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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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!)

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!)

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.

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.

Happy Birthday, Honey

Today is my husband's birthday. He was born in 1963 (I'll let you do the math). We were married in 1987. He's almost been married to me for longer than he hasn't!

I thought you might appreciate seeing a few of the many ages and facets of this amazing man. (And if you'd like to wish Phillip a happy birthday yourself, feel free to do so here or at his own blog, which I have, um, sort of ambushed today.)

Baby Phillip

Eating animal crackers in Malta

Now that is what I call a smile!

Go Big Red!

That Seventies Guy

High School Talent Show (Notice the adoring fans)

The Artist at Work

(one of my all-time favorite shots from our college days)

Phillip and Giselle (gone now for about 7 years)

A promotional shot from the "gigging" days

(just look at those beautiful hands)

Lettin' it rip at the Galveston Jazz Festival

"And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar

And say 'Man, what are you doin' here?'"

Scene from an Italian Restaurant

(with wife and father sitting at the table in the background)

Peoria Area Youth Chorus Concert

Is it any wonder he stole my heart?

Children's choir rehearsal (with favorite accompanist at left)

Drumming

The Cantor

The Singing Revolution

To find out more, go here.

Then go sing something. And if you have children, have them sing with you. Some day we might need our own singing revolution.

Duond Akuru

Our day school had its junior high concert last night. Caitlin was involved in three of the four ensembles (bells, jazz band, and choir)! The kids did a great job. The final number on the program was "Duond Akuru" performed by the choir. We had hoped to videotape it but had some technical difficulties. So I found this performance online. Our choir was almost this good . . . but not quite. :-)

The composer of "Duond Akuru" is the amazing Rollo Dilworth from Chicago. I had the chance to watch him in action a couple of years ago when he was the guest conductor on a children's choir concert that I also played piano on (I did not play on the numbers he conducted). The choirs on the concert sang several of his pieces. I was impressed by his energy and enthusiasm and the pure joy he takes in the music.

I hope you'll take a few moments to listen and enjoy. It's a song that just makes you feel good. "Duond Akuru" means "The Voice of the Dove." Here are the words to the song:

"Duond akuru from yonder tree.
Duond akuru, it speaks to me.
Up on the mountaintop, or in the valley below,
I hear the voice of the dove, high up above,
And it brings laughter and joy to my soul.

Duond akuru from yonder tree.
Duond akuru, it speaks to me.
When I am all alone, or in the midst of my friends,
There is an echo of peace, calling to me,
And it brings comfort and love without end.

Echunya awinjo wer mamit
Awinje ka oolore ei ngimana.

(Translation*: In my heart I hear the sweet music.
Deep inside my soul I feel the rhythm.)

*from the Duoluo language, as spoken by the Luo people of Kenya.

A Son Who Understands HIs Father

My husband has a birthday coming up. Yesterday the children and I were talking over gift ideas (shhh, don't tell). I reminded them that close on the heels of Dad's birthday is Father's Day, so we need to be talking about LOTS of gift ideas. My daughter Caitlin, a crafty, creative sort (unlike her mother), was trying to think of something she might make for at least one of the days in question. She observed that it's a bit easier to think of things to make for women than for men, seeing as how women, and especially moms, are more likely to appreciate something for aesthetic value alone, whereas men are a bit more utilitarian (sorry if I'm being sexist or painting with too broad a brush). Thinking out loud, she wondered, "What could I make for Dad for Father's Day?"

Without missing a beat, Trevor decisively replied, "A rum punch."

"Nothing Else Matters"

How fitting that the two things I most feared about an Obama presidency have come front and center in the same week: national security and the Supreme Court. In particular, national (and for that matter, international) security dwarfs everything else. Forget the bailouts and the tax increases and the stock market and the falling dollar. Forget the spectre of nationalized health care and the chimera of global warming. We're back to living with THE BOMB. And Obama has said no to taking any real steps--such as preemptive strikes or anti-missile defense--to keep that from becoming our new reality.

James Lewis at American Thinker lays it all out. Read, if you dare.

