Easter is still here

Here's our Easter picture for 2014. It took us a few weeks to get one taken, due to the flu and the haphazardness of child collection and getting everybody to sit and look and smile, preferably all at the same nanosecond. We generally succeeded, I think.

What isn't pictured here is the talking-to the older kids got about listening in church and Small Dude's screaming for food and Papa and my's exasperation at normal kid misbehavior (Small Dude's need for sustenance doesn't count, of course). Saying we were exasperated is putting it mucho mildly ("spitting nails furious" is closer, at least for me). And, as every parent knows, just because misbehavior is "normal" doesn't mean we let it slide. We have to discipline. And discipline is hard because we wonder why they don't just LISTEN and TRUST US and DO IT THE FIRST TIME, FOR PETE'S SAKE. God knows that better than we do, He who put up with--and still puts up with-- broken command after broken command. And this is why we still celebrate Easter going on three weeks after the one Sunday most people see on the calendar. One Father's anger poured out on His obedient Son, and the rest of us benefit eternally.

So what is pictured here are six very sinful people. Six people who have all been baptized and forgiven and who still go to church every Sunday because we need Jesus--in His word, in bread and wine that are His body and blood. And someday, in His heavenly kingdom, we will sit and look and smile and bask in the presence of Christ. He will show us, like He did to His disciples, His hands and His side. And He will tell us, "Peace to you." And peace to you, dear ones, this Easter.

Far as the curse is found

Every year on Christmas Eve night, our church's Sunday School presents a pageant. The pageant includes lessons and carols, with some shepherds' robes, microphone feedback, candlelight, and the usual-yet-unexpected poignancy whenever children are involved in public confessions of faith. This year, the Sunday School teachers did an exceptional job preparing our youngsters to read and sing of Christ's coming. And despite a last-minute rash of kids getting the flu and a snowy, blowy Eve, Our Saviour's Sunday School did a wonderful job. Here they are right before the service.

Our small group is blessed to include Ali, a lovely, energetic girl who is developmentally disabled. She cannot walk without help and she cannot speak with words that we understand. But she smiles often, participates vigorously, and shows us how God makes beauty out of brokenness.

Ali's mother is one of our Sunday School teachers, and one of the ways Ali participated in the pageant was to light candles during one of the readings. Her mother helped her walk up to the Advent wreath. Then, she carefully wrapped Ali's fingers around the acolyte's brass lighter and lifted the flickering end bravely toward the candles. It took some doing, for it was difficult for Ali and her mother to get the lighter wick lined up just so against each candle wick. But as we watched Ali's rapt face glow in the soft light she lit and listened to the Old Testament prophecies and New Testament narratives of Christ's coming, we saw exactly why Christ came: to give light to darkness and to give hope to the weak. Later, while Pastor read of joyful noises and praise for God's good gifts, Ali lifted her voice to share her excitement. Her timing was perfect. She literally made a joyful noise as we heard about all of creation rejoicing in God's greatest gift.

One of my favorite Christmastime readings is Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. In the story, Bob Cratchit tells his wife about taking their son, the saintly Tiny Tim, to church. "He told me, coming home," Bob says, "that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see." 

Parents of disabled children, including Ali's mom and dad, will tell you that their children are not perfect. They know, just as parents of able-bodied children know, that despite glimpses of sweet innocence and selflessness, children act in savage, selfish, sinful ways, ways that belie their angelic appearances. That's one reason why Lutherans baptize babies--we know our months-, days-, or even hours-old children have been infected with the sin of Adam. Their behavior shows this, but their bodies show it, too. Children scrape knees, break limbs, get infections, battle cancer. Some of the scars heal, but none of them disappear forever. And even the most saintly kid can't fix himself. Tiny Tim recognized this. Even at young ages, we see our children marked for death.

Papa and I witnessed this firsthand in our own home this week. Superman developed a low-grade fever a few days after Christmas. I kept him home, snuggled him, gave him lots of 7-Up and regular doses of bubble-gum Tylenol. But he still felt badly, and his body suddenly reacted to its illness by triggering a seizure. We took him to the Emergency Room within ten minutes of his seizure, and he revived, especially when the nurses prepared his hand for an IV. (Oh, the great patience of pediatric nurses!) He spent the night at Sanford Children's in Sioux Falls, at what we call the Castle (it looks like the Cinderella castle at Disney World). And we were relieved when his temperature disappeared after a night and the doctors concluded that Superman is one of about five percent of kids who experience febrile seizures, or seizures causes by a fever. He might have another one, but he might not. It's most likely that he will grow out of them. And we are very thankful that he is well now, asking for candy at every meal, and asking us, "Do you remember when I got to spend the night at the children's doctor?" Yes, Superman. We remember. And we always will.

