Church was interesting today, if only for the mixture of joy and confusion it brought. Although, to be honest, I doubt Pastor D saw any joy in me when he talked with me afterward.

I was late again since getting up is so hard when all I want to do is sleep. Actually, what I really want is to be able to get up without standing first. The pain in my feet and legs when they first bear my weight oft brings expletives to my mind, if not to my lips. And then I get frustrated with myself. I managed to live the majority of my life without swearing and now am worse than a drunken sailor. Okay...not worse, but one would certainly be comfortable around me. I keep trying to take those first few steps with a better attitude, but I have not yet achieved this.

As I have mentioned before, I have taken to sleeping with the Bible. I know doing so cannot really affect my dreams, but I do anyway. It has also made it easier to read in the mornings and evenings. Since Pastor D gave it to me, I have also been sleeping with the Book of Concord tucked beneath a pillow (I almost wish I had two copies of that overly thick tome because lugging it up and down the stairs is hard work). Each evening and morning, I have been working my way through the two catechisms, with small breaks to delve into the other articles of faith. I have also been reading the prayers. Just recently, I added the Lutheran Hymnal/Service book, but reading through it has not gotten any easier. Then, of course, whatever fiction book I am reading is also there. In fact, between the eight pillows to keep me sitting up enough to breath more easily and hold my arms and legs slightly bent to help with the pain in them and all those books there is hardly enough room for me!

So, while my alarm was set in plenty of time for me to actually arrive before the service began, I still only made it just before the sermon. If I am ever going to wrap my challenged brain around the liturgy, I need to be there earlier!

So, why the confusion? Well, frankly, lately it seems as if every darned one of Pastor D's sermons is about me! Now, I know very well that that is hardly the case. Just Friday night I learned that he chooses even the hymns quite carefully to support and extend the Scripture of the sermon, not because any of them are or are not favorites of his. Each line, every word in the hymns have purpose. I am hard pressed to think of another pastor I know who does that. His further commented today about the liturgy--it is, after a fashion, a way of protecting a church from the vagaries of a pastor, keeping the service completely focuses on God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, not the interests or likes/dislikes or emotions of the man leading the service. [That was an interesting perspective to me.] I am also not so egotistical to believe that he would be hammering me from the pulpit. After all, he did not know I was going to be there Christmas day nor practically any of the Sundays I have attended since.

But, back to how I felt about the sermon...when I am listening each week, it has not been as if the man, J.D., is speaking, but as if God is, mostly chiding me, but speaking nonetheless. If I consider his analogy of being an undershepard, then would it, could it, naturally follow that I might feel as if it is not the man is standing before me but the Savior? Still, it is a bit eerie and uncomfortable and sobering and hopeful and wonderful.

I missed part of the sermon because the children around me were oft vocal today. During one spot I thought I was following what was being said and feeling as if that was why I was to be in God's house this day and then a rather long wail blotted the next crucial part. So, by the time I could hear again, I was a bit lost.

I tried to read the three Scripture readings, but I kept thinking back to the sermon and the things on my mind and never quieted enough to follow them. [ Isaiah 6:1-8; Acts 2:14a, 22-36; and John 3:1-17)] I would imagine I started the passage in Isaiah a dozen times if one.

Pastor D stopped by when he saw me still sitting in the pew, so I asked him if I could have the copy of his sermon. After checking to see if he needed any notes before posting it on-line and then half-apologizing because it had his mark-ups on it, he handed it to me. Then, as I started reading, he asked if I wanted to listen to it again. Thanks be for technology! I didn't have to wait until he posted it to hear what I missed! So, I ended up laying down on the pew (to spare my back...oh how I wish there were more comfortable benches and cushions there...would it be inappropriate to ask if I could leave a pillow or two on-site?) and reading and listening to the sermon.

When I finished and sat back up, I was startled to find him waiting on me. I didn't ask the questions I wanted to; my finally honed sense of guilt was raging since it is his son's birthday and the rest of his flock were in the basement eating. I did, however, ask if he would read the Scripture passages to me. He did.

Then, to be honest and fair, I must admit that I basically wasted more of his time by throwing in a few questions about the liturgy and none of what I really wanted to ask. Yes, I do want to understand the liturgy if only not to be so confused (alas, they are switching to a new divine service next week--they do all four throughout the year). Yes, I did find his answers rather helpful. But I buried what I wanted to say behind the surface.

The confusion, well, I am not sure I can put it into words. I have been studying the Bible since I was eleven. I have been in church (although not consistently over the past few years until lately) since I was first allowed at age 15. I had thought I was thoroughly grounded in what I believe. Yet I have found, so often of late, it is as if I am reading the Bible for the first time, hearing things that were hidden before. How could that be? What I am facing medically right now has brought to surface far too much of my past than I care to relive, address, or even acknowledge. Yet, even when I want to flee with my whole being, I find myself trying to confront it since Pastor D is willing to walk that path with me. I almost could say I hate myself for being unable to flee, to keep certain drawers locked tightly. After all, just dealing with the physical pain, weakness, cognitive dysfunction, etc. is enough for me. Absolutely enough! I haven't managed to find peace in the fellowship suffering Christ. I struggle with abject fear as I watch myself slowly fading away and feeling so incredibly alone in the process. I could have four more decades. I could be worse than my father in four years. It is unknown, unpredictable, and unstoppable. I have been such a poor witness in facing this, a poor reflection of the victory I have in Christ. I know the sentences of this paragraph do not necessarily follow, but they are pieces of the puzzle I guess you could say I am trying to put together...sorrow and joy and shame and hope all wrapped together.

The joy of the sermon? That I can share most confidently! Two bits you can ponder: 1) the marvelous Truth that it is God driving the conversation of our lives, not us and 2) the sobering, exhilarating Truth that we are "stunningly" loved:

...Before Nicodemus could even ask a question, Jesus takes the conversation over and takes Nicodemus where He wants him to go. Where Nicodemus needs to go.

For this is how God works. He drives the conversation with us - not the other way around. In the beginning, at creation, God drove the conversation - He spoke and it is so. It was God who drove the conversation with Adam and Eve after they sinned, and with all the Old Testament saints, like Abraham and Moses and Isaiah. When it came to our re-creation, our redemption, God drove the conversation - He sent His Son, the Word made flesh, into the world, to save a world lost in sin. And so should we be surprised that the same is true with us today - with you and your life, it is God who drives the conversation. For if you think of your life as an ongoing conversation with God, it has this rhythm. God speaks and we listen. God gives and we receive. We breathe in His Word, and then breathe out His Word in prayer and praise. And in this conversation of life, we are filled with questions - why things happen; why other things don’t happen. There is much we would like to know.

But like with Nicodemus, it is not we who drive our conversation with God - He is in control. He takes us where He wants us to go; where He knows we need to go. And so through the events in our lives, through all the ups and downs, through all the twists and turns, through all the Word we hear, our conversation is driven by God - that He may give us what we need: namely, Himself. Our triune God - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit - is driving the conversation so that we may believe, and believing have eternal life.

And so as much as we would like to drive the conversation, it is better that we don’t. For when we do, it is all about what we know, and what we want to know. But when God drives the conversation, it is about what we don’t know and don’t even know enough to ask! ...

~and~

And so with Nicodemus and with you, it is to the cross that Jesus is driving the conversation of your life, in all that is happening, that you may look to Him and live. That all that He is, He give to you. That you have what you need most, and know how stunningly much God loves you. That you join your voice with the saints of ages past and those still to come, and confess: Blessed be the Holy Trinity and the undivided Unity. Let us give glory to Him because He has shown His mercy to us.

While you could click on the sermons link to the upper left, I am choosing to include the whole of his sermon below in the hopes that you may you find joy as well!


Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.

How many of us wouldn’t like an opportunity like Nicodemus had. To sit down with Jesus, one on one, and talk. No distractions, no crowds, no beggars crying out for mercy, no people tugging at Him for healing. And Nicodemus was well-qualified for such a conversation - he was a teacher of Israel; perhaps today he would have a Ph.D. in theology.

But this night was more than he bargained for. Before Nicodemus could even ask a question, Jesus takes the conversation over and takes Nicodemus where He wants him to go. Where Nicodemus needs to go.

For this is how God works. He drives the conversation with us - not the other way around. In the beginning, at creation, God drove the conversation - He spoke and it is so. It was God who drove the conversation with Adam and Eve after they sinned, and with all the Old Testament saints, like Abraham and Moses and Isaiah. When it came to our re-creation, our redemption, God drove the conversation - He sent His Son, the Word made flesh, into the world, to save a world lost in sin. And so should we be surprised that the same is true with us today - with you and your life, it is God who drives the conversation. For if you think of your life as an ongoing conversation with God, it has this rhythm. God speaks and we listen. God gives and we receive. We breathe in His Word, and then breathe out His Word in prayer and praise. And in this conversation of life, we are filled with questions - why things happen; why other things don’t happen. There is much we would like to know.

But like with Nicodemus, it is not we who drive our conversation with God - He is in control. He takes us where He wants us to go; where He knows we need to go. And so through the events in our lives, through all the ups and downs, through all the twists and turns, through all the Word we hear, our conversation is driven by God - that He may give us what we need: namely, Himself. Our triune God - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit - is driving the conversation so that we may believe, and believing have eternal life.

And so as much as we would like to drive the conversation, it is better that we don’t. For when we do, it is all about what we know, and what we want to know. But when God drives the conversation, it is about what we don’t know and don’t even know enough to ask! That’s why Nicodemus doesn’t even understand what Jesus is telling Him. Born again? He’s thinking of husbands and wives and human birth and the things he knows. Earthly things. But Jesus is telling Him of heavenly things. And with these words, telling Nicodemus that sinful men don’t just need a little work, a little revision, a little improvement - we need a new birth. A whole new start. A death and resurrection. For, Jesus said, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.

Now, we usually think of heaven when we hear those words, but to see the kingdom of God means more than simply going to heaven - it is to see the kingdom of God for which we pray in the Lord’s Prayer. Not only His kingdom of glory, but also His kingdom of power, by which He is working and ruling all things in this world with His power for the good of His own, and His kingdom of grace, His Church, where our good and gracious God is working and ruling with His grace, giving His gifts of forgiveness, life, and salvation. Unless we who are blinded by sin are born again from above, we will be like Nicodemus - not even able to see the kingdom of God sitting right in front of us! [Point to the Font and the Altar] Sitting right in front of us.

