Phillip and Cheryl's Excellent Anniversary

A week ago yesterday my husband and I embarked on what turned out to be a magical celebration of our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect two days. Thanks to a gift of "points" from my sister-in-law, we were able to enjoy a luxury stay at the JW Marriott in downtown Chicago. The only cost to us was parking (even internet and taxes were included)!

We left home Sunday after church. The first thing we did upon checking in was to report for our previously scheduled massage at the Valeo spa in the basement of the hotel. When we arrived at the front desk the smiling hostess asked if we were there for an "experience." We nodded nervously, trying to pretend we knew what we were doing but secretly hoping we weren't getting in over our heads (the same ones, by the way, that have "Clueless Suburbanites" tattooed across the tops). Nevertheless, our names were quickly located on the schedule and we were taken to separate locker rooms to change and then shown to our gently lit "transition" room, where we were invited to enjoy some hot tea while listening to the relaxing music.

When the time came for our massage we were taken by our respective "providers" to a room set up with two massage tables next to one another. I wish I had snapped a picture but in my awe failed to do so. Our masseur and masseuse left the room so we could get situated on our tables and shortly returned for our 30-minute candle-lit treatment. After our massage we were invited to enjoy a soak in the hot tub, complete with aroma and light therapy, not to mention chocolate-covered strawberries (we passed on the wine, anticipating drinks later in the evening). I began to see the wisdom of calling the whole thing an "experience," for in its appeal to all the senses it was definitely not your garden variety massage! It is only the second time in my life I have had a massage; it was my husband's first. He followed up with visit to the steam room while I had another cup of tea. Then it was back to our room to get ready for supper.

Probably the most pleasant surprise of the weekend was our upgrade from a basic room to a luxury suite. My sister-in-law had informed the management that we were celebrating our 25th anniversary, and they said they would do what they could to make it a special getaway. I have to hand it to the JW Marriott--they went far beyond what we ever anticipated, upgrading us to a luxury suite:

Our "front" door--we stayed in the "Quincy" suite

View out one of our windows--we had a corner room, so we had two different views

Living room with welcome tray of bread, cheese, fruit spread and Evian

Wet bar with stocked refrigerator (we were told not to move things around in the refrigerator unless we wanted to purchase something--doing so would trip the sensor so that we would get charged for the moved item even if we didn't consume it)

Bedroom (note the mounted reading lights on each side of the headboard)

Sitting area in bedroom

Guest bathroom (not that we had any guests, but it was nice to have a second facility!)

Tub in main bathroom (I have a photo of my beloved soaking in this tub but I'm going to leave that one to your imagination)

The mirror had a built-in television screen for watching while soaking.

Shower (it was big enough for five people--seriously). It had two shower heads, one regular and one huge "rainshower" head (seen in the ceiling)

Two sinks

Vanity (I really need one of those lighted magnifying mirrors for home--then again, perhaps blindness is bliss)

Walk-in closet with complimentary his-and-her robes

The plan for our first evening was dinner at Fogo de Chao. This was not our first time to go to Fogo, but it is definitely not a place we get to visit that often. If you ever get the chance to eat there, grab it. It is a dining experience unlike any other--one price, all you can eat. You can see how thrilled I was as we headed out to dinner!

While we waited for our table, we enjoyed a couple of caipirinhas (Fogo's signature drink) at the bar.

Phillip is getting ready to "go green" (indicating to the meat-serving gauchos that he is ready for some protein)!

My plate after a trip to the salad bar

My plate after being visited by several gauchos. The side dishes--polenta, fried banana (further south it would have been plantain) and black beans--are seen at the top of the plate. The meats pictured are chicken, sausage, and some cut of beef (can't remember which).

Dessert was compliments of Fogo!

View of the Chicago River while walking back to the hotel after supper. It was a gorgeous evening.

Monday we slept in and then walked to the Art Institute, stopping for lunch on the way at The Berghoff (another one of our Chicago favorites).

I have been to the Art Institute several times with children, but this was Phillip's first time to go. We spent most of our time looking at the paintings (and we didn't make it to all the rooms--sorry, Medieval/Renaissance masters!).

One of my favorites: Renoir's Woman at the Piano. I often use it for my profile pic on Facebook.

The painting below was a new discovery for me this trip: Renganeschi's Saturday Night, 1912, by American painter John Sloan. I have now looked at a little more of his work and really like it. This painting depicts some young women eating out, enjoying female companionship without male escorts, reflecting the changing mores of the time regarding what was acceptable behavior for women. The description of the painting at the Art Institute noted the way the woman on the right is wrapping her legs around the chair legs, indicating her bourgeoisie background (she doesn't know how to sit properly). I can so relate to this painting. I don't know how to sit, either, and I love spending time with my girlfriends.

I have recently discovered a passion for sushi. Monday night we ate at Roy's Hawaiian Fusion.

This was the dessert we ordered (chocolate souffle with ice cream).

This was the dessert our waiter brought out for free upon discovering we were celebrating our anniversary! (Have I mentioned how much I love this town?)

On Tuesday it was time to check out (sigh). We wrapped up our time together with lunch at Rick Bayless's Frontera Grill.

I can't think of anything else to say except, "Honey, can we have another 25th anniversary next year?"

If you missed my 24th anniversary post, here it is, featuring some historic pictures, including a few from the day I cast my lot with a certain cantor, making the best decision I have ever made in my whole life. Here's to 25 more, my dearest husband. Thank you for giving me my best life now, every moment of every day, and for working as hard as you do in love for God's people and for us, your family. I love you with all my heart. :-)

My Brother Died

At least I thought he was my brother. I was not listed as a sibling in his obituary, nor was I notified of his death. I stumbled on the news on Facebook today on another relative's page.

I am the youngest child of a combined family. My father was a widower with four children. My mother was a divorcee with six. They married and had me, and I am quite a bit younger than all my siblings. I grew up in a two-sided family, and I have never really known which "side" I belong to. Sometimes I don't think I belong to either. But for my whole life, when people have asked about my family, I have responded by saying that I have six sisters and four brothers.

My brother who died several days ago was my father's oldest son. I am kind of confused right now, not sure how I feel about this or how I ought to feel about this. I do not feel his loss deeply on a personal level, as I did not know this brother well. I did try to keep in touch with him over the years through Christmas cards and the like. I think when I first heard about this today I just had to set it aside for a little while. Now I find myself grieving, not so much the death of my brother, but the death of a dream of the kind of family I always wished for but never really had.

I may not be my brother's sister, but I still consider him my brother. When I die, I would like my obituary to state that "Cheryl was the youngest of eleven children."

GCB

There's a new show on ABC called GCB. It's named after the book on which the show is based: Good Christian B*****s. As I understand it, for a while the show was going to be called Good Christian Belles but then it became simply GCB. I'm not sure why since very few people these days seem to have any problem with the "b" word (for the record, I do).

One of the stars is Kristen Chenoweth (Glinda from the original Broadway production of Wicked), who actually plays the main antagonist. According to what I have read, the show is set in Highland Park, Dallas, and follows the lives of some women who attended high school together. The protagonist is a newly widowed woman with two children who moves back home only to discover that the girls she used to torment in high school are still around and hungry for revenge.

Here's a trailer for the show. Warning: some adult dialogue/situations.



Obviously much of the humor in the show is going to arise from the over-the-top character played by Chenoweth (I have to admit I smiled at a few of her lines--can't imagine anyone else delivering them quite like that). Because her character gives lip service to Christianity while behaving in consistently un-Christian ways, the series has already received some negative press and calls for boycotts. Personally, I think they're probably making a mountain out of a molehill. (Where are the calls for boycotts from Texans, who are also depicted poorly? I'm from Texas, and I didn't know people like that, but then again, I didn't grow up in Highland Park.)

