Expanding Territory

We have entered the fall world of school drop-offs and pick-ups, soccer practices and soccer games.  Still having one little toddler at home makes me remember when our boys were little and my world ran a small orbit around our home.  Naptimes, park days, and library visits were our biggest outings for the week.  Now our solar system has expanded widely to include school and church activities, friend and sport activities.  As I reflected on this, I realized that as our kids continue to get older, their orbits will expand even more--travels, college, employment, and their own families.

I was amazed to see that as a homemaker, my own ministry is growing with their growing sociability.  When they were little, my greatest ministry opportunities included our regular grocery check-out employee and another mom at the park for about 15 minutes.  Now it includes friends and acquaintances through soccer or swimming or school.  Since I am the school secretary, even the toddler girl gets to make more friends than her brothers ever did.  As God grows my children, He grows my opportunity to minister to others along with it.  Lord willing, when they go out into the world, my ministry will graduate along with them, to go into the world.

The Government Should Stay Out of My Safeway

I recently finished reading the book The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. I know this is a bit out of date, as the book came out several years ago, but that's just because I'm slow. I finally decided to read this one for two reasons: first, I had seen Pollan interviewed several times on different food documentaries. Most of these documentaries were full of fire-breathing organic-ists, but Pollan always sounded surprisingly sane. Secondly, I know some people who became fire-breathing organic-ists after reading this book, so I wanted to be able to find out how that happened.

Here is where I was coming from. "Organic" is a word that certainly doesn't mean what it really means anymore. I used to ask my students what organic meant, in my biology class, and they would answer "without chemicals," or "no pesticides." They never believed me when I told them it just meant "life" and consequently they did pretty poorly on their tests. It also makes ridiculous the idea of "inorganic food." This was probably the first thing to bias me against the organic movement. Also, although I love the way good food tastes--and usually the more local, the better--I despise the elitism that goes with words like "organic," "free-range," or "natural." Most of the elitists show disdain for the poor and lack of gratitude for the food God made.

Pollan divides his book into 4 different meals, and describes how those meals arrive at our table. His first meal is one made fully from industrial agriculture (and he visits McDonalds for dinner at the end). His second meal is what he calls "Big Organic." For this meal he buys everything from Whole Foods. His third meal is a pure, free market meal, which he calls, "Greetings from the Non-Barcode People." In this chapter he visits the farm of Joel Salatin, a well-educated, multigenerational, Baptist-preacher/farmer, and eats with his family. His last meal is the Hunter/Gatherer meal, where he hunts his own wild boar and makes the meal with things he finds in the woods or grows himself (lettuce, wild mushrooms, sourdough bread, etc.).

He actually does a wonderful job, whether he intends to or not, of demonstrating that our entire "industrial" food system is the result of government subsidies. Our government subsidizes the growing of corn. As a result, thousands of local farmers have gone out of business because they haven't been allowed to sell their product for what it is worth. Also, this has led to a surplus of corn that we need to use; which has created the feedlot-style system of raising farm animals.

God made cows to eat grass, but we feed them corn. Because their guts don't digest corn well, we need to give them antibiotics to help them fight infection. We also have to fatten them quickly, so they can be butchered before they die at a young age. Also, corn doesn't contain the correct fatty acids for their bodies, so we grind up other cattle bones and fat for them to eat--turning our cows into cannibals. This also necessitates the need for more antibiotics to guard against mad-cow disease (what happens to cows when they eat other cows). The same system is in place for feeding chickens (and yes, they feed dead chicken parts back to the chickens also).

Pollan was also surprisingly moderate on the organic movement. He does a wonderful job of attacking what he calls "Big Organic," such as the Whole Foods empire and organic regulatory groups. He does a wonderful job of describing the quaint farm picture of the free-range chickens at Whole Foods, and then he actually goes and visits that farm. It turns out that free-range chickens are no different from regular chickens--as California law only forces them to "have access to the outdoors." This means that the free-range chickens are raised in the same massive silos as the other chickens, but there is a small slit door in the bottom corner of the silo that leads out to a narrow strip of grass that runs part-way down the edge of the silo. Since these are also "organic" chickens, the chicks don't receive any antibiotics, so they are not actually allowed to even use this outside option until they're old enough to ignore it. In his visit to this particular organic, free-range chicken farm he never saw even one chicken get close to using their free-range option.

