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!

Growing up, and other appalling happenings

The hardest part of moving a year a and half ago, or whenever it was, besides the actual moving, was leaving behind our amazing and lovely neighbors who, within six months of our moving into that house, embraced and practically adopted our first child and all our children thereafter. They, for reasons we have never fully understood, thought our children were interesting and wanted to play with them, despite being older. 


By the grace of God, however, just as we moved, their oldest learned to drive and has become our life saving baby sitter, followed by her brother. They are each able to handle all five our children with grace, skill, wisdom and love. 


A page is turning, however. K graduated from high school this weekend and is headed to an impressive and, thankfully, only an hour away college in the fall. Her graduation party yesterday involved a Bouncy Castle, a Snow Cone Machine, a Cotton Candy Machine, an ENORMOUS pile of cupcakes, and soda pop. "No," I shouted at Alouicious who was nagging me to let him have a coke, "have a snow cone and some cotton candy!" Matt spit his own coke out in a fit of choking laughter. The boy walked away with a coke. There's a time to party and a time (now and for the next four days At Least) to abstain from sugar. We will miss K so much we will probably have to pop down to surprise her at school and sit in on her fancy theology classes.

Nunc Dimittis--for a late Saturday Evening

We're very very busy and we've got a lot to do...

We are in possession of an amazing and wonderful Refrigerator Box (and the Refrigerator that goes with it--even more amazing and wonderful. Pictures forthcoming). So clearly we will be busy all day. We have to find a place to put The Box and then probably every toy in the house will have to be shoved into it, or something. I am being hounded to arise and get a move on so that the feasting and joy may commence.

For our further pleasure, we will be listening to this (thanks SF) which is so awfully catchy and awesome.

Is anyone else praying for North Korea to survive going home after playing so badly? However, Cote d'Ivoire has to be them too as to move on to the next round so I'm not praying for them to win, obviously.

a note for my mother

Happy Birthday!

Many Happy Returns of the day. 

For your birthday, we'll be baking and eating a cake (with candles) as well as a variety of other delicious items. And we're going to watch Nigeria play South Korea and read some stories. And of course, we miss you very much and wish we could be there for a proper party.

Here is a flower from your very own garden as a present.

Monday Blog Haze

I'm seriously considering making this blog all about my hair. Thank you for all the comments! more than I think I've ever received for any other topic. Its all been very informative and helpful. I carefully tucked my grays in yesterday for church, but this morning they're flying all over with impunity. Matt says he "likes them" but he also says a lot of other stuff I know not to be true because he's nice and a good husband. (stuff like, "you don't look fat in that dress" and "it doesn't matter what you wear, you always look gorgeous" and "you're good at Everything you do!")

Maybe I'll start taking up close shots of my hair and documenting the graying progress. Or something.

In the meantime, I want to alert you all to the fact that Simcha Fisher is blogging again. Praise the Lord! If you want to know what kind of person I wish I was, you can read her. Along with Mark Steyn, I stop everything to read anything she's written, beating off children and work for a moment of quiet.

Also, I meant to link this post ages ago but forgot. Jessica took a class in something interesting and fabulous called Target Focused Training. Money quote, "Violence is rarely the answer. But when it is the answer, it’s the only  answer.” Going to look around for something like it here on the opposite coast.


And then, gratuitously and because its my blog so I can say whatever I want, here is the conversation I had with Romulus during the Prayers of the People yesterday. He was sitting on my lap, his enormous head pressing into my shoulder, wiggling and whispering too loudly.
R: Can I wear that.
Me: what?
R: that (pointing to my engagement ring)
Me: sure (putting it grudgingly on his fat index finger).
R; What is it?
Me: a diamond ring.
R: What is it for?
Me: Its pretty. See how it sparkles?
R: What does it do?
Me: It doesn't do anything, its pretty.
R: Does it have power?
Me: um? the power of love (laughing hysterically on the inside), not the kind of power you want
R: like a superhero?
Me: No
R: (deeply disappointed) oh


And now I will go try and fix my part of Leaving Home Part 4. I think its fine but Matt says it needs work. See! There are so many things he says that aren't true (see above).

my gray head in sorrow to the grave

I have more than two gray hairs.

