The Story of Our Week (Oh, boy, It's a Long One)

Last week did in fact turn out to be a trying week.

On Saturday I saw that the maintenance required light that had been blinking in my van for three months had suddenly changed from blinking to solid. This was not a good sign. I had been supposed to take it in for an oil change the week that I was sick, and then we had VBS every morning, and then the weekend, so I had to trust my children to ride in a vehicle that I feared, for about five seconds, might not be safe. Michael had commented that the engine sounded different and that it seemed to lose power as he was driving only days before.

Took the van in to the shop. I would have stayed and waited for the oil change if I didn't think there was a good chance something else would have to be repaired. Got a ride home from the shop with one of their drivers and practiced my question-asking skills all three miles. It wasn't difficult as he was the kind of man who takes a question and runs with it. Nice guy.

They were able to fix it for us that day, but it cost about two-hundred dollars more than I had hoped to pay for a repair.

That evening around dinner time we failed to notice that our yellow labrador was needing to go out. Parker, my four year old, was the first to notice her peeing on the rug in the back room, which is also our laundry room. She had never had an accident in the house before. Luckily our sometimes daytime house guest was there, and he was able to tell us what to do to clean it up. After we mopped up as much as we could with towels, he poured baking soda all over the wet area to wick up the moisture. This was scraped and swept, and in the morning the residue was dry enough to clean up with the vacuum cleaner.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday occurred without either positive development business-wise, or negative incident. A good friend brought us dinner. Michael and I got a couple of hours out of the house to attend a short seminar. The children and I met my sister at CHOM and at the public library.

Then Friday. Ah, Friday.

Because I had felt pretty crummy all week, and our laundry room was being used for test-taking by our guest, the laundry had been piling up. In fact I hadn't even folded towels from the weekend before. As Michael left the house for play testing with Jim and errands, I finally put on a load of clothes and got the children ready to go outside.

We go outside. I see an unaccountable puddle of water streaming from the basement. It looks like it has soap in it. I walk into the basement to investigate, noticing that a lot of the moisture seems to be originating around the water heater, but there's nothing wrong with the water heater. Next thing I know, a rush of water falls from the raw ceiling above the heater. I run upstairs to see what's going on, only to find a stream of water growing out from underneath the washing machine, the wooden floor boards becoming warped around the edges. Since the load of laundry in the machine is in its final cycle, I have no choice but to let it run, even as I have a pretty good idea of what is going on below.

Michael's gone. The children are outside alone. A friend of mine is coming in a couple of hours to cut my hair.

I could drag this out and give you all the details, but the main thing that happened in the hours before my friend got there and Michael made it home from errands was that a $600 car repair that didn't bother me at the beginning of the week suddenly became a frighteningly large expense, as I contemplated the possibility of an even more expensive plumbing charge. For a moment I envisioned the floor collapsing and the siding falling off the back of the house. For a moment I couldn't help but think about the disparity between our income and expenses for the month. We're fine, but it really was a rough couple of hours alone in the house with two tired, and I do mean tired, children.

On Saturday I washed all of our dishes by hand (with help) because I was afraid that running the dishwasher would overload the plumbing. On Saturday Isaac's diaper leaked into my bed, wetting our one and only mattress pad, making the laundry situation all the more urgent. On Saturday Michael worked on the plumbing, and worked on the plumbing, and worked on the plumbing, with the benefit of some good advice from our sometimes house guest, but the problem wasn't immediately fixed. It wasn't a surprise that a plumbing issue would require a lot of trial and error, but it was still disheartening.

More help, this time from my Dad, after which the problem was solved without our having to call in the professionals, and without my having to leave the house to do laundry or grocery shopping or anything.

This was the week that I was dreading, and it turned out to contain things I never would have imagined in advance. I was glad on Saturday that it seemed to be over.

On Friday for a time I wondered why God wasn't providing for us in a more satisfying way. I wondered why the business possibilities that had come up at the beginning of the month hadn't developed into much of anything. I wondered why I had to finally get upset about the cost of the car when I had handled it so well earlier in the week.

On Saturday I remembered that we're supposed to thank God for trials. And I figured something out about the way I was supposed to pray while we wait for our financial situation to change. Maybe this is what I ought to be saying to Him (God): I know that You could provide us with an adequate stream of income any time You want. For all I know You could be planning to solve all of our employment problems tomorrow. Until You do, please just stretch what money we have and in the meantime teach me the lesson that You can be trusted with all our desires and needs.