Spontaneous Overflow of Random Observations Recollected in Tranquility, or What I Thought About at the Chicago Open (With Apologies to W. Wordsworth)

A tennis skirt that is not really a tennis skirt (i. e., it doesn't have attached underpants) is not proper attire for shopping at Wal-Mart and especially not for loading one's garden shop purchases into the back of a van on a breezy day.

You would think that after almost 10 years of living in Illinois I would have learned that one always keeps a sweater in the car. Always. And that includes Memorial Day, the "unofficial start of summer." Brrrr.

What is the deal with those great big revolving glass doors? Why do hotels in particular like them so much? If I'm going to have to touch the door and pick up everyone else's germs while I push on the thing trying to get through, I would prefer a normal door that I can walk through at my own pace and not have fear of being crushed or getting my belongings caught in it because I stepped in at the wrong time. It's the 21st century, for crying out loud. Aren't doors just supposed to sense that I'm coming and open like magic?

There sure are a lot of people here. I hope none of them has swine flu.

I know when one is old(er) he or she is said to be "over the hill." But what exactly is "the hill"? Is it good or bad? And have I gotten there yet? If I haven't, how will I know when I do? And will I be filled with exhilaration or overcome by exhaustion?

Have you ever noticed that the words "exhilaration" and "exhaustion" start with the same letters?

How can people look at a chess board for six hours and still want more?

The Claim Jumper has really, really good spinach salads. But $2.75 for a glass of Coke is ridiculous. At that price, I should have ordered a beer!

Was that gal who sold me my coffee at the Starbuck's yesterday even human? I have never bought coffee from someone who said nary a word nor cracked the tiniest smile--or any sort of expression--the entire time she was waiting on me. She made me feel like I was back in middle school getting the silent, "you're invisible to me" treatment from someone I had made mad.

Oh no, here comes that strange guy with the long goatee molded into a hook who seems to think we are friends. Maybe if I look really intent on what I'm doing, like it's something important instead of this silly, pointless blog post, he will pass on by . . . .

I miss my father and my father-in-law.

This quiet time has been good, but it will also be good to get home. I just wish I could spend tomorrow catching up on all the laundry and shopping that have gone undone the last four days and doing a little schoolwork instead of trying to figure out how to do all of those things PLUS. . .

take my son to the orthodontist,
take my other two children to their afternoon classes,
play for a junior high choir practice,
rehearse for 2-1/2 hours with junior high string players that I will be acommpanying in recital Thursday night, and
practice the music for aforementioned rehearsal.

On second thought, I think I'm cancelling "school" and calling a "take your children to work" day. And maybe a "be kind to a middle-aged person" day. And maybe even an "improve your environment" and "community service" day. Isn't it great that "help your mother" can cover so many bases? :-)

P.S. For those who may be wondering, Trevor got 4 out of 7 points in the Under 2300 division of the Chicago Open--a very strong showing. Now for some bedtime snuggles with Evan. Goodnight, all!

Another Writer in the House

There's another published author in the house! And you may be surprised when you hear who it is!

Trevor has several articles in the current edition of the Illinois Chess Bulletin, the bi-monthly publication of the Illinois Chess Association. The articles are analyses of games he played at the Denker Qualifying Tournament (which he won) several months ago. (Click here for a photo of Trevor in action at that tournament.)

For those poor and deprived souls among you who have never had the, um, interesting experience of reading a chess game analysis, here's a one-line excerpt from one of Trevor's articles:

"0-0? Bc5+ and White's position is hopeless. Re1 loses to Bf2, and while White plays Bd2 and Rhe1, Black castles and opens the f-file with f6, after which the e4 pawn becomes powerful."

Did you get that? Clear as mud, right?

It goes on like that for pages. Many, many pages.

Can you believe I was his proofreader? (Not to be confused with his editor, which I will never, ever be.)

Congratulations, Trevor. I am very proud of you.

