more complaining about the weather

Can't believe it's nearly March. Can't believe how unrelentingly grey and cold it is outside. Irritated that the children take off their coats when they get into the cold car because they are so afraid of being "too hot". They wander around the house in t shirts and shorts and open the door wide open to see 'how warm it is'. Matt, after asking me what the weather would be like all week and hearing that it would be largely cold with snow flurries but no accumulation said, 'oh, that's good. Just so long as there's not too much sun and snow' as if he is an alien from some other place.

Then my mother posted this picture on Facebook.
Because its summer all the way over there and there were so many in her garden that she had enough to cut.

I, on the other hand, am several weeks late starting my tomatoes and peppers. Not sure where I'm going to put them to keep them from destruction and mayhem.

early adventures in sourdough

Being rather a creature of habit it takes an act of God, or the valiant shoving of a friend (not that those are necessarily different) to get me to do new or different things. In this case I have been making bread in exactly the same way for about 14 years--the precise way my dad showed me when I was at the point of wanting to make bread. Well, I mean, of course, I've made adjustments--mainly on the size of the loaves and how often I make it and how lazy I'm being. So basically I have had no interest in the no rise excitement, even though it would mean buying new kitchen equipment, or any other excitement that requires thought and change.

But my friend arranged herself comfortably in my living room and bestowed something that looked like this

upon me.
And so what could I do but make a big fat chart of when to add flour and water and when to add salt and when to start the whole process all over again and spend the week fussing over it.

And do you know? Not only is it not too hard, it feels all pioneering and all grid-fail-exciting. And it's been a great providential blessing because I am, as Marigold would say, Actually all out of My Own Yeast. So there you are. An Adventure, as it were. Maybe later I'll post about how I've already been cheating, but don't get too hopeful. I'll probably just do something else.

loyalty

So many sensible people are giving up Facebook and other Things Like That for Lent that I've been vaguely unsettled that it never occurred to me to pursue such a course. I do spend a fair amount of time online but its pretty concentrated to particular moments in the day and for particular purposes. I would never categorize myself as Needing To Give It Up.

Anyway, my real guilt lies not in the amount of time online nor in the substance of what I'm reading/viewing, but rather in the deep sense of betrayal I feel I have committed against my, as Marigold would say, Own Wittle Waptop--the laptop given to me, no less, by Matt after Gladys poured tea on the lovely little white one. This current laptop was the smallest and fastest he could find, purchased by him out of love and necessity. I have taken it everywhere, done everything that needed doing--blogging, editing pictures, reading books, watching movies, beating the children off my back from thinking they could touch it at all....

until, a few days after Christmas, I found myself holding in my own hands an itsy teeny wittle iPad mini with a bright soft red cover. I have been rapturously in love all these weeks without thought or care (you know that love--the loss of thought for self, the floating around on clouds of euphoria--or something like that anyway) until a sharp pang of guilt and disloyalty swept over me last night as I heard myself say to Alouicious, 'Sure, you can play a game on my laptop. Just don't carry it all over the house. Try to stay in one place.' Even now, as I sit here laboring away on this little tiny iPad keyboard, my laptop carefully hidden behind a tower of books and paper, averting my mind's eye from its reproachful smudgy presence, the guilt and love roll mingled down into rationalization. 'The children can use the laptop for school.' 'It will be so much safer now, me leaving it in one Central Location and it being used as needed for Educational Purposes.'

Still, this little tablet is such a pleasure to use. Matt and I have synced (is that even a word) our calendars so that we are no longer shocked and horrified by the unfolding discovery of the other person's day. I have been listening to an interesting array of books read to me by people who took the time to read them out loud. Marigold has been playing Bob with the Bob Book app. I won't list everything. You might go away and do something else besides reading the Internet, a true tragedy. But so that I don't find I need to Give It Up Entirely, I will go do something else myself, for a while, but will probably very shortly be back.....

7 quick takes

one
For lent this year we're saying morning prayer with the kids three times a week. I had been doing an abbreviated form in the fall, plugging some memory work into the middle and letting the kids twirl while we sang, but had fallen into the ditch of Not Ever Doing It. So Matt has joined us in a gracious effort to get it back.
two
Marigold would hog the whole time of prayer if we let her. She has lately been prying not only for everyone by name, but also for what she thinks they should do doing the day. She'll whisper the person's name and then a long list, like, 'school, chores, make your bed, etc.' Meanwhile, everyone else is still desperately praying for a good time. 'Dear Jesus, please give us a good time at the pancake supper' as if there were any serious possibility of not having one.
three
Part of launching whole heatedly into this new liturgical season involved going to the dentist on Ash Wednesday, in between preaching and distractedly painting some really hideous flowers on the wall of the little girls room. The dentist was amazingly fine. I left feeling like a reasonably dysfunctional person and not the total freak I've always assumed I must be (in terms of my teeth, don't let your imagination run away from you). I have several appointments to go back but I'm strangely not worried about it. And by the end of lent, I'll probably fall into the reasonably normal category, rather than reasonably dysfunctional. Still, I will be dragging out Mrs. Miniver later and putting some more content in that Dentist category on the side.
four
The little girls room had to be painted on Wednesday because a new floor began to go in yesterday. Our color choice was driven by our great desire to not spend any money at all. You know all those great bloggers out there who write and photograph so beautifully about how to do amazing things with no money at all? I'm not one of those bloggers.
five
So the floor is half in and I think it looks great. And Matt loves it, and the boys like it and the little girls are twirling and happy and Elphine...well, Elphine sobbed for 35 minutes last night until I finally just made her go to bed. 'Every single room has blue now' she wailed. 'Why can't we just have bare boards down?' So, anyone have any 'old fashioned' rugs lying around unused?
six
While the floor was going in I made what I finally called Beef and Lentil Stew for Shepherd's Bowl. Ground Beef, lentils, onion, garlic, green pepper, carrots, sweet potato, chickpeas, tomatoes, and one of those amazing shalimar packets full of indian spices my mother sends me when she can. Didn't take a picture and there was none left by the end, so you'll just have to imagine how rich and delicious it was.
seven
Today we're celebrating Valentines Day. We have a party to go to and then Matt is taking me out to dinner. So exciting. Haven't been out since before Christmas sometime. So whoever it is that's bravely coming over to babysit, hopefully Elphine won't be crying any more. I'm sure it will be totally fun.
Have a great weekend and go check out Jen!

