Lost in an eddy...

First off, if you are lemon dessert person and an oatmeal crisp person, Pioneer Woman has the most perfect lemon square recipe in the entire universe!  [Thank you, Becky, for suggesting I look on her blog for a candy recipe.  Else wise, I think I might have missed this bit of awesome tastiness!]

Now, I did err in the cutting and made them smaller ... 16 servings instead of 12.  So, of course, I had to eat two of them as my first serving of Creamy Lemon Crumb Squares.  I didn't mind!  Today, I had just one and think that the smaller version is mostly sufficient.  They are to be served cold, and I freeze all my desserts.  I would highly recommend keeping yours in the freezer, too, for eating it frozen was just fine.  Very, very, very fine.

I'm besotted with them!!

Somehow, I keep not managing to get the hang of picking out summer squash that will last ... that or more days are slipping since their purchase than I notice.  So, yesterday, I had cook up the last of my summer squash to keep it.  I did not feel up to getting out the 12-inch sauteuse pan, so I thought to try out the use of my griddle.  [I can get it out without having to bend over or squat down, both actions which oft cause me to near faint or faint.]

I think it worked just fine.  I did slice the squash a bit thicker than I usually did, but I think I actually liked it better.  Whilst grilled summer squash has always been my favorite, I have definitely supplanted that preference with Sage Butter Summer Squash with Dill Garnish.  There are two more servings of this awaiting for me to polish off.  [Or there were.  I just heated up a serving for a little something-something to keep my going as I write this.]

The other day, I attempted to start putting out the mulch.  I nearly died.  Okay, not died so much as collapsed several times and struggled to draw a breath the entire time.  Even after several weeks, the mulch is entirely too wet and entirely too heavy.  By way of putting my health in danger, I got eight bags done, but the other 12 are going to have to wait until Firewood Man can lug them to where they need to be spread.

I did not do the back side of the wegelia bush because the solid wood there will be replaced with lattice whenever Firewood Man gets around to tending the lattice of the back porch.  Every other piece of the porch is lattice. I am not sure why this piece was switched out to plywood.  I did tell myself that Firewood Man would appreciate the lack of mulch where he will be working as an excuse for stopping when I reached the end of the rock river against the steps.

[My, how I still adore my rock river!]

The rose bush on the left side of this bed nearly didn't make it through the winter.  I wished for a new rose bush, but I am hoping that some judicious care spring, winter, and next spring, I might could get it growing again.  I had but two blooms this summer.

The bush on the right blooms wildly then spends the summer just sending out climbers. I have been try to stay atop of those and trigger more blooms. I have the beginning of blossoms, so I am hopeful.  Peeking around the corner is a rose bush I rescued a few weeks ago.  I think three blossoms are coming.  I think by next summer, it shall be more like the middle rose bush, which is a rescue from two years ago.

Look at that grass in August, will you?  BLISS.  Polar Vortex, oh, how I love you!

Look how much the yard has changed since I moved here!!  [Note:  I had just moved the Rose of Sharon bushes to the other side of the yard before taking this photo.]

With the heat dome stress that followed their transition, it took a while for the Rose of Sharon bushes to flourish in their new home.  The wait was worth it, though!

This is what the bed to the side of the steps looked like before I ripped out the ground cover and put in the first wegelia ... and then later the rock river followed by the replacement wegelia.  Such sad, sad, sad grass.

Much better now!

Speaking of change over time, here's my milk shelf a week later.  Panic has not quite set it, but I find it to be looking a bit empty already.  It's a good thing I have no visitors, eh?  There's hardly enough milk to share, is there?

I've been working my way through Star Trek Voyager and thought that exchanged sort of fits with some of my thoughts about what I have been reading in Michael Card's commentary on Mark:

[Seven of Nine (a Borg liberated from the collective years before) is back on Voyager after having been captured, along with Tuvok (a Vulcan), and forced to fight as a sort of gladiator for the entertainment of others.]

Tuvok:  I thought you might require assistance.

Seven:  Thank you.

Tuvok:  I realize we share an affinity for silences, but in this instance, I feel compelled to speak.  If you hadn't offered to take my place in the arena, it's likely that I would have been killed.

Seven:  I made the logical choice, as you would have.

Tuvok:  Still, I owe you a debt of gratitude.

Seven:  Assisting me with these recalibrations will be sufficient thanks.

Tuvok:  Have you fully recovered?

Seven:  I am experiencing minor pain beneath my occipital implant.  The doctor believes that it is temporary.

Tuvok:  I wasn't referring to your physical condition.

Seven:  When the Hirogen referred to me I was weak, he was correct.

Tuvok:  But you overpowered him.

Seven:  Because I lost control!

Tuvok:  Given the circumstances, your behavior was understandable.

Seven:  I've spent the last three years struggling to regain my humanity.  I'm afraid I may have lost it again in the arena.

Tuvok:  You're experiencing difficult emotions.

Seven:  Guilt!  Shame!  Remorse!

Tuvok:  Then you haven't lost your humanity.  You have reaffirmed it.

~"Tsunkatse," Star Trek Voyager


I cannot really say why, for sure, but I thought it poignant and apt that Tuvok pointed out to Seven the things she found difficult were the very things that affirmed her humanity.  The difficult things of humanity are most certainly present in the Gospel of Mark.

One of the more ... scandalous ... thoughts I've had reading the commentary is that Jesus was one of the first to face the paparazzi.  By that I mean, in Mark, He is constantly retreating from crowds, constantly telling the demons and such to hush up about who He really is, and on six occasions asks those whom He's healed to remain quiet about it.  Michael Card takes the stance not that Jesus was secretive, but that He knew the more the knowledge spread, the greater the crowds.  The greater crowds meant more listeners, but also more obstacles to His movements, more demands that His time be spend as man thought it should rather than as the God Man knew it needed to be spent.

Michael Card points out that there are times the crowds are such a problem that Jesus and His disciples do not get to eat.   Mark mentions this several times.  From the beginning, Michael Card has emphasized that Mark uses so few words to tell his Gospel,   So, he contends, we must listen more closely, more carefully.  If Mark tells us about the crowds and the going hungry, then we must listen to that, too.

Food for thought.

For me, I am still greatly ... worried.  I mean, if I am so tossed about on a sea wondering about faith, about believing and trusting, should I be reading this commentary.  To me, at times, already, it has seemed too good to be true.  Understandable.  Thought-provoking.  Lots and lots and lots of Jesus, thus far, without any sort of hint at life application or "godly" living.

For example, in Mark 2, Jesus tells three parables.  Michael Card's discussion of them, of how they relate to each other, makes the very muddy water clear ... for me:

First, he asks how the guests at the banquet can fast while the bridegroom is present.  The unspoken answer:  it would be inappropriate to refrain from the feast.  But, says Jesus ominously, the time is coming when the bridegroom will be taken away.  Then they will fast.

He abruptly shifts to the image of sewing a patch of new cloth on an old garment.  The assumption again:  such a thing would be inappropriate.  New cloth would shrink and tear the old cloth.  Just as abruptly, Jesus shifts the image again.  Now he is asking them to picture an old, cracked wineskins and the absurd notion of pouring new wine into it.  Again, the image is one of inappropriateness.  New wine expands; old wineskins do not.  You don't fast at a banquet, you don't sew new cloth on old, nor do you pour new wine into old wineskins.

The first image is the most clear and direct.  Jesus is the bridegroom who will someday be taken away.  His followers do not fast now because it would be inappropriate.  The second and third images are less direct.  The good news of Jesus cannot simply be stitched over the old tear in traditional orthodoxy.  Neither can the old wineskins of ritual observance contain the new wine of the gospel.  Old orthodoxy equals a worn-out garment and stiff old wineskins.  The new realty squish fresh, clean cloth and new wine.

The purpose of fasting is to heighten awareness of God's presence so one can pray and be more sensitive to his voice.  If this is its true purpose, then fasting in Jesus' presence has become irrelevant, even inappropriate.  In time, when he is absent, it will become vital.  Jesus is not anti-fasting.  But he is in favor of a festive meal while he is present.

I never understood how those parables could fit together, but the idea of repeating things that are inappropriate makes sense to me.  I think of how much I was taught, essentially, that Jesus is the new Moses, the new giver of "Christian" laws for godly and holy living.  That was/is inappropriate.  Nothing ever worked to deepen my "relationship" with Jesus.  Nothing.  I still sinned.  I still wondered.  I still feared.

Jesus and the Sabbath.  In Mark's Gospel, after gathering His first disciples, Jesus goes to a synagogue in Capernaum on the Sabbath and begins teaching.  Folk are amazed that He is teaching with authority and, as I wrote before, that Jesus commanded the demon of His own authority.  Amazement at the casting out of the demon, but no mention of a violation of law.

