First of all, if you have a leather sofa, chair, shoe, baseball mitt, you should enter the previous post drawing for a tried and true potion to make that leather thing practically new again.
Meghan is going to post a picture a day right here:
www.bluefilterphotos.blogspot.com Keep her accountable by checking it out- daily.
Here are a few:
A patient Oliver waits for a little boy to finish his bath
And a few other fun, interesting, and poke-you-in-the-eye things I found:
After reading When Helping Hurts, well, okay, even before that, I have been
a wee bit okay, hugely skeptical of “mission work” I found this enlightening and hilarious all at the same time. (Credit goes to Jill for pointing out this link)
And if you are looking for a fantastic theologically sound book, I was bowled over by this short book:
Closer Still by Scott Evans
I will be
plagiarizing gleaning from it in the future.
I have been reading a lot of books sent to me from the author for review- A LOT. It’s almost becoming a teensy bit like work. But only when the book is awful. Here are some I’ve enjoyed:
Nightfighter: Radar Intercept Killer
The Other Typist
News From Heaven
Henry and Rachel
Ok. I don’t do a lot of product recommendations so when I do, it’s because I really think the item is outstanding. My leather sofa was in need of some serious attention. It looked dry and sad and I was sort of falling out of love with it. In the past I’ve tried to condition it every 6 months to maintain it’s youthful allure, but to very little avail. I might as well have been applying Oil of Olay. My sofa needed botox. Or surgery. Or something.
Enter Leather Honey. This stuff is thick and sticky and messy just like it’s name implies. I coated my cushions and sofa in it and then left them to cure overnight. Leather Honey does not mess around- immediately I could tell it was something different from all the disappointing creams and lotions of my past. It was penetrating and healing and sealing. And after 12 hours of relaxing, my sofa looked amazing. I wish I had taken photos. I didn’t know it was going to be this dramatic! Just imagine your sofa looks like Mick Jagger and then overnight turns into Taylor Swift.
I haven’t tried it for these uses yet, but it’s also wonderful for leather shoes, purses, etc.
And just when you thought things couldn’t get more exciting- we have a give-away!
So if you’d like to take part, just share with a friend/on social media and comment to let us know you did, then we’ll add your name to a random drawing for an 8oz bottle of Leather Honey.
I carefully separated the perforated perfectness of Matthias’s social security card from the larger sheet of mildly heavy paper. Matt had never needed it- no bank account, no job, no nothing. I handed him that and his only photo ID- his passport- his proof that he was who he claimed to be for the college entrance exam.
At 14 and 16 years old, there stood Taite and Matthias with a herd of others hoping to pass this test so they could attend college. And suddenly, once again (because this is really the third time I’ve hustled a 14 year old for a college entry test), It finally occurred to me that I might be off my rocker- 14 looks awfully young in that context. So like any overbearing, over protective, micromanaging mother would, I hovered around the doorway to watch them go into the test center.
At that very second, after the social security card had been verified, I had to do this quick, but firm, self-talk to keep myself from rushing in to grab the passport and social security card for safe keeping. I had to tell myself, “Get a grip, the kids are possibly heading to college and you are going to care for a little slip of paper, like they aren’t capable, give me a break.” So I let it go. And waited.
After about four hours, a fairly deer-in-the-headlights looking Matt appeared and handed me his scores wherein it announced that he had tested beyond college level in all three tests- English, reading and math (and mentioned, “I lost my social security card.”) And like a dirty copper penny held at arm’s length can totally block the sun, that stupid social security card loss was capable of that for me that day. What a total low-life.
So, I got to have my own little test that day too. I thought about what a pain in the butt dealing with the government would be to get a new card, about someone stealing Matt’s identity, about how unperfect it is lose a social security card.
After years of hard, hard work and study Taite and Matthias both had owned that test, I had prayed for this day, their work, their character, their very lives and now this was to be my little test- like seriously!? and I looked at Matt and said, “Let’s not let this ruin your success, we’ll get it figured out.” We checked at the various counters of help and information. Nothing. And went and had ourselves a little celebration lunch.
