Lent Blogging Fast

Did I mention here last week that my food sacrifice for Lent will be sugar? Every time I prayed about what I was to give up, sugar was the answer. Today I was praying about that sacrifice and about other preparations for the season of Lent when the still, small voice impressed upon me there was something else I need to do for Lent. I need to take a break from reading and writing blogs. This isn't at all what I wanted to hear. I love reading my blogroll every morning. I miss it when I work and can't keep up. Still, I know that many days I spend too much time on the computer and neglect other areas of my life. Sometimes, I get so involved with the lives and happenings of my cyber friends, I neglect my "real life" friends and family.

One of the reasons I know this break is necessary is because of the undercurrent of fear I've allowed to creep into my daily life. Things in the world are happening very quickly and as I've tried to stay informed and to prepare for whatever might come, there are times when fear is my only response. I don't intend to stick my head in the sand and pretend these challenges aren't real. I simply hope to turn to God more often with my fears and my prayers. Too many days, my response to any inkling of fear is to get online and see what ____________ (fill in any number of bloggers or other online news sites) has to say about the issue of the day. During Lent, I hope to take those fears and concerns directly to the communion of saints and to the throne room of God. Lord have mercy.

I won't be reading blogs or writing any blog posts until Easter. I have a stack of good books on theology and faith, to read: The Fathers of the Church by Mike Aquilina, The Glory of Thy People by Raphael Simon, Surprised by Truth by Pat Madrid, The Doors of the Sea by David Bentley Hart, On Being Catholic by Thomas Howard. I have Atlas Shrugged to finish and The Forgotten Man to read. I have mittens and other things to knit! I will continue to check my email daily and I will try to write reminders for myself so I can write more meaningful posts when I return. I want you all to know how much you encourage me on my journey of faith. In many ways, my wanderings and wonderings have been deeper because I've been inspired by so many of you. I pray God's blessings upon you and your households during this blessed season.

The LORD bless you
and keep you;
the LORD make his face shine upon you
and be gracious to you;
the LORD turn his face toward you
and give you peace.

Numbers 6:24-26

Kate Chopin

I subbed this morning for a high school English teacher. I taught two sections of English III, which were assigned to write a short story using each of 24 sentence structures listed by the teacher. The third section was an Enriched English III section, which I presumed correctly was an advanced class. They were assigned to read aloud and discuss a short story, Desiree's Baby, by Kate Chopin.

As I read the story to prepare for class, I reached for the dictionary several times. Hmmm. The story is set in Cajun Louisiana and there were several French words and phrases which I looked up online. When I finished the story, the ironic ending fooled me completely. I hadn't seen it coming at all. Looking up more about Kate Chopin, I was delighted to see she is the author of another short story I read and enjoyed several years ago while substitute teaching for another high school English class. I'd long forgotten the title of that story so imagine my excitement to find it again. The title was "The Story of an Hour". It's a very short story, slightly over 1000 words. Do go read it now.

One of the things that surprises me most about Kate Chopin (aside from the fact I hadn't come across any of her writing before) is how ahead of her time her ideas were. She lived in the late 19th century and wrote about themes not clearly accepted for another hundred years. The feminist undercurrent of "The Story of an Hour" bothered me a bit when I first read the story. Still, the plot twist and the absolute clarity with which Chopin paints the wild emotions of the main character impressed me so much I've never forgotten the story. Do tell me what you think of the story. You have to read it with the knowledge that it was written and set in a very different time, the world of a woman in the late 1800's.

It was wonderful reading Desiree's Baby aloud to the students, asking questions and pointing out examples of irony (their assignment was to identify ten instances of irony in the story). I loved seeing the students get excited while following the plot and I reveled when they grasped the full meaning of the overall irony. It was a teaching success!!!

Weekend

We didn't make it to Slumdog on Saturday but we had a very nice weekend anyway. On Saturday morning, my dear husband said words that were music to my ears, "Let's decide which mass we want to attend and build our weekend around that."