I've been hiding the two pretty carefully for the last few years, but this morning, just now in fact, there were definitely more than two. And it didn't matter which way I combed anything, I couldn't hide all of them.

WHAT SHOULD I DO?

What kind of person should I be? Should I enter the realm of everlasting dye? Should I decide, in humility, to clothe myself in good works rather than vanity? Should I carefully blacken each hair with shoe polish?

I'm pretty sure that my mother doesn't have any gray. She's pointed it out to me several times. Of course Matt is almost completely gray, but he's a man, and so he looks awesome (when he doesn't wear his phone on belt).

Help me out. I need some serious pros and cons. Feel free to wildly quote scripture if you want.

Tea, its possible to get it right (partial repost)

This was posted yesterday on Stand Firm.

I'm thrilled that seminary education in America is FINALLY getting down to basics. 

Anyway, it reminded me of some early brilliance on my blog, a post I called 'Manifesto'. Here is the meat of it.

Matt’s must be brewed and hot as he is waking up, so it is timed (at home the beans are ground at 3:55am and the hot water hits the newly ground beans at 3:57 and he pours his first cup at 4am exactly. On occasion I forget to put the pot back in place the night before and the coffee brews all over the floor). Can’t imagine what it would be like if he didn’t have his coffee in the morning. May God, in his mercy, preserve us.

I don’t drink coffee. I only drink coffee under duress and when it is heavily laced with chocolate. So of course, when I met Matt’s family for the first time, and the awful truth came out, the household was thrown into mayhem. In the intervening years various efforts have been made. Matt’s parents now own a total of 5 teapots. They have an unheard of variety of teas. On our arrival, there is always half and half, cream, three kinds of milk and bottled water on hand. And, very importantly, there is in residence a new and efficient hotpot.

The trouble, of course, is that this is a nation of coffee drinkers. The fabric of national identity and purpose is woven through and supported by coffee. The drinking of coffee and the mishandling of tea is a point of pride, an under-girding means by which the people of this great land continue to live.

And so it is impossible to get a decent cup of tea unless one makes it oneself. And here is the source of the real trouble. As one drinker of tea in a land of coffee, I inspire real fascination and curiosity. Women especially think, ‘oh, that’s so cute, we should have a tea party.’ By which they mean a tea pot with tepid water, a bag on the side, a wedge of lemon (or something), some ‘cute’ cups and a cookie. And then we all sit around and talk and feel cozy. There are books to go with this experience. I saw one today called ‘A Cup of Comfort’ and a couple of other soupy looking items.

Well, all you fascinated and curious coffee drinkers, That Is Not a Cup of Tea.

First of all, tea Like Coffee, provides caffeine. Tea Drinkers drink it to survive, not to feel ‘cozy’.

Second, it has to be prepared properly (see below).

Third, drinkers of tea already have everything they need—pot, cups, cozy, hot pot and Tea. Giving a tea drinker a lot of fancy fluffy paraphernalia is a nice thought but probably misguided. For example, knowing that I drink tea, Matt and I were given a total of ten tea pots at our wedding. No dishes, no tableware, no household items (well, a few very lovely things) but really, overall Tea Pots. And almost 20 tea cups. Even though I was already properly equipped at the time of my marriage owning a sensible pot and cups to go with it.

So, here is how to make a cup of tea.

Fill a tea kettle or hot pot with cold water. Turn it on. Let it come right up to the boil. Take it off. Pour some blazing hot water into a pot. Swirl it around. Let the pot become good and hot. Put the kettle back on. Dump the water out of the pot. Put in the tea (loose, of course, is best, but don’t be above a good bag—At Least Two for a full sized pot, probably more if it’s bad tea). When the Kettle is back up to the boil, pour it directly onto the tea. Clap the lid on Immediately (don’t leave the lid across the room and wander around looking for it while the tea becomes cold). Put a cozy on the pot or wrap it in a couple of kitchen towels. Let it sit for about 3 minutes. Drink it. Either with milk or milk and sugar or lemon. Whatever you do, don’t heat water a little bit and the pour it on a bag in a cup. If you’re going to do that just go ahead and drink water.

