"The remainder of my schooldays were no more auspicious than the first. Indeed, they were an endless Project that slowly evolved into a Unit, in which miles of construction paper and wax crayon were expended by the State of Alabama in its well-meaning but fruitless efforts to teach me Group Dynamics. What Jem called the Dewey Decimal System was school-wide by the end of my first year, so I had no chance to compare it with other teaching techniques. I could only look around me: Atticus and my uncle, who went to school at home, knew everything--at least, what one didn't know the other did. Furthermore, I couldn't help noticing that my father had served for years in the state legislature, elected each time without opposition, innocent of the adjustments my teachers thought essential to the development of Good Citizenship. Jem, educated on a half-Decimal half-Duncecap basis, seemed to function effectively alone or in a group, but Jem was a poor example: no tutorial system devised by man could have stopped him from getting at books. As for me, I knew nothing except what I gathered from Time magazine and reading everything I could lay hands on at home, but as I inched sluggishly along the treadmill of the Maycomb County school system, I could not help receiving the impression that I was being cheated out of something. Out of what I knew not, yet I did not believe that twelve years of unrelieved boredom was exactly what the state had in mind for me."
--from Chapter 4
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The To-Do List Will Have to Wait . . . Again
Have you noticed a change in my blog?
These days it seems I'm writing much more about my immediate sphere--the family and personal stuff--than about the world beyond. I suppose I'm just finding it too depressing to think about the state of the country and world and trying to find consolation in the day to day. The ancient Greek philosophers believed that the cosmos was interwoven in such a way that events in one part had a ripple effect on everything else. The belief was adopted by the Elizabethans, and you can see it in Shakespeare when events in the human world (the microcosm) are reflected in the natural world (the macrocosm), so that when the kingdom is out of whack (kings getting murdered and such), nature is also distressed (earthquakes, storms, etc.)
I am thankful that I am not seeing that macrocosm/microcosm connection in my own life right now. The world is messed up, but here on the home front we just seem to be floating along as usual in our little Lutheran homeschooling bubble. I thank God for the freedom and ability to do that and pray that events in the world at large don't invade and take it from us. And since I don't seem to have much power to affect the world right now, I'm trying to affect my immediate sphere. Problem is, it's almost July and it seems like I haven't made much progress yet this summer. I always seem to start the summer with a list of things that I want to get done that I wasn't able to get to in the busier part of the year. And every year it seems I come up short, not having made nearly as much progress on the list as I had hoped.
Right now, even though my piano students have lightened up for the summer and my various choir practices have ceased (so I should have more time on my hands), it seems I'm only managing the essentials: the laundry, meals, and running around. The deep cleaning remains to be done (heck, any level of cleaning remains to be done). So do the filing, and the organizing of books and homeschool supplies, and the printing and sorting of photos and putting them in albums, and the learning/practicing of something on the piano for my own personal development instead of because I have to, and the completing of one of the books I have been trying to read for months, and the multiple miniature home improvement/beautification jobs I have in mind, and the homeschool subjects we didn't get to during the year (we're still trying to finish up the things we DID get to), and the letters/thank you notes that have yet to be written, and . . . well, you get the picture.
And once again, today it will all have to wait. And for good reason. Because my husband and I are heading down to Collinsville, Illinois to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the rebirth of Issues, Etc (after it was so rudely snatched from the airwaves by a synodical leadership that continues to perturb anyone who is paying attention to it).
I'll have a report and pictures in a few days.
These days it seems I'm writing much more about my immediate sphere--the family and personal stuff--than about the world beyond. I suppose I'm just finding it too depressing to think about the state of the country and world and trying to find consolation in the day to day. The ancient Greek philosophers believed that the cosmos was interwoven in such a way that events in one part had a ripple effect on everything else. The belief was adopted by the Elizabethans, and you can see it in Shakespeare when events in the human world (the microcosm) are reflected in the natural world (the macrocosm), so that when the kingdom is out of whack (kings getting murdered and such), nature is also distressed (earthquakes, storms, etc.)
I am thankful that I am not seeing that macrocosm/microcosm connection in my own life right now. The world is messed up, but here on the home front we just seem to be floating along as usual in our little Lutheran homeschooling bubble. I thank God for the freedom and ability to do that and pray that events in the world at large don't invade and take it from us. And since I don't seem to have much power to affect the world right now, I'm trying to affect my immediate sphere. Problem is, it's almost July and it seems like I haven't made much progress yet this summer. I always seem to start the summer with a list of things that I want to get done that I wasn't able to get to in the busier part of the year. And every year it seems I come up short, not having made nearly as much progress on the list as I had hoped.
Right now, even though my piano students have lightened up for the summer and my various choir practices have ceased (so I should have more time on my hands), it seems I'm only managing the essentials: the laundry, meals, and running around. The deep cleaning remains to be done (heck, any level of cleaning remains to be done). So do the filing, and the organizing of books and homeschool supplies, and the printing and sorting of photos and putting them in albums, and the learning/practicing of something on the piano for my own personal development instead of because I have to, and the completing of one of the books I have been trying to read for months, and the multiple miniature home improvement/beautification jobs I have in mind, and the homeschool subjects we didn't get to during the year (we're still trying to finish up the things we DID get to), and the letters/thank you notes that have yet to be written, and . . . well, you get the picture.
And once again, today it will all have to wait. And for good reason. Because my husband and I are heading down to Collinsville, Illinois to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the rebirth of Issues, Etc (after it was so rudely snatched from the airwaves by a synodical leadership that continues to perturb anyone who is paying attention to it).
I'll have a report and pictures in a few days.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Bursting with Parental Pride
I think I sent this to just about everyone in my address book yesterday, but in case you don't hold a place in that highly exclusive club, here's a link to an article that our local newspaper ran about my firstborn, who continues to amaze with his talent and dedication.