The most entertaining farmer he visited was, without a doubt, Joel Salatin. Besides the fact that I enjoyed seeing Pollan, who is a Berkley professor and liberal Jew, loving his time with this fundamentalist Baptist (he graduated from Bob Jones University), who even has a fish sign on his front door; Salatin is a really fun guy. He inherited his farm from his father, who worked on the farm over weekends and holidays, all with the goal in mind of passing it on to his son who could hopefully support his family solely by farming. He describes himself as a "Christian-libertarian-environmentalist-capitalist-lunatic-Farmer," and he sees the root of all farming problems and food-price problems in our country as a result of government regulation. He does not consider himself an "organic" farmer, per se, but insists that if you understand the growth and behavior of animals and plants you don't need much pesticides, fertilizers, or other chemicals. His prices are affordable and reasonable (his chickens sell for $1.99/lb.). He also lives in West Virginia and refuses to ship his food farther than 150 miles from his home--but he insists that if the government got out of the farming business, there would be many more farmers just like him. I'm interested in reading his book called Everything I Want to do is Illegal.

Good food is a good thing. Sometimes, I believe, Christians give up the realm of tasty food to liberals, and it's not because we like food too much; it's usually because we like food too little. The Lord's Supper is bread and wine, two of the most developed tastes imaginable. The organic elitists are truly nauseating, but the realization that most of their food complaints are the results of government regulation was truly eye-opening. God gave us taste buds and a world that is edible, and the difference between a tomato we grew in our backyard and one that came on an airplane from South America a week ago (and was picked a week before that) is certainly noticeable. However, even though I was impressed at how much Pollan connected food problems in our country to government regulation, I have actually seen him in documentaries calling for more regulation as a solution. Hopefully more guys like Salatin will be able to make a living at farming, as there is certainly plenty of farmland out there (if only the government would leave it alone and let people use it)!

The Reaper is Grim Because He Is Doomed

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints." Psalm 116:15

On Wednesday this week two dear saints saw the sun for the last time this side of glory. One was my 83-year-old grandmother, who passed away peacefully in her sleep at the hospital. She was a missionary, pastor and professor's wife, mother to four godly children, 12 grandchildren, and 7 great-grandchildren. She lived a full life, was close to friends and family, and finished the race.

The other was my friend's nephew, born at only 15 weeks gestation. He saw the brightness of the sun and heard his mother's voice before also passing away, without a sound.

Death is always hard, and always grim. Death is the last enemy, and even when the race is finished well, it still ends in tragedy. We are called to fight this enemy our entire lives, all the time knowing that he will win and he cannot be cheated.

It is easy to thank God for my grandmother's life. She accomplished much, and died at peace, old and full of years. However, it is harder with the tiny baby, who had such a short life. Why was he created only to die? Why did God choose to take this tiny one home so soon? Maybe I only have a hard time because I have said good-bye to my own tiny babies several times.

And then I was reminded that the Creator wants us to be like Him. He sees all tragedies, all small, quiet deaths, everywhere, every day. In that moment when that young mother said both hello and good-bye to her son, she was given the opportunity to grieve as God does who is present at every death, millions of people every day. He sees His enemy at work, on a massive scale, and is waiting for the perfect timing to sound his defeat.

Jesus showed us that death will be defeated. I will see my grandmother again, at a great feast, drinking wine and rejoicing. This mother will hold her baby boy. But, like our Heavenly Father, we have this opportunity, here and now, to see through His eyes. The blessing is to be present at the side of a loved one, and cry out as they breathe their last breath, just as He does all around the world, every day.