So what is this new birth? This birth from above? Well, think of babies. We have several here. A baby is a new person who must learn everything - how to see, how to hear, how to walk and talk. They are rocked in a cradle, carried on the arm, cleaned when they mess themselves, and grow. And this is what we are. As we are born again from above, we are new people who must learn, grow, be carried on the arms and rocked in the cradle of the church . . . and yes, be cleaned, forgiven, when we mess ourselves. We are new people. Not the same old people. New people.

And this is not something we do - again, we don’t even know what we need. God is driving the conversation of your life. And so just as you were brought into this world physically by another, so it is spiritually as well. It is, Jesus said, by water and the Spirit. It is in Holy Baptism that you were born again from above and given a new life through the death and resurrection of Jesus. That through that water where your Saviour has attached His Word and promise, your old man is put to death with Jesus, and a new man brought to life in His resurrection.

Now, some people think that’s asking too much of baptism; of a little water splashed upon someone’s head. And it would be if it were just plain water. But where the Word and promise and Spirit of God is, anything but new life is too little!

But Nicodemus didn’t get it. His Ph.D. wasn’t doing him any good this night. And so Jesus gives Him a picture of what He means - the bronze snake in the wilderness. Remember your Sunday School lessons, Nicodemus? When Israel was mired in rebellion and sin, they could not get themselves out. They could not rescue or save themselves. They wanted to! Oh, did they want to! Those serpents biting them were painful and deadly. And that is our situation still today as well - people today are trying to overcome sin in all kinds of ways and create utopias in this world where we can live beyond the reach of sin. But all our attempts fail. Because while you may be able to separate yourself from all those sinners “out there”, you cannot escape the sinful poison coursing through your own veins. You cannot escape the truth that wherever you are, sin is. Israel dying in the wilderness is a picture of us. For the same satanic serpent that bit Adam and Eve, and that bit the people in the wilderness, is still working and biting us in our lives as well. Injecting the potent and powerful and deadly venom of sin into us.

But as powerful as sin is, there is an even more powerful antidote. That comes not from us, but from God. That comes not from within us, but from outside of us. That comes from God, who so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Saved by taking our condemnation and death away from us and putting it all upon Himself. That it be on Him and therefore not on us. Jesus did that for all people on the cross. He did it for you in Holy Baptism. And having our spiritual blindness healed as we are born again from above, we look to the cross - as Israel looked to the snake on the pole - and live.

And so your baptism is a great and powerful thing. And know that there are no stillborns with the God. The author and giver of life keeps His Word. He speaks and it is so. That some depart from this faith is also a reality - one that we wish was not so. But that does not lessen God’s love or power for us in Jesus. When we drive the conversation with God, we want to know why does this happen? How? But Jesus drives us in a different direction - to His cross. To see the power of sin that was borne by Jesus, but to see that power overcome and defeated. Not that we have all the answers, but so that we have the answer that we need. So that we have the life that we need. That whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.

But believe what? We confess it each week in the Nicene Creed. We will confess it today in the Athanasian Creed. That our triune God - Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, is driving the conversation of our lives, that we may hear, that we may see, that we may believe. That you believe in God’s Word made flesh on the cross, for you. That you believe God’s Word of forgiveness spoken to you. That you believe God’s Word in the water which gives you new life. That you believe God’s Word which makes mere bread and wine into His life-giving body and blood, for you to eat and to drink. That you believe His love, and that all this is for you. That your life is not about what you do, but what the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit have done for you.

For satan doesn’t care who you are. Whether you have a Ph.D. or never finished High School. Whether you are wealthy or poor. Whether you are young or old. He is an equal opportunity killer who doesn’t care who you are because no human can overcome him on their own. No good work, no strength of ours can stand against him.

But there is One who can, and who did! Who spoke against him in the Garden, who spoke against him in the wilderness, and who speaks against him now. Who speaks a powerful Word! Our Saviour, the Son sent from the Father who is working in us still through His Spirit, exorcising satan from us in baptism, breaking his power in forgiveness, and giving us a transfusion of His blood - that the old sinful, poisonous blood coursing through our veins be replaced with His life-giving blood.

For if satan is an equal opportunity killer, Jesus is an equal opportunity life-giver, who has come to give His life to all. That all - bar none! - that you may be born again from above. No longer hopeless, but hopeful. Not longer dead in your sin, but alive in Christ. No longer blind, but filled with the light of life. That born as children of God here, we may live as children of God forever.

Nicodemus got more than he bargained for that night with Jesus. Perhaps we could say it turned his life upside-down. But if you’re upside-down in sin to begin with, doesn’t that mean Jesus is really turning you right-side up? Then that’s a good thing. Not an easy thing! Faith is often a struggle, as so much of what we see and feel contradicts what faith believes. But while there are many things we do not know and cannot understand, the cross shines in the midst of it all, saying: But you do know this. Here is God for you. Here is God’s love for you. Love to the loveless shown that they might lovely be. (LSB #430 v.1)

And so with Nicodemus and with you, it is to the cross that Jesus is driving the conversation of your life, in all that is happening, that you may look to Him and live. That all that He is, He give to you. That you have what you need most, and know how stunningly much God loves you. That you join your voice with the saints of ages past and those still to come, and confess: Blessed be the Holy Trinity and the undivided Unity. Let us give glory to Him because He has shown His mercy to us.

In the Name of the Father, and of the (+) Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Now the peace of God which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds through faith in Christ Jesus, our Lord. Amen.

Today was most strange, most blessed.

One of our board members happens to be working on her certification of Master Gardener. A while ago, she noticed the photo of moss hanging on my wall and commented on it. After finding her actually interested in my waxing poetically about moss, I gave her one of my miniature moss gardens the next time she came in--much to the amusement of her fellow board members.

A week ago, she heard me talking about my Japanese dwarf holly bush that has black root rot. I learned that it needs to be dug out, including the surrounding soil, and then the remaining hole and the other two bushes treated with a fungicide drench to try to prevent them from falling ill--it is in the soil, not the plant and is basically incurable. I was also talking about the fact that I needed to cut back (dig up) the sedum border I have on one of my flowerbed. So, she offered to come dig up the bush if I gave her some of the sedum. I responded that I was not about to have a board member do hard labor on my behalf (I feared the very idea would horrify my boss), but I was happy to give her the sedum. I also offered a cutting of the giant, spotted begonia I have. She ignored my protest and told me she would be over on Saturday at 2:00.

Given that I did not arrive home until well after 5:00 AM, waking up at 2:00 PM was a bit difficult, especially since I felt so awkward about having her help me. Had I known what she would end up doing, I certainly would have called her and made the very understandable excuse of exhaustion. Yet, I somehow rolled out of bed, dressed, and hastily vacuumed before she arrived.

One way to describe her visit was that I had a landscaping consultant. Another was that I had a personal gardener. Still another...one more lesson on perspective.

At first glance, she was not convinced about the black root rot, but a close reading of my reference article convinced her that the half-dead, half-new growth bush needed to go. She pruned it back a bit and then started digging rather vigorously to break through the roots that were quite stubborn about leaving the diseased soil. Then she chopped everything up and put it in a clear plastic bags for my brush pick-up. That should have been enough. But no! She went ahead and dug up my dead azalea; weeded my entire front bed; pruned the Crepe Myrtle that was obstructing the front door in new growth; took me to Lowe's, picking up two bags of top soil, two bags of potting soil, one bag of sand, and a new pot; loaded them in the car; took me to the nursery to get some fungicide drench; unloaded everything; mixed the drench and applied it; filled the hole; re-potted a pom-pom juniper she found on the back deck and set it in the empty space; bagged up all the clippings; put away everything; and then helped me cut back the sedum border before heading home. She also gave me the great idea of putting something beside a holly in that space (I have to wait at least a year to be sure the soil is safe) so as to add height and make a bit more of a statement in the bed.

I was shaky just following her around and pitching in when I could. But I was also humbled by all her labor. She told me that the best thing I could to was to chat whilst she was laboring (she would take it kindly were I to remain conscious the whole time), so...well...I started talking about the Lutheran theology I am reading and this very strange pastor in my life.

My organization is not a faith organization, but it was started by the Methodist Church 35 years ago, so many of the board members are heavily involved with their churches. She, it turns out, is not religious AT ALL!

Still, I did not offend her. She had heard about the Jan Karon books (the Mitford series) and commented that Pastor D sounded like Father Tim. She also commented that she was born into a Lutheran family and that recently her sister had returned to the church. But mostly she just listened. She only had two real observations, qualified by the firm statement that she was not religious and did not have a stance on God, the bible, faith, or anything likewise. The first was that it seemed that Pastor D was only being who he is as a person and that I should accept help wherever I could get it since I was no longer in a position to get by without it. [Ouch!]

I wanted to tell her, that according to Luther, she was, in fact, doing the work of the very God she denies. God uses vocations to give us our daily bread; He uses dairy workers to give me milk and butter, the electric companies and electricians to keep me cool, the police to keep me safe, and so on and so forth. However, I held my tongue.

She also observed that it should not matter if I disagreed about some point of doctrine, that she was sure I would be welcomed in that man's church.

Not very long ago, I would have joined her in saying that doctrinal differences shouldn't matter if we are all worshiping Christ. But I am troubled by Pastor D's stance, the confessional Lutheran stance, that doctrine does matter. It matters because it is helping people understand Truth. Truth always matters. [I am sure he would correct me on that point, but that is the best I can articulate it.]

I have not had communion in a long time. Much of my current spiritual...well...not crisis, but perhaps turmoil...began on Christmas day. I had popped by Pastor D's church more so as a way to avoid having to spend more time with my step-mother than to actually be in church on Christmas Day. I do not come from a Christian family, so when I am home I forgo Christmas and Easter services to avoid the conflict they would create. Holidays were always nightmarish with arguments and ugliness, so I have not really enjoyed them. Last year with Bettina's family was remarkable for me in its peace.

