Sermon: Philippians 2:5-11

This is basically what I preached this morning. I veered more off my text than ever before, rearranging whole paragraphs as I talked. I don't know if it went well but we all got through it.

Our text this morning will be Philippians 2:5-11. One thing that always strikes me when I read any of the Gospel accounts of Jesus' last hours is how spare they are. Unlike so much of my own writing, or the way we communicate in general, there is not one word extra. It is written as matter-of-factly, as undramatically as possible. The lines are so spare so bare, so restrained, like if you started to add more a dam would break and you would never be able to contain it all on one piece of paper.

Because this is the case, it is possible that we might quickly pass over this account of Jesus' death. We're so used to big signals, like sad or majestic or sinister music and fancy camera angles that we might miss that something so bare, so spare could be important.

That is why I would like you, if you, can, to turn to Philippians 2. Paul is going to help us understand what Jesus was doing, who he was and how, when you give yourself to him and and trust in him, you will become like him, you will walk in the way he walked and do the kind of things he did and ultimately, have a 'mind' like him--that is think, talk and act like him.

Paul writes, 'have this mind among yourselves'.
If you are holding an NIV it will say
'your attitude should be the same as that of Jesus Christ'.
Attitude is a fine enough word, but basically,
probably out of worry that you won't get it,
they've plastered over the incredibly lovely structure of this text.
The ESV says 'have this mind among yourselves'--
the "this" referring back up to the instructions Paul has just laid out--
thinking of others as better than yourself
you can look up and see that we,
all of us who belong to Jesus,
ought to have a mind in common,
ought to be of one accord,
ought to have the same love for each other
and to think each other better than ourselves--
'Have this mind' is the bridge between the two sections
and more fully links our common mind together--
but then here is the kicker...
these are not only things and attitudes that we must make an effort to do...
these are things we can do and can have
because we have already been given the mind of Christ.
The full verse reads:
Have this mind among yourselves,
WHICH IS YOURS IN CHRIST JESUS
This mind is already yours,
now by grace live up to it...
then he goes on to describe who Christ is and what he did
AND since you and I have this mind,
who we really are and what it looks like when we live accordingly
So really the first verse provides a measure--
we, who are believers,
can lay ourselves down beside this and ask--
do I look like Jesus?

Verse 6. 'Who', that's Jesus, 'though he was in the form of God'.
Form is a difficult English word.
It sounds like he was the form of God but he wasn't really God.
The Greek word would better render
'who was in his essential nature God'
'did not count equality with God something to be grasped'
or held on to tightly.
Jesus, in his essential being and nature God,
did not grasp or cling to this nature.

verse 7, but made himself nothing.
The but doesn't mean that he did something that was outside of his nature.
Rather, making himself nothing
perfectly shows the nature of God as completely and totally self giving.
That who God is is a being who pours himself out
and makes himself nothing out of love.

Taking on the form of a servant.
Again, form here means the being and essence of a servant,
really a bond servant which is not many steps away from a slave.
The Greek word is doulous--
he bound himself to the created world, to us,
as a doulous, a slave, a bond servant.
Being born in the likeness of men.
In other words, we are born, created in the likeness and image of God,
Jesus is like us,
he is in the image and likeness of us,
we can recognize him as one of us,
he is one of us.

Paul has, again,
so elegantly and beautifully,
with the repetition of the word 'form'
revealed the two full natures of Jesus--
he is Both God and Man
and yet his manhood was taken up in such a way that it reveals perfectly the agape,
the self-giving love,
that God has for sinners.

He humbled himself by becoming obedient to God the Father to the point of death, even death on a cross.

We have a beautiful cross hanging here behind me.
Just about every room in the church has a cross hanging in it.
The Philippian church,
hearing this letter read for the first time
would have had no such symbols around them.
The very idea of taking a cross and making it the symbol under which to all rally,
well, no one would have had such an idea.
It wasn't just the most perfectly constructed instrument of torture ever conceived of,
it wasn't just the most brutal horrific painful way to die,
it was humiliating.
I don't know about you
but I spend most of my time trying not to be humiliated.
That's one reason I hate conflict so much,
I might come out looking bad or feeling bad or feeling diminished in some way.
And because the line between humiliation and humility is not very very thick,
I, and perhaps many of you might sort of not consider humility,
or thinking of others as better than me
because it is so desperately uncomfortable.

But Jesus, who in his being essence and nature was God,
and because God in his being is someone who does not grasp,
does not hold on to himself but rather pours out himself completely,
Jesus humbled himself to the humiliation and horror of death on a cross.

Why? Paul doesn't answer the question right here but the NT is full of answers.
One you all should know by heart,
John 3:16,
for God so loved, he loved so much that he sent his only begotten son Jesus, that who so ever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life.
God is love.
I've really, in Philippians,
been trying to wrap my limited mind around the immensity of the fact that God,
at the cross,
didn't do something different from who he was.
That Jesus, bleeding, dying, suffering in silence
was showing us perfectly the perfect nature and character of God.
But there's a principle in the Bible that stuff is in their for a reason.
Paul is showing us the true nature of Jesus and of God for a reason.
It should not be hard to guess.
We are not characterized by love.
We are characterized by rebellion and destruction,
and sometimes,
even though we have been given the mind of Christ,
we do not live that way.
In fact, we take who we are,
our lust for equality with God,
our pursuit of rights,
our dislike of pain and suffering of any kind,
and spiritualize or rationalize it.
All week long as I studied this text I kept running up against a verse in Psalm 50,
that always feels like a smack in the mouth to me, when I read it.
You don't have to turn to Psalm 50, the Psalmist writes in verse 21.
These things you have done, and I have been silent;
you thought that I was one like yourself.
It is the very most ancient kind of sin,
that we make ourselves the standard by which we judge God and each other.
We might look at the cross and say, yeah, I mean of course,
Jesus loves me and so of course he died for me.
And he should give me this this and this because that's who he is.
He is love.
But we understand it to be our kind of love,
our kind of holiness,
as if we are holy.
And because, perhaps,
we aren't pursuing God as he is in himself in the scriptures,
or seeking the mind of Christ,
or laying the dark corners of our minds and hearts bare before him,
we don't hear him much when he does speak to us,
and then into that perceived silence we pour ourselves.

This hymn in praise of Christ puts a lie to that,
line by line.
Jesus,
the Son,
did not think equality with God,
something to be grasped.
We do.
We are constantly trying to make ourselves equal to God.
He took on the position of a slave,
he completely dropped any rights, any claim to glory.
I don't know about you, but most of the time,
I'm trying to gain what's 'rightfully' mine, I'm measuring out--
I'll do this act of service,
but then someone else either better notice and match it.
A slave?
That's so unequal.
That's so unfair.
He humbled himself to death, a death of humiliation.
Humble?
I got mad because someone referred to me
in vaguely condescending terms as a 'lady' this week.
Don't get me wrong,
you're welcome to hold open the door
and defer to me graciously
but don't pat me on the head...
I'm equal with you, bla bla bla.
That's not humility.
That's not the mind that Jesus has.

I don't want us, in this holiest week of the year,
to do that.
I don't want us to walk through these days,
walking in the steps of Jesus,
thinking that Jesus died to vindicate our way of thinking,
our set of priorities,
our way of loving.

This is the mind that we are to have,
the mind of Christ himself.
He did not think that being God was something to be grabbed hold of.
He grabbed hold of you instead.
He did not set about to glorify himself,
he set out to rescue you.

Therefore God has highly exalted him,
exalted him more than anyone has ever been exalted before,
and given him the name that is the very name of God,
the name so holy that it is not even said.
When you see it written, you say The LORD, for it is so holy.
And it is this name by which you must be saved.
There is no other name.
There is no other way.
God has not been silent.
He has put an end to sin and death and human rebellion.
Let the same mind be among you.
Do not hang on to yourself.
Do you think you will be diminished if you let go of yourself?
Not if you give yourself to Jesus.
As Jesus poured out himself for us, we pour out ourselves for each other, for him.
No measuring.
No holding on to your rights,
your equality,
what's fair.
No counting out,
love for love,
job for job,
penny for penny.
Do you think, if God highly exalted Jesus he will not also bring you into his own glory? That somehow your suffering will so diminish you as to destroy you?
No, when you pour yourself out, Jesus fills you up.
When you humble yourself, he will raise you up.
When you suffer, he is glorified.
Take on the mind of Christ.

7 Quick Takes

-One-

The board has agreed on a name for the school we're starting this fall. And it is (don't say it if you already know)....Soli Deo Gloria Classical School. I love it. I'm so excited. It sums up our vision and purpose besides rolling really beautifully off the tongue. This was a fairly arduous process, worse, as I said before, than naming a child. We would have had Academy instead of Classical School but it turns out, in NY, that you can only have Academy for High School grades and we won't be doing that for another few years.

