Sermon: Feast of St. Francis/Blessing of the Beasts

I, as usual, never intended such a long blog break. Actually, I intended no break at all. Life has recently hit us like a tidal wave. Matt, as you probably know, severed his Achilles tendon completely about a week before our school year started. His surgery took place the first day of school. Since then we've been adjusting to life at a much faster pace (by that I mean getting up and being to school dressed and sane four days a week) complicated by Matt on crutches. I've had to step up to the plate at church after taking something like a three year holiday, as well as start doing laundry again and cleaning (this has been good for me to find out what an amazing husband I have. Apparently not all husbands bring home the bacon and then also cook it and clean it up.) This last week, to jump from the frying pan into the fire, or rather, out of the bathtub and into the lake, our basement flooded repeated every night beginning at about 5pm and going on until the next day when nice vestry people would mop it up in time for it to start over again. This trial by water upset my very organized and functional laundry situation and also brought every single solitary toy we own into the house rather than being consigned to the basement toy room. Now I'm just whining, but honestly, some of the last many days have felt like the last straw! only to be followed by really, this time, the last straw! no really, now, the camel is dead.

So, I took a break from the mayhem to preach. Unfortunately, I edited this a bit this morning but I have no ability to go back in and fix it now, so don't be thrown off by the typos and the moments when clearly I probably said something else. I expect the days coming to be better and drier and to soon have dried out all our wedding pictures and the contents of my 'wedding box'. ("Where is your wedding box, Daddy," asked Emma. "Men don't have wedding boxes" he said.)

My Sermon from this Morning

I want, this morning, 

to revisit an incident that happened to us as a family about three years ago, 

maybe two and a half, time flies so quickly. 

The incident arose suddenly and painfully as a result of our move here—

we lost one of our cats. 

At the time we had three and on the night we first slept here at the present rectory, 

only two of our traumatized cats, 

and our dog would came with us. 

The third, a long haired black fluffy fussy cat went into hiding. 

The next day we went back to the old house to look for him, 

and so it went on for a few weeks. 

We finally turned in the keys and resorted to calling animal shelters without hope. 

But, miraculously, and I mean that in the full sense of the word, 

more than a month after we lost him, 

when the old house was finally opened up, 

the cat was heard banging around and we were called were able to get him back—

that is after tearing down part of a wall and struggling to grab hold of him  for about two hours.

Since then this cat has had a very hard time adjusting to life in this new home and is, 

as far as I can gather, 

still relatively traumatized, 

as indeed would I had I experienced what he did. 

We didn’t see him for several weeks when we first recovered him, 

and then he was very confused about the location of his lou, 

indeed still is periodically, and then chewed all his own fur off. 

I am grateful to say he stopped that but now he seems to have gained the personality of a dog. 

You cat lovers will know what I’m talking about. 

We already have a dog. 

Having a cat come and sit on my lap and lick my face and ears and adore me as a dog would is unnerving.

Anyway, we, as best we can, 

love this cat and I pray for him that he will become less neurotic and calmer day by day. 

But he continues to be a living reminder, 

or an icon for me of both our New Testament texts for this morning. 

Let’s look at the Romans first, very briefly, 

and we’ll wind up in Matthew.

Paul writes in Romans 8:18

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

Sometimes it seems that the sufferings of this present times are overwhelming. 

This is especially true when we see helpless innocent things suffer. 

What is the cause of this suffering? 

Don't turn there if you're holding an animal. 

In Genesis chapter 3 

Adam and Eve, the crowing point of creation—

as one of my children pointed out this week, 

they were created last, 

there was earth for them to stand on, 

a cosmos around them, 

food for them to eat, 

work for them to do, 

everything was created beautifully and perfectly by God, 

for them as a great gift. 

Their response to that gift was to do the one and only thing God asked them not to do, 

they ate of the tree whereof they were commanded not to eat, 

they wanted more even than God had given them, 

as if he hadn't provided enough—

and in that first disobedience they not only ruined their relationship with God and with each other, 

they made an indelible mark on the created order itself.

To cover their nakedness God took an animal and slaughtered it. 

What an ugly smear in such a place of beauty and perfection as the garden! 

Then Adam, in order to produce food, 

had to cut into the ground, 

to make marks in it. 

To bring children into the world Eve would suffer and endure pain. 

This sudden struggle and death culminated finally in Adam and Eve dying themselves. 

They weren't suppose to die. 

Nothing was supposed to die. 

That wasn't the purpose of creation. 

And we have inherited it and continued to make it worse and worse and worse. 

Along side the beauty of this fall day, 

we stumble upon pain suffering and death every moment.

But the text doesn't end with verse 18. 

Nor does the Bible end with Genesis 3. 

From that moment the whole scripture looked forward to the cross, 

yearned for a savior, 

someone to set everything right, 

to reverse the destruction and ruin caused by sin and rebellion. 

That first slaughtering of an animal to cover Adam and Eve 

was the first of many many signs that God was able and prepared to fix what Adam and Eve had broken. 

Jesus, God's own Son, took the place of Adam, and also of Eve, 

of all the people in the Old Testament who trusted in God and believed that he would provide a savior, 

a solution to the great brokenness of the world, 

who takes the place of any one of us who believe and trust in him 

for the forgiveness of our sins and the gift of life that never ever ends. 

Jesus' death and resurrection stands as the crowing moment of history.

But his work, though complete, or done--

death is destroyed, 

if you believe and trust in him you will live forever, 

there is one more act to unfold. 

And that is what Paul is talking about in verse 19. 

For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. 

Look forward for a second to verse 23. 

And not only the creation, 

but we ourselves, 

who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, 

groan inwardly was we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, 

the redemption of our bodies.

In other words, though the saving work of Jesus on the cross is completed, 

just as those in the Old Testament waited for the promise, 

we wait for Jesus to return in glory to see the final realization of that great work. 

Because he is coming back. 

And everyone will be raised from the dead.

Listen to what Paul says in 2 Corinthians 15

[51] Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, [52] in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. [53] For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality. [54] When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:       

  “Death is swallowed up in victory.”

  [55] “O death, where is your victory?

O death, where is your sting?”

 (1 Corinthians 15:51-55 ESV)

 This will happen when Jesus happens and so we wait, 

but not only we--

all of creation waits and groans.

