We are on our way home after a long day–a morning spent at Bible study, followed by lunch out, errands at the library and the bank, and finally, picking up my husband from work. After a quick stop at the gas station, we are a block from home.  Then I see her.

A young woman is standing on a street corner, talking on her cell phone.  At first glance, I see that she is sobbing.  A second glance takes in the blood flowing freely from her nose and mouth.  She’s been beat up.

Our neighborhood has been on high alert the last few weeks.  Two women, one of them very, very young, have been beaten, strangled, and raped by a stranger, apparently by the same stranger.  We are all on edge.  The sight of a girl standing on a corner bleeding is not one we can ignore.

“Kirk!  That girl is bleeding!  She needs help!”

He swings the car around the block and pulls up near her.  “Do you need help?”  he asks.

“YES!” she sobs.  She is still on the cell phone, with the 911 dispatcher, we learn. “He drove off over there,” she points toward our alley.  “I need a license plate number.”

“I saw the car–we’ll go see if we can find him,” Kirk says, and turns the car in pursuit.   We drive up a few blocks and see nothing, so we head back to the girl, pulling up at the curb and parking.

I get out and hand her a clean hanky.  She is still weeping into the phone.  She hands me the phone, and I confirm for the dispatcher that I stopped to help and can’t offer much more information.  The paramedics and the police are on the way, I’m told.  The phone conversation ends.  Kirk walks over and asks her what happened.

“I was in the car with him, and he started hitting me.  I have a card in my purse with the case number–I called the police the other night, because he threw me down the stairs, with his 4 year-old daughter in my arms.  A lot of f—ing good they did.  A case number!”

She is shivering.  Kirk suggests she come sit in the warmth of the car.  She gives no argument to that.  I stand at the corner and wait for someone to show up.

About 4 minutes later, the ambulance pulls up.  They usher the girl inside.  One of the paramedics asks us a few questions and asks us to stay put until the police arrive.  The cop pulls up, jumps out, and learning that we just pulled over to help, and didn’t actually see the assault, dismisses us.  We drive home, all of us sober and shaken.

Questions bubble:  why was she in his car if he’d thrown her down the stairs a few days ago? What could cause a man to do these things to anyone at all, let alone a woman who has enough of a relationship with him to be carrying his daughter? What history of bad choices is represented by this snapshot we’ve seen? How do lives get this screwed up?  What would ever bring redemption to these lives?

And the answer is…Jesus.  They need Jesus.  This is what a life looks like without Him. Maybe not every life is filled with such overt violence and hurt, but the screwed-up-ness is there. I myself am that screwed up apart from the Gospel of God’s grace, poured out through Jesus.

I forget that often, because my life is NOT like this.  My life is well padded with comfort, security, a fine husband who loves me and will never EVER lay a hand on me in violence.  Children who are well-adjusted.  A financial outlook that is, …well, not rich by magazine standards, but considerably more affluent than most in my neighborhood.  Friends who care about me.  A warm, loving, functional family. A host of people who would step in to help any time we needed it.  I have layers upon layers of safety built into my life.

And in some ways, those layers of safety insulate me from the stark fact that I need the forgiveness that Jesus bought just as much as the thug who messed up that poor girl.  He needs Jesus. The girl needs Jesus.  I need Jesus.  We all do.  It is good to remember this.  It is good to stop and help, and then to allow my heart to hurt enough to drive me to pray for them and the others like them who live in my neighborhood.  THIS is why Jesus came–to rescue lost sinners.

Lord, have mercy on that young woman.  Bring her the help she needs.  Use even our small kindness to tell her that You love her, and bring her to Jesus.

And bring that man to the repentance that leads to life, as well. Press his soul with Your love and Your fierceness, until he sees Your truth and Your desire for him.

And, God….have mercy on me. Let me remember that I am a sinner in need of grace.  Keep  me from the apathy and fear that would seek my safety and comfort instead of helping.  Give me eyes that see lostness and need in the same way You see them, a heart that will not allow me to step past with a stony face, and a will to share Your love in words and actions.

Kyrie Eleison. Christe Eleison. Kyrie Eleison.

After having lived here for 10 or so years now, I have begun to look more like a Minnesotan, and less like a Westerner.  I was contemplating the various signs this afternoon on a walk with my family.  You be the judge:

Ways in which I am now a Minnesotan:

•I own one dress coat and one casual coat for each possible variation of temperature, season, and weather.

•The ratio of boots to other types of shoe in my house is roughly equal.

•I look forward to heavy snowfalls.

•I know what to do if I hit a patch of ice, driving or walking.

•My potluck hot-dishes are actually eaten and enjoyed. (You don’t wanna know how many of my early potlucks offerings came home untouched before I figured out the Midwestern palate.)