What follows is this ... progression ... of disconcertedness with Jesus' behavior.  The pharisees don't like that Jesus ate/associated with tax collectors (with sinners).  They take offense over his answer about fasting.  And then comes the second mention of the Sabbath, where Jesus' disciples are perceived as working (in the fields of grain).

In verse 27, Jesus teaches that "the Sabbath was made for man and not man for the Sabbath.  As Michael Card explains:

If Jesus had stopped there [the first half of the statement], the scene might have remained a stalemate of one interpretation against another.  But his conclusion in Mark 2:28 makes it crystal clear:  this is not an issue of niggling interpretation.  It is a matter of divine authority and lordship.  Jesus, the Son of Man, is master (kurios) of the Sabbath.  He is Lord over orthodoxy—even the most sacred of objects of orthodoxy, which the Sabbath was for the Pharisees.  Lordship by definition knows no boundaries.  There is no area of our lives where he is not master.  Jesus' proclamation of lordship should cause us to stop and take account.  We need to realize that whatever facet of our orthodox observance, no matter how correct or biblical, he claims lordship over that.  (emphasis mine)

Now, for me, I had decades of evangelical teaching about lordship.  I also, being a reader of historical fiction and fantasy, understand lordship more than most.  Well, with the Lord of the Rings movies, far more folk have been introduced to a feudal society where fealty is greater than honor, greater than life, than had before.  But I wonder if any of those watchers who were Christians ever connected the lessons of those movies to Jesus being a lord.  The Lord.

In the Lutheran world, I cannot think of a time where lordship was emphasized in bible study, sermon, or online pontificating.  Or authority, for that matter.  But, to me, it seems like the way to make this ... sound Lutheran ... is to put it in terms of sanctification.  I mean, I think of all the stuff I read online about piety and sanctification and being faithful really just echoes the Pharisaical emphasis on the Sabbath, forgetting that now, for believers, that Jesus is the Sabbath.

Verse 28 finishes what Jesus started in verse 27: Therefore, the Son of Man is Lord even of the Sabbath."  What do lords do?  Lead.  Command.  Take responsibility for every single life in their kingdom/keep.  What does Jesus command?  To listen to the Word of God.  To take and eat, take and drink.  And he most certainly takes responsibly for every single life in His kingdom.  So, how is it that folk stray from Jesus keeping even the Sabbath for us, to making the observances of man take precedence?  By that I mean, how is it that so much of the Church is focused back on making the man for the Sabbath ... welcoming committees, seeker friendly services, focusing on experiences and feelings during those services?

Okay, I know that sounds confusing, but the issue of the Sabbath, escalates in chapter 3, resulting in the first steps in the plot to kill Jesus.

I had not really noticed or thought about that progression ... that connection between the Sabbaths.  Puzzlement ... offense ... an order for destruction.  However, Michael Card's observation about that defining moment in the Gospel of Mark made an even broader connection for me.

Jesus calls the man with the shriveled hand to stand up. As usual he begins the confrontation with a question rooted in rabbinic tradition.  The rabbis used one test to determine if an exception might be made to the mandate for strenuous abstinence from work on the Sabbath.  Simply put, it was, "Which way preserves life?" (the Mishnah, Yoma 8:6; see also I Macc 2:41).  This is what Jesus asks in Mark 3:4.  True to form, the religious leaders have no answer.  In verse 5 Mark's portrayal of the emotion life of Jesus comes into focus.  He looks over the audience with a range of emotions.  First he is angry (orgēs), then deeply sorrowful (syllypeō).  The second term is found only here in the New Testament.

When Luke tells the same story, he is silent in regard to Jesus' state of mind.  He does, however, inform us that the Pharisees were filled with rage (anoia; see Lk 6:11).  Only Mark gives us the detail of Jesus' emotional reaction.  At first the Pharisees' theological nitpicking angers him.  They are setting another trap.  The next instant he is grieved.  They will be blind to a divine miracle, only seeing an infraction of one of their rules.  A man is about to be made whole.  Their stubborn hearts will remain shriveled. (emphasis mine)

Remember the charge to pay attention to the sparse words of Mark.  Mark is the only one who records that Jesus is Lord of the Sabbath.  And he uses words, such as that for Jesus' grief above, not used elsewhere in the New Testament.  Words matter.  The Word matters.

In the first verse, the man is described as having a paralyzed hand.  Or, as Michael Card puts it, a shriveled hand.  The Pharisees, just like Pharaoh and so many others, had paralyzed hearts.  They had paralyzed eyes and ears.  They could not hear or see or understand because they were frozen stiff by the laws they created for themselves, the laws they created from the Law of God, trying to make it better, to make it more ... faithful and holy.

What folly.

Michael Card sees in Mark that those three instances of the Sabbath laid the foundation for Jesus' ministry, a breaking from organized religion, as Jesus will only appear in a synagogue one more time.  Instead, He will leave the walls of learning and ordinances for the highways and byways of hearth and home, lake and shore to spread His good news.

He also breaks from the tradition of family.  In Mark 3, Jesus family first questions His sanity, then sends folk to investigate Him and His situation, and then arrives to take Him back home.  When they come and Jesus is told His family is there, He does not go out to them, does not bow to the sacred ties of blood.  Instead He points to His family around Him, a family that will ultimately grow beyond all boundaries ... country, race, class, gender, even religion.  The thought that came to mind is that Jesus was "fruitful and multiplied" in the body of Christ born of His ministry then ... and now.

In the midst of all that, of being accused of being demonic and binding Himself more closely with the world (another step toward crucifixion and resurrection ... the goal of His ministry), Jesus says, "I assure you:  People will be forgiven for all sins and whatever blasphemies they may blaspheme.  But whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit never has forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin" (3:28-29).  It is in the middle of the talk of divided houses and strong men, addressing the fact that folk were say Jesus had an unclean spirit.  Whilst I still could not quite follow that talk of divided houses (though I now know it does not mean Christians marrying non-Christians) and strong men (somehow that's supposed to signify the devil), I did savor Michael Card's explanation of the unforgivable:

Mark 3:28-29 contains the pronouncement that has regrettably been called the "unpardonable sin."  Jesus begins the statement mysteriously; literally the Greek reads "amen."  There is no precedent for it anywhere in the ancient writings.  "Amen" is a traditional formula of response; an individual or congregation responds to a message by saying "amen" in agreement (see Rev 5:14).  Paul uses it frequently to close his benedictions (see Rom 15:33; Gal 1:5; 6:18; I Tim 1:17) as does Peter (I Pet 4:11; 5:11; II Pet 3:18).  But the frequent double use of the word to initiate a pronouncement is unique to Jesus and has never fully been explained.  This is the first time it occurs in the Gospel of Mark.  It is meant to command our attention.

Jesus' pronouncement of the so-called unpardonable sin is based on the accusation from the Jerusalem contingent that he himself is possessed (Mk 3:30).  Jesus is describing what they have just done to him.  All sins will be forgiven, he says—even whatever they may blaspheme.  But to blaspheme the Holy Spirit places a person beyond all forgiveness.  If a person denies the vehicle of forgiveness (the Holy Spirit), he has cut himself off from the possibility of being forgiven.  It is not the "unpardonable sin.  It is a sin whereby you place yourself beyond pardon. (emphasis mine)

Is that what Saul did?
Is that how he lost his faith?

The too good to be true part weakens ... or comes to fruition depending on how you look at it ... in Mark chapter 4. I simply do not understand the parables, nor do I, for the most part, understand what Michael Card is saying about them.

Well, one thing I think I might understand.  And and it staggers me.  I know not what to think or feel or do with it:  The whole light under a basket thing ... well, it is about the Word, or more specifically, about the parables, which are the means by which Jesus is teaching and spreading His good news and the means by which the disciples will soon be doing the same.

As the private discussion with the disciples continues, Jesus shifts the lesson.  He talks about light. In case some of them have not understood the parable of the seed (and it is always safe to assume some haven't), Jesus talks about the nature of truth and its inherent ability to shine.

Lights are meant to illuminate, to be set up on stands.  Then they reveal what is otherwise hidden in the darkness.  The purpose of the parables is the same.  They are perfect vehicles for illumination.  By their very nature, they shine.  But there will always be those who shove them under beds or cover them up with bowls.

Uhm ... an evangelical is actually saying that the lights are not the witness of God in a particular Christian's life (...this little light of mine/I'm gonna let it shine...), but the shining is the Word of God???

He continues:

"Pay attention to what you hear," Jesus says in Mark 4:24, repeating his theme.  It is all about listening and seeing, understanding and perceiving.  The parables speak, they shine; the Word has power of its own and grows.  Our response, the measure of attention we use, means everything.  If we genuinely give ear, more will be measured out to us.  If we stubbornly refuse to engage, even what we have will be taken away.  This is not a statement on the character of Jesus, who long for everyone to come to salvation.  It is a statement about the nature of truth and the consequences of refusing to listen.