-Two-

The baby's eating schedule is upside down and its driving me crazy. She sleeps nice long chunks of the day and then eats all night. She's getting heavy and round and I'm getting a shorter and shorter fuse as I loose more and more sleep. I really hate to let her cry it out this young but I don't know what else to do. You all were so helpful on the shoe question, any advice?

-Three-

Church of the Good Shepherd has a new website. Its so cool. Like our now gorgeous music, our professional and slick website brings us more and more into the realm of real grown up church.

-Four-

Our psychotic and wayward cat who for so long sinned against us by using the entire house as his loo, moved from there to chewing large chunks of his own hair off. We took him to the vet a while ago and were told he ought to have monthly cortisone shots. Appalled at that idea I began a campaign of prayer over him, imploring God for a cheaper miracle, essentially. God has answered my prayer. I have no idea why, but his hair is growing back and he sleeps on my back instead of up in the ceiling of the basement. I have no idea why I might be loosing so much sleep.

-Five-

I had the pleasure of listening to Beethoven's Wig for the first time yesterday. What an excellent piece of music, the lyrics! everything. I commend it to you all.
For orchestra this term I've had my fours and fives stand up and shout 'Hallelujah' when I say Handel. And when I say Bach, they stand up and shout 'So Many Children!' and when I say Mozart they stand up and shout 'Too Many Notes!'

-Six-

We're in the throws of organizing Iron Shepherd 2010. You doubtless remember that at the last Iron Shepherd I creamed Matt by a grand one point. This time we're considering competing together as a team against someone else. The important question is, at whom shall we fling the gauntlet? And what weekend would be best?

-Seven-

Everybody is screaming so apparently these quick takes are over. Have a great weekend!

go check out Jen!

An Ancient Gem

Matt was sorting through boxes of old paper and photos yesterday and ran across a little something I can't pass up. Its from 1953, Cowles Magazines or LOOK and its called What is an Episcopalian? It appears to be written by Norman Pittenger, of whom I have never heard, who was Professor of Christian Apologetics at General Theological Seminary. I don't have a lot to time this morning, so I thought I'd offer first just this little horrifying bit about the Trinity.

The Trinity is the Christian teaching about God. In light of man's experience of God's working in the world, Christians have been driven to assert that God is as he reveals himself. He is Creative Reality (God the Father); he is Expressive Act (God the Son); he is Responsive Power (God the Holy Spirit). Yet he is one God. This is "theology." What matters most, in the Book of Common Prayer, about the Trinity is that we worship God and experience him in a "trinitarian" fashion.

In seminary we used to have great fun, sitting long hours after meals in the refectory making fun of this kind of idiocy. 'I believe in "God the Father"' someone would say making the big scare quotes in the air, 'and in "God the Son" bla bla bla'. Why are the scare quotes? Because you can hear in people's voices the level of their unbelief, the dripping sarcasm that envelopes a word like 'resurrection'.

More on this later, and don't worry, I have more on shoes in the works.

The shoe saga continues

I have my tiny special shoe shelf in place. I intend to take a picture once I locate my camera. Just about everybody needs their picture taken in the next few days because they've all gone puffy and round and I can tell they're about to grow.

I've instructed Elphine and Alouiscious about the shelf--ordinary always worn shoes on the shelf, boots in the back room, everything else in your rooms. For the last 24 hours its worked beautifully. I'm astonished at how satisfying this shelf is. On the whole, despite the objections of my husband, I really like the hall/entrance way, and the fact that you can see the copper pots hanging over the sink directly as you walk in the door.

I know I'm supposed to be writing a sermon and thinking about Jesus, but I'm completely distracted by the fatness of this baby, the pleasantness of the shelf, and the skyping of my husband.

Shoes: an update

Matt now tells me that he 'can't believe I wrote a whole post about shoes', 'how utterly foolish' he says. To which I retort, if for one moment I stopped struggling with the shoe situation he would notice there was a grave problem and would no longer utter the words 'utterly foolish'.

So delighted am I with the suggestions of a shoe shelf that I am going to spend a portion of today appropriating a misused shelf for that purpose. We already have children's coats hung very low in the hallway and a shelf will fit nicely and neatly next to them. Now, if I could just get Matt to wildly start moving beds around....

I so enjoy these little reorganization projects.

Shoes

Instead of weeping and moaning about the health care vote last night (but believe me, I am weeping and moaning) I thought I would ask for some advice.

We've managed to get our laundry under control (I can't find the link--we moved all the kids dressers into the laundry room thereby simplifying everything) and our chore system means that the house is basically always reasonably picked up. However, I have no good, rational and decent way to deal with shoes.

I've tried keeping them lined up neatly in rows in various parts of the house, I've tried keeping them all in a huge basket, and now I'm making the kids constantly carry them up to their rooms every time I see a pair lying around. There always seems to be one critical shoe missing, and often I can't find my own shoes because Gladys has worn them to some remote part of the house.

So, surely some of you have something to suggest.
My only stipulation is that I can't spend any money. I can't go out and buy a fancy shoe rack or shoe bin or shoe storage unit or new room of my house for shoes (like the unbelievably blessed woman who has a whole barn for all her children's shoes). Whatever solution, it is will have to be completely free, although I'm willing to put in work to make it happen.

Please, I beg you, someone offer me some hope.

forgot to mention...

We're off to another interest meeting in an hour for the school if you are in town and have a burning desire to know more

Arrowhead Parable Bookstore
1 Harry L. Drive
10:30am

Obviously it would have been a lot nicer of me to give a few days warning. The next one is
Tuesday March 23, 6:30pm, same location.

I've been setting here for an hour trying to decide whether to blog or whether to link the long list of blogs I've been meaning to link for some time but keep forgetting, but have come to the ultimate conclusion that I don't have time to do either. See you later!

an undercurrent of hostility UPDATE

The beautiful unintended consequence of laying bare my insecurity for all to see was all the excellent and brilliant comments left on the post under this one. Thank you all so much.

I'm moving my mother's comment up here, for you all to see because she really explained it better than I did, and is inspiring me to write the painful autobiographical examples of hostility from my youth. Here's what she said.

It's obviously time I straightened out the writer of this blog. The first time I ever heard anyone talk about an "undercurrent of hostility" was when this blog writer's very own father (not yet married to ME but about to be) showed up in Portland Oregon the week before the wedding and met my large (8 kids 2 parents) family and felt that while we were all very polite there was a certain measure of quiet insanity in the household and an undercurrent of hostility. Which of course became our new family joke. Always an undercurrent of hostility and it HAS to be an undercurrent when you are for the moment living in an Tzeltal village in Mexico for instance, and being constantly watched, or are having to share a kitchen in France with someone you barely know and can barely stand, or when you have to learn strange tongues in small villages in West Africa where the gossip mill runs deep and clear. It's been a family joke for all these many years.

But today, the hostility isn't in evidence at all. It is luxuriously warm and hazy (60 degrees), and we're going to sit down for some school in a few minutes, and I've hung my copper pots over the sink in an excessively pleasing way, and there are no board meetings or vestry meetings or anything, and I can't think of anything to complain about so I won't go on writing. See you tomorrow.

103 Reasons Why I hate Daylight Savings or Why this blog is called 'an undercurrent of hostility'

I was reminded again this weekend that I've never given an explanation for the title of this blog. When one sets out to name a blog, unlike the process of naming a child, or a school, one casts about in one's mind, thinks of several cutesy things, finally says, 'whatever, I'm naming it this', logs onto blogger, finds the name surprisingly not claimed and signs up. Then one posts pretty little posts of how to make bread and all the cute things one's children are saying.

Astute readers will see where said blogger went wrong.
She didn't think about an audience. She has too many subjects she's covering. Like...
children,
Anglican Mess,
food,
education,
general sarcastic irritation with life,
sermons,
spiritual things...So she will never be linked by bloggers with a good focus (all three of you who have linked me are to be commended for your brilliance in seeing past the veneer of incompetence to the brilliance of the writing found on this blog). She will never be linked by sarcastic mean bloggers because she's too spiritual. She will never be linked by lovely Christian bloggers because the title of her blog has the word 'hostile' in it. She will never be linked by intellectual bloggers because she talks too much about her children. She will never be linked by mommy bloggers because she hates to be called 'mommy' except and only by her actual children.

Such a blogger spends time quietly comforting herself that it doesn't matter if anyone links her; she writes because she likes to and because its a better hobby than trying to sew because she doesn't know how to sew. And she quietly criticizes other bloggers for not blogging often enough. But basically she knows that had she thought more about the name of a blog, she would have had no residual anxiety about her blog.

