The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

Reading this book with Evan has been an interesting experience. He can't figure out the main character. He disapproves of Tom's fighting, his naughtiness and his lying. And who in his right mind would elect to run away from a very nice home to spend several days and nights roughing it on an island, all the while letting the folks back home think he was dead?

Last night we read Chapter 25, which begins thus;

"There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy's life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure."

Evan's response?

"Not me!"

The one aspect of the book that he doesn't seem to have much trouble identifying with is Tom's affection for Becky Thatcher. It would seem I'm rearing a lover, not a fighter. I'm okay with that.

A Most Excellent Tenth Birthday

Pictures especially for Dad and Trevor, who couldn't be here.

Mario game from Dad

His own personalized copy of LSB from Mom & Dad

Charlie Brown & Snoopy Show DVD from Trevor

Willard & bows

Mario pajama pants from Mom.

Stuffed Snoopy from Willard

A watch from Grandma

Garfield book from Caitlin (she also got him a Magic School Bus book)

Big sis hugs. 

Money from an auntie! (Total haul from the aunts: $85.)

Snoopy

Happy birthday, Evan!

Goodbye, Single Digits

My youngest will be 10 tomorrow. To honor the occasion, a few final 9-year-old stories.

This morning upon waking he immediately said, "Well?" "Well, what?" said I. "You know what." I didn't, but a few seconds later I did. Moms are like that. "Happy Birthday Eve, Evan!" (What? You mean you don't celebrate the eves of birthdays? What planet are you on?)

Later in the morning he declared, "My passion for video games grows ever larger." Yeah, I've noticed. He then went on to tell me that some day he would like to have a job with Sony or Nintendo but not with Microsoft because they publish too many adult-rated games. "I only want to design E-rated [everyone] or T-rated [teen] games." That's my boy.

And on the topic of video games, it was a rather difficult night for the almost-ten-year-old. A downloadable program that he has been enjoying has ceased working properly. It is a program that allows the user to design his own Zelda game adventure. Evan has not been able to use the program for a while because of the malfunction, so his dad suggested just getting a fresh download. Unfortunately, the site where we previously got this program is now identified by our virus software as unsafe. Caitlin said she would see if she could find the program on a different website, and I went upstairs. A little while later, a very sad 9-year-old showed up in my bedroom, eyes red from crying.

"I did a very brave thing, Mom."

"What, Evan? What happened?"

"I deleted Zelda Classic and all my files."

"Oh, Evan, why?"

He explained to me that the program was no longer available, which meant that he would no longer be able to use the files he had created (a lot of files), so he didn't see a reason to keep them. I told him how sorry I was but also how proud I was and how what he experienced tonight is something we all experience throughout our lives: realizing when it is time to let go of one thing and move on to the next. I promised him that soon, very soon, something else would come along that would inspire him more than Zelda Classic ever did.

After he got ready for bed he informed me that he wanted to skip reading tonight except for the Bible. He wanted me to get to bed early so I could be rested for his birthday. "I'm going to miss my 9-year-old self."

I am too, Evan.

This is blessing.

To have a realtor who, when you share some of your misgivings about the sale of your home ("What if something goes wrong?") responds as follows:

"And above all, your life and this deal are in the Lord's hands. So rejoice and have faith in the wonderful plans He has for you and your family! Living in faith is always exciting!"

Thank you, friend.

I love this kid.

"Evan, what are you doing?"

"I don't know what I'm doing."

--a few seconds later--

"Look, I did what I didn't know I was doing!"

News

We have a contract on our house! Closing is set for the first week of December. We will be having Christmas in Oklahoma. :-)

What does this mean? We are in for quite the month. Next weekend we will be going to Nebraska for Trevor's junior recital. Not long after that I will go to Oklahoma to join Phillip in looking for a house there. Come the end of the month, we will celebrate our last Illinois Thanksgiving. A few days later, we'll load up the wagons and head out.

I am not ready. I mean, I'm ready. I'm ready! (But I am so not ready.)

Sometimes I Forget

But then I am reminded. I have a Highly Sensitive Child.

I have gotten lots of reminders the last few days. Maybe it's because with Halloween coming, he's on high alert. If you've been reading for a while you know I am not a big fan of Halloween. I don't have a philosophical objection to it; it just annoys me. Evan, however, detests it. Not only does he detest it, but he is terrified by it. This is highly poetic since he was born on October 29 and came home from the hospital on October 31, resulting in my putting a sign on the front door that we had a new baby and would not be handing out candy that year. 