It's a lesson I've been working on, and I have plenty of ideas about what faith and trust mean in terms of our relationship with God, that lovely old loaded term I'm also trying to cope with.

And then I started to recognize some of the blessings of the week.

My mom came to my house unexpectedly on Sunday night and cut my children's hair after which they got to run around in the sprinklers for half an hour.

A friend who will remain anonymous because I don't know whether he would want me to name him or not brought us dinner one night because I had been sick and because he wanted to do something nice for us. That dinner lasted us for two meals.

The children got a chance to use the computer games at the library because my sister was there with us, which meant that each child had their own adult giving them full attention.

Our sometimes daytime house guest was here when the dog peed on the carpet and was available with good and practical advice when the plumbing went all haywire.

The friend who cut my hair was here when I needed someone to distract me from what could have become a full on panic followed by depression as I described above.

My husband was able to solve the plumbing and problem and my parents were available to help.

We ended Saturday evening in the presence of someone Michael and I both love, who fed us yet again, and who brought the entertainment, leaving fresh vegetables and lemonade, among other things, behind.

In fact it turned out to be a rather good week.

Timing-Provision/God has been Very Good

Isaac, gentleman that he is, waited to arrive until after Michael's immediate obligations as special events deacon at Grace had been fulfilled. He chose to come before my Dad had to commit to whether or not he would travel to New Orleans to lecture for the Marine Corp. He waited until after Michael and I had the opportunity to go to lunch alone together just that afternoon.

I have often been disappointed in thinking about the neat ways God hasn't provided for us and for our needs. He's never given me an automobile out of the blue (something I have always dreamed would happen). He's never given us a specific amount of money immediately before or after we have needed.

But here's what He has done.

We needed a baby bed and mattress for Isaac to sleep on. John and Linda are loaning us a bed. Cori has provided a mattress. We needed a place for Isaac to sleep until he's old enough to make it through the night without nursing, when he'll join Parker. Shelly bought us a bassinet for a dollar at a yard sale. We needed a cover for the bassinet. Elizabeth had that would fit.

The automatic breast pump I need to establish nursing has been provided without cost beyond it's use of electricity. Heather and Anna Grace were available without question to spend parts of the night with Parker the night Isaac arrived.

Isaac has diapers because Michael's office gave us a diaper shower the Friday before Isaac was born. Linda watched Parker while I got my driver's license renewed only the weekend before.

Anna gave me clothes to wear the last couple of months of my pregnancy. Isaac has clothes to wear because Laura and Tina and Elizabeth and others gave us their old ones. Isaac has his own new blankets thanks to Pam and others. My parents live close by so there was never any question of where Parker would stay while Michael and I were at the hospital with Isaac.

Our kitchen range was dying, and so Michael's parents helped us to purchase a new one over Thanksgiving. My parents have bought us groceries since Isaac has been here, as well as various household needs. My mom often buys me clothes when I need them and she's available to help me with the boys until I adjust to nursing with a two year-0ld in the house. Daniel and Shannon were able to be here the day Isaac arrived.

Our mortgage is low, which as been a tremendous help in coping with the rising costs of living. We get the dependant tax exemption for 2008 even though we had no expectation. God didn't exactly GIVE us a car, but in reality He did, because we were able to buy a mini-van this year from someone we know and trust, who provided a complete maintenance history and even had the oil changed and the tires rotated after the sales agreement had been made. Best of all, two car seats fit in it easily, which they never could have in our other car.

We have our own washer and dryer this time around to cope with the tremendous amounts of laundry a new baby generates.

Michael has been able to take time off work to be with me and Parker and Isaac with very little difficulty, and he's off again tomorrow for New Years.

How has God not provided for us?

He is good anyway, by the way, apart from anything He may or may not do for us. I have to tempt disaster and thank Him because this is His due.

Thank you, God, for White Cloud Diapers

I was looking around on Amazon a little while ago and found a discussion concerning the differences between Pampers Baby Dry and Pampers Cruisers. It was funny to me how just about every review I read absolutely contradicted my experience with both products.