I cannot even say exactly what in the sermon disturbed me. I do know I blurted out a very troubled question to Pastor when he stopped by the pew where I was still sitting to greet me. Instead of rushing out the door to be with his family, he sat down and tried to understand what I was asking so that he could give comfort...I suppose.

I did not immediately start asking for spiritual counseling or teaching then. Nor, in fact, did I later when he started sharing books and stuff with me. I have asked since. And I have started going to his church on a regular basis, even when getting out of bed on the weekends is such a sacrifice because I struggle through the work week only on the hope of being able to sleep away my battle on the weekends. And mornings just plain hurt. I hate pretending at work that I feel okay, especially when I arrive. I pretend, I mask, all day. I cover the cognitive dysfunction. I cover the vision problems. I cover the fatigue. I cover the weakness. I cover the pain. I pay dearly for this practice, but I do it. So, as much as I long to be part of a church body again, I would rather rest all day Sunday in the hopes of being ready to work another week.

Back to communion...sort of...I have been going to his church because of the Truth I hear at the two bible studies I attend, the Wednesday nooner on Psalms and the sometimes, every-other-Wednesday-night one currently on the Epistles. However, as a confessional Lutheran church, they practice closed communion. They believe communion is a very powerful act and want to ensure that those who take it completely understand it--that to do otherwise is harmful and irresponsible care of those who come forward. [I think I got that point right.]

Now, I could pop over to the Presbyterian church that I have attended most in recent years and have communion. Just pick a first Sunday of the month and mission accomplished. However, I do not want to do that. I want to take communion with those whom I know believe as I do, who understand the Body and the Blood, who are not there just because it is the first Sunday of the month, who don't just take the bread and wine because everyone else is. Yet, I have miles to go before I can pass muster in demonstrating I understand the theology they agree to be accurate teaching of God's Truth.

I know the board member would not have understand the closed communion thing, other than to lump it in with the differences Lutherans have between themselves...or...as she put it...all that in-fighting in the Missouri Synod. If I mentioned it, I am sure she would have encouraged me to go to another church, any church, if that is what I wanted. Such encouragement would have been welcome, yet would not have really rung true for me.

I do not want vague belief. I do not want sermons taught more around Father's Day or the latest fad book or some semblance of pop psychology, many of which based more on what I can do for God rather that what God does for us...His power, His majesty, His glory, His mercy, not mine! [There are certainly no holiday-themed topics in Pastor D's sermon book!] I want to read Scripture and have it read. Not just a few verses, but the whole passages from the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the Gospel that I would hear every week at St. Athanasius. I want to speak the Creed, join in the chorus of voices who are proclaiming the glory and majesty and grace of God, and pray the Lord's Prayer together. I want to learn about the gifts of Faith, the objectivity of Grace, the salvation of Baptism (especially the bit on present tense...the power that comes in being able to say I am baptized, not I was baptized. One moment in time that actually carries forward each and every day, washed anew in Christ.). And as much as I long, nay ache for, the Lord's Supper, I want to wait.

So, it was something of a shock to me, when I found myself disagreeing, rather gently and with little further comment, that yes, indeed, doctrinal differences do matter. Not that I believe that Lutheranism is the only way to worship our Lord and Savior. Not that I believe Baptists or Methodists or Episcopalians or Catholics or Presbyterians do not have the gifts of faith. Not that I do not believe all are a part of the body of Christ (or rather those within the churches who do have the gift of salvation since all churches have at least attendees who are unbelievers). But aligning my public voice with that which I believe teaches God's Truth accurately does matter to me. I do not half understand it myself, but it does matter.

At the end of the day, I was most thankful for not fainting (today was an extremely fragile day physically), for all this wonderful labor in my yard, for the company, for kindness heaped upon me, and for the wonder of that shocking moment.

It not 11:59, but I wanted to post with this date...

A couple of days ago, Pastor D wrote the following about pastoral care on his blog:

One of the things I love about my church is that they just want me to be a pastor. They want me to preach and teach the Word, administer the sacraments, study, pray, and take care of people. They don't want an administrator, a business man, or a CEO - they want a shepherd. They want me to bring the Word of God to them, the community, and the world in all the ways that I am able. What a wonderful thing.

I was thinking about this because I was talking to a friend recently to whom the notion of "pastoral care" was a strange new reality. This friend of mine has had many good preachers, theologians, and inspiring leaders in the churches he has attended, but never received the kind of pastoral care that I have been taught and which seems to be what I am here to do. How sad that there are so many people who need care, but are not being cared for in this way. And while yes, I know that all the people of God give care (and I am always trying to get my folks to be more active in this way), the pastor is unique. He stands in the Office as Christ's called and ordained representative in that place, the undershepherd of the Good Shepherd. Others may supplement his care, but cannot be a substitute for it.

And that's what my folks want me to be, and to do. As a result, I have missed a lot of my church's "Executive Board" (aka Church Council) meetings lately. This is the group of men and women that have been elected by the congregation to take care of the business aspects of the church. They meet after church once a month, but I am usually talking with visitors and members when they meet. And while I feel bad for not being with them, they understand, and want me to be doing this important pastoral work. And I know they can run the business parts of the church without me - and do it better than me! We trust each other.

How blessed I am to have such a church!


It does not take much imagination to guess that I am the "he." I was glad that he wrote this, because I thought his imagery of being an undershepherd was a perfect metaphor for pastoral care. But I also thought that he fell a bit short in painting the picture of what is this thing of pastoral care. Hopefully he will take my blatant hint and write again so that I could make it more clear here!

Tonight, I was actually able to help him for a change: he needed a short-term baby-sitter because his wife was working an overnight shift and he needed to fetch his son coming back from a field trip. Sounds easy, right? In addition, he suggested we work on a brochure I designed for the church a while ago. We did work. I did babysit. But...well...the evening was once again more about me than anything else.

I received some very disturbing news just before I was to leave. News that is still so difficult to swallow that I am trying not to choke. So, I went over in tears and drove home in tears...hating myself for not being able to compartmentalize my heart so as to set the news aside long enough to serve someone who has given so much.

God's timing being perfect, one of his flock went into labor and he was needed to fetch their children over to another flock's house so mom and dad could concentrate on welcoming the new wee one. Instead of scrambling for someone to stay with his children, there I was already coming over. In fact, I had left early, planning on just hanging out in the parking lot because I didn't want to stew at home.

Timing.

Does His perfection also extend to the time Pastor D gave me after he finally returned home? It is with great chagrin that I admit I did not leave until after 3:00 AM. We went over the edits I had made to his brochure and then started talking.

Or rather, I started talking and he listened. Listening is definitely one of his strengths. And I would go further to say that I believe his particular kind of listening is a facet of pastoral care, a key role in that act.

I proffer this because not only does he listen, but he listens without judgment, without much comment, with a silence that is almost profound in attentiveness.

He is quick to say that he does not have any answers, but I told him a while ago that he actually does have answers, even if that answer is Scripture. [What I did not say is that it is those answers I crave.] Tonight, he share one particular passage that has given me pause.

I had read to him one of my favorite passages, Isaiah 41:9-10:

You whom I have taken
from the ends of the earth,
And called from its remotest parts,
And said to you, "You are My servant,
I have chosen you and not rejected you.
Do not fear, for I am with you;
Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you, sure I will help you.
Surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand."

When I had finished, Pastor told me to turn the page and start reading in chapter 43:

But now, thus says the Lord,
your Creator, O Jacob,
And He who formed you, Oh Israel,
"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by my name; you are Mine!
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
And through the rivers, they will not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be scorched,
Nor will the flame burn you.

Remember my bumbling explanation of how God can only take delight in us because He sees us through Christ? And if He does take delight, then He truly views us as washed clean by Christ's blood. Psalm 18:19, then, becomes sort of an independent confirmation of what you hear about the cross. It naturally follows. I should know this, trust this. But I guess it is as if, lately, I have been reading the whole book instead of the cover, seeing the whole building rather than just the facade facing the street.

I cling to Isaiah 41 because He has chosen me and not rejected me. It is the same and yet so very much more to read further that He redeemed me and calls me His. Mine is such a strong word, an absolute word, a possessive word.

There have been many times that I have felt as if 2 Corinthians 4:7-9 somehow was for others, not me:

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that this surpassing greatness of the power may be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.

I admit, I have definitely felt afflicted and perplexed and struck down at times. Who gets rear-ended after just leaving the hospital for a procedure that was excruciatingly difficult at the exact moment she is asking a pastor about a passage in scripture that has been troubling her studies and left her longing for understanding? Yet, I have also felt crushed, broken, left crouched over the pieces of my self, unable to gather them all in my hands. What does that say about my faith? In fact, frankly, this evening I felt sucker punched with the news. But by whom?

Isaiah 43, therefore, is another passage that I feel was that independent confirmation, maybe you could say the other side of a coin. Certainly walking in fire and yet not being scorched is similar to being afflicted but not crushed. So, this promise of God was not just made one time, but is actually a part of the whole of the life we can have in Him. The life He planned from the very beginning. Definitely something for me to dwell upon.

I sort of joked with Pastor that that passage was not one of the "Jesus" verses in the old Testament that I had learned. You know the ones...Psalm 22, Isaiah 53.... Pastor D very quietly responded that Lutherans see Christ throughout the whole Old Testament.

It is not that my feelings changed, but knowing Truth does yield power against the darkness of this world we face. I am grateful for that answer of Scripture.

Pastor also made a rather interesting observation about Paul. I asked him how a man who wrote about a thorn in his side that he battled throughout his life, who wrote about the fact that the things he wanted to do he did not do and that which he did not want to do he found himself doing, could also write that he was content in all circumstances.

His answer was to consider that perhaps Paul was reflecting back upon his life, that in considering the sum of what he had lived and learned and received in Christ that he was content with how his life had been...thorn and all....

Before I left, he told my about The Litany in the Lutheran Hymnal. It is a prayer, two voices, that covers, well, everything. He asked me if I would like to read it with him. He being the pastor, me the congregation. I am still not sure how I felt about that or how I feel now except to say that there were bits it was hard for me to read, to continue, because I wanted to reflect on the words Pastor D has just read on the Truth I was hearing. For all I struggle with trying to keep up with the liturgy during the services (Pastor D keeps promising me he will have a tutor sit beside me but my tardiness has left me struggling along myself with my cheese-hole ridden brain struggling to get here, flip there, read this, sing that), I found the exchange of The Litany powerfully comforting.