In a feeling-apple-eatin'-good moment.

Few things are as terrifying to parents, I think, than when their children become physically unresponsive. Right after his seizure, Papa scooped up Superman and held him like a baby. Our son was helpless, and so were we. All we could physically do was to rock him and place him in the care of people who know how little bodies work and what they need. The experience with Superman was a mighty, visceral shock to remember that our son is not ours, that we did not make him, and that we cannot keep him well, or even keep him at all. His days on this earth are numbered. And this knowledge can cripple us with fear and anger.

Too often, I think the world manipulates the weakest among us. Many are manipulated because they are small or voiceless. Many are exploited as powerful political or religious examples that we thoughtlessly or knowingly parade in a voyeuristic show of pity to achieve other ends--our own selfish ends. But Christ came as a weak Babe precisely to show us that He loves each little one unto death. Because that's where Ali and Sam and every child, from the red-faced newborn to strongest Olympian to the frailest centenarian, is headed. And the Child gifted with myrrh, the embalming spice and funeral incense, reached for Death and struck it away, for us, forever.

On Christmas Day, we sing joy. We sing, "Joy to the world, the Lord is come." But even more, we sing healing. "He comes to make His blessings flow/ far as the curse is found." In the Christmas season, and for the rest of this year and every year, we need joy. But we also need to know that His blessings flow even into the very crevices of our sinful lives, into every dark and putrid corner, into every broken heart and annihilated hope that we suffer due to our terrible physical and emotional and spiritual frailty and that of those we love. We need to know that He, the mightiest and the greatest, made Himself the smallest and weakest and most nothing of men to save us, the ones who so desperately need Him. As this Christmas season closes, I pray you know and remember that He comes to defeat every curse that haunts and plagues you. He comes as the lowliest to lift you lowly ones up, to hold you like babies, to heal your brokenness. And he comes still to make His blessings flow.

A Star is Born

 We spend six weeks (at least) preparing for the first day of Christmas. All the decorating, baking, card-writing, buying, wrapping, tinsely-music-listening leads up to the One Big Night followed by the One Big Day, which trickles into a Few More Days until we run smack into New Year's. Then it's over. Completely over. Pack up the stockings, lights, and crumpled ribbon.


Papa and the kids and I made a Sioux Falls run last week, one day after New Year's Day. We needed an oil change and paper products and a few groceries and--of course--just a few organizing items for New Year reorganizing. The sky was a dull grey, the wind a hesitant spitter of occasional snowflakes, the slush on the roadsides ugly, the grime on the van even worse. And in every bright, orderly store, beyond the bargain bins and 70% off sections, we saw absolutely no signs of Christmas. Zip. Zero. Nada fa-la-la-la-la.

This doesn't surprise me. After all, we live in a commercial culture that literally survives on the Next Big Thing, largely hinged on days marked in grey on our calendars. (Of course, Valentine's Day stuff stood front and center in the stores we visited.) But it's disconcerting to Christians like us, who know that, on paper at least, there really are twelve days of Christmas that lead right into the Holy Feast day that used to crown the Church Year: Epiphany.

What? Epiphany is a big deal? For most people, including churchgoers who don't even attend an Epiphany service every year (when it doesn't fall on a Sunday), this sounds surprising, maybe even ridiculous. The Wise Men get a thirty-second inclusion in most Christmas pageants, a smack-together mish-mash of their long, arduous, miraculous journey that Matthew recounts. Why make a big deal out of guys  on camels? We don't even know how many of them came to visit Jesus. We don't, despite the popular notion, know any of their names.They showed up, dropped off, got out. Right?

Or maybe not.