By the way, in the near future I'll be posting similarly about my second born, who has also recently accomplished something remarkable.
By the way, in the near future I'll be posting similarly about my second born, who has also recently accomplished something remarkable.
Tumbling Class
For the Evan fans out there . . . a 1-minute video of him in tumbling class yesterday. We decided to enroll him because he seems to have a knack for it--he has been doing cartwheels and forward rolls and headstands around the house for several years now. Notice in the video that he elects to hop across the beam. The instructions (followed by everyone but Evan) were to slowly walk with arms stretched to the side to help with balance. But of course that was too boring for this kid.
I think you can pick Evan out, but just in case, he's in yellow.
I think you can pick Evan out, but just in case, he's in yellow.
Friday, June 26, 2009
And You, Miss, Are No Lady
This one is too good (and too long) for Evan Essence.
My five-year-old is all boy. He is rough and tough and physical. Sometimes his "playfulness" is downright painful to those around him. So last night I was trying to teach him about being a gentleman. I told him that some day he was going to grow bigger and taller and stronger than me, and that he needs to learn to be gentle with me now so that he will know the right way to treat a lady when he grows up.
He just looked at me and said, "But Mommy, you're not a lady."
O-kaayyy. Thanks, honey, you really know how to flatter a girl. I told him that I most certainly was. His response?
"But ladies wear shoes that are high off the ground, like this." As he said this, he lifted one of his feet in the air.
Great. He's only five years old and he's already a leg man.
Time to set this boy straight. I'll show him. I am, too, a lady! My mistake, however, was that I bought into his premise. One of the first rules of winning the argument is to attack the other person's premise. Evan's premise is that ladies wear high heels. But rather than challenge him on that, I took him for a tour of my closet.
"See, Evan?" Opening a shoe box and brandishing a particularly strappy, fashionable pair. "Mommy has high heels. I wear them to church sometimes."
He looked at me, dubious. "No. Those are only like this." (Holding hands a couple of inches apart.) "A lady wears shoes like THIS." (Spreading hands to about four inches apart.)
Elephant's Child, if Sparkle wants a future with this boy you better get her started on the heels now.
And to Sparkle or whoever the "lucky" girl turns out to be, my deepest apologies. I tried.
My five-year-old is all boy. He is rough and tough and physical. Sometimes his "playfulness" is downright painful to those around him. So last night I was trying to teach him about being a gentleman. I told him that some day he was going to grow bigger and taller and stronger than me, and that he needs to learn to be gentle with me now so that he will know the right way to treat a lady when he grows up.
He just looked at me and said, "But Mommy, you're not a lady."
O-kaayyy. Thanks, honey, you really know how to flatter a girl. I told him that I most certainly was. His response?
"But ladies wear shoes that are high off the ground, like this." As he said this, he lifted one of his feet in the air.
Great. He's only five years old and he's already a leg man.
Time to set this boy straight. I'll show him. I am, too, a lady! My mistake, however, was that I bought into his premise. One of the first rules of winning the argument is to attack the other person's premise. Evan's premise is that ladies wear high heels. But rather than challenge him on that, I took him for a tour of my closet.
"See, Evan?" Opening a shoe box and brandishing a particularly strappy, fashionable pair. "Mommy has high heels. I wear them to church sometimes."
He looked at me, dubious. "No. Those are only like this." (Holding hands a couple of inches apart.) "A lady wears shoes like THIS." (Spreading hands to about four inches apart.)
Elephant's Child, if Sparkle wants a future with this boy you better get her started on the heels now.
And to Sparkle or whoever the "lucky" girl turns out to be, my deepest apologies. I tried.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
My Day
It's been a good day. Here's what I did:
1) Woke up at 5:15 a.m.
2) Spent about 45 minutes on email, blogs, and coffee.
3) Did final corrections on the Steadfast Quarterly. It's off to the printer!
4) Did some laundry and household tasks.
5) Made two loaves of banana bread.
6) Took a walk with my husband.
7) Took my 5-year-old to his swimming class.
8) Read the 8th and 9th Commandments and their Meanings in the Large Catechism while said 5-year-old was swimming.
And that was all before lunch!
Then it was off to church to drop off Evan with his dad and sister (who were there for our week-long morning music camp/singing school) while I took Trevor to his orthotics appointment and then to a nearby junior college to do placement testing (he will be enrolling for college math this fall). While he was testing, I enjoyed some time on the library computer (a little more email and blogging). Trevor did great on his test and received permission to take college calculus (or something of equivalent level) this fall! He will be taking only the one class, attending as a high school junior on early admission.
After the college visit it was back home. I grilled brats (um, that would be bratWURST) for supper while Evan played in the water hose and Phil rehearsed in the living room with one of our best singers from church, who will be performing for and talking to the children at camp tomorrow. It's not many ladies who get to listen to a live performance of Leonard Bernstein's "I Hate Music" song cycle while cooking supper!
The teenagers cleaned up the supper dishes. Husband worked in the garden. I read bedtime stories to Evan. We are on a Dr. Seuss kick right now, so tonight it was Hooray for Diffendoofer Day and On Beyond Zebra.
Even a presidential news conference on why we need nationalized health care was not enough to cast a shadow on this day. It was busy, but satisfyingly so. Thank you, God, for days that are full of such earthly gifts as this one.
1) Woke up at 5:15 a.m.
2) Spent about 45 minutes on email, blogs, and coffee.
3) Did final corrections on the Steadfast Quarterly. It's off to the printer!
4) Did some laundry and household tasks.
5) Made two loaves of banana bread.
6) Took a walk with my husband.
7) Took my 5-year-old to his swimming class.
8) Read the 8th and 9th Commandments and their Meanings in the Large Catechism while said 5-year-old was swimming.
And that was all before lunch!