Is that what Saul did?
Is that how he lost his faith?

Burning sausage...

After avoiding the issue for four days, I called the Medicare insurance company to make sure that I was errant in my search for a neurologist that only netted one in all of Fort Wayne and Allen County. Yep.  I have just one option.  Then, I called for an appointment.  Fully expecting (and really wanting the lag time) to wait for about three months to get an appointment, I was stunned to learned there was an opening September 24th.  SIGH.  I sent the information to my GP for the consult referral and asked SSA ... again ... about getting the records from all my testing two years ago.

I also asked the insurance company about a charge I received for my last thyroid blood work.  It turns out the claim was processed as out-of-network by mistake.  So, I had the claim resubmitted.

Turning to another task on my memory board, I divided up the bacon that I had bought this weekend, having ignored that task, too.  Because I have very, very, very little will power where bacon is concerned, I started to divided the package into groups of 4 slices, wrap those slices in wax paper, and then put all the divided bacon packets into a Ziploc bag.  I chose four slices in case someone visited and wanted a tasty bit with breakfast.  Plus, several recipes call for eight slices (two of my packets).  I buy Wright's Applewood Smoked Thick Sliced Bacon and get five packages from each package of bacon.  Because they were on sale and I was actually out of bacon, I bought two packages ... had two packages to process into smaller packets.

For dinner, I decided to try one of the sausages I bought and to grill up some summer squash since I would be grilling the sausage.

Clearly, I need lessons on the amount of time sausage needs grilling.  Other than the sausage casing being far, far, far too crispy, I liked the sausage.  I was a bit discouraged to have charred bits with my summer squash.  The marinade is my mixture of butter, stone ground mustard, and minced ginger.  The sausage is the chicken with apple and gouda.

I am out of sweets, such as a bit of candy or something, in the house.  I keep forgetting to make the White Chocolate Cherry Oatmeal Cookies and haven't wanted to just plow through the Blueberry Lime Oatmeal Muffins.  I keep looking to see if I could find a candy recipe, since I don't want to spend more money until the next budget cycle, but nothing has popped out at me in my searching the ingredients for which I have.  Then, I remembered the Peanut Butter Honey Truffles.

I made some more, but I altered the recipe.  This time, I put cocoa powder inside, too.  I think that it makes for a better balance of taste, lessons the explosion of honey and brings to the fore the peanut butter.  I liked them so much better that I amended the recipe on my recipe rememberer blog.  These really are good to keep in the freezer (I like them frozen, but they thaw quickly) for when you need a bit of something-something sweet.

I did find what looks to be another wicked lemon dessert recipe whilst browsing for candy recipes.  So, maybe I will try that instead of the cookies.  Maybe.  Right now, I want to go learn more about  Mark.

Do you know what is unique about the healing of the paralytic in the second chapter of Mark??

It is the only occasion of Jesus healing someone by pronouncing the forgiveness of sins.  In Luke 7:48 he will forgive the sins of the woman who has wept on his feet—another instance of religious leaders taking offense—but that is not a healing.  This story alludes to a complicated truth that is often oversimplified.  Yes, there is a connection between sickness and sin.  But no, not all all sin leads to physical sickness.  Not all sickness is a direct result of sin. Yet it is safe to say that all sin paralyzes.

I never noticed that Jesus forgives the sin at first sight, no admonition to repent and believe (or perform complicated acts of repentance and religious observances).

Another thought about healing, with the leper, Jesus did not just heal his skin.  Rather he healed the leper's entire life:  Covered in festering sore, he has been cut off from Jewish life, from community, from the synagogue, from temple observance.

I do not like backing up in the wheelchair shopping carts because a siren beeps.  I feel embarrassed and like a large truck.  I certainly do not want to have attention drawn to me.  I cannot fathom what it must have been like to be a leper then, to have to wear a bell around your neck to warn others of your harmful presence, both physically and spiritually.

It would be nice, though, to have friends who care enough to cart you to church on a pallet, eh?

I've been thinking a lot about how often sin paralyzes me.

I dove right in...

I was talking with someone about a security concern she had and realized that I had not done all I could to protect myself from my failing memory.  First, I put text alerts on all my credit cards, not just the main one that I use.  Then, I signed up to remove myself from pre-screened credit card and insurance offers.  Finally, I called all my of credit card companies and requested to stop all balance transfer checks mailings.  I hope that means I did a better job of covering my financial bases.

Today, I also went ahead and tried the Roasted Rutabaga and Parsnips Beer Cheese Soup that had been frozen (one of the TWELVE servings I still have).  I am very, very, very happy to report that the soup thawed well and was, in my opinion, even thicker and tastier having been frozen for a while.  I am, needless to say, already looking forward to the other eleven servings.

The other day, I also had the Black Bean Soup with Roasted Bell Peppers.  I thought that it froze well, but I was not all that worried about it.  Maybe I had thoughts about the roasted bell peppers, but not to the point of really stressing about it.

What have I been anxious about?  Well, clearly, I have been about longing to read those Gospel commentaries.  I could barely sleep last night thinking about them.  I had hoped that Mary would read my blog and post a comment, but school has started for her and she is being disciplined and exercising will power and all those good things so had not read my entry.  So, I called her.  After stumbling around in great nervousness, I told her about them and asked if it would be okay for a confused person to be reading something not written based on Lutheran doctrine.  I was certain she would have caution for me, but her response was enthusiastic.

I hunger for the Word.
Deeply.

Then, I had this most wonderful remembering:  I have been working really, really, really hard to be as conservative as possible with my utilities.  I mean, I have even trained myself to use the power saver button on the microwave whenever I am not using it.  Progress has been made, and my utilities for this month are ~$74 under budget.  Myrtle Math means that I could go ahead and get the Kindle version of the commentaries without guilt, because whilst the credit card bill will be greater, my bottom line still will be slightly less.  I promptly ordered them and had them downloaded into my Kindle.

For a brief moment, I wondered if I should read them in the order they appear in the New Testament. But then the intrigue over what I read in the preview of Mark called out and I dove right into that one.  BLISS.

The few things that I have learned (re-learned) in the "story" of the Gospel:

• Mark was a close companion of Peter and likely recording Peter's testimony of Jesus.
• Mark was Barnabas' cousin, who was the first to believe Paul's conversion and with whom Mark traveled for part of Paul's ministry.
• Mark is the only Gospel where the author does not mention his own name.
• Mark is the only Gospel where Jesus' voice is recorded in His native Aramaic.
• Mark was writing after this great fire (and trauma) Rome experienced, most likely at the hand of Nero.
• Mark and Peter die in the first wave of persecution after the fire.
• Mark uses more adjectives to describe the emotions of Jesus than the other Gospels; Mark has 15 separate scenes with multiple adjectives describing Jesus' emotions. Mathew uses four adjectives in six scenes; Luke uses just seven scenes, but has 34 scenes where he is describing the emotions of others; and John has just four adjectival references.  
• Mark's "passion" for the story he is recording is also evidenced in the frequent use of historical present tense (over 150 instances), by the repeated use of the word "immediately," and by his frenetic use of "and" (kai) to string together his ideas.
• Mark is the first evangelist to refer to his work as "a Gospel" (Mathew and John use the word in their writings, but do not refer to their books as such).  Paul, Matthew, and John always say "the gospel," but Mark is the first to present "A Gospel," in effect creating a new literary form. 

I really liked reading the background, especially with the points of comparisons made with the other gospels and the writings of Paul and Peter with a gazillion references.  I don't think I ever knew about the devastation of Rome in the fire.  Talking about this is something Michael Card brings up again when noting that Mark only states that Jesus baptizes with the Holy Spirit (as opposed to John's baptism of water) instead of the Holy Spirit and fire, the way the other gospels record.  That makes sense.  If you are writing in a time of great fearfulness and uncertainty following such devastation, omitting the use of the word "fire" would make sense and would not, as I would agree, mean that you are denying Jesus baptized with fire, as well as spirit.

Part of me wanted to go study up on Nero, but mostly I just wanted to dive into the first chapter of Mark.  That's what I did.

I am not sure if I wish to write through what I am reading, but already I have learned so much that I did not know or do not remember about the actual text of Mark, about the Gospel.  Michael Card teaches a lot about John the Baptist, noting that all four Gospels begin Christ' ministry with him and that each Gospel author honors John the Baptist in different ways, teaching us about him.

I liked learning about John the Baptist and especially how Michael Card describes him:  John is all that is old and everything that is new.  He stands with one foot in the Old Testament and the other planted firmly in the New.  He also noted:  The prophetic voice of God, silent for four hundred years, has begun to speak once more in him.

I read that part to Becky and she mused about what folk thought.  God had been speaking to them for all of history.  His voice directly and His voice through His prophets.  Then.  Then silence.  Silence for four hundred years.  That's sobering to think about.  And it makes Christ's arrival and the beginning of His ministry all the more ... surprising, eh?

