Churchy Chuckle

For those who don't read the comments, I'm posting my Aunt Jill's comment on Taking the Ball by the Horns. It's too funny.

She wrote:

"This story reminds me of an embarrassing moment for Paul's nephew. He was preaching on how bad habits can become like a ball and chain. During the altar call he said, "Why not just come and bring your balls to the altar?" You can imagine what that did to the invitation. That comment beat him to town. He stopped at a convenience store immediately after church and heard all about it from guys who hadn't been in church."

I love churchy chuckles. (Actually in this case, I think it was a churchy belly-laugh).

Gordon Sings Joyfully

Today was the first Sunday of Advent and the first Sunday to sing Christmas carols. Gordon loves Christmas carols and always belts them out louder and more fervently than every one else.
Our opening hymn was Joy to the World -- a personal favorite of Gordon's. As usual, his powerful baritone voice rose above all the others.

Between verses one and two, the musicians played an instrumental interlude. Gordon of course was caught up in singing his heart out. The whole church waited for the usual direction as to when to begin singing. Everyone but Gordon. As the interlude began and all voices hushed, Gordon belted out, "Joy to," before realizing it was an instrumental moment. Chuckles abounded around us, the girls and me chuckling the most. Not easily embarrassed, Gordon smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

By this time, the interlude was finished, -- or so Gordon thought. Once again when it sounded as though the new stanza was beginning, Gordon rose to the occasion of leading out. Clearly, with much worshipful gusto his voice rang out, "Joy to," before he realized again that this too was part of the interlude.

This time the girls and I moved beyond chuckles to all out laughing. Gordon is the only person I know who could do this without being humiliated. But again he smiled and shrugged his shoulders. After that he waited for others to start singing before he opened his mouth.

I, for one, was thankful.

Benevolence

Today was Communion Sunday. After communion there is always a benevolent offering taken to help people in the community that are in need.

Behind me sat an elderly woman and her upper middled-aged son. As the offering plate made its way towards us, I heard the lady scrambling in her purse for her offering. Then I heard the son say, "Don't put that $20 in there. Give it to my benevolent fund."

I resisted the urge to turn around to see where the $20 ended up.

Another churchy chuckle.

Church

As you may recall, regarding "church," we've been through a rough year. There were lots of lies, deception, manipulation, and God only knows what else. We, along with many dear friends, have been burned. Gordon particularly has grown skeptical and cynical about church. He is a godly man, but is struggling to come to terms with all we've experienced the past year. (You know the expression, once bitten, twice shy). Well Gordon won't be jumping into any churchy relationships anytime soon, I don't think. If he does, he will be very guarded.

I'm really enjoying our new church and am ready start anew. The kids are loving it. Gordon is non-committal.

During our evening cup of tea, I asked him how he was feeling about church. With a heavy sigh he said, "Oh who knows? Who the hell trusts church anyway?"

Wanting some kind of assurance we were "on the same page," I asked what happens next. I was expecting a time line, a line in the sand, "if things go well, we'll commit in....."

What I got instead was this snippet into his psyche: "Oh someone will have us over for tea, then we'll sign on the dotted line and hand over the money."

Church

I think we've received the confirmation we've needed regarding church. My dear sweet Rachael went to youth group for the first time on Friday. She was so excited, yet innocently apprehensive.

When I picked her up, I could tell she was happy and at ease. As soon as she got in the van she announced, "Guess what? There's a girls' Bible study on Wednesday night."

Then on Saturday night I walked into her room as she laid out her clothes for church. She confirmed once again why I think we've found our new church home when she said, "I can't wait till tomorrow."

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

The Week in Review

Well, life continues and it consists of highs and lows. This weeks highlights:

We went shopping and everyone got some new clothes. The girls all had money and it was fascinating watching Rachael budget and be a conscientious shopper. I was sobered to find that Rachael had to buy blouses in the ladies department. I can't believe it, she is growing up so fast. Hannah, who presently loves the grungy look and places utmost importance on comfort, "couldn't find" anything she liked. In reality, she's comfortable with all her clothes and doesn't see the need for any more. Gordon, on the other hand, HATES the comfortable look that Hannah loves. So once she "couldn't find" anything to buy, he went and found some things for her. He threw her cherished fuzzy jacket in the garbage at the store after he bought her a new fuzzy. I was with Hannah on that one. I like her old fuzzy more than her new one and simply can't understand why he threw it away. Deborah found a number of things she wanted, but could only buy 2 things. She was sad. After clothes shopping, we went to Dollarama, an amazing dollar store, and the girls finished off their shopping. They love Dollarama and live from allowance day to allowance day.