We went to 5:00 mass on Saturday at a parish we've attended several times. It is one of the larger parishes in the town where Terry works. The priest, Father Jason, is quite young. I think he turned 30 last year. Saturday, Father Jason was gone and another priest presided. This priest, whose name I do not know, performed the funeral mass for the mother of our good friend. His homily on Saturday was priceless. His humor, frankness and biblical insights were delightful. One example: noting that this Wednesday is Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent, he said, "It's so nice to see you all in your plumpness. I'm sure the next time I see you, after a few weeks of penance, some of you will be quite emaciated, right?" (Of course, he said this very tongue-in-cheek as the fasting required by the Church in America is so mild as to not affect most people much at all.)

Since we attended church on Saturday, our Sunday was a very relaxed day. Ahhh. I am well rested. I didn't get called to teach today so I am enjoying a day at home. Think I should get dressed before 3:00?

Slumdog at last

Slumdog Millionaire has finally come to the theater in our little town. We're going to see it this afternoon.

Amen and amen

From Julie D.'s Happy Catholic:

Many say, "May we see better times! LORD, show us the light of your face!" Selah

But you have given my heart more joy than they have when grain and wine abound.

In peace I shall both lie down and sleep, for you alone, LORD, make me secure.
Psalm 4:7-9

Amen and amen. Lord have mercy.

7 Quick Takes

1. Teaching today. I'm scheduled to fill in for a junior high special ed teacher while she meets with student's parents and other teachers. They call these meetings "staffings" and I've subbed for them several times this year. I always enjoy the day and look forward to it.

2. I've suffered through a muscle spasm in my left shoulder all week. Naproxen didn't help. Muscle relaxers helped me sleep at night but I won't take them during the day. I normally don't like Tylenol but in desperation I took one Wednesday afternoon and fifteen minutes later the pain was gone. (It was a rapid release capsule.) Since then I've taken one every four to five hours and the pain has been almost unnoticeable. I don't know what I did to cause the spasm, which has recurred several times over the past couple of years, except that I sometimes sleep on that shoulder. It hasn't kept me from working or from working or working out at Curves.

3. Atlas Shrugged keeps getting better and better. I'm on page 380 and things are looking pretty grim around the country. (Or is that today's news?) I got a hint of the coming plot through Ayn Rand's foreshadowing and then saw a reference to Galt's Gulch on a survivalist blog yesterday. Spoiler alert on that link! Wednesday while my driver's ed students were working away in the computer lab, I read quite a bit. This gem almost made me gasp out loud:

A woman whose family owned an automobile factory that went bankrupt is talking to the main character, Dagny Taggart, explaining the precepts she held dear:

It was eleven years ago. We were defeated by the greed, the selfishness and the base, animal nature of men. It was the eternal conflict between spirit and matter, between soul and body. We put into practice that noble historical precept: From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.

Thus far, the government in Atlas Shrugged has enacted these bills to make things in business "more fair": the Anti-dog-eat-dog Rill, the Equalization of Opportunity Bill, the Preservation of Livelihood Law, the Fair Share Law, and the Public Stability Law. All sound benign, even helpful, no? Each one crippled businesses and the economy. Sound eerily familiar?

4. Speaking of eerily familiar, this link came up four times in my online reading yesterday. I didn't click through to read it until it came across my feed reader on The Common Room, a blog I've read for two years and trust. The article's title is: Social Collapse Best Practices. Yikes.

5. My first mitten is about 3/4 done and it looks nice. I hope I have enough yarn for the second one....

6. Do you love Crocs? I don't like the chunky original ones, but I've fallen in love with these since buying them last summer. They were so comfortable I looked high and low for these and bought them online. I wear them often when I teach and my feet NEVER hurt. I am undecided about this new style because of the wedge height. What do you think?

7. I've been praying about what to sacrifice for Lent and the answer keeps coming back: sugar. (Do I keep praying hoping the answer will change?) Next Wednesday is Ash Wednesday and I am preparing my heart for it. This is the second year I've followed the liturgical calendar and I love the rhythm of it: the fasts followed by feasts, the seasons of Advent and Lent and Ordinary Time. It adds a dimension to my devotions that was missing before. I'm reading Thomas Howard's book "On Being Catholic" and look forward to delving deeper into his thoughts on it. (Howard is Elisabeth Elliot's brother. He joined the Catholic Church about twenty years ago and has written extensively about it. What a family the Howards are!)