And I thought about how often, too often, some niggling little buggery thing of absolutely no account can completely ruin the joy, the success, the goodness from God. I can be so thankless.
The next day, Andrew and I were taking a day trip when Taite texted- “Call me!” When I did, she said, “The college called, they found Matt’s social security card.”
Caitlin’s children have all been throwing up for about forever. They are mere half-weights of their former selves. Jude was throwing up so much that they decided to give him just liquids and no food for the night hoping the liquids would stay in him that way. He watched forlornly as the family chowed down on dinner, and Caitlin and Zac, even knowing it was the best thing for Jude, found it hard to keep from giving in. And Jude had to trust that his parents loved him.
If we are honest, the “God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life” can every now and then sound a little hollow, not quite match up to reality.
Reading Jesus’ statement to John as he molders away in prison suddenly made sense because, you know what, sometimes love doesn’t look like love.
The offer of his head on a platter accepted as payment for Herodias’s daughter’s beautiful dance, John is kinda wondering if the Savior of the world is going to be his savior in this prison cell? Or should he have looked for someone else someone maybe capable of saving not just the world but saving him too there in prison?
“Are You the One who is coming, or do we look for someone else?” (Luke 7: 19-20, Mtt 11:3) I’ve staked my life on you; maybe I shouldn’t have.
Jesus answers, “Go back and report to John what you hear and see: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor. Blessed is the man who does not fall away on account of me.” (Mtt 11:4-6, Luke 7:22)
Did you zippity through what Jesus says? I skim (or skip) when people quote scripture but you have to read the last sentence: “Blessed is the man who does not fall away on account of me.”
What in the world?! I am the Savior, I have fulfilled the old testament prediction of He who was to come- the restoring of sight, hearing, walking, health and life. the gospel preached. (Is 35: 5ff) And, don’t fall away on account of Him. Huh, does that even make sense- miracles of healing… don’t fall away?
Now why would anyone fall away when this miracle worker, Jesus, can do all that and more? And that is exactly the problem.
John’s cousin is the Savior of the world and He is not going to rescue John from prison. John is going to have his head chopped off and served up at a banquet all because he was telling the truth to a spiteful but powerful woman. Seriously, of all the things that Jesus has done- healing, saving, and rescuing, this should be easy- just spring John from jail. But John is getting the feeling that Jesus just might not do that. It’s looking bleak. Trust is so easy when life is easy; trust when it looks like abandonment is another thing.
Health, wealth and happiness from a kind, loving Savior- easy. Trusting that our Savior is kind and loving even in pain, illness and death? That’s what he’s asking John to do. That’s what he eventually asks all of us to do. Someday it’s not going to be the trial of “hold still while this thing is removed that makes your life less than great, you know, like a splinter” Someday it’s going to be “hold still while I make your life really, really hard and it looks like I’ve abandoned you, but I haven’t. I love you. Trust Me.”
“Blessed is the man who does not fall away on account of me.”
Single guy throwing a party. That was a new one at our house. Single girls throwing parties, that had happened times five girls. So on the ride home from the airport, Jarrett told me he’d planned a bbq for Friday night. This was totally new territory to me.
He was doing all the food, others could bring beer or drinks of their choice. Or not. Come at 6. No RSVP, no firm number count, nothing.
At 5 PM the party thrower decides it is the perfect time to go hit a bucket of balls at the golf course. I am trying to stay out of the party plans, the menu, the ambiance but girls would never do that! Ever. If there were, say, an extra hour before the party, girls would look up how to fold the napkins more intricately, make one more dish, something to aid the festivity.
Heck, forever imbedded in my brain will be Erin’s lawn dinner wherein she came home from working at the local hospital the day of the dinner having stopped at the hardware store to buy cement and PVC pipe and then to the fabric store for yardage of cloth and then home, she began emptying large food tin cans so that she could real quick make an outdoor tent! Calling her dad for a few cement instructions, I heard her say, “Dad, quit telling me it won’t set up because the longer you keep saying that the less time the cement has to set up, just tell me how much water to mix in.” She’d even bought the PVC elbows to make a triangular tent. That is the sort of thing girls do.
Guys, it turns out, go golfing.