Monday Blog Haze

I've always found it most annoying when people change the look of their blogs, in perpetuity, while never actually blogging. Unfortunately and hypocritically, I fell into this very trap this morning--its been nearly a whole week since my last post, and here I am fussing with new templates and trying to figure out if I can add a facebook 'like' button under each post (so that the masses of you can all 'like' this on facebook) and updating my blogroll and rearranging the elements....
But other than being thwarted from watching the world cup and trying to beat off a horrible rash on the poor baby's tiny derrière (caused, doubtless, by the Abidjan like humidity and the insane rate at which she is teething) and letting the office descend into mind numbing chaos through disinterest and sloth and driving to Ambridge, MA for Bp. Murdoch's instillation and coming home to a posse of children single-mindedly devoted to the idea of a lemonade stand, well, I just don't have anything to blog about.
So I will end this farce of a post and go waste time reading about disastrous rumors in the Anglican Communion and maybe indulge in a little actual work looking for a Latin teacher for Soli Deo Gloria Classical School. Anybody interested?

clean up clean up everybody everywhere

We've reached another level of awesome something. Yesterday Elphine got a bee in her bonnet to load the dishwasher and did a Remarkably good job, and then she wanted to feed the baby a massive bowl of banana which went all the way down the baby and not anywhere else (AMAZING), and then she ran the dishwasher and unloaded it. She was thrilled with herself. "This is so fun," she said.

"I'm glad you feel that way," said I, "would that you always love to clean the kitchen."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because," I said, "someday you'll wake up and you'll have to do it and you'll start whining, just like you do when you have to clean your room."

"Na-huh" she said, "I'm always going to like it."

"Ok, I'll remind you in a few weeks that you said that."

Meanwhile, her brothers were lying on the floor picking up one tiny cheerio at a time moaning and moaning, "I'm so tired! Picking up cheerios is so hard. I need to eat a lot of food. Can I have a Popsicle?"

At the same time Gladys was raging around telling everybody what to do, "Clean up!" she shouted, "Mooooooooommy, Womulus isn't cweaning up!"

She anticipated the baby needing a change and brought me a diaper, wipes and a plastic bag. "I'll change her," she bellowed condescendingly.

"No you won't," I said, "but thank you for the diaper." She took the wipes out and handed them to me one by one. I felt vaguely managed and therefore rebellious.

"I can get wipes out myself."

"No," she said, "I'll do it." She's like a tiny Attila the Hun, ready to conquer the household if we don't beat her off. Later she came in with a page full of addition sums and a pen. "Now I will do my maffff, "she shouted.

"Whatever," I said.

Sermon from Yesterday: Part Two on the Holy Spirit

[This is a collaborative effort, a sermon by committee if you will. Matt wrote it twice and then I rewrote it and then I ended up preaching it. The sermon starts with several examples of how people talk about the Holy Spirit. Can't remember what I said to introduce it.]

"I visited that church and the sermon was biblical,
and the people were nice
but I just didn't feel the Spirit there."

"Have you been filled yet?
Have you received the second blessing?"
Well, I think so, I trust in Jesus for the forgiveness of my sins.
"Well, that means you are going to heaven but if you had received the second blessing then you would speak in tongues. Do you speak in tongues? No. Well then let's pray together that you can be filled with the Spirit."

"My wife and I felt called to this mission three years ago. Lots of people have spent lots of money to get us here. The people of this village have built us a house but we've been praying about it and just don't feel that sense of peace that tells us the Holy Spirit still wants us here. So we're leaving. God's plans are obviously not our plans. Our ways are not his ways."

"The Spirit does seem to be saying to many within The Episcopal Church that gay and lesbian persons are God’s good creation, that an aspect of good creation is the possibility of lifelong, faithful partnership, and that such persons may indeed be good and healthy exemplars of gifted leadership within the Church, as baptized leaders and ordained ones."