Thank you for homeschooling me

Text message from Cassie at 11:12 a.m. today:

A girl in my class just pronounced socrates like SO-crates. Like milk crates. Thank you for homeschooling me.

Journal of a Substitute Teacher February 18

Yesterday I substituted for the high school driver's ed teacher. Don't worry; we weren't driving! Whew. The students were in the computer lab, researching and writing a three-paragraph essay on an Illinois law that sanctions "deadbeats" (parents who don't pay child-support) by taking away their drivers' licenses.

Driver's ed students are freshmen and sophomores who meet fairly stringent requirements about grades, credits earned, etc. In other words, they are the better students in the school. The classes are small so they get adequate driving practice. I had 40 total students in six class periods. The students behavior was quite good. They came into the lab and got right to work.

As the students handed in their completed essays, I read them. Ahem. How to put this politely? The essays were horrible, terrible, no good, very bad (name that children's book?). Only one out of the forty showed signs of independent, complete thought. The rest of them merely regurgitated information they had found online and strung the facts together with some kind of punctuation. Spelling on the whole was pretty good (thanks to spell-checker?). Punctuation and form weren't too bad. What distressed me most was the almost complete lack of thought evidenced in the papers.

I was reminded of this article in The Atlantic, written by a professor at a community college about the two basic composition classes he teaches:

The research-paper assignment is meant to teach the fundamental mechanics of the thing: how to find sources, summarize or quote them, and cite them, all the while not plagiarizing. Students must develop a strong thesis, not just write what is called a “passive report,” the sort of thing one knocks out in fifth grade on Thomas Edison. This time around, the students were to elucidate the positions of scholars on two sides of a historical controversy. Why did Truman remove MacArthur? Did the United States covertly support the construction of the Berlin Wall? What really happened in the Gulf of Tonkin? Their job in the paper, as I explained it, was to take my arm and introduce me as a stranger to scholars A, B, and C, who stood on one side of the issue, and to scholars D, E, and F, who were firmly on the other—as though they were hosting a party.

A future state trooper snorted. “That’s some dull party,” he said.

At our next meeting after class in the library, Ms. L. asked me whether she could do her paper on abortion. What exactly, I asked, was the historical controversy? Well, she replied, whether it should be allowed. She was stuck, I realized, in the well-worn groove of assignments she had done in high school. I told her that I thought the abortion question was more of an ethical dilemma than a historical controversy.

“I’ll have to figure it all out,” she said.

She switched her topic a half-dozen times; perhaps it would be fairer to say that she never really came up with one. I wondered whether I should just give her one, then decided against it. Devising a topic was part of the assignment.

“What about gun control?” she asked.

I sighed. You could write, I told her, about a particular piece of firearms-related legislation. Historians might disagree, I said, about certain aspects of the bill’s drafting. Remember, though, the paper must be grounded in history. It could not be a discussion of the pros and cons of gun control.

“All right,” she said softly.

Needless to say, the paper she turned in was a discussion of the pros and cons of gun control. At least, I think that was the subject. There was no real thesis. The paper often lapsed into incoherence. Sentences broke off in the middle of a line and resumed on the next one, with the first word inappropriately capitalized. There was some wavering between single- and double-spacing. She did quote articles, but cited only databases—where were the journals themselves? The paper was also too short: a bad job, and such small portions.

I met with a couple of homeschool co-op moms last week to help them plan the annual standardized testing. (I coordinated the testing for several years.) They were talking about the success of the co-op students using Write Shop. My kids didn't love Write Shop, but they did both learn to write fairly well using it. Oh, how I wished yesterday I could take those driver's ed students through a year of intensive writing. More importantly, I wished I could teach them logic.

On death and dying

My trip to St. Louis was so nice. There was no big crisis or deadline and I stayed two nights so it seemed like a nice long visit. My stepmom gave me two biggg bags of yarn for knitting projects and I started my first hat while there.