I finished my cake decorator's training and now live from mild panic attack to the next mild panic attack. I fear customers coming to me and pointing to pictures in the cake book and saying, "I want that one in 1 hour." I can do some things, but "please don't ask me for the Christening cake, or the Barbie, or the Bob the Builder, or the Dora the Explorer, or Harry Potter,.... or anything else out of the book. I don't know how to do them. Please don't even look at me while I'm working." All my writing on cakes is crooked and silly looking. My roses look like cacti and my pansies look like butt holes. Oooooohhhhh, why did I ever do this???????

The girls have each finished their projects for their school's interest fair for Wednesday night. Rachael's project is about ancient kings and pharoahs. Rachael has had an enormous interest in Egyptian things for a couple years. I wonder if that interest will turn into something. Hannah's project is on dogs and it's adorable. Deborah's is on her hamster Harry. I'm curious to see how all their projects compare to the other kids'. I'm proud of all their work.

I've changed my theology of late. Up until very recently, I thought a pastor was "called" and you shouldn't ever fire one, but rather leave the church if you couldn't go along with his way of pastoring. Well, seeing where our church is today sure makes me wish we would have fired the pastor several years ago before he drove off 75% of the church. Now that he's gone, the truth has come out and oh what a fool I was supporting him. I'm so sorry. I feel so guilty. I'm plagued by memories of my own support of him. I use to imagine that I was discerning, but I've decided I'm not. I'm actually pretty easily snowed. I've been snowed severely two times in my life and this whole ordeal was one of them. Yuk, yuk, yuk. Forgive me for ranting.

Well I have my own assignment to work on, so I must boogie. I've enjoyed the day off with my family, but tomorrow I'm back to selling wicker furniture and candles. Good night.

Another Gordon Moment

Last night Gordon and I were discussing the recent near-demise of our church. A segment of the people in our church, mostly women, want to have a "closure meeting" where we all air our feelings about the recent abuse from, and subsequent dismissal of, the pastor. As these folks have persisted in requesting this type of meeting, the chairman of the board has been equally as dismissive of the idea. He is a retired businessman and quite professional.

As Gordon and I hashed out the different ideas, Gordon concluded, "yeah, to a business man, I guess the idea of a 'closure meeting' is pretty demented." Then he conducted his own mini-version of a 'closure meeting' in the business world: "We fired Joe. Anyone else here have a problem with Joe? Let's talk about how we feel about Joe."

Is that funny to anyone else? I laughed.

Not much happening

I've had a busy weekend. Hannah and Rachael went to Winter Camp. We had to fight the weather to get there, but we went and returned today safely.

While they were gone, I gave Hannah's room an update. A friend had remarked that Hannah's room was babyish, and that didn't set well with me, so I made it more 9-year-oldish. The whole makeover cost $4. Isn't that amazing? I left the initial yellow paint but with stencils I created, I painted glow-in-the-dark pink, orange, lime green dots in varying sizes. Now one wall is polka dots. It's so cute and Hannah loves it. Now we just need that bratty little friend to come over again. This time she will be green with envy. That project dominated my weekend.

Church was painful this morning. 36 people were there. 18 months ago we had at least 100, and it was vibrant. It's anything but vibrant now. Pastor preached about being in the wilderness and he might as well been speaking straight at me as that was how I felt. Church isn't what it was. I pray this wilderness period doesn't go on a long time. I was encouraged by the sermon, very encouraged.

On the drive today, Gordon got side-tracked in the middle of changing lanes. For some reason he kept driving in the one lane but his turn signal was on. I crankily said, "You need to pee or get off the pot." Just as crankily he retorted, "You need to be kind or shut-up." I laughed.

Church According to Little House on the Prairie

William Faulkner said something to the effect that he couldn't know his own thoughts clearly until he had written them. I can identify with that thought. Therefore I shall try to work through some of my thoughts, in writing.