And Caitlin . . . your time is coming. :-)

A Worthy Cause to Consider This Memorial Day

Do you play the bugle (or trumpet, cornet or flugelhorn) or know someone who does? If so, please visit Bugles Across America to find out how that ability can help to honor a veteran while providing untold comfort to his family at the time of his death. If you don't play but would like to encourage this organization in its mission of providing live buglers for the funerals of veterans, your monetary donation is welcome. It will be used to equip musicians who are willing to help but who no longer have the necessary equipment. Bugles Across America also facilitates the transfer of instruments, uniforms, and the like from organizations who no longer need them to those that have lost theirs due to calamity or natural disaster or who are simply trying to get started and need some help doing so.

Supporting the causes of both music and country while serving veterans and their families: I can't think of a more noble goal.

HT: Fox News

Thinking Outside the Box

We're in tournament mode this weekend. Trevor is playing in the Chicago Open (chess), which runs from Friday through Monday. The tournament is in Wheeling, Illinois, about an hour's drive from our house, so there is no dropping him off and going back later to pick him up. Whoever is driving must wait, and this weekend I am the driver, so I go armed with books and the laptop and enjoy the quiet time, of which there is plenty. The tournament schedule has rounds on Friday at 7:00 p.m., Saturday and Sunday at 12:00 and 7:00, and Monday at 10:00 and 4:30. These games have the potential to go 6 hours, and on Friday night Trevor's did. We weren't driving away until about 1:45 a.m. (do the math to see what time we crawled into bed). Luckily last night's round (which was won--yay, Trevor!) was over by 11:00 and we were home shortly after 12:00. Tonight my husband has given permission for us to get a hotel, seeing as how Trevor could play until 1:00 and need to back at the board Monday morning by 10:00.

Of course, my current role as chess mom means the home front is fending for itself. They do a very good job of it, too. But Evan, my 5-year-old, has been missing me. He woke up at his usual time yesterday morning--about 9:00--and Trevor and I were gone shortly after 10:00, not to return until after he had gone to sleep. After we leave today I'll probably not see him again until Tuesday morning, since we are sleeping in a hotel tonight and Evan will probably be asleep by the time we get home tomorrow night.

This is not sitting well with Evan. Last night I got a phone call. Evan and his dad were having a bit of a row and Evan was sure that if I were home I would be handling it differently. He might have been right about that--I do have a reputation for soft-heartedness in this house. But of course, I backed up Dad, to Evan's consternation.

My husband told me a few more stories this morning. Seems Evan took out his frustration about the status quo (absent Mommy, mean Daddy) by being mean to the dog. He then discovered that Dad can be rather creative with the punishments. He had to stand and recite "I will not kick Shiloh; I will be kind to Shiloh" ten times.

Our last child has proven to be a bit more of a displinary challenge than our first two. For the first time ever we have found ourselves reading books about how to make a child behave. Our favorite is 1-2-3 Magic. It is working pretty well. It's not--as the name might suggest--merely a system of giving first and second chances before applying a punishment but a thorough philosophical approach to managing a child's behavior that takes the responsibility for that behavior off of the parent and puts it on the child.

As told by my husband, last night at the dinner table Evan was misbehaving and had reached "two" when he looked at my husband and said, "Daddy, I think we need to have 1-2-3-4 Magic instead of 1-2-3 Magic."

Does this kid have a bright future or what?

I'm Betting on the Tree

So who--or rather, what--do you think will win this battle?

Here's a photo of our deck. As you can see, there's a tree growing in the middle of it.



Here's a more distant shot . . .

. . . and a closer one.



We are approaching 10 years in our current location. It has become an annual task, kind of like changing the batteries in the smoke detectors or putting on the storm windows, to enlarge the hole in the deck so as to make room for the tree trunk. Each year we lose a little more deck, which is fine since we clearly have plenty to spare. But as the pictures demonstrate, this tree is expanding not only outward but upward. It's just a matter of time before we're going to have to choose between the deck and the tree.

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft a-gley . . .

(From "To A Mouse" by Robert Burns. Click here to read the whole graceful, melodious thing. Come on--you know you want to! Enjoy!)