Anyway, a few weeks ago he informed me that he would not be going to the store with me anymore until Halloween is over. A few days ago, though, we made a quick stop at Jewel and all went in. As soon as we entered he remembered the season and held back, but I told him that we would avoid the offending aisles. Of course, the Halloween trappings are ubiquitous this time of year, and as we rounded a corner suddenly there was a life-size zombie suspended in the air above us. Great. Panic ensued and it was all we could do to get out of the store without tears. I am proud of him, though. He didn't melt down but kept his composure even though I, as his mom, well knew his internal distress.

The reminders don't end there. Yesterday for history we read about Nicholas Copernicus. When Evan learned that Copernicus died shortly after the first copy of On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres was placed in his hands, he started to cry. Last night as we watched The Wonder Years he ran from the room during a scene in which Kevin, the main character, has a nightmare involving a portly friend of his disappearing into a sinkhole of candy. He was seriously upset and it took a lot of convincing to get him to finish the episode with us. Last night he had one of his periodic crying spells about the death of our dog, Shiloh, last year. And yesterday I was also reminded, as Evan's teacher, of the difficulty he has blocking out other stimuli so that we can do something academic in nature. Sometimes it seems I have to ask, "Are you listening, Evan?" every other sentence. And then there's the other end of the emotional spectrum. This kid never merely giggles. Every slightly humorous thing is ROFLOL funny. 

I'm not sure why the HSC signs have been coming so fast and furious of late. Yes, there has been a lot going in our life, but that is nothing new. This family has been on an emotional tightrope for years now. Maybe it's because Dad just left again. Whatever the reason, I don't see it as a problem. I love my HSC. I love that he weeps for 500-year-old scientists and that he can't abide a plastic knive dripping with fake blood. Some might think he needs to be told to grow up and be a man and stop feeling everything so deeply. I say call me in ten years and I'll show you a man whose heart hasn't been hardened by being told it isn't supposed to feel. 

"You, My People, Shall Be Holy"

Hymn written by Rev. Steven Starke in honor of Rev. Dr. John W. Kleinig

Tune, BAROSSA, composed by Phillip Magness

Premiered at the Festschrift Service hosted by Doxology for Rev. Kleinig at the Chiara Center in Springfield, Illinois, October 4, 2013

Stanza one was sung by Rev. Paul Becker.

That is your humble blogger helping lead the ladies on stanza six. (Sigh--I briefly stumbled over the words. What can I blame? Nerves? Aging? Emotion? Needing a new pair of glasses? All of the above?)

What a privilege and honor it was to simply be there, not to mention helping out musically with the first congregational singing of this beautiful hymn. If you are interested, the text and music are available via download from Liturgy Solutions.

Anticipation

For years when I heard this song I only thought about catsup. The other day I heard it on the radio for the first time in a long time, and I think I finally truly heard it. Maybe you have to be looking at your 50th birthday (still about nine months away, mind you!) to get it. It seems for so many years I have been waiting--for something to be over, for something else to happen, for an end to one trial or the beginning of something better. I know that in all that waiting for Something Else I have sometimes--often--neglected to embrace the moment. I don't know how to change that behavior. In so many ways I am still waiting. But listening to this song is a needed reminder that "these are the good old days."

  

We can never know about the days to come 

But we think about them anyway 

And I wonder if I'm really with you now 

Or just chasing after some finer day. 

Anticipation, anticipation 

Is making me late

Is keeping me waiting.

And I tell you how easy it is to be with you 

And how right your arms feel around me. 

But I rehearsed those words just late last night 

When I was thinking about how right tonight might be. 

Anticipation, anticipation 

Is making me late 

Is keeping me waiting.

And tomorrow we might not be together 

I'm no prophet, I don't know nature's way 

So I'll try to see into your eyes right now 

And stay right here, 'cause these are the good old days. 

It has been too long . . .

. . . since this happened.



"Come, Let Us Sing" from Cheryl on Vimeo.

That is Evan, my youngest, fifth from left. It has been about 17 months since he has sung in his dad's choir. (Our last church, Trinity, didn't have an after school children's choir.) I am thankful he was able to sing in a community children's chorus last year. He had wonderful teaching there, and it shows. I can't believe how much he has grown in maturity and focus!

This was worth driving to Oklahoma for. Unfortunately, I don't think we can drive back in three weeks when the Schola Cantorum sings again. Sigh.

Note: I don't think the applause is typical. I just think people were sincerely appreciative and reacted in kind, rather spontaneously. A parish children's choir is a new thing for Immanuel. :-)

Thank you, Pastor Seter

On occasion my husband has been accused, by those who either don't understand him or who want to hurt him, of being motivated only by ego and self-interest in the work he does for the church. That's why something like this means so very much to me.