I remember a picture I saw years ago of a Greek Orthodox priest reading the Bible. The caption said the priest was preparing for Christmas, which his church celebrated in January. At the time I thought, mistakenly, that the priest and his church just celebrated Christmas on Epiphany. The idea of people having to slog through rampant, commercialized Christmas weeks after the the rest of the world was completely beyond the holiday stuck with me. How, I wondered, did they cherish Christ's birthday in the midst of the long, long emphasis on December 25 everywhere else? My question now applies to Epiphany. How do we appreciate it when we're burnt out from six weeks of celebrating? Maybe we isolate themselves from our culture (not likely). Maybe we capitulate to all the stuff but exercise massive self-restraint and manage to wait for weeks (um, not likely). Or maybe we find some other reason for cherishing Epiphany.

This excerpt from an Epiphany sermon from St. John's in Wauwatosa helps us here:

We are told that the Wise Man came from the east, but exactly how far east we don’t know.  We aren’t sure who they were either, but we do know who they weren’t, and that is significant.  These men were not Jewish.  They were not among God’s chosen people.  They weren’t descendants of Abraham, and yet they were included in the promise God gave to Abraham: “All peoples on earth will be blessed through you” (Genesis 12:3).

God loved the Jewish people.  He gave them hope.  He gave them a home.  When they strayed, he warned them.  When they repented, he forgave them.  But God’s love is too big for just one race.  God loves all people.  He loves Jews and Gentiles.  He loves you and me.  And if you need proof of God’s grace, look no farther than the Epiphany gospel.

Somehow, some way, God’s promise of a Savior reached hundreds of miles beyond the borders of Israel.  And when God fulfilled his promise he gave the rest of the world a sign.  He gave us a star.  And through that star God gave the Wise Men the opportunity to meet their Savior face-to-face. ...

For Gentile Christians the difference between Christmas and Epiphany is sort of like the difference between being a guest at a party and being the guest of honor.  For the most part the Christmas story is a Jewish story.  Mary was Jewish.  Joseph was Jewish.  The shepherds were Jewish.  The rest of us stand on the sidelines.  We are allowed to observe everything that happens.  We can appreciate everything that happens, but we don’t really have an active role.

Epiphany is different.  This account wasn’t just written for us.  It was written about us.

Even our family, a pastor's family, struggles to honor Christmas all the way until January 6th. We want to move ahead and get on with the rest of the year (and our newly-inspired goals). I want to clean up and get the house "back to normal." But maybe in future years we'll put off putting up with Christmas during Advent (at least for so long). Maybe we'll enjoy the twelve days without rushing away from Christ's gifts. Maybe we'll remember and cherish that He came for us, yes, every one of us. Just as He came for every one of you.

To Our Church Family: You are Priceless.

The front of our church. Priceless people not pictured.

Thanks to Rebekah from Concordian Sisters for this lovely post.

I've made some asides here before about how I don't get the whole clergy wife fetishism thing, but every once in a while it really hits home how much I don't get it. This parish owes me nothing. They called my husband, not me. I feel like I owe them for their willingness to call a married pastor. He is less available to them than a celibate pastor would be. They have also accepted the burden of providing a wage fair to a man with a family. They are the ones making the sacrifices. I cringe whenever one of these dear people apologizes to me for having called upon him in their need. That's why he's here.

Do not ever hesitate to call or to keep him as long as you need him. You gave me this great big house to keep me busy while he's gone. You are the ones who have given us this life which we love. You have adopted my children and me as friends and neighbors. Thank you. Thank you.

Other than the parsonage reference, she speaks my thoughts better than I could, and she got me thinking. I often am overwhelmed by how much I will never, ever be able to adequately thank, much less repay, all of these wonderful people we know as our church family. That we (meaning us Olsons besides Pr.) give any of them anything of value is accidental and mere tuppence compared to what we get from them. And maybe that's the point, we all being part of this family of God: that we, unable to give Him anything, receive everything from Him in return. Wow. Thank you, dear Church Family, for all that which you bless us.

Seven Things I Wish I Would Have Known Before Becoming a PW

You can see this post--and even more wonderful conversations between PWs (pastors' wives)--at this blog.

 

We've marked that sacred date known LCMS-universally as "Call Day" in the spring. Now we've heard about ordinations and installations of candidates all over the country (and maybe in your neighborhood) throughout the summer. Due to these blessed events, I've been thinking about my experiences with that stressful, awesome process and, well, some things I wish I would have known before my wonderful husband (MWH) and I headed out happily into the mission field. After a lot of head-scratching, I came up with this list.

