deny it-heh). And on the other hand I've got conservatives making snarky comments about the impossibility of Women Clergy. It’s a logical impossibility. It can't be done. And I'm super hypocritical to be conservative on some things and not others. And then there are the three or four people remaining who read this blog for the food and funny things my kids say (actually, I have no idea about how it all shakes out, maybe there are only 4 of you reading period).
All that to say that this is a pretty interesting place to be. And I ought to be writing more, or keeping track of what life is like at this particular moment in time. Someday someone is going to ask me, ‘so, what was it like to be a woman priest in a conservative church with 25 children?’ and if I don’t pay attention now, I won’t have an answer.
So first upcoming thought (maybe even today, but don’t hold your breath because of this wretched shopping), my reaction to this article (HT Jen).
Despite all this we're going to pack all of us up and have our Fun Family Day Off Outing be to G's 4 month Well Baby Appointment (won't that be fun). And then we're going to go buy a lot of food because we're out of everything. It should be a real treat, making our way through Wegmans on a National Holiday with 4 children. I'm sure we'll come home refreshed and rejuvenated by the solid family together time we've had.
Sarcasm aside, I'm really hoping to do some serious writing this week. It occurred to me, on Friday as I was driving out to pick up my poor sick E early from school, that this is an interesting time to be Anglican, and also that I'm in an interestingly precarious position.
For one thing, I'm ordained. I'm ordained in a body that is facing a serious theological crisis on this topic (that's my own estimation, I don't see how it can be avoided). Whatever my own feelings about it, the church is going to have to look at WO and deal with it, probably sooner rather than later. And to put it mildly, it’s awkward to be one member causing division in the body. Its not like I can point to other people and say, Oh Look, isn't it awful how they're doing that and causing so many problems. I'm part of the problem (sorry for the cliché).
But I'm also wildly conservative. As it stands now I won't be voting in the upcoming General Election because none of the candidates are conservative enough. And I'm a firm believer in shocking things like NFP and Husbandly Headship, and children being Respectful in All Things.
So on one hand I have the liberals of this world (Hi Liz) thinking, ‘Oh that poor woman. She's in such an existential mess. She should just chuck that brutal male hierarchy and embrace her true priest self and probably go be lesbian’ (I know you're thinking it, deep down, don't deny it-heh). And on the other hand I've got conservatives making snarky comments about the impossibility of Women Clergy. It’s a logical impossibility. It can't be done. And I'm super hypocritical to be conservative on some things and not others. And then there are the three or four people remaining who read this blog for the food and funny things my kids say (actually, I have no idea about how it all shakes out, maybe there are only 4 of you reading period).
All that to say that this is a pretty interesting place to be. And I ought to be writing more, or keeping track of what life is like at this particular moment in time. Someday someone is going to ask me, ‘so, what was it like to be a woman priest in a conservative church with 25 children?’ and if I don’t pay attention now, I won’t have an answer.
So first upcoming thought (maybe even today, but don’t hold your breath because of this wretched shopping), my reaction to this article (HT Jen).
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Re-emerging
So last Friday, I succumbed to Matt's cold with a vengeance. I missed my women's Bible Study on Saturday morning, leaving them to cope with Job 1 and 2 without any aid or comfort, and spent the day in bed, vaguely trying to change the bulletin over from Epiphany to Lent. But as the day progressed I had a harder and harder time seeing. Sunday morning I woke up with one eye glued shut. I went to church anyway because I had work to do, but I freaked everyone out with my streaming red disgusting eyes. I finally managed to get home and close them, mercifully.
E woke up sick Monday morning and climbed in my bed and the two of us slept all day while all chaos ensued. R and A managed to completely undo the house systematically and entirely. Our poor unsuspecting neighbors stopped by in the evening to say hi and ended up staying with all the kids so I could go to the walk in, where I sat around for two hours while they peered at my eyes and turned lights on and off. Finally they let me go on the promise I would go to an actual eye doctor in the morning, which I did, dutifully, driving slowly and wearing Matt's glasses. I came away with drops and admonishments to keep my contacts out. All that to say that I have been groping my way blindly through the week alternating between my old glasses which are not helpful, and Matt's glasses which aren't either. Finally my eyes are well enough to today to go for a new prescription of glasses and then tomorrow morning I go back to the eye doctor for the all clear to put my contacts back in.