I Think I Need to Shop There

Check out the sign at Nordstrom's:

Just Wait for the Saturday Morning Cartoon (and matching Breakfast Cereal)

For some reason my children have this idea that yeast is a superhero. I believe this stems from several years ago, when they asked how bread is made. I've made sourdough, so I tried to explain that these invisible particles, called yeast, float through the air and land on the dough, eating the sugar. Their toddler-boy minds probably most enjoyed the description I gave them on how the little yeasties make the dough actually rise, but I'll leave that up to your imagination.

Anyhow, it's become quite a rock-paper-scissors-dynamite type game, where whomever claims to be the yeast ends up winning by default. For example:

Thing 1: "And then I'll be the giant who saves everybody."
Thing 2: "Then I'll be the Papa who saves everybody."
Thing 1: "Well, then I'll be the super-fast robot who wins."
Thing 2: "I am the super-fast robot whose batteries don't run out."
Thing 1: "Then I'll be the yeast."

At this point an awed silence comes over the both of them as they consider the wonder of this amazing creature.

I Have a Dream

That one day I will get up at 5:00 am. I will have a big, heavy camera and lug it out into the middle of an orchard. And I will take photos like Eugene Atget.

I will then lug my big, heavy silver plates into a darkroom at home and come out smelling like developer. And hang gorgeous black-and-white and sepia photos around my home.

Raising 21st Century Children

So the conversation in the car yesterday with my 6-year-old...

L: Mama, I wish my brain was a computer, then I would know everything.

Me: (after laughing) Are you really sure that computers know everything?

L: Yes! If you don't know something, you just put it in the computer, and the computer answers it for you!

Me: Uh-oh.

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

So I took my Segundus on a rare trip to McDonald's today to bring lunch to Papa at work. I haven't ordered a Happy Meal in a while and when I did they offered "would you like milk or juice with that?" What? "Um, do you have Coke?" I asked. They did, and I also ordered a nice, big burger meal for Papa as a treat.

When I got my receipt I realized that I had to pay $1 extra to get a Coke with the kids' Happy Meal, whereas the adult combo meal came with a Coke! Hmmm...now if you want to be healthy, by all means, be healthy; but what's the deal with letting adults have a Coke and forcing the kids to have milk or juice? I think McDonald's should just switch everybody to milk or juice and see how long it takes for the adults to have a fit--when they do, the management should just stand back and ask them how they think the kids feel.

I go to McDonald's for fun, certainly not to be healthy, but what exactly is fun about milk or juice?

A Mystery To Me

Usually, while driving, I give pedestrians the right-of-way. This probably stems back from driver's ed when we had to attend traffic court for a day and take notes on the cases. I remember someone came to protest a ticket he was given when he cut off a pedestrian who was crossing the sidewalk. The driver was wrong and still got the ticket.

Anyway, it is a complete mystery to me how this deference has gotten me into trouble. The pedestrian sees me coming, stops, and starts waving me ahead of them. I absolutely refuse (I AM the one in the vehicle), and insist they go first. I have received no end of nasty looks, waves, curses, glares, and shaking of heads as a result. Whenever I happen to be the pedestrian, I'm always grateful to those cars who show deference, and usually wave and say thank you. Is this just because of the weirdos I live around, or do all city pedestrians tend toward nastiness?

Hmmmm....

The Fifth Time's the Charm

We had an amazing blessing this week. Over the past 4 years I've had 4 miscarriages, all of them very early, with the latest lasting until the 7th or 8th week. I found out I was pregnant a couple of weeks ago, and I was sure this was going to be miscarriage #5. After so many, you get used to the symptoms...feeling very pregnant, and then, all of a sudden, not. My last miscarriage was a missed miscarriage, eventually ending in a D&C, so I thought that was happening again and had prepared myself for the worst.

I had to wait 2 weeks after my doctor's visit to have an ultrasound, which I just had a few days ago. I had told the ultrasound technician what I was expecting to see, and what I had experienced, so she would be ready. She checked me out, before looking at the baby, but as she zoomed in we both saw it--a beating heart! It was so unexpected that I broke into sobs--and so did she! It was an amazing blessing and it's been an amazing week. We are still praying for the little one--because of my history and the way my body is, I need to take things easy until we can get to 12 weeks.