Recently my church has been through a difficult time. Our pastor (and good friend) resigned under less than ideal circumstances. Over the past couple years a number of wonderful people have left. What I use to consider a vibrant, alive church now seems dry, and even lonely.The spirit of love and concern for each other is very strong. I love these people. We are like a family. However, my own excitement for going to church is gone.

When I was in Arkansas, I saw little churches dotted throughout the countryside. They were simple, white, old church buildings. They reminded me of my grandmother's church when I was growing up. I was impressed by their simplicity and wondered what their services were like.

I thought of the church services on Little House on the Prairie. By our standards today, church on Little House on the Prairie was dry and stale. But the essentials were there; praise, prayer, teaching/exhortation, and love and care for one another. There were no programs.

As I drove past these country churches, I knew they each one had their problems, but wondered if they were closer to the target than our more polished churches. (Certainly they are closer to the Little House on the Prairie model.) Perhaps we've complicated things with our programs and our technology.

This morning before others arrived, I sat in my church sanctuary praying. I felt discouraged and lonely. So many friends no longer attend church with us. Our music can be pretty rugged, whereas it used to be full and alive. There are few programs left that my family can participate in. As I thought about these things, I recalled again how they did church on Little House on the Prairie. I remembered the commitment of the people to be there; I remembered their participation in un-glamorous song; I remembered the sermons by the un-dynamic pastor.

Two times now, the Little House on the Prairie model has come to mind. Could it be that God was speaking to me? Henry Blackaby said that any encounter with truth is an encounter with God. Could God be leading me in these Little House on the Prairie memories?

This morning after my thoughts on Little House on the Prairie, I lowered my standard and tried to be a congregant like the congregants on Little House on the Prairie. It helped. I prayed, I sang.

So I lay out my Little House of the Prairie thoughts to you, dear reader. What do you think about the Little House on the Prairie model of doing church?

A Good Day

It's been a wonderful day. Our church service was uplifting. There was a spirit of unity, peace and anticipation. I have a really great church. As I sat there this morning, I looked at the faces of those around me. They seemed interested, involved, engaged. What a blessing. I read 1 Peter 2:9, "... you are a chosen people....This is so you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light." I saw in my faith community a chosen people who show the goodness of God. From my pastor I received this snippet of truth: "What you believe will be reflected in the things you do."

Yesterday we went to a Seventh Day Adventist Church. My kids are in a Seventh Day Adventist school and yesterday they were performing for a local congregation. It was a good service too. They were very Christ centered and incredibly friendly -- by far the friendliest church I've been to in a long long time.

Yesterday there was a large fire in Edmonton that took out 3 businesses. I could tell it was pretty close by, so the kids, Lucy and I started walking to see it. Those kinds of things are what set a small town girl apart from a city girl. Not many city folk would have cared to walk that far to see it. But we walked 1 1/2 miles to see it firsthand. It was really a cool experience. When I got there it was extra fun, because Gordon was there for work and he was directing traffic. I heard him long before I saw him. I said, "Hey, Daddy is somewhere over there." Sure enough. The girls wanted so badly to talk to him, (they thought it was pretty special to see everyone obeying their daddy). I told them we couldn't bother him.

I'm not one to wait for permission to cross on a crosswalk. As he yelled, "Hey get back on the curb" to the people who were trying to jaywalk in congested areas, I was so glad I hadn't done it in front of him. I leaned over to the girls and said, "I'm sure glad he didn't see how we got here, he would have yelled at us and I would have been so embarrassed." After that our walk home was very law-abiding in style.

He wouldn't have known we were there if he'd not heard Lucy. Lucy started barking and he turned to see. He said he never dreamed it would be Lucy, he just wanted to see the dog that barked like Lucy.

Small town girl. That expression conjures up lots of thoughts. I think I will share a few of those soon.

Discipline

This computer screen is dreadfully harsh at 5am. Gordon left for work about 30 minutes ago and since the kids are still in bed, this seemed like the perfect time for quiet and aloneness.

Yesterday Pastor Shaun spoke on maturing in Christ. He said a disciple "is under the discipline of Jesus our Lord". Jesus is using the circumstances in my life to shape me, to discipline me. Not the spank kind of discipline, but the molding kind of discipline. I thought that was a pertinent message to me.