Its been a ridiculous week. E missed two days of school and then had a snow day. I've been wandering around trying to clean up but having to stop and hold the sick baby who feels hurt and put upon by this horrible cold. I haven't been able to even look at the computer without getting a headache.
BUT, I did manage to watch some election returns from the Potomac Primary AND make some seriously beautiful pork chops last night (breaded and seared and then baked) and my own invented frittata (thinly sliced sweet potato, tomoato, spinich, cheese, 5 egges, cream, 400 degrees for 30 minutes), and Nigella's molton individual chocolate cakes. Happy Valentine's Day.
So now I'm going to go get that prescription and then break out the Valentine's Day chocolate with my kiddos and pretend the house is clean.
E woke up sick Monday morning and climbed in my bed and the two of us slept all day while all chaos ensued. R and A managed to completely undo the house systematically and entirely. Our poor unsuspecting neighbors stopped by in the evening to say hi and ended up staying with all the kids so I could go to the walk in, where I sat around for two hours while they peered at my eyes and turned lights on and off. Finally they let me go on the promise I would go to an actual eye doctor in the morning, which I did, dutifully, driving slowly and wearing Matt's glasses. I came away with drops and admonishments to keep my contacts out. All that to say that I have been groping my way blindly through the week alternating between my old glasses which are not helpful, and Matt's glasses which aren't either. Finally my eyes are well enough to today to go for a new prescription of glasses and then tomorrow morning I go back to the eye doctor for the all clear to put my contacts back in.
Its been a ridiculous week. E missed two days of school and then had a snow day. I've been wandering around trying to clean up but having to stop and hold the sick baby who feels hurt and put upon by this horrible cold. I haven't been able to even look at the computer without getting a headache.
BUT, I did manage to watch some election returns from the Potomac Primary AND make some seriously beautiful pork chops last night (breaded and seared and then baked) and my own invented frittata (thinly sliced sweet potato, tomoato, spinich, cheese, 5 egges, cream, 400 degrees for 30 minutes), and Nigella's molton individual chocolate cakes. Happy Valentine's Day.
So now I'm going to go get that prescription and then break out the Valentine's Day chocolate with my kiddos and pretend the house is clean.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Yes Indeed
I succumbed to whatever it was that Matt had. I spent all yesterday on the couch listening to R rove over the house tearing things apart. It wasn't actually that bad. He slept for a long time too and spent some time standing next to me staring at me and patting my face. So we coped. Today I can't talk so I'm going to give A some school work and start painting wise and foolish virgins. And fold laundry. And probably take a good long nap in hopes that I'll be over this by the weekend. That's my plan, except that I'm still lying on the couch and probably Matt will come home and muscle me off to the doctor, in which case all my best laid plans will come to nought. Anyway, regular blogging will resume when I can think straight again, hopefully sooner rather than later.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Tired and probably sick
Last year it occurs to me that Matt was sick also. It was probably an exact copy of today (or a foretaste, if you wish). Today I drug my dizzy and heavy and achy body out of bed and stuffed money in E's school bag so she could buy lunch and then lugged the baby to church in time to print the readings, cram the Ash Wednesday service into my head and throw together some thoughts about ashes and lent. But not enough time to remember to put the ashes out on the altar. My EM and I started the service promptly at 7 but had to have a nice long pause in the middle while we cast about for the ash, giving everyone ample opportunity to continue to confess their sins.
Then I scrounged around in the church kitchen and found an old frozen english muffin and a horrible packet of flavored instant oatmeal which I managed to get down with several cups of tea.
Then back up to church for morning prayer (rite one, for lent) and then coffee with a new church member, then getting more glass up off the office floor from the break in, and endless phone call returns, and then home for a bowl of cereal, and then visits to shut ins. And then back to church for the evening service, only I sat in the rocking chair while Matt ran around looking for the ashes. He's starting to feel better (thank the Lord in heaven and all the saints above) so it makes sense that I would be crashing into the ground. My headaches, so I'm going to post this, and close it, and go to bed and take up any potential discipline for lent tomorrow, because today I think I've done enough.
