Mid-fall update

We're just over a quarter of the way through the school year.  Homeschooling is a mix of joy, frustration, fun, exasperation, wonder, a whole lot of noise, and sanctification (I hope).  One of the million reasons I'm thankful we homeschool is how clearly I get to see my sin!  And glory in Jesus' grace.

(And sure, I have this grateful, teachable attitude every moment of every day.  Especially when multiple children are crying at once and I can't locate one of my students and Caleb just found out how to turn on the garbage disposal.)

The house is all closed in now, though, at the moment, lacking doors and windows.


We're involved in an endless series of decisions:  What kind of front door?  What kind of back door?  What color cabinets?  How many stairs above and below the landing?  What color floor?  What sort of roofline?  Which way should these doors open?


Each decision is perfectly simple though.  For example, for the master tub, all we need to know is that the total height of the wall is 97 inches, less 13 inches for the window header, less 48 inches for the window, leaves 36 inches to the bottom of the window.  A typical vanity is 31 to 32 inches high with a 4- or 5-inch backsplash, which adds up to 36 inches, and that's the amount left to the bottom of the window, besides a 2 1/2-inch trim.


So clearly, we need a 72-inch bathtub.


Simple.

Our house under construction in the background

I had what was supposed to be my last chiropractor appointment last week.  Of the four original strength tests, I've now passed three.  Which is good!


I still miserably failed the fourth.  Which is bad.

He upped the intensity of my exercises again and made an appointment in eight weeks.


The doctor seemed pleased and upbeat, but it was somewhat discouraging for me.  On this test I failed, the average woman can hold the pose for 149 seconds.


I held for 22.

He tried to cheer me up by pointing out that I tripled my last score of 7 seconds.


Anyhow, he thinks I can still improve, which is what we'll assess in eight weeks.  I do think my back is better than it has been for a long while--and dramatically better than when I first went to him.

Thankfully, we haven't had any major illnesses yet this fall.  Caleb came down two days ago with terribly-gunky-disgusting-globby-gook-coming-out-of-the-eye-itis.  The pediatrician mercifully prescribed medicine over the phone without making me come in.  The downside is that we have to put drops in an unwilling toddler's eyes.


Two drops in each eye.


Three times a day.


For five days.


Let the reader think to him or herself what this experience is probably like.


We did manage to get out and vote on Tuesday.  One child was disappointed that we went to the fire station and didn't see any fire trucks, and another child was disappointed that we didn't get to "boat."


But bless those poll workers, they gave us all stickers.

Yay for civic duty!

Why my fat jeans are now skinny jeans

Our girls's birthdays are only a few days apart, so between their friends, immediate family, and grandparents on all sides, we were required to eat cake approximately 37 times within a very short period.


First there was Ada's actual birthday, celebrated at home with just our family.

Raspberry swirl

Then on the weekend between their birthdays, they invited their friends over for a Frozen party.


We moved the big screen to the living room for a screening of the movie, the girls wore their princess (flower girl) dresses, and we had popcorn (everywhere), delivered pizza, and blue "ice" punch.

They were a little excited.

I set up an ice palace in their bedroom for those who don't like the scary parts.  It was complete with garbage bag "ice" on the floor, batting "snow," and new coloring books.

The littler princess (and prince) waiting for guests to arrive:

And the guests:

Yikes.

Caleb was mesmerized by the movie and inspired to put on someone's princess shoes.

I did at least get a pass on making a cake that day.  We had an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen.


To celebrate at Grandma's house, they got a sparkly pink sprinkle cake.

Age pancakes were required for breakfast.

And finally, Lizzy's actual birthday.  She requested a strawberry cake.  (Note to self: wait to put on fresh strawberries until the last minute.)

Good thing October and November don't have any other holidays that involve sweets or large feasts.  I wouldn't be able to button my pants.

Being Caleb

I stepped out to the grocery store this morning after the usual delicious Saturday pancakes, leaving Jason to clean up with all the kids.  I hadn't gotten past the produce aisle when I got a text saying only, "Have mercy," with this picture attached:

Toddler, on the couch, in possession of a large bottle of syrup.  Mercy, indeed.  God help us all.  

Forgive the blurriness of the picture.  I can only hope Jason snapped it as he was sprinting to disarm the situation.

Caleb's other recent adventures include sabotaging doing school.

He also found a worm one day on the driveway.  He was incredibly possessive of it.


"No touch it!!"

He petted his worm.

But no one else was allowed to.


"My worm!!"

He came up with brilliant ideas, à la Evel Knievel.

He attended OctoberFest (food, fun, and a festive lei).

He explored a new playground.

He learned why people don't stand in the water to throw rocks in the water, when you're wearing sweatpants and it's October.

He, of course, dressed up for Halloween.

Along with his siblings.

And learned how trick-or-treating works.

(He had to hold his tail because Jeddy kept pulling it.)

And most importantly, what you do afterwards.