Back in the days when I was willing to spend the money on Pampers Diapers I found that I liked Baby Dry much better than Cruisers. I can't tell you why, because I no longer remember the details. The reviews I saw tonight trashed Baby Dry in favor of the more expensive Cruisers. Of course, when Parker was a smaller infant I liked Huggies better than Pampers, so that may have some bearing on my choices. I was utterly unimpressed with Huggies Supreme. So much depends on the shape of your baby.

This goes to show how unreliable product reviews are, but it also makes me wonder, how can one gather reliable information about any given product without examining it for yourself? This has greater philosophical implications.

Optimism/Pessimism

I really liked the question Tina asked the other day. What makes one person generally pessimistic, leading them to worry, and what makes another person generally optimistic such that they rarely worry about anything at all? According to the magazines guilt seems to go right along with being a mom. I would extrapolate that to mean that worry also goes right along with being a mom, but that isn't really a satisfactory explanation.

I think it has to do with personality, not that Myers-Briggs has a category to explain worry. I don't know; it might. I think I associate optimism with the sanguin or phlegmatic temperment, while pessimism I would associate with the melancholy or choleric temperment. Really, I have no idea what I'm talking about.

My intellect tells me that worry is a totally nonproductive emotion. (Is worry and emotion, like happiness or frustration?) However, it also tells me everything that can and may go wrong. I default toward trying to be prepared for the worst as a way of staving off disappointment. Why do I expect things to go wrong? Because the world is broken. These days I just try to remember what is really important (thanks to Larry Crabb and The PAPA Prayer), and that is that I avoid replacing God with anything else as the "first thing" in my life. As such, I can talk to Him about the little things that matter to me, and yet realize that even if those things go wrong (like losing my calendar, seeing my comfortable if wild yard being destroyed) I don't have to let them ruin my day. That is a very good thing.

Stop Me If You've Heard This One Already

It was the last day of kindergarten, and we were allowed to bring the unused supplies that we had purchased at the beginning of the year home with us. It was a light brown gum eraser, never used. It's edges were perfectly square, the shape of it rectangular. It was perfect, it was beautiful, and I was in love with it.

My father drove me home that day. Full of joy I said to him, "Look at this gum eraser."

"A gum eraser!" he exclaimed, sinking his teeth into it. I cried and cried.

When I buy a new book, if the quality of the paper and its formatting is good, I am awed by the perfection of its pages. The crisp angle of its corners is my delight. I am loathe to do anything that would mar the perfection of its cover.

After a book has been read, if its pages have become creased, its spine bent, or there are paper lines across its cover, a different sort of bedraggled beauty is revealed. Books that have been read by many have a different beauty of their own. Use is a good thing, creases and lines a mark of honor, because it means that an object's purposes have been fulfilled.

There is little worse than purposes unfulfilled.

It Sounds So Academic and He's Just a Baby

I try to be very careful about the wording I use with Parker. For instance, I try to give him a truthful indication of how long a task is expected to take. "Parker, mommy and daddy are going to leave you here (in the nursery) for a while. It's going to seem like a really long time to you, but it will really only be for three hours, and I promise we will come back and get you. If it is at all in our power we will come back and get you." I don't know how many of these words he understands, but still I try to be as accurate with my language as possible.

However, it is very difficult to break the habit of using "just a minute" to apply to all sorts of possible time frames. "Parker, I am going to take a shower now. You go and play with Daddy and I'll be out in just a minute." That of course is before he starts banging on the door and crying to get it. "Baby, you stay out there. I'll be out in just a minute."

So do you think he's too young to understand that words can have many different meanings? I think he probably is, and that being the case I fear that I have given him a very confusing idea of what a minute entails.

Of course, Parker understands much more of what we say than we necessarily know, and giving him accurate information now can only prepare us and him for understanding complicated abstractions later on.

When Parker was much smaller I would sit out on my front steps and tell him as many multi-syllabic words as I could think of. Then I'd choose a letter and think of words beginning with that letter. It was more an opportunity to let him hear my voice than any sort of learning exercise for him. Funny how I don't do that anymore, although the fact that he no longer sits still on my lap has much to do with it.

More Thoughts on the Number 15

Do you realize that the only other two whole numbers that combine to equal fifteen, besides six and nine which I discuss below, are seven and eight? These two are also almost perfect numbers when represented graphically. I'd show you what I mean on a tabletop using forks, but I'm afraid the results would look like another adolescent joke.