So why does a blogger even consider the name 'an undercurrent of hostility'? Well, to begin with, if its part of the vocabulary life of one's early life. As in 'did you feel the undercurrent of hostility in that room?' or 'boy, there's a strong undercurrent of hostility, I hope it doesn't come to the surface and cause us all to be embarrassed.' Those kinds of things.

When I started this blog I was seriously hostile towards an array subjects. But when I say 'seriously hostile' I really mean 'vaguely annoyed' or sometimes 'seriously annoyed' or maybe once in a good long while 'frankly ticked off'. The Anglican Mess, for example, enjoined itself too all three levels. The disobedience of my children makes it every day to Level Two. On the other hand, the cultural shift of people in the church deciding not to have babies 'frankly ticks me off'. And obviously, Daylight Savings Time makes it to Level Three every time.

How could it not be so. I was finally waking up early in the morning in time to pray, read the Bible AND work out. The baby was on a regular eating and sleeping schedule. We had settled into a restful post Christmas pre Easter rhythm, only to have it shattered by the insanity of the idea that we can 'save daylight'.

So of course I've been considering changing the name of this blog. But not very seriously. I think, ultimately, I'd rather just keep writing here whether anyone reads it or not, or links me or not, because writing is a great pleasure and that's why I do it.

Repost: A grief

I posted this clip a long while ago but I think its due again, not only because it is lent but, just because. You probably all know what I'm talking about.

A Classical School for the Southern Tier

I'm so behind on blog reading and people are saying so many interesting things out there that I can barely be spared to write anything here.

HOWEVER, I need to come out of my not totally unusual silence and invite all of you in the Binghamton area who are trying to figure out how to educate your children to come to the first of many Informational Meetings for a school (March 13, 10:30am).

All my joking over the years about starting a school, like all good joking, had a big fat kernel of truth to it. I'm so excited about this new venture. You can read what the paper said here.

So, blogging has been light, and may continue so until we catch our breath. As part of the excitement, we've been meeting two days a week with some other interested home schoolers to just show ourselves that it will be possible to get up, get dressed and get out the door every morning, lunch and books in hand.

If you don't live in Binghamton and aren't old enough to enroll (because surely otherwise you would want to) I hope you'll pray. I've never been big on the whole 'seasons of life thing'. Its too much of a cliche, like 'bloom where you are planted'. I mean, of course, of course one should bloom where one is planted. Where else is one going to bloom? But this definitely sends us into a new 'season' where old routines have to fade away or take on a new character, and new things replace them. And if I'm not blogging much, its because I'm trying to do lots of other things. And on that note, if I don't move along, we will be late or forget something.

When a baby cries

I've been noticing lately an interesting difference between my little boys and my little girls. Its a difference that any sensible person might observe and there have even been studies done on it.

My little girls cannot bear to hear the baby cry. Whey she cries, Elphine goes immediately to pick her up. Gladys goes automatically to jam a plug (pacifier, we call them plugs because that's what they are, really, let's not beat euphemistically about the bush) in her squalling mouth. They both firmly say things like 'stop crying'.

The boys on the other hand take quite a long time to notice that she is crying, and when they finally do, they will come and say aggrievedly, 'the baby is crying. Can't you make her stop?'

I only remarked this difference a few weeks ago and thought I was jumping to preconceived conclusions. I mean, really, how could you not notice something as relentless and angry as a tiny hungry baby? So I began to purposefully watch. The difference is so remarkable as to be funny.

Its not like I'm busy or anything

Well, really, I am, upsetting and horribly busy.
I intended to blog every day last week but many mornings I didn't even open my computer.

So, because a list is really all I have minutes for, here are those things that I ought to have done, have done, or probably ought not to have done...it is lent after all:

--Thank You Notes. I HAVE to write thank you notes. I'm So bad at them. I have a stack of them sitting there glaring at me.
--catching up on my list writing. I've been forgetting to make lists reminding me to do what's on my lists.
--Reading to the kids. I'm trying to read to the kids every day, but you'd be surprised how difficult it is to read even one whole picture book without interruption, just one, or even only half.
--School. After being sick for nearly two weeks, its been hard to get back on track.
--Pilates. I'm doing a wretched video in those spare moments that don't exist. I can't Stand the perky happy fit people saying 'Good Job!' to me when I'm lying in pain on the floor, clearly not doing a good job.
--Watching Mitchell and Webb's Peep Show. In good conscience I can't recommend this because its fairly profane and in many ways completely offensive. However, its so funny. Its like modern day PG Wodehouse, capturing the deep abiding embarrassment of the English person. If you don't like British humor you won't like this.
--Not reading actual books. I have a stack of 20 books sitting right here next to me that I'm not reading.
--Finishing Matt's blanket of death. Its not an actual blanket of death. Its a really thick knitted throw blanket thing that I started before we got married, intending to give it to him and be so impressive. 1o years later, I've finally finished it but the weather is already too hot for him to even touch it (wretched man). In the intervening years he began referring to it as his 'blanket of death', that lovely hand made thing that I would finish only in time to place gently over his cold body in a coffin. Here it is, 24 hours later and he's still up and breathing. I showed him. But I'm never knitting a whole blanket again.
--Comforting and coddling Elphine who fell backwards off an evil stool and was promptly taken to the ER by her father for 4 stitches, a Popsicle, a stack of stickers, a pair of plastic gloves and later a large bowl of ice cream.
--Finishing up Numbers. I really love Numbers.
--Holding the baby. All the time. Just because.

links for a monday

I've been trying to think of something to write about for the last three hours and I give up. I think its largely due to the fact that I haven't read anything for several days nor watched anything but stuff like this

But really, you should go check this out. Lauren was in my class at school and remembers for us all what dating was like at ICA. One freak out warning, though, the staff at our now defunct school used the word 'coupling' to designate couples who were dating or whatever. I have since learned that the term 'coupling' has another meaning than the one intended by the dorm fathers of ICA. I won't go into it here, but still. Really.

I'm supposed to be reorganizing my linen closet because matt has done ALL the laundry in the whole house but instead...

Matt just posted this at Stand Firm.
But personally, as a young adult (I guess I'm probably on the end of being able to say that about myself, ouch) I prefer this:
(warning profanity, vulgarity and the possibility that you will be deeply offended)

I'd say, for those of you trying to understand Anglicanism, this should really just help everything fall into place.

7 Quick Takes

One

There is SO Much snow and its still coming down at a good clip. Have been thinking all kinds of snarky things like, 'Al Gore must be in town', and 'Praise God for Global Warming' and....well, basically just how much I hate cold weather and that its not that pretty. No one else shares my feelings. All my children are in love with it. Yuck.

Two

Spent Thursday entirely in bed entirely in pain. My left ear has always had something funny about it but usually this sort of thing only happens when I fly. (Maybe its climate change! heh) Amazed to find myself feeling really lonely for my kids, but not so lonely as to assemble them around me. Poor Matt coped with everything and listened to me complain, by text.
'Pain Horrible, require soup' and
'Pain Horrible, please remove child from me' and
'Can't cope with pain, don't you care at all?'
These were just some of my many texts all day.

Three

Am having an increasingly hard time listening to NPR. Offended almost every day. Whatever day Terry Gross was talking about the Tea Party Movement I had to turn it off. Of course, of course the best way to understand something you strongly disagree with is to get someone who agrees with you to explain it to you. Then the two of you can wonder and be amazed that anyone, like a Tea Party supporter, could be so stupid. Turned off Morning Edition just now because of the manner in which they were talking about James Dobson, again with wonder and disdainful disbelief. Oh, and yesterday the evening program had a whole segment about 'Fundamentalist Christians' in Congress and how they have a special house or something to meet in. Its the tone of voice I can't stand, and the stupid questions asked, and the underlying premise. Need to just plug in the ipod in the morning instead of turning on the radio.

Four

Felt angry with MCJ for not posting one day this week. Rely on him to Post Every Day, especially if I'm suffering through trying to listen to NPR.

Five

Had a long two hour showdown with Gladys on Tuesday. She looked me in the eye and said, 'Get me more milk, Anne.'
To which I replied, 'You call me Mommy. You say, please may I have some milk, Mommy'.
She then dissolved into an immediate and sudden tantrum. I shortened the requirement to just 'Yes Mommy'.
'Say Yes Mommy' I said over and over while she screamed.
'Do I have to say Yes Mommy?' She would scream. 'Maggie is in the kitchen.'
'I know Maggie is in the kitchen, say Yes Mommy.'
Round and round for hours while she cried and pointed out unhelpful things.
Finally won.