Then it was off to church to drop off Evan with his dad and sister (who were there for our week-long morning music camp/singing school) while I took Trevor to his orthotics appointment and then to a nearby junior college to do placement testing (he will be enrolling for college math this fall). While he was testing, I enjoyed some time on the library computer (a little more email and blogging). Trevor did great on his test and received permission to take college calculus (or something of equivalent level) this fall! He will be taking only the one class, attending as a high school junior on early admission.
After the college visit it was back home. I grilled brats (um, that would be bratWURST) for supper while Evan played in the water hose and Phil rehearsed in the living room with one of our best singers from church, who will be performing for and talking to the children at camp tomorrow. It's not many ladies who get to listen to a live performance of Leonard Bernstein's "I Hate Music" song cycle while cooking supper!
The teenagers cleaned up the supper dishes. Husband worked in the garden. I read bedtime stories to Evan. We are on a Dr. Seuss kick right now, so tonight it was Hooray for Diffendoofer Day and On Beyond Zebra.
Even a presidential news conference on why we need nationalized health care was not enough to cast a shadow on this day. It was busy, but satisfyingly so. Thank you, God, for days that are full of such earthly gifts as this one.
Progress!
May
June
This is only our second year of vegetable gardening. I think we overplanted a bit. But things are looking pretty good, don't you think? (The credit for soil preparation, planting, and garden care thus far belongs entirely to my husband, altnough I did go buy the plants.) We have tomatoes, peppers, basil, rosemary, chives, sage, squash, collard greens, and cantaloupe. We are hoping to expand the plot next year--maybe add a strawberry patch. Hey, gardeners out there, what else might we successfully grow in a backyard plot in Illinois?
June
This is only our second year of vegetable gardening. I think we overplanted a bit. But things are looking pretty good, don't you think? (The credit for soil preparation, planting, and garden care thus far belongs entirely to my husband, altnough I did go buy the plants.) We have tomatoes, peppers, basil, rosemary, chives, sage, squash, collard greens, and cantaloupe. We are hoping to expand the plot next year--maybe add a strawberry patch. Hey, gardeners out there, what else might we successfully grow in a backyard plot in Illinois?
Monday, June 22, 2009
Is it just me?
Or does my blog look funny?
For the last few days the font has not been showing up uniformly. Several posts down, at the point at which I used a smaller font for the excerpt from To Kill a Mockingbird, everything from that point on is smaller--all the rest of the posts on the page, everything in the sidebar, etc. But I have not made any layout changes, so I don't get it.
Are you seeing the same thing I am?
For the last few days the font has not been showing up uniformly. Several posts down, at the point at which I used a smaller font for the excerpt from To Kill a Mockingbird, everything from that point on is smaller--all the rest of the posts on the page, everything in the sidebar, etc. But I have not made any layout changes, so I don't get it.
Are you seeing the same thing I am?
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Repeating History
So let me get this straight.
The federal government wants to give money to people to buy new cars that they probably can't afford because if they could, they would have already bought them.
Sound familiar?
The federal government wants to give money to people to buy new cars that they probably can't afford because if they could, they would have already bought them.
Sound familiar?
Singing the Catechism
Last year my husband wrapped up a composing project in which he set Luther's Small Catechism to music (I think most of my readers know this, but perhaps a few do not). The songs--66 of them--were first included piecemeal in Concordia Publishing House's Growing in Christ Sunday School curriculum, but now they have been compiled available independently in CD and songbook formats. It is my understanding that both have been selling well. (We wouldn't know firsthand as my husband was paid for his work on a stipend basis so receives no royalties from sales.)
But the fact that something is purchased does not mean that it is used. (Just ask any homeschooling mom.) So my husband loves hearing from real life people that they are utilizing the fruits of his labor and that these songs are actually doing what they were written to do: helping children learn the catechism.
Over the last few years he has heard from a number of people who have told him just that. These stories are worth more to him than you can possibly know. I heard a few more of them at the Concordia Catechetical Academy Symposium this week. What a joy it was for me to hear how parents and their children have been blessed by my husband's work, especially after having had a front row seat to see the many hours of inspiration, craft, and sweat that went into it. He has given much to his parish and to the church at large over the years, but I am beginning to think that this may be his most lasting contribution.
Here's a recent blog post from a Lutheran pastor (of one of our sister synods) on how he has used this resource both in his parish and his home.
But the fact that something is purchased does not mean that it is used. (Just ask any homeschooling mom.) So my husband loves hearing from real life people that they are utilizing the fruits of his labor and that these songs are actually doing what they were written to do: helping children learn the catechism.
Over the last few years he has heard from a number of people who have told him just that. These stories are worth more to him than you can possibly know. I heard a few more of them at the Concordia Catechetical Academy Symposium this week. What a joy it was for me to hear how parents and their children have been blessed by my husband's work, especially after having had a front row seat to see the many hours of inspiration, craft, and sweat that went into it. He has given much to his parish and to the church at large over the years, but I am beginning to think that this may be his most lasting contribution.
Here's a recent blog post from a Lutheran pastor (of one of our sister synods) on how he has used this resource both in his parish and his home.
Homeschooling 101
I started reading To Kill a Mockingbird to my teenagers this week. It's our first readaloud in a while. I'm hoping we can actually finish it this summer.
It's been quite some time since I read this book, so re-encountering this passage in Chapter 2 was a pleasant surprise (the narrator is remembering her very first day of school). I think a few of my homeschooling friends may appreciate it. My children especially liked the third paragraph.
Then she [the teacher] went to the blackboard and printed the alphabet in enormous square capitals, turned to the class and asked, "Does anybody know what these are?" . . .
I suppose she chose me because she knew my name [due to an earlier run-in]; as I read the alphabet a faint line appeared between her eyebrows, and after making me read most of My First Reader and the stock-market quotations from The Mobile Register aloud, she discovered that I was literate and looked at me with more than faint distaste. Miss Caroline told me to tell my father not to teach me any more, it would interfere with my reading.