A few clarifiers:

My husband and I (both non-pastor's kids, or "PKs" as the mostly fond acronym goes) and our growing family have enjoyed five years in a church that was his first call out of seminary. This hardly makes me some sort of pastor's wife expert to women who are married to men who are near, either direction, ordination and installation, but lots of you pastor's wives reading this have much more insight, experience, maturity, and patience than I do--so please add advice and comments below! Our sisters--future and perhaps present--will benefit.

There's no particular order to my list here. I wrote them as I thought of them, so don't take the numbering too seriously.

1. Your life as a pastor's wife is not like your life as a vicar's wife.

Our vicarage year was honestly like a year-long vacation. Yes, it held stresses and crosses, but mostly it held joy, much MUCH support, immediate and sustained friendships with people who loved us literally on sight. It was everything anyone could want in a vicarage--which is how vicarages should be; safe, learning experiences. But life at a church as a pastor and pastor's wife is very different. The timetable is different, the responsibilities (seen and unseen) are different, the stresses are far different. And this is good. It's real life! But you can't expect a replica of your vicarage. (And for those of you who had an awful vicarage, this is really good news!)

2. Your congregation needs time to get to know you...

That's "you" meaning your husband, "you" meaning you, and "you" meaning your entire family dynamic. I thought friendliness, vivacity, warmth, and learning people's names really fast would mean people would warm up to and trust me, and us, fairly quickly. For a few (like a handful), it did. For most, it didn't. After almost five years and some really, really tough times, people are starting to really open up to us. Congregations are full of--news flash!--sinners, and sinners have wildly different ways of approaching and trusting others. I've learned that most people have to see, literally, that others care, and at least in our situation, that meant seeing that we'd stick around long enough to prove that we weren't just looking for somewhere else to go. Three years is about the max for young pastors in our area, and we heard that a LOT from members and non-members. "You've been here three years? I guess you'll be moving on soon, huh?" said one local to us a few summers ago, not realizing how clearly she articulated what many people were thinking. And every congregation's time frame for getting to know you is different, too. But I'd guess it's almost always in the multiple years category, not the multiple months category.

3. ...and you need time to get to know your congregation.I'm an outgoing person, and I'll have one terrific conversation with someone and think I really "get" them. I guess this is good in its own way. But it's not great for applying the time rule. The first people who really reached out to us when we first arrived--invited us over, helped us out a lot--are terrific people. In our case, they also were the ones who wanted certain actions or acquiescence from my husband that later turned into problems and, subsequently, a much more impersonal relationship with both of us. That was hard for us, and me in particular, who thought we were all friends! At the same time, people who were friendly but a little distant to us initially have become more and more close to us over the years. And I've learned that learning about people and what they're like over time--like, YEARS--is probably best. You want to try to meet everyone anyway (if that's possible for you), and you'll need lots of time for that. And it's nice to age with your congregation. It's special. You suffer together, you joy together. But none of that happens during a 30-second commercial break.

4. Together with your husband and family, establish what formal church involvement you will have.

I heard this from veteran pastors' wives before we arrived here, and this has proved invaluable. Many wives learn to say "no" after years of struggling with too much responsibility in the parish. It's much easier if you start out with certain parameters in place--that is, you stay uninvolved for at least six months, then converse with your husband and family, then slowly begin getting involved.

The opinion of most importance in determining your (and your children's, for that matter) involvement is your husband's. This is an extremely controversial thing to say, even to traditionally conservative Lutheran women! But this is true. Your husband is the pastor. He will know the church people and the various church organizations far better than you, even if you tag along with him frequently. He also knows you! I have been blessed by a husband who, at times, has told me he wants me to do something that I don't think I want to do, but, after doing it, I realize that it is for the best. He also has told me what organizations or participation he thinks I should NOT get involved with. He has saved me from much frustration and hardship and heartache by helping me say "no." So talk to your wonderful husbands and trust them! Then you can muddle through together.

I have found, as a mother with young children, that some of my most meaningful "involvement" is not formal; it happens with the occasional visit with shut-ins, sharing conversation with people over coffee at various church events (even really informal ones), standing in hallways (or store aisles) and updating, talking on the phone. We like to entertain and have people over, which we're not able to do as often as when we first arrived, but I recognize that my involvement at church--just like my life as a wife and a mother--will change over time and with circumstances. Yours will, too.