It has become increasingly common
both in mainline denominations
and in some (not all) radical charismatically inclined bodies
to blame just about everything on the Holy Spirit.
For all the contemporary talk of spiritual gifts
(and there are indeed spiritual gifts)
and spiritual power (which is real)
and claims of being spirit-filled
(every believer is filled with the Spirit)
the Holy Spirit is often reduced to a religious euphemism for
“what we want to do.”

Not only so,
confusion about who the Holy Spirit is
and what the Holy Spirit does
leads not only to very bad teaching on the corporate level
but in a very personal way
to broken promises,
ruined relationships
and radically selfish behavior among individual members
of the church.
Our task today is to clear away some of the confusion.

But this is not going to be an easy six part way
to know who the Holy Spirit is
and how to know he is working in your life.
While this subject is eminently practical
every single solitary human being who knows Jesus,
loves him
and trusts in him has the Holy Spirit living inside him or her
you can't get more practical and personal,
we're not going to go at it from that angle.
Rather, you'll find much of our ground familiar,
and that's because the problem
most people and churches have
with the Holy Spirit
is the same problem
they have
with everything that has to do with the Christian life,
and that problem is the Bible.

If you cast your mind back to the examples above,
you will be able to see that in each case
the Holy Spirit is separated out
and examined
and used Apart From Scripture.
That in each case
the Bible is over here
and the Holy Spirit is over here
and sometimes they relate to each other,
but sometimes they contradict each other
and that when that happens,
the Holy Spirit wins.
Or rather, the desire felt to be associated with Holy Spirit
wins.
So the missionary couple feels free
to break their oaths to their colleagues and supporters because they feel peace about it
and confuse that peace with the Spirit.
So the Episcopal Church is free
to depart from the clear teaching of scripture
about sex and marriage
because the Spirit speaks more clearly
through the majority vote of a small denominational gathering
in North America
than he did through the apostles.
So the person who speaks in tongues,
which is certainly a gift,
assumes that he has a second,
greater blessing,
a higher standing in the Spirit,
than those who do not,
despite what scripture clearly says about the divine distribution
of different gifts in different ways.
In each case,
the Holy Spirit is autonomous from,
sometimes even contradicting Scripture.

This is madness.
As we saw last week in our discussion of the Trinity,
the Holy Spirit is God.
He is not a breath of air or an energy field or the force.
He is the third person of the One Godhead
constantly
and completely
and everlastingly
relating in self giving love
to the Father
and the Son.
He cannot be divided from the Father and the Son
and so, necessarily,
For this reason,
and for another equally important one
he cannot be divided from Scripture.

Turn with me to the Scriptures to see how this is true.

Let's start with Jesus.
Turn to John 16:13-14.
Jesus is with the disciples
on the night before he will be given up to death
and he is instructing them,
comforting them,
trying to clue them in to what will be happening.
Jesus says "When he, the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all truth. He will not speak on his own; he will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come. He will bring glory to me by taking from what is mine and making it known to you."

First of all, let me disabuse us all of the idea
that Jesus is talking to all of us
when he says
that the Spirit will guide you into all truth.
The 'you' is the 12 disciples
those who they confirm
and those who saw the risen lord
and were called directly by him to be apostles
Mark, Titus, James, Paul for example.
The 'all truth' is the truth recorded and revealed
in the books that make up the New Testament.
The Holy Spirit will supernaturally 'guide' them,
so that as they teach
and write
they will,
by the Holy Spirit,
speak and write the words of Christ.
They won't be making it up,
they will be helped and guided
by the Holy Spirit
to write Scripture.
The New Testament was authored
both by the men who wrote it,
and by God the Holy Spirit
who lead the apostolic authors into all truth.
Who, in that collaboration,
is stronger?
Who has the power?
Who has the wisdom?

Just to grind this point into the ground,
the apostles,
not you,
sitting out in the woods with your good thoughts,
not me,
will be lead into 'All Truth'.
Thats all done.

Ok, Jesus goes on,
'he will not speak on his own; he will speak what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come.'
The Holy Spirit will be acting in perfect unity
with the Son
who is perfectly obedient to the Father,
when he superintends the writing of the Scriptures.
He won't be making it up.
He will only speak what he hears.
He's never never never going to say something
that is counter to the will,
purpose
and desire of the Son
who is perfectly obedient to the Father.
Its not going to happen.