And I was used to this when I lived in Chile but I think it must be the new fangled way of arriving at a party in the U.S. That is late. I was totally flummoxed in Chile the first time we headed to a party at 9PM when the invite said 7. I thought, “how rude.” We were some of the first to arrive. So, here it was 6 PM and not a knock on the door. 6:30, no one. Just before 7, one person. And I am thinking, “we have a lot of burgers for this guy to eat.”
After 7, one more guest.
Me? I was off in my bedroom planning a little pep talk along the lines of how being hospitable is being vulnerable because you go to all the work to plan, invite, buy the food, prepare it, choose the music, make the place ready and then just hope people will show up and when they don’t blah blah blah…
Round about 8 people started showing up. The burgers were ready. At 10 people were still showing up. When it got dark, they had a bonfire.
You will notice that there are no table cloths on the tables. That is because guys don’t care about that. I asked if I should put tablecloths on and Jarrett said something like, “Why? They’ll just get dirty or blow away.” Good point.
Jarrett’s addition to a great hamburger is to add ground pork- about 1/4 the amount as hamburger, and blue cheese- enough so you know it’s there. Work both into the burger, make into patties, and grill.
An absolute highlight of our trip was staying with an amazing couple, staying with this couple made the trip. Staying with this couple put this trip over the top to amazing. By the end of each day, we longed to go back to sit and visit with Curt and Hóffy.
They are those sorts of people who can have 7 (S-E-V-E-N!!) females invade their New York City apartment for five days and make you feel so welcome, so not a bother, so “gezellig” that we were anxious to return to the apartment after hoofing around all day mostly so we could sit and visit with them, lounging around in our pj’s. Surreptitiously there would be a few snacks on the counter or a bowl of the best salted caramel ice cream on earth in our hands.
They had this wonderful way of making us feel like we could disappear and veg out in our rooms or sit and visit with them- either way we were not a bother. In the morning there was the perfect pot of coffee, or an espresso if we preferred with frothed milk. We devoured authentic bagel and lox with onion and capers, quiche, and always fresh fruit and yogurt.
On our last evening we walked to the cloisters and then dined at an Italian restaurant with Curt and Hóffy- pasta and mozzarella made fresh daily- for dinner.
“Oh shizzle!” Or maybe she said, “skittles.” Meghan’s wallet was gone.
She remembered having it at Ladurée a shop that ships macaroons from Paris daily; she remembered because she bought some; lots, actually. And now we were down in the subway station ready to return home for the evening and Meghan’s wallet was AWOL.
Really there was nothing to do but go home. Sunday morning Meghan called and called Ladurée. No answer. So we went to church. And then she and Erin took the bus back to Ladurée and asked about the wallet.
“Oh, we are so glad you came back. We searched your wallet and couldn’t find a phone number.”
Meghan immediately reactivated her credit card (and bought some more macaroons.) The rest of us were getting manicures and pedicures when she texted to tell us her wallet was back home in her purse. Then she and Erin joined us for manicures.
(You will immediately notice that the below photos are most definitely not from Meghan’s Blue Filter Photography‘s eye.)
Aww. Lookie there, Andrew was hanging on the wall right at our table at Katz’s
Perfect weather for a boat tour of the city. And though we weren’t supposed to, we did take an entire pizza on board for lunch. New York City is a beautiful city.
Meghan and Anwyn arrived followed by Caitlin after her three hour trek to our house. We tossed all the bags in the car and were off to the airport. Our first leg of the flight went off without a hitch.
And then we made the mistake of thinking that Gate C12 actually existed in Denver AND that it was our gate. It was not and, in fact, did not exist. We missed our connection and wasted away as our flight departure was changed by an hour every half hour. Sequestration, they said. A six hour delay now put us in New York City at 2:30 AM.
Our original arrival time was a respectable 8:30 PM, but here it was 2:30 the next morning. No sane guest would even think a person would meet them at the gate. We asked another passenger where to hail a cab.
“Downstairs at the baggage claim and don’t even think of taking anything but a yellow cab, only a yellow cab.”