Terry's dad is back in the nursing home after a week-long stay in the hospital. Once again the doctors told us he probably wouldn't make it out of the hospital and once again he defied the odds. He is very weak and his hearing seems to have deteriorated greatly overnight. It's hard to visit with him but he appreciates the company so much. I will probably take some knitting and just go sit in his room this afternoon. Thinking of his long decline reminded me of something from Hannah Coulter and the other Wendell Berry Port William books. WB describes a few of the older Members' deaths in various books. In Hannah Coulter, Mrs. Feltner (Hannah's mother-in-law) died in 1969:

Mrs. Feltner lived on for nearly five years after Mr. Feltner died. She was bedfast for about a year at the last. But her mind stayed alert and lively, and from her bedroom windows she kept constant watch on the road and on the driveway going back past the house to the barn. Until she died, everybody had the feeling of being watched over, and we knew we would have to acccount for ourselves...

She wasn't supervising or being nosey. She was one of us still. If we were doing all right, she wanted to be pleased. If we were worried or troubled, she wanted to be worried or troubled with us...As long as she was alive, her house was the focus of the farm, and her bedroom was the focus of the house.

Dying at home is rarely possible these days. Terry's family tried to care for his Dad at home and it lasted only a couple of days. Most families' lives aren't centered on one house like the Feltner's was. The nursing home doesn't depress me, but I feel badly for Terry's dad and all the hours he spends alone, miles from home and his loved ones. I understand WB's insistence that the old ways were better.

Seven Quick Takes

1. I'm in St. Louis today visiting my parents and my brother Alan who is recovering very well from his January knee replacement.



2. My Valentine's Day treats for my kids, parents and Terry.

White chocolate dipped biscotti and Oreo Truffles. The biscotti was quite good and very easy using this recipe. The link for the recipe led me to a wonderful new blog, Farmgirl Fare. Farmgirl was a native northern Californian who moved to 240 acres in the middle of nowhere in Missouri. She loves to garden and cook and her stories of life in the country are wonderful. The Oreo truffles are the easiest candy ever.

Oreo Truffles

1 package Oreo cookies
1 8 oz. package cream cheese
chocolate coating (I used almond bark mixed with a few semi-sweet chocolate chips)
white chocolate for drizzle

Place cookies in food processor, about 1/3 of package at a time, and process until coarse crumbs. Add the cream cheese (it's easier if you don't soften it first) a little at a time and process into the crumbs until well combined. Roll the mixture into small balls and place on a cookie sheet. Put cookie sheet in freezer for about ten minutes. Prepare chocolate coating. Roll chilled balls into coating and lift out with two forks to allow excess chocolate to drip off. Place on wax paper-covered cookie sheet. Drizzle white chocolate on top. (I melted white chocolate in the microwave and placed in a small baggie and cut the corner into a thin tip.) Chill in refrigerator for one hour.


BEFORE


AFTER
3. My kitchen floor is finished, sealed and waxed. It looks so good I'm going to have to do the same to the rest of the floors in the house (two bathrooms, living room entry, laundry room and hall). The good news is that I won't have to strip much in those rooms since I never used Mop n Glo on them. A light mopping with ammonia should get them ready for sealing and wax.

4. Farmgirl's posts got me dreaming of gardens. Her story about deer eating her lettuce scare me, though. Since our dogs are gone, we have deer tracks very near the house. I think I'll try a raised bed for lettuce though. The deer never bothered my tomatoes last year. This website has lovely garden seeds. Poking through garden catalogs is the best antidote for winter weariness.

5. On our way home from Michigan last week, we stopped to see Cassie at college. While she and Terry worked on getting her printer working, I reviewed her Finite Math text. Last night, she called with questions about her math homework and I was able to tutor long distance. It was so much fun.

6. Speaking of college math, as part of my application to college to get my teacher's certification, I have to take the Praxis exams which test basic skills for teachers. The test includes reading and math skills and doesn't look too difficult. It's been awhile since I took any test.

7. I'm going to use this vintage pattern for my first mittens. The pattern is for men's size so I will make them a little smaller, using other patterns I've found as a guide. I really like the basic look of these, though, and the instructions are very clear.

Happy Birthday, President Lincoln

Today is Abraham Lincoln's 200th birthday. I was going to print an excerpt of his second inaugural address, but look how brief it is in its entirety:

At this second appearing to take the oath of the presidential office, there is less occasion for an extended address than there was at the first. Then a statement, somewhat in detail, of a course to be pursued, seemed fitting and proper. Now, at the expiration of four years, during which public declarations have been constantly called forth on every point and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention, and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is new could be presented. The progress of our arms, upon which all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public as to myself; and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and encouraging to all. With high hope for the future, no prediction in regard to it is ventured.