I'm in a new circumstance, an uncomfortable circumstance, so I needed the reminder that this too is part of "the plan". Through this circumstance, God is going to shape me. When I think of God shaping me, I think of me being chiseled into a new shape. "Chiseled" doesn't sound all that pleasant. I must remember when I feel the Chiseller's knife, that this is part of the discipline to shape and mould me.

I'm working on memorizing Philippians 3:7-14. Verse 12 of that passage says, "I keep working toward that day when I will finally be all that Christ Jesus saved me for and wants me to be." I look forward to the day when the molding is over and I'm a paragon of perfection, but I know that's a long way off. Until that time, I have to submit again and let God do what is best for me, to discipline me into a better person, one that can better bring glory to Him.

Church Bloopers

Today I was reminded of a church blooper that I witnessed and was told of one I never heard about.

My Uncle Paul played the role of Sunday School Superintendent for a number of years. He always gave a small devotional at the beginning of his Superintendent ritual. One particular morning he said something that he has yet to live down. His family continues to pass the story on.

As he spoke briefly of the Apostle Paul, he asked the congregation, "Does anyone here know the meaning of the name Paul?" He waited patiently for a congregant to reply, but no one did. With a kind smile that defines him, he said, "Well I didn't either, but my wife told me." Slowly, precisely, and with his hallmark kind face, he continued, "Paul means 'small'. My wife says I'm small." My aunt gasped in shock at his faux pas and quickly looked around to see if others heard what she'd just heard. She saw a sea of teeth. Yes, everyone had just heard him say, "My wife says I'm small." He tried to recover, but the smiles did not fade.

Years later, I sit at my computer blogging a story that my uncle Paul would just assume die.

A couple years ago, a woman was giving announcements at my church when someone asked for donations of egg shells for a craft the children were doing in children's church. Without realizing where she was headed, the announcer asked, "Do they need to be cleaned?" The second lady said that she did prefer them clean. The announcer turned to her microphone and said clearly, "Don't bring eggs to church unless your cracks are clean".

Maggie

On Sunday I learned that Maggie a special needs young woman at church had passed away from a heart attack. She was 28. I don’t know what Maggie’s handicap was although it looked like severe cerebral palsy. I was reading Philippians 3 last night and verse 21 reminded me of Maggie. “He will take these weak mortal bodies of ours and change them into glorious bodies like his own, using the same mighty power that he will use to conquer everything, everywhere.”

Today Maggie is more whole and more alive than anything I’ve ever known. Her weak body that I was familiar with has been exchanged for a glorious one. What a wonderful thought.

In Remembrance of Me

I've never really understood "The Lord's Supper". I grew up with it being such a sober experience that I would always get the nervous giggles. The silence was deafening. I was amused by the production of folding the tablecloth that was atop the elements. The deacons removed the cloth and together folded it in the most sacred way - sort of like it was the burial shroud itself. It seemed a contest of quietness; who could look the most pious; who could work up the greatest feeling of "Poor Jesus". Everything about it tickled me to the point of giggling (and snorting, no less) at the most inopportune time.

I recall how quiet the sanctuary would be as the pastor told us to eat the bread (Saltine crackers). Crunch, crunch, crunch. It was too much. Inevitably, I'd start to snort and giggle. I couldn't understand how everyone kept such a straight and serious face when something so funny was happening. I would pull myself together in time to hear the pastor drone on about the blood of Jesus, and then once again the silence would fall. I would look down in an effort to look truly effected by the seriousness of the moment. But it didn't work. Since I found such amusement in the deathly serious faces all around me, I always snuck a peek and got tickled again. Then we partook, "ulk, ulp, ulk, ulp....." Oh my goodness, I would just about lose it every time.

The giggles were always a part of the Lord's Supper for me. One particular night, my mom and sister got the giggles too. My mom often smiled during the Lord's Supper because she too saw the funny side of it too. But this night she was more than smiling, she was laughing. And then, of all things, the pastor called on her to pray. We tried our darndest to be reverent, but without success. As Mama prayed, Stacie stood beside her whispering, "Say Amen," "Just say Amen".

All that to say, I've never really "got" communion. I never doubted that we were supposed to do it, but I never really understood the significance. But this morning, I think I started to get a clearer understanding. I'm not through developing it in my mind, but I know something clicked as the pastor spoke. I wish I could recall exactly what he said, but try as I may, I cannot.