Verse 21. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. 

As children of Adam, 

we, 

along with the rest of creation, 

are born already broken, 

already separated from God. 

When we sin we deepen and entrench that separation from God, 

until the moment we turn back to him in the person and work of Jesus, 

our suffering and ultimately death is part of the just penalty all humanity pays for rebellion against God. 

But when you put your faith in Jesus, 

your suffering points to the time when you will be remade, 

made whole. 

It is no longer just punishment, 

it is something that makes you holy and pure because Jesus goes through it with you. 

In this way, 

when you believe in Jesus, 

all suffering is life giving. 

That’s why Paul likens it to childbirth. 

But for ALL animals, 

for ALL God’s creation that we daily ruin through sin and mismanagement, 

ALL that suffering is like childbirth, 

all of it is the groaning and longing for their Maker 

who loves them 

and knows them 

and who will make them whole and lovely on the last day when he, 

when Jesus returns.

It is in this context of redemption, 

of Jesus fixing and making whole what we broke, 

of pulling us out of the hole that we dug 

by going to the very blackest part of it, 

the cross, 

and dying there instead of us. 

This is how it is even possible for him to command us not to be anxious in Matthew.

Did you know this is a command, 

not a suggestion? 

Do not be anxious! 

What you will wear, 

what you will eat, 

where you will live, 

how many more days your ancient 17 year old dog will live on this earth. 

That last one was for me. 

Do not be anxious. 

Your father who made you, 

who cares for you, 

cares for this whole creation, 

every creature, 

every sparrow. 

However much we ruin and destroy, 

Nothing falls out of his hand or dies without his knowledge. 

And when he returns in glory on the last day, 

this whole world that we see and know and feel so confident in, 

will be remade, restored. 

In a moment those of you who have brought creatures with you will be invited to bring them forward and Matt and I will be up here. 

We're going to pray for God's providential blessing on them--

that he will provide for them all the days of their lives and give them every good thing. 

The greater challenge this morning is for those of you who do not yet trust Jesus to provide for you--

to forgive you of your sins 

and cover you with his own blood 

and give you eternal life. 

Don't come forward this morning asking only for a blessing for your animal--

God has already provided for you beloved creature. 

For him to provide for you, 

you must trust in him and give yourself to him.

And for those of you who know and love Jesus, 

the great commandment, 

Do Not Be Anxious, is for you. 

Are you fretting about many things? 

Are you trying to plan for every possible problem and missing the glory of God along the way? 

Do not be anxious. 

Your Father has the tiniest sparrow in his hand. 

How much more does he love you and care for you? 

Will Six Babies Be Any More, Really, Than Five?

It hasn't really sunk in that we're going to have a sixth baby in a bit. Besides initially forgetting to call the doctor and then almost forgetting to go, we've been flying along at such a chaotic pace that I haven't given it any real thought.

'So, you're half way there' said my doctor this last Tuesday.

'Really? Are you sure,' I said, 'it can't be as bad as that.' 

And also, I had my due date marked on my calendar, just circled actually, with no explanation or anything. 'Why is that circled?' I inquired of myself and other others. That's not a quarterly report date, nor Ash Wednesday, nor any grading period. What is it!? 

But yesterday, as I stood leading the Nicaean Creed, it did occur to me that I was, in fact, more pregnant even than last week. And last week, after the creed, I knelt for the Confession, along with everyone else, and felt myself turning vaguely green and very light headed. So yesterday I stood for the confession, which felt really prideful and wrong. Its like standing for the Prayer of Humble Access, which I also did (stand, I mean)--so impious. 

7 Quick Takes

I'm really supposed to be fussing around running the vacuum and going through my to-do list, or something, but the kids are all down for a rest and I can't resist the temptation to sit here a few minutes longer in the calm and quiet.

One

I think its hysterical that Paladino for the People beat Rick Lazio in the Republican primary here in NY and that the very next day he announced that 'Andrew is just the status Cuomo'. I am so looking forward to the next few weeks. Non election years are So boring!

Two

After two weeks of being half time in a classroom, I feel like I'm starting to get the hang of it. I Cannot Believe That I Only Have One Half Hour to teach writing to 4 levels of students! What a swift half hour that is every day. 

Three

I just read the first draft of Matt's sermon for Sunday and almost burst into tears, it was that good. I praise and thank the Lord every Sunday when I sit down to hear the sermon that I had the foresight to marry a man I can bear to listen to preach--and more so, a man who's preaching nourishes me also. Would that every clergy wife could make such a boast. (I'm thinking particularly of the many many dreadfully boring sermons I heard as a child in various contexts. I would always try to watch the pastor's wife and imagine what she might be thinking as her poor husband blundered along interminably. Is she embarrassed? bored? does she think its good? is she making her grocery list in her head? What is she thinking!?)

Four

Gladys' prayers are getting longer and more complicated every night.

"Dear Jesus, thank you for E, A, R, M, my Father, my Mother, my Great Grandmother, thank you that E got to go to school, thank you that A got to go to school today, thank you that R got to go to school today, thank you that the baby got to go to school today, thank you that my Father broke his leg, help him to feel better soon, thank you for dying on the cross........'

You probably get the idea. Keep in mind that she won't be three until next month, and subtract all the 'r's in the above prayer as she never says any of them. She won't say the word 'potty' any more but will only 'use the bathroom'. Gasp.

Five

The continued outpouring of meals has been Such A Blessing. There's no other word for it. That, and the fact that Elphine has developed a real knack for quickly and efficiently loading and unloading the dishwasher has meant that life is flying along smoothly and bearably. I still do not love getting up at 5:30 every morning, but I haven't died yet. Maybe I'm getting to be a better more holy person.

Six

Elphine started ballet this Wednesday. All the other girls arrived with with hair in perfect buns. I know this because I watched closely. I had struggled with Elphine's hair for about 20 minutes before class and managed to basically get it into a bun shape, but two minutes into class it had devolved into a pony tail and at the end of the hour it was a complete mess. HELP! Her hair is unbelievably thick, straight, and obstinate. Also, its not quite long enough, though she's been growing it for 6 months. Getting it into the shape I did was the most stressful 20 minutes of the whole week.