"Partnerships: Making Music Together"

Knowing Our Place

On Thursday and Friday of last week I was privileged to listen to over six hours of teaching by Rev. Dr. John W. Kleinig. Here's a link if you aren't familiar with him. The conference that I attended was sponsored by Doxology, a program of the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod that provides retreats and instruction for both pastors and lay people. My husband was the conference musician, so the icing on the cake was spending a few days with him! (We are still living in separate states.) On a side note, the conference was capped by a celebration of Dr. Kleinig's ministry that included the presentation of a Festschrift in his honor. The Festschrift is entitled You, My People, Shall Be Holy and includes a hymn by the same name for which Phillip wrote the music and his friend Pastor Steven Starke wrote the words.

I wish I could summarize the entire two days for you in some kind of organized fashion. I can't. The theme of the conference was "Holding the Mystery of Faith with a Clear Conscience" and everything began and ended on that topic. But along the way there were a few points that especially stood out for me. One concerned the doctrine of vocation. As I write this, it seems like such a no-brainer. And yet it isn't, because it is one of the things that we human beings mess up over and over again. So many of our problems come when we ignore or try to go beyond the station or vocation to which God has called us. Think about it. When--

children try to act like grown-ups,
parents act like they don't have children,
unmarried people act like they're married,
married people act like they're single,
lay people act like pastors,
pastors act like politicians or CEO's,
a government ignores its Constitution,
someone without a medical license practices medicine,
someone under the influence of alcohol gets behind the wheel,
someone who hasn't read the instructions tries to use a power saw,
a weak person lifts something that is too heavy for him,
a poor person acts like he's rich,
a computer illiterate tries to repair his laptop,
a musician or athlete attempts a feat that is woefully beyond his capability, or
Adam decides he is as smart as God,

trouble happens. So much trouble. How much better things would go for us stupid humans if we would only accept and stay in our place. And not merely stay in it, but rejoice in it, because it is the work to which we have been called, which God prepared in advance for us to do (Eph. 2:10).

Only let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him, and to which God has called him. This is my rule in all the churches. Was anyone at the time of his call already circumcised? Let him not seek to remove the marks of circumcision. Was anyone at the time of his call uncircumcised? Let him not seek circumcision. For neither circumcision counts for anything nor uncircumcision, but keeping the commandments of God. Each one should remain in the condition in which he was called. Were you a bondservant when called? Do not be concerned about it. (But if you can gain your freedom, avail yourself of the opportunity.) For he who was called in the Lord as a bondservant is a freedman of the Lord. Likewise he who was free when called is a bondservant of Christ. You were bought with a price; do not become bondservants of men. So, brothers, in whatever condition each was called, there let him remain with God. ( 1 Cor. 7:17-23)

History Repeating Itself?

A few days ago at supper Caitlin and I were talking about Obamacare, the government spending battle, and the looming government shutdown. A little while into the conversation Evan asked, "Is that kind of like the Stamp Act?" He ran to get the the book about Benjamin Franklin that he has lately been reading and turned to the middle of the book:

Most Americans did not want to pay the new taxes. They wrote angry letters to the English government.

I told him that yes, it appeared there were some similarities. A king, or in our case a President, imposes an unpopular measure on the populace, resulting in great unrest and resistance. But further reading revealed that the similarities extend only so far:

Franklin agreed with the letters. He felt Americans should be free to make their own taxes. He worked hard against the Stamp Act.

The English decided they would have to listen to the Americans. They called a meeting. And they asked Benjamin Franklin to tell the American side of the story.

Franklin told the English that the Americans would never pay the new tax. He told them that the Americans would fight before they would pay it.

The English believed him. A few days later the government stopped the hated Stamp Act.

When the news got to America, there was great excitement. People cheered. Church bells rang out. Everyone knew what Franklin had done. He was a hero.

If only. 

This Is Getting Hard

Our house has been on the market about two months now. (Phillip has been gone about three months, as it took us a while to get the house ready to list.) We have had many showings but no offers. There has been very little in the way of negative feedback. I know that all we need is for the right person to see it, and that could happen any day--maybe today! Two months is really not that long. But a little voice inside me has started asking, "What if?" When we first put the house on the market I didn't look much past Christmas. And my vision of Christmas was that by that time surely we would have sold the house. I pictured us spending Christmas together in a new house in Oklahoma. But now that little "what if" voice has made itself known, and lately it has been getting louder. What if we don't sell any time soon? What if fall drags into winter, and winter drags into spring, and we're still here, waiting?