I'll show you what I mean in type instead, using exclamation points to represent single units:

!-!-!
!!!!!

-!-!-
!!!!!

Put them both together and, once again, you get fifteen, a perfectly balanced number. It isn't quite as perfect a six and nine, or rather it is perfect in a slightly different way without symbolically appealing to eastern mysticism.

!!!!! !!!!! !!!!!

or

!!!!! !! ! !! !!!!!

Songs, Reminders, Things That Cannot be Communicated in Any Other Way

Here is a word picture (it isn't really a "picture," but what is it?) from one of my favorite songs ("Time Will Be the Tell") by 100 Portraits that gives me pause.

You can play the Cinic/
Oh, the insults that you could hurl/
Be the King of your opinion/
In your tiny, tiny world/
The church could be your victim/
Cross your arms and criticize/
I hope you will remember/
She is another man's wife/
She is another man's wife.

I've listened to this song today as I've thought about the fact that I once cared passionately about the health of the church (the real church, not simply the institution), the unity of the body, the purity that Christ attributes to its members. I don't care so much for those things as I once did, and consider that the root of this uncaring must be the bitterness that sets in as a result of disillusionment and injury. We are such delicate creatures. In recognizing and accepting our wounding, still we must remember that the church is the Bride of Christ--she is another man's wife.

This is not a concept I fully understand. I once lost respect for a man because of the actions of his wife. I have been critical at times when men have attributed spritual superiority to their wives against my own (admittedly external) assessment. How fortunate it is that we are not called upon to make these judgments, especially considerig I am so judgmental a creature.

The Giving and Withholding of Grace, Part II

The first part of this story left me in tears on the pavement outside of Wal-mart, and angry because of the unprofessional behavior that had brought me to this point. I wanted to call the insurance adjuster and tell him how mad I was. I wanted him to know that his choice to call me back so late in the day had left a family stranded for the weekend.

This was my thought process:

I shouldn't call this guy while I'm angry. If I don't call this guy he won't know what an inconsiderate mistake he's made; he won't know that he shouldn't have called me only fifteen minutes before leaving the office. He might not realize what he's done to me, and surely will I seethe in frustration for the next three days if I don't get this out of my system now. I might lose steam and not be able to complain if I don't do this right now.

So I called and left a message on his voice mail. I stood up for myself. I told him, in the message, that he had handled this situation very poorly and that he had left us in a very sorry position.

When he called me back Monday morning he was nothing but professional. I don't even know if he heard the message I had left him that Friday afternoon.

We were not, in fact, left without a car. One was provided for us on Saturday even though the insurance company didn't move on it until the following Monday evening/ Tuesday. I spent a lot of time worrying that the insurance company never would step in and that their client would be out the money she was willing to spend to see us in a rental car. I thought about all the reasons and excuses that might explain why the insurance adjuster didn't call me in a timely manner.

The entire encounter made me think about the grace that we can potentially extend to those around us. Perhaps the insurance adjuster needed some harsh truth spoken in his life. On the other hand, perhaps I should have extended grace to him by choosing to speak gently instead of in anger. There's really no way for me to know. I feel this tension between defending and/or protecting myself and Jesus's command to love your neighbor as yourself. It might do me good to go back and review what Dr. Allender has to say about love in response to real harm.

God was gracious to us in the midst of this accident, though it takes a while to remove myself enough to acknowledge it. So many different things could have happened. The individual who hit me could have been hostile, or too young to care about what happened to us. It could, theoretically, have been another hit and run, which is something I have experienced before. We could have been hurt, or the insurance company could have tried to force us to do something with our car that we wouldn't have wanted to do. None of these things were true. Parker was little more than nudged in his car seat, and the other driver cared very much about our wellbeing. My five year driving record is no longer pristine, but how much does that really matter?

Wouldn't it be nice if we knew how to be as gracious as Jesus is, and were close enough to him to know when to modify that grace with hardness?

Our minor collision gave me something else to write and think about.

The Giving and Withholding of Grace, Part I

The Insurance Adjust let me down in a big way on the Friday before my birthday.