And finally,
"He will bring glory to me by taking from what is mine and making it known to you."
The Holy Spirit's mission,
his goal,
his reason for being is to glorify the Son
whose purpose,
whose reason for being,
is to glorify the Father.

So, the Holy Spirit is the author of the New Testament.
He cannot be divided from it.
But what about the Old Testament?
We find the answer also in the New Testament.
Turn to 2nd Peter 1:20-21.
Peter is explaining how the OT came to be
and how we know it is trustworthy.
He writes,
"Above all you must understand that no prophesy of Scripture came about by the prophet's own interpretation. For prophesy never had its origin in the will of man, but men spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit."
The exact same process that produced the New Testament, produced the Old.
The Holy Spirit carried along,
he breathed into the minds and hearts
of the writers of the Old Testament
what they were supposed to say and remember and write down.

Furthermore, in 1st Peter 1:10-11,
Peter points and attributes the words of the Old Testament
to Christ.
He writes,
"Concerning this salvation, the prophets, who spoke of the grace to come to you, searched intently and with the greatest care, trying to find out the time and the circumstances to which the Spirit of Christ in them was pointing."
They were waiting for the Christ,
the Messiah,
they were looking for him,
pointing toward him,
reaching out to him.
It was his words that came under their pen.

The individual Christian,
the Church
cannot separate the Holy Spirit from the Holy Scriptures.
The scriptures are the words of Christ,
the Son,
and it is the task of the Holy Spirit to glorify the Son
by taking his words
and making them known...
not undercutting them.
The Holy Spirit is never, therefore,
never going to contradict the Holy Scriptures.

On the contrary,
if you want to hear the voice of God,
if you want, in your ordinary day to day life,
to feel the presence of God,
to know him,
to be guided by him,
to find out if he loves you and how much,
to figure out what to do with yourself,
how to relate to the people around you,
if that is what you want,
then there is one place to go
and that is the Bible.
And that is because for the believer,
the Holy Spirit's task is not reveal to new revelations
or new truths to astound our friends,
but to illumine,
to help you understand what has already been so carefully
and perfectly revealed.
He does that supernaturally
through your personal study,
through teachers
through preachers,
applying those words to your life and to the life of the church.
Let me try to very briefly outline what this looks like.
Earlier in the week, Monday in fact, I indulged myself in some panic about the future. We're commanded by Jesus not to worry, 'don't concern yourself about tomorrow, sufficient for the day is its own trouble', there are enough disobedient children and piles of laundry and emails to answer today, why worry about what you can't accomplish tomorrow? Nevertheless, I let myself go there, and in going into the Kingdom of Anxiety, I put aside any trust or interest in God I should have had. Nevertheless, tomorrow came, even though I didn't want it too, and, because over a long time of many many many days I have developed the habit of reading scripture, I turned to that habit thoughtlessly. I flipped open my laptop, clicked on the assigned readings for the day, pushed the little audio button, closed my eyes and tried to drown out the arguing of children and attend to the nice voice of the man reading the Bible on the computer. It was a psalm. Can't even remember which one. "Can God set a table in the wilderness?" the psalmist asked. Clearly no I said to myself and then tried to move on the next passage, but I wasn't really awake and so I accidently pushed the audio button and heard the whole thing again. "Can God set a table in the wilderness?" No, honestly, no. I mean, yes he can but no. A third time, against my will, I pushed the audio instead of moving forward. "Can God set a table in the wilderness?" I was completely undone.
Let me return, for just one moment, to something I said at the beginning. The Holy Spirit's ultimate purpose is to glorify the Son. He did this perfectly in the authoring of scripture. But he goes on doing it by bringing to life those of us who were dead in our sins, by bringing our lives up against the Scriptures to rebuke, guide, save and sanctify us, to make us Holy. His life giving breath makes it possible for us to do what our ultimate purpose is, and that is to glorify the Son.
Amen.

7 Fly By Quick Takes

One

The baby has two new teeth, blast it.