I am not sure if it was the late (early) hour or my distressed state, but when I left, I wandered about Virginia for nearly two hours before I made it home. You would think that with Maggie (my Magellan Roadmate GPS) that would not have been the case. But my cognitive dysfunction sometimes clouds my ability to follow her directions. I ended up going south on 95 and then trying to exit and circle back, but that was the beginning of a frustrating.

I wonder if I had called Pastor D if he would have helped me figure out what I needed to do to get turned around and saved me a couple of hours of fear and tears and frustration. I wonder if such a call after keeping him up so late would have been the final straw I fear is coming to bring this whole strange time of pastoral care to an end for a particular non-flock, non-Lutheran.

I pulled over on some dark, very deserted road and tried to stop crying enough to pray. I thought about trying to just sleep there, but did not feel safe and was probably too angry at my stupidity in navigation to even achieve a restful state. I thought about calling the police for help. You know, some variant of "I've fallen and I can't get up." Say, "I've missed my exit and I can't get home." But I pictured such a call, with me in tears and trembling as violently as I was, more likely ending up with my being carted off to the loony bin instead of escorted home to my birdies and Kashi and the comfort of my own bed.

Psalm 46:10a is another favorite of mine: "Cease striving and know that I am God." Another version (I don't know which one) reads "Be still and know that I am God."

There I sat, stubbornly telling God that I had ceased, that I was still, and He needed to be God at that moment. After a while, I thought of how Bettina chides me when I get angry with myself over being stupid because she says it is the disease, not me. I tried really hard to stop crying, take deep breaths, and think. Cease striving. Deciding that my belief that the bible is literal might actually have relevancy in this ridiculous situation, I turned the car off. I turned Maggie off. Then, I started both up again, punching in my request of Maggie to take me home. Instead of endlessly telling me "When possible make a legal U-turn" and my turning wrong and hating myself for being so confused and wanting so desperately for someone to help me and for this day to finally be over, she came up with a new set of directions to go home from that lonely bit of road. I knew then that I could get home!

Finally on the correct path, I wondered if all that driving around was seemingly my 101st lesson on perspective of late. Just a couple of hours earlier, I had told Pastor D that I felt as if I were on a roller coaster and wanted to get off. Some of the things we have talked about overwhelm me in hurt and others do so in joy. I refuse to write of the response on his face because I certainly didn't want any agreement from him. I wanted assurance that I was not as bad off as I felt! Assent of my observation would mean, to me at least, that I actually am crazy!

Am I? Crazy? Perhaps. Or...perhaps...I have been given the opportunity to bring to the Light that which has been hidden so that He might have victory...and in the process...learn more clearly, more deeply, of that which I have believed since I first learned of Christ's death on the cross.

J is truly talented at sending surprising and touching gifts. For my birthday, she send a green bandanna, which just happens to be the PERFECT shade of green, and a NASCAR photo book with Dale Earnhardt, Jr. on the cover. I have had plenty of teasing about watching cars go around in circles, so that photo book cracked me up!

I essentially gave myself a birthday party at the noon bible study without telling them that it was my birthday. We had pinwheel sandwiches, strawberries and grapes, basil-fresh-mozzarella-cheese-lemon-garlic-sea-salt salad, and Pastor D's wife's Amazing Mint Chocolate Brownies (the recipe I posted yesterday). The best part is that she baked a tray for lunch and baked a second one for me to take home.

When I told my boss about the second tray, she thought I should bring them back to the office to share with everyone. Perish the thought! Pastor D came to the rescue by packing the extra tray in a cooler with ice packs so they would stay fresh in my car beneath the hot summer sun until I could take them home. Now that is an act of pastoral care I thoroughly welcomed! Thanks to his wife's labor of love, I have five containers of brownies residing in my freezer. If I am disciplined enough, they should at least last through the end of my birthday month!

Bible study was great; we plowed through a few more verses of Psalm 18. One of the points that struck me is just how it is that God can delight in us. That He does take delight is marvelous and ought to be savored in thought. But what came to mind is how He can take delight in sinful creatures. God sees us through Christ's death on the cross; He sees us washed clean of our sin. If He didn't see us that way, He could not take delight. So, the verse is essentially confirming that we are clean in His eyes despite our nature.

Studying the bible with Pastor D and the kindest folk I have ever come across was a most spectacular way to spent part of my birthday. They didn't even mind the bit where Pastor D asked us what our thoughts were on the next verse and I accidentally blurted out how wonderful the brownies were. I had just taken my first bite and was overwhelmed by pleasure. They understood because they had eaten them, too. [I ate more pinwheel sandwiches than anyone else so I was late in getting to dessert.] But even if they had not, they would have just taken the moment to share in my joy, silly as it was, before turning back to our study. Seriously, I am learning almost as much from them as I am from our study!

Before joining me at the office to go to bible study, K stopped by and left a note on my refrigerator with instructions to look inside the freezer. Her gift to me? Five of her sumptuous chicken cordon bleu. She makes them by hand, wraps them in foil, puts instructions on how to cook them on masking tape (so I don't have to keep calling her) and freezes them for me. Such love!

Throughout the day, I collected 11 birthday songs. And then last night Cousin D called and walked me through his experiences around all those wonderful photographs he took in Vietnam. That was a very special kind of gift.

All in all, yesterday was a very good day!

Laurie’s Amazing Mint Chocolate Brownies

Base:

Start with your favorite brownie mix. Make according to directions on box and let cool.


Filling:

½ cup butter or margarine, softened
2 cups powdered sugar
1 tablespoon water
½ teaspoon mint extract
3 drops green food coloring

Mix all filling ingredients and spread over brownies.


Topping:

Melt a 10-12 ounce bag of chocolate chips with ½ cup butter or margarine and spread over filling. Store in refrigerator.



WARNING: Final brownie may spark conflict among family members or friends.

If ever there was a moment of Grace on this earth since our Lord and Savior died on the cross, it came this day.

Pastor arrived just after 11:00 for my much dreaded trip to the day-surgery unit at the hospital for a procedure. I could almost have shot him for being so cheerful, so positive about my ability to walk through those doors. I restrained myself.

While in admitting, I started coughing and used my inhaler. Before long, I was in need of the nebulizer. That meant I could not be sedated. More waiting, more worrying, more battling my fears. Pastor started me off with prayer and was shuttled off to the waiting room (where he prayed more), far sooner than I wanted. Being alone in that place was nearly impossible for a while there.

However, I would be churlish if I didn't admit that the women whom were given my care did everything, absolutely everything, they possibly could to ensure that I felt safe and comfortable. Long before I achieved that state, they were there, working to break through my fear. They genuinely wanted to help and never once treated me as if there was something wrong with me for being afraid. The reason did not matter. They only desired for me to have a positive experience.

I awoke with chest pain, so my departure was delayed. Then, just as we left the hospital, another delay happened. There we were, waiting on a light, talking about the choice Joshua offer the people of Israel, when BAM! The car behind us slammed into my car. We were the first car in a three-car pile up. My first response was to cry out to Pastor, "Why can't my life be easier? Just once, why can't it be easier!" His response? Well, to hop out and ensure everyone was okay and then to shepherd us all through the tedious process of taking a report and exchanging information.

The accident happened right in front of a police officer who was writing a speeding ticket, so more police, firemen, and an abulance was on the scene seemingly immediately. In my county, apparently, there is a regulation that vehicles in an accident had to be turned off until it was determined that nothing was leaking. While that is well and good, I immediately panicked about not having air-conditioning. The firemen wanted me out of the car, but I could barely stand having gone 5 days without my arthritis medicine in preparation for my procedure and the anesthesia and the lack of food and the stress. The poor service men thought I needed treatment, but both Pastor and I explained that I had just left the hospital!

Pastor had slated his afternoon to care for a member of his flock. He missed that. He had planned on having dinner with his children. He missed that. I would surmise that it was 7:30 PM before he arrived back home, after taking me to Target for my June prescriptions and just one very last doctrine question on my stoop.

I don't belong to his church. I am not a Lutheran. Who I am to receive such care from him? His answer would simply be that I am a child of God who is in need. That is all that matters to him. Spend hours listening to, teaching, and comforting a woman with many questions and big fears. Spend afternoons loading a smelly lawnmower in a car, driving across town, and tending to someone's yard. Spend a day stuck in a hospital waiting room. Spend the evening sweating on the side of the road. All that is a privilege to him!

Pastoral care, kind and thoughtful personnel, anesthesia drugs that keep you from remembering--all Grace in my life today!

B called to play Scrabble today! It has been eons since our last game. In my excitement, my very competitive self actually cannot remember who won and who lost (hopefully I did). What I do remember is that B endured the most tedious of play with me since Verizon has struggled to deliver high-speed Internet to my home for a couple of weeks (my http://www.hulu.com/ watching has been seriously curtailed). B persevered even though I was kicked off for a broken connection a gajillion times and it took repeated attempts to connect back to the Scrabble server each time I tried to do so. What kindness she showed!

My ex-writing student K sacrificed 10 hours of labor today at work. It is very strange to see her all grown up and yet working with her was such an incredible pleasure.

I had, as usual, an impossibly long set of tasks that needed to be finished. Given that I have not been sleeping of late, I was a bit frenetic in mind as I tried to tackle my list.

K was there ostensibly to help with a gargantuan newsletter mailing, but, as usual, she blew through that task with hours left in the work day. What is extraordinary about K is her heart. She is kindness personified in such a young person. K spend several very long hours running back and forth between my boss, fetching things, showing edits, typing instructions, and basically laying down her life for me so that I might be free to leave knowing I had done what needed taken care of before being off on Monday for an out-patient procedure.

Her mind is fine. I have believed, since I met her at 12, that K can do whatever she wants to do, whatever her passion is, whatever she believes she can do. While I do wonder if she will ever glimpse the potential within her that I see, if she will ever dare to dream big, I do know that she will continue to changes lives by her very presence. She can do anything, yet she chose to fetch and carry on my behalf!