Seven

If you're looking for something to pray for, you can pray 1. that my dad will fly safely and incedentlessly from Dallas back to Nairobi over the weekend, 2. for a young lady of my acquaintance who needs God's protection and grace and 3. that my spelling will miraculously and supernaturally improve because four of my students spell better than I do and its turning out to be a real trial. And, what with one thing and another, I really don't have time to systematically go back and improve my spelling, any more than I have time to read a book, brush my own teeth, or sleep through the night. Let that be a lesson to all you young readers out there, LEARN TO SPELL IN THE DAYS OF YOUR YOUTH before the days of trouble fall and the years approach when you will say I have No More Time to learn to spell properly.

Go check out Jen, who doesn't have time to blog either because she has to climb in and out of her car through her window. 

The Week in Review, or something

Forcing the children to wake up at 6:30 three mornings in a row came back to bite me this morning as they all climbed in at 6:25 baying and crying for chocolate milk. Chocolate milk! at 6:30 in the morning? I staggered downstairs and found an entire gallon of said milk in the fridge--I didn't dream and remember about it all night, but the children Did remember that some very lovely people dropped it off yesterday along with a tray of brownies, an enormous box of assorted pudding cups, ham and fruit.

Other things we've eaten this week? (none of it cooked by me)
Enchiladas and rice dripping with cheese and cilantro and tomato followed by cinnamon toasted tortilla points and ice cream.

Peanut chicken and rice with a gorgeous fresh salad and Three Different Colors of Grapes

Stromboli. Did you know that amongst the members of Good Shepherd there dwells someone who has devoted herself to the perfection of Stromboli? As far as I can tell she has achieved such perfection, even in this life. Had to force myself to stop eating, standing in the kitchen, alone, late last night, just one more bite...

Have been trying to describe to myself what sort of blessing these meals have been. The whole week has been like a smooth capacious path free of stones and trouble. Standing in front of the week on Monday it seemed, frankly, like night time driving with rain--treacherous, and on the whole, a Bad Idea. But God, as usual, is the God who sweeps away the stone and provides meals for the worn out and people to sit in waiting rooms while your beloved is sliced open, prepared and ready to text and call you to let you know what is happening moment by moment, people who write down the exact minute he goes in and comes out, people  who drop off dinner, others who bring it, set it up, help you eat it and then clean it up for you, and over all, people who pray and pray when you yourself forget this most basic act of spiritual breath.

So how did the week unfold?

Well, on Monday, a vague rattle in our newly repaired car became most pronounced and joined itself to a bad smell and a drift of smoke proceeding forth from under the hood. Of course Monday was labor day, so all we could do was leave frantic messages with the mechanic who had recently received what felt like the entire contents of our pockets. I spent the rest of the day sleeping on the couch and making up hysterical Facebook updates that I never bothered to post.

Tuesday I carefully and gingerly drove the car to the shop after dumping as much anti freeze into what, I presume, is the 'anti freeze receptacle' as it would hold. 'That looks good,' said Matt who would be sitting comfortably at home while I went out in danger. The shop kindly gave me a loan car free of charge that wouldn't fit all the children. I raced home, gathered the girls, flung myself to school to finish setting up and meet more students and then flung myself back home to feed the children Top Robin (I know! I know that's not what its called) and wipe the grime off them in preparation for the first day of Soli Deo Gloria Classical Co-op. Collapsed into bed at 9pm and fell asleep reading Enchanted April.

Wednesday my eyes flew open at 4am and so was able to lie there and freak out for an hour and a half before it was actually time to get up. As well as getting ready for class, I helped Matt cope with the fact that he was supposed to not have coffee, nor water, nor anything at all until after his surgery. Left the three little ones home with their favorite person as they didn't fit into the car. Spent an excellent morning at school where we all learned to sit up straight (Stack Your Blocks) rise when called upon to speak, address each other formally and politely, and not waste a minute of the precious morning. In nervous anxiety entirely forgot the beautiful and moving speech I had prepared to give my writing and literature class. Gathered Elphine and Aloucious and ran for the door exactly at 12:05. Drove carefully but swiftly home, shoved them in the house and ran back to the hospital and up to a "room", arriving exactly 4 1/2 minutes before a groggy and smiling Matt. As he continued to regain his senses, he popped open his phone, checked his email and then called the car shop and was told that the car would be Fixed For Free!!!! as it was their fault, and that we could pick it up tomorrow. So amazed and grateful. Also discovered that Matt had read the bit in Ezekiel about how Ezekiel's wife was going to die right before going into surgery. Rejoiced that the text was in no way prophetic and we had both survived the morning. Further discovered that I had neglected to eat since the night before and that it is impossible to buy food at General Hospital. Went out of the hospital and bought a large sandwich to share with starving Matt. Finally discharged to go home. Found children happy and well and sat around in a stupor until wonderful friends brought dinner and shared it.

Thursday, agonizingly left Matt on the couch in pain and exhaustion and prayed that he would get some rest while we went back to school, taking a few more children. Picked up the car on the way home and thanked them So Much for their honesty and grace in fixing it for free. Drove home for the first time hearing No vague rattles of any kind at all. Did vast amounts of laundry, lectured Matt about his pain level and how he should call the doctor, and got the children into their beds for a rest. Neglected such a rest myself in preparing for day three of school. Enjoyed a delicious and early supper of rice and peanut chicken, forced Matt to take some excellent medical advice and change medication and went to bed at 7:30.

By Friday had become SO organized and clever that I woke up to find I had laid all the breakfast things out already. Stood around in a fog watching the children get dressed, clean up and eat their breakfast. Arrived EARLY at school for another profitable and excellent morning.

So you see, we more than survived what promised to be a trial. In a few moments I'm going to potter next door to church and fuss with Sunday School stuff as Mission Sunday is tomorrow. And there's lots of other stuff to do, amongst them being a nap, and some meditation on the goodness of God and the strength of his Body.

Fall

The leaves on the hill outside my window are changing already. I have it in my mind that the fall colors always peak on October 10th. This is the arbitrary and unscientific date that I have fixed upon, probably because for the first four years of marriage I was pretty sure that Matt's birthday was the 10th, not the 7th. Last year the leaves didn't peak on the 10th. Every year I worry, as indeed this year, that it won't be the 10th--it will be too early or too late. I think about this always as I drive, counting the trees that have a few leaves of color and the ones that have none at all. And then, for those few days in October, desperately savoring each drive until the leaves begin to fall and we begin the long inevitable slide into winter.