sermon for ash wednesday

We'll be looking mostly at Matthew 6 this morning if you would like to turn there.
So, first of all, what is Lent?
Lent is the 40 day season of fasting, self-denial and self-examination leading up to Jesus' passion, crucifixion and ultimate resurrection at Easter. It mirrors the Israelites 40 years of wandering in the dessert, the 40 days Noah and his family were in the ark and Jesus' 40 day fast after his baptism. The Sundays in lent don't count as part of the fast. Sunday marks the day of Jesus victory over death in his rising again and is always a feast day.
Two, what's with the ashes?
The ashes are a symbol, a visual reminder of death.
In a culture and time when we do everything we can to avoid the reality of death, this morning,
we will mark ourselves out as not only going to die, but as deserving of that fate.
Adam was formed out of the dust, by the hand of God and his whole being depended on God for life. As long as he lived in obedience and love with God, he would live forever. His sin, his disobedience was a decision to cut himself off from the source of his physical and spiritual life.
He rebelled against, he rejected God, and the result of that decision was death.
As the children of Adam we,
generation after generation,
family after family,
person after person,
have joined Adam in sin,
have walked that furrow deep into the ground.
And so we also die.
Not usually because of some particular sin that we commit,
but in the cosmic way that a people separated from the source of life
cannot live.
The death we die in sin is in two kinds.
We die fist spiritually.
The result of turning away from God is a heart of stone,
a heart that cannot feel,
that cannot judge rightly,
that cannot love God,
or other people,
or even the self.
And the second death is physical.
Our bodies die and fall back into the ground, into the dust.
Part of turning around and repenting, of saying sorry to God for not loving him, for not doing what he says to do, is acknowledging that we deserve both deaths, that he has a right to judge us for sin, that we really have done wrong.
The ash smeared on your head in the sign of the cross is a mark of your sorrow for sin,
your desire for God himself to bring you back to life himself—your heart now, your body at the resurrection of the dead. This new life comes through Jesus who, in dying, lifted the sin off of you and took it on to himself.
He died so that you might live.
He paid the just penalty for sin.
When you give yourself to him, his perfect life, his atoning death count for you.
God looks at you and sees you covered by Jesus’ perfection and makes you alive in Jesus, now and forevermore.
Third, therefore, what can one do during Lent?
Let's look at Matthew 6 to answer that question. This chapter is part of Jesus' great Sermon on the Mount. In this section of that sermon he is addressing three things he expects his disciples to do. In each of the three, you'll notice in verses 2, 5 and 16, Jesus does not say, 'if you' give, pray, fast he says, 'when you' give, pray, fast and then he instructs as to the manner in which he wants you to do those things.
Let’s look at the first verse.
Jesus says,
Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order sto be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven.
Beware, be warned off.
You might be tempted to engage in these actions because you want other people to notice and like you or be jealous of you.
You may be doing them as a means to an end,
to get something for yourself,
acclaim, or power, or recognition.
You may like to use your work to bargain with God,
thinking he may owe you if you 'really sacrifice yourself'.
Don't do that, says Jesus.
You will have 'no reward from your Father who is in heaven'.
The reward that is worth getting will not come from making a show
and getting other people to feel bad that you're doing it
or notice you and puff you up,
or from doing it and complaining all the time.
The good reward comes from your Father in heaven who,
we find out in verses 4 and 18,
'sees in secret'.
You do them in secret,
unseen by the world
and he sees you.
You don't know or perceive that he sees you
but he does see. He does know.
I think so many of our choices
bad and good
come from a deep loneliness,
of not feeling known or seen or understood by other people.
The first three sins after God created the world—
Eve's doubt of God's goodness,
Adam's abdication,
Cain's murder of Able—
were not born out of a desire for material things particularly,
but from a doubting that God really sees,
really cares,
is really acting in love,
is good,
and that his goodness and love are enough.
Jealousy, pride, despair, gluttony, lust, covetousness,
all these grow out of the root of poverty,
that God is not love,
that he is not good,
that he himself is not enough,
that he is not here,
that he does not see,
that he does not care.
That we can do better than him,
that we do not need him nor owe him anything.
These three, giving, praying and fasting cut at the root of that lie. They say that you cannot and do not want to live on your own power and strength,
that you trust him to provide for you,
to sustain you.
And you trust that he sees you that he hears you that he cares for you.
So, when you give,
you give because you believe that God has already given you what you need and that he will go on giving.
You don't give trying to get something,
like guilt from other people, or acclaim and recognition,
you give out of love and dependence.
And Jesus says, in secret, The Lord sees you.
So also your praying.
Pray in such a way that either seen or unseen by men,
your heart and mind are fully fixed on the one to whom you pray,
to the Father who not only hears your prayers, he hears them before you pray them.
The prayer Jesus gives here is a prayer that encompasses every part of the material and spiritual life, it is a prayer of dependence on and trust in God who sees you and hears what you say.
And finally, when you fast. That is the kicker.
I've always had a whole bunch of good reasons why I could not fast. I'm pregnant, I'm nursing (well, ok, those count), I will literally die because of my metabolism.
But what if your desire for God,
your need to be with him in prayer,
your sense of despair about yourself and your ability to fix your own problems,
and ultimately, your loneliness,
those moments when you look deeply at your heart and know
that not only does no other human person know you,
understand you,
love you to the depths of your need,
and not only so
but you do not love yourself,
you do not know yourself
and you cannot explain to yourself or to other people why you act the way you do,
why you are choosing the things you are choosing,
then a fast of some kind will maybe be a great help to you.
In fasting there might be at least two gains,
or rewards given to you which cannot be taken away or be ruined.
The first gain is that in denying yourself something,
say food for one meal,
or some food or activity you feel reliant on to get through the day,
you gain the discovery that Jesus is able to sustain you without that thing.
You don't have to provide for yourself emotional health and well-being,
or material needs,
or spiritual salvation,
he will provide them for you.
You don't need to reach out and take the fruit of the tree that you think you need,
he can give you what you really do need.
The second gain is that in taking something away,
you are making room for Jesus where you haven't had room before.
You are preparing a place for him to know you and be known by you in a deeper way.
I have one final thought to close us out.
Some of you may be uncomfortable with the dissonance
between Jesus commanding all these spiritual actions be done and if possible done in secret,
which is essentially action born out of humility and love—
praying, giving, fasting done only for God to see,
only because you love him—
and then come up here and have a smear of ash in the shape of the cross applied to you that everyone can see.
Let me suggest that this sign is actually a sign of humility.
It is a sign of mourning, of sorrow.
Let me recall to your mind a peculiar detail from 2 kings 4.
One of the bad kings of Israel was walking along the wall during a siege by the Syrians.
The people were so hungry because of the siege that they were eating their babies.
And then the writer tells us this about the king when he discovers that babies are being eaten,
" When the king heard the words of the woman, he tore his clothes—now he was passing by on the wall—and the people looked, and behold, he had sackcloth beneath on his body. "
The sign of his mourning was made bear and the people saw it.
As you come forward for the smear of ash,
for the sign of death, to bear the mark of sin and mortality on your head,
let the public sign be an occasion for true inward sorrow.
Rend your heart open before God
and let him see the darkness of your soul and mind.
Confess to him the thing that hurts you most to bring into the light of day.
And then,
even after the sign is washed away,
walk the next forty days as if you are stepping behind Jesus as he wends his weary painful way to Jerusalem. Why is he making this journey?
Why is he bearing up under the splintery hard cross?
Why is he willing to die?
Isn't it because he loves you?
Isn't it because he knows that His Father is enough to bind up his wounds?
The way of the cross is the way of life.
It is on the cross that all the sin,
all the bad motivation,
all the rebellion,
all the darkness of our hearts and minds can be wiped clean,
can be forgiven.
The sign is worn for a night,
the sorrow endures for a moment.
But life with the Father through the work of the Son, in the power of the Spirit endures forever.
You may leave here in mourning bearing the sign of death
knowing that Jesus has conquered death,
that it has no power over you.
Though you die, you will rise with The Lord of life
who sees what you do,
who loves you,
who forgives you,
who feeds and strengthens and provides for you.
The steadfast love of The Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end. He is faithful. Hear his voice today, turn to him and live that his glory may extend over the whole earth.