The show strikes me as farce--satire. It's a soap opera, and we all know how realistic soap operas are, right? They aren't to be taken seriously. Real life isn't like that. I also don't have a problem with Christians being depicted as sinners. We are, aren't we? Christians can and do behave in mean, nasty, and despicable ways, all while claiming the name of Christ. The difference between Christians behaving badly and others behaving badly is that a believing Christian acknowledges the existence of sin and its hold on him and knows his need for a Saviour. His sin grieves him. I doubt that we will get any of that in this show because ultimately that's not what the series is about. The church setting could be changed to something else and the show's premise would still be intact: grownup women behaving like the worst high school stereotypes you can imagine.

And that ultimately is why I don't plan to watch GCB (not that I have time for another TV show--it's all I can do to keep up with the two I am currently enjoying): not because it depicts some Christians in a negative light but because it appears from the trailer that the show is not going to offer any thoughtful commentary on life but rather a non-stop exercise in sex jokes and vulgarity. The occasional laugh is not worth the ick factor.

And, oh yeah, did I mention that I have a problem with a show that has "b****" in the title?

Giving Our Children Their Due

A week or two ago a Facebook friend of mine shared the experience of her daughter's wanting to download a certain song that is very popular these days. My friend, extraordinary parent that she is, researched the song and discovered its unsuitability for a sixth grader. (For the curious, the song is "Moves Like Jagger"--if your preteens are listening to it, they really ought not to be.) Accordingly, she vetoed her daughter's request. On the Facebook thread in question, another parent posted a warning to my friend, something to the effect of "It's only going to get worse."

I see and hear this sentiment from parents a lot. It is the idea that children are hard-wired to challenge what they have been taught--that it is only natural for them to rebel as they get older. Many parents seem so convinced of this that they anticipate it long before it shows any signs of happening, and as a result I think they actually start pushing their children towards questionable choices in behavior, clothing, music, and more. It happens with young children as well as older ones. The 6-year-old girl sasses her mother and instead of being chastised and immediately put in her place she is celebrated and giggled at for being such a spunky little wisecracker. The 13-year-old selects low-ride short shorts on a shopping trip and instead of putting her foot down Mom shrugs and pays for them because "I guess that's what all the kids are wearing now."

The thing is, that's not what all the kids are wearing. Mine isn't. (Nor does she want to.) My kid also isn't talking back. Well, maybe the 8-year-old is sometimes. We're working on it. ;-) But having seen two children almost through adolescence with one yet to go, I refuse to accept the notion that adolescence is a time of life when, no matter what I do, my child is going to suddenly turn into someone unknown to me. I understand that sometimes things happen that we could not have predicted. Sometimes despite all our best efforts our children choose a foreign path. We are, after all, sinners in a fallen world. But far from its being the natural course, I believe it is unnatural for humans to reject their upbringing. Children who have been brought up to travel a certain path and who are repeatedly pulled back on to that path by determined, caring parents are much more likely, even if they briefly wander, to return to what they know to be safe and right and true than they are to head off into the woods.

I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but for what it's worth, here's my plea: Parents, please give your children credit for being the thoughtful, discerning, smart people you are rearing them to be. Respect their good taste, intelligence, moral compass and maturity. Don't write them off as hapless victims of the culture monster. Give them the best and expect the best in return. In my experience, not only will they continue to hold firm to the storehouse of intellectual and spiritual riches with which you have provided them, but they will go far beyond it, contributing their own discoveries and observations, which will in turn come back to enrich and edify you. And why should it be otherwise? They're your kids, after all.

Hope

This is exactly what I needed to read today. I commend it to you as well. Thank you, Reb. Mary of CSPP. Full post here.

"I Will Hope"

What do you do when all the crises—health, family, church—crash in at once? When you try to squash the sadness and the lostness into a corner of your throat because you feel like there’s no point in talk--treading over and over the same ground, when there are no new solutions in sight? When it gets to the point that you dread going to bed because there’s no peace in sleep, only—at best—a temporary oblivion overlaid with the crushing burden of having to get up in the morning and face everything all over again?

More’s the victory for the enemy, if he can get us to dread the bright dawn, to believe that its fresh rays can never illumine dark Hopeless. Recognize this attack for what it is, and remember: What do I know, even when I do not feel it? The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

No, everything may not look brighter in the morning, but “The LORD is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in Him." It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD.

So eager am I to depart Hopeless that I forget: It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth.

So eager am I to deaden the pain, to protect myself from the anguish of Hopeless, that I forget: what is such self-protection, after all, but the hardening of my heart against the only One can rescue me, who even now is at work in my life? For the Lord will not cast off forever, but, though he cause grief—though He cause grief!—he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love.

The enemy hisses that Hopeless is Reality. That dawn brings only drear. That hardening your heart against hope is your only protection, so shove your feelings back down your gut, because numb is the best you can hope for.

Hearken to a different voice: Today, as you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion. Oh! How many rebellions have there been, in this foolish little shriveled-raisin heart of mine! Thrice in short span, the writer to the Hebrews echoes this exhortation, “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.” Today, today, today—this very moment! Thrice-repudiated is the insidious accusation of never and too little and too late. Even amid the darkness, this is the moment of grace—of the shockingly free grace whose dreadfully priceless purchase makes all the difference, now and forevermore, between Hard and Hopeless.

Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

Though he slay me with blessings beyond what I can bear, I will hope in Him.

Honey for a Blogger's Heart

I had the most lovely thing happen today. My friends Christina and Jeannette share a blog with a another friend of theirs (a lady I don't know but am sure I would love if she is anything like Christina and Jeannette). It is a reading blog, documenting their personal journey through the literature recommended in Susan Wise Bauer's book The Well Educated Mind. I first pointed you, my readers, to their blog in this post from 2011.

Right now they are reading one of my favorite all-time books: Jane Eyre. I wish I had time to read along with them, but at the moment I am still trying to finish The Hobbit (having been slowed down of late by the same things that are keeping me from blogging as often as I would like). But I am still enjoying their posts, and today, I especially enjoyed this one. Click over and you'll see why. And then stay a while longer and see what other hidden jewels you can discover.

Thank you so much, ladies. It is nice to be appreciated.

Drive-By Post

I'm not supposed to be here. But this is such a cool story I have to drop in long enough to tell it.

Yesterday to wrap up a rather long, hard week we decided to treat ourselves to lunch out. Actually we didn't need to treat ourselves as our wonderful choir did so by virtue of the gift card they gave us for Christmas. So after church Phillip, Caitlin, Evan and I went here. There are several locations in Chicagoland; we went to the one in our neighborhood.

During lunch (which was wonderful) we struck up a conversation with out waiter, a charming young man in his twenties. As we talked, he volunteered that after graduating from high school he had left home for college but had a little trouble settling into a good routine. In his words, when he got out on his own he found himself rebelling somewhat against his "strict, conservative, Lutheran upbringing." As he shook his head with sincere regret we tried not to spew our water all over the table.

We told our new friend that we know all about strict, conservative, Lutheran upbringings because that's pretty much what we do, and we shared that we just happen to attend a strict, conservative, Lutheran church where my husband is Cantor. Imagine our surprise when he informed us that he graduated from our church's day school about 13 years ago. We just missed him by a year. We moved to this area 12 years ago.