There is ever so much more to write about what I learned about John the Baptist.  Mostly, I would just say, "Go read the book!"

I also learned that, at Christ's baptism, you have the appearance of the Trinity.  Okay, so, probably the whole world knows that, but it never occurred to me. Or at least I don't remember ever putting the fact that you have 1) Jesus, 2) God's voice, and 3) the Holy Spirit's arrival.  Call me childish, but I find that to be ever so cool.  The most irreverent thought popped into my mind:  The gang's all here!

What I found intriguing was Michael Card asking the question what it means when the Holy Spirit descends "like a dove."  He asks if that might mean a white bird landed on Jesus' shoulder.  But then he also points out that in Acts 2 the Holy Spirit is described as a flickering flame.  The imagery of flapping wings and flickering flames evokes an evanescence that is hard to pin down to words or metaphorical language.  So, it isn't that the Holy Spirit is an actual dove.  We don't know.  The Scripture isn't clear.

Of course, then I suddenly wondered if the Acts 2 reference is why the logo for the Methodist Church looks like a red flame flickering around a cross!!!  Man, am I ... stupid ... or what??

There was all this most wonderful stuff about wilderness ... about John coming from there and Jesus going there and Jesus retreating back there and Jesus really remaining in one wilderness or another  His whole ministry.  That made me think about how Christians are referred to as aliens and how life in a fallen world really is like wandering about in a wilderness, waiting and longing to arrive home.

There are most interesting thoughts about Jesus' first words and about fishers of men and about the only miracle performed on the Sabbath without conflict and about Simon's mother-in-law and how the cleansing of the leper is the first time in recorded history that the flow of cleanliness is reversed (the clean person is not made unclean) and about the purpose of Jesus' ministry.

Michael Card uses the word "gift" several times, which intrigues me. By this I mean, he talks about Jesus' healing being a gift.  But then notes that Jesus has not come to give gifts, but to give Himself.  If all Jesus wanted was to heal folks, to restore sight and sound, to make the lame walk, He wouldn't have journeyed inexorably toward His own crucifixion.  I like how Michael Card put it here, following the discussion of healing the leper (which I think would fall under Michael Card's stance of "informed imagining"):

As Jesus sees the man's skin clearing, his sores beginning to vanish, the sickening smell staring to fade, he realizes what will inevitably follow:  a more adamant mob, a more demanding herd of hangers-on with no interest in listening to or being transformed by his luminous words.  The best of Jesus' call to preach the good news is being eclipsed by the good of his ability to heal.

I did not italicize the quote to show the emphasis in it.  Jesus' best was not His ability to heal but the good news He brought ... the good news Christ effected in His crucifixion and resurrection.

I also like Michael Card's frequent use of the word "luminous" to describe the Word.  The Word of God is sweet, sweeter than honey.  And, yes, it is also luminous, glowing brightly here and dimly there, but all the while lighting our way.  I can see myself co-opting that word.  Good stuff there ... to me, for me.

I am not sure if I want to admit this, but after finishing the first chapter, I sat and wept for a long while.  I have yearned so deeply to regain at least some of the understanding I had about the Bible, about the Gospel.  I mean, folk will say, "Remember how so and so did this?" and I will mostly give the lie by nodding or murmuring nonsensical words to imply that I do.  But I don't.

I do not expect that I will remember this first chapter by the time I get to the last chapter of Mark, but I suppose I could hope.  [Try not to laugh at that.]  But at least I have a resource I can go back to and read again and again, the way I do the Book of Concord, that makes sense to me, that I don't find confusing in the least.

Mary posited that maybe Michael Card is good at Myrtle Speak, at using words I can understand.  Maybe that is why I was so eager to read more of what I saw in the preview.  That's why she thought it would be okay to read, knowing nothing about his commentaries and little about the man himself.

I wonder, too.  I wonder if my remembering that I had actually saved money on utilities and could make the purchase without going over budget was another sort of ... approval.  Of course, I do believe that Mary, at least, credits me with far more discernment that I actually have in this compromised brain of mine.  And I do hold great fears of reading something that leads me further away rather than brings me closer.  Closer to the Word.

Anyway, I lay there weeping like a baby, clutching the Kindle to my chest.  And then ... and then I fell asleep for a long time. You see, hope is terrifying.  And having hope is exhausting.

The savored Word...

Somehow, I missed that Michael Card wrote another album on Scripture.  In 2011,  he released "Luke: A World Turned Upside Down."  Even though I still do not know how to use the Amazon Prime music any place other than its website, I did get to listen to the entire album using the new music streaming service Amazon added to Prime membership.  It is different, in my opinion, than his trilogies on the Old Testament and on the New Testament.  But I enjoyed listening to him work his way through one of the Gospel books.

I admit that I very much wanted "Simeon's Song" to be different from what it was because of how very much I savor the Nunc Dimittis.  I think I shall have to work to separate out those feelings in order to properly listen to the song.


That old man in the temple
Waiting in the court
Waiting for the answer to a promise
And all at once he sees them
In the morning sunshine
A couple come and carry in a baby

Now that I've held Him in my arms
My life can come to an end
Let Your servant now depart in peace
'Cause I've seen Your salvation
He's the Light of the Gentiles
And the glory of His people, Israel

Mary and the baby come
And in her hand five shekels
The price to redeem her baby boy
The baby softly cooing
Nestled in her arms
Simeon takes the boy and starts to sing

Now that I've held Him in my arms
My life can come to an end
Let Your servant now depart in peace
'Cause I've seen Your salvation
He's the Light of the Gentiles
And the glory of His people, Israel

Now's the time to take Him in your arms
Your life will never come to an end
He's the only way that you'll find peace
He'll give you salvation
'Cause he's the Light of the Gentiles
And the glory of His people, Israel

I think a small rewrite to the final stanza would help better present the true doctrine:

That baby grown now takes you in His arms
Your life will never come to an end
His baptism brings the only peace you'll find
His death gives you salvation
'Cause he's the Light of the Gentiles
And the glory of His people, Israel
[Of course, I'm not a song writer, so be merciful in my edits.]

One of the songs is not specifically from a passage from Luke, but it is an example of how Michael Card so often points to Christ, The Way, The Truth, and the Life.


Freedom

I am lost and I am bound
And I am captive to the shame
That keeps on holding me down
And all I need to be found
Is freedom

I am tired and I am dying
And I am trapped inside the cage
I’ve made of hopelessly trying
But the door would open and I’d be flying
If I could find freedom

Freedom, freedom
All the burdens we have borne
All the losses that we mourn
Cry out for freedom, freedom

Prison walls, and bolted doors
Something keeps on telling me
That I was made for more
But there is Someone who can restore
My freedom

A gentle voice I can't evade
Speaks in the darkness of the heart
And whispers, "Do not be afraid
You can be free, the price was paid
For your freedom"

Freedom, freedom
From the darkest of the night
From desolation to delight
Freedom, freedom

The chains are broken, the door is open
He is your Freedom

But back to those specifically from Luke.  One song, "A Breath of a Prayer," is the Lord's Prayer melded with the Kyrie.  Interesting ... really, really, really interesting to cry out for mercy as you pray the Lord's Prayer.  

For the Magnificat, "What Sort of Song?" Michael Card wrote a duet, where Maggie Card sings the actual words of Mary's song, whilst he sings about the Magnificat.  I think, maybe, hearing this helped me to understand and appreciate the Magnificat more than I ever have in the Divine Service settings.  

[Wow!  Was that difficult to admit!]

Another song addresses the Last Supper, "How Much More a Servant Could He Be?" It begins:  "On this their final night/ they bicker and they fight/still they are slaves to men/but not yet slaves to Christ."  Again, interesting.  Throughout the song, I do like the emphasis on what the Lord's Supper is, but the chorus is "The arguments just melt away/and there was nothing more than they could say/a wordless lesson that would set them free/Tell me how much more a servant could He be?"  So, I think the song misses the point of the Lord's Supper because it is most certainly not wordless.  The Lord's Supper is The Word and is filled with the Word.  However, "He is the wine and bread/too much to comprehend" is a great line, though!

Michael Card also has a song set between the crucifixion and the resurrection, "The Pain and the Persistence of Doubt."  I think would best be presented if I typed up all the lyrics, but that is more work than I have in me tonight (not all the song lyrics are online).  To me, the song is both a balm and a condemnation.   I hear the works righteousness call to do that which I am hoping is really the work of Christ.  By this, I mean it ends with the question "Why can you not let go of the pain and the persistence of doubt?"  Would that it were I could do this myself!  I cannot!!

But, then again, could this question be the same sort of self-refelctive question of Psalm 42 where the psalmist asks his own soul why it is in despair.  I don't know.  What I do know is that I oft hear Law more keenly than others.  