God blessed me mightily this day, by having someone to lean upon during a trying day at work.

But...that was not all...even though we arrived home well after 8:00PM, we had planned to do an evening of writing. After preparing a meal for her, we settled down to work once more.

K polished off two networking emails, while I composed exactly four sentences on my novel. Four. My productivity was rather dismal. However, we did spend over an hour discussing the first part of that treatise on baptism.

Such joy it was for me to be able to talk about faith with her. How interesting to have a Lutheran talk about all this Lutheran stuff! For as much as I tease Pastor about trying to convert me (his ready retort is always that he is merely drawing out my inner Lutheran), his perspective is always the shepherd first and fellow Christian second. I love that he is so very willing to teach me and in teaching me share his own struggles. But I never forget, even for a moment, that he is a pastor. His is a dual journey. Faith for K, albeit a shorter journey, is more like mine. So, I found her perspective, having grown up a Lutheran, rather intriguing and a bit illuminating if only for her certitude in doctrine that troubles me for the contrast with that which I have been taught over the past 27 years, longer, in fact, than K has been alive.

Grace is objective.
Scripture is Living.
Faith is a gift.

Truth that is not new, yet somehow actually is....

Have you ever been blessed with pastoral care? I am not sure how to even put into words what that actually means other this incredible combination of teaching the Word and caring for you as a person, meeting your needs. That really pales in comparison to what I have come to understand about the approach to pastoral care confessional Lutherans take, but today was another day where I felt as if the God was humbling me in His love for me.

Pastor D took me to my second appointment to see a specialist about a problem I am having. To say that I was nervous, would be a profound understatement. In fact, once the doctor came out to greet me and gestured to me to follow her back, I actually asked him to walk with me to the door and then pray. He did. I entered.

The first thing I saw when I raised my eyes? A simple plaque with "All things are possible if you only believe." I was not sure, at first, if it meant to be a paraphrase of Luke 1:37, "For with God all things are possible." But that didn't really matter. I got the message.

Not only was I bolstered by the Living Word, but I was also able to share my faith and even some of the Lutheran theology I have been studying with the doctor. At one point, two tears slipped down her cheek. Certainly the Spirit moved this morning.

But what truly humbled me was the fact that Pastor D did not take the rare free time while waiting to delve into the book he had brought, but instead spend the entire hour praying for me. I had asked him at the door to pray, but meant at that moment. I did not dream he would lift me up the entire time.

Our next appointment is on Monday. Another difficult session for me. Another labor of pastoral care for him.

While I long to write of what I have been studying [the Book of Concord, A Straw in God's Hands (thesis), The Spirituality of the Cross, and three versions of the bible (NASB, ESV, and KJV)], I am so feeble in words that I dare not in case I would destroy the message. However, I do have just one thought for you: Have you ever really meditated on what it means for Scripture to be the Living Word?

Here is but a small passage from the third text I mentioned:

And that Word, whether oral or written, enfleshed in Jesus or preached from a modern-day pulpit, is powerful, incisive, and convicting: "For the Word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edge sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart." Hebrews 4:12

Later

Lutherans and other Christians agree, then, that the Bible is authoritative. It is the source and test, the touchstone of all theology.... Lutherans, however, see something else happening when we read or hear the Bible. It is a means of grace. The words of the Bible do not merely convey information, they convey the Holy Spirit. "The Word of God is living and active." As we read those words on the page, God is literally and objectively present and working, inscribing in our hearts the gift of faith.

What an incredible perspective and sobering, joyful Truth!

How is my holiday weekend going? Well, let's see...

Yesterday, I was sleeping on the couch with all three birds on my head, actually on my temple since I was on my side. The phone rang, startling them. And, well, I have been avoiding spending money between tax bill no. 1 at $1,875 due to an accounting staff member's data entry error at work that came due last month and now a reassessment from the IRS triggering tax bill no. 2 at $2,400 due in three weeks. Consequently, I have not taken the birds to have their nails trimmed even though they very much need it. So, the birds cut the heck out of my face trying to find purchase so that they could take off. I jumped up off the couch with blood streaming down my cheek and into my eye to grab a towel or something. But I was still feeling weak from being outside re-setting half of the bricks along the front sidewalk (a project I've been wanting done for months) and fell.

Bonk! I smacked my head against the Book of Concord Pastor D gave me to study. That rather HARD (pun intended) tome gave me a goose egg on the corner of my eye and left the rest of that side of my face, the one that is cut up, rather puffy.

While I would have rather just laid there, I had to jump back up as soon as the stars cleared from my vision because Kashi thought it was a good time for bird hunting...

Let me tell you, sleeping with an ice-pack on your face is not conducive to rest.

Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday Dear Kashi!
Happy Birthday to you!

My beloved Buttercup is now 14 years old!

I have enjoyed his company immensely over those years, even when he was single-pawedly redefining the word "stubborn"! Not a day has gone by that he has not greeted me most enthusiastically. While getting out of been in the morning has grown more difficult for him...well, it has for me, too. And after all this time, I still find the sight of him curled up for a nap nothing short of adorable and worthy of grabbing the nearest camera!

Dad and I had another movie fest. We covered ground on six movies: Bourne Ultimatum, The Sixth Day, The Thin Red Line, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Jerry McGuire, and 12 Angry Men.

In between Damon and Schwarzenegger, Dad and I also explored Domino's new pasta bowls. We would both highly recommend them, but would suggest you share one with a family member or friend. They are a gargantuan meal for just one.

I worked around his agitation at The Ranch House's closure by preparing breakfast for him this morning. His pancakes were brown, not golden, and still I could not cook them long enough. Who likes crispy pancakes? Still, my father found my 100% pure Vermont maple syrup a better option than what he has at home. He made me write down what we ate both last night and this morning as a reminder to him. I savored the compliment.

At one point during his stay, I caught my father reading the notes I have stuck on my door, his finger tracing the brief lines. I wanted to ask him what he thought, but was too afraid of his answer. Would he understand? Would he grow upset Would he ask me why I needed them? Would he remember?

One the way home, I had asked that my step-mother meet me half-way. She agreed, but said she needed 10-15 minutes. 45 minutes later, my father was so agitated that I ended up driving him the whole way home myself. The slightest deviation from what he understands will be happening troubles him, disturbs his equilibrium.

Watching him, I am filled with sorrow that such a keen mind is such. We have never had a great relationship. Alcohol and abuse made for a difficult childhood and the silence of his generation made reconciliation equally so. Yet I would not wish his mental decline on anyone.

I wonder what he thinks, how he feels.

I have tried to offer a place of safety for him, a time when who he is and how he is will be accepted completely and without censure, admonishment, or criticism. He cannot help what is happening. He cannot help that he asks a question four, five times, one after another. He cannot help that he does not remember what I do or where I work. He cannot help that his emotions are ever close to the surface, spilling out over the seemingly innocuous.

I ache for him.

His mother. My father. Could I be doubly cursed when it comes to cognitive dysfunction? Should I be more fearful of MS or dementia/Alzheimer's?

So, to I took a wild chance and boiled some eggs this evening. I know, it was risky. After all, I have been ruining them for years and had only one successful attempt of late. Still, I through caution to the wind and plopped eight of them into some hot water.

Voila! I was successful! And, since the eggs were fresh and had not been resting in the refrigerator for longer than I normally care to admit, they were round on the bottom, not flat.

Giddy with my success, I promptly whipped up the innards of four of them, licking my chomps all the while in anticipation of tasty deviled eggs.

Acting a bit of the glutton, I shoved an entire egg in my mouth...and promptly spat it back out on the plate. Somehow, I managed to sprinkle them rather liberally with cayenne pepper instead of paprika. While they may both come from a plant that is labeled a pepper, there is a world between them when it comes to heat.

Bettina's husband G would probably scarf up my deviled eggs. Me? Well, I want not to waste them, so I am committed to their consumption. An entire glass of Gatorade was required to down two of them. I fear they shall be a long time in the refrigerator after all...

An eleven hour day today. ARGH!

However, barring some great problem, I shall be taking all five comp days next week. That means I have 10 days to sleep in, read books, write, study the bible, plant impatiens in the pots on my deck (hopefully), watch movies, and play with Kashi, Fancy, Smokey, and Madeleine!

I bowed under pressure today to not go to bible study at lunch for someone who wanted to work together during that time. The person did not show up. The rest of the day, I struggled with anger--probably NOT the response a bible study should elicit, eh? I knew that were I gone for an hour, it would not affect the outcome of my work for the day. Still, I caved and was consequently completely disappointed in myself.

We were to begin Psalm 18 since it will take a few meetings to work through this one...

