Wittenberg Gate

He Used to Dance

My piano playing has a spotty history. The only thing consistent about it is my lack of accomplishment. I originally learned to play the organ, and played fairly well, but haven't had one of my own since I left my parents' house. We bought a second-hand piano a few years after we were married, and I set out to recover from several years without playing and to transition from organ to piano--something I have never actually accomplished. In time that old piano needed so much work that it was almost unplayable, and I gradually stopped playing.

Recently a friend got hold of some pianos that a school system was selling off and sold us one. It cost us more money to get the thing tuned and lubricated than the piano cost us. So I am back playing again. I pulled out the old book of sonatinas, and started working on them.

Yesterday I was playing one of those sonatinas, a rather jolly sounding thing, when I heard someone behind me coming down the stairs. In my peripheral vision I caught a glimpse of a man-sized figure and assumed it was my husband. It wasn't. It was my son. When I realized that, I was struck by a sudden memory.

He used to dance.

Was it so long ago? It seems only yesterday that I used to play that sonatina and my tow-headed toddler would gleefully bob and spin to its tune. Now he is a fifteen year-old, standing nearby, seemingly oblivious to the music, focused on putting his cell phone on the charger.

I stopped playing. "Do you remember when you used to dance to this?"

"Yeah."

"You do? You remember that?"

"Uh huh."

I felt a little better.

Cuppa Poppa?

Being a bit under the weather today brings back memories of childhood sickness and the comforting 'cures' my parents always recommended. Sore throat? Have a cup of tea. Stomach ache? Have a cup of tea. Broken heart? Have a cup of tea? Head cold? Well, you get the idea.

My father is a Welshman transplanted to America, and my mum's father was a Manxman, so I get it on both sides. If you ask my husband about his heritage, he'll say he's German, in honor of his father's bloodlines, but truth be told, his English mum taught him to drink tea, too. I don't know how much of our British ties are evident in the culture of our American home in general, but just around the stove where the tea kettle sits and various tins of loose tea and tea bags wait alongside the tea-making paraphernalia, a bit of old Britain peaks through.

We have an electric kettle and another tea-making station upstairs, too, as it is far too much trouble to go downstairs early in the morning.

"Cuppa Poppa?" I call to my husband. "Yuh," he returns. Translated, my question means, "Dear, I'm about to fill the kettle for another cup of tea. Will you be having another, and if so may I put in enough water for the both of us?" His response translates to mean, "Yes, my love, I would like to have another. Thank you for your consideration. I'm so blessed to have you for a wife."

We don't make a full pot very often, as hubby prefers his Red Rose (Neanderthal!), and I prefer the bergamot-flavored Earl Grey I buy by the pound at a tea shop in a near-by town.

Now there was a time, not long ago, when (scandalous!) health gurus began to tell us we ought not to be drinking tea. Switch to herbal tea, they advised. Caffeine, you know, and nasty acids. Of course, I know that herbal tea isn't proper tea at all. And after all, if you must deny yourself a proper cup of tea in order to live a few extra years, is it really worth the cost?

So imagine my delight today, as I sat up in bed, laptop atop lap, recovering from a sick stomach, thinking another cuppa might do me some good, to have come across this article in the London Telegraph. The wisdom of Mother and Father prevails again.

Remembering Tabitha Faith

We went to the funeral home today. Dear friends are moving away under very difficult circumstances, and one of the things that must be left behind is the grave of their second child. Tabitha died a few years ago, after spending her entire life on earth cradled in the womb of her mother. In the confusion, the expense and the rush of those days, the marking of the grave had never happened. So, the, "To Do" list for this move includes the business of making sure there is a fitting memorial to this precious child while she rests until the day when her body will rise again, perfect, healthy and new.

Tabitha's father is away at the new location, so today another friend and I went with Tabitha's mother to the funeral home. We chose the stone, and what it would say. We didn't speak of it, but we were remembering those days when Tabitha was in our lives. How sonograms and tests gradually revealed her severe handicaps. How we prayed at first that she was healthy, then prayed that she would be healed, then prayed that her condition would be survivable, then prayed that she might be at least born alive so we could see and hold a living child, if only for a little while. God gently answered, "No."

Job and His Children

And the Lord restored Job's losses when he prayed for his friends. Indeed the Lord gave Job twice as much as he had before. Job 42:10

Once as I was finishing up the Book of Job, I came to the above verse and decided to check the numbers. With my finger stuck between the pages at the end of the book, I flipped back to the beginning.

"Let's see...seven thousand sheep at the beginning; fourteen thousand at the end...three thousand camels; six thousand camels...What does one do with six thousand camels?...five hundred yoke of oxen; one thousand yoke of oxen at the end...five hundred female donkeys; one thousand female donkeys...He must have had some male donkeys, too. At least a few. Must've been happy, those male donkeys...Seven sons and three daughters; What's this? Only seven sons and three daughters at the end?"

I was puzzled. Verse 42:10 said all his losses were restored and he was given double-fold. Why didn't God give Job fourteen sons and six daughters? Why weren't his children counted among his losses and restored double? Why bother to double the stupid camels and not the precious children?

Then it hit me. They weren't lost. Those camels were lost and gone forever, but not those children. Those children would be with him forever feasting at the Lord's table. The children born to Job after his losses were an additional blessing, not a replacement blessing.

As tears ran down my face, I thanked God for this wonderful revelation. For I had just lost a son; and God had just given me comfort.

Transitions

Psalm 127: 3-5 Behold, children are an heritage from the Lord, The fruit of the womb is His reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, So are the children of one's youth. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them; They shall not be ashamed, But shall speak with their enemies in the gate.

My husband's quiver is not full of children. Two of our babies did not survive infancy. The third, the Lord has given us to raise. My husband says our son is his, "one golden arrow."