Words cannot express how overwhelmed I've been, and I'm still grateful each day we make it through. I have been blessed by SO MANY people praying for us. One dear friend, who didn't even know I was pregnant, just thought that maybe I was and had been spending the week praying for our unborn baby! So thank you for your prayers, and Lord willing, we'll meet this kid sometime around May 7th!

Proverbs 24:17

Remember this? Well maybe this is what eventually happens when you try to run minivans off the road. I'm not gloating...just saying.

I'll Leave This Property When the Bank Man Pries the Shotgun from my Cold, Dead Hands

I think I'm going to enjoy being a Squatter. Our landlords officially foreclosed on our home this month, which means we have 90 days left to revel in our little paradise. Thankfully, it is seasonally the best time of year (we have no heat or insulation, so the cold winter months aren't quite as pleasant here). We have our rent to save (we don't have to pay the bank anything), and our hound to scare away nosy realtors.

If you know of any great houses let us know; we'll be keeping our eyes open for the bank man.

A Broken Washing Machine is Never Romantic

Some ways of saving money are so picturesque. My last post on homemade butter churns up (note the pun) such nostalgic memories of bygone eras; ladies in cute dresses; sitting out in the barn with the cows; mixing that cream again and again in the early morning sunrise. Even a broken dryer can evoke such fond thoughts of hanging the washing out on the line...sun shining through...happy children running in and out of the sheets....it's so beautiful, I think I may have seen it on TV.

However, our washing machine is broken, and nothing about it is romantic. Here's the problem: it fills with water, it rinses, and it empties of water; but the motor is broken and nothing agitates. I hate the thought of lugging the loads of wet clothes home from the laundromat, so I've been filling the tub and scrubbing the stuff by hand for a good ten minutes and then letting it soak and rinse on its own. After one or two loads of being up to my elbows in soapy water, scrubbing up and down, and sweating, I'm really hoping we're done with this soon. I can evoke no romantic memories of ladies from years past with washbasins doing a similar thing. And I can tell you, it's nothing like those sirens in the river from "O Brother Where Art Thou?"

A Really Fun Money Saving Tip

So I was doing my normal Costco shopping last week, and butter was on the list. Imagine my dismay when Costco up and jumped the price of their butter, the 4-lb. pack, an entire dollar! I was irritated and didn't want to pay the new $8.50 price.

Then I remembered a little trip to a farm demonstration show at the county fairgrounds in June. They showed how easy it was to turn whipping cream into butter with a KitchenAid. Hmmm...and how much was a half gallon of whipping cream? Only $5.50 for the same weight (4 pounds) as the butter! So I took it home, and here's what we got:

Put about 2 c. of whipping cream in your KitchenAid with the whisk attachment (a food processor would also work).

Beat on medium-high speed for 10 minutes.

It will go through several stages: first it looks like whipped cream, then a chunkier version (almost like creamed butter). Keep an eye on it when it gets close to the end--when you see the milk liquid (skim milk) separate itself from the solid you have BUTTER! And it's the sweetest creamiest stuff you can't buy.

The Song that Makes My Son Burst into Tears

On top of spaghetti
All covered with cheese
I lost my poor meatball
when somebody sneezed.

It rolled on the table
and onto the floor
and then my poor meatball
rolled out the front door.

It rolled in the garden
and under a bush.
And now my poor meatball
is nothing but mush.


Why does this make him cry? I have no idea. He's four and has sympathetic feelings for the meatball? He loves meat so much he hates to see it wasted? Who knows? Anyway, he burst into tears after this song tonight, mumbling something about the meatball. Not just a few tears either, weepy like anything.

The Fifth Commandment

When I was young, both my parents had to work full-time. This was for honest financial reasons and not, as sometimes is the case, a justification to keep up a glamorous lifestyle. We owned one car, we paid $200/month mortgage for our mobile home, and we shopped at thrift stores. However, to keep us out of daycare my mom worked full-time during the day while my dad worked full-time all night as a janitor on the graveyard shift and took graduate classes during the day. As a result, they usually only saw each other when one got home and handed the other the car keys. Sunday nights were often the only times they had alone together.