This year comes with great sorrow. The neighbors have, as far as I can judge, sinfully cut down Three Beautiful Trees that were particularly and painfully exquisite in the fall. I hovered at my window the days they were being cut, trying to see whether the wood looked sick at all, or if any branches were dead. After three days of window gazing I am SURE they were quite well and were therefore cut for a Bad Reason, whatever it might be. I said to myself over and over in rage and sorrow of the men out cutting and chipping and drinking thermoses of coffee, "They were like those who swing axes in a forest of trees." (Psalm 74:5 ESV)

Our wonderful guest preacher yesterday, Rabbi Ron Goldberg, assured us that Jesus would undoubtedly return around the time, if not on, the Feast of the Trumpets. What a glorious moment! All creation (or at least the Northern Half) in a splendor of gold, red, orange, to welcome him. If He doesn't come on the Feast of the Trumpets, I hope he will come on October 10th, when the leaves are sure to peak in Binghamton. I have faith that they will.

for a Sunday Evening

Used to go to Mt. Savior for Compline every now and then. The service is less than half and hour and the drive was about 50 minutes, but worth every moment. Have been singing this hymn with the kids for a few months now, before bed.

On a Saturday Evening

Matt's gone and snapped his Achilles tendon, as you all probably noticed from facebook (why is that always our First Instinct now? I don't really want an answer to that question). Looks like he'll be having surgery in short order. And, because these sorts of things change everything, I'll be dragging myself out of bed without tea in the morning, and also celebrating for the first time in this church. Never occurred to me to bother before, too busy holding babies or fussing around in the sacristy or something. But at least we get to go to church!

why I haven't been blogging and probably won't for a bit longer...

Some of you around the country have already started school, or so it appears from facebook and twitter. Not so with me. Official school starts exactly two weeks from today. TWO WEEKS! Actually, I just read this post and now feel like I'm just whining.

What are we doing for school? you ask. Well, various things. A group of families, as I mentioned on this blog months ago, have been meeting together to start a Classical School in the Binghamton area. The name of this fledgling hopeful enterprise is Soli Deo Gloria Classical School. We, of course, longed to open our doors for a full five day classical program of K thru 6 this September, but as the days approached and minutes ticked by, we revised our plans for this year. We are indulging ourselves in a 4 half day tutorial/co-op and are registering still has homeschoolers, although doing as much as formally as we can.

I am on the "lucky" end of the deal. My kids get everything but history, Bible and fine arts in class and I get to teach literature, writing and geography. Some older students will have to go home and do Math every day. May God give them courage.

I am, therefore, wildly putting together lists of books and end of the year goals (so that I can make weekly plans and then daily plans--is it possible that one would be so organized?) and coping with a weeping Elphine who "just wants to stay home all the time!" I have a feeling its not that she wants to stay home, but that she Hates Change. Ridiculous child. Where would she get the idea that change is bad? (cough) Threatened her with boarding school this morning if she didn't stop crying.

So, you can see, we are in for a fairly colossal life change in short order. I have no idea how blogging will fit in in the weeks and months ahead (though it will! I just don't know how) or how I will fit in prayer and exercise. I am not a morning person and I generally do all these three things in a leisurely way in the morning as I slowly wake up. In two weeks, I will be back in the Kingdom of the Insane who wake up at 5:30, take a shower, dress 5 children and arrive cheerfully at school by 7:30 am. I can guarantee that I will not be walking up at 4 in order to pray and blog. I do welcome and covet your prayers as we start this new exciting life.

On that note, I am going to lay this aside and recover myself with all my bits of paper and lists! Good day to you all.

7 Quick Takes

One

The four oldest children have gone for the whole day to be with T and K, our old neighbors. K is going to college on Sunday and we are all desperately sad. How did this happen? How will we all live without her? They are all going to have a long fat laden day of swimming and junk food probably.

Two

And I, hmmm, what am I going to do for a whole day without any children? Well, I guess the baby counts as a whole child, but, as Matt always says, 'having one child around is essentially like having no children. Its that easy.' I'm frankly lonely, specially since she's already gone back to sleep for the morning. What am I supposed to do? Work out (cough)? Vacuum? Get ready for school (HaaaHaaaa)? Sit around and watch Matt write a sermon?

Three

I finally went to the doctor this week. Kept forgetting to call and was vaguely afraid of forgetting to go once I called. At each level of being plugged back into the system, whoever was talking to me would shriek when they realized how far along I am--this sort of upward tilting piercing shriek that would launch me into one and a half minutes of apology.

Four

How far along am I? 16 weeks. Doesn't seem that much to me. However, I am used to the first ultrasound picture being a tiny little cute floating peanut, but this first ultra sound picture was of an actual fairly large headed baby. Just a tiny shock there. 'That's definitely a boy,' said Matt, when I came home, 'that head, that's definitely a boy.'
'Yeah right,' I said, 'dream on. You're going to have three little girls running around fussing about their tights and whether or not its their turn for the wretched princess bowl.' Matt is a sucker for baby girls.

Five

Another shock was being reminded over and over again about my age by the doctor. 'Well, as girls get older,' she would say. Or, 'The high sugar is probably a fluke, but as girls get older...' Wanted to over react. I'm not old. Ordinarily everyone things I'm amazingly young to have all these children. But I guess I am older than I was yesterday. And I'll be even older on Sunday when I turn 34.

Six

The children have been giving me strange little birthday presents all week. Romulus brought me a small box with a tiny figure of superwoman (how did we acquire this toy?) in it. Gladys tried to take it away from me.
'That's my supewgwil,' she said.
'No its not,' I said, 'Womulus gave it to me. Now its mine!'
She trailed out of the room shouting 'Daddyyyyyyyyyy, Mommyyyyy's twying to take my swupewgwil!!!

Seven

What am I going to do for my birthday? Go to church, I expect, since is Sunday. And then make myself a blackberry pie in the afternoon.

Go check out Jen!