Parker and I had been involved in a minor traffic accident early that Friday morning, and our car had been towed away to a Collision Center to undergo minor (and I mean very minor) repairs. The car had to be towed only because it's tire (or tyre, in some of the literature I've been reading lately) had been blown out, and because towing is what the insurance company recommended. The accident happened around 8:15 a.m.

My friend explained to the insurance company that this was our only vehicle, so we were told that we'd be contacted about a rental sometime that afternoon.

Parker had been suffering from a cold that wasn't getting any better, so I finally called the pediatrician's office that morning to get him a prescription for medicine. I turned the ringer back on my phone because I was concerned that I might miss that all important call from the insurance company. No call from the insurance company came.

My mother brought me her car so that I could get Parker's medicine. I took my cell phone with me so that I wouldn't miss that call. I stood in line at Wal-mart to do the preliminary work since I had not picked up a prescription there before.

As I moved toward the front of the store, my cell phone alerted me that I had missed a call. It was the insurance adjuster. "Please call me back. I'll be leaving the office in about fifteen minutes, so if I don't speak with you by then, I'll talk to you early Monday morning," his message told me. The message had been left twenty minutes ago.

I rushed outside to get a signal. The entrance attendant was standing near the doors making sure that the designated entrances and exits were observed. This never happens at Wal-mart, and it slowed me down.

I crouched outside near the soda machines to return the insurance adjuster's call. "Please if you get this message call me back! I've been standing in line waiting to get medicine for my sick child and I really need a car to drive this weekend. Please call me back."

But I was so upset. Why did this guy wait until the end of the day to call me? Why couldn't I talk with someone who could tell me what to do? How were we going to get around all weekend without a vehicle? Happy Birthday to me.

I'll give you the rest of the story, including the actual point of the story during normal waking hours in the Fox household.

Reviewing What I Wrote While Under the Influence of the Last Bottle of Wine I'll Probably Buy for a While

It is now 4:30 in the morning and I am reading all this over again because I can't go back to sleep. I notice I got a little melodramatic there near the end. These are not high and lofty things. These are every day, work day truths.

When I encounter individuals moving through my world, they become members of my life. These individuals impact me for good or for ill--rarely do I come across anyone whose effect is purely neutral--and of course the same is true of the effect I have on them. It's like the interaction between me and the plants I do or do not water. When I give them water, they have the opportunity to grow. When I do not give them water, in most cases I not only deny them the opportunity to grow, but I actually deny them the opportunity to go on living in good health.

I'm mentally floating around an idea here that is very difficult clearly to describe. The impact individuals in my life have on me is subtle--sometimes it is purely internal, and can easily go unnoticed by anyone but God. They adjust my attitudes in simple ways, they widen my awareness.

What all of this should lead me to is the knowledge that I must bathe my every day, moment, action and interaction in prayer and in scripture. It would be so nice if I could figure out exactly what this would look like. Prayer is an activity I probably misunderstand, misuse, and too often neglect.

Let's see what other kind of intellectual morass I can get myself into at 4:45 in the morning.

How Much Does It Mean to Know That Others Care?

A woman of my acquaintance asked me how I was this morning. She was in fact interested in knowing whether or not I had recovered from my illness of the week before. I cannot tell you how nice it was to know that someone in the world, other than my family, was interested in my recovery from sickness. This meant the world to me and I realized what a difference it makes when you let others know when you are ill. One friend brought me food; another asked me how I was--both events made me feel as though I were loved. While I have been loved before, I must admit that this form of community is a new experience for me. A dear friend once brought me a snack while I labored under an undergraduate deadline; I begin to understand what that variety of care feels like once again.

Candles and *Clueless*

Does anyone else horde scented candles like I do?

I love candles, and honestly they contribute to my general wellbeing during the winter months. Less so now that I get to be home during the day. The thing is, I buy these candle, or receive them as gifts, and then I put them under my bed and just keep them. Sure, I have some scattered around the house and I do burn them, but I keep them sitting out well past the point when they should be thrown away. I continue to keep them or burn them even after I've reached the last inch of wax. That's one reason I like incense, because I'm less tempted to keep it around as decorative matter. You pretty much burn it , enjoy the fragrance, and that's that.

Parker and I are watching Clueless. I always enjoy Travis Berkenstock (Breckin Meyer)'s speech after his homeroom teacher, played by Wallace Shawn, announces the number of tardies he has accrued.