Further conversation revealed that our waiter did not attend our church when he was younger but instead, along with his parents, attended a sister church in the area that is known for a more pop-oriented style of worship. His parents have since moved away and he is living on his own, working as a waiter, and trying to finish college. Of course we invited him to church. He asked for worship times (he needs to attend early so that he can get to the restaurant for his Sunday shift) and then wanted to know if the early service had traditional worship. We told him all our services have traditional worship and he smiled: "Good. I always liked that best."

As the meal progressed we continued to enjoy getting to know this interesting and intelligent young man. Before we left he made a point of double-checking the worship time and wrote it down, along with the website address of one of our pastors. As I consider the events that led to our ending up in that restaurant with that waiter on that day, I smile again in wonder at the perfect way that our Lord works, turning the seemingly random and chaotic pieces of our lives into a picture that not only makes sense but that has surpassing order and beauty. Please pray for a young man named Josh. We are hoping to see him again very soon.

Bloggus Interruptus

Hi everyone,

I haven't felt like blogging this week and don't know when I will. If and when I do feel like it again, I don't know if I'll have time. I hope you'll still be here when I get back, whenever that is. Thanks for hanging out with me the last 5 years when I know you must have had better things to do.

Love,

Cheryl

French Class

This is the scene in our kitchen about three mornings per week.

French Class from Cheryl on Vimeo.

Fourth Sunday After Epiphany

My child is the short one in the front row that sometimes to forgets to sing and is seen bobbing his head from side to side at the end of the video. Sigh. We're making progress, but it's slow. :-)

"Praise, Rejoice and Sing" from Cheryl on Vimeo.

Little Home of Horrors

Today at the conclusion of our morning devotion Evan got up to leave the table. As he passed by his father's chair, my husband reached out his arms for his younger son. Evan, anticipating some paternal tickling (or other such torment), tried to avoid his father's grasp, but fathers' grasps being what they are, was unsuccessful. After a few seconds of wrangling Evan submitted and my husband said, "Evan, I just want to hug you. You don't try to get away from Mommy--why do you try to get away from me?" To which Evan replied, "Oh. I thought you were going to do a more horrifying application."

Hugs of the non-horrifying variety ensued.

Ring Tales

No, this is not a post about The Hobbit.

I recently read this blog post by a friend whose ring fell down her drain and was damaged in the disposal. I feel so terrible for her!

It reminded me of a story with a happier ending, although the happy ending was long in coming. Here's a news item about a Swedish woman who lost her wedding ring 16 years ago but recently found the ring encircling a carrot that she picked from her garden!

Here's my ring story. About five years ago I quit wearing my wedding set because I was told the prongs were so worn that I was in danger of losing a diamond. My set has seven diamonds totaling half a carat. The estimate on retipping all those diamonds was frightening--to do so would have cost way more than my husband originally paid for the ring. So I retired my wedding set and started wearing a plain gold band that my mother-in-law had given me. My husband and I decided that some day we would get a new setting for my wedding ring but that it would have to wait a while.

This past fall while raking and bagging leaves I suddenly realized that the gold band I had been wearing on my ring finger was no longer on my finger. Cold weather = skinnier fingers = slippery rings. I assume the band fell off my finger into a pile or bag of leaves. There was no finding it.

My husband and I had already been talking about an anniversary ring--we celebrate 25 years in March! So guess what that dear man did? In December he took me shopping for an early anniversary gift. It is similar to my wedding ring but a little bigger (1 carat instead of 1/2 carat). It is a traditional 3-stone ring with one central diamond, two slightly smaller ones on each side, and eight diamond chips set into the band, four on each side.


Yes, I'm a happy girl! I still have my original wedding set, and I hope some day one or more of the diamonds will find another home--maybe in a new setting for my daughter or a future daughter-in-law. For now it is safe in my jewelry box and the ring above is on my finger! I have decided, after reading my friend Glenda's post, that I may need to have it sized down because it's a little loose (but I am waiting to see how it fits in the summer). I have also developed the habit of taking it off at night (8 hours per night of rubbing on the sheets is VERY hard on the prongs and causes them to wear much more quickly than they otherwise would) and of not wearing it when I am going to do manual labor (although I do wash dishes with it on). The trick is putting it in a safe place when taking it off. The kitchen counter does not qualify as safe! My safe spot is in or on top of my jewelry box.

I am enjoying my beautiful new ring and unlike Bilbo Baggins am very glad it doesn't make me invisible, since I love looking at it on my hand!

Who Needs Textbooks?

Yesterday at lunch Evan suddenly piped up:

"Mommy, Kitty Galore is the anty-gonist in Cats and Dogs 2."

We scratched our heads a little at that one--"Anty-Gonist? What's an anty-gonist?"--and then realized he was trying to say "antagonist." But even then we continued to scratch our heads. Where'd my 8-year-old learn about antagonists?

"Evan, you are right. Kitty Galore is definitely the antagonist. But where did you learn about antagonists?"

"From reading about the Zelda characters."

Oh. From there we had an approximately 15-minute discussion about the protagonists and antagonists in various stories Evan knows. My trusty literary sidekick (a.k.a. my daughter Caitlin) assisted greatly in defining and applying terms, and Evan learned something that I don't think most children learn formally until middle school.

Who knew those Zelda strategy guides would be so educational?

P.S. I am not knocking textbooks. We use some textbooks, and they can be a great tool. But I love it when learning happens in this way, naturally, as an outgrowth of the child's life and interests. It is one of the very best things about homeschooling.

Question

A few days ago I saw this on Facebook and it made me laugh, so I reposted it.



I have seen a few other people posting and/or "liking" it, but I have also found myself wondering if it is insensitive, making fun of something that ought not be made fun of. I was once pilloried for using the word "retarded." I was not trying to insult; I actually used the word to mean "delayed" in reference to my own understanding of a concept. But I have learned my lesson and I now try to avoid that word at all costs because I am afraid I will use it incorrectly and again offend someone.

I see the "attention deficit" label thrown around a lot these days. Usually people are referring to their own difficulty focusing on tasks and seeing things through. Some of my friends jokingly talk about their "mommy-induced ADD" and once I even wrote a blog post about the phenomenon. My husband has a friend who self-deprecatingly calls himself "ADD boy" because of his difficulty sticking with the task at hand.

But Attention Deficit Disorder is a real, clinical problem with which real people contend, is it not? If that is the case, why is it okay for people to joke about it? Or is it not? Should we avoid making light of ADD (or Asperger Syndrome or depression or menopause or any number of challenges that have a physical basis) in the same way that we avoid using the word "retarded" for fear of hurting those who are, in a very real way, living with that very condition? And if we don't need to do so, why don't we? What's the difference?

More on Reading

I promised a follow-up to my previous post on reading, so for what it's worth, here it is.

I have noticed in the last few weeks a lot of online chatter on the topic of reading. Here's one example. My friends are talking about reading, too. Someone recently invited me to join Goodreads. Perhaps it's just that phenomenon whereby when something is on your mind you are more likely to notice when others also pay attention to it. Or maybe it's because it's January and everyone's making New Year's resolutions, some of which include reading plans and lists for the coming year.

For the record, I am not going to make a "to be read" list. I am not writing any New Year's resolutions. I have enough discouragement in my life; I don't need to plant the seeds for more. And besides, I think my reading and exercise awakenings have less to do with the advent of a new calendar year than with things like my oldest leaving home and back and foot pain continuing to vex. Death's carriage is approaching and the flies are buzzing and the rosebuds calling and at the moment I am listening. The current picture on my wall calendar is coincidental.