Just one more post about my awesomely clean house, that's it, I promise

Matt says I shouldn't blog about my awesomely clean house because it sounds prideful. He is a smidgen right. I can feel myself pitching off the cliff of humility into the pit of puffed pride. However, we're celebrating the triumph of a whole month of a deeply clean and orderly house this week and so I'm sorry, I Have to blog about it. Plus, Jeanne asked how we get the kids to pick up their piles and piles and piles of toys so that's practically an invitation to indulge myself.

Let me start by saying that a month of a clean house is far and away beyond my expectation for anything this side of Everlasting Glory. I've always been basically organized and clean, with a firm knowledge of how to deep clean, though no great desire to do it. Then I married a man with a mother of impeccable taste and house keeping skills whose efforts to impart any of that knowledge to her son had been entirely without success. But my own mother had given me some excellent advice on the eve of my wedding, and that was 'the man you marry is the man you marry. You can't change him and you shouldn't try.' So, I devoted myself to the path of asking for help but of never ever ever nagging. Many people who wanted me to get my excellent husband to do stuff (like remember to send a thank you note, or make a call, or say what he wanted for his birthday) have been deeply frustrated with me over the years because after asking him to do these things once, my policy of No Nagging sets in and I don't ask him a second time, unless you make me feel really guilty. Why the long autobiographical interlude? Because we were two creatures capable of keeping house but in actuality, so entrenched in bad habits that we never managed to have an orderly lifestyle. Whatever was in our hands, we let fall, and there it rested until we had a grand clean up at the end of the week, or month, or right before visitors came.

Two people who let fall the contents of their hands upon the earth is not that big of a deal. But seven people IS, its a HUGE colossal great deal. Our grand clean ups at the end of the day, week, month became so daunting  and dismal that our tempers shortened and flared and we were always discouraged with cleaning all day and still going to bed in a house with lots more work.

And so, in a fit of brilliance, the idea that we should Not Ever Ever Ever let fall the contents of our hands upon the earth, and nor should our children, nor our children's children, nor also the cat, nor the dog, nor any creature that moveth in the house or in the yard hit us as from Heaven itself. The last month has been a moment by moment training for all of us. As I lay my tea cup next to the sink, I say, why don't I wash this cup and put it in the cupboard? And verily, I do. And when Gladys takes out all of Elphine's Laura Ingles Wilder Dolls and makes up the little beds and takes off all their clothes and then begins to walk off into another room, as with one voice, the family rises up and says, 'Gladys! Put those dolls away!' and she does. Romulus has learned that he may play with his knights over the face of the whole house but he has to always clean them up and so he carries them around in an enormous basket with him all day, arranging them in battle and then taking them down. No item of clothing is allowed to remain, alone, in a room on the floor with no people. The person who left it there has to come and get it and put it away. No shoes may scatter themselves over the hallway and rest on the stairway, waiting, waiting to break your neck. ALL shoes go On the shelf in the hall. Inch by inch, moment by moment we're starting to reverse our habits. 

AND, this life change has resulted from the common grace of mutual respect and love, not from frustration and nagging. A month ago, Matt and I looked deeply into each other's eyes and realized This was what we wanted. It wasn't the result of either of us relentlessly complaining about the awful house. And we've put the No Nagging policy in action with the children. I'm not going to endlessly remind and whine at them to pick up. They aren't allowed to leave the room until its clean, so the nagging is completely eliminated. 

And life is so pleasant. And I bake every day now. And pretty soon, school will start, but I have no fear that life will crumble into chaos and ruin. I expect we'll learn a great deal and have a nice time because we won't have to shovel off the desks every day and wade our way through piles of clothes and shoes trying to get to the door or kitchen or office. And, most wonderfully of all, you can drop by any time. I won't spend 15 minutes apologizing for how awful it is, but I probably will stand there hopefully, waiting for you to notice that you can put one foot in front of the other without tripping over shoes and library books. Welcome!

a little something

Matt has been preaching on prayer the last few weeks, and this sermon was a real highlight. I highly recommend it if you have time, or even if you don't.

The Ancient Art of Letter Writing

I used to write long old fashioned letters by hand. Of course, when I first went to boarding school, at age 11, there was required letter home writing time. I vaguely remember this being Sunday, probably during interminable rest hour, certainly always the moment my Sunday headache set in. But in High School there was no time set aside and one wrote if one wanted to. I spent my free library times pouring out endless volumes of words, writing to each of my parents separately, to many friends scattered around the world, and sometimes to a cousin.

I think I was a pretty good letter writer. I could fill all four sides of the big long folded graph paper (I don't know how to describe it, you can't get it here in the US). I had plenty to complain about. My letters were desperately long and filled with sappy drama and emotion and longing.

I stumbled upon a stack of these letters the other day. I actually have them in a fancy leather trunk in my entry way. I glanced over them and felt sad at this lost 'art'. But not too sad. In many ways blogging is more difficult and therefore better. Whereas anyone can fill up four sides of paper with moaning and complaint in under an hour, blogging, good blogging (which I'm not pretending this is) should be focused, directed at an audience more difficult to define, and therefore have some unifying theme and purpose. Of course, the Internet is littered with long rambling letter like blog posts (some of them are by me) which say essentially nothing. But it is also full of excellent writing available for free, without the hassle of the United States Post Office, which, in Binghamton, is a hassle that defines the word hassle. Mailing a letter in Sikasso, Mali was easier.

Its not as if, in this technologically defined age, we've stopped communicating or lost anything, really. We've just redirected our efforts.

A day off where we go somewhere and do something

After three months of our lovely car being at the car doctor, we Finally have it back which means we all get to go grocery shopping together this morning! Matt has done all our shopping this summer and is good at it, though frugal. But I have missed terribly wandering the aisles of Wegmans, coffee in hand, 3 children in the Play Place, feeling fakely normal with one child in my cart while I buy bulk spices, different colored lentils, gorgeous vegetables and fancy puff pastry dough. I always like to wear the baby because it makes me feel hip and modern. Of course, the baby has reached the 'let me jump out of your arms and run away to freedom' stage so we may strap her in the cart, although that might further be trying because she's also in the 'let me pick up everything, taste it and then fling it on the ground' stage. Our theory is that God makes babies at these stages super cute so that they survive infancy, what with all the desperately annoying developmental desires.

Then we will probably drive around because it will be so nice to be out of the house on our day off and not cooped up in the back yard. Maybe we'll get all crazy and stop at a park. 