it appears that marigold was trying to blog

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And now she is mad at me because I made her stop.

pictures of ermentrude

  

Ermintrude received 'skinny jeans' for her birthday. She got all ready to go out and then lay herself down on the bed and shrieked for ten minutes or so.  

Then she was mad at me for taking a picture.

Aren't her boots  cool? 

And here is her cake. Chocolate with pink icing and kisses on the top. Basically she licked all the frosting off and then ate the candies and then got down and threw her new blocks around the room.

the poem of god

We watched The Prince of Egypt recently in our usual lackadaisical weekly watching of A Family Movie. It's either Big Trouble in Little China (whoops) or Gnomeo and Juliet (srsly) or well, other hits and misses. So I thought The Prince of Egypt was going to be about Joseph not Moses and I didn't know it was a musical....but I tried not to feed into the general whining about all the singing. Alouicious finally stopped complaining when he realized the little girls liked it.

In particular, Gladys seemed to be thinking about all kinds of things and after talking a whole lot when it was over and rubbing my cheek announced that she would write a poem. Then, the next day, she hassled me all morning until I dropped everything and sat down and wrote down what she wanted. All that follows is her 'poem', but really more of an imprecatory psalm, scribbled by me as she spoke without breath. If you're generally offended by the violent justice of God in the Old Testament then you won't enjoy this. But if you've worked through that you should be fine.

The Poem of God
By Gladys

Mary and Joseph were going to get a baby.
An angel said to them, "You are going to have a baby."

Pharoah came to get his prisoners back
but God put up a wall of water for his people
and flooded Pharaoh and his people.
God's people were safe.