Security

Driving through town today, past various stores and businesses, I saw a sign that said this:

As far as I could tell, it was in front of a furniture store, so I vaguely wondered what kind of security we're talking about.  Online privacy?  Identity theft protection?  Psychology of small, fearful children (they'll check all 32 pacifiers, blankies, and other security items)?


Maybe it means physical locks--on your house, your car, your business.  Are we talking about job security (32 signs you're about to get fired)?  Maybe it's about your personal habits when you're a foreign tourist, to avoid pickpocketing.


And why 32 points?  Is that how many vulnerabilities we have?  I'm pretty sure I could name more than 32 insecurities in my life, limb and psyche.  (Presumably they have exactly 32 products to sell.)

Life is insecure.  And at no time are we more cognizant of this than when we get news, as I did this morning, of a sudden and unexpected death.

A gentleman we've seen at church for years, who taught our child's Sunday school class, whose family we've watched grow up across the aisle, passed away unexpectedly in his sleep.  He was not elderly or in poor health.


What kind of security matters to him this week?

I didn't know him well.  Maybe he would've passed a 32-point checklist.  Likely his doors were locked, his passwords protected, his professional reputation polished, his fuzzy blanket snuggled up close.


But I do happen to know that this gentleman had a different kind of security.  It gave him an anchor of hope in life, and a passage to freedom and glory in death.  He did not have a checklist of 32 accomplishments, virtuous qualities, or noble deeds.  In fact, his security checklist had exactly one item on it.


This man trusted in Jesus to forgive his sin.  


He knew he was hopeless to measure up to God's divine, holy standard.  He knew his only hope was trusting in Jesus Christ alone--His perfect life and substitutionary death by which sinners can be saved from God's just wrath.  He had recognized the futility of his own effort to be good enough and thrown himself on God's mercy.


He trusted in Jesus to forgive his sin.  

My friends, here is your free 1-point security review.

We prefer to believe in a God who's nice but not a God who's holy.  Holy means gloriously unstained and perfect.  He must and will punish sin.  Otherwise He would cease to be Himself.


But ever since Adam and Eve we have been an imperfect people.  In fact, compared to the holiness of God, we're not only imperfect, but wretchedly, and blindly, depraved.


What then can be done?  Holy God; fallen people.... it is utterly hopeless that we should ever earn our way into His acceptance.


Thanks be to God; He has made a way.  One way; one point on which our everlasting security rests or fails:  Jesus.


In Jesus' death, God's wrath was fully satisfied, "that He would be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus" (Romans 3:26).  We take refuge in Jesus' self-sacrifice, or we hope our 32 good points will cover our stained souls.


The gentleman I mentioned was called to account suddenly one night.  I assure you, 32 points would not have been enough--for him or for us.  We need much more than that.  We need the One.


What are you trusting in?

Bearing shame and scoffing rude,

In my place condemned He stood;

Sealed my pardon with His blood.

Hallelujah! What a Savior!

Philip P. Bliss, "Hallelujah! What a Savior!"

Wordless Wednesday

Walk with me

Jason and I recently went out to an improv comedy show.  It was in a massive, stately building with a slew of stone steps up the front.


Exiting afterwards with the upbeat, chatty crowd, we made our way down all those steps to discover, at the bottom, an older lady in high-heeled shoes who had stumbled on the last step and was kneeling in pain on the sidewalk.  The crowd's murmur said she had broken her ankle.


We hesitated, of course, but as there were already several people surrounding her, cell phones in hand, we felt it proper to move on.


More than that, the injured woman's husband was with her.  The gentleman was also on his knees on the sidewalk in his dress clothes, strong hands on her waist, supporting her, calming her, assessing her needs.  His face was close enough to hers to whisper in her ear and examine her pupils.  The two were so close they were almost one figure.


Whether the man had medical expertise or not I do not know.  But the scene I glimpsed was of a man who saw his bride in pain and knelt in the dirt to minister intimately to her need.


As we set out on our walk to the parking garage, we passed another couple, in a loose sense of the word.  The woman walked with the help of two crutches, leaning on them with her forearms and staggering awkwardly along.  The man was so far ahead of her I'm not sure he was actually with her.  We passed her first, and then we passed him, just as he was turning to look back at her.


Both women had evidently great weakness.


As we limp through our own walk of life, which companion do we believe God is like?


Is He striding ahead of us, only occasionally turning around to watch us struggle forward?


Or is He kneeling in the dirt with us, holding us and providing for our need?


Worse, do we believe God is like the talented actor inside on the stage, entertaining us in a beautiful building when we choose it and forgotten soon after?


Or are we the star of our show, and is God a faceless, unimportant viewer in the shadows?


From the Lord God walking with Adam in the Garden; to the passionate Lover of Song of Songs; to the incarnate Christ who so intensely loved His bride that He traded a heavenly throne for a manger stall--and a cruel death; to the risen Savior who is even now interceding on behalf of His beloved; beginning to end, the Bible describes an intimate God, who offers one way forward through our weakness:  the imputed righteousness of Jesus, who took on God's displeasure, that we might know only His compassion and delight.