On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago, all thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war. All dreaded it--all sought to avert it. While the inaugeral [sic] address was being delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving the Union without war, insurgent agents were in the city seeking to destroy it without war--seeking to dissole [sic] the Union, and divide effects, by negotiation. Both parties deprecated war; but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive; and the other would accept war rather than let it perish. And the war came.

One eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the Union, but localized in the Southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was, somehow, the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union, even by war; while the government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it. Neither party expected for the war, the magnitude, or the duration, which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with, or even before, the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible, and pray to the same God; and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces; but let us judge not that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered; that of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has his own purposes. "Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!" If we shall suppose that American Slavery is one of those offences which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South, this terrible war, as the woe due to those by whom the offence came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a Living God always ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope--fervently do we pray--that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue, until all the wealth piled by the bond-man's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash, shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said "the judgments of the Lord, are true and righteous altogether"

With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan--to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations.

The speech was given on March 4, 1865. Sadly, Lincoln was assassinated only six weeks later, on April 14 and died the next morning.

This poem by Walt Whitman, written upon Lincoln's death, is my new favorite:

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Place-ness

THCBCFCC has been considering Wendell Berry’s ideas about place, membership and what it all means. I’ve been thinking a lot about the significance of place in our lives. What does place mean to us? Why does it hold such special evocative properties? Can place change us, shape us, save us? Wendell Berry seems to think so.

Recently, on a trip with my two home-from-college kids to visit my parents in St. Louis, I drove by the childhood home and neighborhood where I lived the first 19 years of my life. Visits to the old neighborhood always stir lots of emotions and memories for me. In the same way, visits to the rural places in Missouri where my grandparents and great-grandparents lived result in stories coming alive as they do nowhere else.

Don’t people travel to Europe or the Holy Land for the same reason: So that the stories about those places can take form and depth?



When we moved to Maple Grove (our home on ten acres in southern Illinois) thirteen years ago, the place began to change and shape our family. It was our first time living in the country. The kids ran free, we gardened and raised chickens, pigs, ponies, goats and cows. Time stretched and space widened. Our family grew closer and our spiritual lives deepened. Scriptures I learned as a child became clear to me, both parables about farming and the Psalms about quiet streams and still waters. We put a small bench in a grove beside our pond and called it our prayer bench. I spent hours beside that bench and the place around me grew to be part of me.



Consider the nation of Israel as an example of the importance of place in spiritual terms. When God appeared to Abram in the Land of Ur and told him to leave and go to a place God would provide, that place (the Promised Land) became a primary character for the rest of Biblical history. Even in our day, the resettlement of Israel plays a huge role in current events in the Middle East and the whole world. Why did God use place as such a big part of the Promise for His people? Why did God deliver the Israelites from Egypt and return them to the Promised Land in such dramatic fashion? Why did He instruct Solomon to build the temple in Jerusalem and instruct all Israel to worship there at least once a year?

Why does the Bible end with the Book of Revelation in which St. John describes the New Jerusalem? Does heaven have physical or only spiritual dimension?

For all these reason, I understand Wendell Berry’s ideas on the importance of Place. As you can see, my thoughts on “place-ness” still contain a lot of questions.

Any thoughts?

Substitute Teacher Corollary

Along the lines of Murphy's Law, I propose the following substitute teacher corollary:

If you plan anything, you will get called to teach that day.


Since the new semester began, I have taught eight days (out of 23 school days). I have been unavailable only four days and was asked to teach all four of those days.

What's up Wednesday

Blogging is erratic here at Maple Grove lately because life is erratic. Some weeks, I work several days and have no time to write. Other weeks, I'm snowed in and writing often during floor-stripping breaks. C'est la vie.