Six

For Lent Matt signed us up for Netflix so that at night we can sit side by side with our separate computers watching separate movies. Its so cool. I love Lent.

Seven

I did give something up, though. I gave up the very addicting game on my phone. So now while I'm listening to the Bible in the morning, I have to play plain old Majong. I'm really loving Leviticus and Numbers. The list of gifts for the consecration of the altar in Numbers 7 is so soothing.

Go check out Jen's site for more quick takes.

the snow is snowing all around

The snow is pouring out of the sky. I should have listened to school cancellations just to comfort myself. Trouble is, I really need to go see a doctor, the sooner the better. I've got a profound and unrelenting ear ache and I'm pretty sure its an infection. But I really don't want to drive out in this muck....so clearly I'm left with just blogging.

And trying to get through a day of school since we missed so much last week (what with being sick). I seem to remember this sickness theme from the last time I was nursing. Somehow, by mid February, I just succumb to everything.

I'll stop whining and go take some more motrin. Enjoy the snow! if you happen to have it.

Part Three

Part Three of our on-going series Leaving Home is up at Stand Firm. I would stay and write more but I should already be in the shower and getting ready for school. Enjoy! Stay warm if you're in this part of the world. More snow seems to be falling.

conversation and a sermon

Alouicious has just made an astounding discovery.
"Why don't we all sleep in here as a family? We all fit!"
As Matt says every morning trying to escape the thronging children, "Its just what I've always dreamed--a cat, a dog and five children in bed. Oh, and my wife."
Clearly a queen size bed is too big. Our pediatrician is right. He says that by child #5 a No Child in the Bed Policy breaks down from sheer tiredness. "You won't be able to do it," he says, "eventually you'll be just be too tired to kick them out and they will overtake you." Like the Mongolian hoards I always add quietly to myself.

Anyway, that's not what I intended to post about this morning. I'm posting Matt's sermon from Sunday. I managed to hear the whole thing and was thoroughly helped. I recommend it to you strongly. And now once more into the fray...

Monday Morning Haze

The weekend was pretty uneventful and I'm not doing anything right this moment of note, so I'll just bung up some pictures.

Here, Gladys is trying to put on Elphine's dress and is very angry. I further enraged her by taking this picture. In a minute I'm going to make it my facebook profile picture.

Here, Gladys is tickling the baby.

Elphine dressed them both for school. We did an entire day of school with this ridiculousness.

The baby is constantly, when she's not screaming, trying to laugh.

A Week in Review: my unasked for opinions about Ash Wednesday and Stuff

We seem to be on the tail end of the Binghamton Plague/Crud. Four out of seven of us got it which isn't too bad. There is a huge pile of laundry and other cleaning to be got through. And we missed three days of school work because I couldn't move. And I had to muddle through Ash Wednesday services on my own because Matt was too sick to move.

Don't think I completely blew it but don't recall ever having done the service myself before and so was constantly being taken by surprise (I must always be dancing at the back with a baby instead of paying actual attention). Like that long moment of silence before the distribution of ashes, wish the Prayer Book would specify how long its supposed to be. Knew, of course, that I was supposed to be praying but was too nervous to actually pray (thought I might be over come by the Holy Spirit and forget to stop). Tried counting to 100 but got lost in the middle.

And then the different absolution prayer--gasp. Completely mangled the words both times. And then was frankly annoyed with the short litany. For whomever is revising the Prayer Book it needs to be seriously beefed up--too much 'I'm really sorry for being frustrated and angry with myself' and not enough 'I'm really sorry for actually committing real sin; please God, don't strike me'.

I didn't intend this post to be entirely liturgical. But I've been gently dipping my toes back into the working pool of church since this last baby and have discovered three things.
1. I really love being up in the thick of things with Matt.
2. I don't much love doing it by myself.
3. I'm immoderately attached to this latest baby. I'm not what you could call a 'clingy mother'. I should probably more clingy, But, I'm totally bewitched by this baby. In fact, I sometimes pretend to carry on feeding her when she's actually gone to sleep so that I don't have to put her down and move on to the next thing.

And speaking of the next thing, I shouldn't be sitting her blogging when there's such a mountain of laundry and school.
ps. I'm making free to blog as much as I want because I've finished my part of the next installment (Leaving Home) and Matt's the one that's holding things up.

Bleh

I was up throwing up all night (I and Alouicious) and am still lying here imploring God that everyone else will stay healthy. So, since I can't think to do anythhing, and am falling asleep every few minutes, here is an email Matt sent out to the Parish this morning.

Dear Good Shepherd,
Someone recently sent me the archives to our old website. On it I found the following Good Shepherd Update from August 2nd 2004.
This was the update I wrote shortly after a significant number of people decided to leave Good Shepherd, mostly due to the decision we took with regard to human sexuality but also because of the new focus on scripture. I mention 15 departures, but by the end of the year, it had risen to 30.
It is difficult to look back on that time. I remember my worry and fear. I remember how close we came (I thought) to not making it. It was a dark time.
But I pass it on as a lesson in God's grace, power and love for his people. He provided all that we needed and carried Good Shepherd through that time. Comparing this letter to our circumstances now evokes a deep sense of gratitude and thanksgiving and, I pray, will encourage us to more fully trust and obey the Lord our God who protects and provides for us beyond all that we can ask or imagine.
Here is the letter.

I remember Matt writing this letter and agonizing over it. It felt a little bit like Job, "though he slay me, yet will I praise him," and its a good example of the way we, as Christians, are called to take action in preaching the gospel in the midst of feeling anxious and worried. And now, I hope you all will take action and pray desperately that we don't all get it.

My sermon from last week

Smatterings

Ok, so I didn't write any of the next installment this week, nor did I blog. BUT, three of five children have rich bubbly colds and we plugged snottily away at memory work all week.

And
the baby rolled over (in a fit of screaming rage because she didn't want to be on her tummy at that moment)

and
Gladys stopped calling me 'mommy', started calling me 'mom' for a day, and now calls me Anne. Its the most exasperating and obnoxious thing ever.
"Anne, you need to change me!"
"Anne, the dog is barking!"
"Anne, I need more milk!"
Keep in mind that she is only two. I can't really remember, but I think, at two, Romulus was saying things like, "ahhhhhh, moo muk".
And how do I respond to this tiny autocratic insanity?
"Don't call me Anne. I'm your mother and you can let the dog in yourself."

And
Every time I try to go ahead on my daily Bible readings, something happens to interrupt me. I appear to be allowed to listen to that day's allotment and no more. Its uncannily weird. I keep wanting to go ahead but someone (I'm going to assume its God) isn't letting me.

And finally,
I don't know what to do for lent. As usual, I'm nursing and so I really can't fast. I'm actually thinking about giving up this stupid little awesome game on my awesome phone because I realized I was playing it and trying to pray at the same time. And when I say "trying" I mean failing miserably.

A fridgid Monday Evening

Part Two of our series Leaving Home is up at Stand Firm. Part One is here. We're well on our way into the third part so hopefully we'll be able to finish it this week. I'm going to be taking the hour I usually spend writing here writing on that project, although I do hope to post as best I can. I'm finding the process of writing more and more fun and interesting and its a pleasure to write with Matt, something we've never done before on any scale.

Also, there are several blogs I've been intending to link here and on my side bar, so hopefully I'll get to that this week. Over all we're continuing to pitch headlong through each day. Its 10pm and I can hear the boys singing to each other. And the cat is walking up and down over my legs. And the baby is sucking desperately on her plug trying to go to sleep.
Goodnight.

My Sermon for This Morning

We're continuing with the next two verses of 1 Thessalonians 5, if you would be so good as to turn there. Let's pick up from verse 13. Paul writes, 'Be at peace among yourselves. And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with them all. See that no one repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to everyone."

For those of you who weren't here or who, even worse, weren't paying attention, we've spent the last two weeks walking through the role and place of leaders in the church--how if we properly and rightly understand the labor with which they labor on our behalf, then we can properly and rightly esteem and respect them. On a practical note, if you're curious about the kind of work Matt does, take me out to coffee and I will let you see the underbelly of an average week. He labors for you, he fusses over you, he prays for you. If you are desirous, he is there to lead you daily in the study of the scriptures (its called Morning Prayer). And it is largely because of his faithfulness in his work that we as a congregation are at peace with one another.

Peace, if you remember, is the bridge between verses 13 and 14. Rightly esteeming the leaders of the church and the list which we're about to examine in verse 13 are the two strong pillars that support a peaceful common life. So let's look at this second important pillar that supports peace amongst ourselves and sometimes with the world.

I want to say two things quickly to set the stage.
First, all of us go through times of idleness, faintheartedness and weakness. And so two, if you are in one of these places this morning I hope you will wake yourself and be encouraged to go forward out of them. And if you're not, I hope you will remember what it was like and go from there, because its likely that you will circle back round.