Down we went and at the end of the escalator there stood our host. I kind of wanted to cry for the sheer kindness of his rescue at such an ungodly hour. We were whisked to the apartment where we all had a warm soft bed waiting for us, in Manhattan, for Pete sake! We were there! New York City! It is a beautiful city.
In the morning there was coffee. With whole milk.
And then we hit the ground running.
Heigh Ho, Heigh ho, it’s off to New York City we go!
We are all taking only carry on so the editing of clothing has been intense. And I have been checking the temperature to see if I might freeze to death or be too hot. Put in the pea coat? Just a blazer? Take it out? Buy an “I Love New York” sweatshirt and just wear it?
A very amusing person sent me a compass for the trip. Ha ha! Like I need a compass to find my way around! (It’s in my purse.)
Meghan, Erin and Aileen are bringing their quality cameras so I will end up just getting copies of their photos.
We have tickets to Phantom of the Opera. Anwyn has been listening to the London production to get ready. And Taite just finished the book yesterday. Caitlin said she just hopes we don’t all break out into singing along with our favorites. And after watching this: http://www.glamour.com/fashion/blogs/dressed/2009/09/fashion-makeover-broadway-play.html we are dressing up for the show.
I have been the hair cutter for males at our house for decades. It all began in Miami when Andrew had his hair cut “professionally” and came home from work the next day saying, “Can you see what the back of my head looks like, people were making fun of it, something about a ski slope.” And that’s what he had back there. I straightened it out and have been cutting it ever since. It’s always best to start a daunting project by thinking, “How much worse could I make it?” So the first few times were hit and miss, running around the next few days with scissors making adjustments, but now I have the cut down cold.I could do it in my sleep.
And then one day Andrew decides he want it a little different, a little longer on the top, a bit taken off on the sides. Oh, and “I have people calling me Andy at my new job, not Andrew.” Maybe it sounds kinder, gentler but he’ll always be Andrew to me; I did try to keep the cut a bit longer though. He’s been mistaken for Anthony Bourdain for a long time and now I think they have the same hair cut:
A few weeks back Jarrett decided to wrest the scissors from my hands and give Matt a bit of a mohawk. And then one Sunday when Meghan’s family was here she and Eric were taking a little catnap on the couch so Andrew and I slipped out the door to visit neighbors. My phone rang while we were visiting. It was Fox, “Grandma, can Jarrett cut me hair?”
“Fox, you need to ask you mom.”
“No, her sleeping.”
“Ask your dad then.”
Jarrett cut his hair. And I think it turned out great. Thankfully.
I might be out of a job…
I tried listening to Annie Dillard‘s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and it was so much like Thoreau’s Walden that it bored me to tears. Has someone read Walden and loved it? Dillard is one of those authors that you are supposed to read. I just couldn’t get into her books. Enter The Maytrees, Dillard’s most recent book published in 2007:
Maytree was the poet: “…If I don’t talk about your hair, your lips, your eyes, still your face that I keep inside my soul, the sound of your voice that I keep inside my brain, the days of September rising in my dreams,give shape and color to my words, my sentences, whatever theme I touch, whatever thought I utter.” Whereas Lou was quiet: “One of her speech difficulties was starting. The other was proceeding.”
She writes in a way that makes you wonder if you caught her gist. Her writing is slow and beautiful like Thoreau’s Walden. But Thoreau is boring.
The Maytrees is in a way sad; but Lou wouldn’t really want you to be sad for her. “Falling in love, like having a baby, rubs against the current of our lives: separation, loss, and death. That is the joy of them.”
Toby Maytree’s father built for them a shack, a one room affair on the beach. His life always comes back to the shack. Maytree and Lou marry and live a bohemian life by the sea when fourteen years later Maytree tells Lou he is leaving her for Deary. It seemed he had loved Lou but then he just left, “Lou turned to Maytree and saw his firelit pupils deepen to hers. He was letting her in, as always, and holding her there. His skin glowed; she slipped from a mitten to warm his cold cheek with her palm. For three days it had blown 30 knots fromt he west. He put his arm around her, and she leaned her face near his face so she could hear him in wind. She tilted and felt his jaw move before he kissed her forehead.”