The people of Israel had a party to celebrate.
God said the people should have a place to live and lots of food and water.

They came to a place a place where the were lots
of homes with food and water.
The people lived and were safe.

All Pharaoh's people were dead,
sinking in the sand and all the frogs
were jumping on them.
They would be dead forever.

God's people were safe with food and water.
Every morning they sat in front of the cozy fire with warm blankets.

All Pharaoh's people were dead at the bottom of the ocean.

ermintrude turns two

Shocked by the horrific cold brought about by dressing up in a huge puffy pink snow suit, boots, hat, mittens and scarf and standing in the true nightmare that is a foot of snow for three and a half minutes, Big Fatty Lumpkin is this moment siting on my lap piercing the otherwise relative quiet with shrieks and trying to shove both her plump fists in her mouth to warm them up. I agree with her. Going out there is a bad idea. The wind, the ice...it's just not that pretty.

Instead maybe, once she's recovered, she can help me do laundry and then have a lie down while I bake some kind of cake.

I'm fairly ambivalent about this birthday moment. On the one hand, the sooner a baby stops being a baby the better, otherwise we would all die from never sleeping ever. On the other hand, it would be nice if she would slow down for a few minutes and not rush from one stage to the next. She's trying to keep up with the others. She doesn't want anyone to do anything for her. The moments of sitting on my lap sucking on her fists are becoming more and more rare. She weighs the same and is nearly as tall as Marigold. Only her fat cheeks and fat neck and cry give her away as a whole year younger.

So, congratulations to you, baby Ermintrude. This may be the year we stop calling you baby and start calling you by your name. Or, perhaps not. Perhaps one more year of being Baby.

a holy lent

I wrote this for the church this week and thought it pass it on to all of you.

My psalm reading this morning just happened to be Psalm 32 which begins,

“Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.
Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no deceit.”

This strikes me as a perfect entrance into a Lenten season of repentance and self examination. The gift of God’s forgiveness to the one who turns in sorrow for sin is the beginning point. It is the moment of greatest blessing. Many things come after it—love, grace, maturity, knowledge, enlightening of the heart and mind—but none of them can be had in their fullness without repentance, without turning around and walking towards God rather than away from him. And yet this beginning step is usually always the hardest, whether it is a first time repentance, or one of the many many times of contrition the Christian faces.

And yet here is the biggest grace: Repentance itself is God’s work in you and God’s gift to you. I’ll use myself as a good bad example. I long to have a clean house. I desire almost more than anything for Cleanliness and Order. I convince myself that I can’t function properly if things aren’t perfectly picked up and put away. And then I make that desire part of my identity, part of my sense of self. And then I make other people live up to my perfect standard, judging them when they don’t meet my expectations. And I do all this without really thinking about it or premeditating it. I make myself into a tyrant god by sheer habit. But then God, through his Word, takes the trouble show this to me, both in the course of the weekly sermon, and in my private reading at home, in this case through “accidentally” reading about the Tower of Babel over and over without meaning to.

The technical word for this process is Conviction. It can be painful, but also, sweet, because God, so big, so concerned with so many important things, takes the trouble to care about the smallest, meanest darkest parts of me and you.

I pray you will take the time in this blessed season of Lent to open yourself to Jesus and let him look at your whole heart, your whole mind, and allow him to adjust things according to his own plan and purpose. Blessed is the one whose transgression, whose sin is forgiven!

something I meant to mention a lot earlier

My very long time friend and her sister happened to write and illustrate a lovely book recently called Olive's Balloon Adventure. Marigold received this book from St. Nicholas before Christmas and I would say that she and Gladys and I would highly recommend it for any little person who intends to do everything herself without help or interference from any living person of any kind. I meant to say this very thing here before Christmas on the off chance that any of you were casting about for just such a book. But now it's only a week before Valentine's Day and perhaps you know a little someone who longs to look at beautiful pictures and read about Olive meeting so many interesting creatures. As for me, I am so impressed to know someone cool enough to have written any book at all let alone a charming and lovely one.
Pip pip

work, it won't save you but it's still a good idea

I've been mulling over the Christian concept of Work over the past many weeks, not least because we do so much of it around here, but more really because of our Sunday School program, Catechesis of the Good Sheperd.

My own children have all come through Catechesis, Elphine, as in everything, paving the way. Way back then, I didn't have any expectations and didn't have time for anything either and was just really grateful for her to meet Jesus, the Good Shepherd, in a special and beautiful space and to 'work' with so many materials made particularly for her and the other children. I count her current love of Jesus as the fruit of that time in the 3 to 6 year old Atrium and I am so so grateful for it. So also with all who have followed her. The teachers and the space and the time have been such a huge gift to their spiritual lives.

And then at the beginning of this year by the strange and seemingly incomphensible organization of God, I landed in the 3-6 year or Atrium myself, not as student, you will be relieved to know, but as Catechist. And so I have over this past year, finally, seen the "work" of the youngest child, so often read about but never observed first hand (by me).

So, knowing academically what was supposed to happen, I rigorously followed the steps laid out, establishing a culture and method of common life in the space--walking quietly, talking quietly, rolling and unrolling mats, working on something and then returning it to its place before the next thing, watering the plant, carpet sweeping the floor, and so on.

 Having Marigold, who was cumbered in her speech at the beginning if the year, flower in contentment and joy particularly through the Work has been so interesting. She is 'at home'. She is restful. She gets out her folder and her mat and  pastes and colors and then she puts it away and pours beans and then she might arrange flowers and then she takes all the little switch on 'candles' and lines them up and turns them on.