•I have several recipes for BARS in my file.

•I automatically remove my shoes when entering someone’s house.  (Non-northerners:  think snowy boots and wood floors.)

•I much prefer winter to summer.

•I love going swimming in the winter (well, it is indoors, but still…)

•I know where all the bargains are to be had.

•I’ve eaten take-out from Mac’s Fish and Chips.

•I am planning to make sandbakkles for Christmas treats.

•I’ve been to see “Triple Espresso” and laughed myself sick.

•I have the Minnesotan accent. (Well, actually, I had the accent by the time we’d been here 3 weeks–I absorb accents like Brawny on spilled milk. When I worked next door to a Georgia boy, I sounded like a Peach myself. Now it’s Minnesotan, and you wouldn’t know that my mother wasn’t Swedish, doncha know.)

Ways in which I am not yet Minnesotan:

•I really really hate “the Mega-Mall” (Mall of America.)

•I prefer Dunn Bros. to Caribou.

•I can’t/won’t try lutefisk.

•There is no season in which I wear blaze orange as a safety measure.

•I don’t care how thick the ice is; if you are not Jesus, it is profoundly WRONG to walk on the surface of a lake!

yeah, another post in the same 24 hours….

another hilarious conversation:

We were just finishing up dinner. The conversation turned to shooting, since T is going to a BB gun shoot with Stockade tomorrow morning. I raised the physics problem of the monkey-in-the-tree. Paper was called for, and Kirk sketched it out. We discussed the ramifications of gravity.
Ian asked to illustrate his own problem. He draws a huge boulder, and a guy below it, and the guy is throwing something on dotted-line trajectory

Kirk: Is that a rock he’s throwing?

Ian: “No, that’s a RABBIT.”

Note: If you don’t get this, emailing me won’t help. It’s either funny, or it’s not.

Yeah, I’m getting downright regular–post once every 6-8 weeks whether you need to or not. I am just now getting over a bad case of whooping cough (yes, you can get it, even if you a)had the shot as a kid, b)are a grownup and c) have already had it twice in adulthood!) We also did the big barfy thing with one kid this week, which is always fun.

Here are some fun conversations that amused me in the last few weeks:

During a Bible-time discussion of I Corinthians 13, in which we talked about how Jesus is the embodiment of love, so we could substitute “Jesus” for “Love” and it would tell you about Jesus (“Jesus is patient; Jesus is kind….”) Ian came to me, fingers held out in counting mode. “Mom, I’m making a list of the things Jesus does and doesn’t do,….and I need more FINGERS.” Honey, you have no idea how many more fingers you need.

Another conversation. Boys are playing in the living room with toy soldiers.

Ian: Mom, my guys who don’t have weapons are vegetarians.

Mom: ???

Tobin: You know, the guys who don’t believe in fighting?

Mom: You mean pacifists???

Tobin: Yeah, pacifists! That’s what your guys are, Ian.

Later, as I was relating this hysterical conversation to Kirk, Ian added this: I really meant the guys are those guys who go and help the animals.

Pause.

Kirk: You mean they’re veterinarians?

Ian: Yeah, yeah! They’re vegetarians!

(At this point, I was helplessly gurgling and gasping on the floor.)

Tobin: I think they’re also pacifists.

I know, I know.  It’s been a month since I last posted.  I meant to be more regular here.  September is my crunch month, so I have a legit excuse.  Since mid August, I have:  started homeschooling my children; taken at least 8 field trips; submitted all the attendant paperwork; led 2 leadership meetings for the women’s Bible study; recruited more than half of the childcare staff for Bible study, including a childcare coordinator; met with said coordinator; created a childcare policy handbook; driven the launch of the Bible study; prepared and taught Bible study twice; had an overnight anniversary getaway with my husband; attended 2 required-attendance social events; made over $600 in jewelry sales; made a major household furnishing purchase; canned several dozen jars of pickles, jams, syrups, and fruits; and continued to post on the food blog I share with my sister.

Phew! It makes me feel a bit better to look at that list–I haven’t had a fruitless month, that I should beat myself up for not getting over here to post, or for not having a basement or porches that are currently clean and presentable. But as I type that, I realize it’s time to give myself a sermon.
It’s always been a struggle for me, thinking that my worth=how much I do. I have often felt that I’m only okay–I’m only worthy or valuable, or righteous–if my entire house is entirely organized and entirely spotless, and if my to-do list is entirely checked off.  And that’s problematic, because I ALWAYS have a to-do list that is longer than any sane person can expect to manage.  Which means that I can never be okay.

Thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!  I really NEVER CAN be okay.  I can never, in my own strength, and through my own efforts and striving and to-do lists, be good enough, or cleanly enough, or righteous enough, to merit God’s approval.  Why is that good news?  Because I can jettison the self-expectation that I MUST do all these things before I can allow myself to feel okay, that  I can’t for a moment take vacation or rest, because I still have more to do, and God will not be happy with me until it’s ALL done.   I can lay that all down, and thankfully sink into the rest and the grace of Jesus.  His righteousness, His accomplishment, His efforts.  I will never be Good Enough, and thank the Lord, I don’t have to be–Jesus is Good Enough. More than, actually.

I’ll step down from the preacher’s podium now–I was mostly preaching to myself.  I need that from time to time.

I began the day with trepidation–how would school go, since we were running out mid-morning so I could go get my hair cut, and then someone was coming over to our house at 1 to meet with me.  Would my children turn into a pair of savage howler monkeys?

As it turned out, it was the most beautiful day of school we’ve had since we began.  We began with a reading of Matthew 12, learning about Pakistan and the needs of Christians and Muslims there, and prayer time.  Ian prayed, as usual, for God to help poor people to have enough food and money.  Tobin prayed for Amber, a girl we know of who has terrible aggressive leukemia.  I prayed for Pakistan, for the ongoing staffing needs for our Bible study’s childcare, and for our day.

We read a chapter from “Carry On, Mr. Bowditch”, and learned the expression “sailing by ash breeze”–meaning the use of strong-backed sailors getting into lifeboats and using the ash-wood oars to row and tow the becalmed ship forward.  Someone who has had external opportunities taken from them, but who is working diligently to create their own opportunities can be said to be “sailing by ash breeze.”   Cool image.

We ran out for the hair-cut (my 8yo thoughtfully told me he liked my hair, so it’s thumbs up once again to Heidi, my friend and stylist.

On the way home, I accidentally turned onto the freeway and we ended up taking lunch from Wendy’s to Kirk’s work and having lunch with him on his first day of having students back.  Saying good-bye to him, we jogged back home in time to accomplish a nice tidy before my friend Patti showed up.

I’d given the boys a list of assignments to work on, with the stipulation that they needed to be mostly independent, and if Ian needed help with reading directions, he could ask Tobin.  Patti arrived, and the boys were tidily arranged at the kitchen table, quietly doing their work.  There were a few questions directed to me, but generally a quiet and congenial diligence permeated.

After they’d completed their individual assignments, they headed up to my bed to read some human body books together.  After about an hour, Tobin tip-toed down to announce that Ian had fallen asleep.  He headed back up and continued to read about the human body, and prepared a small presentation to give to Kirk when he got home (which he delivered cheerfully and competently.)

It is interesting to me that the day that was MOST out of kilter from our usual routine has been our best day so far. Am I to take that as normative? Or was it a happy God thing, that He chose to give us this beautiful and peaceful day today? I’m not really sure, but I’m thankful, anyway.

I found this fun website on somebody else’s blog (sorry–can’t remember now whose it was) and went right over to fill out my own map, and you can do one for yourself, too.  This gives a whole new meaning to “red states”–all of which I’ve been in (even W. Virginia, which we drove 1/2 mile into this summer and turned around, just to say we’d been there!)  You may notice some marked omissions, and some of them are intentional–if you are living in a non-red state, ask yourself if you have alligators or deadly water snakes, and you’ll know whether I skipped your state on purpose.

create your own visited states map

Our bout with chicken pox continues in its mild and unobtrusive form.  We’ll hope that nobody else gets it, because the incubation period on that would put us into some dicey time-frames, with the start of women’s Bible study, and Wednesday night groups, and such.

School continues, and looks like starting to settle down into workable routines and general contentedness amongst the studentia. Hot tip for homeschooling moms of wiggly boys:  if they need to get a few wiggles out, send them out for laps around the house, a few laps at a time.  Time them, if you have a stop watch.  It’s huge fun, and cheap PhysEd. 

At the dinner table tonight, we had non-stop questions from two boys who’ve suddenly hit the curiosity-button.  That feels like success.  I think the absence of videos to watch has played a part in the settling calm and peace, and in the increasing engagement in school.  Also, I think I’m relaxing into this as I go, and it’s showing.

One unexpectedly sweet pleasure in this has been doing Bible time in the morning, first thing.  We read a chapter from the gospel of Matthew, discuss things that raise questions, talk about how it applies to us.  Then we look at today’s entry in Operation World.  We look for the country on our globe, read about what the country is like and what things we can pray about.  We add that to our prayer journal, in which we also keep track of the things and people we are praying about.  We have already seen our prayers answered in several cases, and the boys have recognized those answered prayers without my needing to point them out.  It is a wonderful thing to sit and pray together with my children every day, and to hear them beseech God to give poor people enough food, or to help cousin Josh work out his big college schedule problem.  And it is excellent to see those prayers answered, and my children’s faith built.  Thank you, Lord.