It's not just the living apart from my husband that makes this hard, although that's the biggest part of it. It's the realization that this is Caitlin's last year at home before college, and she could end up spending it without her father as a daily presence in her life (and vice versa). It's the realization that Evan has already missed out on one year of singing in his dad's children's choir, and now he is working on year two. It's the realization that we gave up a lot of things on the assumption that we would not be here to participate in them. The feeling of loss regarding those things will be even greater if it turns out we could have kept them in our lives one more year.

And yet as I write this, I feel like a big baby. I know of women who have had to spend much more time living apart from their husbands than I have. I know of women who are permanently without their husbands, rearing children on their own. Who am I to complain? The children and I have the familiarity of our home, our well-traveled paths, and each other. I have more free time than I've had in years! Meanwhile, Phillip is all alone, trying to learn a new job while not having a place he can really call home (he is boarding in a parishioner's house). He has the much harder "row to hoe." And yet he doesn't complain, but spends his time on the phone trying to build me up after working 16-hour days. He puts me to shame.

Once upon a time there was a church I loved too much. It's not my church anymore. There were some friends I needed too much. They're not in my life anymore. I have been told that I love my husband too much. He lives in another state now. Maybe if I loved this house more it would finally sell. . . .

Words to Live By

"You know what they say. Giant worms can do whatever they want."
Phineas Flynn

Mom Fail, Defined

Noun, compound. When your 9-year-old who is a good reader but who hasn't embraced reading to the degree his older brother and sister did at this age suddenly decides at 9:00 at night that he wants to start reading The Silver Chair but when you go to the shelf to take it down you realize it's not there because you already packed it (because the realtor said you have too many books) and now it's in a box somewhere in the Portable On Demand Storage (PODS) unit sitting in your driveway and you really don't want to go out and look for it in your pajamas in the dark.

It's in there . . . somewhere . . . (probably right next to the microscope).

UPDATE: Narnia has been found. The microscope is still AWOL. 

Luther and the Two Aunties

Today in Evan's history book we read about Martin Luther. It was overall a very good treatment. To teach Luther's understanding of Law and Gospel the author contrasts two aunts. Aunt #1 is described as having a perfect, orderly home. When you visit that aunt's home, she first checks you all over to make sure you're clean enough to enter. Then she invites you in and offers you hot chocolate, but it is hard to enjoy her company because you are so worried about spilling the hot chocolate on her white velvet sofa. Aunt #2, on the other hand, also has a beautiful home, but she makes it clear that her love for you goes far beyond her interest in having a clean house. In spite of the fact that you are covered in mud and she is wearing a white apron, she hugs you big and hard. When you spill your hot chocolate on her table, she wipes it up. The passage concludes by asking, "Which aunt would you rather visit?"

Of course Evan answered, "Aunt #2." But before we moved on from the story of the two aunts, a little editorializing was in order. I asked him, since Aunt #2 is so loving and forgiving, whether it would be okay to go tramping around her house in muddy feet, being sloppy with the hot chocolate, and generally not caring about trying to keep her house clean. He said no, and we talked about how Aunt #2's generosity and forbearance would result in our wanting to behave well in her house due to our love for and sincere desire to please her. He agreed, then replied, "Yeah, but if I went to Aunt #1's house I would like to throw a big ball of mud at her!"

I think he gets it.

Yesterday Once More

A few years ago I received a friend request on Facebook. At first I didn't recognize the person but soon realized she was someone I had attended junior high school with. I also remembered that for a time in junior high she tormented me pretty heartlessly. We moved to the town in question when I was in sixth grade and left when I was in eighth grade, so I was not there for long. I did make some good friends during that time. But for some reason I was selected by others as an easy target, and quite a few of the girls made it their business to let me know I did not belong. It was rough.

When I got this woman's friend request I thought about just ignoring it. But then I thought, maybe she wants to make amends. Maybe she is sorry. So I accepted the friend request. Over the last couple of years we have had almost nothing to do with each other on Facebook. Instead I have watched as this poor woman has endured a pain I can't begin to imagine: the suicide of her adult son. Through that ordeal and its aftermath I have seen her cling to Christ as her only means of survival.

A few days ago I received a private message from this woman. She said she was going through her friend list and asked me how we knew each other. I wrote back and said we went to school together in junior high school but then I moved away. A little part of me wanted to say, "How can you not remember me? You made fun of me for several years!" But of course I didn't. I told her that I understood the desire to trim one's number of friends and I would completely understand if she wanted to trim me. She wrote back and said no, that wasn't her goal--she just wanted to place who I was and now she remembered friending me at the suggestion of another mutual friend.