That she is not this restful at 'home' is also very interesting to me. Here, she beats and shouts her way into doing things she wants to do, many of them destructive. It's a clutter and a jumble here and even when there is 'work' for her that she wants to do, usually someone else is coming in and trying to ruin it for her. I don't feel particularly bad or guilty about this. We are a lot of people doing all our own things and the little ones, as far as I am concerned, are welcome to beat their way into everyone's attention, as long as they don't literally beat each other. I'm making it sound worse than it is. Right  now, for example, Marigold is industriously coloring in her school book while everyone else also works. But still, there's a definite edge to her chin as she goes about it.

Unfortunately for all of us, this is just going to have to be Part One because I myself also have actual work to do and I haven't completed my own thought. But do not despair, I'll probably back to this subject sometime again before we all die.

winter, the season of my discontent

The wind is howling in a bitter, raging way and I am huddled next to the plug in heater in the office at church while the children run crazed and argumentative laps up and down the parish hall. Maybe they are having an actual game but I was promised they were doing 'laps' 'for exercise'. I've also been assured by everyone that every scrap of school work is done. And Matt is home cleaning the basement for exercise, not 'exercise' which is how it would be if I were doing it. So me sitting here, pursuing the vast sea of the World Wide Web, next to a pile of clean pristine church bulletins, the fruit of some few fretful hours yesterday and today, is perfectly justifiable, whatever the devil may try to say about it. (Hat tip Martin Luther)

Romulus has just been 'reading' to me--that mind/body/soul deadening exercise that comprises me sitting grinding my teeth and praying over and over 'Lord Jesus have mercy on me a sinner' while he writhes around on the chair trying to take his shirt and shoes off, picking all the skin off his lips, but never once sounding the sound of an actual letter unless I say aloud his name, sharply, and sometimes with a loud cry.

The child that wants to read speaks English the way I have always spoken French, haltingly, desperately, clutching at giant words like 'actually' and 'think so' and 'imgonnagogetdressedandgetmycoatandgowithyouonyourwalk' always without breath. She moves in when Romulus is finally at the end of either of us coping and looks at the back of Little Bear's Visit and says, 'You should buy me this red book here. Think so? Let's go buy it.'
'That book's not red,' I say, 'it's black. And we're not going to the store right now.'

It's really hard to keep my attention focused here, on the various dramas of all these children--and how is it that I'm only noticing now how many of them there are? I feel like I should have clued in three or four children ago and done some serious and real mental arithmetic--and not wander away in my mind to other climates and landscapes and colors and sounds. So many people I know and love are off in places of warmth and bright color doing interesting things, eating interesting food. How many of them envy me? Do they sit and think, 'what I wouldn't give to do the same things in the same order every single week'.

But I can't dwell too many minutes in discontent. We are memorizing Number 21:4-9 in the middle of which is documented that wonderful cry of the Israelites to God, 'Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and water and we loathe this worthless food.' In response to which The Lord says nothing but only sends fiery servants to kill the people. Which is it, I wonder every time we say it out, no food or worthless food? Either way it wasn't true. There was food and it was heavenly food and also meat. Quail, for heaven's sake. As if any of us can afford to eat quail. Gladys turned her delicate nose up the other day and said, 'I weally weally like it' (whatever it was I can't remember) 'but I don't want to spoil it by eating it.' Like saying, 'yeah God,' as if any of us should be saying 'yeah' to God, 'thanks so much for everything. I'm really really grateful, but while you're at it, could you please make it something different, and put us all somewhere else.' I don't really want to be the one to say it. And I am really really grateful for the one who was lifted up like the serpent in the wilderness, to whom I can look and be saved from death, but from whom I also gain life and warmth and perfect spiritual food.

work, it won't save you

As usual for a Monday morning there are kids crashing around and screaming. We aren't shoving ourselves into the car to go scavenging for food one, because its sort of snowy and two, because an electrician is coming in a few minutes to see why all the kitchen lights keep shorting out or whatever it's called. And, three, if we were going to leave the house, I would have to get out of bed.

For the last few weeks or so, as is our want, we've been leading a seemingly crazy life that, in reality, isn't that crazy, but when you stop and examine it closely you think, 'OMW, there's no way everything will get done' but then somehow it does. Of course, the two things that haven't been 'getting done' are blogging and exercise....well...as it were....I've rebelliously decided not to walk because of the wretched wretched cold and if I'm not going to walk, why would I bother to do anything else? Really, someone give me a reason. Please. As for blogging, when the choice is between picking up the house again, cooking supper, trying to squeeze in one more subject with one more child, and blogging, well, there I've been a touch more responsible, though it hurts my itching fingers to admit it.

So, who else is ready for lent? I sure am. If Jesus doesn't come and save us we will be sorely lost under our own misguided perceptions and illusions and we will choose so often the wrong thing that its worth crying about.

On that note, here are three things Gladys said yesterday as she laboriously wiped off all the tables in the parish hall before Sunday school.
"Guess what. I've been working as hard as I can and I'm not even moaning.'
And
'Maybe if I work really hard, God will appreciate me.'
Haha Child. Hahaha...I didn't really laugh at her, I said that what she had said wasn't true and that God loves us first and we do work because we love him back. She laughed sarcastically and then said,
'Well, loving God is good. Not gross like Womulous burping at the table.'

confining my remarks to the weather

Looking at the weather forecast, I'm appalled to see that it's going to be really really tragically cold this week. We've been spoiled the last few years in the matter if cold, as in, it's been reasonable temperatures and we haven't wanted to commit any desperate act on account of the unspeakable Weather. Whereas now. Well, I'm not going outside. That's all I can say.