I taught 3rd grade on Monday at the little country school. I love that school. The day went very well. The teacher has sick kids at home and missed several days last week. Apparently, her class didn't behave well and she left a note saying she had talked to them on Friday. They were a bit talkative for me in the morning but not too bad. We finished our special reading assignment on Abraham Lincoln (Illinois schools still make a BIG DEAL out of Lincoln's birthday-did you know Thursday is his 200th birthday?? I didn't until we read the book) and there was time left for the students to color the pages. I asked them to work quietly and warned I would be writing names on the board for talking. Anyone whose name was written on the board would miss five minutes of recess--the first outdoor recess in weeks! The warning worked incredibly well and the kids were quietly working away when the principal dropped in for a visit. I think he was shocked to see them behaving so well and I was so grateful at the fortuitous timing!

Today I saw the eye doctor for my annual exam. I decided to try fitting one contact lens for distance and one for reading because I'm so tired of wearing reading glasses. My left eye now has a contact lens for distance and my right eye has no lens as it is perfect for reading as is. The doctor said it will take a while to get used to seeing "monovision". Driving wasn't too bad and reading isn't either. Seeing the computer, though, is difficult as it is in between and I'm not sure which eye is supposed to see it. It will get better though and I'm going to make this work!

We were in Michigan last week for a business trip and I visited a wonderful yarn store! I bought new DPNs and my first "real" wool yarn to make a pair of mittens. I'm excited to learn something new.

I'm 260 pages into "Atlas Shrugged" and the story is getting very exciting. I've already seen plenty of reasons why the WSJ column was titled "From Fact to Fiction in 52 Years." I joke with Terry that I struggle to keep the real news of the day apart from the lunacy of the world in the book.

The spirituality of Wendell Berry, as told by Hannah Coulter

Several commenters at THCBCFCC have wondered about Hannah Coulter's spirituality. Her outlook on her adult kids' choices seems so....cold and dry. Where is her faith? Where is her joy? I don't claim to have the inside track to Hannah Coulter's thoughts (or to Wendell Berry's, who put them in her head and on the page!), but I do think I understand where Berry is coming from with regards to spirituality. I was born into a family quite similar to the characters in fictional Port William, who are undoubtedly based on real people in Wendell Berry's hometown of Port Royal, Kentucky. One reason these novels resonate so loudly with me is that they are stories about "my people". They've helped me understand the thoughts and deeds of long-dead forebearers who influenced my parents, who of course influenced me.

My parents were both raised in the Ozarks of southeast Missouri. Mom and Dad grew up on hardscrabble farms (much like the Steadman place described by Hannah Coulter) a few miles from each other. Their families were staunch members of the church of Christ, the nondenominational, non-instrumental church quite popular in the south. They attended two different small churches about six miles apart. When I was growing up in the suburbs of St. Louis, we attended the church of Christ a few blocks from our house. It was the only church I knew and I was firmly taught throughout my youth that we were the Christians most closely following the New Testament. We didn't believe in rituals, rote prayers, fancy worship practices or high-falutin' theology. We read the Bible and followed it. Period.

Please know that I am in NO WAY criticizing those who attend the churches of Christ or follow its practices today. I'm simply sharing my own viewpoint from the inside of the church in which I was raised, and the extended family that followed its teachings.

Without going into too much unnecessary detail, let me describe how our faith affected our family life: we went to church three times a week without exception; we didn't drink, smoke or use bad language; we studied the Bible at home and at church; we were active in youth group activities including Bible studies and devotionals, church camp, and retreats; we sang everywhere we went and since all our singing was a capella at church, we were quite good at four-part harmony in the church van; I went to a church of Christ college for my freshman year.

Here's how our faith didn't affect our family life: we didn't pray at the dinner table because my Dad didn't go to church with us at the time; now that my Dad is an active member of the church, his table prayers are short and sweet and rarely vary; we didn't talk about Jesus or God except in the context of Bible studies; we didn't talk much about our faith outside of youth group devotionals; you would never hear us say, "I just want to give God the praise for what he's done in my life" or anything remotely personal such as a testimony. We were taught that the job of the Holy Spirit was to interpret scripture for us. I never heard that the Holy Spirit could also encourage, uplift and enable me to walk closely with the Lord, and to help me overcome besetting sins and fleshly temptations to live a godly life.

Faith, as lived by my family, was a personal thing and a thing lived out by following the precepts of scripture. It wasn't something to be talked about, except in "sharing the gospel" with a non-Christian. There was an unspoken idea that talking a lot about Jesus was "showing off" or somehow suspect (as in, if you're talking about it too much, you must be covering up something you're doing wrong).