Overall, to me, this song was more a plea to "let go and let God" than a crooning lullaby of the sweet, sweet Gospel that is Christ crucified for you that the Holy Spirit will work in you rather than you work it.  If that makes sense....

What I discovered in reading about the album to which I have been listening to even as I write this, I discovered that Michael Card set out to write a set of commentaries on the Gospels, using the original Hebrew and Greek, based on his stance about the importance of imagination.  I've read several explanations of his stance that left me wary, but this one by Michael Card himself is a bit less ... concerning:

“On one side are those who study Scripture with their minds. They engage intellectually, puzzling over the text as if it were only a cipher to be solved. They tend to gravitate toward theology. They revel in being “right.” On the other side are those who engage the Bible predominantly with the heart. They lean toward the emotional, even mystical understanding of the Scripture. Rather than theological, I would describe them as devotional in their approach. Neither approach is wrong, but both are incomplete. God has given us hearts with which to feel and minds for reasoning. He longs to recapture them both with the truth of the Word.”

What sort of cracked me up was one person's review of the Luke Commentary:

Although Card is operating from a more orthodox theological perspective than I would use as a progressive Christian, I was nevertheless struck throughout that he had done his homework. Namely, almost every chapter shows evidence of studying the original languages of Greek and Hebrew and includes multiple connections between how various parts of Luke’s Gospel interrelate. Despite the strengths of these insights, I was actually surprised to find that the high percentage of scholarly commentary in the book leaves almost no room for what I would call more “imaginative” or “creative” encounters with scripture — at least as defined in the Ignatian spiritual tradition in which I was trained.

Mostly, after reading the review, I was left with the complaint that the commentary was not "experiential" enough ... did not leave room for an individual to insert his/her personal encounter with Christ.  Good!,  I say to that.

I find Michael Card's commentary titles ... interesting:

• Matthew:  The Gospel of Identity
• Mark:  The Gospel of Passion
• Luke:  The Gospel of Amazement
• John:  The Gospel of Wisdom

Being all confused and doubtful about faith, I am very much not wanting to read anything but the pure doctrine that is in the Book of Concord (BOC).  However, I also would like to read these, to read what the song writer who has such a love affair with the Word of God has to say.  If nothing else, Michael Card is that:  another who deeply savors and reveres the Word of God.  

Still.  Even now.  Even in this world of ours where even the Church, here and there, can be so very antagonistic toward that Word.

[Have I ever mentioned that when I saw him in concert back in college I would bring pen and paper to take notes because Michael Card talked as much about the Word of God as he sang??  Do you think there is any chance of talking Michael Card into writing a trilogy of albums on the Psalter???]

Money aside, I wonder, Is that okay?  Is it okay to want to read commentaries by one you know is most likely errant in doctrine??  

I peeked.  I admit it.  Just now, I went to Amazon.com and used the Look Inside feature to read some of the commentary on Mark.  Michael Card seems to be painting a picture of the world in which the Gospels were taking place, imagining what might have been, filling in thoughts and emotions, but remaining focused on both what Scripture actually says and that Scripture is always pointing toward Christ.  It was like someone had asked Michael Card to tell her the story of Mark and so he did.   Now I really want to read them.  SIGH.

Is it wrong to long for the fellowship of those who savor the Word, who hunger for it to be spoken and read and reveled in day after day after day ... not just Sundays??

In my "formative" Christian years, I was raised on The Practice of Godliness and The Pursuit of Holiness.  I no longer have those books, as they were among a vast store of bad theology books I purged after reading the BOC for the first time.  I mean, seriously, why even consider the practice of godliness since we are never going to be gods or going to be able to live like a god.  As for the pursuit of Holiness, how can you pursue something that is a gift from and a work of the Holy Spirit??  I mean, that book could have been written in a single short paragraph:  Get baptized.  Hear the Word of God.  Receive the Lord's Supper.  That way, the Holy Spirit can and will work to sanctify you and your life even as you remain a sinner in this fallen world because you are also a justified and redeemed saint.

Tell me, someone, oh please, the story of the Gospels.  Help me to know them again.  Make them accessible even to this forgetful (and fearful) mind.

Wave upon wave...

Today, I have been riding violent waves of nausea for hours and hours and hours.  I had planned to do nothing, but thrice I have been scolded by a hummingbird whilst awaiting on Amos—perhaps the same one—so I dragged myself out to the feeders, cleaned, and re-filled them all.

This is the second time that I have executed my new way of doing so.  You see, I kept dripping sugar water on the kitchen floor, which makes for sticky spots that last far to long ... especially if you try to avoid mopping by cleaning them one by one once you spot them.  So, I now mix up the sugar water and fill my watering pitcher with scalding hot water.  I then take both outside, remove the lid of the empty feeder, fill it with the hot water, shake it, empty it, repeat a few times, and then fill it up with sugar water.  Any messy dripping happens outside atop the mulch.  Hence, no need for clean-up and no need to mop my kitchen floor.

By the way, the hummingbird(s) had plenty of time to conduct those scoldings because this is Amos' latest tactic for avoiding the dreaded GREEN grass.  He runs down the sidewalk, hops across the stepping stones, and leaps from the last one up onto the bench.  Then, he stands there and looks pitifully at me.

[You can join me in admiring my GREEN grass in August, if you want.  We've had such a mild, wet mid to late summer.  I'm so very happy to see such lusciousness without my watering!!]

Yesterday, I exhausted my beloved puppy dog by giving him a haircut and a bath.  That meant changing the bedding and doing the laundry.  I also took out the recycling and the trash.  Today, I had some lentils and some granola.  Then, a while later, the nausea began.  I've been battling it ever since, despite two doses of Zofran, two ginger ales and some saltines.  All three help for a while, but the nausea keeps rising again just after it ebbs.  I can eat.  Or, rather, the erythromycin is working because my stomach is emptying.  I suppose it is just that blasted vegus nerve.

I did remember to take a photo of a long-overdue good idea I had:

Ever since I switched over to glass storage containers two (or more) years ago, I have been battling those blasted lids.  By this I mean most of the time I tried to get out a container, the lids would fall.  Sometimes, they fell just opening the cabinet door.  No matter how I stacked them, I couldn't get them to stay put.  Just a few days ago, I finally got the idea to use one of my many bookshelf stands from my old offices to keep the lids in place.  It works just beautifully!

Cabinet peace.  Even as nauseous as I am at the moment, just seeing this photo makes me smile.  One less battle in my life!

The soup! The soup! The soup!

I am trying out Mary's idea.

This is the third day that I have managed to take all my pill medication.  The past two nights I have taken the next day's box out and put it by the knife block just to be sure to remember the first dose when I am feeding Amos in the early morning before we both go back to bed for more nightmares (sleep).

In case you are wondering, I took this on Saturday after I made a recipe that used eight cups of milk.  And, now, that front glass pitcher is already empty.  Do you think I need to find a Milkaholic Anonymous meeting??

"What recipe did you make, Myrtle?"  Ah, my! I'm happy to report that I finally got around to making Roasted Rutabaga and Parsnips Beer Cheese Soup!

My neighbor went with me to Walmart before I started cooking.  You see, I had only a partially filled glass jar and a plastic gallon jug of milk.  I had started to panic thinking about just how much less milk that I would have after making the soup.  So, we fetched a few more gallons.  And some extra cheese.  And grapes.  [I think that I somehow made a mistake weighing those first grapes and greatly overcharged myself at the self-checkout.]  The grapes sure do refresh my mouth after taking the less-than-pleasant-tasting erythromycin solution.

Because I am a wretched sinner, I also stopped by Panera and used a gift card to get some crusty bread to serve with the soup since my neighbor agreed to join me for dinner.  I did not want to share the sourdough loaf I picked up on the way home from the doctor's office on Friday from that bloody fantastic Fresh Market store that also carries the wondrous European Butter that I managed to keep out of my shopping cart.

Actually, my neighbor asked if her autistic son could come and we could practice his shopping at Meier first. We did that.  Then Walmart.  Then Panera.  I was exhausted.  But there was no stopping me from making that soup.  I needed culinary soothing.

Now, if you were making the soup, I am most certain that you would have understand the gross error in the yield section.  You would note the vast quantity of liquids and have made changes before you began.  But I am not you.  I did not notice.  And I struggled with the very real fear that I was going to flood my kitchen again, only with cheese soup this time.

At one point, I called Mary in a panic because my soup was less than two inches from the top of my large stock pot and I still had four of the six cups of stock to put in the pot and there was not enough room!  It was also already thin for cheese soup ... or so I thought.  I've never actually had a beer cheese soup.  Mary gave me the freedom of the kitchen to choose to not put in any more stock.  With my loins girded by my friend, I finished up.

Of course, the cheese flood panic led to the largest mess in the kitchen to date.  I was so culinarily stressed that I kept putting my stirring spoon straight down on the stovetop.  By the time the dish was actually finished, my stove top was yellow, rather than black.  SIGH.