Marigold came in just now with her hat and boots and pjs on and told us she was "going out". Almost let her but opted for her just being mad at me instead. No, poor child and poor dog and poor sanity, we'll be inside all week. We should be super productive what with not having to worry about putting on shoes or walking out to gaze at the evening sky or finding everyone a sweater.

Do I sound bitter? I'm not really. In other times and seasons I've had to walk around in these frigid temperatures. I'm deeply grateful for the luxury of not ever having to go anywhere. But in a cosmic sense I think this kind of cold must be a sign of God's anger with Binghamton. Otherwise I can find no reasonable explanation for it.

a meager triumph

We're all watching football, most of us dubiously, or at least with a deep abiding sense of duty, but, I, at least, am basking in the glorious glow of finally having written on the last page of my journal. I've been writing in this journal for the last four years--began just a few days before we lost the lawsuit and had to move out of the old building and house--and have been sorely tempted, over the few weeks, to cheat by pasting pictures in the end or copying in laboriously the substance of some letter or fascinating post from my blog. But in the end I decided that integrity to the whole journal writing endeavor, and indeed my own conscience should win out over the perfect ideal of beginning a new book on the first of the year rather than on the 18th. So, in celebration of such an accomplishment and moral triumph, I have photographed all my journals.

Here is the first one (in the order of photographs, not of chronology). My very very clever aunt long ago  visually iconified the 'Lander Leg' in this lovely drawing which Marigold calls 'The Lady'. I, and all other females of the Lander Family, have inherited The Lander Leg--a stocky substantial Germanic leg which reaches all the way to the ground and which is, therefore, extremely useful. My Clever Aunt made this lovely picture and applied it to this book and to many cards. I was writing in this little book the summer my grandmother died.

It was really horrid of her to go off so suddenly, running away to her Love Jesus without warning anyone or being sick, although we all discovered afterwards that she had been sitting quietly on a lot of pain without fussing and whining the way I do. I was rooming with my Lovely Cousin and on the day Gramma (so we called her) died (whilst playing the opening hymn at a nursing home before my grandfather would preach) I sat up in my bed that very morning and said, "Cheer Up, things could be worse...so I cheered up and sure enough, things Got Worse', and never was I more prophetic than at that moment.

So next we have the book that was directly before that--The French Book. I purchased a nice plain gray book before shoving all my stuff in one of those old tortoise shell heavy duty suitcases so much coveted by me before I actually owned one. I had my plain clothes and plain hair and a frenchish sweater and very acceptable accent and I won't lie, I enjoyed my year in Nantes very very much.

I looked at the inside of every chateau I could reasonably get to, and eat my way through Strasbourg and spent all my religious holidays at Taize where I tried very hard to get them to accept me as a nun and failing that recommitted my way to Jesus accepting that I was a failure in so many things and yet He is Nice and He Likes Me.

I had to tear pages out at the end from writing much much too small through the year. Learned from this lesson later by buying books with actual lines in them.

And here is the bright fluffy much less fretful book with lines and blank pages in  which I discovered that I liked Matt Kennedy very much in spite of him arguing with the professors in class. Particularly liked that when I walked into a room he sort of came running forward with his piercing bright blue eyes saying foolish things like (in the school bookstore) 'Do you come here often?' Stopped writing a serious journal because of being swept up in  love and passing notes in New Testament and Systematic Theology.

Assuaged my conscience about not writing by pasting large cards on the off pages. Tore out a lot of pages at the end of the book to make it seem I'd even finished it.

Going back even further in time, here is the book I wrote in through High School. You remember, don't you, those puffy floral books from the 90's? They were so cool, so puffy, so floral.

I wasn't very clever, in high school, except in knowing that a lot of the things I was thinking and feeling feeling shouldn't be written down as they would embarrass me, probably, a great deal later.

Did do some "writing" but also an awful lot of "copy work"--the recording of clever and interesting quotes for future reference should I discover the need. Quotes like "Full many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its fragrance on the desert air" or whatever that one was. Not going to stop now and look it up.

And so we come to the Grown Up Years, or whatever it is I'm in the middle of now. Leather bound books with lines and a litany, four days out of seven, of how I hope God will interfere in the affairs of his creation, including mine, intermingled with actual events.

This book took the better part of a year. Constancy. Virtue. Writing Nearly Every Day. You get the idea.

The book before that, you can see, was not so....well, let's not make ourselves feel worse than we need to, shall we?

And finally, here it is. This is the book I've just finished. Its horribly thick, closely and regularly written, and finally done!

January 1 to January 18 and in the intervening time, a remarkable work of God to bring us out of fear, cold, despair, worry, loss and grief to life, provision, hope, industry, growth, and the mercy of God who is gracious and loving enough to care for the things that feel like they ought not matter and the things that obviously do.

I'm really grateful.
And hopefully optimistic about the new book.