"Teach me?" I said in surprise. "He hasn't taught me anything, Miss Caroline. Atticus ain't got time to teach me anything," I added, when Miss Caroline smiled and shook her head. "Why, he's so tired at night he just sits in the livingroom and reads."
. . . Miss Caroline apparently thought I was lying. . . . "Now you tell your father not to teach you any more. It's best to begin reading with a fresh mind. You tell him I'll take over from here and try to undo the damage--". . .
I mumbled that I was sorry and retired meditating upon my crime. I never deliberately learned to read, but somehow I had been wallowing illicitly in the daily papers. In the long hours of church--was it then I learned? I could not remember not being able to read hymns. Now that I was compelled to think about it, reading was something that just came to me, as learning to fasten the seat of my union suit without looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl of shoelaces. I could not remember when the lines above [my father's] moving finger separated into words, but I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills to Be Enacted into Law, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow--anything [my father] happened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night. Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.
It's been quite some time since I read this book, so re-encountering this passage in Chapter 2 was a pleasant surprise (the narrator is remembering her very first day of school). I think a few of my homeschooling friends may appreciate it. My children especially liked the third paragraph.
Then she [the teacher] went to the blackboard and printed the alphabet in enormous square capitals, turned to the class and asked, "Does anybody know what these are?" . . .
I suppose she chose me because she knew my name [due to an earlier run-in]; as I read the alphabet a faint line appeared between her eyebrows, and after making me read most of My First Reader and the stock-market quotations from The Mobile Register aloud, she discovered that I was literate and looked at me with more than faint distaste. Miss Caroline told me to tell my father not to teach me any more, it would interfere with my reading.
"Teach me?" I said in surprise. "He hasn't taught me anything, Miss Caroline. Atticus ain't got time to teach me anything," I added, when Miss Caroline smiled and shook her head. "Why, he's so tired at night he just sits in the livingroom and reads."
. . . Miss Caroline apparently thought I was lying. . . . "Now you tell your father not to teach you any more. It's best to begin reading with a fresh mind. You tell him I'll take over from here and try to undo the damage--". . .
I mumbled that I was sorry and retired meditating upon my crime. I never deliberately learned to read, but somehow I had been wallowing illicitly in the daily papers. In the long hours of church--was it then I learned? I could not remember not being able to read hymns. Now that I was compelled to think about it, reading was something that just came to me, as learning to fasten the seat of my union suit without looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl of shoelaces. I could not remember when the lines above [my father's] moving finger separated into words, but I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills to Be Enacted into Law, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow--anything [my father] happened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night. Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
First Swimming Lesson
(Note: if you have trouble picking Evan out in the group pictures, just look for the fluorescent white skin.)
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Impacting the World
On Sunday my pastor began a new topic in adult Bible class: The Theology of the Church and Recent Practice in the LCMS. He started out our first session with this 1985 quote from Dr. David Daniel of Concordia Seminary: "The doctrine of the church will be the next big issue in the synod and the church at large" and went on to observe that indeed, Dr. Daniel's words were prophetic, as we in the LCMS are now fighting that very battle. As my pastor explained it: "Part of the synod wants the church to be modeled after the culture and another part wants it to be patterned after the heavenly Jerusalem." To illustrate the division, he spent some time in class focusing on one LCMS church in particular. I won't name the church, although some of my more savvy readers may figure it out. But here is the church's mission statement:
"Our Mission is Love God. Connect People. Impact the World. Passionate commitment to living out this mission is the best way we can be authentic followers of Jesus!"
Pastor pointed out several things wrong with this mission statement (setting aside the question of whether a church really needs a corporate style mission statement), all of which can be summed up by noting that the focus is simply wrong. Because the Christian life is not about what we do, but about what Christ has done for us. It's not about our love for God, but about His love for us. It's not about our commitment or our passion or our authenticity or our success at following Jesus (thank God for that). And it's not about all the ways we can help people and make the world a better place. Instead, it's about the One who died to redeem mankind and Who is going to return some day to gather His redeemed and take them to the home he has prepared. And guess what will happen to this world when He comes back? As a friend of mine likes to say, "It's all gonna burn." God is going to destroy it. So much for our so-called "impact."
Now this is not to say that we shouldn't care about this world. For the time being this is our lot, and while we sojourn here we are called to love and serve our neighbor. But to get caught up in "changing the world," "leaving our mark," "having an impact," etc., misses the point. Better to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus and His impact, which is timeless, extending backward and forward in history as he gathers His flock.
It's really rather liberating if you think about it. You don't have to leave your mark on the world. Jesus has left the only mark that matters, and He did it all for you.
"Our Mission is Love God. Connect People. Impact the World. Passionate commitment to living out this mission is the best way we can be authentic followers of Jesus!"
Pastor pointed out several things wrong with this mission statement (setting aside the question of whether a church really needs a corporate style mission statement), all of which can be summed up by noting that the focus is simply wrong. Because the Christian life is not about what we do, but about what Christ has done for us. It's not about our love for God, but about His love for us. It's not about our commitment or our passion or our authenticity or our success at following Jesus (thank God for that). And it's not about all the ways we can help people and make the world a better place. Instead, it's about the One who died to redeem mankind and Who is going to return some day to gather His redeemed and take them to the home he has prepared. And guess what will happen to this world when He comes back? As a friend of mine likes to say, "It's all gonna burn." God is going to destroy it. So much for our so-called "impact."
Now this is not to say that we shouldn't care about this world. For the time being this is our lot, and while we sojourn here we are called to love and serve our neighbor. But to get caught up in "changing the world," "leaving our mark," "having an impact," etc., misses the point. Better to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus and His impact, which is timeless, extending backward and forward in history as he gathers His flock.