But.
But it was really, really, really tasty.
My neighbor is still texting me about just how good last night's dinner was!

So, about that gross error?  The original recipe reads 4 servings.  Even without out adding the last four cups of stock, I had EIGHTEEN servings of Roasted Rutabaga and Parsnips Beer Cheese Soup! Yes, you read that correctly:  EIGHTEEN SERVINGS!  Needless to say, when I wrote up the recipe, I halved it.  Of course, it was many, many, many hours of wondering how I was going to avoid having EIGHTEEN SERVINGS again before I figured out that I could just halve the recipe as I typed it up so that I would not be actually making a full batch.

It was my neighbor who came up with the much, much, much better garnish than the original recipe.  I mean, who actually uses parsley?  Crumbled applewood smoked bacon is a most brilliant idea for a garnish.  And we both agreed that in halving the recipe I should not halve the vegetables because it would have been nice to have more of the roasted rutabaga and parsnips in the bowl.  So, I did not.  Among the other changes that I made was how I roasted the vegetables had been roasted.  With this recipe, I also decided that I would start straining the puréed onions before I cooked them.  I think that, if you are like me and wish not for the onion texture, but want to keep the flavor, draining off the liquid that comes from puréeing onions makes for a better sautéed result later.

I started the roux base in my large sauteuse pan, even though the directions said to make the whole thing in a stock pot.  With the recipe halved, I should be able to make the whole thing in the large sauteuse pot next time.  But I started in the sauteuse pot because I think you need a wide, wide expanse of cooking area to make a roux.  The bottom of a stock pot is not wide enough and doesn't allow for the flat whisking that you need to do.  But starting with the sauteuse pot just made for a greater mess.  SIGH.

Well ... uhm ... about those photos.  I forgot to take them.  Making this was such an effort.  The original recipe's cooking and prep time was off, too.  For example, it took me FORTY-FIVE MINUTES just to grate the three and a half pounds of cheese.  That was bloody exhausting.  It took me over three hours to make the soup.  Halving it, next time, maybe in 2015 when all those servings in my freezer are gone, should take a shorter amount of time.

My neighbor and I were so eager to start chowing down, that even though I had asked her to help me remember to take a photo once we set the table, we forgot.  So, here is my very lame photo:

We will not discuss the fact that this was my second bowl, which was why I could not fill another bowl and take a photo.  Both of us were nearly finished with our second bowls.  All the bread might have been gone at this point, too.  You'll just have to use your imagination that this looked as good as it tasted.

The recipe says it freezes well.  All the other jars are in the basement, but I left one upstairs to have later this week.  I am anxious to know how this rather tasty dish does all thawed out, heated up, and served again.

Amos liked it.  A lot.

I just might be at the end of my rutabaga exploration for now.  I do have a basil cream parsnip recipe that needs making.  After that, I have not figured out another vegetable I might could possibly consider tasty.

There is all that mulch that is still sitting in my garage.
Maybe I can distract myself that way.

What is all that noise???

I was brushing my teeth two days ago, when I realized that I cannot see the bathroom sink again.  With my face so close to the faucet (I was spitting out the toothpaste foam in my mouth), I was horrified to see that my white bathroom sink was actually grey.  I immediately wondered about the floor.

I am not buying new glasses again so soon.
I am blaming the sink.
It must be too white for proper vision.

That little tidbit of knowledge was tucked away in the corner of my mind when I noticed something else in the wee hours of this morning whilst watching bad, bad, bad disaster movies on YouTube.  [I just recently discovered this feast of wretched movies, such as Magma: Volcanic Disaster.]  The sound on my still-relatively-new Macbook just doesn't seem loud to me at all.  I finally decided that I would get out my ancient-but-really-nice noise canceling headphones I got back in the dark ages when I was still flying on planes.  I didn't bother switching out the batteries so that I could use the noise-canceling feature; I just used them as plain headsets.

As I was watching the movie, I kept trying to figure out what was wrong with my computer.  I mean, I was most certain that more than one video was playing at a time, for I heard all this stuff besides the dialogue and cheesy background music.  Only, whenever I paused the video, the other sounds would stop.  The movie was almost over when I finally figured out what was happening.  I could actually hear the background/ambient noise that was recorded with the dialogue. For example, in a bar scene, I could hear other people (non-main characters) talking, the music on the jukebox, the buzz of the fan, etc.  Do you get the picture??

I have known for a long time that I have hearing issues.  But I mostly ignore it.  I mean, as I mentioned before, to listen to music, I turn the bass off and the treble up.  I thought it was "normal" sounding until Becky told me whilst we were driving to my father's funeral that she just couldn't stand the music anymore ... it was distorted too much for her to enjoy it.  To me, it sounds just fine.

A lot of my vision issues are because my brain is simply not "translating" the information received by my eyeballs.  Those pesky nerves.  I began to wonder just how much I have been missing in my movies and television shows and spent some time plowing through video stream after video stream.

I felt like a dolt.
How could I not know all that I was missing??

I wondered if this is like sticking my face close to the sink to see.  Is using headphones like sticking my ear up to a speaker?  I also wonder if this is just from getting old, from being on the downhill to 50.

I mean, I have noticed several old people things of late:  My face might get me carded all the bloody time, but my hands are starting to hold wrinkles and are rather dry.  I have age spots, with one on my eyebrow that still surprises me when I look in the mirror because the lack of visual clarity makes it look to me like I have a mutant eyebrow.  My eyelids are also ... wet or sweaty or something, that makes me want to smother them in eyeshadow all the time, only I stopped wearing make-up most days.  Most of the hair on my legs is not growing anymore, though I could wish my shins would take a cue from the rest of my legs.  I have some of those red vein splotches, too.  My heels are all cracked (which is gross).  I have skin tags on my neck (also gross).  And I now have very, very, very thin eyelashes.  I find the latter just plain odd, for I finally see a "dramatic" change when I use mascara. [Back in the dark ages, I mostly wore clear mascara because I didn't need much help in that department.]

I cheer for my grey hairs every day, but they are just so darned reluctant to appear.  [I really, really, really do not find it a compliment to be taken for ever so much younger than my real age.]  I have liked that the texture of my hair has coarsened, so that it is not so darned fine and limp (translate that:  I finally can get some pouf up top if I actually spend time on my hair).

I don't really mind the changes ... even the gross ones because mostly I cannot see them unless I stick my face up close to them.  I am even wondering if it really matters that I cannot hear the ambient noise of a show or movie.  If I can hear the folk talk, isn't that all I need???

Still, using the headphones freaks me out a bit.  Were I still a researcher, however, I would find it kind of interesting to do some data collection as to where lies biggest audio difference.  Does production date matter?  Does production quality matter?  Are there differences between television and movies?  Does hearing ambient sound affect engagement with media?  Does it affect plot comprehension?

I miss being a thinking person.

Blossoms and the bees...

I spent some time with my Rose of Sharon bushes ... not thinking......

I liked lying on the grass, looking up at all the blossoms...

The blossoms that are ....

...and the blossoms to be.  Funny how dark they are when all tightly coiled ... before the sun reaches them.

I enjoyed watching the bumble bees collect pollen.

Greedy little guys, finishing one flower vist and looking about for another.

This one was rather tired and took a siesta to recover from all his labors.

Can you see the honey bee in there on the right?  The bumble bees and honey bees were all vying for the best flowers.  An odd sort of chorus, buzzes pitched high and low, soft and loud.

Wild to think that my Rose of Sharons are just beginning their full bloom in August!





There are, sadly, many a blossom lying on the ground unfurled.  Lives cut short.  I wish I could remember if my old, old, old Rose of Sharon bushes-turned-trees ever dropped blossoms like this.  But I don't.

I don't remember things.

Today, at my bimonthly doctor visit, after some listening and some questioning, my GP said that she would like to have me evaluated for early onset Alzheimer's.  Words I wanted to hear for the chance at medications to help with memory.  Words that also felled me, that I hoped would never, ever fall from her lips.

This memory thing ... it's getting worse.
I know it.
I want others to understand.
And I want it to go away.

I learned something this week.  If you give me changes that you wish for me to make on something I have designed for you, changes in the text, you must give them to me in the order in which they appear in the text.  If you do not, I will spend hours and hours and hours trying to find the changes, fail at doing so, and weep in despair.

Sometimes.  Sometimes I wish I were blue-haired and drooling in a nursing home.  Then.  Then folk might not think it so burdensome to talk with me and my muddled, anxious, confused, terrified, insensible mind that sometimes rings clear as a bell just to hoodwink me.

Mary.  Sweet Mary.  She suggested we find a better place for my medication box.  Balanced on the milk jars in the refrigerator.  Perched atop the dishes in my cabinet.  Places I am in every day downstairs, but that would still afford me visual rest on my counter.  Stinking brilliant Mary.