During whatever he was saying, I realized that by taking communion, we are welcoming Jesus once again into our lives. Instead of thinking "Poor Jesus, look what he went through because of how bad I am," my thoughts should be more like an active reacquaintance with Jesus. "Remember Me," he said. "Remember how I loved, remember my humility, remember what I said, remember how I loved the children, remember what I taught,...."

By taking the elements that represent the body and blood of Jesus, I am saying that I need his very being to be my sustenance. When I receive him as my sustenance, I will be equipped to love like him, be meek like him, see what is important just like he saw the important. The better "I remember him," the better I understand what my life is about. My life is about being like him.

Intimidation

Well I got my first visitor, (at least the first to comment) to my blog. My heart noticeably sped up when I saw I had a comment. It's new to me to express my journal type thoughts on such a public forum. I've told no one about my blog except my dear ole aunt, (Hi Auntie). But here I am again, writing, blogging. When I saw I had a comment, I flushed, fretted momentarily, felt excited, embarrassed, and intimidated all at once. I am really not a basket case, I'm just a private type person. I don't share these thoughts easily.

Ron (homeless friend) phoned today to tell us that he has made peace with a family member and that he was moving in with him. I'm happy and sad at the same time. Happy that Ron's life will presumably get better. Sad that my "ministry" has ended. I hope we made a difference in his life. I wanted to keep doing it. I felt it was stretching us out of our comfort zone, mentoring our kids to care for the poor in a practical way. It was such a pragmatic ministry and now, I'm ashamed to admit, I'm sad that it's probably over. I am happy for Ron though. Gordon told him to call us if he got in trouble.

20 years ago today, I gave birth to a little whopper. Stephanie. The moment I laid eyes on her, I fell deeply in love for the first time in my life. I couldn't believe the power of a newborn baby. At that moment, my life changed. For the first time ever, I think my thoughts were unselfish. I thought, "there is more to life and I'm gonna find it. Stephanie deserves more than this." That was the first watershed moment of my life. And thus began my personal spiritual journey. Over the next years, God became a friend and "my God" at the same time. I'm so thankful for the changes her little life made in my life. She continues to give me joy. I spoke with her on the phone a little bit ago. Her new relationship with John Mark continues to grow and mature. She is such a wonderful young lady. They still haven't kissed. I'm so proud of her for her commitment to purity. I wish I had been like her when I was a teenager. I was a stupid one though. But I don't want to go there.

She and John Mark have talked a little about marriage. She says she loves him. Wow!

Stephanie, being a nursing student, might know the answer to this, so I asked her. "Steph, have you learned anything about menopause?" She said she hadn't studied it but she's heard it happens earlier these days. I told her I was 2 weeks late and we both shared sweet thoughts about "just what if I were pregnant" I told her that being a symbolic person, I'd bought a pregnancy test today because I thought it would be so cool to find out I'm pregnant on my oldest child's 20th birthday. Alas the test was negative. It was a very weak negative, but a negative nonetheless.

I looked up pregnancy after a tubal and found out there is a 1% chance of it happening, but a 33% chance of that being a tubal pregnancy. Anyway, I'm probably not, but it is a sweet thought. I'm probably not starting menopause either. This is probably some fluke. I'm 39 if anyone who reads this wants to know.

Well I've got to scoot.

Good Friday Service

Our Good Friday service wasn't as somber as it's been in the past. Pastor Shaun is very gifted with the ability to set a worshipful tone and today was no different. Before the service the power point projected a picture of three crosses. The sky behind them looked like a phenomenal sunset of oranges, pinks and purples. I was reminded that even in death, "the heavens declare the glory of God." (Ps. 19)

A homemade rough wooden cross stood predominantly on the stage. On it was a lit candle, a draping of purple cloth and a barbed wire wreath (crown). In front of the cross, the same purple clothe weaved among 12 candles symbolizing the 12 disciples. As the scriptures were read of his followers betrayal, the candles were extinguished one by one. Finally all that was left was the candle on the cross. A powerful reminder of Jesus' aloneness in his death. Our last scripture reading was of course of Jesus dying. As the words, "and he breathed his last" were read, the last candle was extinguished. It was a poignant moment.