But before Maytree walks out of her life, they have a baby- Peter. Lou and Maytree made sure he saw the stars at night, knew their names. Slowly he grew, “He had shed that clouds-of-glory, that leaving-of-fairies glaze by which newborn peoople keep parents in thrall till other charms appear. Like his mother, he did not say much. His eyes gleamed dark beneath low brows, and everything struck him as funny.”
This is their life, start to finish, going the long way around.
The younger brother in the sty eating slop with the pigs is easy enough- he knows, everyone knows. He’s a sinner, easily recognized, easily condemned, painfully obvious. He needs to return and repent.
That fastidiously obedient older brother is the stickler. He dutifully works the family’s land, lives his straight and narrow moral life. Why, my goodness, the thought would never even occur to disobey. He is the best box checker, the best list keeper, the most self-righteous. And that is precisely his problem. He needs to repent for the reasons he ever did anything right.
The younger brother today would be the scofflaw, the toes right to the edge of the line, the “you’re not the boss of me”, the one who always messes up largely and loudly. The older brother would be the one always looking askance at you, at your clothing, at your behavior in general, and would make sure to let you know he measures up. You do not. It’s easy to be fooled by the older brother; his record is spotless, his goodness a thin veneer of condescending kindness.
Upon his return, there is no delusion about what the younger brother deserves- “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’
The older brother becomes incensed; he would never have done such things in the first place, let alone ask then for forgiveness. And the hasty forgiveness from the father is, to the older brother, unforgivable- ”Lo, these many years I have been serving you, I never transgressed your commandment at any time, and yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might make merry with my friends. But as soon as this son of yours came, who has devoured your livelihood with harlots, you killed the fatted calf for him.” This older brother believes he has the right to be highly offended because of his goodness. But the good he has done for others was done for the good he would get.
The older brother’s good behavior was never done out of love for his father. It was always results oriented and only when the younger brother comes back does it become apparent. The older brother’s self-righteousness is disguised under the claim of opposing the enemies of God- the devouring of his father’s money, sleeping with prostitutes. But it’s really about works righteousness- payback for his stellar behavior.
And he refuses to go in to the feast.
Ultimately this parable is about the 2 ways to be your own savior. One easily spotted, the other easily hidden.
1. Younger son- Breaks all the laws, sets his own course. Lives flagrantly and exactly as he pleases. The attitude that creeps in here is that open-minded, tolerant people like us are ‘in’; bigoted, narrow minded people like them are ‘out.’
2. Older son- Keeps all the laws and is very, very good waiting quietly and patiently for the payback. The attitude that sneaks in here is that good religiously moral people like us are ‘in’; bad people like them are ‘out.’
Both wrong but, younger brothers are often aware that they are alienated from the father. Elder brothers are clueless.
There is a right way, a third way. It is the gospel. The gospel will cause us to feel our lostness and seek escape from it. That’s when we know God is working. It comes down to inner-heart motivation. The good that we do will not be out of a need to control others, and ultimately to control God. Rather it will be because of a trust in God with real humility- Luke 18:14. The need to rebel will disappear and the reason for good acts will come from a pure motives, a love for God.
Tim Keller has written about this in Prodigal God.
New International Version (NIV)
The Parable of the Lost Son
11 Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.
13 “Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. 14 After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. 16 He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.
17 “When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! 18 I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ 20 So he got up and went to his father.
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.
21 “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’
22 “But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. 24 For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.
25 “Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. 27 ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’
28 “The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’
31 “‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”
I will be making these for Aileen the invisa-sis when she comes. I put this meal together the other day when I wanted to use the jar containing peanut sauce for Valiant’s piggy bank, and thus needed to get rid of it. Paired with Butterflies and edemame, it felt like a Asian street food extravaganza!
One bunch each: cilantro, mint, basil, chopped quite fine
1/2 large English cucumber, julienned
handful bean sprouts
1-2 chicken breasts cut into bite-sized pieces and fried in olive oil in a pan
rice stick noodles or rice vermicelli ( I did not have any so I used cooked angle hair pasta)
bib lettuce or butter lettuce
mae ploy sauce
Cook or soak noodles (depending on if you are using real rice noodles or cheating with angel hair). To julienne the cucumber I use a tool Mom gave me once- makes it a breeze. I’m sure you can find them everywhere. Mix everything but the lettuce and sauces together. Set aside in a bowl.