Happy Anniversary to...

me
and Matt, since we got married nine years ago today. It wasn't a Wednesday, though. It was the inevitable Saturday, but not the evening. We got married at 10am in the morning which was already way too long to wait for such an occasion. I was ready to walk down the aisle at about 7:30 and had to sit around the whole morning watching my bridesmaids fuss over their hair and hideous pink sparkly dresses. One of the more satisfying moments of my life has been forcing five of my closest and most loved friends to wear pink at my very own wedding. This is possibly why I have never been invited to be in anyone else's wedding (or maybe because I'm always enormously pregnant when my friends are getting married).

The other more satisfying moments of my life was watching very partially hung over groomsmen realize that we were about to sing another hymn. We sang all the hymns you could sing. The service lasted an hour and 20 minutes only because my father preached such a short time. If we could have stretched it to two hours we would have. Not being Catholic we couldn't justify leaving a lovely offering in front of the statue of Mary (although  believe me, I really tried to justify it. What an excellent way to show off the dress!) Nor did we end up going with the 1662 Prayer Book Service, although we really really really wanted to. It just became too complicated. But we did sing I want to Walk as a Child of the Light and Lift High the Cross (I think) and King of Glory King of Peace. And I walked in to Not Here for High or Holy Things. Not yet being in submission to my excellent husband, I was able to fend off his great desire that we sing A Mighty Fortress NOT because its not an excellent hymn, but because the verse about Satan is so unsuitable for a wedding.

My father's sermon was chiefly about how he hoped we would have many many children and have a filthy and chaotic house as a result. This blessing, it seems, we are being blessed with abundantly. Six babies in nine years is nothing to sneeze at. However, our house is not chaotic nor filthy. So there.

And we are ridiculously happy, or at least I am. To be floating along through life, intending to devote oneself to the service of God in miserable sacrifice and instead happen, one evening over dinner in the refectory, to fall headlong in love with a strange and fascinating young man with piercing blue eyes and and an extremely quick mind and end up in the service of God without any misery at all, well, what other choice is there than happiness?

The Naming of Babies is a Difficult Matter

Now that I've finally decided to blog, Matt is glaring at me like, 'why are you still on the computer? Let's paint the entire house.'

So, let me just say that Kennedy 6.0 Baby Naming Extravaganza 2010 is now officially open. We need boys names, girls names and blog names for both.

Let the Suggesting Begin!

the balmy days of Summer, and no international Anglican crisis or anything

I can hear much laughing and playing, indicating to me that No One is getting dressed and doing their morning work. I should leap up and cause my children to walk in the way they should go, but I thought I'd try my hand at blogging and see if I even remember how to do it.

Trouble is, life is so quiet and ordered and peaceful, for the moment, that I have absolutely nothing of interest to write about. We generally go away from Binghamton in August and return mid month to piles of backed up church and house work. But here we are, quietly dealing with things as they arise, regularly weeding the garden, eating long interesting meals on the front porch, picking up after ourselves and feeling that something must be wrong for life to be this calm. Then I whisperingly remind Matt that everyone will shortly be back from their holidays and the chaos will rise to its regular fevered pitch and we will settle back into normal life once more.

We probably needed this time of calm, unused though we are to it. It doubtless explains the cleaning and house ordering frenzy. Our garage looks, not to be ageist, like we are already grandparents. You could eat off the floor in there. Give us a few weeks, though, and the ordinary frantic pace of church life will cure that and our garage and laundry room will look like our true station in life.

When something real and exciting happens, I'll be sure to let you know. Until then, I am battling beetles in my garden.

As you prepare for the Assembly of the Faithful, meditating on God's word, ironing your clothes...

This is how my children have all learned the Lord's Prayer.

7 Quick Takes: How Clean is my House?

My house is immaculately spotless (to be excessively redundant). When I say spotless, I mean that the furniture is finger print free and shining, you can eat off the deeply clean floor, there is no way to trip over piles of laundry and toys because everything is put away, you can see your face in the kitchen sink, and all the bathrooms smell like a fresh summer breeze. In fact, I remarked to myself yesterday, this house Cleaner than our apartment our first year of marriage when we had no children and no pets. 

Two

How is this possible, you ask? 

Three

Largely due to the miracle of prayer and supplication to God, combined with the fact that we live next to the church and we are really really desperately tired of greeting all our friends with "please come in, please don't look at the floor, be careful where you step, oh, I'm so sorry, is that chair sticky, please try this chair...."

Four

Also, we discovered the novel idea of teaching the children to pick up after themselves Before They Move On to the Next Thing. 

Five

Furthermore, we discovered that we also could pick up after ourselves. Like putting a dish in the dishwasher instead of the sink to sit for five days. I've even tried making beds in the morning after we get out of them, instead of in the evening right before we get in them.

Six

I had no idea how much of my identity and purpose was bound up in cleaning. In the absence of having piles of rooms to clean, I've been at a veritable loss of how to conceive of reality. I actually sat down to read a book yesterday, and to read some books to the children, and play the piano for a few minutes. I feel like I'm living in a purpulishly clean twilight zone.

Seven

How can we possibly continue with this beautifully clean and ordered lifestyle? you ask. One day at a time. 

Go check out Jen!

Ugh

I finally read this after having it forwarded to me and seeing it everywhere on facebook. Actually, I got about half way down and had to stop because I began to be lightheaded and sick. Followed upon the recent watching of this, after which I was unable to sleep for several nights, I am ever more confirmed in my belief that none of us ought to be shocked whatsoever at the current political whirlwind we are reaping.

If you make it through the article you will notice, besides the very favorable victimizing tone, words like 'respect' and 'dignity' so perverted by their context as to make them essentially meaningless.

And now to prayer, for the battle belongs to the Lord.

What a glorious thing it is to worship the Lord...

We have recently reached a  milestone with our eldest child. She has gained the age, possibly not of discernment, but of being invited to be trained and to serve as an acolyte in church. For those of you who are not remotely Anglican or liturgical in your ecclesiastical leanings, an acolyte assists in worship by carrying candles or a cross down the aisle, ringing the bell during the Eucharistic prayer (when its supposed to be rung and not all the time or when they feel like it), assisting the priest to set the table for communion, ushering people up to communion and other tasks of that nature. 