So, I urge you, brothers, writes Paul, admonish the idle.
Admonish means to warn earnestly, to express warning or disapproval but
listen carefully
especially in a gentle, earnest, or solicitous manner. In other words, not like a mean judgmental sledge hammer. But pleading, earnest, sincere.

The word 'idle' in greek means out of order, out of place, not in proper order. It is used to describe a disorderly, insubordinate soldier--someone for whom life is supposed to be defined by discipline and control. In such a context disorder is very problematic. The disobedience and disorder of one solitary soldier could set the whole mission in disarray.

I don't think many of us are this moment about to go on an important mission to war, so what might disorder look like in other contexts?
I've used this analogy before, but imagine that your heart is a well appointed living room. Everything is in its right place. There are no trails of crumbs and corners where dirt has piled up. The cushions are all on the couch and not spread all over the floor. The curtains hang nicely and let the light in.

But I have a little raging hoard of order wreckers. I can work all day long to clean my living room and every moment that I'm working, there are five little people working equally hard to disorder what I order.

Sin is a force much like children. It is a disordering and destructive force, and if you are idle, if you give in, it will wreck the order and beauty of your heart. Now, I must not be idle in the ordering of my house or my children will utterly destroy it, so likewise, I must not be idle in the ordering of my heart and mind.

A disordered heart and life would be like this--work, then children, then your spouse, then God somewhere near the bottom. This is a life and heart that is a complete mess, and sin is everywhere able to make further chaos. The Christian is like an orderly and obedient soldier, an ordered room. God has your complete and primary allegiance. You attend to the scriptures and pray first in your day, before you do anything else. Then you concentrate your spouse, then your children, and finally your work. But usually we put knickknacks in first, then pictures and books and plants and lamps and then finally the couch, on top of it all and so, of course, nothing holds together. We try to add the most weighty and important thing in last, but God is too big--he is the walls of your house, the furniture, the source of your life. If you do not put him first your efforts will be in vain.

I don't want to belabor this point, but there is a reason that the word 'idle' has as its roots 'order' and 'obedience'. Spiritual idleness is the result of putting yourself first, and then your work and then your children and then your spouse. You then have nothing left for God and so you become lazy about the things of God. Its just so hard to get to church, the day was too stressful and so you can't go to Bible Study. You can't be a teller or serve in nursery or be on the altar guild or teach Sunday School because you don't have any spiritual energy. You have not attended to God and his family and his house and so you will always be running on empty, always. You're trying to do the work of God, which was by the way, the original problem of Adam and Eve.

So, let me admonish you, let me urgently and eagerly persuade you to rightly order your life. Do not be idle. And if you see this unfortunate chronic state in those you love, pray for them, encourage and persuade them to the things of God. Don't yell at them, don't exasperate them--parents, fathers especially, cajole, encourage, gently warn with kindness, humility and love.

Ok, the next building block on our pillar is to encourage the fainthearted. This is pretty strightforward. All of us at one point or another go through a rough patch, and sometimes its too much and we loose faith a little, or become discouraged. I was fainthearted this summer. I was really grieving over our old house, and I was exhausted by loosing a cat, searching for a cat, recovering that same cat, and having the cat sin all over my house. Then my mother's health required a trip to Kenya, and while I was in the air coming home on a big horrible 13 hour flight from Dubai to JFK Matt had to make horrible and grievous decision that my own cat, my only cat whom I loved was in too much pain and would be happier in the arms of Jesus. So when I got home, for a while I was seriously faint of heart. One grief too many. Many of us are in that space--so wounded and troubled we just can't go forward. Let me be very clear. It is not ok for serious brokeness and pain to go uncomforted. We are a body. If you know someone really suffering, or, and I say this as a pastor, if you are really hurting and are not telling anyone so that we cannot comfort you, then the whole body is broken. The Thessalonians were in a place of deep hurt. They were 3 weeks old, cut off from their families and worship community, they faced persecution and some of them had died. They needed to comfort and strengthen each other. We must pray for each other, daily, and greet each other at the peace and take each other meals in times of crisis, and take a few minutes to catch up at coffee hour. Uncomforted and unhealed chronic pain in a body is not ok. It affects the whole body. Do you see why idleness is not ok? Everybody has to pitch in to pray for, to love and support the whole body. Matt and I can't do it on our own. There are too many of you, praise God.

Next, Paul says, help the weak. This same word weak is used by Paul in a couple of other interesting places. He says in Romans 5:6 'you see, just at the right time, when we were powerless' when we were weak, Christ died. And again in 1 Corinthians 1:27 he says 'God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong'. All of us are weak. Apart from God we are all dust without breath. He sustains and preserves us, he builds us up and uses us to build his kingdom in the world. But some of us our weaker than others. Talking about the body in 1 Corinthians 12:22 Paul says that 'those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indespensible.' This is completely opposite from the world. In a few hours many of us will sit idly and gluttonously (seriously, who among you is not really in love with the super bowl for the food) celebrating strength, physical perfection, mental keenness and brilliance. You don't make it on to one of the top football teams in the country through being weak. However, if you are weak, and unaccomplished, and not that bright and not that gifted and kind of not sure what to do with yourself and not super well loved by very many people, well, then the church, the very body of Jesus Christ is looking for you. We're prepared to recruit you and give you an amazing offer--actually no money, But purpose, gifts directly from the Holy Spirit and an eternal and perfect relationship with God himself for ever and ever and ever without end. In our various weaknesses, God uses us to help and strengthen each other, practically, spiritually, emotionally, physically.

And then, the clincher, Paul says, 'be patient with them all'. Now, patience, like peace, is usually completely misunderstood. Patience does not mean putting up with everything for ever until you die. With small children patience doesn't mean indulging and putting up with and not loosing your temper. Patience is akin to faithfulness. It means dealing consistently, honestly, truthfully and lovingly all the time with everyone. Its only possible to be patient if you are rightly ordered and God is your strength, your hope, your love, your purpose, your desire. If you are spiritually idle, you won't be able to any of this.

Alright, I've used up my allotted time, and you've been very patient. I wanted to get to not returning evil for evil, but do not be troubled, it means exactly what it says. Let's pray.
Amen.

not writing today...

I'm not any kind of writing space (as in, I'm trying to help write Part Two of our long series and its a lot harder than you might think) so I wanted to just point you to this excellent post. Enjoy.

What happens when all your institutions fail

I recently blogged about how the more children you have the more 'programs' or 'institutions' you have to have to keep yourself afloat, just like with a church. However, sometimes everything breaks down and you spend the requisite amount of time preparing for your usual program/routine and nothing happens, or rather, Everything happens and breaks into pieces. Then you end up with a morning like ours yesterday.

2am Feed the baby
3am Feed the baby
3:15 am two children try to get out of their beds
4am Feed the baby, Matt gets up and goes to practice his sermon
5am Feed the baby, Matt stops practicing his sermon and copes with water in the church for the next hour and 45 minutes
6am Feed the baby, start muscling kids into clothes which ends up taking TWO HOURS, ruining your plan to be in the shower by 7.
7:45am All the children are dressed and ready to go except that you (by that I mean me) are still trying to blow dry your hair and find a big enough sweater to keep our the unrelenting and miserable cold (WHEN, I ask God, When will Global Warming finally make its appearance in Binghamton). On your way up from the basement at 7:47am you discover that the baby has thrown up on Elphine and they both need a complete change of clothes. Desperately redress them in less that a minute and a half. Everybody out the door (except you) by 7:51. You make it to church at 8:05 and miss the sermon Again but do pull your Sunday School lesson together by 9:15 while feeding the baby. The baby doesn't eat again until 1:06pm.

Fortunately, God is bigger than my tiny programs and plans and so church went off brilliantly (due largely to the fact that we had a delicious and fabulous international potluck after church AND the fact that I have a new Sunday School room AND the fact that we have a fabulous new choir director/organist who caused the choir to process for the first time since Christmas and sound lovely). Also, I just want to recommend the preaching of my excellent husband who has been preaching through Thessalonians for the last two months. His attention and care of the scriptures has been a comfort and strength to me personally. I find it extraordinary that I can be fed by his preaching Sunday after Sunday 1. because I know him and 2. because I generally read the sermon before he gives it.

And now, I'm going to go try to impose order on the basement/laundry room. Have a great afternoon.

The house is ominously quiet. That probably means that someone is getting in trouble.

Smatterings

I'm in that impossible position of trying to write several things at once, with the end result that none of them are being written, including this blog.