You can either buy or make the peanut sauce. I always have mae ploy sauce around as it makes almost every Asian dish better- it’s a red sauce available in all asian food stores and a lot of regular grocery stores too. Put each in a dish for dipping and wash/dry the lettuce.
At the table fill a piece of lettuce with the chicken mixture and dip in each sauce- pretty amazing and pretty simple.
1 tin of canned crab
1 pkg cream cheese
1 pkg wonton wrappers
The simplicity of these belies their addictive qualities. Well, ok, it’s carbs and fat fried in fat, so it’s bound to be amazing. Mix the crab and cream cheese together, put a dollop on a wonton wrapper, wet the edges of the wrapper with water and seal them together, then fry in vegetable oil in a pan (or a deep fryer if you have it) till brown.
I won’t insult you here- just steam them and toss with salt.
And you have a feast!
Not an amazing number and yet. 33 years with this same guy has been amazing.
When we hit the 3 year mark, we knew about marriage. Then a friend said, “wait ’til it’s been 5 years.” When we hit the wood year, we bought a desk. Had I only checked last year, it was Conveyances (e.g., automobiles) I might now be in a car that isn’t entering its teen years:
Andrew: “I wonder what this year is”
me: “It’s amethyst, why didn’t you wonder last year?”
Andrew: “What’s amethyst?”
me: “just a rock.”
This seemingly inconsequential year has been consequential. Every year is if you take the time to remember.
We read through the Bible together and finished just days ago. We began praying aloud together before going to sleep each night- a routine that I would recommend before the 33rd year. Well before. It has been a great help with this year’s resolution: to be my husband’s best friend. A company flew us to Iowa to consider a job. Andrew started a new job - not in Iowa- that keeps him hopping (and me back to dinner prep.) Because most of these people are out in this part of the country, we are glad Iowa didn’t beckon too loudly:
So, how to celebrate such a big number but not really monumental 33rd anniversary. For starters, last night we attended a benefit dinner and were seated at table #33. Secondly, the dinner was to raise money for the Crisis Pregnancy Center in our area. That was a fitting place to celebrate in its own way. But that was a lifetime ago and a whole ‘nother story.
Yes! Stainless Steel Sharpies My addiction to office supplies will help you understand the excitement of this.
And you can take that same Sharpie and make clever mugs.
Or turn a plain lampshade into a piece of art with a Sharpie.
My latest books- click on them to read my review. Aww, go ahead and click “yes” for helpful:
The Other Typist
News From Heaven
Twelve Tribes of Hattie- I was super disappointed; was anyone else? Here’s why.
Henry and Rachel
Just some fun sites:
P.S.- I made this… But of course it looks so cool you’d never know.
How older people stay hip growing old with style
Where They Create spend a day looking at all these
Clean and Simple that clean look with punch
A few things to think about:
But the voice of God sang a sanguine love song in the rubble of my world.
The plight of a Christian in Iran’s awful prison.
Because we are studying U.S. History around here.
Something you forgot from your school days? Here you go. This is accessed pretty much every day for the calculus.
That dratted old Thomas Jefferson and all those forefathers. Studying American History with my class of four, I have been disavowed of my delusional, altruistic ideals about the founding fathers of our country. Those “do as I say, not as I do” turncoat slaveholders, and all round skeptics of one true omnipotent God. They really did mean to build a wall of separation, turns out.
And then I read the poem that Thomas Jefferson and his wife, Martha, shared right before she died too young. And my heart melted right there in the public library.
Time wastes too fast: every letter
I trace tells me with what rapidity
Life follows my pen. The days and hours
Of it are flying over our heads
Like clouds of windy day, never to return-
More everything presses on-
Time I kiss thy hand to bid adieu,
Every absence which follows it, are preludes to
That eternal separation
Which we are shortly to make!
Tristram Shandy-Laurence Sterne
Go give someone a big kiss.