We have struggled over the years at Good Shepherd to convince children to want to serve in this way, have struggled to train them, and struggled to get their parents to bring them to church. However, in the last year, there has been a veritable explosion of children desirous of participating in this ministry and eager to serve, our own child amongst them.

Of course, our own child is excessively short, and, as an eight your old, she succumbs, though rarely, to silliness.

This last Sunday was one of those times. She, and the other candle bearer, also of small stature, walked carefully  and reverently down the aisle with the crucifer (the one who carries the cross) at the beginning of the service. I could tell from the gleam in her eye that she was thinking about silly bands and not about Jesus. The ministry of the Word went forward without incident. The acolytes stood, knelt, sang, sat, and prayed without drawing attention to themselves. Only an occasional leaning back while she knelt, to grin at me in the pew, interrupted the quiet flow of worship. At the peace Elphine made a bee line for me to inform me that her fellow candle bearer had been allowed to wear his silly bands high up under his robe and so could she have her back. 

"Absolutely not!" I said, "and the Peace of the Lord be always with you."

As she regained the altar, she and the other acolyte consulted with each about what to do, always a bad sign, I feel, but finally decided to pursue the correct course and return to their seats. The bell was mercifully rung by the crucifer and then came the agonizing moment when they had to walk back to the first pew and let the congregation out, pew by pew, to come forward for communion. Again the two whispered together but finally decided to do what they'd been instructed to do. As I left my pew Elphine whispered loudly, "NOW can I have my silly bands?"

"NO" I whispered back, imploring God to save my child from her sins.

The final prayer was said, Matt blessed the congregation, I opened my hymnal to sing the final hymn, and then Elphine, possibly in confusion, or impatience or gratitude that the service was finally over, took her candle, glanced at the other acolytes, the Eucharistic Ministers, me, and her father the priest, and spun around to walked quickly down the aisle all by herself, candle flailing. The other candle bearer, naturally, took off after her. The entire congregation, excepting visitors who didn't noticed, dissolved into fits of laughter, some of them crying with joy.

I left my pew and went back to encourage my child in the way she should go. "You did a pretty good job," I said, "but, um, did you notice anything just now?" 

"No!" she whispered, "can I have my silly bands?"

Monday Morning Haze: Birthday Edition

Did I mention that I was going to Maryland for a week (last week) to Rockbridge Academy's Teacher Training? Now the week long blog silence will be totally comprehensible and you will be able to put away your rage at my not posting, even as I am trying to put away my rage at the list of people (Lauren!) who are having a 'blog sabbath'. Honestly, what am I supposed to do if I have no blogs to read? Study? Clean? Attend to my children? Surely you will reconsider your family and spiritual commitments when you hear of my agony.

Rockbridge was excellent. If you're thinking about starting a school, and considering making it a Classical Christian school, then you ought to go to Rockbridge. They very much have discovered the winning formula and share it cogently and charitably. My only complaint was that the chairs were too tall and so for an entire week of sitting my feet were well above the floor and I came away with a back ache. Next time I'm taking a large pillow and a stool. 

I will have to process and organize my piles of notes from Rockbridge another day because today is the fourth birthday of Romulus and he intends that I will make him both a batman cake and a spiderman cake. When asked how he would like to spend the day, he focused exclusively on eating--toast, cream of wheat lathered in cream for breakfast, chicken lathered in sauce served up with rice for supper, two cakes, chocolate and butter sandwiches. That's just a partial list. I can see how he won't be interested in playing or riding his bike after so full a day of eating. 

Surprisingly I feel well up to the task of cooking all this food because the house is immaculate--clean enough, in fact, to be photographed. Left unaided with five children for a week, Matt undertook to deep clean and organize the house. This included polishing all the furniture, coping with the horrendous playroom, and training the children to clean up after themselves. Apparently, my method of telling them to clean up and then freaking out when they don't do it bore improvement. Now they clean up what they're playing with before moving as on to the next thing, and they don't smear butter everywhere. 

Romulus informs me that has finished his first course of toast and is ready for 'hot cereal without the cream mixed in'. Ta ta for now.

Not Enough Sleep Thursday

There's no way I can really blog because I woke up at 3am and couldn't go back to sleep, and then at 4am, Matt got up and turned all the lights on and blamed me for hiding his workout clothes (I DID Not hide them! I would Never Do That!), and then at 4:15 the baby woke up and had a long long long drink which she drank too fast and so at 4:35 she vomited it all over me. So, um, I think things can only get better through the day, don't you?

Marigold at 9 months

I don't know what the baby has to be so happy about. She grins unmercifully in the morning and coos and spits while everyone else whines.

Right now she is trying to pull the hairs out of the cat one by one. You would think cat would get up and move.

She doesn't appear to be getting any bigger although she eats everything, especially if you are eating it, gazing at you soulfully, blinking her eyes, puckering her lips in the most manipulative manner possible until you cave and start giving her bits. We didn't intend to give her chocolate cake yesterday but she looked so sad and alone eating banana that we finally gave in.

She also seems to have decided never to crawl. She was showing interest a few weeks back, and we were worried she would take off and become a menace. Now she is choosing the better, lazier way. If you put her down, anywhere, she screams unmercifully until someone, anyone, picks her up again. I can see that she will probably decide not to talk either, because everyone will be able to do it for her.

In short, she is the striking opposite of Gladys. This is not a Bad Thing. God, in his mercy, only gives us those trials we can bear and hopefully that means only One Gladys, not two.

Happy Birthday

I'm not allowed to blog. I have to arise and go downstairs and make soft boiled eggs and biscuits for breakfast. Five children are jumping on me and freaking out. Okay, okay, I'm coming.

Monday Morning Haze: VBS/Birthday Edition

The sky really is hazy, and the air is hot and humid. I finally rifled through the vast array of pregnancy clothes (I have everything you could possibly want for every season) in my possession looking for cool summer things. I'm too big to stuff myself into anything else. So amazing to be this big at only 12 weeks. Speaking of which, I Really need to remember to call the doctor.

But not today, because VBS kicks off tonight!!!! and I need to be more helpful than I have been so far. It is a huge enormous wonderful fabulous blessing not to be organizing this event myself but instead to be relying on a detail oriented talented enthusiastic creative perfectionist who really loves Jesus and loves children (unlike me, just kidding). This wonderful person has invented a program that far and away surpasses anything I have ever seen for sale on the subject of VBS.