It's really rather liberating if you think about it. You don't have to leave your mark on the world. Jesus has left the only mark that matters, and He did it all for you.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Commercial
My husband (this guy) will be a guest on Issues, Etc. tomorrow afternoon, discussing the topic of children in worship.
Be there or be square.
Be there or be square.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Depression
For those of my readers who run in the same bloggy circles I do, this will not be news. But for those who may not know, I would like to highlight a new resource from LCMS (Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod) World Care and Human Relief. It is a book by a Lutheran pastor on the subject of depression. The author, Rev. Todd Peperkorn, is someone who has personally struggled with depression and well knows its thorny path. You can find out more about the book, as well as how to order it (it's FREE!), at Rev. Peperkorn's website.
In recent years I have had my own difficulties with depression, so I am very happy to see this book and have already ordered my own copy. To anyone reading who has struggled with depression and may be seeking answers or assistance, I strongly urge you to do the same. I have not read the book, but I have read the blog of the author, and I feel confident in asserting that this will not be a book that identifies depression as a spiritual problem, suggesting that you would not be depressed if you simply had more faith or that the answer to depression is to just trust God more, pray more, and read your Bible more. Rev. Peperkorn understands that depression is a multi-faceted issue that is at root a physical problem, just like any other illness.
The book is available in downloadable or print version. Get yours now, for yourself or someone you love.
In recent years I have had my own difficulties with depression, so I am very happy to see this book and have already ordered my own copy. To anyone reading who has struggled with depression and may be seeking answers or assistance, I strongly urge you to do the same. I have not read the book, but I have read the blog of the author, and I feel confident in asserting that this will not be a book that identifies depression as a spiritual problem, suggesting that you would not be depressed if you simply had more faith or that the answer to depression is to just trust God more, pray more, and read your Bible more. Rev. Peperkorn understands that depression is a multi-faceted issue that is at root a physical problem, just like any other illness.
The book is available in downloadable or print version. Get yours now, for yourself or someone you love.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Game, Set, Match
I listened to Rush Limbaugh for a while yesterday. He was talking about nationalized health care, citing this article by Mona Charen. Charen calls Obama's plan to socialize medicine in this country "the whole ball game." In other words, if he wins this battle, he has won the war for the soul of our nation, changing it essentially and perhaps irrevocably. As Rush pointed out, once the government has control of health care, it will be able to claim the right to manage and control almost every aspect of our lives in the name of cost-cutting. It makes sense. Almost every thing a person does can be said to have an impact on his or her overall health and well-being. If the government is paying for an individual's medical care, then, it will be able to assert the right to control your behavior in the name of controlling costs.
We can't lose this one. And we don't have to. The Democrats are already showing signs of infighting (just look at the lack of a clear party line on the release of the interrogation photographs--the White House says no, while Pelosi says yes). President Obama's approval ratings are starting to slide. It's time for the sleeping giant to wake up. Time for all of us to gird our loins and polish our swords. This is war! If we put our minds and hearts and will to it we can win it. And win it we must.
We can't lose this one. And we don't have to. The Democrats are already showing signs of infighting (just look at the lack of a clear party line on the release of the interrogation photographs--the White House says no, while Pelosi says yes). President Obama's approval ratings are starting to slide. It's time for the sleeping giant to wake up. Time for all of us to gird our loins and polish our swords. This is war! If we put our minds and hearts and will to it we can win it. And win it we must.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Jon Voight on Barack Obama
I knew he was one of those rare creatures known as a Hollywood Republican. But I didn't know how principled and fearless he is. Voight, speaking to a Congressional Republican fund-raising dinner, minces no words here, calling Obama a "false prophet," voicing grave fears about the future of Israel, expressing shame for the Hollywood Left's nasty and dishonest treatment of President Bush, voicing disbelief at the media's refusal to be objective about this president, and bemoaning our accelerating descent into socialism. He names names, both ones to whom we owe our appreciation for continuing to speak the truth, as well as those who deserve the blame for destroying the greatness that was once the USA.
It's about 10 minute long, but highly worth watching. There are so many great lines that I can't even begin to choose which ones to quote here.
HT: Michelle Malkin
It's about 10 minute long, but highly worth watching. There are so many great lines that I can't even begin to choose which ones to quote here.
HT: Michelle Malkin
Psalm 150
Hope you don't mind another music video! This one is also from Trinity Sunday--our adult choir singing Ernani Aguiar's Salmo 150. Just one piece of advice if you decide to listen: hold on to your hats (or wigs or toupees or whatever the case may be)!
"Salmo 150"
Laudate Dominum in sanctis eius.
Laudate eum in firmamento virtutis eius.
Laudate eum in virtutibus eius.
Laudate eum secundum multitudinem magnitudinis eius.
Laudate eum in sono tubae.
Laudate eum in psalterio et cithara.
Laudate eum in timpano et choro.
Laudate eum in cymbalis benesonantibus.
Laudate eum in cymbalis jubilationis.
Omnis spiritus laudet Dominum.
Laudate Dominum, alleluia!
Translation:
Praise the Lord in His sacred places.
Praise Him in the firmament of His power.
Praise Him for His mighty acts.
Praise Him according to His excellent greatness.
Praise Him with the sound of the trumpet.
Praise Him with psaltery and harp.
Praise Him with drum and dance.
Praise Him with strings and pipes.
Praise Him with high-sounding cymbals.
Praise Him with cymbals of joy.
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord, alleluia!