For the choir director. A Psalm of David the servant of the LORD, who spoke to the LORD the words of this song in the day that the LORD delivered him from the hand of all his enemies and from the hand of Saul. And he said,

"I love You, O LORD, my strength."
The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge;
My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
I call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised,
And I am saved from my enemies.
The cords of death encompassed me,
And the torrents of ungodliness terrified me.
The cords of Sheol surrounded me;
The snares of death confronted me.
In my distress I called upon the LORD,
And cried to my God for help;
He heard my voice out of His temple,
And my cry for help before Him came into His ears.
Then the earth shook and quaked;
And the foundations of the mountains were trembling
And were shaken, because He was angry.
Smoke went up out of His nostrils,
And fire from His mouth devoured;
Coals were kindled by it.
He bowed the heavens also, and came down
With thick darkness under His feet.
He rode upon a cherub and flew;
And He sped upon the wings of the wind.
He made darkness His hiding place, His canopy around Him,
Darkness of waters, thick clouds of the skies.
From the brightness before Him passed His thick clouds,
Hailstones and coals of fire.
The LORD also thundered in the heavens,
And the Most High uttered His voice,
Hailstones and coals of fire.
He sent out His arrows, and scattered them,
And lightning flashes in abundance, and routed them.
Then the channels of water appeared,
And the foundations of the world were laid bare
At Your rebuke, O LORD,
At the blast of the breath of Your nostrils.
He sent from on high, He took me;
He drew me out of many waters.
He delivered me from my strong enemy,
And from those who hated me, for they were too mighty for me.
They confronted me in the day of my calamity,
But the LORD was my stay.
He brought me forth also into a broad place;
He rescued me, because He delighted in me.
The LORD has rewarded me according to my righteousness;
According to the cleanness of my hands He has recompensed me.
For I have kept the ways of the LORD,
And have not wickedly departed from my God.
For all His ordinances were before me,
And I did not put away His statutes from me.
I was also blameless with Him,
And I kept myself from my iniquity.
Therefore the LORD has recompensed me according to my righteousness,
According to the cleanness of my hands in His eyes.
With the kind You show Yourself kind;
With the blameless You show Yourself blameless;
With the pure You show Yourself pure,
And with the crooked You show Yourself astute.
For You save an afflicted people,
But haughty eyes You abase.
For You light my lamp;
The LORD my God illumines my darkness.
For by You I can run upon a troop;
And by my God I can leap over a wall.
As for God, His way is blameless;
The word of the LORD is tried;
He is a shield to all who take refuge in Him.
For who is God, but the LORD?
And who is a rock, except our God,
The God who girds me with strength
And makes my way blameless?
He makes my feet like hinds' feet,
And sets me upon my high places.
He trains my hands for battle,
So that my arms can bend a bow of bronze.
You have also given me the shield of Your salvation,
And Your right hand upholds me;
And Your gentleness makes me great.
You enlarge my steps under me,
And my feet have not slipped.
I pursued my enemies and overtook them,
And I did not turn back until they were consumed.
I shattered them, so that they were not able to rise;
They fell under my feet.
For You have girded me with strength for battle;
You have subdued under me those who rose up against me.
You have also made my enemies turn their backs to me,
And I destroyed those who hated me.
They cried for help, but there was none to save,
Even to the LORD, but He did not answer them.
Then I beat them fine as the dust before the wind;
I emptied them out as the mire of the streets.
You have delivered me from the contentions of the people;
You have placed me as head of the nations;
A people whom I have not known serve me.
As soon as they hear, they obey me;
Foreigners submit to me.
Foreigners fade away,
And come trembling out of their fortresses.
The LORD lives, and blessed be my rock;
And exalted be the God of my salvation,
The God who executes vengeance for me,
And subdues peoples under me.
He delivers me from my enemies;
Surely You lift me above those who rise up against me;
You rescue me from the violent man.
Therefore I will give thanks to You among the nations, O LORD,
And I will sing praises to Your name.
He gives great deliverance to His king,
And shows lovingkindness to His anointed,
To David and his descendants forever.

Cousin D is back from Vietnam. Despite the fact that he is the consummate IT geek, he is also the most talented amateur photographer I have ever met. Below is my favorite shot from this trip. I cannot begin to imagine how he captured this reptilian moment ever so perfectly.





Click here if you would like to peruse the rest of his favorites....

I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit, He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit. You are already clean because of the word which I have spoken to you. Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in Me. I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in Me, he is thrown away as a branch and dries up; and they gather them, and cast them into the fire and they are burned. If you abide in Me, and My words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be My disciples.

~John 15:1-8

The sermon today was quite fruitful, if you will pardon the pun.

[I would like to remind you of the caveat of my current life: When I say I cannot remember, I cannot remember if I can remember. Still, I am mostly sure about the following.]

I am familiar with verses 5-8 of the passage above. I have known for a long time that I am a branch. However, today, Pastor D explored the notion of God being my vinedresser.

He actually gave me a preview of the sermon on Friday whilst here to mow my lawn, but the actual sermon was much, much more than the words he shared then.

After the service, he said that he saw me smiling while he was teaching and figured I knew what he was going to say. True, I did...in part. In part I did because I am intimately acquainted with being a vinedresser.

You see, I whack quite freely on my rose bushes two to three times a year. Some time mid-to-late summer, they start to fade. The blooms slow or stop and the leaves become sparse. It is then that I chop them down to about 12-15 inches from the ground and pour on some fertilizer. Doing so usually garners me another round of blooms that last until the first true cold snap. Once winter sets in, I lop them off to about 9-12 inches and pile on the mulch. However, if the winter is particularly sunny, I end up pruning the roses back once more at winter's end so that they have a strong start for Spring.

No, I am not an expert vinedresser. But I have come to understand what my roses need the most to thrive in the spot in which I have placed them. To an outsider, I may very well look as if I am trying to destroy them, but that is not the case.

[However, I should note that one of the five bushes has never done as well as the rest. That alone give evidence that I am not an expert.]

Yes, I have heard about being a branch, but I do believe that I have never heard a sermon on God being the vinedresser.

From the outside, His careful pruning could be seen as destructive. And whether the cuts are made to destroy or to rebuild, they are still cuts. Cuts are painful. So, it is all about understanding the One who is making them, trusting in His purpose.

"For I know the plans that I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.

~Jeremiah 29:11-13

I know that passage by heart, being one of the few that have not already slipped through the cheese holes in my brain. However, it has greater meaning to me now when coupled by the understand that God is my vinedresser.

Boy, do I feel as if I have been hacked down in the past year, but what I also know is that I am not being destroyed, even if it feels that way. Alas, could it be just a wise pruning? [Yes, I am smiling now.]

I have had many an argument with my mother, my father, and my brother about the need to prune my trees and bushes. For one, none of them care for the Rose of Sharon bushes-that-are-essentially-trees-in-my-back-yard. I like them. I like the fact that they hold their blooms late until the fall. I like the fact that they are blooming in the first place. Over the past seven years, I have even transplanted eight offshoots to the fence between my yard and the neighbors to create a more attractive visual in that direction. However, being bushes, especially ones that grew up in the shade of a giant tree that used to be in my neighbors yard, their root system is not strong enough to support branches that are leaning wildly to one side, branches that surely must have had a difficult time finding sun.

Were I to allow my family to prune willy nilly, I would have mere bushes left. Of that, I am sure. Yet, I do recognize that I need to straighten them out if I want them to continue to thrive. I have just chosen a slower course of action than would they. That meant that I pruned them consistently twice a year for five years. Then, a little more than a year ago, I hacked away one-third of the major branches on one "tree" and one-fourth on the other. It was time for the deeper cut for the best outcome.

Knowing that, I did smile, if not outright chuckle when Pastor D was preaching, teaching, sharing.... In part, it was because I am thankful that it is not I who is responsible for the care of my branches. Would I were, they would surely be a disaster. I smiled because I am rather glad that the God of all Creation loves me enough to whack away with His wisely wielded shears.

Today, I awoke regretting the productivity around the house of yesterday. My hands hurt so much that I struggled to get dressed for church and actually left the buttons on my cuffs for whoever was nearest the door when I arrived. I drove more with my wrists than with my hands. Everyone who wanted to greet me, dropped their hands when I shook my head and held my own close to my body. And I have only had milk and a protein bar all day since preparing food was out of the question.

Increasingly, I have had less mobility in my hands. I know they are not as clumsy as they feel, but I have struggled with stiffness and a loss of mobility. Today, aching, bitter pain was added on top of that. Several doses of different pain killers later, typing is still difficult, but they are somewhat better.

Still, I did not spend the day huddled in the green chair as I normally would on a pain-filled day. I actually walked with Kashi (he still has his harness on because I cannot get it back off), watched some Hulu.Com, and started memorizing the passage from John. I know I shall need to be remembering this one again.

Perspective is everything when it is grounded in such a profound Truth as the Word of God gives.

I am thankful for His grace which He shed upon me this day.

I slept until 3:45 without waking once since I closed my eyes just after midnight. While I could have slept longer, I rolled out of bed to tackle a few tasks that have been needing my attention.

This day, I have washed, dried, folded and put away six loads of laundry; mended seven pieces of clothing; loaded, ran, and emptied the dishwasher twice; vacuumed the house, dusted all three floors, reorganized one of the kitchen cabinets; polished the wood furniture; packed up a load of items to give away; cleaned the bird cage; reconciled my bank statement; filled all four bird feeders; and won three games of Spider Solitaire!

Now, it is time to sleep again. Since I am no longer living in a cesspool, I will feel free to sleep and read and sleep some more over the next two days.

I am not...I am not...I am not working on Monday!

Just now, just now I have finished my work for this day.

No, I did not get to take a comp day. But I did get to work in my pajamas, tucked into the corner of my couch. I also happened to earn another 5 comp hours because of the long week.

Just now, I sent off my latest project, filled out my time sheet, and set the out-of-office assistant on my Outlook account.

While I did resent having to work once more, the day was sweetened by the kindness of Pastor D.

After nine days of rain, there was a bit of sunshine. He took the opportunity to mow my grass. A have-mower-will-travel kind of Pastor. Talk about laying down your life! He has so very much to do between graduate school, his family, Sunday services, four bible studies, and a monthly service at at nursing home. And yet he offers help whenever he can.

Hearing the hum of the motor quickened my heart and helped me finish my work faster than I would have merely stewing on how I had longed to sleep in this day. Again, he brought much needed perspective to my life.

Thank you, Lord, for a Pastor who truly loves the body of his church as Christ loves us.

I have worked 11 hours today and am wondering how much longer I can hang on at this pace. Tomorrow will be my third attempt at having a comp day, but I am not holding my breath on the matter.

I believe quite strongly that God is caring for me despite myself...

This morning I spent quite a while trying to find my keys. My frustration grew to dismay as I suddenly thought where they might be. One quick look, and my fear was confirmed.

I had left my keys in the front door all night!

Seriously, how in the world do I still have a car!?!

I fell to my knees in wonder at how God keeps me safe, from filling the house with gas, to leaving the stove burning all night long, to leaving my keys in the front door.

Selah.

Apparently, I am not skilled at making pizza.

Note to self: When the instructions say to use just half the dough, do not ignore them just because you think the portion does not look big enough to cover the pan. A little dough goes a long way...if prepared properly.

Wishing that culinary Twilight Zone would return...

I was supposed to have Friday off, but there is still too much work to be done. Today, however, I insisted on using some of my comp time.

Yesterday morning, I drove all the way out to my father's house and then on over to Pastor D's church. Dad was coming over for a movie fest and I figured since I had to do the driving, I ought to pop on over to church.