This book was purchased as an "impulse" but really as Deep Calling to Deep. The pages, you can see

are the kind I grew up writing letters home from boarding school on--close careful writing all the way down the length of a long page. The color and feel of the cover is Exactly Right. Mrs. Miniver, writing about an engagement book (but the principle is the same), "An engagement book is the most important of all those small adjuncts to life, that tribe of humble familiars which jog along beside one from year's end to year's end, apparently trivial, but momentous by reason of their terrible intimacy. A sponge, a comb, a tooth-brush, a spectacle-case, a fountain-pen--these are the things which need to be chosen with care. They become, in time, so much a part of one that they can scarcely be classed as inanimate. Insensitive, certainly--but so are one's nails and hair. And although some of them can be given away if one takes a dislike to them, with others the only remedy is destruction; and there is no case on record of anybody, however, rich, being strong-minded enough to throw an almost new sponge into the fire. Meekly, one puts up with its inconvenient shape, its repulsive texture, and the cretinous face which is discernible among its contours when it is lightly squeezed. Eventually, thank goodness, it will wear out; or with any luck one may leave it behind in an hotel."

In this case, the book is the same shade as the purse I  happened upon for such a glorious sale that I paid only ten dollars for it--short days before the strap on my True Purse wore completely thin. So there you are. A new year. A new book. A new purse. And a new pen, because, by the mercy of God, the old pen ran out at the same moment as the old book. New wine in new wine-skins and all that sort of thing.

seven quick takes

one
Woke up in this last hour worried about my parent's cat who was horribly injured this week by a big dog. At last report he had a fifty fifty chance of making it. He's a good Christian cat named after and blessed on the feast day of St Frances and so I hope you'll all pray for him.
two
Our first week back at serious school did, in fact, occur which is a glorious triumph when considered in the whole scope of human affairs and not taken by itself in its own isolated sliver of reality (can you tell that I'm writing this at four in the morning?). After the initial shock, particularly on the part of Alouicious, they all managed to all calm down, stop the infernal screaming, and do a tiny bit of work. The best and most exasperating part of the week was struggling to satiate little 'nonverbal' Marigold's new and sudden desire to try to learn to read. Basically, it's not really her turn and she should go pour cups of water back and forth in the sink. But the all out brawl--lying on the floor screaming and sobbing and heaving when I said she had to wait a minute to practice letters--has made me rethink the order of my life. I'm delighted, of course. And also, I'm pretty sure I'm going to loose my mind.
three
If you are casting about for an order in which to read the bible in 2013 (because, like me, it takes you a week or two to realize that the old really has gone away and the new is jamming itself down your throat) I really recommend reading it in chronological order. Hat tip, several years ago, to Homemaking Through the Church Year, who recommended it so highly. I join her in this recommendation. And because, in 2012, I was constantly behind I was always listening to vast swaths of scripture at one go, like, the whole book of Ezekiel, or all the Pauline Epistles. And then finally, the whole book of Revelation, which remarkably (and I assume you know this already because you're smarter than me) recapitulates the totality of scripture in this vast cosmic intense way like when, in The Last Battle, all the Sons and Daughters of Adam and Eve keep coming on old familiar landscapes which are, somehow, made new and rich and satisfying again. Just as there are so many pictures of Jesus in the Old Testament, the Book of Revelation is chockablock full of everything before it. Seems stupid to write it out loud when I've 'known' that before. But I saw it in a new and richer way and it was wonderful.
four
As I was trying to spell the word 'recapitulate' just now Matt went out to unlock the church for the men's breakfast and came in with the mail from yesterday. How is it that we didn't even have time to check our own box attached to our own house for our own mail? I don't know, I didn't have a free second yesterday except to eat a piece of cheesecake alone in the church kitchen for breakfast because I didn't have the intelligence to eat something at home before hauling all the kids and all their school work over there....where was I? Oh Yes! Matt just now plunked the mail on me which comprised a lovely Christmas card from England and a package from Nairobi by way of NJ which, when I cut it open gave up a plume of gorgeous turmeric. It smells amazing and is all settled all over everything in glorious richness. Thank you mommy! Cooking tonight will be more than usually enchanting.
five
Matt maligns my love of ordinary curry powder but, since I'm already wildly recommending stuff, let me just impress upon you the heavenly delight that occurs when you lather ordinary little bits of tilapia with olive oil, salt, and curry powder which you then bake at 350 for ten minutes or so, depending on the thickness of the fish, while you sauté an onion, a garlic, some green and red pepper, a handful of frozen peas and a handful of corn also liberally adorned with curry powder and then pile it all over the fish and back in the oven until the fish itself flakes white and perfect. And then your babies, who don't know any better, gather it in like the Wide Mouth Frog and also go ahead and help themselves to more of everything.
six
Which brings to my mind that long ago moment when my own mother, who has a brilliant way with fish, accidentally breaded fish very much like tilapia in cake crumbs instead if bread crumbs. The result was so surprising I can taste it now, as I write this, and see the expression on her face, and the horror in her eyes, at the first bite.
seven
There's a baby up. That's too bad. She is shouting and rearranging the pillows and making a wreck of everything. I guess I'll get up and do some stuff. Amongst them continuing to pray for that poor cat, and for Jen of Conversion Diary who, though doing better, needs lots and lots of prayer.

in it for the long haul

I'm letting the children sleep in the living room tonight. So sue me. Its still a feast day. Tomorrow, back to cracking the whip! Hardy Har Har. As if there are any real whips.

No really, back to school and stuff this week. I held forth to a friend at great length recently about how children (as in my children) ought to be really really really self sufficient and self motivated and require only tiny amounts of me telling them what to do about school. All of which she thoroughly agreed with, I guess, because she just told me that her child did her last three days of school in just such a manner. So now I guess I also will have a chance to practice what I preach. Lots of reading and writing, suckers, lots of reading and writing!