This service also featured the choir singing Peter S. Klemp's "Veni Sante Spiritus" and the traditional Caribbean "Halle, Halle" from GIA Publications. Hymns in addition to "Holy God, We Praise Thy Name" (see previous post) were "Holy, Holy, Holy," "Gold Loved the World So That He Gave," "Alleluia! Sing to Jesus," and "Praise God, from Whom All Blessings Flow." The Athanasian Creed was confessed, and in place of the Sanctus we sang "Isaiah, Mighty Seer" (Lutheran Service Book 960), a hymn paraphrase of the Sanctus written by Martin Luther with additional text from Isaiah 6, the Old Testament Lesson for the day. And the guest preacher was Rev. Daniel Preus from Luther Academy! It was a glorious Trinity Sunday. Wish you could have been there! (Of course some of you were. :-) But if you weren't, I hope you were in your own church singing some of these same great hymns!)
"Salmo 150"
Laudate Dominum in sanctis eius.
Laudate eum in firmamento virtutis eius.
Laudate eum in virtutibus eius.
Laudate eum secundum multitudinem magnitudinis eius.
Laudate eum in sono tubae.
Laudate eum in psalterio et cithara.
Laudate eum in timpano et choro.
Laudate eum in cymbalis benesonantibus.
Laudate eum in cymbalis jubilationis.
Omnis spiritus laudet Dominum.
Laudate Dominum, alleluia!
Translation:
Praise the Lord in His sacred places.
Praise Him in the firmament of His power.
Praise Him for His mighty acts.
Praise Him according to His excellent greatness.
Praise Him with the sound of the trumpet.
Praise Him with psaltery and harp.
Praise Him with drum and dance.
Praise Him with strings and pipes.
Praise Him with high-sounding cymbals.
Praise Him with cymbals of joy.
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord, alleluia!
This service also featured the choir singing Peter S. Klemp's "Veni Sante Spiritus" and the traditional Caribbean "Halle, Halle" from GIA Publications. Hymns in addition to "Holy God, We Praise Thy Name" (see previous post) were "Holy, Holy, Holy," "Gold Loved the World So That He Gave," "Alleluia! Sing to Jesus," and "Praise God, from Whom All Blessings Flow." The Athanasian Creed was confessed, and in place of the Sanctus we sang "Isaiah, Mighty Seer" (Lutheran Service Book 960), a hymn paraphrase of the Sanctus written by Martin Luther with additional text from Isaiah 6, the Old Testament Lesson for the day. And the guest preacher was Rev. Daniel Preus from Luther Academy! It was a glorious Trinity Sunday. Wish you could have been there! (Of course some of you were. :-) But if you weren't, I hope you were in your own church singing some of these same great hymns!)
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Trinity Sunday
"Holy God, We Praise Thy Name" (arr. John Ferguson, GIA Publications, copyright 1988)
Led by Proclaim, the adult choir of Bethany Lutheran Church, Naperville, Illinois, June 7, 2009
Holy God, we praise Thy name;
Lord of all, we bow before Thee.
All on earth Thy scepter claim;
All in heav'n above adore Thee.
Infinite Thy vast domain,
Everlasting is Thy reign.
Hark! The glad celestial hymn
Angel choirs above are raising;
Cherubim and seraphim,
In unceasing chorus praising,
Fill the heav'ns with sweet accord:
Holy, holy, holy Lord!
Lo, the apostolic train
Join Thy sacred name to hallow;
Prophets swell the glad refrain,
And the white-robed martyrs follow,
And from morn to set of sun
Through the Church the song goes on.
Thou art King of Glory, Christ;
Son of God, yet born of Mary.
For us sinners sacrificed,
As to death a Tributary,
First to break the bars of death,
Thou hast opened heav'n to faith.
Holy Father, holy Son,
Holy Spirit, three we name Thee;
Though in essence only one,
Undivided God we claim Thee
And, adoring, bend the knee
While we own the mystery.
(Make sure you listen to the very end!)
Led by Proclaim, the adult choir of Bethany Lutheran Church, Naperville, Illinois, June 7, 2009
Holy God, we praise Thy name;
Lord of all, we bow before Thee.
All on earth Thy scepter claim;
All in heav'n above adore Thee.
Infinite Thy vast domain,
Everlasting is Thy reign.
Hark! The glad celestial hymn
Angel choirs above are raising;
Cherubim and seraphim,
In unceasing chorus praising,
Fill the heav'ns with sweet accord:
Holy, holy, holy Lord!
Lo, the apostolic train
Join Thy sacred name to hallow;
Prophets swell the glad refrain,
And the white-robed martyrs follow,
And from morn to set of sun
Through the Church the song goes on.
Thou art King of Glory, Christ;
Son of God, yet born of Mary.
For us sinners sacrificed,
As to death a Tributary,
First to break the bars of death,
Thou hast opened heav'n to faith.
Holy Father, holy Son,
Holy Spirit, three we name Thee;
Though in essence only one,
Undivided God we claim Thee
And, adoring, bend the knee
While we own the mystery.
(Make sure you listen to the very end!)
Of Ivory Towers and Neighbors
Victor Davis Hanson has got this president figured out. If I were in charge, his most recent series of articles on Mr. Obama would be required reading for everyone in the country. But alas, I'm not in charge. So all I can do is post an example here and encourage my little band of readers to avail themselves of it.
In this brilliant piece, he relates a personal story of having left the family farm for 9 years "to get a BA in classics, PhD in classical philology, and live in Athens for two years of archaeological study-all on scholarships, TAships, research-ships and part-time summer and school jobs tucked under the aegis of the academic, no-consequences world. By the end of endless seminars, papers, theses, debates, discussions, academic get-togethers, I had forgotten much of the culture of the farm where I spent years 1-18."
Hanson writes that when he returned to the farm he was "quickly disabused of the world of the faculty lounge":
"Oh yes, I came back to Selma thinking, “I am not going to be the grouch my grandfather was, yelling at neighbors, worried all the time, nervous, seeing the world as rather hostile, hoarding a tiny stash of savings, worried as if bugs, the government, hired men, weather, and markets were out to destroy him. I’ll farm with my Bay Area manners and sort of think, “I will reset the farm, and things will at last work as they should” (not thinking that my grandfather raised three daughters, sent them to college while mortgaging the farm in the Depression, and spent on himself last, and was a saint compared to my pampered existence in the university)."