This is so unexpected. I-I didn't even have a speech prepared, uh, but I would like to say this: Tardiness is not something you can do all on your own. Many, many people contributed to my tardiness. Uh, I'd like to thank my parents for never giving me a ride to school; the L.A. City Bus driver, for taking a chance on an unknown kid; and uh, last but not least the wonderful crew of McDonald's for spending hours making those Egg-McMuffins without which I might never be tardy.

It loses something in print, but Meyer delivers it perfectly. Another great line from this movie:

Cher's main thrill in life is a make-over, okay. It gives her a sense of control in a world full of chaos.

You may not realize that Clueless is based on Jane Austen's Emma, and instead of simply being a shallow teenage movie, it is actually an effective adaptation. I've always thought this movie was an excellent candidate for discussion, especially for those with teenagers who have to make choices in a threatening world. It's full of objectionable material, but provides an excellent opportunity to go over some important issues with your kids.

Another film I seriously recommend for discussing with your kids is Akeelah and the Bee. Very good movie, if formulaic. The formula of the film itself is an interesting topic for discussion.

Spelling Errors

There's a reason why I'm a terrible speller; because so many of the books I read growing up were written by European authors. My parents always wondered why I wasn't better at spelling since I read so much.

Another Exerpt from *Love Over Scotland,* this one concerning grammar

"Have you guys been waiting long?" asked Leonie, as she took off her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. "Babs and me walked."

Matthew thought: why can't people distinguish between nominative and accusative any more? He wanted to say to Leonie: "Would you say me walked? (253)"

This was another moment that I really enjoyed because, like my grandmother (Nana) before me, I always notice when people, especially people on television, get this wrong. Of course usually I see the opposite problem. It happened in an episode of Little House Michael and I saw earlier tonight. Laura asked her mother, "Do you want Albert and I to go for a walk?"

Coffee Means?

I've been meaning to post something on the philosophical implications of coffee for some time now, but I can't seem to wrap my brain around any concrete thoughts on the subject.

I started the conversation with Anna Grace a couple of weeks ago.

"Why do you drink coffee?" I asked her.

I would try to paraphrase her answer, but I didn't get her permission (which is just an excuse because really, I'm not very good at paraphrasing). Basically, she started drinking coffee on a trip in Costa Rica. The coffee smelled so good, and really was so delicious that she enjoyed drinking it for the first time ever. In Costa Rica, it seems, they drink it very strong, and very sweet. Her further answers are her own, so I'll leave those to her in the comments section of this post, where I hope I can get a conversation going. (Anna, you can direct any complaints concerning the violation of your privacy to my self-publishing compliancy officer, in other words, email me.)

I drink coffee because I like the way it tastes, but also because it seems to have some sort of symbolic meaning.

I tried to explain to Anna that the drinking of coffee is a social act even when its social aspect is removed, except that doesn't really make any sense. All I know is that I drink a cup of coffee in the morning, not because I'm addicted to the caffeine, but because there is something I like about the act of drinking coffee.

Is it a club, like my sister suggested? Does the way you take your coffee confer any particular status? I like coffee because I like it, but I also seem to like some image of myself drinking coffee.

Does anyone out there know what I'm trying to say better than I do?

"A Message From the Lord"--Jonah: A Veggie Tales Movie

Here I am watching Veggie Tales for the THIRD time today. It's bad, it's bad letting Parker watch so much tv. My excuse is that we're getting over sickness. Besides, it's allowing me to write, since Parker only napped about an hour this morning. Parker really enjoys the music, but I realized earlier this week that part of the appeal of the music for him includes the figures on the screen.

Some things I noticed from the movie on SECOND viewing this morning.

#1: I don't quite understand why Jonah says that the message he brings is one of encouragement and peace, when really he is reminding God's people of the law. A scribe in the audience comments, within the framework of the song, that "This is quite a lot of rules." On the other hand, Jonah does point out that "If you follow God's commands there will be peace throughout our land." This seems to me a very Old Testament approach, which is entirely appropriate considering the source of the story. Unless I've missed it, I don't believe the impossibility of keeping the law is even mentioned until the New Testament. Please set me straight if you recall a reference.

