Little house of horrors

You'd think, since we moved past the days of dear son peeing down the vent, our house would be more habitable. 

And yet, we still discover dismaying and bewildering things, such as socks that have been soaking for days (...weeks?) in a mason jar of water, for no good reason whatsoever, stashed in the corner of someone's room.

Not to mention lesser disappointments such as a perpetually damp hand towel in the powder room, crumbs coating the floor, and Legos, Legos, all the Legos everywhere.

My ability to cope with such things wavers, but I actually let out an involuntary scream that made Caleb about jump out of his skin when I found him using the aforementioned powder room hand towel to clean the toilet. 


I had assumed they were wetting it to wash their dear little faces for dinner.

Now there is a vomiting bug going through the house.  At least now I have a good reason to be grossed out in my own home. 

My natural inclination is to sigh, mutter in my head, and complain aloud for all to hear.  And usually speak angry and/or snarky words to my children.  Indeed, what other response could there be to such things? 

But reading the prophet Malachi stopped me in my tracks this week. 


Through Malachi, the Lord details to his errant people their sins.  In a section on all they have done wrong regarding bringing the required offerings, He says,

You also say, "My, how tiresome it is!"  And you disdainfully sniff at it.

Raising children requires certain sacrifices.  These sacrifices God calls me to offer to Him with a certain posture of heart, but my heart repines and considers them tiresome.  I disdain my vocational tasks with a sniffing nose in the air, considering myself above such duties as training children and keeping house.  Yet this is how my Lord has invited me to serve Him.  

Was it tiresome that God, instead of devouring His unholy people in fire on Mount Sinai, instead provided a way for them to approach Him?  Is it tiresome that Jesus has provided, by His own blood, a way for my works to be acceptable to a holy God?  No!  It is astonishing that God accepts my sweeping crumbs off my floor as service to Himself.  How foolish to disdain any such calling.

As anyone knows, the challenge is not in cleaning up the house, but in the day-in, day-out, never-endingness of it all.  Malachi has something to say apropos of that, too:

"Your words have been arrogant against me," says the LORD.  "Yet you say, 'What have we spoken against You?'  You have said, 'It is vain to serve God; and what profit is it that we have kept His charge, and that we have walked in mourning before the LORD of hosts?'"

Believe me, I mourned when I discovered the real reason the hand towel I've been using has been damp.  I walk in mourning that my children still haven't learned wisdom or tidiness.  

How constantly does my heart say, why do I even bother??  It is vain.  What profit is it to keep trying?

God calls these arrogant words--and against Him.  Where did He ever promise daily satisfaction in our work?  What He has promised is our sanctification--more holiness, more joy, more blessed assurance--and that in the very midst of our work's thorns and thistles.

Wordless Wednesday

Silly goose

This morning I saw the third flock of geese this season flying north.


It's October.


Now I'm bad with directions, I get it, but if I was soaring above the ground, at dawn, I'm pretty sure I could figure out which way was east, and by picturing North America and holding my right wing toward the sun, I could thereby deduce which way was south.


These bad boys are heading straight for Canada.


I did wonder why geese honk so incessantly while they're flying.  Why don't they save that energy for flapping?  But now I think maybe these were arguing with the lead goose.


Several minutes after this third flock disappeared over the northern horizon, I watched one lone goose flap furiously across the sky, heading south, honking all the while by his lonesome self.


Whether this single goose overslept and was desperately trying to catch up, or he was a rogue who refused to listen one more minute to the directionally-challenged northbound lead goose, I do not know.  Neither do I know whether he can make it to Mexico by himself.


But no matter how far he gets, come January, if the rest of the geese are still alive, shivering (and honking irritably at their leader) in the middle of the Northwest Territories--they'll all know that he was on the right side of history.

Photo by Anchor Lee on Unsplash

Quick lit

Linking with Modern Mrs. Darcy to share what we've been reading lately...


Mara, Daughter of the Nile by Eloise Jarvis McGraw

[I was mortified the first time I saw this cover, as I had ordered it from the library with our other school books.  I was sure I had made a terrible mistake and inadvertently ordered a Harlequin romance for my elementary-schooler.]

This was assigned reading for Ada, which meant I had to read it before the book report was due--but it turned out to be rather a page-turner (and not a Harlequin romance, as feared).  A plucky slave-girl heroine acts as a double agent during a brewing rebellion again Pharaoh Hatshepsut, and falls in love to boot.  Gentle on romance, high on historical intrigue and complicated duplicity.

New Testament:  Colossians, Philemon, Philippians, Acts

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

The Rumor by Elin Hilderbrand

I was able, blissfully, to read two pleasure novels when we went to the beach.  This was one of them.


My first experience with Elin Hilderbrand was A Summer Affair, and I almost didn't give her another chance.  But I did pick up The Perfect Couple, and I was glad I did.  So I went with this as a beach read.  I liked it almost as much as The Perfect Couple.  It's about rumors swirling in a small town, and the irony that happens when trying to cover up a true scandal gives rise to rumors about an untrue one. 