He then shares the story of his attempt to get along with one particularly difficult neighbor with whom he shared a communal ditch. Initially Hanson and this neighbor "talked and exchanged pleasantries . . . at the standpipe gate. He lamented how rude my late grandfather had been to him, and even had made unfounded accusations that he was less than honest (he was also sort of playing the race card, remarking about the prejudicial nature of California agrarian culture)."
But in short order this neighbor began behaving in rather un-neighborly ways, "stealing water . . . [by] taking an extra day on his turn, cutting in a day early on mine, siphoning off water at night, destroying my pressure settings, watering his vineyards on days that were on my allotment. Stealing no less! And in 1980!"
Hanson tried a number of measures to deal with the problem:
"First, I gave a great Obama speech on communal sharing and why the ditch would not work if everyone did what he did. Farmers simply would perish if they did not come together, and see their common shared interests. He nodded and smiled--and stole more the next week.
"Then I appealed to his minority status, and remarked how wonderful it was that he came from dire poverty abroad and now farmed over 500 acres. He growled--and stole even more.
"I took the UN route and warned that that I would be forced to go get the ditch tender (a crusty, old hombre who enjoyed watching fights like these for blood sport); he pointed out that the tender was, in fact, on the alleyway across the street watching us, and meeting him for coffee in an hour.
"I went to the irrigation district and filed a formal complaint. Nice people with smiles and monogrammed hats promised they’d look into it, but pointed out the season was half over anyway, and I should “get used to it” and start anew next year. Meanwhile, I noticed by July my vineyard was starting to be stressed, and his was lush. He watered so much that he began to flood the entire vineyard middle, the water lapping out the furrows and reaching berm to berm.
"For a while I went the Clement Attlee mode and rationalized, “Hmmm, maybe all that watering is going to give his vines more mildew, while my dusty dry vines will aerate more. Do I really need my water? Did I offend him in some way? Do I really want to lower myself to his troglodyte methods?” A few meetings went well with his, “OK, it’s a misunderstanding.” I heard “No problem” about a zillion times the next two weeks.
"Then by July 15, after three months of such aggrandizement I tried the empathetic route with the neighbor, “If you don’t stop this, I’ll have to turn on my pumps and spend hundreds of dollars to supply the water I’m supposed to get by virtue of my irrigation taxes. You know that’s not fair!” He laughed at the use of “by virtue of”.
Finally, Hanson says, he "went out to restore deterrence. I got a massive chain and lock, and simply shut down his communal lateral. Locked the gate so tight, he couldn’t even get a quarter-turn. He’d be lucky if he got a 100 gallons in a week. Then I got a veritable arsenal of protective weaponry, got in my pickup, drove back over to the gate, and waited with ammo, clubs, shovels, etc.
"In an hour he drove up in a dust cloud. He was going to smash me, get his football playing son to strangle me, sue me, bankrupt me, hunt me down, etc. He swore and yelled--I was a disgrace to my family, a racist, a psycho, worse than my grandfather. He was going to lock my gates, steal all my water, and indeed he leveled all sorts of threats (remember the scene in Unforgiven when Eastwood walks out and screams threats to the terrified town?-that was my neighbor). I got out with large vine stake and said something to the effect (forgive me if I don’t have the verbatim transcript-it has been 29 years since then), “It’s locked until you follow the rules. Anytime you don’t, it’s locked again. Do it one more time and I weld it shut. Not a drop. So sue me.”
"He got up, screeched his tires, blew a dust cloud in my face, and raced down the alleyway-honking even as he left."
And whaddya know? Hanson's neighbor was, "for the next ten years until his death . . . the model neighbor. He would stop me with, “Victor, I shut off tomorrow, half-a day early--why not take my half day to jump start your turn?” And indeed we finally began to have philosophical discussions (he was widely read) about Sun-Maid, Carter, Reagan, the US, literature, etc."
Hanson concludes:
"Obama will come to his senses with his ‘Bush did it’, reset button, moral equivalency, soaring hope and change, with these apologies to Europeans, his Arab world Sermons on the Mount to Al Arabiya, in Turkey, in Cairo, etc., his touchy-feely videos to Iran, his “we are all victims of racism” sops to Ortega, Chavez, and Morales. It is only a matter of when, under what conditions, how high the price we must pay, and whether we lose the farm before he gains wisdom about the tragic universe in which we live.
"A sojourn at an elite university, you see, can sometimes become a very dangerous thing indeed."
If you want more from Victor Davis Hanson, you can find it on Mr. Hanson's blog (linked above) or at Pajamas Media, where he is a regular contributor.
In this brilliant piece, he relates a personal story of having left the family farm for 9 years "to get a BA in classics, PhD in classical philology, and live in Athens for two years of archaeological study-all on scholarships, TAships, research-ships and part-time summer and school jobs tucked under the aegis of the academic, no-consequences world. By the end of endless seminars, papers, theses, debates, discussions, academic get-togethers, I had forgotten much of the culture of the farm where I spent years 1-18."
Hanson writes that when he returned to the farm he was "quickly disabused of the world of the faculty lounge":
"Oh yes, I came back to Selma thinking, “I am not going to be the grouch my grandfather was, yelling at neighbors, worried all the time, nervous, seeing the world as rather hostile, hoarding a tiny stash of savings, worried as if bugs, the government, hired men, weather, and markets were out to destroy him. I’ll farm with my Bay Area manners and sort of think, “I will reset the farm, and things will at last work as they should” (not thinking that my grandfather raised three daughters, sent them to college while mortgaging the farm in the Depression, and spent on himself last, and was a saint compared to my pampered existence in the university)."