5. Your husband needs you to be his wife (and your children's mother) before he needs you to do anything else for him.

Not church involvement, not community involvement, not continuing your education, not advancing your career. Not anything else. This is controversial--and if I'd heard a pastor's wife say it five years ago I know I would have been offended. I thought then that I could do pretty much everything in my life well if I had the chance to prove it. That was laughably naive. Here's what I've learned: if you desire your husband to be faithful, to be dedicated, and to persevere through hardship, he needs you to be his rock at home. My husband says he does not regret that I went back to school almost as soon as we moved here and that I spent our first three years in the parish immersed in a graduate program. I can't change it now (and I'm not going to give back the fancy piece of paper I got for it, at any rate). But I look back, and for many reasons, I wish I would have waited. The most important reason I wish I would have waited was because I think my husband missed receiving my full support because my energy and focus were divided between him and our life at church and my own studies and teaching. Maybe other women can balance this successfully. I know that he, and actually both of us, lost opportunities in those years to talk and support each other in our marriage. Now I realize that my life revolves around my husband's need for my support--which has already changed over the last few years as he's learned a lot!--and our family. If God wills for me to pursue a career outside the home at some point, I pray He makes it really obvious to me and to my husband. In the meantime, I know He is strengthening our marriage by drawing us closer together as a family. And that can only benefit us--and the church!--in the long run.

6. Life is now in a fishbowl. Therefore, get a father confessor--for your sake and your husband's sake.

Vocations cross now in ways they don't elsewhere. It's not just that people can see what you do and judge you accordingly; you will be held to higher standards that can be unfair. It's also that your own individual lives get bound up in your husband's vocation as pastor. You can't go anywhere--especially in a small town--without knowing you'll be seen as a (or "the"!) pastor's wife. This is a sacrifice of individual autonomy for you that's inevitable. And you will resent it at times, and this comes out most often as resentment and frustration toward your husband--for not having enough time or energy for you or your children, for not making enough money, for not being in a field that gives you "me" time, whatever. And because of this, you need to find a father confessor, a pastor you can talk to or call to confess your resentment, frustration, selfishness, and all those other sins and receive forgiveness without having specific spousal issues get in the way.

My husband and I have relied sporadically upon a pastor that served as a mentor for my husband before his seminary days as a father confessor. We both have called him at different times; he's listened to our confessions and given us absolution. When we are in his area (he's in another state), we visit with him and his wife. I think a more regular pattern would benefit us, but for now, this is what we have and it is a blessing.

7. Be patient and pray for contentment.

I hate this one, because I'm impatient and a control freak. But God is teaching me patience over time, and in the process He is drawing me closer to Himself. Here's how it might play out for you:

You might love your congregation and want to stay forever--and God might call your husband elsewhere right when you think everything is how you want it. You might want nothing better than to move one thousand miles away--and God might want your husband to serve where you are for years--maybe a few decades. You might wonder why your husband doesn't seem to be doing as a pastor what you think he should be doing. You might wonder how your husband can be working so hard and trying so hard to pastor people and they don't seem to want his service, care for it, or accept it unless it's on their terms. But God wants your husband and you in this particular place. You might not know why now or ever, but He does. He also knows how much you both can handle, and if you are struggling with burdens that seem unbearable, He will guide you out of them. Sometimes this happens with time, or with another call, or with a resignation and a life elsewhere.

A very real truth little known or understood in the "outside" world is that many pastors and their wives suffer from depression. I understand now why the percentage of ministers and families who suffer from this is so much higher than in the general population. And I thank God He provides us with loving friends, experts, and resources to deal with this. Depression and its iterations are not weaknesses borne by the less-than-stalwart among us. They are crosses God, in his mysterious, infinite wisdom, that try our patience, test our commitment, and ultimately draw us closer to Him. And we can be thankful, even with the awfulness of mental illness, that He walks with us in this, too.

God also gives us joys as pastors' wives that far outweigh the burdens. The burdens can be hard, extremely hard. But you will witness countless examples of Christ's love from members to your husband, to you, to your children and maybe even your extended family. You will be privy to baptisms, catechizing and confirmations, weddings, funerals of saints called to glory. You will see Christ loving people from conception until death. Real life, real, intense, overwhelming love from our Savior to your dear congregation. And you get to witness it every week, every day. This is a miracle. Few people share this perspective--and those who do, like other pastor's wives, understand what you suffer and what you joy. And we are here for you!