So. To read a book--perchance to finish it!--that is the aim. My friend Susan, in her comment on my previous post, empathized with my problem but said that her primary impediment to reading is finding the blocks of time to make it happen. My problem is a bit more primitive: the question is not "May I read?" but rather, "Can I?" Sure, first I need to carve out the time, but I can do that if only I wake up early enough. The real trick is maintaining my concentration and focus long enough to complete a chapter.

Yesterday and today after I woke up and poured my coffee I didn't immediately head for my computer to check email, Facebook and headlines. Instead I opened The Hobbit, which I recently began reading along with my daughter. We started last week and she is of course already ahead of me but I am hopeful that I will be able to keep from falling too far behind. I have never read the whole book. Somehow I got through school without its ever having been assigned, and it is not the type of book I tend to select of my own accord (I am not a huge fan of fantasy). But having been repeatedly urged by my son to read it, I finally got around to trying a few years go. The problem was that by then my reading drought had already begun, so after slogging through for a few chapters I gave up, somewhere around the spiders. I know The Hobbit is a children's book, but to me at the time it seemed laborious and plodding. This second attempt is going much better, buoyed by my current reading emphasis as well as my reading partner. I am getting the humor and eloquence I missed before, and I think my reading is being aided by our use of an edition of the book that is larger, better laid out, and more aesthetically pleasing than the edition I previously tried. Instead of a pocket paperback with teeny weeny print, we are reading this version with Tolkien's original drawings. It seems odd that the physical form of the book could make such a difference, but I think it does.

I have decided that for now I will not join Goodreads. I think any attempt to quantify my reading would backfire at this point. The point right now is to read, not to make lists of what I have read and haven't read and not to discuss with my friends or read their book reviews. Perhaps that will come later. But I need to show some reading success before I go on to anything else. I think Goodreads would be a distraction, and I already have enough of those. Heck, my own brain is a distraction.

On to Chapter 5. Wish me luck, my preciousssss.

The Lost Art (For Me) of Reading

I used to read. I suppose I still do. But for years now my reading has been geared primarily towards the utilitarian and practical: I read for the purpose of receiving and transmitting information, not to muse, ponder, and consider. When I was a little girl I could spend the entire day reading; now I find it hard to sit still with a book for 15 minutes. What gives? One of my courses of study in college was literature. I loved it so much that I put up with several years of postmodern, deconstructionist gobbledygook in order to earn my Master's. I spent about 15 years teaching English at the high school and college level. And now it takes me a year to get through one book. What happened to my reading self?

The answer is complicated. Life happened. Adulthood, responsibility, motherhood, middle age--they have all taken their toll, as has the information age. I do think there is something to the theory that electronic communication has made human beings less able to concentrate for any length of time. We are truly addicted to our machines and the constant barrage of little informational spit wads they shoot our way, and we are so consumed with cleaning up those spit wads off the floor that we can't stop long enough to pick up something more weighty.

I say "we." But I know not everyone has this problem. I have friends that actually still do read, and I envy them. I want to be like them. I want to read again and I am trying to figure out how to make it happen.

Perhaps this is a rationalization, but I think my reading difficulty arises in part from my current season of life. It is known sociologically as the "sandwich" phase. I do think that all other things being equal, middle age is probably the most difficult and challenging period of life. It is the time during which human beings have the greatest number of demands being made on them and the greatest number of people depending on them, all while they are dealing with the shocking realization that all that stuff they always heard about the decay of the body really is true.

So not only do I find reading mentally difficult, but I also find it very hard these days to justify sitting down and reading a book for an hour. There are so many other more productive things I could be accomplishing! And yet I easily justify taking a five minute break to check my email or look at Facebook or read a blog post. Because it's just five minutes, you see. But I'm fooling myself, because those five minutes so easily turn in to ten or fifteen or thirty, and certainly when you string all those five-minute diversions together they easily add up to an hour or more per day.

I think I also sometimes revert to electronic reading because I am so used to being interrupted that I am afraid to commit myself to something that is going to require more than five minutes for it to be meaningful. I can spend five minutes in my email or on Facebook or even a blog and come away feeling like I really did read something (however worthless), whereas to really get something out of a book I need a half hour or more of quiet with it. So rather than be thwarted, I choose not to try.

But here at the age of 47 I am starting to ask myself, with regard to many things from exercise to reading to fun, "If not now, when?" My weak physical condition has convicted me of the need to recommit to an exercise program (with my husband's help I am working on that), and now I am ready to acknowledge that my weakened brain is in dire need of some conditioning. And what better way to exercise it than to reintroduce the best and most enjoyable form of mental calisthenics I know: reading. The trick is making it happen. I have decided that like most things to which I want to give priority in my life, I need to schedule a time for it, preferably in the morning (I wish I could live my whole life in the morning). My plan is to set aside a half hour that will be only for unplugged reading of in-depth material. Food packaging, medication bottles, and mail don't count, nor do magazine surfing or reading aloud to Evan. I'm talking big, thick, book reading--you know, those things with, what are they called? Oh yeah . . . chapters.

This post has gone on too long already, so I will report back later with a little more about my efforts (they have already started) and how they are going. I am interested, though, to hear from anyone who has had a similar experience to mine. If you are someone who used to read but who now doesn't, on what do you blame the change? And if you have managed to rediscover your love for reading, how did you do it?

Letting Go

Our family has experienced some pretty big losses in the last three years. It actually seems like it's been longer than that, but it hasn't been quite three years since the dominoes started to fall: first my father-in-law, then my mother-in-law, then a dear family friend/former pastor, then another friend who was also preschool teacher to two of my children. But the losses have been not only the kind that occur when beloved people die; we have also repeatedly experienced the loss of broken relationships. My mother-in-law, whose mental illness we didn't fully understand until after she was gone, left a particularly painful legacy for two of her children (my husband and his sister) in her decision to disinherit them. They were both dutiful children and there was no basis for her action. It doesn't make the rejection any less painful to acknowledge that she was not in her right mind. My husband and I have also both experienced the end of several close friendships this year. And I am realizing that in many ways I have effectively lost my mother and I have been grieving that for a while. Although she is still alive, she has become a person that relates to me no longer as my mother but instead as a child, someone that I must take care of. No, I take that back. My children look at me through eyes of love. My mother doesn't anymore. At this point I am her caretaker and nurse and not much else.

Particularly when one is dealing with personal rejection or emotional hurt, the advice that is often given is to "let it go." It's good advice. It does no good to dwell on the things that cause one pain or to continue returning to the occasion of hurt. But I have found that it is advice that I am unable to follow. I cannot by force of will let pain and grief go. Yes, sometimes I forget for a little while. But invariably I stumble upon a reminder of the past and the reality of pain and loss returns.

And yet . . . .

While I have realized that I am incapable of letting go of deep hurts, it turns out that somehow, in time, they start to let go of me. Little by little they loosen their hold, and like Jack Dawson to Rose in The Titanic, they bid me go, swim toward the light, and keep on living. And if the ocean in which I am swimming is dotted with life raft after life raft of Word and Sacrament such that I see forgiveness and reconciliation everywhere I turn, then I know without a doubt that I am going to succeed in reaching that light. In fact, it turns out that light has already sought out and found me, and rescue is at hand.

'Bye, Jack. Rest in peace.