And that's just what I want to honor them for. They gave up much of their own comfort and desires to raise my sister and I in a godly way. They were firm in their conviction to keep us out of daycare, and home with them, and God blessed them enormously for it with the only true wealth--faithful children and grandchildren and treasures laid up in heaven. My Dad said, a few years ago, "When you have a family you do whatever you have to to provide for them." And God blessed his faithfulness; both materially and spiritually.

I am often concerned about our financial situation. As with most of our friends, money is tight when you're on one income, living on a teacher's salary, and raising kids in one of the most expensive counties in the country. But then I remember my parent's sacrifice and their hard work to provide for me, and I remember that we are rich indeed; and our God who clothes the flowers of the field, knows exactly what we need. If the harvest we reap consists of faithful children who love their heavenly Father with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength; we will have real wealth in the end, of the kind that you truly can take with you.

I Like Any Kind of Person, Except the Little Ones

Just as a warning, that was sarcastic, and this is ranting.

I am frustrated with landlords in my area who don't like kids. We are not a huge family, we have two kids, and they are little. We currently live in a home that's about 600 sq. feet, which is the biggest place we've lived in. We need to look for a new place and the next time I have a landlord tell me that their place is "too small" for us I think I'm going to throw the phone through the nearest wall. It's all I can do to keep myself from giving them an earful over the phone--giving ourselves no chance to rent from them ever.

I've had landlords tell me that their place is "too small" for us because it's "only" 1200 sq. feet. I've had landlords tell me their place is "too small" because it "only" has two bedrooms.

Now the minute I see what looks like a good deal in our area, and would suit our family, I cringe to send them an email or phone call, knowing the way I feel when I get that kind of response. Yuck.

Get out of my way, I have something to throw.

Ares

This is a list of events that occurred the week of my birthday. No wonder my sign is the god of war.

1. Beginning of War for Independence
2. Beginning of Civil War
3. Ending of Civil War
4. Lincoln's assassination
5. The Great San Francisco earthquake
6. Titanic sunk
7. Hitler's birthday
8. Oklahoma City bombing

As T.S. Eliot said, "April is the cruellest month..."

If Only My Words Were Written in a Book

Most of you reading this blog (as far as I know) probably know that I've been struggling the last 3 years or so with weird, unexplained illnesses. I've never been one to slow down much, so it's been a struggle to constantly fight with fatigue, nasuea, headaches, and whatever else it seems to throw in our path. Besides the sickness I've had at least 4 miscarriages, which have also tired out my body. I tried seeing our family doctor, an endocrinologist, and a gynecologist, and I was quite tired of seeing doctors. I decided not to see any more, and just pray that if this was a serious problem, that God would make it worse, and more obvious, for a wise doctor to take care of. It has been both literally and figuratively, a "thorn in my side."

Thankfully, this last week, we had a wonderful answer to our problems! Most likely it is endometriosis, and I'll be having surgery next week. I never thought that I would be so grateful to have something wrong with me--but just giving the illness a name, and knowing something can be done about it has been wonderful.

I've felt a lot like Job these last few years, and I've talked with my husband about what God has been wanting to teach me through all this. He explained that although Job never cursed God for his trials, he didn't praise Him for them either. Job's last companion, Elihu, who speaks the truth to him before God shows up, condemns Job for not praising God for what He has brought him. My husband also explained that this is why the Book of Psalms follows Job; unlike Job, David praised God continually in his adversity.

I know I have failed many times in being thankful, especially for a gift from God that I didn't want--like this illness. It's been a hard lesson, but one worth learning. May God give me the grace to show gratitude when all the daily trials come!

Would You Let Your Kid Eat This?

This was my favorite cereal when I was 4. Nobody else ever remembers it, but someone in You Tube-land does. Maybe it's because none of my friends were allowed to eat the stuff.