He’s at church early every Sunday, and he usually makes sure things are locked up when everyone has left. Nobody enters the sanctuary empty-handed as he personally places a bulletin in each hand. He prepares the drinks for the fellowship meal and helps the children fill up their cups. He brings quarters for little boys to add to their state quarter collections and he compliments young ladies on their piano playing or their lovely appearance. He builds castles in the sky with his dreams for the young people’s futures. He makes us smile with his acerbic comments.

It was our turn to clean the church this week, and hearing that our family was sick, he did it for us.

We love you, Uncle Ray. There are plans in the making for a special surprise for you when we are all better. Thank you.

Uncle Ray with Ben at his firefighter graduation last spring.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. Be of the same mind toward one another. Do not set your mind on high things, but associate with the humble. Do not be wise in your own opinion.” ~Romans 12:16

Things for which I am grateful:

1. I have not yet succumbed.

2. Many were willing to suffer far greater things than our small trial in order that we don’t need to suffer the greatest trial of paying the penalty for our sins.

Daddy has been reading a children’s biography of Martin Luther to us in the evenings, in preparation for Reformation Day. If we had enough people with appetites to make a quorum, we would be having a special dinner in celebration of that special day, but we have decided to postpone it for a few days and celebrate it instead with some special guests we are expecting at the end of the week (if the special guests are reading, fear not—we will ruthlessly quarantine if necessary!)

Our usual Reformation Day dinner usually includes the following:

Bratwurst
Sauerkraut
Homemade applesauce
Rye bread
Wassail
Homemade donuts

We have good reason to celebrate. Can you imagine the darkness in which we would still be stumbling if we did not have the gift of God’s precious Word to light our way? How sad so many Christians do not avail themselves more of that valuable gift and do not understand at what great price it was obtained for them. It is fitting that we ought to remember and teach our children to remember the giants of the faith who were willing to “let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also…” in order to proclaim the rallying cries of the Reformation. Pastor Marcus Serven says we should “consider the following ‘rallying cries’ as hard-won blessings which have been ‘bought with blood’ for the benefit of Christ’s Church during this current era in which we live.”

I am also thankful for the boldness of men like Pastor Serven and other whom I consider modern-day reformers, calling the church back to faithfulness to God’s revealed Word. That is a job which is often thankless and usually invites mockery, even from those who claim to hold to the same foundational truth. Funny how history repeats itself.

One of our favorite tell-it-like-it-is reformers, Pastor Bret McAtee, The Lonely Reformer, acerbically accentuates the negative reaction to any call for reform.

As he wisely reminds us: “You do realize that Reformation usually means doing something besides the status quo, don’t you?”

Here are some words from the man who started the reformation ball rolling in Germany, inspiring many to follow his brave example, and may we continue in their path:

Farewell, dear reader, in the Lord. Pray that the Word may be further spread abroad, and may be strong against the miserable devil. For he is mighty and wicked, and just now is raving everywhere and raging cruelly, like one who well knows and feels that his time is short, and that the kingdom of his Vicar, the Antichrist in Rome, is sore beset. But may the God of all grace and mercy strengthen and complete in us the work He has begun, to His honor and to the comfort of His little flock. Amen.

Who is this lady and why is she smiling (scroll down a bit)? She must have had a good night’s sleep to be looking so perky. When she looked in the mirror this morning, she only saw dark circles and blurry eyes. Perhaps she should be more careful when she writes things like this:

Much can be accomplished through the contemplation we are able to have while stirring a simmering pot of oatmeal or the prayers we pray in the quiet hours of the night while comforting sick children.

It was only hours after she confidently wrote those words that her house was visited with the dreaded stomach bug. It’s Day Three and three down, eight to go. Two of the invalids are two of the most difficult patients, so the worst of it will soon be over, though she may be regretting those words, too, if she should succumb.

Do you think that writing in third person will keep it from happening? Oops, she is not supposed to be superstitious…

Here’s an idea for an invention guaranteed to make millions: like those tablets you chew in the dentist office to highlight the areas of your teeth where you don’t brush well (where the “tooth bugs” are hiding), there ought to be something you can spray around your house to highlight where the germs are lurking, so you can go on the offense rather than waiting for them to knock you down and knock the stuffing out of you (so to speak).

If you invent such a thing and make millions from it, please don’t tell me.

I hate germs. Thank you, Lord, for even this.

Oh, and the bleary-eyed one wants to let you know that her friend, Rick, has lowered prices at his excellent business, Cumberland Books, so do some Christmas shopping there.