I managed to figure out how to watch the State of the Union last night online but it was So Late (9pm) that I had a very hard time staying awake to hear it all. I've also spent long hours trying to figure out if I can watch bits of the Olympics online. I really love not having a tv except at these exceptional moments.

So, I'm going to go muscle the children in to do some work. That part of our life is going surprisingly well. At great personal difficulty I've added Saturday as a day we do school, and I'm fairly happy with the results--we're not so stressed trying to cram everything in to four days, we have the time we need. But that means actually getting up to do school every day.

Also, we've decided to make a major household change and move ALL the children's clothes into the laundry room. We'll move their dressers and everything and then it will hopefully be a matter of washing clothes and putting them right away and everybody going to one place to get clothes. I believe I saw this on an episode of the Duggars (I know, I know, its just so fascinating)and frankly, it makes loads of sense.

Have a lovely day.

Just Another Monday

There are flood watches all around the city and I've been mopping up water in the basement much of the morning. I'd been hoping to get down there and clean it and all the free water coming through the window/ceiling was sort of cheerfully acceptable to me. But then I put on rubber flip flops and my feet eventually slid out from under me and I landed rather heavily on my tailbone. I felt quite faint and sick so have had a long rest but I'm about to go back into the muck and try to finish up.

So, I want to point you all to Stand Firm. Matt and I have been writing together (Not an easy process let me tell you) a longish account of the last year and Matt has just posted the first installment. Its been really good to work through carefully all that happened before it fades too quickly from mind. Plus, this last Sunday was the first Sunday, to date almost, that we worshiped in our current location. So the series is really an anniversary present to us and to you. I hope you will go over and read it.

Happy Monday! Stay Dry!

7 Really Quick Takes

One
I think what makes politics in America so exciting and interesting is the lack of imminent threat of death. On the way to school on Wednesday, as I was vaguely listening to the news and eating some very dark chocolate Alouicious piped up from the back and asked "why do they want to kill him?"
"Who?" I asked.
"Scott Brown. Why do they what to kill him?"
I shouted back (they're in the way back of the car and I'm in the way front), "what are talking about?"
I hadn't really been listening to the news but obviously he had, without understanding, and so the next few minutes were confused while I explained that the word "destroyed" had been applied by the newscaster to a policy not a person. BUT, I did come away with a renewed sense of thankfulness that we live in this age and in this country. When Mali had their coup d'etat so many years ago I remember hearing that the Minister of Education had been eaten in the streets of Bamako. What, I always wondered, had he done to make people So Angry with him? A mere few hundred years ago the loosing side of an argument stood to loose it all and this is still the case in other not so remote parts of the world.
Two
On that note I am renewed in my efforts to pray for Haiti. I wish I could go help. Prayer seems so helpless but God is bigger than me and I hope he will use my small prayers to effect his glory and purpose. For you at Good Shepherd don't forget to bring extra money this Sunday.
Three
Discipline has been slipping lately in our household. I keep getting drawn into arguments without realizing it until its too late. Someone recently asked about our policy on spanking. I'm not completely comfortable with posting about it here because of the two people who read me and have it in for me, and also, its the internet, so who knows who may be lurking. That said, we fairly closely follow Doug Wilson's Standing on the Promises which I encourage you all to go read if you have small children. It is absolutely essential, as I am discovering again this week, that children obey the first time you speak. Our motto (ala Wilson) is that 'delayed obedience is disobedience'. If I'm having to scream to get someone to do something than there is a serious problem. So we're ratcheting things up again and hopefully calm will be restored. Honestly, if you all are really curious, I'd be happy to email privately.
Four
I was combing through old files and remembered that Ages ago I said I was going to write a short autobiographical thingumy about how I ended up as an ordained conservative Episcopal priest. Obviously, I sort of reached a dead end and forgot about it but I might dust it off and see if its worth pursuing. For those of you who are interested, I still have all your emails tucked away carefully, should I actually pull it together. Don't actually hold your breath, though, because you might die waiting.
Five
Reading through the Bible is going swimmingly. I Love it. I particularly love that I can flip to the ESV site, punch in the chapters for the day, click 'listen' and then lie back and feed the baby. I've been going ahead farther and farther each day because its so easy. I do also like the guy's voice and how he kind of drawls when he reads whatever Jacob is saying.
Six
I'm making up a longish study about the Ark of the Covenant (intended to lead us to the temple and finally to Jesus) for my Sunday School class. Aside from actually making a to scale ark (which we're seriously considering doing because it would be so cool) I'm also making them make books which means making one myself. Its such a pleasure having curious and interested children in Sunday School. PLUS!!!! we're going to have our Own Sunday School Room. Its actually a large cupboard but it still better than the choir loft.
Seven
That's right, the choir will be meeting in the choir loft with the new choir director. Its almost like we're a real church with real music and real Sunday School rooms and real everything.
Go check out Jen!

for a tired Wednesday evening

The baby is teething and I'm strung out from obsessively following the Massachusetts senate race (So Amazing!). So I've been listening to a little Salif Keita to bring everything back into reality.


Oh! And because its too good to let it go by, did any of you hear Martha Coakley actually say "Sometimes its more important to travel hopefully than to arrive." No? Well, she did say it in her subdued and appropriate concession speech, and I think its going to be our family motto for the year. We were thinking of "Stop Crying!" But in the great hope of a politically thrilling year I think we'll go for the hope/change tack. Only we fully intend to arrive. Goodnight to you all.

Seriously, its so awesome

We’ve been offline a whole lot lately and so I’m not even sure when I’m going to be able to post this.

I have been spending every spare second of the last week reading about the Brown/Coakley race in Massachusetts. Its so exciting.

I didn’t mention it at the time, but for Christmas I received an extremely fancy and unnecessary phone that is, as my little four year old students would say, So Awesome. I justify this phone by saying things like “I’m so busy and I can keep everything on this phone--email, calendar, Matt’s calendar, texts….” and all that is very true. BUT I can also read politics on the internet and I can twitter and twitter automatically updates facebook and I can do comment moderation on this blog and I can watch youtube clips. Its possible that now I look like a wretched teenager, phone always in hand, thumbs always at the ready.

So, I’ve been reading about the Brown/Coakley race fairly constantly on my phone. “Sing the psalm” I say, phone in hand and then, while the poor children wail “O Lord you have searched me, and you know me, you know when I sit and when I rise, you perceive my thoughts from afar” I guiltily click over to the endless number of blogs on NRO and read the gossip. “Keep singing” I say every now and then.

Anyway, my phone says today that I’m scheduled to write real letters with a pen and some pieces of paper. But it will be ok, I’ll have my phone sitting right here so I can know what’s going on all the time. Its so awesome.

On going to the Dentist: Guest Post

Those of you on facebook will know that I went to the dentist yesterday to have my teeth scaled. The good news is that I am here, a day later, still alive (although I wished very much, as I was reclining in agony, that I had been a terrorist and that I had some kind of interesting information to offer up to make the horror stop. Why, I asked myself, do we waterboard? Why don't we scale teeth? Later I learned that other chosen people get to go through this horror with pain medication, but I, apparently, was outside of God's mercy). The bad news is that she didn't actually scale my teeth because I "couldn't take it" and that she was referring me to a specialist. A helpful friend informs me that a "specialist" is just someone who can't send me away. Being a specialist, they have to scale my teeth, one way or another. Anyway, as part of this ongoing series, I give you the detailed and horrific experiences of my mother. I encourage you, really, to read the whole post, long though it is, because it will not only tell you a lot about her and about dentistry in remote parts of the world (like France) but will give you a brief glimpse into my past. For example, I remember vividly the motorcycle incident, and the summer in France is one about which I could write whole volumes. Enjoy!