Two

The baby is trying to crawl, blast it.

Three

The zucchini, of course, radishes, of course, are coming up, but the foxglove seems to be dead or against me, or something.

Four

Good Shepherd's Block Party Summer Ice Cream Health Fair Extravaganza is Saturday. Hope you'll all be there! We're going chiefly for the awesome pony.

Five

Alouicious decided to read three books yesterday after whining about reading for almost a whole year. Strange child.

Six

I just found David Mitchel's Rants done back in January. How did I miss these before?

Seven

Matt is preaching about the Holy Spirit this Sunday. In light of all the wretched heresy the Episcopal Church and other mainline denominations embrace concerning this member of the Godhead, it should be a good and enlightening day. You can always tell the Holy Spirit is at work on a given Sunday, at Good Shepherd, by the sheer insane energy that "permeates" (heh) the space and people.

Go check out Jen.

I think maybe she really wanted to go to the party after all

I am way sleep deprived which is allowing me, strangely enough, to feel a modicum of pity for the Presiding Whatchamacallit of the Episcopal Organization (to borrow freely from MCJ, who, by the way, just provided a bitingly sarcastic fisk). I mean, let's be honest, we all really want to be Anglican. Whether or not any of us believe in Jesus, or love the Bible, or know what the 39 Articles say, none of us, not a single one, like to be criticized, however mildly and even for something that's true. And so for his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury to vaguely suggest that perhaps we have determined, maybe, possibly, to consider walking in a different direction for a time, well, its a wretched blow. It would ruin my day. Especially as there's been no indication all along that his Grace felt this way at all. On the contrary, he's been doing everything humanly and politically possible Never to have this be a possibility. Its like finding out your BFF has decided to dump you and go to the mall with the person you hate the most. I mean, I'd be royally ticked off too particularly if I'd had no warning.

It has been my considered opinion for many many months that this isn't really about theology, its about personality. I don't think Rowan could stand being around Akinola--he probably just grated on his nerves. But then, over time, poor KJS turned out to be just as grating. She's too American. Her trousers are cut badly. Her voice is faintly mannish. And worst of all, she can't take a hint or engage in the gracious and beautifully hypocritical political dance so mastered by her predecessor. Of course Rowan did his blessed best to overcome the cringe factor on both sides, and of course he doesn't want a single solitary province to walk away (except for maybe bits of Africa, but just the really annoying bits), but when he finally came to the election and consecration of Ms. Glasspool and the horrendous dance of all the nations, after having tried so hard to accommodate the US in every way, after waiting and waiting and hoping and hoping that some side would give in, in other words, when all of the work lead no where and no behavior was changed, a grating and pushy and entitled personality probably helped push him over the finish line. I mean, no amount of money can make an unbearable person bearable.

Which is deeply and pathetically sad. I hate being dis invited to anything, or finding out that there was a party carefully organized with no reference to me. KJS and TEC LONG to be in the club. That's what this whole mess has been about all these agonizingly long years. Trouble is, the church, however hard it tries to be, is not a club. And none of us get to have exactly what we want because we're not in charge. God is in charge. He will do what he will do. We can lie and deceive ourselves and write carefully worded letters but eventually the Holy Spirit, whose poor name is so unmercifully bandied about these days, will reform and purify the church, the love and body of our Lord. But it hurts, and so today I'm going to pray that KJS has time for a nice latte and a green muffin and some time with her favorite lawyer and maybe a little yoga and that maybe, just maybe, the pain of this moment will crack open a window for the truth to blow in.

If you don't have anything to say, don't say it.

I've been trying to think of something to blog about for the last few days but, honestly, nothing exciting has happened worthy of mentioning. Well, other than our car dying completely. I could mention that, but its too sad to dwell on. We're waiting for a second estimate and then we'll have to decide whether to bite the bullet or not.

Other than that I'm just anxiously watching my garden in hopes that it will grow.

In many ways, I am frequently grateful when I have nothing of note going on. It means nothing bad is happening and that is always a reason to rejoice.

So, have a good day. I have to go feed the hungry hoards of children roving over the horizons like mastodons.