The oddest part about today?  The nurse discovered that I am running a fever.  Given that I don't seem to be ill in the slightest (other than my mind and body falling apart), do you think it was serving the whims of the devil in my dreams that has me so hot???

I get this song...

Lawdy, Lawdy, please help me sleep.
I've been tired for too long, for too, Lawdy!
Lawdy, Lawdy, please give me peace.
I've been scared for far too long, Lawdy!

Hold me in Your hands; help me understand.Guide me in Your ways, Lawdy, Lawdy stay!
Lawdy, Lawdy stay with me.

I need You to stay by my side; stay by my side, Lawdy!
Lawdy, Lawdy, please help me see.
I can't be blind for all my life, for all my life, Lawdy!

Hold me in Your hands; help me understand.
Guide me in Your ways, Lawdy, Lawdy stay!
Lawdy, Lawdy stay!
Ooooooo...

Hold me in Your hands; help me understand.
Got me in Your ways; Lawdy, Lawdy stay!
Hold me in Your hands; help me understand.
Guide me in Your ways; Lawdy, Lawdy stay!
Lawdy, Lawdy stay!
Lawdy, Lawdy stay!

Another talk...

I had to have another Come-to-Jesus talk with myself.  For the fourth day in eight, I had missed every dose of my medication save the erythromycin.  It has happened so much of late that I started bleeding ... and it's been three years since that embarrassing, difficult problem was resolved.

Myrtle, you simply have to have your medications out in a spot where you will see them all the time.  Your brain is no longer reliable enough to remember to take the day's box to the nightstand at night and then to the table next to the GREEN chair in the morning.  Your health depends on being consistent with your maintenance medications. and your brain is no longer capable of remembering ... or being consistent.

SIGH.

My kitchen counters do have things on them, but very little in comparisons to the counters I have seen of others.  I have my toaster, canisters, and utensil holder on the corner counter.  On the sink run, I have my knife block and natural wood (from a sustainable forest) cutting board.  At the very end, I have a small collection of things that make me smile: a tiny GREEN pitcher from Becky, a tiny replica of a Dr Pepper platter, and a tiny cow (a long, long, long story).

I prefer great expanses of nothingness on my counters.  Better to see and give thanks for the richness of the GREEN granite counters my mother "upgraded" for me.  In fact, I have contemplated putting away the rather beautiful cutting board because I use the plastic mats most of the time.  Visual Rest.  That's my balm.  Visual Rest with swaths of GREEN is icing on the cake.

This is not visual rest.
It is an inescapable reminder of what I am losing.
And the Interior Designer's Daughter in me finds it unacceptable decor.

SIGH.

I need to think about the longer term issues with moving my medication box from the shelf in the bathroom down to the kitchen.  Clearly, I will not be able to overlook it here.  I will see it many times a day (feeding Amos, letting Amos go outside, feeding myself, etc.).  Do I try to reorganize space in the dining room built-ins for my medications?  Do I add another basket to the top of the refrigerator for all my medication bottles?  Or do I haul the thing upstairs each week to fill it and hope that I remember to bring it back down right away?

"Hope to remember."
Not a good phrase for me.

The things I miss...

I was thinking about the things I miss, about how I miss the Word of God.  And I was thinking about music and the songs I mentioned yesterday.  Then, it struck me how very much I miss the Doxology, miss hearing it and singing it.  This is a good example of the Doxology I mean:

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

That was how the services ended.  The last thing on our lips before we left.  At least it was for many years.  Then, lure of feelings and experiences that had crept into the sermons and texts other than the Bible being taught displaced the Doxology for Sweet Sweet Spirit.  This is close to the way that it was oft played in church, if still not quite "upbeat" enough:

There's a sweet, sweet Spirit in this place,
And I know that it's the Spirit of the Lord;
There are sweet expressions on each face,
And I know they feel the presence of the Lord.

Chorus
Sweet Holy Spirit, Sweet heavenly Dove,
Stay right here with us, filling us with Your love.
And for these blessings we lift our hearts in praise;
Without a doubt we'll know that we have been revived,
When we shall leave this place.

Such a shift from giving praise to God to talking about the experience of man.  VOMITUS.  

I found it interesting, in Googling, to learn that there were actually two more verses I never knew about:

There are blessings you cannot receive
Till you know Him in His fullness and believe;
You're the one to profit when you say,
"I am going to walk with Jesus all the way."

If you say He saved you from your sin,
Now you're weak, you're bound and cannot enter in,
You can make it right if you will yield,
You'll enjoy the Holy Spirit that we feel.


The third verse makes no sense.  I mean, the second line seems to say that if you confess Christ saved you, you are still barred from "heaven."  Then, salvation is presented as yielding and feeling.  VOMITUS.  No wonder only the first verse and chorus were sung!

I really, really, really dislike that that song is still in my mind when so much else is forgotten.  SIGH.

Every once in a while, something older ... deeper ... comes to mind and to lips.  I sing it, wondering where I learned it.   I thought that my YouTube searching skills poor, for I could not find a version of it that fits with what is in my head.  I mean, I found that it is a spoken Catholic prayer and a Mormon hymn.  This from a Methodist hymnal is sort of like it, but not.   Then, I realized that I was searching the wrong words; I should have been searching "Gloria Patri."  This is what I know:

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost;
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end. Amen. Amen.

I very much miss hearing the Doxology and the Gloria Patri.   However, I also miss the Nunc Dimittis, from the Lutheran Service Book, Divine Setting Three:

Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant 
depart in peace 
according to Thy Word,
For mine eyes have seen Thy salvation, 
which Thou has prepared before 
the face of all people,
a light to lighten the Gentiles 
and the glory of Thy people Israel.
Glory be to the Father 
and to the Son 
and to the Holy Ghost;
As it was in the beginning, 
is now and ever shall be,
world without end. Amen.

Hey, look!  It ends with the Gloria Patri.  Maybe that's why I liked it so much from the very first time I heard it ... a blending of what I knew of Christianity before and that which I learned from the Christian Book of Concord.

In the darkness...

As much as I have mentioned the nightmares and night terrors, I do not believe that I have even begun to explain what it is like for me.  And, now, it is as if there are two Myrtle's:  The Myrtle who wakes up screaming, vomiting, or is huddled in the corner of the closet and the Myrtle who has become resigned ... numb even ... to the darkness in my dreams, in my heart.

The world of Christian Contemporary Music is long, long behind me.  But there are some artists whom I still admire and some songs that I savor ... for one reason or another.  I've posted before about Fernando Ortega.  His Jesus King of Angels is a great comfort to me.  A song that tells me I am known.

Jesus, King of angels, heaven's light,
Shine Your face upon this house tonight.
Let no evil come into my dreams;
Light of heaven, keep me in Your peace.

Remind me how You made dark spirits flee, 

And spoke Your power to the raging sea.
And spoke Your mercy to a sinful man;
Remind me, Jesus, this is what I am.

The universe is vast beyond the stars,
But You are mindful when the sparrow falls, 

And mindful of the anxious thoughts 

That find me, surround me, and bind me.

With all my heart I love You, Sovereign Lord.
Tomorrow, let me love You even more.
And rise to speak the goodness of Your name 

Until I close my eyes and sleep again.

The universe is vast beyond the stars,
But You are mindful when the sparrow falls, 

And mindful of the anxious thoughts 

That find me, surround me, and bind me.

Jesus, King of angels, heaven's light,
Hold my hand and keep me through this night.

Yes, the "loving God" verse is troublesome, but the rest the plea to be safe in the night, to be reminded of His works, the admission of how anxiety finds, surrounds, and binds ... the rest is just so very me.  

[I really do think Fernando is a Lutheran at heart.  Man, he confesses that he's a sinner!  Plus, he has all these songs he's crafted from the Psalter.]

Amazon Prime added this music streaming service.  I am ever so technologically challenged these days that I did not even bother checking it out.  But the other day I was thinking about music and its balm for me and I wondered if Chris Rice had any other quirky or bald songs.  I found one, Spare an Angel, and somehow managed to stream it.

Found her starin' at the rain
And askin' "Why it has to hurt so bad?"
Where's the limit to the pain her heart can take
Before it breaks in half

I wanted to be strong enough to hold her
And show her the way
But she's so far out of reach
And now all I can do is pray

Can you spare an Angel tonight send a little help from your side?
'Cause somebody's lost down here, 

let him wing his way through the dark
Carry some of your love into her heart
Can you spare an Angel, spare an Angel, spare an Angel?

She wonders further in the dark feels the cold and hears the thunder cry
While the rain keeps pouring down her only answer from the lonely sky
She has no idea how much you love her
Or how much you care,

"So would you choose one of your best
To be the answer to my prayer?"

Can you spare an Angel tonight send a little help from your side?
'Cause somebody's lost down here, 

let him wing his way through the dark
Carry some of your love into her heart
Can you spare an Angel, spare an Angel, spare an Angel?