Conservatives, Myself Included, Need to Get a Clue

For months now in the Republican presidential race we have watched an "anti-Romney" break away from the pack only to get shot down. The firing squad is a marriage of convenience between the liberal media and the Republican establishment. Interestingly enough, they both want the same thing: a moderate as the GOP nominee. As best I can tell, the liberal media want a moderate because they think that's whom Obama can more easily beat, whereas the Republican establishment wants a moderate because they are moderate themselves and they want to remain in power. Meanwhile, together they are playing conservatives like a fiddle, and conservatives are letting themselves get played. To have any hope of mounting a conservative alternative to Romney, we have got to stop it. We have got to quit nit-picking the conservative candidates to death ourselves and start defending them against all the attacks. There is NO PERFECT CANDIDATE. There is no candidate that is free of "baggage." There is no candidate that is going to agree with us 100% all the way up and down the list of issues. Even if we find such a candidate, we may discover that he or she has different ideas from our own on how to achieve the desired end. We need to get comfortable with some imperfections and impurities and start celebrating the strengths of each of these excellent candidates instead of joining in the flash mob of detractors that only want to tear them down so as to ensure Romney's nomination.

If Romney does get the nomination, I will support him. He is capable. He is not a socialist. He will not go around the world apologizing for the United States. But notwithstanding the common wisdom, I do not think he is the most electable. I think he has simply not been vetted. If he does get the nomination, the Obama forces will get busy attacking him with class and racial warfare like you haven't seen in a long time. And they will no longer keep silent about his Mormonism.

I am saying this to myself as much as to anyone. Rick Perry was portrayed as dumb, Bachmann as a gaffe machine, Newt Gingrich as unstable, and now Santorum is about to be painted as a bigot and a "big government conservative." Let's quit falling for whatever caricatures the talking heads decide to put out there, and let's come together for a change and work to build up and support and champion our conservative presidential contenders. Any one of them is far preferable to the current President. Let's quit falling for whatever narrative the powers that be want to feed us and start writing our own narrative, one in which a conservative wins the Republican nomination and proceeds to clean Obama's clock.

Video Round-Up

I have previously posted these on Facebook, but not all of you are my Facebook friends. And some of you truly odd ducks aren't even on Facebook at all. ;-) So here is a smattering of recent video highlights. Clicking on any one of these will take you to my Vimeo page where you can see over 80 more (some more worth your time than others, to be sure).

First, the singing of the Psalm from our New Year's Eve service last night. My husband is the pianist and songleader. I love this responsive type of Psalm singing and we do a lot of it at my church. Sometimes we chant the Psalm to tones from our hymnal; sometimes we do a combination of chant and sung refrain; sometimes we sing something through-composed (such as you see below). I found a comment about this video from a Facebook friend to be very interesting. He said, "I don't think I've ever heard Cantor sing!" I was amazed by that because it seems to me my husband is always singing. But then I realized that as much as I love it when he leads responsive singing from the piano, it is not something he does much. Most of his work in worship is not singing himself but enabling others to sing. Notice that when it is the congregation's turn to sing, he stops (except for the final refrain). That is what cantors (or kantors) do: help the assembly to find their voice and sing the Lord's song. Very different from so much of contemporary worship today, in which songleaders sing AT and FOR people, resulting in the people not singing, but listening.

One note on this video: I was positioned such that the sound quality is not reflective of the actual event. My recording is heavy on the piano, but the mix in the service was much more balanced.

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"All the Ends of the Earth" (Psalm 98) from Cheryl on Vimeo.

The second video is from our Christmas Eve Lessons and Carols. A very special musical moment with some of our most talented musicians. The woman at far left has sung professionally for a number of years. The second female singer has a doctoral degree in voice, teaches at the college level, and sings lyric opera. The third singer, still in high school, is one of her students. And the fourth . . . well, there's that Cantor again, a piano major holding his own very well amidst some truly amazing pipes!

"In Dulci Jubilo" from Cheryl on Vimeo.

Finally, another video from Christmas Eve, this one from our family service. Our children's choir for Christmas Eve was small in number but big in sound. Evan, my youngest, is at the far right end of the front row, often not visible behind his dad. This is a difficult piece for young singers due to the unusual intervals they are required to learn as well as the almost-but-not-quite-the-same repetitions of several musical motifs. I'm playing the piano. It is a beautiful, pianistic accompaniment that is a pleasure to play. My only problem with this piece is that I rarely get through it without crying, which can cause problems when one is trying to read the music on the printed page.

"On Christmas Morn" - David Brunner from Cheryl on Vimeo.

I hope you enjoy the music. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Christmas 2011

It has been a lovely Christmas Eve and Day! Yesterday morning started with King's College Lessons and Carols (see previous post). Then my husband and I went to our community rec center to work out and stopped for coffee on the way home. Mid-afternoon he left for a marathon of leading music for Christmas services at church. This year he had to not only direct choirs and musicians but play organ for all the services as all of our backup organists are otherwise occupied (either out of town or late with child). There were three services Christmas Eve and one Christmas morning. Evan sang with the children's choir at the 5:00 service yesterday so of course we all went to that one. Although the kids and I didn't have musical duties at the 7:15 Lessons and Carols service we stayed for it (it is not to be missed), eating leftovers from home in the staff workroom between services. Then we took Evan home and tucked him in, leaving him with his grandma while Trevor, Caitlin and I returned for the 11:00 candlelight communion at which the adult choir was singing. I think we all got to sleep by about 1:30 a.m. (after Santa made his appearance).

This morning was Divine Service at 9:00. Unfortunately just as the choir was about to launch into "O Magnum Mysterium" for the voluntary Caitlin went running from the sanctuary sick. Yes, I do mean sick. I took her home and luckily we have not had a repeat incident or any fever, so I don't think it's a stomach virus. She has rested most of the day but did feel well enough to open presents. :-D

Here are a few pictures from the present opening:

What could it be?

Some new pieces for our china pattern! I received a vegetable bowl, small platter, 3-tiered server, coffee server, and several small bowls. Wow! A few more pieces and after 25 years or marriage my china set may finally be complete! :-D

A new mp3 player!

A cookbook from one of my husband's favorite restaurants.

From some dear friends: Caitlin got a Lutheran Chick water bottle and I got a travel coffee mug. The same friends also thrilled us with Worldview Everlasting t-shirts for everyone in the family!

Spongebob wear from Evan's aunt. Have I ever told you how much we love Spongebob?

Shiloh got her own edible card.

You can't go wrong with Dr. Seuss! Evan added several to his collection.

Brothers

Pooped.

After present opening I put our Christmas ham in the oven and enjoyed a little computer time while getting some therapy from my new Shiatsu massager, pictured above. Supper was ham, collard greens and crab-stuffed deviled eggs. Plan for the rest of the evening is to watch the Simpsons Christmas and an episode or two of Trevor's new Third Rock from the Sun DVD set (given by yours truly). On the other hand, maybe I'll just go to bed (I passed on a nap today). Such wonderful, glorious freedom to choose--doesn't get much better than this. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Christmas Listening

While the secular culture's celebration of Christmas is coming to an end (it will be over on December 26), that of liturgical Christians has not yet begun. For us Christmas starts on December 24 and continues until Epiphany. For years now our family has kicked off our own Christmas celebration on Christmas Eve morning by listening to the live broadcast of the King's College Chapel Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. The service begins at 3:00 p.m. Cambridge time, which means 9:00 a.m. central standard time. So every Christmas Eve morning we make sure everyone is awake, coffee is poured and breakfast set out, and we gather in our pajamas around the radio (or these days, the computer), and listen. It has become our tradition, and I can think of no better way for us to begin our meditation on the miracle of Christ's birth than by gathering together in quietness, listening to His Word, and being blessed by some of the most beautiful music one could ever imagine. Once the King's College Lessons and Carols service is over, the day becomes hectic, with last minute Christmas preparations and many services to attend (if you are a regular reader you know that my husband is a Lutheran cantor and the rest of us are part of his musical army). But from 9:00-10:30 a.m. on Christmas Eve, our family sits together and soaks it in in a way we won't get to at our own church (because we are rarely all sitting together at one time). It helps us keep Christmas in perspective.