June, 2004
Portland, Oregon
From the Dentist’s Office: the News in detail
Bob and I have been delivered over to the dentist and her minions, like sinners for torment and woe, until we resolve to live a new life of flossing and brushing.
If ever a message creeping out of some dark hole in my past has a chance to repeat itself, it gets the chance while I'm gripping the sides of the dentist's chair, mouth open in an unrelenting gag. And unlike the ever-popular message for an age where therapy is practically synonymous with salvation -- (the message saying, “You need to feel good about yourself since God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life,”) -- the message I’m hearing today says, “YOU ARE A BAD PERSON AND GOD IS VERY ANGRY!”
I have failed. I have done those things which I ought not to have done (twist off bottle caps with my teeth). I have not done those things which I ought to have done (floss daily -- at the five times of prayer perhaps?). Oh miserable offender!
Of course no one in this office actually says anything in the way of condemnation. But the hygienist, ferreting around in my mouth like a squirrel, keeps referring to the significant number of “issues” going on among my teeth.
Like the molar tucked away back there, not causing me any trouble at the moment but harboring a rotten core. “Why not just pull it,” I wonder. “Half the population of the world has gaps in their teeth, so why should I not take the cheap, ugly way out and join the throng?” “Oh no,” she says. “The rest of your teeth will shift around and your bite will deteriorate.” “Great,” I think to myself. “If I don’t get a root canal and a crown on this one for the insignificant sum of $700, the world is going to worry that my bite is worse than my bark.”
“Hmmm....” murmurs the dentist, poring over an X-ray. “Was there ever a trauma to these two front teeth?”
An old memory floats to the surface. If I could reply through this numb, dumb, lopsided leer, I could tell her a thing or two about those teeth.
“I fell off a motorcycle,” I whisper.
“I thought so,” she says. “These two teeth are dead and brittle, and could snap off at any time.”
“Wonderful,” I groan, remembering a long stretch of road in southeastern Mali, at the end of a hot day sometime back in the 1980s. Bob, four-year-old Anne and I were precariously flying along, dodging potholes on a moped (the universal Malian family “car” on two wheels). Bob was in front steering. I was dangerously balanced on the back clutching an unexpected gift of three pineapples and a jug of drinking water. Anne was sandwiched in between us in a child’s backpack. We were an accident waiting to happen, when a flock of sheep heading away from the road suddenly turned and made a leisurely crossing in front of us. Bob pulled steadily on the brakes, and we were nearly at a dead stop when the sheep, having safely reached the other side of the road now turned back with the apparent intention of leading us into town. One of them clipped the front wheel and over we went. So there we were, rolling about among smashed pineapples, bounding bleating sheep, and a crowd of sympathetic bystanders all rushing to the rescue.
My face was the first part of me to meet the road. I came up with a mouthful of blood and a new angle to consider. My front teeth were bent back like strange, wobbly fangs, and there was no way to do anything about it until morning. I wasn’t even sure if there was a dentist in the local town.
Next morning however, Bob took me to the hospital in Sikasso, where someone claiming to be a dentist ushered me into his lair. He wore a lab coat that might once have been white. The room itself might once have been properly equipped with dental furniture. There was the chair. Ribbons of black vinyl indicated that once it had been well upholstered. There was even the metal arm-thing that used to hold instruments of dental torture, but they had gone the way of vandals. Flies rose and resettled on little piles of excrement in the corners of the room. This wasn’t just a has-been dentist’s office. It was somebody’s latrine.*
“Bonjour, Madame,” the man in the coat said politely. “What can I do for you?” I pointed to my mouth. “Ah, oui,” he said. “But as you see, although I studied dentistry in Paris, I have no equipment. It has all been spoiled.” I could see that, and was about to beat a retreat and think of a new plan when he inserted me into the chair, gripped the back of my teeth with his thumbs, and snicked them into something like their former place. I staggered around, said thank you, that would be fine, and what did I owe him. “O Madame, rien (nothing) except what occurs to you as a gift.” I searched my pockets, bestowed the contents on him, and fled.
That was a long time ago. True I went around with a jagged grin, but the years passed by, and all was quiet. Until the summer of 1993, when Bob and I were teaching linguistics and anthropology in Lamorlaye, France, just north of Paris.
For three months we lived in what had formerly been the stables of a chateau (now a college), and summer school was proceeding at a stately, untroubled pace when I woke up one morning to a searing headache and a shaft of pain in my mouth. The August sun, fingering its way through a crack in the window, stabbed me in the eyes just exactly at the moment when my two front teeth went into serious decline.
France. August. What could possibly be wrong with this picture? I called the dentist, and got the messagerie which said in essence, “We can’t come to the phone right now. Please call back in September” (meaning: when we get back from our holidays on the Riviera).
Of course. How stupid of me. In the middle of summer school I forgot that all of France goes on holiday during August. Everyone, in every town, except one pharmacist, one baker, and possibly one doctor goes to the sea or the mountains. But by September we were expected back in Africa. I couldn’t stand it!
After a few days the intense pain disappeared to be replaced by no feeling at all, so when September came and we went back to Africa, I figured that dead teeth just stood in place like marble tombstones marking the spot.
This view is not shared by dentists.
“You are going to loose these two front teeth,” my dentist says. “The only question is when. They could snap off at the gum anytime. There are, however, some possible ways to save your smile. One solution would be a bone graft and implants, a procedure which takes a year to complete.”
“And probably $10,000,” I think wretchedly to myself. “There is no way I can sit around in America for another year and spend sums I don’t have.”
“A second approach would be to pull these teeth, do root canals on either side, and cement in a fixed bridge, which could look very nice.”
“It would HAVE to look nice to the tune of $4,000.” I am full of despair and woe.
“Or,” continues the dentist, “we could fit you with a flipper” (a thingamyjig with two fake teeth and some sort of hardware to grab the roof of the mouth). The thought fills me with horror. “Flipper” is such an unfortunate word, suggesting that it regularly flaps and flies out of the mouth when one is in polite company.
In the end I’ve opted to do nothing for now about these two front teeth except PRAY -- and take the path of Gideon with his fleece. If you remember Gideon, he wasn’t quite sure if he’d heard correctly when God told him to go smite down the Midianites. He was a timid man and kept saying, “Could you repeat that, please?” hoping that he’d heard wrong. Eventually, just to be sure, he put a piece of wool on the ground overnight, and told God that if the wool was sopping wet in the morning and the ground was dry, this would help him figure out if God was serious or not. And having come up the next morning with wet wool and dry ground, he begged God not to loose his temper but just once more give him a sign: if after another night in the open air the wool was totally dry and the ground was wet, then he Gideon would know that there was no way to avoid the whole Midianite debacle.
Me – I’ve decided that if my two front teeth start to chip and break up in the next couple of weeks, then clearly something has got to be done at once. But if not, then surely I can trust God to preserve them from all evil -- or at least all breakage -- for another couple of years.
So for now, the dentist has got to be content getting away with thousands of dollars on deep cleaning, fillings, and that root canal way in the back.
The key thought – “surely I can trust God” -- is not unreasonable. Where else can we go but to God when life becomes impossible, or when we tumble into ridiculous and even dangerous situations?
We can trust God because -- well -- because Goodness and Mercy keep following us day after day, and our cups keep on running over with gifts and prayers, love and laughter.

And you thought the season of giving was over

I intended to write a scintillating and something or other post about how we've recently changed our routine and how much better our life is. But I have run into two problems with this plan. One, the word 'scintillating' doesn't go with 'change in routine'. And two, last night was the Night of the Screaming Child and is probably much more interesting.

So about 9pm, after being suckered into watching another dubious Jesus movie on youtube, as they were all going up to bed, Elphine announced loudly, "I'm going to be St. Nicholas tonight. So put your shoes out and see if I put something in them in the morning."

She said it louder and louder probably six or seven times but no one put their shoes out and finally I told her to cheese it and go to bed.

So then (I'm sorry, I realize my transitions are atrocious but I'm too tired to change them) Matt and I stayed up, stupidly, till midnight watching other junk on youtube. This is a regular Sunday night occurrence. We're usually physically tired after Sunday but keyed up and unable to go to sleep. Plus, I've been waiting up to feed the baby one last time in the hopes she'll sleep until 4.

A fleeting two hours later, that puts us at 2am, Matt heard a noise in the kitchen and got up to investigate. Turns out his daughter was up on a stool collecting handfuls of Christmas candy out of the basket on top of the fridge to stuff in shoes. Appalled and transfixed he let her continue uninterrupted.

However, Elphine's getting up catapulted Gladys to her second full night of angst ridden potty training.

I expect you're saying, at this point, that the middle of the night is not a good time to potty train. You're right. Matt mentioned this several times to Gladys. "You have a pullup on," he whispered soothingly, "go back up to bed and go to sleep."
"BUT I HAVE TO GO POOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTTTTTYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY" wailed Gladys.
"But you just went potty. Please go back to bed. Please."
"But I have to go Potty" she wailed and wailed and wailed.

Where was I? you ask. Had I abandoned my poor husband? No, I was feeding the baby.
"Matt, let her go potty" was my sound advice.
So we did. After an hour or so of her sitting and singing she was joined by her brother who had awoken for the same reason. The enjoined in fighting and arguing.
"I have to go potty Gladys."
"No, I have to go. You go away."
"No.....
and so they argued until they both came in here, pulled the blanket off me and curled up together on the floor until the need should strike them again.

So this morning, floor littered with children, I open my eye to find my shoes arranged carefully by my bed and a large snickers bar placed lovingly across them. "Thank you Santa Elphine" I groaned, "that was very lovely of you."

a little something for a Sunday evening

I'm sorry but this is So Funny

7 Quick Takes: Really Quick

1
Matt forgot what time it was this morning and left for morning prayer without bringing me tea. The result was five children, ok 4 children jumping up and down on my head screaming things like
'What comes after If only you would slay the wicked Oh God'
and
'No I didn't!'
'Yes you did'
'No I didn't!'
'YES YOU DID!!!'