Since we were essentially driving in a huge triangle, I did not use any of the roads I normally take with Dad. As he was went we went to Gettysburg, Dad was anxious and nervous until we pulled up into the church parking lot.

The liturgical service was confusing for him, but it was interesting sitting next to him in God's house. I have not done so since my parent's divorce in 1974. I am fairly sure both he and my step-mother do not have a saving knowledge of Christ, but they do attend church regularly. In fact, they go to one of the ones that originally started the organization where I work.

Dad would sing the first verse of the hymns, but then would just listen. He read some of the common texts, but not much of them. I am not sure, however, if his reticence was from any beliefs he may have had about the service or if it was merely a matter of being lost. Seeing him that way is so difficult.

Afterward, we managed to get 5 movies in before going to bed. I feel that is a fairly good showing!

The next morning, Dad actually slept past me. I awoke at 11:15, but he slept until nearly 12:30. I would have plopped back into bed, but I was worried how he would be if he awoke and was "alone" in the house.

Trouble happened just an hour later when we pulled up to Dad's favorite breakfast dive. It was closed. Permanently.

Dad's agitation lasted nearly until we were safely on the way back to his home. Partly that was because we opted to go over to Chili's as an alternative eating place. Even though the restaurant is one of the newest ones on the "block," the service was simply horrible. Dad's hamburger came promptly, but my fajitas were first served with steak instead of chicken and then the chicken ones were served with guacamole, to which I am allergic and had specifically asked to have left off the meal. Dad was nearly finished by the time my food arrived.

I did enjoy having a respite from work and spending time with my father, whom I have not seen in a few months.

It's back to the grindstone now!

I worked all night last night and all day today, so I am rather bleary-eyed.

The DVD was not at all what I would have shared, but it was received quite well. Much talking and congratulations and the sort. The concept is not all that bad, but the execution is far, far from professional. Windows Movie Maker is a very frustrating program that does less than I desired.

In the middle of the day, I had to drive 80 miles to fetch the food for the event. Along the way, I came very close to falling asleep behind the wheel. I do not have my regular phone buddy anymore, so I recited verses and counted the number of green cars I saw (17). One the way back, it was all I could do not to pull over and dive into the barbecue in the back the tantilizing smell was so great. It did not help that I went nearly a whole day without eating because I jumped out of bed after sleeping just 3 hours and raced off to work more.

While others where mingling just minutes before the presentation, I was hastily making final changes to the DVD. That's what kind of day it was.

The PowerPoint slide show was really quite good, if I might brag. I created all the slides in InDesign and exported them as JPEGS. Of course, that meant that the file size is nearly 50 Megs. When I have an opportunity to catch my breath, I shall save all the JPEGS to web view using PhotoShop which should drop the file size immensely.

Finally, my other idea for the night was rather popular as well. I took our display panel and covered it with old photographs and news articles, some of them dating back to 1975, when our first project was under development. I just pinned them up with paperclips, as if it were a bulletin board in someone's office. Folks were huddled around it for much of the mingling time. I was trying to emphasize the longevity of our organization and believe the point was made.

Still, I am rather tuckered out after a month of racing toward a deadline. Four times I ended up working all night long. Many a work week exceeded 50 hours. Much juggling of complex and time-consuming tasks.

Kashi and the birdies hardly recognize me!

I think I shall leave all the stuff in the car and just crawl into bed now.

This day has been so long and yet I have more work to do. Feeling rather desparate about how I am to finish, I called Pastor D. Funny, none of our conversations lead where I expect them to, but they continue to give me glimpses into the grace of God.

Tonight's revelation: I am laying down my life for my boss.

That's quite a different perspective that what I have had, struggling with how I feel as if the time I have left with my faculties primarily intact is being wasted.

"Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends." John 15:13

Pastor D explained that laying one's life down does not necessarily mean to die. Each time I set aside my own work and further hers, I am laying down my life. Each time I swallow my hurt at her criticism and respond in kindness, I am laying down my life. Each time I Google something, fetch her lunch, hole punch papers, or type up text for her, I am laying down my life.

What a shift! Truly the conversation sobered me and yet brought such freedom to my heart. I am not a failure professionally, I am actually a success in that I am laying down my life again and again and again. And in doing so I have to opportunity to learning more of God's grace and what it means to be truly humble. Wow. With such a perspective, to gripe about my frustrations at work now seems cheap.

I can hope that with this gift of such insight I might find greater peace with my working situation and bring greater glory to God at the office.

For now, I have many, many hours to go before I can sleep. The movie is not yet finished and the slide show needs a few more tweaks.

Still, I am rejuvenated by such a concept and am thankful for Pastor D and how he patiently shares the Word of God with me.

There was a bit of a Twilight Zone in my abode this evening. How so, you ask? Well, let me tell you.

For the past few days, I have been pantry eating. You know, where you make do with what you have. Lunch today, was half of a can of Trader Joe's stew that has been a long-time tenant in my basement stock of food. When I came home from work, I decided to try and do something different with the slightly wrinkled baby red potatoes that have been in the refrigerator ever since my aborted trip to the cabin.

After layering the bottom of the pan with olive oil, I minced garlic while the olive oil was heating. When it was quite hot, I allowed the garlic to sizzle and added salt and pepper to the olive oil. While the garlic was browning, I sliced the baby red potatoes into round slices just under a 1/4 inch thick. I tossed the potatoes into the pan and spread them out flat and then drizzled them with Balsamic glaze. Once the potatoes had been sauteing for a while, I doused them with sweet white wine and let them cook for a total of about 20 minutes total.

The result? Oh, my, the most perfect potatoes I have ever prepared. They were crispy on the outside and creamy on the inside. Melt in your mouth delicious! I wonder if the fact that they were old contributed to the perfect consistency.

Giddy with my success, I decided to take a stab at boiling some eggs. My desire for deviled eggs outweighing the certainty that I would have egg disaster once more. 10 eggs went into the pot, 3 into the sink (they were cracked). 10 eggs came out of the pot. 9 peeled perfectly. 1 just slightly marred. Flush with triumph, I promptly prepared 5 of the eggs, eating half and setting aside half for lunch at work tomorrow.

Can you believe it? I cooked and had not one, but two true successes!

Now, I should admit that when turning on the stove, I twisted the dial straight past light and on to medium. When I realized what I did, I twisted it back without thinking. Whoosh! I now have no hair on my right arm.

But, really, what does a bit of singed hair matter when my palette was so completely sated this evening?

Last year, Fairfax County actually increased the value of my property even though the neighborhood values have plummeted. [Houses are selling at half the value they did two years ago.] By the time I figured out how to protest and ask for a reevaluation, it was past the time that I could do so.

My mortgage was increased.

This year, my tax value was lowered by $70,000. So, for sure I thought that my mortgage rate would at least drop back down to what it was the year before last. However, Fairfax County announced its tax rates for 2009 and they are MUCH HIGHER than last year.

My mortgage is increasing again...as it has EVERY SINGLE YEAR due to taxes.

Fairfax County is the GREEDIEST county on the planet!

ARGH!!!!!!!!!!

So, here I am, with a finished draft of both the DVD and the Slide Show. I have a working draft of the program. I've completed and printed the name badges. And now need to apply the edits to the DVD and Slide Show, finish the program, and create a Scrap Book Display of old photos and articles. No problem, eh?

I worked 11 hours yesterday and 8.5 hours today. Where did the weekend go?

I did try to mow, but my lawn mower decided to break after just a quarter of the job being completed. I finished with my weed-whacker (I guess it is a good thing I have so much dead yard) and am just so completely discouraged that the lawnmower broke. The first one lasted 5 years. This one a mere two.

I could try and get it repaired, but the cost of doing so would almost certainly exceed replacing the darned thing.

Oh how I wish I had a male in my life who was willing to tinker on things for me!

Truly, I am very, very discouraged to have to shell out funds for a new lawnmower... But my arms are still trembling so much from holding the weed-whacker that I cannot even hold a glass to drink my Gatorade. I do not believe I should use that method again.

SIGH

I am a horrible Doggy Momma.

For several months now, I have been putting milk in Kashi's dinner. A nice treat, eh?

Well, I am so exhausted that I did not pay careful attention whilst preparing his meal last night. A short while after consuming it, he began throwing up. After the third time, I started to panic. After the fifth time, I was ready to scoop him up and take him to the (very expensive) emergency animal clinic.

I was cleaning up the sixth mess when I finally noticed the fetid odor wafting toward my face as I bent over to scrub the rug. The smell bothered me, not for how foul it was, but for the fact that the times he has regurgitated his food because he ate too fast it did not smell.

Suddenly realizing what had happened, I jumped up and raced over to the refrigerator. After popping off the top of the milk container, I took a big whiff...and coughed and sputtered. It was rather spoiled. I couldn't believe I failed to notice that when I prepared his food.

Kashi was sick to his stomach a total of eleven times. As the night wore on, what he deposited on the carpet grew smaller, but my poor puppydog was just plain miserable.

It was about four in the morning before I was certain he had expelled all the offending matter within him.

Getting out of bed for work was quite difficult this morning, but I was most glad to be awakened by the crunching of Kashi enjoying a post-dawn snack.

I am working on the DVD.

Again, Spielberg should NOT be worried about his job.

This week has already proven to be crazy busy, and I foresee only being more so until after the event on the 30th and the newsletter mailing. Perhaps then, the third week in May, things might become more manageable.

I guess it is good I have little else in my life save for my pets.

Last night--really early this morning--I found myself putting together a new bird cage for Fancy, Smokey, and Madeleine.

One of the four plastic protrusions that hold the bottom of the cage to the top broke off a while ago. I think when I was carting it back and forth. Once the weight of seed shells and such gets to be too much, the bottom falls off. The birds fly across the room. Kashi started barking. And I have a colossal mess to clean up. I have tried to stay ahead of the weight problem, but I don't do a perfect job of monitoring.