If you have never listened to the King's College Lessons and Carols service, I invite you to do so with us this year. Here are some links to help you out:

BBC Lessons and Carols page

American Public Media Lessons and Carols page

Here's an article written by Michael Barone that describes his experience of attending the actual event last year. It's like a rock concert. People start lining up on the afternoon of December 23 in hopes of making it through the front door of the chapel.

And finally, here's an article by Jonathan Willcocks, son of Sir David Willcocks, long-time former musical director at King's College, about his memories of singing in the choir when he was a child (the choir is composed only of men and boy sopranos). I love his reminiscences of getting in trouble for having wax ball fights (even King's College boys will be boys!) and of how the soloist for the opening of the service was chosen:

Even the boy who was chosen (usually at the very last moment) to sing the solo first verse of the carol “Once in Royal David’s city” would not be especially anxious; it would just be another solo alongside many that he would have sung in the regular services in the chapel.

The parents of that boy soloist who would be the ones suffering the agonies of anxiety. I was in the somewhat unusual situation of having my father, Sir David Willcocks, as Musical Director of the choir. Again, it didn’t at the time seem awkward to me. Perhaps fortunately I was one of the “also-rans” rather than a star solo voice and so the dilemma of whether to choose me to sing the solo at the Christmas Eve service never arose.

After you listen to the Lessons and Carols broadcast tomorrow, you will be ready for more Christmas music, right? And while most broadcast stations will be winding down, discontinuing their Christmas music offering on the morning of December 26, there is a radio station that knows that Christmas is only just beginning! Watch below for more information.

I would like to wish all of you a most blessed and peaceful Christmas celebration. Thank you for reading. May God be with you today and always, in your trials and in your joys, assuring you of His forgiveness and all-consuming love.

Pain

I have been blessed to have been quite healthy during my life. Oh, I have had my share of issues. Severe seasonal and environmental allergies. Recurrent iritis. A lifetime of fighting cystic acne. Jaw and TMJ problems. Some swallowing and GI issues. Bad feet. But modern medicine has provided tools for dealing with all of these maladies, and for that I am extremely thankful. I know that compared to the health challenges faced by many, my problems are mere annoyances. Yes, there have been times when they have challenged my quality of life. But none of them are life threatening or truly debilitating.

This past week a new annoyance came knocking on my door: back pain. There have been times in my life I have had a little bit of back pain, particularly after a marathon session of practicing piano. I was diagnosed with mild scoliosis many years ago, and I'm sure that that combined with my flat feet doesn't help things. But last week was the first time the back pain came and stayed for so long. And not only did my back hurt, but so did my neck, shoulder, arm, hand, hip, and knee, all on the left side of my body. I kept waking up every day expecting things to get better as they always have in the past but each day brought not relief but more of the same. It wasn't awful pain, but it was nagging and constant and hard to ignore. And after a week I was very, very tired of it.

So, what to do? Several friends whose opinions I respect suggested a chiropractor. So did my husband. But having never been to a chiropractor before and having been advised that chiropractic approaches vary greatly and therefore it is important to research and ask a lot of questions before choosing a doctor, I found myself defaulting to the family doctor, at least as a starting place. I called and to my surprise discovered that the family practice we have long patronized has recently added a new M.D. who is also a D.O. (doctor of osteopathy). To my further surprise and good fortune I was told that the D.O. happened to have an appointment that day due to a cancellation. I saw her and for the first time in my life was told that not only do I have scoliosis, but my left leg is shorter than my right. So maybe that's why the whole left side of my body has been hurting . . . .

My new doctor prescribed a course of Prednisone along with Relafen for pain and scheduled me to go back next week for a "manipulation" (in chiropractic parlance, an adjustment). She said that I would need that time to get to the point that I would be able to stand having her work on my back. When she touched my back during my visit it was so sensitive I could hardly tolerate it. There are probably 30 or more years worth of knots in that baby.

What amazes me about this whole experience is the relief that came within 24 hours of my doctor visit. I have not even gotten any hands-on treatment yet, but the medication alone has helped immmensely. I don't think I realized until the pain went away how much it was coloring my outlook. Now that it has substantially subsided I realize how uncomfortable I was. I think I was hurting more than I knew. My husband says I have a high pain tolerance and that for me to complain and actually go to a doctor was telling.

Having gone through a week of pretty constant hurting rather than off-and-on type hurting, I wonder at people who have truly serious, chronic pain. I can't imagine what it must be like. I was exhausted by my one week of minor pain; how must it be to face not a week but months and years of pain that is far worse?

I hope to not find out. Yesterday I renewed our expired membership at our local recreational center's fitness club. I am renewing my commitment to exercise and increase my strength, starting with my back and shoulders and arms. There are certain things I cannot control or change when it comes to my body, but there are other things I can, and exercise is one of them. Maybe this time I will see it through better than I have in the past. Now in addition to all the other good arguments for exercising that I have always known to be true, I have discovered another one: avoidance of worse and future pain. Talk about a motivator.

Rudolph and Bullying

Recently a new children's book came out entitled No More Bullies at the North Pole. You can read more about it here. It is a politically correct revision of the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer story (as it was told in the old television special) that is currently receiving a lot of well-deserved ridicule. If you do a web search for "Rudolph" and "bullying" you will find all kinds of stories on the topic, both pro and con.

I do not think that children's stories are appropriate vehicles for the advancing of political agendas, and the things that I have read about this updated Rudolph make me roll my eyes in exasperation. At the same time, I seem to have a different take on this story than many of my online friends. I have always been bothered by the unkindness and bullying that are a part of the old Rudolph television story, going all the way back to when I watched the program as a child. I remember being horrified at Rudolph's treatment at the hands (hooves?) not only of the other young reindeer but also of the reindeer flying instructor, of Santa, and even of his own father, Donner. After Rudolph is born and his nose first lights up, Donner expresses deep shame and embarrassment at his new offspring and quickly fashions a covering of mud that makes it hard for Rudolph to talk and breathe. When Santa visits and sees the nose, he chastises Donner for having such an offspring and applauds Donner's efforts to keep the nose a secret. And when Rudolph goes to school, the teacher is the one who leads the other young reindeer in ostracizing Rudolph. The grownups in Rudolph's life, who ought to be helping and supporting and protecting and defending him, set the example for how others should mistreat him. Even Santa!

In the articles I have read on this story it is usually pointed out that Rudolph overcomes his bullying and that is what makes it ultimately a positive story. But the fact is that none of those responsible for mistreating him have any second thoughts about their behavior until it becomes clear that Rudolph might be useful to them. Then they change. I'm not sure if that counts as true remorse.

Don't get me wrong. I am not suggesting that people should not let their children watch Rudolph or that they should go out and buy the new, politically correct version. Maybe I am oversensitive because I was severely bullied as a child. But I think the old Rudolph includes a level of bullying behavior that is rather shocking for a children's story. Not just the other "children" but Rudolph's teacher, father, and even Santa (who is always the one who is supposed to make everything right in secular Christmas stories) are terribly cruel to him. No wonder the poor little dude ran away.

UPDATE: More discussion of this topic (including further opining by Yours Truly) here.