I’ve run into some reminders this week of the fact that I had to make sacrificial choices in order to homeschool.  I missed my first meeting of the women’s ministries leadership team–I stepped down from that team earlier this month, knowing I couldn’t continue to make all the meetings and be involved in this busy aspect of ministry AND do a good job of schooling my kids.

And I called our worship pastor today to check if I was still on the schedule to sing on worship team this Sunday, and I’m not.  I’ve had to take a leave of absence from the Sanctuary Choir, which is a choice that bites for me–my last vestige of being a professional musician for now.  I’ll still step in from time to time and direct when Gil is away, and I’ll still be on the worship team in the “Crossing” service down the hall every other month or so.  But for this season, my musical involvement will be minimal.  I’d like to convince myself that I’ll have lots of free time now in which to write music, but realistically….lots of free time is a pipe dream.

So, I’m a little…I don’t know what…pensive? about some of the trade-offs I’ve made in order to homeschool.  I know it is worthwhile, and I know that I won’t regret it.  And I know it’s a season in my life, too. But it makes me just a little sad–those expensive music degrees…those activities that really did feel significant and fulfilling and like real ministry…the friends in those arenas who I’ll see a bit less of now.

But too, as I was hanging up the phone after talking with Gil, I realized that my life feels unhurried and unstressed right now.  Even though I am gearing up for the launch of women’s Bible study, and preparing to teach there, and doing school with boys, and trying to get my house under control.  I do not feel harried or mentally vague or exasperated, like I do when I am doing too much.  I feel good–now I just need to address the diet/exercise component, and my clothes will feel better, too. 

Ian has chicken pox. We think.

We noticed little spots on his back and bum last night, and there are more today, plus some on his arms. And he’s feeling sad and mean and grumpy and yucky. So sad.

So Kirk will be staying home from church tomorrow morning with the boys, while I go and play the piano for the worship team from our church that is leading worship at the State Fair Crossroads Chapel. We are playing 3 services. And then I plan to wander around, never having been to the MN State Fair before, and see things like canned goods and the huge craft show, and art contests and whatnot. Also, I will go to the dairy barn to a)partake of the $1 all-the-milk-you-can-drink deal, and 2)see the carved butterheads of this year’s Princess Kay of the MilkyWay (Fair royalty). (A butter-carving artist carves full-size busts of Princess Kay, and she gets to take her bust home after the fair is done.)

Interesting trivia: Pres. Teddy Roosevelt gave his “speak softly and carry a big stick” speech at the MN State Fair in 1901.

Something that makes me really happy: There is a large pot outside my front door, with a morning glory vine that has crept up to cover one railing on the stairs. The morning glory began to bloom last week, and is now COVERED daily with masses of brilliant blue flowers. Each night, the flowers fold themselves up neatly and shrivel away, and each morning, a new batch open up, brilliant and cerulean. These are my favorite flowers. Except when the columbine are blooming.

Note of encroaching autumn: Our big maple, always the first tree on our block to start the color show, is starting to go. Starting to have yellow leaves, and some already brown and falling.

Well, we’re doing school.  I still feel like I’m not really prepared, and don’t really know what I’m doing.  I’m feeling my way, trying to hit a balance between there-are-things-you-MUST-learn and what-are-you-interested-in-learning.  I’m told my my older and wiser sister who has homeschooled all 4 boys for years, that that balance becomes easier to discern, and that the parenting part gets less intensive after a few weeks.

I sure hope so.  Because my boys have been mean as snakes.  At each other non-stop all day.  Snarly, vicious, and sneaky in their attacks on each other.  Trying to get each other in trouble.  Trying to hurt each other without getting caught.  It’s been ugly.  And I’ve been nearly as mature as they have.  The snarly and vicious part was me.

The younger one keeps telling me he’s bored, and school is no fun.  Borrowing a page from my sister’s book, I told him yesterday that school was only for boys who were big enough to handle it, and if he wasn’t big enough, then he didn’t have to do it, although he’d have to still obey and be quiet during our family times, like Bible and reading.  But I wouldn’t try to teach him things like letters and numbers if he wasn’t a big enough boy.  He went from whining to begging to be allowed to participate, and was happy as a clam the rest of the morning.  Except for when he was fighting with his brother.

If you think of us in homeschool land, please pray for us:  for patience and understanding for me, for grace for us all, for a hunger for learning in the boys, for an end to the sibling violence….And pray that we all survive the next few weeks to get into a real rhythm.

Thanks.