Our communion was unBaptist like. There was only one cup of juice and we went forward to partake, dipping the bread in the juice. "The flesh and blood of Jesus sustains us. Take unto you the death of Christ," we were told. Afterwards we left the sanctuary, not saying goodbye to our friends or waiting for the others to finish taking communion. I appreciate the seriousness of our Good Friday service.

When we left we brought Ron home with us. Ron is our homeless "friend". We bring him to our house once a week for a shower, lunch, and a nap. He gives me his laundry and puts on clean clothes that I've washed for him during the week. I cannot say that I trust Ron. He could very well rob us blind. I hope he doesn't, but I remind myself that he could. I've read of desert fathers who were robbed and they chased down their robbers and said, "Look, you missed this and it's the most valuable thing I have." I desire to be that kind of person. I'm far from it. But I think it's a noble goal. I want to hold material goods with an open hand, not a clinched fist. (We are hyper vigilant to protect our children from any danger. They are not allowed to be too close to him, not even sit beside him in the van or at the table. This is an area in which we do not gamble.)

Today I learned that Ron was once married. His wife committed suicide in 1993. Another reminder that everyone has a story to tell.

That's it for today. My bed is calling.

Good Friday

It's 630 on Good Friday. Before I moved to Canada I had never observed Good Friday in any way. It was just another day of the year. Since moving here, I've much appreciated that Christians and churches honor the day. We will go to our church service later in the morning. Pastor Shaun is extraordinarily gifted in the way he prepares for these things. I have never know a pastor who "prepares" the sanctuary for worship. But our pastor does. He sets the tone for worship and it truly makes a difference for me.

Our Good Friday service is of an incredibly somber tone. Whereas there is usually music playing when we enter the sanctuary, today, most likely, we will enter a dark quiet sanctuary with candles lit near the front. The purple cloth that has been on the cross through lent (another season I never observed before moving here) will be replaced with a black cloth. When we sing, if we sing, our songs will be mounful. For example, if we sing songs of the cross and Jesus dying, we will NOT sing the last verses of his resurrection. Today's service is intentionally void of hope, resurrection, joy. When we leave the dark sanctuary we will be acutely aware, even if minimally, of the disciples and followers of Jesus' despair on that first Good Friday. I've observed over the past several years that even after leaving the sanctuary, people hardly speak to one another in the foyer. There is such a somber atmosphere, that it feels incredibly out of place to say, "you want to go for burgers?"

People usually avoid all niceties. We simply go home after the service, hardly even saying hello to our friends. Over the next day and a half, we will remember the sorrow of the early days when the followers of Jesus were without hope. Their Master who was supposed to save them from oppression had died. He turned out to be helplessly void of all power. We contemplate their despair.

BUT on Easter Morning our service will be RADICALLY full of life. There will be bouquets of fresh flowers everywhere. JESUS IS ALIVE will be the joyful theme. It is so far beyond any Easter I ever experienced in my life prior to Canada.

Deborah's Easter party at school was sweet. My girls are in a private Adventist school. It's a wonderful school and I'm so thankful we are able to send them there. It's about a 1 1/2 blocks from our house so that is remarkably convenient. When I got there, the kindergarteners were having a quiet communion service. They had little pieces of pita bread and little glasses of grape juice. The teacher read the Scriptures and explained why adults take communion. It was cute to see these little 5 year olds drink "the wine" and eat the bread.

After communion, all the children wanted to know if it was true that Deborah got to pick out my clothes, shoes, earrings, etc..... Evidently she was so excited that I was coming to her party that she even told them she "dressed me". They were all kind of puzzled. I don't think they believed Deborah when she told them, so they wanted to know. I was proud to vindicate my sweet Deborah.

The girls in Deborah's class adore me, if I must say so myself. They argue over who sits next to me and try to get on my lap. In another setting I'd love to have them on my lap, but Ms Long is a bit of a harsh teacher and I'm afraid that she may be inclined to think that 5 year olds are too big for laps. However they climb on my lap, me feeling any minute we will be rebuked - them for being on my laps, me for treating kindergarteners like babies. The girls would intentionally lose in Musical chairs to run over to me. When the music stopped they would yell at each other that they had to take the chairs. "I was at Deborah's mom first." Once there were 3 empty chairs and I had four girls arguing to stay with me. Again, I was "afraid" of a rebuke from the teacher. Fortunately it never came.

My children are awake now, so I must quit my blog time and make breakfast. May God be glorified in me today.