Given this context, I read Hannah Coulter and hear her describe her life in Port William, including going to church for worship and social events, and I don't see much missing. This is how my family lived. They worked hard on the farm, they followed the rules for the most part (well, several of my uncles smoked and there's an awful lot of alcoholism in the family tree for a teetotaling bunch...), they went to church twice on Sunday and for Wednesday night Bible study. They knew the books of the Bible and could recite lots of scripture and retell lots of stories from the Good Book. I never knew any of them to have a family devotional time or to read the Bible for comfort.

"Where's the joy, Hannah?" is a good question. I didn't know much joy in my family of origin. We enjoyed the holidays (although Christmas was celebrated as a secular holiday and NOT as the birthday of Jesus), enjoyed our family get-togethers and times of telling stories and remembering old times. But to feel the joy of the Lord, to relish His goodness and mercy and what He's done in our lives? I was an adult well down my own spiritual path before I understood all that. I still can't talk about it with my family lest they think I've left the path of true righteousness, but that's another post I'm not ready to write.

I picture Wendell Berry as having a spirituality that is a lot like that of my family only even more tied to the physicalities of his life on the land. For him, spirituality is an earthy, practical thing coupled with the underpinning of God the Creator and Jesus the Logos that holds all things together.

I'm not necessarily agreeing with Berry's ideas about place being the "only way to repair our culture." I'll explore that more in a post on "Place-ness". I'm simply trying to interpret Wendell Berry's ideas about spirituality as passed along to his character Hannah Coulter. I'd love to hear your ideas about this.

The virtue of place

I've been mentally composing a post on "place-ness" for weeks now. The HCBCFCC has helped fuel my thoughts. Today, at my son Luke's magazine blog (have I plugged The Gadfly lately?), one of his co-editors has a wonderful post. I think Wendell Berry would agree with most everything Brendan wrote.

What do you think? Read the whole post here, but here's my favorite part as it relates to place-ness.

Finally, I would suggest that there is a discipline of place that could be the salvation of culture, if men could learn to practice it. The hallmark of the cosmopolitan seems to be that every place is as good as any other (for all are “interesting,” a mine of quaint stories, knick-knacks, and other ghostly abstractions). However, to love a place because it is yours–not because you have chosen it, but because it has in some sense chosen you (by birth, most naturally, but perhaps by some other providential entanglement is possible)–is to begin the process of creating true culture. To love the deep emptiness of a blue winter sky, or a gnarled oak dangling a tire swing from its twisted fingers; to prefer bacon and eggs really and truly to a croissant: these are the first stirrings of a truly human existence. And I would venture that it is the man who loves bacon and eggs above all who might truly appreciate the startling savor of a French pastry.

The Best News Yet

The best news yet from my substitute teaching.

Yesterday, I subbed for a high school social studies teacher. It was another good day. I finally met the distant cousin with our last name that students everywhere ask me "are you related to J____?" We are indeed related. His grandfather and Terry's dad are half-brothers.

The best news of the day, though, indeed of the whole year? In my last period, I scanned the seating chart while taking attendance. One name sounded vaguely familiar but I didn't think much about it as I recognize a lot of family names in this small town. A few minutes into class, though, I looked at the boy sitting in the corner and looked again at the seating chart. TJ! TJ was a student in my first grade class at the little Christian school in 2000. He was my worst nightmare. What then was the good news?

TJ was a beautiful boy. He had big beautiful brown eyes, brown hair and darkly tanned skin. His home life was horrible and his behavior reflected it. Without going into too much detail, let's just say he lived with his divorced, drug-addicted, mentally ill mother and two siblings. Two older siblings lived with grandparents. TJ's father was a hard-working man who tried to do all he could for the kids. For some reason, the courts kept giving the kids back to the mother, even after her ten-year-old son found her unresponsive from a drug overdose and called 911. The week the mother was in the hospital recovering from that overdose, the kids stayed with their dad and his parents. TJ's behavior was dramatically better. I nearly cried when the kids went back home with their mother when she was released from the hospital.