Can you tell that I'm gearing up for any possible psychological warfare they might inflict on me in the way of whining and trying to get me to do stuff for them. I'm actually not dreading it. Its high time we put all our minds to better use than lying around eating bonbons and rearranging the furniture.

I like the time between the secular New Year and Easter. The upcoming times of fasting and feasting don't bring extra craziness and expectation from the culture and the world. Any craziness that bubbles up and permeates my life comes from inside the Church Year. And that kind of craziness is pleasurable and life giving. The children gain space away from all the tinsel and expectations of Stuff and gather their energy around the Party Hats at the Shrove Tuesday Pancake Supper, or getting to miss Sunday School because of the Annual Meeting, or Celebrating the Last Supper on Palm Sunday altogether wedged into a tiny dark room. Their biggest concern is whether its our week to cook for Shepherd's Bowl and how many people will be there to play.

The days are dark and cold but ordinary and full and we will emerge on the other side to days that are longer and warmer, ready to be done with books and counting and writing and lists and routine. And hopefully not too too fat from all the baking.

ringing in the new year

 Matt takes his feasting very seriously. Last night we ate a lot of fancy little food and made hats and paper stars and a paper chain and then stayed, dedicatedly, up till midnight. This effort involved first watching Brave (fine but meh, if I'm perfectly honest, not nearly as good as Tin Tin from the night before) and then running in circles while Matt cleaned the kitchen with U2 turned all the way up, and then finally a little bit of Mr. Bean before watching the ball drop and being totally grossed out by all the kissing and by Mr. Bloomberg's happy lipstick embellished face surrounded by Rockettes. The vision of Mr. Bloomberg with his sweater and his rockets seems an ominous picture for tone and tenor of this New Year, but maybe I'm just being phobic. Anyway, the party happened at all kinds of levels. Elphine dressed up and sat around prissily drinking her sparkling cider and averting her eyes when anything turned out to be weird or gross.

 

The baby danced and wore a crown until we'd all had enough and flung her in her bed. She sees a camera (or a phone) and immediately strikes up a terrifyingly false grin and stretches out her hands in love. She also makes funny faces, when given the chance.

Gladys and Marigold ran in circles and joined in the general merriment. The boys drank vats of the sparkling cider and hoped that the bear in Brave would eat everyone (what a disappointment).

I sat in Matt's big chair and drank champagne and enjoyed Mr. Bean most of all. I find the whole specatacle of a lot of people in Time's Square screaming with Nivea hats and waiting to be on TV very strange. And the ball dropping at midnight is so over rated. The first year I heard of it I expected a large glass ball to be hurled off a tall building and smash on the ground. This, like the reality of the Alamo, has been such a disappointment in real life. However, the children were enchanted with the possibility of staying up till midnight, so it can't have been all bad.



So now on to the food, because that's what its really all about, isn't it? Here is the seafood with red and green pepper, onion and garlic, pickled jalapeno, hot chili oil, blue cheese and a dash of sherry from my very own glass.

Matt ate most of it because I'd tasted so much of everything before hand I wasn't hungry at all. Blast it. Elphine arranged the vast array of food artistically and in a good and rightful order.

 And here are the scrambled eggs with full fat cream and cheese.











And here are the cheese and pepperoni, arranged four or five different times because of being eaten off the plate as fast as they were put on. Not really worthy of a photograph in their own right but for the triumph of, for fifteen seconds, having a full plate of cheese and pepperoni before they're being eaten off once again.







And here are the little sausages wrapped in puff pastry which go very nicely with champagne or sparkling apple cider, of which none were left at midnight. I love how quickly they puff up, how easily they are made, how fancy they appear and how salty they taste. Whereas now the children are all relatively young and small, only one packet of little sausages was sufficient. As I laboriously cut and wrapped them, I imagined my future self with six teenagers sitting for several hours cutting and wrapping sausages and having them disappear with an even greater speed than the cheese and pepperoni do now. Sob.
And here is the crowning moment of my entire married existence.......
The Cherry Puff
Matt has resisted every single dessert I have made for the whole course of our marriage. I bake and he smiles and nods and walks by it all, fit, trim, disciplined, holy. Bread, Cinnamon Rolls, Apple Pie, Pumpkin Pie, Chocolate Trifle, Mango Cobbler, Persimmon Pudding, EVERYTHING, invented by me or even just executed very very deliciously. Until Now.
I took 15 seconds to lay down a puff pastry sheet, cover it with sour cherries left from the trifle, mix cream cheese, cherry guts and a teaspoon of sugar, mush it over the cherries and then lay over it all another sheet of pastry and he couldn't resist. Could Not. He ate a piece in the kitchen when he thought I wasn't looking and finished off everything out of the children's bowls and then put the very last piece in the fridge for later. Happy NEW YEAR!!!

And so finally we roused ourselves this morning to eat chocolate chip pancakes (well, the children did, I had a strong tea and hopped for a brighter tomorrow) and then Matt cooked a large turkey, as he is much addicted to doing, and we ate some more. And I waved my glass of Pinot around and held forth about the fact that I  had listened to the entire book of Romans this morning and discovered I was quietly hoarding some bad theology in the back of my mind but am firmly resolved to correct this faulty tendency in the new year, because, as we all know, Theology Matters.

So, A Happy New Year To You All! May God grant you many lovely things right away and may you eat of the fat of the land and sit in many comfortable chairs and be full of the knowledge of the love of God as the waters cover the sea.