When I weighed Fancy this morning, she was 69 grams.

I had crept down the stairs, fearful of what I might find. That she was still alive gave me hope, until I weighed her. She was also not interested in eating anything I put near her.

Me, the consummate night owl, got up at seven o'clock just so I could have some time with her, if she were still alive, before I had to go to work. We sat on the couch together, her tucked beneath my chin as I whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

I was allowed to leave work early and finish my tasks at home. I claimed that I wanted to sit without clothing touching my back, which was true. I also wanted to keep Fancy company. Standing on the porch, I ended up vomiting before opening the door. When I finally gathered my courage to do so, I found that Fancy had flown down from the playpen and was standing right before me. After I put her back in place, she ate and drank. Not as much as I would like, but she did try. The rest of the night she has spent napping on my foot or tucked beneath my chin.

Right now, I am struggling to read the Philip Melanchthon's Apology to the emperor's reply to the Augsburg Confession. It is the most dense piece in the Book of Concord, in my humble opinion, and the one that makes me feel the dullest oaf, certainly not worthy of claiming my Ph.D. anymore.

This is my third evening of study, and I have barely begun the piece. I am reading and reading and reading again. I am also building a list of questions for Pastor should he venture to help with this section of the Book of Concord. The present Article before me is V, "Love and Fulfilling the Law," comprised of many sections that are as confusing as the one fore and the one aft to them. While I have some interesting pieces highlighted, it is the whole, the sum of the matter that eludes me. I cannot follow his point and feel stupid for this failing.

However, those highlighted pieces have been quite illuminating (pardon the pun). The one from this evening that has given me pause is the following:

"In order to retain the Gospel among people, He openly sets the confession of saints against the kingdom of the devil and, in our weakness, declares His power." (68)

Either last week or the one before, Pastor asked a question in bible study to which I actually knew the answer. Mine was long-winded, his re-phrasal was more apt. In the Old Testament, how did God train His people for battle? He trains them by showing them that it is He who is the one fighting.

One of my favorite images that proves this point is how God used Gideon to free the people of Israel. Oh, there were all these men, surely brave warriors ready to fight. God winnowed the thousands down to 300. Wouldn't you, being one of the chosen few, feel pride that you were going out to fight for your freedom, for the freedom of all whom you loved? I imagine they armored themselves as best as they could and swaggered off to war, confident in their own strength. But, oh, were they in for a surprise! What mighty strength did God need of man? Well, He needed them to sound trumpets and smash the jars of clay hiding their torches. Blow hard and thrust your arm up high. What might is that? The might of the Lord. What might has man? The faith He gives us.

He needs us not. Yet, He desires to be with us. The God who can pit our weakness against the entire kingdom of the devil and win wants us as His children. What a beautiful thought to give us pause!