I don't harbor anger for this woman. It was so long ago, and she was just a little girl (a scary, mean one, but a little girl nonetheless). I'm not really sure why I'm sharing this story. Perhaps it is simply an example of how long we tend to carry hurts around with us. I remember this woman calling me "Bleached Legs" like it was yesterday. It took me years, well into adulthood, to get to where I could wear shorts or skirts without stockings and not feel self-conscious about my white skin. But she doesn't even remember. It's stupid, isn't it, how we let those who have hurt us in the past continue to hurt us in the present when they have long ago forgotten and moved on?

Best Laid Plans

Nothing went as it was supposed to this weekend. As each carefully laid plan fell apart, I felt extremely frustrated. But in retrospect I see how, once again, God worked it out for the best.

I had intended to go to St. Louis on Friday. Phillip was there for synodical board business as well as for the installation of Rev. Matt Harrison to his second term as our synodical president. It was going to be great to see my husband and attend the festivities! But Thursday night I got a call from the skilled nursing facility where my mom is receiving rehabilitation for her hip. Because of low hemoglobin that had not improved with treatment, they had decided to send her to the hospital Friday for a blood transfusion. I reluctantly cancelled my trip so as to be close by for that procedure.

The nurse had told me Thursday night that I would be informed when my mom was scheduled for her transfusion. As of 11:00 a.m. Friday there was no call so I left to run a few errands. At about 12:00 my daughter called me on the cell phone: "Mom, we are having a showing at 1:00!" Of course, the house wasn't ready. I raced home and we spent a frantic half hour putting things in order, then left to grab lunch and go to the park.

While we were out I called the rehab center, only to discover that my mom had already returned from the hospital. (Um, what about that phone call I was supposed to receive?) Not only that, when she arrived at the hospital, the lab work showed that her hemoglobin had risen sufficiently that she no longer needed the transfusion. Really? I could have gone on my trip after all? I suppose at this point I could have high-tailed it for St. Louis. But I wasn't packed. Not only that, when we returned home after our picnic lunch it was obvious no one had come to see the house. I called our agent, who called the other party's agent, only to discover they were running about an hour late. We got back in the car and left again, heading to a different park this time. We didn't get home again until after 3:00. It would have been after 4:00 by the time I could have left. I was tired and didn't see the point of driving all that way for such a short visit.

But someone else did see the point. Shortly after arriving home the second time, we got a call from Phillip. "Guess where I am?" he teased. The right answer turned out to be heading north on I-55! He got home about 7:30, having skipped out on the Friday night and Saturday morning installation festivities so that he could drive an additional eight hours to spend one night at home. What a guy. We waved him away at noon Saturday so that he could get back to Oklahoma in time to play for church Sunday morning.

So what was supposed to happen this weekend? Mom was supposed to get a blood transfusion but didn't. That is good! I was supposed to go to St. Louis but didn't. That is good, too! It not only enabled me to be here for the showing, but it led to Phillip's deciding to come home, which meant that not only did I get to see him, but so did the children.

And hey, even the showing that ran late by an hour was a good thing. If not for that, we wouldn't have made a second trip to the park, which means we wouldn't have met some really cool ducks.

Ducks from Cheryl on Vimeo.

One Thing Leads to Another

Road trip!

Ever since it became clear that we are moving to Oklahoma, I have been trying to do things that will be geographically harder to do once we leave this area. At the top of that list is a visit to one of my best friends in the world. She lives with her family in eastern Iowa, only a few hours from here. The schedule finally cleared enough to allow us to plan a get-together. So next week Caitlin, Evan and are looking forward to spending some time with our friends on their farm, enjoying fun and fellowship.

Then, as I was talking to my husband, he pointed out that it would not be too far out of our way to swing by one of the colleges Caitlin is interested in looking at: Truman State University in Kirksville, Missouri. So we decided to add a night to our trip and schedule a campus tour. Then upon studying the map, I discovered that our drive home would take us right through Hannibal, Missouri! Why does that excite us? Have you ever read Huckleberry Finn? If you haven't, you should! Hannibal is the childhood home of author Mark Twain and the model for the town of St. Petersburg in that book and its precursor Tom Sawyer. The town boasts a Mark Twain museum, a Mark Twain cave with live storyteller, and a riverboat ride, among other attractions.

So, a move leads to a visit with a friend, which leads to a campus tour, which leads to a family field trip, which of course can only mean one thing: it's time to read as much of Tom Sawyer to Evan as I can before Thursday of next week! That's how we roll in the Philipp Nicolai Lutheran Academy!