When I was off from work in March, I spent some time researching bird cages and discovered a new system that has a seed guard built into the cage. The theory sounded good. However, I find that I sort of resent having to spend so much money on a bird cage. The best price I found was $119 plus 19.99 shipping. Plain cages are not much better. Many cages are two and three times that price...even nearing $1,000 if you get into the California cages. While the California cages are quite substantial, most bird cages are just thin, lightweight metal and plastic. After all, that protrusion was probably a mere 8th of an inch of plastic.

I tabled the idea because I just don't really need to be spending extra money just now. However, two things happened to change my mind: 1) a second protrusion broke and I had to jury rig a solution that included two ring clasps, which make cleaning the cage that much harder and 2) I spotted the very cage I was Googling at my local Petco for a bargain basement $79.

The cage has been sitting on the floor since Thursday. Kashi barks at it. I trip over it. But I've been too busy to do anything about it. So last night, after another fumbling attempt to work on the DVD, I decided to tackle transferring all the perches and such from the old cage to the new one. This time, I was up until the sun began peeking out because of my own darned fault.

My house is a mess. My laundry is piling up. The only real things I have done outside of work is mow the grass, replace the outlet cover (with a shield) on the GFIC circuit outside, and replace the pump on the fountain. I felt guilty about taking the time to do the last two, but an unfortunate electrical meltdown due to rain coming in the old leaky cover fried the pump and hearing the fountain does bring a bit of peace to my world. I was at Lowe's with my boss, so the only real time was the repairs...which I ended up doing late at night with a flashlight and would not recommend repeating when caulk is involved.

I have only worked and slept and worked more for the past few weeks, but I did want to take care of this only because I was loathe to clean up another mess and hoped, rather fervently, that the seed guard system would make for a cleaner floor. [I very much enjoy having two new birds, but I have despaired a bit at the exponentially greater mess three birds generate over just one.]

Well, as I have alluded, the process took far longer than I even anticipated. I had not realized that I had seven wooden perches, two upper food cups, two cuttle bone holders, three curved ladders, three dangle chews with bells, one plain bell, one fuzzy snuggle, one wooden ladder, two rope perches, one lava beak rub, three bars, and three millet clips. Needless to say, removing them, cleaning them, and then putting them on the new cage was time consuming. I also had to figure out (three unsuccessful attempts before victory) how to shorten the interior chain to compensate for the fact that the new cage sticks out further from the wall due to the seed guard and I was not about to remove the hollow-wall-toggle-bolt-hooks screwed into the ceiling. [In case you are wondering, it required three lengths of chain to be removed.]

I believe it is important to note that the bottom of the cage is secured by no less than 10 latches! One could fail on each side and I believe the bottom would still remain attached to the cage!

The new cage also has a peaked roof, which means that the ladders I put back on top are even higher than they were on the old one. Fancy, Smokey, and Madeleine are most happy about that. They always bicker over who gets the highest perch atop the cage and only sleep on the uppermost perches on the inside the cage. I do have to step on a stool to put the millet up now, but I don't really mind the extra effort.

Why, do you ask?

Well, I know it is far too early to be claiming victory over mess, but I am fairly sure that the advertising about the seed guard system was not bunk. The Victorian record cabinet beneath the cage is still clean after clearing the top off when I hung the new cage. The towel beneath the cage is not yet covered in droppings and food scraps. And the floor from the door to the stairs to the green chair to the coat rack is wonderfully, relatively clean!

I did discover something a bit funny this evening when standing on a stool to hang the Momma-come-home-millet spray that now goes with the Momma-come-home-doggy-bone, being eye-to-eye with the birds. Smokey was trying to make his way across the top of the cage, but kept sliding down the peaked slope! I cracked up laughing watching him. He would slip and slide, climb back up and move over, and slip and slide again. This is a learning curve for the birdies that I had not anticipated!

Still, they seem to enjoy the new home and there are three vertical bars across each side of the roof for them to grasp. I moved the wooden ladder so that it now lies across one side of the roof. That way, they have more substantial vertical grips...and the three curved ladders...and two perches. They'll be fine, eh?

SIGH

Back to the grindstone...

Oh, my! This week is done!

We did manage to get all three grants in, as well as some strategic planning documentation and an ad (design and submission). So, personally, the utter dearth of sleep was worth it to demonstrate that value-added factor as an employee!

Well, really and truly, this week is not done in that I have four tasks I would like completed before next week starts. They are all things I can do in my pajamas, watching NASCAR or something. Although, actually, for all I say that I enjoy watching the crashes, I usually find myself sleeping through the middle part of the race. Perhaps if I were to tape NASCAR and replay it at night, I would find it easier to fall asleep.

I have far, far too many things on my mind of late. The time it takes for me to drop off after closing my eyes has grown to oft nearly two hours. That is rather disconcerting to say the least. Although, the battle to quiet my mind has afforded me quite an opportunity to pray about those things, those I love, and the concerns I have for this world, for our future as a human race.

On the Sci-Fi shows I enjoy watching--those that always seem to have some examination of the human condition--many times there is an ancient or older race who looks upon humans as children, hardly fit to be about in the universe, not ready for the things in which they are engaged.

On many fronts, I would completely agree. We may think that we are beyond the or the cruelty of the Holocaust, but truly we are not. We kill children and leave them in suitcases. We see disaster as a prime opportunity to bilk everyone from the government on down to the victims who have lost everything. Not only adults, not even teenagers, but even children maim, rape, and murder. We lie. We cheat. We steal. We call it doing business. And we harbor our hurts and our anger as if they are precious commodities, flinging them at others as if it is our inalienable right, telling them how they should be, how they have wronged us, rather than walking in forgiveness. We label people as their mistakes, their failures, their shortcomings. We see them as not being who we think they should be instead of accepting them for who they are. We walk in judgment, rather than love. We fail to see the truth of our world because we prefer the cheap veneer. And we are unwilling to sacrifice a moment of pleasure or ease to preserve the gift of our planet.

Alas, such a tirade is that. Is is because I am tired from lack of sleep or is it because I am tired from the stories of murder and destruction and corruption that are utterly ubiquitous these days?

My dear friend T was threatened at her job.

A student announced his intentions to bring his father's gun to school and blow her face off. He has been increasingly violent of late and sexually aggressive with his classmates. She and her teaching aids have all taken to walking on eggshells around him to minimize his outbursts.

He is 5 years old.

He is 5 years old and she is afraid of him and it hurts her heart.

I would be afraid. I would be afraid of him and what he could do and what his parents might do. They do not wash him or send good food for his lunches. They were angry about having to collect him from school after the threat. Retaliation is a very real danger here.

Yet, I am more afraid because her supervisor dismissed the threat and enjoined her to try to be a bright spot in the child's life. The social worker excused his behavior because he comes from a bad home.

A five-year-old who is sexually aggressive to children and adults is a 5-year-old who is being sexually abused himself. The filth and famine are abusive as well. The violence has been noted in his chart. Yet, the whole attitude is "what can we do?"

I ache for T because of her anguish. I worry for her safety. I am angry for the child because he is need of help in so very many ways, but what he receives are absent parents and empty platitudes. I worry for his safety.

Yet, even more, I fear for our society, a society who could look on something so wrong and simply shake its head. Children should be valued if for nothing else save for the fact that they are our future. They are the ones who will be running our country when we are no longer capable of doing so.

Yes, children are resilient. If that were not so, this poor little boy would not have survived his life thus far. However, such neglect only sets him up for failure, but also limits him to a life of violence and neglect. How can he thrive in such soil?

He is but one small step away from doing something that cannot be excused away. He is already terrorizing his female classmates and his teachers. At 5. What will he be doing at 10? 15? 25?

I am at 40 hours for the week and am not even close to being done for the day. SIGH. Still, things are being crossed off my list!

I stole a few minutes to watch this clip that I heard about and then ended up watching it four more times with tears streaming down my face. All the cliches apply: don't judge a book by its cover; beauty is on the inside; it's never too late to dream...

Susan Boyle cared for her mother until she died at 91. She's had challenges and disappointments, and like so many people, is currently unemployed. Yet she dared to try to be something she's longed to be.

Watch this and be inspired!

It has been a crazy two days.

I am stealing some time from work, even at this hour, but I wanted to write about what happened this evening.

I worked until 5 AM this morning, slept until 2:00, went to work at 3:00, and just arrived home a while ago to finish up in my pajamas. I am a bit bleary-eyed and yet have to persevere because there is a prodigious amount of work that must be completed by April 30th.

My boss and I went to work at a restaurant so that we could eat and get away from the interruptions at the office. What we encountered there was worse.

This family came in after we had been working for about an hour--a man, a woman in a wheelchair, and a young girl, who was perhaps 9 or 10.

Something was said as they came in and the girl started crying. The man grabbed her by the arm and dangled her off the ground, yelling at her to stop crying. He then shoved her into a booth and continued to berate her and threaten her until she managed to stop crying.

For the next half hour, he was an utter brute to her and her mother. He called the woman ignorant and stupid and useless. He called the girl ugly and bucktooth and stupid and useless as well. Non-stop was his filth littered across their hearts during the whole meal.

My boss and I found it difficult to work and we whispered about what we could do. I confess, I was afraid to step in because of worry about retaliation. However, no one ever stepped in for me as a child. I couldn't let the moment pass.

After walking outside, I called the police, who managed to arrive just as the family was leaving. But the outcome was not near what I had hoped for.

The police asked the woman if she was okay, offered her help, and then lectured the man. That was it. While a report will be filed, I am fairly sure nothing more will be done. After all, the policeman told me that sometimes people don't understand discipline.

While I am worried that the man might have punished the woman and the girl once they went home, I am glad that they know that others found his behavior unacceptable. It was disheartening to know the mother was willing to lie to the police about how the man was treating her daughter.

He did not help the woman in or out of the door or in or out of the booth. He just stood and watched her struggle. The girl stood aside and watched as well, but it was clear she was afraid of what would happen should she assist her mother.

It turns out that a social worker in the booth next to me, who had arrived on the scene later, was increasingly uncomfortable as well. She did not see the physical violence, but the bullying and berating was making her extremely uncomfortable and she was on the verge of calling for help when I did.

She, too, was disappointed that such a cursory attempt was made to help the child.

What a life that little girl must be living. If that was the kind of attention she receives in public, what horrors must she face in private?

Will you pray for her this day?

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!