And, I think we've solved the Birthday Party Problem. Thank you so much for all the suggestions. We're entering new territory as we approach this eighth birthday. Heretofore, its been a matter of saying brightly and cheerfully what's going to happen and then carrying on. For example, "We're going to have a cake and a balloon, and T is going to come over and you may also have a potato chip!" And the child coos with delight. I adopted this strategy after clarifying in my own mind what I thought I could cope with.

"Elphine," I said brightly, "on Tuesday morning, your Birthday, I will get out of bed and make us all a lovely breakfast, and then Daddy will take you out to lunch, and then, in the afternoon, we will have tea and that gorgeous fat chocolate cake from Wegmans. And then, when Teacher Training is over in a couple of weeks, and I've had time to recover, I will make a real Holly Hobby cake for after church."

She smiled cheerfully but didn't run off to play. After a few minutes she said, "I've thought about it, and I think we should invited E, S, R, T, N, J, P, J, and T to tea on Tuesday." And so began two days worth of negotiations involving both me and her father with unhelpful suggestions from Alouicious.

Birthdays are complicated for me. I've always adopted a defensive strategy of disappointment on my birthday. In the days leading up I indulgently and mournfully relive my 11th birthday when we planned a party for some friends three towns over, waited All Day for them to come, and finally, in the evening, picked up the party and drove it to them because they had forgotten. Or the birthday on which I received a large poster of Annie with the curly red hair and enormous dog. This poster so offended me--that someone looked at me, and then saw that awful musical, and thought, she's just like that--it still makes me shudder quietly. Or the many many birthdays when I had to go back to boarding school, the two days always seeming to coincide. I bring all this sorrow to every birthday celebrated by every member of our small family (by small, I mean, everyone single one of us is very short).

Matt, on the other hand, sees birthdays like a beautiful uncomplicated dream of happiness and ice-cream. He has no disappointments in birthdays, excepting that since he's been married to me, I have disappointed him every birthday by not being cheerful enough about it.

Naturally, he has insisted that we celebrate Happy Birthdays his way instead of Disappointed Eeyore Birthdays my way. I'm not the best judge, but I think we are succeeding. The children seem so Happy on their Birthdays, eyes bright as they utter long sighs of satisfaction. I hover in the background, waiting for someone to burst into tears or cloud over. My time, however, may yet come. The expectant gleam in Elphine's clear brown eyes is bound some day to encounter disappointment. May God yet spare us from it being this year.

Oh Man

Elphine is under the regrettable impression that because her birthday is next week, she should be allowed to have a birthday party, with a chocolate Holly Hobby cake, friends, balloons, and maybe a present. Agh!!! Its VBS week. Saturday is getting ready for VBS, Sunday is getting ready for VBS and then the whole thing kicks off, and then as soon as VBS is over I disappear to Maryland for teacher training. What shall I do? Seriously, help me out with some ideas.

(Remember, Alouicious managed to celebrate his birthday for a whole week, in very very recent memory.)

A Half Dozen

Per my request, Matt told everyone on Sunday that we're expecting Kennedy 6.0 in early February. I'm a mile wide at 10 weeks and I could tell everyone was looking at me and wishing they could ask. I was seriously toying with the idea of waiting until I was almost giving birth before admitting it and forcing so many loved ones into awkward social trauma by saying aggrievdly, 'NO! I'm just fat! And I'm throwing up because I have a chronic flu! What kind of person are you?'

We're all tickled pink. The children are wildly picking names and making plans. Elphine wants it to be a girl named Violet. Aloucious wants a boy named Daniel. Romulus wants it to actually be Spiderman. I'm pretty sure the only person who won't be uniformly thrilled will be Marigold, but who knows, she might surprise us all.

I've been telling everyone that I feel terrible, but it must not be too bad because I stripped all the kitchen wall paper and painted the kitchen last week, and yesterday I surprisingly decided to make French Fries from scratch (a stupid thing to do because I'm the only person in this family who will eat white potato and so I was forced to eat the entire bowl myself, lathered in mayonnaise--the fries, not me--Delicious!)

I have one small regret. Years ago I told everyone I 'wanted six'. The response overwhelmingly has been 'well, now you have your six' with a slight raise of the eyebrows. WHAT is everyone going to say when we go for #7? I wish I'd said from the get go that I wanted to be Michelle Dugger and have 20. But, I didn't know about her back then, and I was young and foolish, and six seemed like an outrageous lot of children. Am I allowed to grow in wisdom and maturity and up my number at this late date? How 'bout not 20 (I'm already too old) but, say, an even dozen? Isn't there a book about that? And also, my grandmother wanted 12. Its a Biblical Number.

Happy 4th!

Part IV of Leaving Home is Finally up! Took us an age, but I think the extra time made it extra good. If you missed the beginning, here's Part I, Part II, and Part III.

On that note, I'm going to wrench myself from the internet and desperately paint my kitchen and fling it back together and clean the house before noon when my weekend visitors arrive.

Stay cool! Its a scorcher.

having started something, I really need to go finish it....

On Monday, without premeditation, but largely because of the advent of the Awesome New Refrigerator, I started taring at the kitchen wallpaper. As a result, I have a dining room table full of kitchen junk, half a kitchen with wall paper, half without, a house full of little bits of wall paper because of so many children "helping" and tracking dirt everywhere, half a kitchen taped up for priming and painting, and general complete chaos. So, um, I really can't justify sitting here writing about how much I'm loving reading, or rather, listening to the Bible in a year, even though I'm exactly one month behind (because of going on vacation) and how much depth I am gaining my listening to it chronologically--the psalms spliced into the accounts of David's life--which is what I'd really like to be doing. Or, on the other hand, the depth of schmultzy nostalgia in which I am wallowing as a result of not only watching the world cup, but all the ads on youtube for the world cup, and all the floozy songs on youtube for the world cup. I know its been said Way Too Much, but it is special that its in Africa this time. I am so homesick. Also, why did they have to get a white chicky to sing the official (or one of the official) songs for the occasion? Are there no qualified African singers? (The answer to that question should be obvious to us all and if you answer wrongly, I won't even post your answer). What is the matter with me! I need to go work on the kitchen!