I am in the middle of reading a beautifully poetic tribute to the blessing of food, a book which was a surprise birthday gift from my friend, Laura D., called The Supper of the Lamb: A Culinary Reflection. This extended muse on the art of cooking and eating broadens the imagination regarding culinary and gastronomic pursuits, raising the sights from the utilitarian notion that what goes into the mouth is just for keeping the machine running, to a higher view of the nobility of the kitchen and the food drama that occurs there.

In the chapter about proper kitchen tools, the author has this to say about a woman with a good meat cleaver or butcher knife:

A man who has seen women only as gentle arrangers of flowers has not seen all that women have to offer. Unsuspected majesties await him…You will also be provided with an instant rejoinder to anyone who presumes to lecture you on housewifery as an abject capitulation to the feminine mystique. Simply let him see you presiding over your kitchen with steel in one hand and butcher knife in the other. Execute six-well-drawn strokes, and his words will turn to ashes in his mouth. He was ready for a maladjusted prisoner of the pantry; you have showed him instead one of the priestly archetypes of the race.

This is the kind of imagination we ought to have regarding all our domestic pursuits. Yet so often we find ourselves at extreme ends of the spectrum: we either think that the glossy home magazines in the checkout line exhibit the (unattainable) height of housekeeping, or we listen to the attractive lie that such things are drudgery and that we were made for greater things.

The latter lie is being promulgated by well-coiffed, smooth-tongued women who claim to be reformed Christian thinkers. While limp-wristed men are celebrating the affirmation of their “right” to have their unholy unions recognized by the state of New Jersey, theologically-macho women are making inroads in a denomination that less than 100 years ago was the orthodox offshoot of the apostate Presbyterian church. Not content with the broad realm of homekeeping, they become busybodies, running from conference to conference, eschewing the “low” life of domesticity and encouraging other women with itching ears and itchy feet to do the same, all in the name of theology, yet only descending to the popular sport of Scripture twisting.

Read the sordid tale here, as related at the Bayly Blog, making sure to read the long response in the comments by Tim Bayly. His mother is my heroine. May we all learn such wisdom and peace. Much can be accomplished through the contemplation we are able to have while stirring a simmering pot of oatmeal or the prayers we pray in the quiet hours of the night while comforting sick children. More spiritual maturity can be attained while on our knees (whether in prayer or in service to our family) than while on the road.

I actually think Mrs. James is on to something when she says ezer can mean “warrior,” though she is wrong that it is an either/or job description, dumping the “helper” definition along with her housewifely credentials into the incinerator marked “Relevancy.” The point she is missing is that we don’t need to run away from home to fight our battles. The trick is learning that the fights godly women are called to fight will come to us, and we, like Jael, had better be at our posts when we need to be.

I’ve said it before, and I will die with it on my lips: Don’t despise the day of small things.

The wise woman builds her house, but the foolish pulls it down with her hands. ~Proverbs 14:1

These pics are from our gold country adventures a little over a week ago.

Daddy and the boys were on their own for a few hours while the wimminfolk were setting up housekeeping in tent town. Here are the critters getting ready for some fun (after lunch, of course), like rope making, bowling, debarking, and gold panning.

Mommy didn’t notice the menfolk until they settled in across the way at a picnic table with the perfect vantage point for watching her do the dishes. Here I am at my station, mixing up delicacies to go into the Dutch ovens. I’m glad I didn’t wear makeup (we must be authentic, you know), because I would have had black streaks of mascara running down my cheeks after all the smoke in my eyes making me tear up, everytime I moved the coals from the wood fire to the ovens.

Gracie was the tent town school marm at this open air school. Those rowdy boys in the front row kept acting up, one of the downsides of having your siblings in your school.

Middle muffin mix spent a lot of time at a loom, a popular demonstration that day. One of the other docents noticed what a good job she was doing and asked if she was interested in her own loom. My creative and crafty girl lit up and said “yes!” Asked how much she was able to pay, she pondered how much piano teaching money she had in her stash, and said, “$100.” Well, she got her loom—for $50! It’s a large, lovely piece of equipment with all the accessories, including a bench. I’m looking forward to seeing what works of art come from it.

Youngest muffin mix and the girl with the loom graduated Saturday night from docent training, earning their official pins. They gave a demonstration at the graduation about McGuffey’s Readers, interjecting a little humor into their talk. They were as funny as Abbott and Costello, no mean feat when giving a dramatic reading of the poignant poem “Casablanca” (note: that is the title in the 1837 2nd McGuffey’s Reader, though other places it is called “Casabianca”).