The Santa Claus Dilemma

We are a Santa Claus family. In the same way that my husband and I did when we were growing up, our own children wake up on Christmas morning to find goodies in their stockings and gifts under the tree that weren't there the night before. Over the years I have struggled a little with whether it was wise to carry on the Santa Claus tradition. Some people say that to do so is in effect lying to your children and that it sets them up to doubt other things you tell them. It is also argued that Santa Claus takes attention away from the true reason for Christmas, the birth of Christ. I have pondered these arguments and have worried that maybe they are true. At the same time, as I look at how we rear our children, I see a house in which Jesus is spoken of and taught and looked to as the one true Lord every single day of the year, whereas Santa Claus is an annual blip on the horizon. We don't pray to Santa, we don't talk about him day in and day out, we don't worship him in church, and we don't look to him as the source of all that is true and right and good. Furthermore, because of my inability to look my children in the eye and lie to them about things like flying reindeer and the breaching of the space-time continuum, I have never done so. And yet gifts have appeared and we have passively allowed that they came from Santa Claus. Which, really, they did, right? From Santa Mom and Santa Dad? Sigh. It's a cop-out, I know.

Today is the Feast of St. Nicholas, upon whom Santa Claus is based, and who was a real person in the early days of the Church. You can read more about him here. I have friends who observe the Feast of St. Nicholas apart from Christmas and who even do the gift-giving today rather than on Christmas. I like that. If I had it to do all over again, maybe I would have proposed to my husband that we start a new family tradition and downplay Santa Claus while making more of St. Nicholas. But when I had my first baby almost 20 years ago I was not even aware of this day in the church calendar and the ways that one might observe it. Even if I had been, I honestly don't know that we would have done anything different. Like most people, I strongly identify with the traditions I learned as a child and find it hard to give them up.

Evan, my youngest, has embraced the Santa Claus myth with greater passion than either of my two older children. In spite of the fact that we have previously told him that one person can't do all that Santa supposedly does and that there are really many Santa's and Santa helpers, he at 8 years of age is still holding fast to the Santa story. Earlier this year when he told me what he wanted for his birthday he started to mention one item but then backed off from it, saying that no, he would put that on his Christmas list because while we couldn't afford it Santa certainly could. I decided right then and there that we needed to make sure and get him precisely THAT gift for his birthday because we wanted the best gift coming from us, not Santa!

Today in observance of St. Nicholas Day we read together the true story of St. Nicholas and I looked Evan in the eye and told him that Santa Claus is based on the real person of St. Nicholas, who died many years ago but who because of what he did and stood for has inspired others to carry on his example of giving, especially at Christmastime. Evan looked right back at me and without hesitation said, "But there's one thing I still don't understand, Mom. How do the reindeer fly?"

Sigh. There's always next year, right?

They Grow Up So Fast. Or Not.

My 8-year-old, Evan, has long needed a light on in his room to go to sleep. Not merely a night light, but an actual light. We haven't made an issue of it but have allowed him to keep a small lamp turned on when he goes to bed. If someone happens to still be up when Evan falls asleep that person turns his light off at that time, but Evan is such a night owl that he is often the last person to fall asleep, so often his lamp stays on all night. I figure if it helps him to feel safe and doesn't impede his sleeping, what's the harm?

This morning Evan announced with pride that he had gone to sleep without any light last night. I was impressed. This was utterly at his discretion with no suggestion from us. I congratulated him on his achievement and he responded, "Yeah, I'm getting to be a bigger boy" and I, of course, agreed. A little while later when he was getting his clothes on I noticed something odd about his hair. One portion of his bangs looked a little shorter than the rest but I attributed it to his haircut this past week--I usually cut his hair myself but in the interest of time got his cut when my daughter and I went to the stylist for ours. I figured the barber must have made a small cutting error that I hadn't previously noticed.

Um, no. As I was fingering his hair, Evan proudly informed me, "That part was bothering me so I cut it." After impressing upon him the pitfalls of cutting his own hair and my desire that he never do that again, it occurred to me to wonder where that hair ended up. In the sink drain, perhaps? I asked.

"In the vent." That would be, in case you're wondering, the heating/cooling floor vent in his room. Of course. That's where we always put things we want to get rid of, right?

Check your vents, everyone. And remember, "responsibility" and "maturity" are entirely relative terms.

(P.S. If you know Evan in real life, let's just keep this post between the two of us, okay?)

"A Most Thankful Collage"

"Today is Thanksgiving Day. A lot of people have said a lot of things about today and what it means, and honestly, I don't have much to add. The problem with talking about the meaning of things is that you can get tangled up in your own words. I may be a writer, but words still have a way of tripping me up and turning me around. The thing is, words are flawed, just like everything else.

"I think life is summed up best, not in big words, but small moments. . . . "

So begins my daughter. You are invited to read the rest here.

The Life Abundant

That's what my husband calls it when life is so full you can hardly think straight. He's got the right attitude. Life has been full this week, but so very good. Just a short catch-up post for those with inquiring minds who aren't in my other "loops."

Trevor is coming home tomorrow! We were informed of a bus service, Megabus, that runs a route from Omaha to Chicago. A Lincoln area friend of ours will get Trevor to the bus tonight and he will sleep (we hope) while he travels. We'll pick him up in downtown Chicago at 6:50 in the morning. This homefront is beside itself with anticipation. The only bad part is that he will have to go back on Sunday for about three more weeks. Four days at home is not enough time when we have not had him here since August.

We installed our new pastor! If you have been out of the country and are unaware, he is Rev. Jonathan Fisk. The installation service can be viewed here. The first piece of music you hear for preservice (a piano arrangement of the tune HYFRYDOL) is played by my talented daughter. That's my husband directing the choir and playing organ for most of the service. The organ prelude and first hymn were played by Pastor Fisk's father Dale, a fellow church musican. We are overjoyed to have the Fisks in our midst and are enjoying the flowering of new friendships and the promise of reaching more people with the Gospel in our little part of Chicagoland.

Caitlin and I finished painting the dining room and it looks wonderful (see previous post). Had hoped to get the kitchen done before Thanksgiving, but alas--right now I will do well to handle the cleaning and cooking for Thanksgiving. The rest will have to wait.

Phillip has finished his year of traveling. Since January of this year he has been to Minnesota (twice), St. Louis (four times), Nebraska (three times), Alabama, Montreal, Ontario, Congo, Florida, Texas, Colorado, and Springfield (twice). Sometimes I didn't know whether he was coming or going. Next year promises to be much quieter on the traveling front. We are looking forward to having Dad around the house a little more.

Evan sang with the children's choir at church for the first time Sunday. We still have to work a little bit on the attention span, but it was a triumph for him. The first time we mentioned his singing with the children's choir he panicked. I think I previously shared here that he had much anxiety about it, which surprised us considering the family he is in. But then we thought maybe the anxiety was because of the family he is in! The happy ending is that he conquered those fears and told us yesterday morning, "I'm starting to like choir." Yay!

Oh, and how could I forget--I got Issues, Etc. Blog of the Week this past Friday. It was for the "Maternal Overreach" post. Thanks for the raw material, Evan sweetie!

And with that, I must get back to cleaning and cooking. A blessed and happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

That Other Blog

I haven't posted on it in almost a year (where does the time go?), but I did tonight.

A Maternal Overreach

It seems to be a week for sharing Evan stories.

A few nights ago we were driving home after eating dinner out together, just the two of us (everyone else was out of town), and he piped up from the back seat:

"Mom, when I grow up, I want to help people."