Our baby turned fourteen about a month ago. At Christmas he was gifted with lots of money from relatives who love to watch boys grin from ear to ear when they open greeting cards. So much money, that he had enough to buy a big ticket item--a couple of them, in fact.

He approached us last week asking if he could buy a television for his bedroom. We'd never agreed to this before, but this time we allowed it--with a couple conditions. 1) No cable. The TV would be used for video games and DVDs only, 2) Clean up that room first!

Boom!

My husband's Christmas wish list included an item that was foreign to me. He wanted a contraption whose purpose was to propel things he calls clay birds through the air so he can shoot them. I do not know why they are called clay birds. They are made of clay, but they are disk-shaped things that look nothing like birds to me. They do fly, I understand, under the right conditions, and it is those conditions which my dear husband was desirous of creating. He has to pay good money for these so-called clay birds, and then he and my son shoot them, which, if they are successful, destroys them. He makes the money in this family, so I am in no position to question the wisdom of this.

As this clay bird throwing-thingy was a contraption with which I had no experience, I was hoping for some guidance on selecting a suitable model. The guidance given on the aforementioned Christmas list was, "Like DM's," with DM being the name of a friend who, I am led to believe, has a very fine clay bird-throwing thingy. This was little help, as I had no familiarity whatsoever with DM's clay bird-throwing thingy, either.

God's Rules and House Rules

In two recent posts, an essay titled Adding to the Law of God, and a story, The Legalistic Steward, I dealt with the problem of legalism. Before I leave that topic, I wanted to touch on the importance of helping our children understand the difference between God's rules and house rules, so they do not develop a legalistic mindset.

Children are under the authority of their parents, and as such, they are to do things as their parents direct. Some of what we ask our children to do is a direct application of the law of God. (You may not steal your brother's things. You must not grumble. You must thank God for your food.) When we instruct our children on these things, we ought to link our instruction to the Scriptures.

Other rules we give our children are our family's way of applying God's law, though there may be other ways to apply it as well.

A Political Savior

Yesterday my husband and I were discussing with our Sunday School class (8th and 9th graders) that many people were expecting a political Messiah, and were disappointed that Christ came to save them from their sins instead of saving them from Rome. What is ironic is that eventually Christianity was a major factor (some historians argue the major factor) in the fall of the Roman Empire. It didn't happen, though, because Christ rode in with a sword and conquered the Romans. It happened because Christ rode in with the sword of His Word, conquered the hearts of men, and consequently a culture. (Rev. 19:13-16)

At La Shawn Barber's Corner, I just read the results of a fascinating analysis of data from the last election, and La Shawn's thoughtful comments, from her Christian worldview. (They were published in The American Conservative, by author Steve Sailer) I hope you will all go read La Shawn's post, but the data in a nutshell is this: An analysis of white families in red vs. blue states shows that red state families are producing more children than blue state families.

Mere numbers alone, then, might give conservatives reason for optimism for the political future of our culture. I think, though, that the picture is really rosier than these numbers alone would indicate.

Teaching Kids to Settle Disputes Biblically

Helping children to settle their disputes, either in the home or in the classroom, can be a very frustrating experience for adults. It is also a splendid opportunity to teach some needed life skills. After all, while bickering children are an annoyance, bickering adults can do great harm to families, churches, and friendships.

There are a few basic Biblical principles that we can teach our children. Then as we help them to practice applying those principles to their little disputes, we are shaping adults who can apply them to bigger problems.

Principle #1: "If your brother sins against you, go and show him his fault, just between the two of you." (Matthew 18:15a)

Tattletales are often driven by vindictiveness or by a desire to gossip. Jesus' instruction frustrates these motives by instructing us to first speak privately to someone who has offended us. My pastor defines gossip this way: Gossip is information that could harm another person's reputation with someone who is neither a part of the problem nor a part of the solution. Using this definition, if a child says, "So and so has done such and such," we should point out that the child is gossiping and needs to go alone to the other child. If that is not successful, then he or she may ask for an adult's assistance. (According to Principle #3.)

Feminine Modesty

(The following is condensed from a conference talk I gave on this topic two years ago.)

Feminine modesty is a difficult thing to define. If we try to define it by directly addressing such things as skirt length or necklines, we will quickly lapse into pietistic pronunciations that cannot be supported by Scripture. As Christians we would not claim that morality changes as cultures and situations change, yet we must acknowledge that what seems to be properly modest attire in one situation (say, for example, at beach picnic), would be immodest in another situation.

I asked an American Christian woman who lives in an Islamic country whether she wore the same sort of covering the Islamic women wear. She said she did. She told me that if she did not, she would communicate to the local women that Christian women are wicked. She wore the covering so that Christ might not be blasphemed. I think that gets to the heart of the matter. What we wear and how we carry ourselves are forms of communication. We need to concern ourselves with the message we are sending. Based on those considerations, I developed the following definition of modesty because I think it helps us to keep a correct focus as we evaluate our clothing and our behavior.

Modesty is that quality which flows from a humble, reverent, and chaste mind and heart, and manifests itself in speech, behavior, and dress that communicates a moderate estimation of one's own worth and importance, and a high estimation of the beauty of purity in Christian marriage.

Before we do a hemline check, then, we need to do a heart check. There is nothing wrong with wanting to look good, but there is something wrong with wanting to look flirty. Being flirty says, "I value licentiousness over purity." There is also something wrong with wanting to be the center of attention. The message we are communicating ought not be, "Hey, look at me!" We need to act and dress in ways that are appropriate to the situations in which we find ourselves.

Another aspect of communication is miscommunication. We often send messages we do not intend to send. This is especially true with women and men.