Then I scrounged around in the church kitchen and found an old frozen english muffin and a horrible packet of flavored instant oatmeal which I managed to get down with several cups of tea.
Then back up to church for morning prayer (rite one, for lent) and then coffee with a new church member, then getting more glass up off the office floor from the break in, and endless phone call returns, and then home for a bowl of cereal, and then visits to shut ins. And then back to church for the evening service, only I sat in the rocking chair while Matt ran around looking for the ashes. He's starting to feel better (thank the Lord in heaven and all the saints above) so it makes sense that I would be crashing into the ground. My headaches, so I'm going to post this, and close it, and go to bed and take up any potential discipline for lent tomorrow, because today I think I've done enough.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Weekend In Review but not really
Perhaps some of you saw this Post on Stand Firm and prayed, in which case I thank you all very much. Matt was supposed to land in Syracuse at 9pm Saturday night and be home by 10:30. Instead he called me at 8 something from Cincinnati again, clearly rattled. We listened to the various announcing explanations together, him over the loudspeaker, me on the phone hearing the loudspeaker. And then I sat up wide awake until 11 something when he landed in Syracuse safely and called me again. So we all slept way in on Sunday morning until 6am, probably the first time since being, well, maybe in college? I can't remember.
And then in the evening, as we watched the superbowl (great game, by the way) Matt's throat started to hurt more and more and he started being feverish, burning up all night in fact, and so this morning we packed him in the car and took him to the doctor-a fun family outing. And now I've arranged him as comfortably as possible with lots of pillows and tylenol for the fever, and a computer and mugs and mugs of broth and honey tea trying to make it bearable for him to swallow. And we're IMing because he can't talk.
So I haven't had time to format my sermon to post. But I will. And I haven't had time to write up my fabulous superbowl menu (pita bread, hummus, chicken, guacamole) and put up the picture I managed to snap. And I haven't had time to do much of anything, except thank Jesus over and over that Matt is home safely. But I'll get to it, eventually. Ha.
And then in the evening, as we watched the superbowl (great game, by the way) Matt's throat started to hurt more and more and he started being feverish, burning up all night in fact, and so this morning we packed him in the car and took him to the doctor-a fun family outing. And now I've arranged him as comfortably as possible with lots of pillows and tylenol for the fever, and a computer and mugs and mugs of broth and honey tea trying to make it bearable for him to swallow. And we're IMing because he can't talk.
So I haven't had time to format my sermon to post. But I will. And I haven't had time to write up my fabulous superbowl menu (pita bread, hummus, chicken, guacamole) and put up the picture I managed to snap. And I haven't had time to do much of anything, except thank Jesus over and over that Matt is home safely. But I'll get to it, eventually. Ha.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
To my Mother (really, just a short note to my mother whose email is rejecting me)
Mommy, I just replied to that NEGST email and it wouldn't go through. That's what I've been doing for days, is writing to the NEGST email, and it never goes through. I don't know what else to do. Are you ok? Are you safe?
Friday, February 01, 2008
Bathtime in the Kingdom
Me: If you're very good and you eat your supper, after your bath you can sleep in the tent.
E: In my sleeping bag?
Me: Yes.
A: I will be getting a sleeping bag for my birthday.
Me: Oh, that sounds nice.
A: It will be a Knight in Shining Armor Sleeping Bag. And G will get a little tiny Princess Sleeping Bag. And R will have a Knight in Shining Armor Sleeping Bag.
E: Yeah.
A: And Daddy will have a King Sleeping Bag and Mommy, you will have a Queen Sleeping Bag.
Me: How orderly.
A: Yeah. And we will have a bath after I eat all this food.
R: No No No No No Yesh.
E: In my sleeping bag?
Me: Yes.
A: I will be getting a sleeping bag for my birthday.
Me: Oh, that sounds nice.
A: It will be a Knight in Shining Armor Sleeping Bag. And G will get a little tiny Princess Sleeping Bag. And R will have a Knight in Shining Armor Sleeping Bag.
E: Yeah.
A: And Daddy will have a King Sleeping Bag and Mommy, you will have a Queen Sleeping Bag.
Me: How orderly.