***

A pastor's wife enjoys a wonderful vocation. For those sisters struggling in this vocation, take heart. Christ has already overcome the world for you. For those sisters just starting in this vocation, take heart. Christ knows the plans He has for you, and your husband, and your family--plans to prosper you and not to harm you! I, and so many others, am excited for what lies ahead for you. May God keep you in His wonderful grace always!

Highlights of VBS...So Far

The only prop potentially better than a felt board.

 I'll admit it; I was not looking forward to this week. And then it happened. And now we've got one day left and I'm actually disappointed (even if Papa, especially, and I are exhausted). Maybe next year we can go for four three-hour days!

•  It's summer, Bible stories and hymn-singing, treat-eating and little-one quality time... what's not to love? (Despite all my misgivings?)
  
• Finding uses for colored Popsicle sticks.   
• Teaching the Creation narrative and Jonah's hair-raising adventure to non-readers by reading from the Bible and using a giant felt board. Felt boards ROCK. And ours has about a zillion pieces. I should have taken a picture--truly, the lions were laying down with the lambs. And fish were in the sky. And trees were perilously close to mid-seas. And God evidently created lots of reptiles and not a lot of mammals. But these felt boards make for some gorgeous masterpieces!
• Seeing how kids (mostly) get along right away, make friends, and help each other out. And occasionally get so crazy wound-up they run in circles, literally, with each other. 
• Making friends with a 7-year-old over mac and cheese while she tells me about her baby doll who talks--and says "Poo" which means she poops. And she tells me this twice! Because I might have missed that detail the first time around. I LOVE kids! (And you all know I really do--there's never any guessing what they'll be saying next!)
• Watching teen leaders adapt to the 110 degree heat index by moving "Games" inside (who plans on inside games in July? Only in... Minnesota?). The result? Our eldest, P, kind of playing bingo the first day and saying, "Are these little pieces candy?"--after he'd already put three of the plastic things in his mouth. Today, onlookers--and participants--laughed non-stop as the little ones tried to play Twister one minute (hilarious anytime, but especially with kids who don't quite get the directions) and "Duck, Duck, Grey Duck" the next (which involved a lot of running down the halls and group chasing). P had another one-liner: "I didn't know I could do somersaults in church!" Yeah, Buddy--try that in the nave one Sunday! :)
• Visiting with church members for hours every night, because we have as much help as we do participants. 
• Listening the kids belt out, "But now has Christ ariiiiiiiiiiiii-sen, ariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-sen, ariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-sen!" from "This Joyful Eastertide." Thinking, "God must find no greater joy in praise than from the mouths of children." What a gift to hear it!
• Having everything come together at the last minute--and even if adults can tell the difference between super-organized, super-prepared, and super-by-the-program, kids can't.
• Hearing a kid say, in the brief silence following the final "Amen" after we'd all just completed the "Close of Service" devotion out of LSB, "That was fun." Whether she meant following a short quasi-liturgical service or the whole VBS she-bang, I don't know--but that was a definite highlight.

Flashback Friday: Papa's Five Year Ordination and Installation Anniversary

On June 4, Papa marked the fifth anniversary of his ordination and installation as a pastor! We are so proud of him! In a belated gesture to this half-decade milestone, here's a few pictures from that occasion.

In front of a banner made--if I remember correctly--for the occasion. Love the Luther seal! AND Papa's smile. :)

Papa's stole was a gift to him from the congregation of Redeemer Lutheran Church, Lancaster, Ohio.

All the pastors present at the ordination and installation. Back row, L to R: n/a, Mark Mumme, Ken Wieting, Tom Mickelson, n/a. Front row: Gary Klatt, Bill Sabol, Evan Schiller, Papa, Brian Thorson, Steve Weiss, Bob Beinke. Two dear mentor pastors to Papa were there; several friends, several circuit and area pastors also. Now two pictured here are godfathers to our sons, too!

I love this picture!

Day of Ashes

"By the sweat of your face

you shall eat bread,

until you return to the ground,

for out of it you were taken;

For you are dust,

and to dust you shall return."