Nine Perfect Strangers by Liane Moriarty

Liane Moriarty has yet to disappoint me!  I've stated my opinion of several of her books before.  I'd put this one just below The Husband's Secret. 


Nine Perfect Strangers is, well... a bit strange.  There's the Moriarty-esque driving sense that all is not as it seems, which is revealed bit by bit by bit in a way that makes me compulsively turn pages.  These characters weren't as likable as in, say, Big Little Lies.  And there are some chapters devoted to psychedelic delirium.  But I'm still a fan.  I did appreciate in Truly Madly Guilty that the big reveal turned out to be a surprise, but something completely believable, and something that made sense of all the clues.  The reveal in this one was pretty wild, and just got wilder as the book drew to the end.  Not as down-to-earth, but a fun time.  [Note to self: don't do psychedelic drugs.]


Old Testament:  Ezekiel, Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Greek Myths by Olivia Coolidge

Ada's next book report assignment.  Arranged like short stories, so easy to read in snippets.  Which is good, because, despite them being the foundation of western civilization and all, Greek myths are kind of a plow to get through.  I think there just aren't enough well-told versions, because you'd think these would be pretty compelling.  So why are they all in ancient library books bound in 1953 with crooked print, but worse, not very well told?

I do acknowledge the challenge.  The heroes all remind me of King Arthur and his (stupid) knights who couldn't take a joke without dueling to the death about it.  Why does no one see the virtue in Just Walking Away?

Plus the deities are so frustratingly ungodly.

Dear Liane Moriarty, would you like to tackle some myth retellings?

The Golden Fleece and the Heroes Who Lived Before Achilles by Padraic Colum

Ok, points for a really cool author name.  But it doesn't quite make up for the unnecessarily all-encompassing title, and definitely not for the UGLY cover!  This picture is actually better than the library book from 1497 that we checked out; I couldn't find an internet picture of our version.


I appreciated that this at least developed a single story in novel form.  We still have stupid "heroes" who don't know how to Just Walk Away.  [Hint: when the evil king of the land advertises for an applicant to do some ridiculously suicidal task, to be paid in undying glory, look for a career elsewhere.  Unless, of course, you have a conveniently unbeatable weapon/charm/secret from one of your god pals in your toga pocket.]  These endless myths are a little easier to keep straight when the storyline is developed over a few hundred pages.  The last part of the book did start jumping around, telling what happened after the main adventure to all the various heroes. 


I will say it was interesting to hear bits of the same stories told in different perspectives.  Was Medea a sorceress or a poor scorned woman?  Did they earn that golden fleece fair and square or did they steal it?  It all depends whom you ask.


Here's hoping for another month of page-turning intrigue, light romance, bestie characters, and soul food.

The Good Samaritan never got sued

Yesterday a bloody man showed up in our backyard.

Fortunately for him, we were outside eating lunch.  He approached, rather disquietingly, bare-chested, holding his shirt to the top of his head, blood smeared down his face and splattered all the way to his feet.


We get a lot of regular walkers in the park, many of which we secretly give names to because we see them so often.  I have seen shirtless men behind my house before. 


But covered in blood and approaching me and my children..... not a usual occurrence. 


Thankfully.

"Um, I hit my head..." was his greeting. 


We ran for ice and paper towels, which he received gratefully.  Apparently he was parking the tractor in the baseball field shed when it jumped and his head hit the top of the doorframe.

I told him I wasn't an expert, but offered to look at it, since he obviously couldn't look at it himself.  After a peek, and drawing on my vast experience as a mother of children (and wife of a husband) who sometimes bleed from the head, I told him it didn't look serious.  I asked if he had blacked out; he answered in the negative and asked me if he seemed to be conversing normally.  Which, yes, discounting the head-to-toe blood trail and lack of upper body clothing, he was perfectly normal.


After sending Mr. Head Injury on his friendly way, I recounted all this to Jeddy inside, who had missed the excitement. 


Jeddy said, "Hm, so I guess he won't sue you if you're wrong?"


I didn't think of that. 

I went over symptoms of concussion.  I thought of every other head injury I have witnessed and mentally compared them to this one.  I went over and over the precise amount of blood splattered on him.  I anxiously hovered near the window and finally went back outside to spy on him from a distance to see if he was staggering, fainting, bleeding out, or calling a lawyer. 

Should I have put him on my own donkey and upended my bottle of olive oil on his head? 


What if the Good Samaritan victim had woken up in a strange inn and wondered how he got there?  What if he had bleeding on the brain no one knew about and he really should have had a CT scan?


More to the point, the Good Samaritan didn't check the wound and say, "It doesn't look serious.  You're fine."

No bodies have been found in our park and I haven't been summoned to court.


Mr. Head Injury, wherever you are, I hope you feel better.  Keep some ice on it for a while and I'm pretty sure you'll be fine. 


But if not, please accept my "I'm no expert" comment as protection against any and all legal proceedings.