Oh, I don't know
What else to pray this time
Maybe an Angel
Can lead her lonesome heart away to Jesus side

Can you spare an Angel tonight send a little help from your side?
'Cause somebody's lost down here 

let him wing his way through the dark
Carry some of your love into her heart
Can you spare an Angel, spare an Angel, spare an Angel?

I like the song.  I do.  But it occurred to me that I know nothing about the doctrine of angels.  I mean, I know that some angels in the Bible are messengers.  I am muddy on the whole Angel of the Lord thing, because I think I was taught that sometimes that means God come to earth.  Only how is that possible?  Or maybe that's not quite the right question.

As I noted before, what I know of angels is from Frank Peretti's books This Present Darkness and Piercing the Darkness.  I know those cannot possibly be the way angels work.  Really, I have no Biblical arguments against the plots.  But having angels' power, strength, and efficacy be dependent on the faithfulness of believers, works for God, just seems incompatible with the pure doctrine of Christ crucified for man.

How strange it is to be in church for some 31 years and realize that you do not know who or what angels are and what they really do.

I like the song. I like the ... raw way it is sung.  I like the idea of an angel coming to help with the darkness.  But that line:  "carry some of your love into her heart"... Is that not the work of the Holy Spirit via the means of grace (Word and Sacrament)?

The Holy Spirit is not an angel.

He is God.

So what are angels???

I like Jesus King of Angels.  I like its simplicity, its reminiscence of a lullaby.  I like its focus on Jesus.  I like its confession of fear and weakness.  But that line: "Hold my hand and keep me through this night" ... How do you hold Christ's hand???

Fernando Ortega has two songs based on Psalm 139.  If I Flee on Morning's Wings is my favorite.  Incredible orchestral music.  Simple.  Short.  Full.

If to Heaven's heights I fly
You are still beside me,
Or in death's dark shadows lie,
You will stay close by me.
If I flee on morning wings
Far across the gray sea,
Even there your hand will lead,
Your right hand will guide me.

Bonhoeffer wrote about Jesus praying the Psalter for us.

Does He pray this for me?

Not a vegetable...

When Googling for parsnip recipes, I stumbled across something called orzotto.  Now, I am not a fan of rice, eating it primarily with the Thai Honey Peanut Chicken. This is because, when younger, we had rice with far, far, far too many meals.  I think I went about 15 years of not eating rice at all.  So, I have not really had much risotto.  If I am understand correctly, orzotto is sort of like a pasta version of risotto.  Tonight, I made a full batch of the Zesty Roasted Rutabaga and Carrots (that I had been wanting to have for a second time), and I tried out an orzotto recipe.

This is my beloved sauteuse pan that is so often mentioned in my recipes.  It is magical and make magnificent dishes.

For a totally new sort of dish, I was rather bold about the changes I made.  Mostly, I thought I was on the safe side.  The first thing I did was add garlic, because who ever heard of a lemon and basil dish without garlic.  And, of course, I completely ditched the idea of peas. [UGH]

As for the rest of the ingredients, I would say that I sort of "tweaked" the recipe.  I used the homemade vegetable stock, primarily because I have come to believe that you should only use chicken stock with chicken recipes.  Plus, my vegetable stock is rather hearty!  Since I only drink my beloved Barefoot Moscato, I used that instead of dry white wine.  And I changed the main cheese from Parmesan to Romano and increased the amount, but I used shaved Parmesan as a garnish.

To test my freezing measures, I used the frozen basil, as opposed to the hoards of basil growing in my bed.  I found it to be the same as using fresh, taste wise.  I mean, it was coated with olive oil, but I don't think that made a difference in the dish.  And the basil certainly smelled quite fragrant.

So, in my opinion, my Lemon Basil Orzotto turned out just fine, despite all my mucking about with the recipe.  I ate it as a main dish, as I believe the original recipe presents.  However, I think it would make a good side dish, as well.  Yes, I plan to fully investigate the many ways one could make orzotto.  Eventually.

I wanted very much to tell someone about my tasty new discovery, but settled with talking to Amos about it as he pre-cleaned my bowl.  I have enjoyed my neighbor getting through her struggles and being able to socialize again.  However, the other day she admitted that she did not care to hear me talk about all the cooking I have been doing.  Since she left her job as a cook under a cloud, hearing about cooking distresses her.

This was news to me.  I mean, ever since her husband abruptly died, my neighbor sort of just put life on hold.  She gave up teaching high school English and took a simple job as a cafeteria cook in an private elementary school.  She did so with great probity and raised the productivity and quality of the kitchen.  I thought she moved to custodial work because it meant moving from partial year, hourly work, to yearly, full-time work with insurance and benefits.  In fact, she just took her first paid vacation in five (six?) years.

Since she left the kitchen, in just eight months, the school is on its 5th cook, who has already given notice.  The way I interpret the situation is that the school is discovering just want a great cook my neighbor was and all the ways she went above and beyond her duties.  But my neighbor said she left because the school moms didn't find her perky enough and had started a campaign to have her leave.

The teachers at the same school are all really, really, really happy that my neighbor made the change of job.  They love the attention to detail she gives to their classrooms and oft leave her little thank-you notes and small gifts.  Doesn't that sound like a win?

My neighbor, though, is consumed by her perceived failure in the cafeteria and wants nothing to do with cooking talk.  I tried to point out that being "perky" for school moms who wanted her to do things that were actually in violation of food service and federal school food guidelines was not actually on her job description.  And, seriously, the fact that my neighbor is currently technically irreplaceable simply points to a success in her previous job, not a failure.

But my perspective doesn't matter.
Only hers.
So, Amos is the one who listens to my culinary adventures.

Four days from now is the hardest day of the year for me.  And is part of the reason for the recent spate of cooking (and a bit of organizing) thrown in for good measure.  The fourth anniversary of the hardest day of my life on many levels.  For one, it is the fourth anniversary of being diagnosed with dysautonomia.  As for the rest, I still cannot really write about it.  But, in so many ways, that day was the beginning of the end of so much of my life, physically, mentally, professionally, and ... maybe ... even spiritually.

My freezers are really, really, really full.  I will be able to make some more White Chocolate Cherry Oatmeal cookies, once I finish emptying another dessert container.  But I actually do not need to cook for a while.  A long while.  I certainly don't need to organize.  I am done with the hard labor of home improvement projects.  I am caught up on laundry and dishes.  Amos has had a bath, haircut, and nail trim.  I have nothing to edit.  I am not sure when the next mailing will occur.  I finished the information cut sheet a friend asked me to design for her.  Hence, there is little left to distract me from my thoughts ... and fears.

Soup and a side...

I made both my soup and my parsnips, so it was a positive cooking day.  I set a goal.  I achieved my goal.  And that goal was tasty!

For part of my soup recipe, I had to roast the bell peppers.  As I mentioned, I wanted to have the bell peppers for flavor, but I needed to figure out a way that I could tolerate them.  Last summer, some made a helpful observation:  all of my food dislikes are texture related.  Definitely, I care not for the crunch of onions and bell peppers.  I thought roasting would be the Happy Medium for this recipe—a way to change the texture of the ingredient so that I could use it, the way I have been doing with onions.

I lined the pan with foil, as directed.  But I don't really think that is necessary.

I roasted them for 45 minutes, not 35-40 minutes per the directions, and I rotated them three times, not once.

Here are my de-stemmed, de-seeded, peeled, and finely diced roasted bell peppers!  I wanted really small pieces so that 1) I wouldn't notice them as much and 2) they would be more evenly distributed in the soup.

Two hours into the cooking process, I put them in my Black Bean Soup with Roasted Bell Peppers.

Which, incidentally, you want to serve with a dollop of sour cream!

I also made my first parsnips recipe.  I had read that many folk do not use the center of the parsnip because of a slight bitterness, but several people advised to ignore that claim.  I did.  My parsnips were not bitter.

Cutting the parsnips and carrots took forever!  So, I didn't even use the whole amount that the recipe called for (a pound of each).  This is 12 ounces of each.

I ended up with four servings of Maple Roasted Carrots and Parsnips.  I confess that while I lowered the amount of vegetables, I left the proportions of the marinade alone.  I really, really, really like to sauce things up.  I also used fresh thyme instead of dry.  In my opinion, the extra marinade was just fine.  I did find the recipe title a bit odd ... for there is also thyme and stone ground mustard in the marinade, not just the real maple syrup.  The end result is more of a hearty sort of side dish, as opposed to the lightness of the Zesty Roasted Rutabaga and Carrots, which can be served cold.  They were not too sweet or too mustardy, though they were sort of tacky, like candy.  I really liked them.

Anyway, at the moment, six more servings of the soup and three servings of the parsnips and carrots are in my freezer.  The dishes are done.  Amos has tended to his major business.  I've had a shower.  And now we are languishing in the GREEN chair watching season four of Star Trek Voyager.