2
Due to my insane self directed school/chore charts, Elphine after shouting Psalm 139 to me in my sleep, undertook to practice the piano while it was still dark out. Really, I don't think children need any kind of musical education. And WHY, in the name of the Almighty, is she a morning person? A self motivated driven morning person? How did this happen to me?

3
Turns out, texting does not save time in a person's life. It is the supreme and most fabulous way to waste time Ever.

4
I really like this new baby. I'm pretty sure I said that about all the other ones but I can't remember. There's just something about her that's really lovely.

5
As I posted on facebook, it turns out that Rye Bread does not make good bread pudding. I don't know what possessed me to think that it would. Anyway, I worked so hard and it looks so beautiful that I have not been a. so mean as to make anyone eat it and yet b. too attached to it to throw it away until it has actually gone bad. So its sitting here looking at me and waiting. I'm hoping Matt will have mercy on me and throw it away.

6
Gladys is potty training herself. She sits for hours on the potty singing and shouting. I don't take any credit for this. It took 3 years to train the first child, a week to train the second and his whole tiny life to train the third. That the fourth would again be self directed, self motivated and desirous of learning this new skill is beyond my understanding. Given that she doesn't look like me at all, I've entertained the thought that she is not, in fact, my child.

7
When I finally woke up, this morning, I caught three children riotously sliding down the stairs on my nice living room throw blankets. I was both angry and impressed with their ingenuity.

Go check out Jen.

I'm not awake enough to title this

For divine reasons unknown to me, we have to leave the house early this morning even though its not our day (Wednesday is the day we leave the house, just to go to CC and then come straight home). Matt has to go somewhere really early (like 8 o'clock) and so
I and the children have to make the exhausting trip next door (its like 20 steps) for Morning Prayer which means
1. Getting dressed.
2. Getting everyone else dressed.
3. Packing up school so we won't waste time.
3. Considering momentarily whether to take food or just eat cookies out of the cupboard in the church (I think you can see the obvious answer).
4. Remembering where Morning Prayer is in the prayer book (just kidding, I remember) and 5. Not freaking out about the cold (too much).

Going on the wisdom of a friend who knows about these things and in a bold attempt to make Elphine and Alouicious slightly more independent in their work, I made up fancy laminated charts with every scrap of work they need to do during the week. I explained carefully that even though they need my help to do just about everything on the chart, they can self direct the process and come to me at the time they would like to do it. The result was Elphine getting in my bed at 5am this morning asking if we could do math, reading and geography.
'Are you kidding me?' I mumbled.
'No,' she said brightly.
'Well, I'm not doing that right now. You'll have to come back later.' And by later I meant like sometime next week. Undeterred she got out of my bed, picked out clothes for her little sister, got dressed herself and is now packing her school bag. She's decided to draw the world this morning and do math.

Now I feel guilty for lying here blogging. So I guess I'll get up and start this monumental work of getting us out the door on time.

A Lament in Cold Weather, if I was a different sort of person, it would be a poem

I've got a baby, a little boy, a cat and a computer all keeping me warm and making it extremely hard to even consider getting out of bed and into the cold.

Really, I've been so looking forward to global warming and its turning out to be such a huge disappointment, at least here in New York. Instead of warming we're daily experiencing global cooling and dimming. Alright alright, I'm not trying to start a climate change debate. I'm just putting off the inevitable minute I have to get up.

Did I mention that I have to take a Tupperware of Ice to school today?

I don't understand the purpose, what with God being sovereign and all, of cold weather.

Hem it with Quietness, a repost

His thoughts said, What if I have not time to gather my portion?

His Father said, Hast thou only one minute? Hem it with quietness. Do not spend it thinking how little time thou hast. I can give thee much in one minute.

Then the son remembered the Jewish tradition about the manna and the dew. The manna fell on the dew, they said, then more dew fell on the manna so that it was found between two layers of dew. And he thought of the quietness of the dew and of how far it was removed from bustle of any kind. And he understood the word that his Father had spoken to him.

Amy Carmichael
His thoughts said...His Father said...

I have a program for that

My voice is swallowed up in my chest and throat making my resolution to move in slow motion something I cannot avoid. Until about 10am every morning I cannot speak above a whisper and have to gesture to the children to make them do what they ought. Getting ready for church yesterday morning was blissfully quiet if slightly more complicated than usual.

As I was trying to wrestle Gladys into her pink tights it occurred to me that having a largish family is akin, probably, to having a program size church. We are making the transition this very moment from a pastoral size to a program size church and there many changes that we have undergone as a family and in the way that we pastor. If you're interested in reading about the various sizes of churches I'm sure you could google and find out far more than I know (bleh), but very basically, as a church grows, the role of the pastor changes. More programs and institutions are required to keep things functioning peacefully and orderly. It doesn't mean that the pastor stops doing his pastorly job, but that things that might have been informal before because everybody knew about them, have to be formally articulated.

A good example of this is the soup kitchen. Whilst we were a small church, everyone just knew all the inner workings of the soup kitchen. It was just known which boxes of food in the kitchen were for Shepherd's Bowl, even though they were unmarked. You can see the potential for disaster when someone who doesn't know comes in and uses Shepherd's Bowl food for coffee hour or some other such horror. Making a 'program' of the Shepherd's Bowl means doing things like marking the boxes, or explicitly saying who pays for what etc. etc.

Having a large family, I think, is just like that.

Whereas with one child, you don't really have to say anything out loud or formalize anything, its just you and the kid, what could possibly go wrong (heh), but with FIVE children one needs institutions to keep oneself afloat. These institutions further allow one to impress the world.

"How" someone said to me, "do you manage to have your children so beautifully dressed for church week after week?" Well, I have a program for that. Its called Saturday Afternoon and its a very orderly very formalized time. Everyone that needs a haircut gets one. Everyone gets a bath (even this is broken down--Alouicious gets towels for everyone, Elphine gets pjs. Girls go in first, then boys. Hair is washed blah blah etc.) Elphine and Alouicious pick out Sunday clothes for themselves and the little ones. We find all necessary socks, shoes, tights, hairbows, diapers everything and its all laid out on the dining room table. Supper is simple and easily cleaned up. And the house is cleaned. That's one institution.

Another institution is story time in the evening. After the children are all ready for bed, the sit on the floor and they basically have to sit still and Matt reads a long chapter of Genesis and they discuss it.

Less and less of life is sort of haphazardly determined and more and more is said allowed (or laminated onto little cards). What makes a programed life so peaceable and lovely is that it comes on incrementally. Who, of course, is not overwhelmed with a first child? Show me a person with their first child, and I will show you a person who needs a shower and a cup of coffee with a friend. But you gain a capacity to cope and do more work so that as the second, third, forth....children arrive, you can handle more and you have more systems to keep things going.

Probably everybody reading this has already figured this out and is bemusedly amused that I am only just figuring it out. In this realm of life, I've been so busy making programs for myself that I didn't notice what I was doing. But I needed to sit down and sort it out because I've been finding myself frustrated with those blessed suckers who only have one child. They also don't have all the programs that I have with my five. When it was me by myself with Elphine I was ALWAYS late, for everything. I never ever factored in enough time to account for both her and me. Now I am often early because I well know all the little things that could hang us up and factor in time to deal with them. When they don't occur, we arrive early.

And now, the time for our school "program" has arrived and I will not have my whole day thrown off just because I couldn't force myself to stop blogging. See you later.

Links for your new year

I've been meaning for some days to post some other stuff I've been reading, and now is the critical moment because I'm Exhausted from partying all night. By partying I mean putting kids back to bed every few minutes and feeding the baby every few minutes. She appears to be having some insane growth spurt whereby she think she needs to be drinking milk All The Time. Plus she's colicky.

Someone just posted this link on facebook. Not only is the idea of a fiscal haiku completely fabulous, the haiku's themselves are well worth your perusal.

I've been reading about and praying for this baby for a while, meaning all the time to call her to your attention so you could pray to. Spend some time on the whole blog while you pray. Becky is so open about her spiritual life in this crisis and what God is doing. Plus, she grew up in Africa which is a guarantee that her writing is excellent.

Speaking of Africa, this is SO Funny and horrible and offensive and possibly profane and not for children, but so funny, and why we're spending so much time on geography.

And as usual, Jen hits it out of the park.

Happy New Year (again).
Oh, and Matt has made some stunning and ground breaking predictions.
OHHH and go read the update if you're from Good Shepherd.