Ah, be still, my proud mommy heart. "Why, Evan, what a nice thought. Helping people is a great goal. What would you like to do to help people?" I'm thinking maybe doctor, fireman, Roto-Rooter man . . . .

"I'd like to help people who are lost."

Even better! I go in for the kill.

"That's really cool, Evan! You know, the people who are most lost are the ones who don't know about Jesus. Maybe when you grow up you could help people find Jesus, like Pastor does."

Silence. Then, "Mom, I don't understand you. I meant like if they get lost in the forest, I would help them find their way out."

Oh.

Can't blame a Lutheran mom for trying!

Raisin' 'em Right

"Mom, if Calvin lived next door to us I would have a few choice words for him about girls."

"Really, Evan? What would you tell him?"

"I would tell him that girls are not slimy and they're good and I would not be in his club. And if he didn't believe me I would wrestle him to the ground and punch him."

"What do you think about girls, Evan?"

"I think they're not slimy and I think they're beautiful and I love them. Do you know what Calvin thinks girls are good for?"

"What, Evan?"

"He thinks they're good for nothing and for throwing water balloons at."

"And what do you think girls are good for, Evan?"

"For smooching and loving and hugging. And for having babies and taking care of them."

(Ahem. Dad, I think this one may need "the talk" a little earlier than the others.)

"Evan, who is your favorite girl to smooch and love and hug?"

"YOU!"

I love this kid.

Beyond His Years

Last night we had my youngest child's 8th birthday party. His birthday was actually last week, but we couldn't work it out to get together with friends until this weekend. We invited two families to join us at a nearby bowling alley for arcade fun, bowling, pizza and cake. My kid is the one with the goofy smile.

Last night on the way home in the car--it was just me and Evan because Dad and sister were in another car--Evan's joy was palpable. I am reminded of that old song, "My Cup Runneth Over." Evan's cup was definitely pouring out all over the back seat. He kept telling me how much he loved me and what a great day he had had and at one point said, "I'm happy I'm alive." I told him that he had many blessings and a thankful heart and he agreed.

Last night when it was time to go to bed we "snuggled" together for a long time. Suddenly Evan turned serious and mused aloud, "I guess I'll be too big for the children's museum soon." I told him of course he wouldn't--that there are adults going to the children's museum all the time. Then he stated, "I miss my younger days." I told him I did, too, a little. He responded: "But we can't reverse the days."

No, Evan, we can't.

"We can't time travel."

No, Evan, we can't time travel.

I asked him what he missed and he said he missed some of his old toys and sitting on my lap and his preschool class (even though we homeschool our children Evan went to the half day preschool at our church for a couple of years). I told him he could still sit on my lap and he said, "Yeah, but pretty soon I'll be too big to fit." Then he started to cry: "I miss Mrs. Bolt [his preschool teacher, who died several years ago from breast cancer]. And I miss Grandmother and Granddad. And I miss Trevor [his brother, who is away at college right now]." The sobs became loud and furious.

I hugged and comforted him, of course, and once he calmed down we talked. I told him I understood his sadness because the passing of time is a hard thing to accept, but we have no choice but to do so. God made him to grow and to some day grow up, and that is what he is going to do. I told him that parents are sad sometimes to see their babies grow up but that at the same time they are overjoyed to see all the wonderful things that come with those babies growing up and that I was so excited to see where life would be taking him. He took all this in and then said, "Some people don't have children."

"No, Evan, some people don't."

"That's sad."

"Yes, that's sad. But some people have a different calling. Not everyone gets married."

"But some people get married and still don't have children."

"That's right. For reasons we don't understand, God does not send children to all married people. It might be that He has other plans for them--other things that He wants them to do." I gave him the example of a faithful Lutheran couple in his life that do not have biological children but that have many, many people that they serve and care for in other ways, including spiritually. And then I told him that there are seasons of life--that there is a time for having babies and a time for not having babies. He looked up at me questioningly:

"We're not going to have another baby."

"No, we're not going to have another baby. Right now Dad's and my job is to take care of the babies we already have."

At that point the conversation took a different turn--I think it may have been to tell me about the Sponge Bob episode he watched earlier--and I instructed my newly minted 8-year-old to get his pajamas on and brush his teeth. We met in his room a little while later for bedtime story and prayers and I pulled out a family favorite: Love You Forever by Robert Munsch. I couldn't remember if I had ever read it to Evan. If I had, it had been a long time ago and he didn't remember either.

We started to read the book and already on the very first singing of the "Love You Forever" poem on the first page I started to choke up. But we forged ahead. I told Evan to keep his eye out for the kitty in the story, which is on every page until the boy in the story grows up and moves away from home, at which point that first kitty is nowhere to be found but a brand new baby kitten can be seen at the now grown up man's new house. Evan had fun looking for the kitty but I could tell he was taking the book very seriously. As we neared the end--the page where the man visits his old, sick mother and holds her on his lap--I wondered to myself, "Oh dear, what have I done? What was I thinking in pulling out this book?" I offered to put the book away and told Evan we could finish it another time. Amidst his tears, he said no. He wanted to read to the end.

I think that to the extent that an 8-year-old is able, he understood the book. He understood that some day that old lady with gray hair and glasses will be me and he will be the grown-up man who holds his elderly mother on his lap and sings her the "Love You Forever" song before going home to sing it again to his newborn baby girl. After we finished reading, tears streaming down both our faces, I told Evan that this book is about the passing of time and how we grieve the things we leave behind but how we pass those things on to our children, and our children pass them on to their children, and how it goes on forever and ever until the end of time. The book does not come from a Christian viewpoint, but I reminded Evan that the love that gets passed down through generations started with Jesus and will end with Jesus when we join Him in heaven.

With watery eyes, Evan looked at me. "That's a sad book, Mom."

"Yes, Evan, but it's a happy book, too."

"Yes, it's sad and happy. It's almost got too much sadness and happiness to take."

Welcome to the rest of your life, Evan.

He went to the shelf to get another book.

Google+

I recently received an email from a friend inviting me to join Google Plus and be in one of her "circles." (For those who may not be aware, Google Plus, or Google+, is Google's version of Facebook.)

I love the lady who sent me the invite and if anyone could get me to join Google+ she could. But although I have been hearing about Google+ for a while I have so far resisted joining and have no plans to change my mind. I have a feeling if I were to join Google+ I would find myself just getting more of what I already get on Facebook:

1) More time spent in cyberspace instead of real life

2) More interacting with the same people I already interact with on Facebook (most of whom are lovely, but hey, there's a limit to how much loveliness I can fit in between all the normal stuff of daily life)

3) More opportunities to witness passive-aggressive, bullying, mean and clique-ish behavior by people who seem to time-warp back to junior high whenever they log into their account. No, wait, I take that back. My teenagers never behaved the way I see some people behaving on Facebook.

4) More opportunities to read someone's "vaguebooking" and scratch my head and say "Huh?"

5) More off-color jokes, weird and scary pictures, profanity, vulgarity, and pointless quizzes and games.

6) More opportunities to experience personal rejection in the form of getting unfriended and blocked by people I really shouldn't even care about.

7) More opportunities to grapple with the dilemma of who my "friends" are and to what extent I can keep up with their lives

Don't get me wrong--there are some very good things about social media. I wouldn't be on Facebook otherwise. But there is a lot of ickiness, too, and more ickiness is one thing I do not need in my life. So I'll see you here and I'll see you on Facebook and I'll maybe even see you in real life. But unless all of my close friends completely disappear from Facebook, Google+ will continue to be a minus in my social accounting book.