I did not sleep much last night. This day was worse than I had imagined. I did not get the answer that I wanted. I got a different one. And I have a terrible, terrible choice before me.

There were, however, a few moments of grace.

My godmother took me, so there was much holding of A.
The surgeon is Lutheran...of what Synod or by birth or faith I know not...but she is Lutheran.
I got a call today from the animal shelter.

I thought that I have Smokey back, but now I am not sure. This bird, found outside, started singing the moment I walked into the room. He launched at me and has clung to me ever since. He is so thin, so very, very thin. He sang briefly, but has only buried himself in my hair since I came home from dinner with my godmother. [She ate. I tried to eat. She enjoyed the Indian food treat I was trying to give her. I threw up in the bathroom. Twice. When I checked tonight, I saw that I have crossed the 40 lb mark today.]

The woman who had him said that three others came by to see if he was their bird. He wanted nothing to do with them. She wondered if two of them were just looking for a free bird. The third was so disappointed that surly she had lost a bird. She said he obviously belonged to me. But is he Smokey?

She wanted me to take him. She spotted him outside on Sunday and spent an hour or so luring him to her hand. She said he has spent his time drinking water, eating, and sleeping ever since. She and her husband (more him, I think) didn't know how to care for a bird and were glad I came.

I keep trying to remember what Smokey looks like. A grey, male cockatiel is as far as I get. I knew every inch of Fancy; I still remember the smell of her. Smokey I have had just since Christmas. I do not even have a photo of him. The one I posted on the flyer turned out to be Madison.

I couldn't believe I got my back bible back. It seemed miraculous to me. This would have been a real miracle. But after the past few hours of savoring him, I think he is really more like Fancy than Smokey. I think I should call the shelter to see what to do....

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I asked two people to keep watch for me. One of them asked me about the date on the calendar last night. It was enough. In that moment, I felt as if an oft cried prayer had been answered. I do not know if the watch can/will continue, but my idea worked. Just hearing the question posed was enough to help me see outside a moment bound by biology.

However, the person asked me if I had therefore changed my mind about my decision to quit. Even in the clear light of day (minus spiking hormones), I still believe banging one's head against a brick wall is a futile thing to do. And I am on a committed path of shedding the futile, no matter how painful that might be.

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My godmother thought "benignity" was a bit over the top on Sunday's blog. "Is not diction important?," I asked. She rolled her eyes even as she agreed on that point. I admit it. I was flinging words about because I absolutely reveled in the chance to be Dr. D again for but a fleeting moment.

I found a personal victory in the fact that her son, who had declared loudly and boldly that he was not going to talk to me, ended up draped across my leg as we sat on the floor together reading a book. Now, I brought Frannie and Pickles because a) it is about a dog; b) the illustrations speak as loud, if not louder than, the text; c) there are many things to talk about in the book that will tell me about his concepts of geography and science and environment (neighborhood); and d) it is a silly story. Still, I did manage to draw him into my assessment and heard what I needed to hear so that I might ethically recommend passing him to the next grade.

My godmother told me that he informed first his father and then his brother that I had come to read with him and test him so that I could write the letter that would allow him to stay home and learn from his mother. When JW queried him about the time with me, he mentioned that the book was silly. I told her that she should read him my letter so he could see all I saw in him.

By the way, Frannie and Pickles is a great story!

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Then we are righteous when we confess that we are sinners, and that our own righteousness stands not in our own merit, but in God's mercy.
~Jerome

Philip Melanchthon quotes this in the Apology of the Augsburg Confession. It is one of Pastor D's favorite quotes. And is the topic of his latest post on his video blog. I admit that I have watched it more times than I can count now. After wending his way through the Truth behind this quote, he concludes that the path to holiness, the path to God, is not through our deeds, but through confession and the Cross.

I suppose you get, by now, that I like this micro-sermon because it talks about confession, something I am only just learning about. It also talks about the futility of pursuing sanctification through our own works. And it illuminates the wonder of Objective Grace. All three are key points of the doctrine I have been studying. All are key to understanding the magnitude of the cross. All are key to life.

Once again, the message shows that the work of the cross was not merely done 2,000 years ago. It is being done now, in this world, in my life.

Namely, that through faith, as St. Peter says, we have a new and clean heart (Acts 15:9-11), and God will and does account us entirely righteous and holy for the sake of Christ, our Mediator (I Timothy 2:5). Although sin in the flesh has not yet been completely removed or become dead (Romans 7:18), yet He will not punish or remember it. (SC, Part III, article XIII, 1)

Yet He will not punish or remember...oh, how this is still so very foreign to me. Not remember the wrong I have done? I have had my wrongs flung in my face my whole life. How can He not remember? What a glorious thought!

The entire individual, both his person and his works, is declared to be righteous and holy from pure grace and mercy, shed upon us and spread over us in Christ. (SC, Part III, article XIII, 2)

The entire individual...entire. That word is so big, so complete. I think that it is more often that we treat others as if entire is not quite accurate. We prefer mostly. That way, we can point out the flaws, the egregious foibles, because it is easier for us to stand in judgment of than live in forgiveness of each other. It also perpetuates the false belief that we need to work to make ourselves holy. Sort of like God takes us part way and we take ourselves the rest. Sounds foolish when put that way, eh?

While I cannot wrap my heart around it as much as I could wish, I prefer not remember and entire.