#2: How much time do you imagine was spent in discussion when the artists chose to illustrate this line "Wear four tassels on your cloak." They show a vegetable (I forget which kind) wearing a robe, but showing only three tassels. These are asymmetrically placed (i.e. you see one hanging from one corner of the robe, but not from the other).

Something to Think About

One of the first things I learned when I entered the Interior Design Program at The University of Alabama was that in certain philosophies of interior design ornamentation should carry meaning, an idea which certainly appealed to me. This was a response against those earlier design philosophies such as French Rococo which said that if a little ornamentation was good, more ornamentation was even better.

The subject came up when I was on Spring Break Outreach with Chi Alpha at Florida State University my Senior Year of College.

We had done a mime routine a bit earlier, and were fitted out in black clothes and white make-up. I wandered with one of our guys around the green searching for students to talk to.

"Why the white make-up?" a young man asked. We explained to him what we had been doing, talked a little bit about University life, as well as our designated courses of study, those things all students have in common. There was a pause, and I said to him, "You know, in interior design I learned that all ornamentation should carry meaning, and yet here I am wearing white make-up. It has no meaning. In a sense this make-up is a violation of my principles as a Christian, one of which is to be honest and transparent in the way that I face the world. What do you think of that?"

From the outside this may not seem like much of an evangelical message, but I believe it opened up the conversation and showed this guy that we were willing to treat him like an actual person we had met instead of as a stop on some imaginary evangelical pilgrimage. (It must have been the work of the Holy Spirit, because I am not very evangelical as a rule.)

I'm thinking about this incident in a couple of ways as we approach the subject of relationship evangelism at Grace Church in the following weeks.

In one sense I'd like us to discuss how ornamentation carries meaning in our lives as Christians as we face the world from day to day. Lauren Winner has a lovely little book called Mudhouse Sabbath that applies to this in some ways. It talks about ways that certain Jewish traditions can be profitably incorporated by the Church.

The other way I'd like to discuss this is in terms of different evangelical techniques that we have tried, the ways that they have been effective, when they are appropriate and when they are not. Mime, for example, can work beautifully in some cases, and in others it may be offensive (in a detrimental way: remember not all offense is detrimental) because it uses artifice to convey an extremely didactic message.

Discussion?

Veggie Tales: It's already started

I have seen the movie Jonah: A Veggie Tales Movie at least once a day every day this week. Parker brings the case over for me to look at at least three times every day, and last night he managed to start the movie all by himself . (I tried to interest him in The Muppets Take Manhattan earlier this week, but he just didn't go for it.)

So I'm sitting here this morning, with Parker eating breakfast on my right, and the movie running on my left (it just ended), and in the Newsboy's track of the credits I hear--"How long is this going to take?"

Last night I started a book by Larry Crabb that Padre loaned me called The Papa Prayer. The premise of the book is that our usual approach to prayer is all wrong, and that prayer is more about enjoying the relationship than it is posting our problems and concerns. Seems rather obvious, doesn't it? Though if we really understood prayer this way, and enjoyed our relationship with God this way, prayer wouldn't be the burden or require the discipline from so many of us that it is and does. Looks like a good book. ("Limit yourself to one chapter at a time," he recommended.)

"How long is this going to take?" is something I have often wondered as I've prayed about a certain situation in the life of our family. Michael has had the same job for nearly the length of our marriage, and I have long prayed that he would find more satisfying employment. In seven years of searching, little has changed except that he gets to play the saxophone even less now than he once did. Some weeks before Christmas it hit me. If we believe that God is our provider, and He has not yet chosen to provide my husband with another job, it must be because He wants him where he is.

There are lots of reasons why this may be. I can make certain guesses based on what I know about the nature of God, but what Michael and I need to begin to pray is that God will bring us into agreement with Him that whatever it is, His will be done. It's not that I haven't prayed this way before, but the sudden realization on a December evening in 2007 imbued my previous knowledge with renewed meaning. Then the simple line from a Newsboys recording reminds me that God knows (understands, acknowledges) how I feel in the meantime.

Pictures of Parker and Me

Michael forgot to take my picture last night and Parker refuses to do so unless I get him his own camera, so you're stuck with pictures of Parker's hair cut. I'll post a picture of me later, if and only if I can get a good one, as broken out as my face is right now. At least now I don't look in the mirror and flash on Richard Briers (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001972/). Don't worry--Michael didn't really get that one either. And I love my hair this length.