A: Yeah. And we will have a bath after I eat all this food.
R: No No No No No Yesh.
Providence and Plans
After carefully filling R's bottle with skim milk and heavy cream (so he would drink it), a wonderful and unsuspecting friend drove up to see if we were ok and needed anything. Yes! Yes! Yes please! Milk! 'No problem' he said, 'I'm not from Texas. I can handle any weather'. He's actually been driving all over town in this muck. But its good that people like me stay off the roads, to make it safer for the people like him.
So now we have a whole glorious gallon of whole milk in the fridge. And I'm thawing turkey spaghetti sauce for supper. And we're drinking tea (with as much milk as we like) and eating the Cinnamon Raisin Bread that I made yesterday. And E is reading real words out of a real book (thank the Lord Almighty). 'The pig sat in the mud.' And we're all talking.
Me: R is going to be the family comedian. Look at him. His laugh is fake. And he's being sarcastic.
E: Yeah. It's really funny.
A: I want to be the family communion.
Me: Really? The family communion? I thought you were the family artist.
E: No, I'm the family artist.
Me: No, you're the family organizer and dancer.
E: Oh yeah. I dance, and organize.
R: NO. No. No. No. Daaaadyyyyy.
So now we have a whole glorious gallon of whole milk in the fridge. And I'm thawing turkey spaghetti sauce for supper. And we're drinking tea (with as much milk as we like) and eating the Cinnamon Raisin Bread that I made yesterday. And E is reading real words out of a real book (thank the Lord Almighty). 'The pig sat in the mud.' And we're all talking.
Me: R is going to be the family comedian. Look at him. His laugh is fake. And he's being sarcastic.
E: Yeah. It's really funny.
A: I want to be the family communion.
Me: Really? The family communion? I thought you were the family artist.
E: No, I'm the family artist.
Me: No, you're the family organizer and dancer.
E: Oh yeah. I dance, and organize.
R: NO. No. No. No. Daaaadyyyyy.
avoiding work
While we've been eating pancakes (Matt doesn't like the name, 'Yogurt Pancakes', so I need to think of something else), Matt has been hard at work live blogging this, excellent, hopefull. Its so helpful to have a framework or a context to place over this whole mess. The whole church has been experiencing it, but so have I personally. Excellent Talk.
Yogurt Pancakes
So they were delicious. I used the basic Joy of Cooking pancake recipe substituting yogurt for milk, Lyle's Golden Syrup for sugar and then thinning it (heh) with heavy cream. We have tons of cream, just no milk. The pancakes were light, fluffy, a touch sour (which I loved but E was unsure about) and delicious. R methodically ate his way through three without stopping for breath Or, more surprisingly, throwing any on the floor, or himself. Then he had a bath and is now lying on the floor staring at the falling ice, like after Thanksgiving. Naked he's starting to look like one of those cheezy naked baby angels with wings and an arrow. I've never had a fat baby before so it's pretty satisfying. So, R and I highly recommend Yogurt Pancakes (with butter and syrup).
Seriously, there's no spell check.
Seriously, there's no spell check.
Nessessity is the Mother
Knowing E didn't have school today in advance I promised pancakes for breakfast. But I don't have enough milk. So, I'm going to try to use yogurt instead, and maybe some bananas and chocolate chips to cover up the yogurt taste. I'll let you know how it goes.
(given that I have all the kids home today, I won't really have time to sit down and write, but also, the ice induces a blogging mood, so probably expect these short snippits all day, although I shouldn't promise anything, we'll see how it goes. Also, my spell check doesn't seem to working, and I'm a horrible speller, so enjoy that too.)
(given that I have all the kids home today, I won't really have time to sit down and write, but also, the ice induces a blogging mood, so probably expect these short snippits all day, although I shouldn't promise anything, we'll see how it goes. Also, my spell check doesn't seem to working, and I'm a horrible speller, so enjoy that too.)
Icing
We can hear the ice falling heavily on the roof. I hoped to lie there and listen to it for hours, but four children and a dog and three cats do not want anyone lying around. So now we are watching it fall through the window. Unfortunately, we are perilously low on milk and there is No Way I am driving in this stuff, so the rationing begins.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)