~ Genesis 3:19

This Lamb is Christ, the soul's great friend,

The Lamb of God, our Savior,

Whom God the Father chose to send

To gain for us His favor.

"Go forth, My Son," the Father said,

"And free My children from their dread

Of guilt and condemnation.

The wrath and stripes are hard to bear,

But by Your passion they will share

The fruit of Your salvation."

~LSB #438, Vs. 2

Weekend Rewind

Actual mileage, from northern border to southern, calculated with a baby and toddler in the backseat: longer than I care to even think about. But this is still an AWESOME place to go!


This rewind involves only me and the little boys, as J had his own (very quiet) weekend here at home. Brief recap for a madcap trip:

Thursday. 7:00 am - 7:00 pm. Driving from Minnesota to southern Missouri. The boys were GREAT, all things considered. When S started getting fussy near the end, P would yell: "We're almost to Grandma and Grandpa's!" over S's yelling. What troopers. God in all of His mercy blessed us by sending a warm front through the Plains, so we left twenty degrees and feet of snow only to be running in grass (!! There IS grass underneath all of that slush!) in sixty-five degrees ten hours later. The boys were so delighted to be outside in actual warm sunshine, they were shrieking. And Mom/Grandma had a delicious supper waiting for us--AND chocolate-chip cookies. Heaven will be like this, I think; exhausted, we stumble to a threshold where our Father is waiting to catch us and feed us. And maybe, just maybe, He'll have chocolate-chip cookies--the perfect ones, a.k.a. Plato and the perfect bed.

Friday. I awoke to hungry boys and exhaustion, and my lovely mother sent me back to bed, praise the Lord. We enjoyed a lazy, restful day, capped off by a trip to consumerism's answer to the stresses of child-caring to buy a diaper bag (we live four hours from the nearest BRU, so this is a novelty, a gift. They actually sell more than one item of baby paraphanalia! Wonder of wonders! I'm like the Soviet women emerging from the Cold War, shocked by the sight of oranges and pineapples piled in the corner grocery. They DO exist! Okay, I'm getting a little carried away). THEN we met up with Grandpa who returned safetely from Canada and ate together at the home of the world's best chicken sandwich, where P got his long-sought red balloon.



This pic posted solely for the sake of S's curls. TOO cute.

Saturday. Ate. Rested. Visited. Blogged. Ate. Shopped. Visited. Napped. Watched Gpa put up the swing and P distend his neck watching him. Watched S climb the labyrinth under the table. Visited. Ate homemade German Chocolate Cake (made with P's help)! YUM.





Sunday. Attended early service at Immanuel (reality: arrived five minutes into service despite being up two hours early). The boys were terrific and the parishoners sitting behind us amused by S's flirting and amazed at how quiet and well-behaved and cute both boys were. "I can't believe he sat in the pew all by himself!" one lady said of P, post-service, after seeing us leave him while we went up for communion. Shameless bragging? Yes. Also, I hope, a plug for taking kids to church, actual church, from birth onward. Result? They can learn to sit and be quiet AND listen during the service. P now joins in the liturgy--and makes commentary, like hearing the Lord's Prayer: "Daddy says that," he told Grandma. The rest of the day? Me and P drove back to MN, arriving after dark. S will enjoy a few days with undivided adult attention--and we miss him, and his "talking" and eating unedible items that I haven't picked up off the floor quickly enough. Happy week, all!




Me: "Smile, boys! Look over HERE!" Gpts: "We'll smile; put the Iphone over there so their eyes are up." Boys: Zoned out, watching the Hallelujah Chorus flash mob. Result? Classic family photo, of course.

Party in Heaven -- And Ours Here Below

S's baptism weekend May 7-9. Typically, as soon as Dad E showed up, the temp dropped 20 degrees (hence the cigar smoking in the garage). I missed taking pics of the food (including the 75 extra pieces of fried chicken) and many other picture-worthy moments (like the fam sitting in the biggest hot tub in the world), but here's a few keepers, nonetheless. (The duplicates were ones I couldn't resist including due to interesting facial expressions, etc. They're pretty self-explanatory.)

One more note: S's baptismal gown was made by my great-grandmother (my mother's mother's mother) in the late 1920s. It's been worn by four generations now, a few dozen people, including my grandmother, my mother, me, P, and now S. Pretty cool!