He then shares the story of his attempt to get along with one particularly difficult neighbor with whom he shared a communal ditch. Initially Hanson and this neighbor "talked and exchanged pleasantries . . . at the standpipe gate. He lamented how rude my late grandfather had been to him, and even had made unfounded accusations that he was less than honest (he was also sort of playing the race card, remarking about the prejudicial nature of California agrarian culture)."
But in short order this neighbor began behaving in rather un-neighborly ways, "stealing water . . . [by] taking an extra day on his turn, cutting in a day early on mine, siphoning off water at night, destroying my pressure settings, watering his vineyards on days that were on my allotment. Stealing no less! And in 1980!"
Hanson tried a number of measures to deal with the problem:
"First, I gave a great Obama speech on communal sharing and why the ditch would not work if everyone did what he did. Farmers simply would perish if they did not come together, and see their common shared interests. He nodded and smiled--and stole more the next week.
"Then I appealed to his minority status, and remarked how wonderful it was that he came from dire poverty abroad and now farmed over 500 acres. He growled--and stole even more.
"I took the UN route and warned that that I would be forced to go get the ditch tender (a crusty, old hombre who enjoyed watching fights like these for blood sport); he pointed out that the tender was, in fact, on the alleyway across the street watching us, and meeting him for coffee in an hour.
"I went to the irrigation district and filed a formal complaint. Nice people with smiles and monogrammed hats promised they’d look into it, but pointed out the season was half over anyway, and I should “get used to it” and start anew next year. Meanwhile, I noticed by July my vineyard was starting to be stressed, and his was lush. He watered so much that he began to flood the entire vineyard middle, the water lapping out the furrows and reaching berm to berm.
"For a while I went the Clement Attlee mode and rationalized, “Hmmm, maybe all that watering is going to give his vines more mildew, while my dusty dry vines will aerate more. Do I really need my water? Did I offend him in some way? Do I really want to lower myself to his troglodyte methods?” A few meetings went well with his, “OK, it’s a misunderstanding.” I heard “No problem” about a zillion times the next two weeks.
"Then by July 15, after three months of such aggrandizement I tried the empathetic route with the neighbor, “If you don’t stop this, I’ll have to turn on my pumps and spend hundreds of dollars to supply the water I’m supposed to get by virtue of my irrigation taxes. You know that’s not fair!” He laughed at the use of “by virtue of”.
Finally, Hanson says, he "went out to restore deterrence. I got a massive chain and lock, and simply shut down his communal lateral. Locked the gate so tight, he couldn’t even get a quarter-turn. He’d be lucky if he got a 100 gallons in a week. Then I got a veritable arsenal of protective weaponry, got in my pickup, drove back over to the gate, and waited with ammo, clubs, shovels, etc.
"In an hour he drove up in a dust cloud. He was going to smash me, get his football playing son to strangle me, sue me, bankrupt me, hunt me down, etc. He swore and yelled--I was a disgrace to my family, a racist, a psycho, worse than my grandfather. He was going to lock my gates, steal all my water, and indeed he leveled all sorts of threats (remember the scene in Unforgiven when Eastwood walks out and screams threats to the terrified town?-that was my neighbor). I got out with large vine stake and said something to the effect (forgive me if I don’t have the verbatim transcript-it has been 29 years since then), “It’s locked until you follow the rules. Anytime you don’t, it’s locked again. Do it one more time and I weld it shut. Not a drop. So sue me.”
"He got up, screeched his tires, blew a dust cloud in my face, and raced down the alleyway-honking even as he left."
And whaddya know? Hanson's neighbor was, "for the next ten years until his death . . . the model neighbor. He would stop me with, “Victor, I shut off tomorrow, half-a day early--why not take my half day to jump start your turn?” And indeed we finally began to have philosophical discussions (he was widely read) about Sun-Maid, Carter, Reagan, the US, literature, etc."
Hanson concludes:
"Obama will come to his senses with his ‘Bush did it’, reset button, moral equivalency, soaring hope and change, with these apologies to Europeans, his Arab world Sermons on the Mount to Al Arabiya, in Turkey, in Cairo, etc., his touchy-feely videos to Iran, his “we are all victims of racism” sops to Ortega, Chavez, and Morales. It is only a matter of when, under what conditions, how high the price we must pay, and whether we lose the farm before he gains wisdom about the tragic universe in which we live.
"A sojourn at an elite university, you see, can sometimes become a very dangerous thing indeed."
If you want more from Victor Davis Hanson, you can find it on Mr. Hanson's blog (linked above) or at Pajamas Media, where he is a regular contributor.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Watch This & Feel Good
Ready the back story here.
What more could I want than for my husband and I (both pianists) to follow in their footsteps? Here's to 50 more years, honey. I hope we are still moving and playing like this in our nineties!
Coming Up for Air
Yes, I've been quieter than usual. It's the result of several things. One, lack of time due to several social engagements this weekend, my husband's birthday, and general busyness with other things.
Two, I've been having too much fun with another project I am involved in. It's not one I can tell you much about. But if it keeps going the way it is I may have to drop back from posting here daily to posting every two or three days. I trust you'll understand and keep reading. Right? Right???
Three, these days I am more and more at a loss for words. I feel kind of like this. I look at the world and just don't know what to say. It seems pointless to try. Better to listen to some good music, read some good books, watch some movies, spend time with my family, and pray. Unceasingly.
See you soon.
Two, I've been having too much fun with another project I am involved in. It's not one I can tell you much about. But if it keeps going the way it is I may have to drop back from posting here daily to posting every two or three days. I trust you'll understand and keep reading. Right? Right???
Three, these days I am more and more at a loss for words. I feel kind of like this. I look at the world and just don't know what to say. It seems pointless to try. Better to listen to some good music, read some good books, watch some movies, spend time with my family, and pray. Unceasingly.
See you soon.
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