Over the years, I heard bits and pieces about TJ and his family. He was kicked out of the Christian school after I left. I feared he would wind up in a juvenile detention facility or prison. Ironically and terribly, when I heard a few years ago that his mother had died, I breathed a huge sigh of relief for her children. Maybe now they would have a chance?

Yesterday, TJ looked....normal. He looked like any other freshman in the class. He was dressed like them, acted like them, fit in with them. He is in the right class for his age. I was jubilant. He didn't look angry or sullen or messed up like some of the kids in the school. He looked normal. Normal has never looked so good to me.

Cato Institute Ad

I like this ad. A mini version of it is posted at the top of my sidebar. One of Luke's economics professors signed the ad.

You might be surprised by some of the "liberal" universities represented.

Groundhog Day, redux

Monday was Groundhog Day--and my birthday! It's great sharing my day with a weather-predicting rodent. Anyway, I researched the history of Groundhog Day and thought you might enjoy the results a couple of days late. Like the movie, Groundhog Day keeps happening over and over.

Groundhog Day is related to the Catholic Feast of Candlemas. Candlemas got its name from the practice of priests blessing candles which the parishioners took home to signify the return of light as winter dwindles and spring looms. Candlemas is also known as The Presentation of Jesus at the Temple or The Purification of the Virgin. Both names represent the event in scripture when Joseph and Mary took Jesus to the temple where he was recognized as Messiah by Simeon, who proclaimed the words still used in monastic and other settings as the final words at Compline (late evening prayers):

"Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy word, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation, which Thou hast prepared before the face of all people, a light to enlighten the Gentiles, and the glory of Thy people Israel." (Luke 2:29-32).

According to Jewish law, women had to present themselves at the temple for purification rites 40 days after giving birth. Thus, the feast of Candlemas takes place either on February 2 (40 days after Christmas on December 25) or February 14 (40 days after the last day of Christmas and Epiphany on January 6). Roman Catholics celebrate Candlemas on February 2.

Interestingly, I found the information on Candlemas after reading the history of Groundhog Day at this site.

My Dad, who still calls me his "little groundhog", says that his grandparents and other old-timers in the Ozarks celebrated Groundhog Day on February 14. Apparently, the Scots-Irish settlers of the Ozarks retained this old tradition of the groundhog as harbinger of spring and retained the oldest day for Candlemas, February 14.

Reminds me of the old story about the lady who always cut off the end of her ham before placing it in the baking dish. Her daughter asked her why she did this and she said, "Because that's how my mom always did it." She called her mom to ask why she cut off the end of the ham and her mom said, "Because that's how my mom always did." She called Grandma to ask, "Why did you always cut the end off the ham before you put it in the pan?" Grandma said, "Because my pan was too small."

Monday musing

The Kentucky ice storm is getting a bit of attention, nearly one week after it downed trees and knocked out electric service to over half a million people. The Anchoress has a good roundup of links.

We live about 60 miles from the Kentucky state line. I get emails from a homeschool support group in Evansville, Indiana, which also has much storm damage. Many families are without power there.

The longest I was ever without power was following a summer thunderstorm in July, 1981, in Columbia, Missouri. 80 mph straight line winds uprooted trees all over town. I lived in campus married student housing and we were without power for over three weeks. It was summer so we were sticky and warm, but thankfully not freezing. An ice storm six years ago left us without electricity for almost 48 hours. We checked with our neighbors and invited several to come to our house where we had gas and wood heat. Another 12 hours without electricity and I think we would have had two families sharing our warmth.

Kentucky officials say it could be two to three more weeks before power and water are restored to all residents. Please keep these good people in your prayers.

I substituted for a high school health occupations teacher today. She teaches three two-hour classes for junior and senior girls interested in obtained their Certified Nurse Assistant (CNA) license. These girls were more serious and mature than other high school students I've had. At least four of them told me they have babies. My eyes are being opened to the realities of life for teenagers today. I'll write more about this later, but I continue to enjoy these students a lot.

It's Groundhog Day and it's my birthday! Terry awakened me with our traditional Beatles "You Say It's Your Birthday." What fun. We went to dinner at a Mexican restaurant and the waiters all sang Happy Birthday and gave us free fried ice cream. My kids and siblings called to wish me well. Puxatawney Phil and I both saw our shadows, so six more weeks of winter are in store.