Forgiveness between humans is unequal to any other human act. It is not forgetting, because forgetting is accidental. It is not to say something doesn't matter, because if it didn't matter, nothing would need to be said. It cannot be ignoring, because sins have side effects which remain and sometimes cannot be ignored themselves. Forgiveness is only forgiveness.
Forgiveness requires us to love a person more than the heinous pleasure we derive from holding that person's sin against him. If we do not love that person more, we must yet forgive, for God demands it of the forgiven. So to forgive is to learn to love, and to love is--among us, for now--to forgive.
19 January 2009
16 January 2009
Rise, you slug, to watch and pray
There's a reason I haven't written about this before. I have a guilty conscience. Even when I'm in a good phase, I know I'm going to slack off again eventually, so I hate to go on record with all this talk about how important it is to pray and how I actually do have time for it. So let me just say, I'm a waste of humanity and I don't pray like I should, even when I'm doing a decent job by my own laughable standards.
The way this post would be expected to go is, "Golly, I'm so busy! These dear little people just always need me! I don't have time to myself!" And that is the truth, but not the whole truth.
I think that a while back I said something about time for prayer and devotion not occurring naturally in my day. The key word there is naturally. I am usually awakened by a kid in the morning, I no longer have a naptime when everybody is down, and there is always one young enough to need fairly close supervision even when the baby is napping. So from baby up to baby down, I cannot go into my room and close the door.
So that leaves from baby down to baby up, aka the time I look forward to all day. The time I don't want to give up. The time I want to SLEEP! The time I want to spend with my beloved husband whom I adore. The time I want to read a book and watch a movie and draft some posts. The time I want to slouch and play, not the other thing.
Well. If it doesn't come naturally, I have to make it or take it. Here's a breakdown.
What you should be doing you lazy slob: Get out of bed 20 minutes early, or even better, 30*. Have you ever regretted it, self? It has an added bonus of getting me up and productive in general.
Shake! SHAKE!
But when I botch that, the options are as follows:
--If Dad has an evening meeting, attend to personal prayer and devotion as soon as kids are in bed. Do not go downstairs. Do not read one chapter first. This isn't a good option because if I've already put it off all day, what's another half hour? And then another? Bad discipline, at least for me. There was a great Luther meditation on this in TDP a week or so back.
--If the evening won't be free and the kids can eat semi-unattended, attend to personal prayer and devotion in the next room while they eat lunch. This requires my attention to be more divided, so I don't like it much either.
--If I've got a nurser in the house, I can attend to prayer and devotion during a session that I can usually count on to be long and quiet, such as early morning or bedtime. I don't like multitasking personal piety, but nursing is about as innocuous an additional task as you can ask for, and it's better than skipping it altogether. And then again, these times are exceptionally peaceful and unhurried, and sleepy babies love it when you aren't in a rush to put them down.
--Sneak upstairs when Dad is home. They've never missed me in any catastrophic way.
--If it isn't working out, formally ask Dad to go on duty for 20-30 minutes. I don't like to do this. I have a hangup about asking Dad to go on duty since I feel like it's really my job. I know I should have gotten out of bed and he's taking the fall for it if I didn't.
--And I'm not allowed to read anything in a day until I've read Scripture and/or a meditation on Scripture.
(Too bad I'm the one enforcing all this.)
The worst is postpartum, and it's compounded by the fact that pregnancy is usually the time when I'm most faithful in attending to prayer because it's the closest we ever get to not having an actual baby in the house, and I can never sleep. Insomnia is great for piety, ha ha ha. Anyway, I come home from the hospital feeling the need for prayer more than ever and having almost zero opportunity for it. I miss prayer so much after I've really been in the habit, and my heart is always brimming with thanks for my new baby and having been safely delivered, but I'm too exhausted and fall asleep if left unattended for more than three seconds. Then four months later I emerge from the baby hole and have to figure this out all over again. Flesh, you're beyond lame.
*Yes, mothers are tired. I've mentioned it myself. On the other hand . . . so is everyone else. The only time mothers really are more tired than most other people is postpartum (until the baby sort of learns to sleep) and when someone is sick or otherwise experiences major sleep disturbances. It's true that most people don't ever have to get up in the middle of the night. But barring the exceptions listed above, that usually isn't a terribly big deal either. If people who work regular jobs can find or make time to say their prayers every day, so can we.
The way this post would be expected to go is, "Golly, I'm so busy! These dear little people just always need me! I don't have time to myself!" And that is the truth, but not the whole truth.
I think that a while back I said something about time for prayer and devotion not occurring naturally in my day. The key word there is naturally. I am usually awakened by a kid in the morning, I no longer have a naptime when everybody is down, and there is always one young enough to need fairly close supervision even when the baby is napping. So from baby up to baby down, I cannot go into my room and close the door.
So that leaves from baby down to baby up, aka the time I look forward to all day. The time I don't want to give up. The time I want to SLEEP! The time I want to spend with my beloved husband whom I adore. The time I want to read a book and watch a movie and draft some posts. The time I want to slouch and play, not the other thing.
Well. If it doesn't come naturally, I have to make it or take it. Here's a breakdown.
What you should be doing you lazy slob: Get out of bed 20 minutes early, or even better, 30*. Have you ever regretted it, self? It has an added bonus of getting me up and productive in general.
Shake! SHAKE!--If Dad has an evening meeting, attend to personal prayer and devotion as soon as kids are in bed. Do not go downstairs. Do not read one chapter first. This isn't a good option because if I've already put it off all day, what's another half hour? And then another? Bad discipline, at least for me. There was a great Luther meditation on this in TDP a week or so back.
--If the evening won't be free and the kids can eat semi-unattended, attend to personal prayer and devotion in the next room while they eat lunch. This requires my attention to be more divided, so I don't like it much either.
--If I've got a nurser in the house, I can attend to prayer and devotion during a session that I can usually count on to be long and quiet, such as early morning or bedtime. I don't like multitasking personal piety, but nursing is about as innocuous an additional task as you can ask for, and it's better than skipping it altogether. And then again, these times are exceptionally peaceful and unhurried, and sleepy babies love it when you aren't in a rush to put them down.
--Sneak upstairs when Dad is home. They've never missed me in any catastrophic way.
--If it isn't working out, formally ask Dad to go on duty for 20-30 minutes. I don't like to do this. I have a hangup about asking Dad to go on duty since I feel like it's really my job. I know I should have gotten out of bed and he's taking the fall for it if I didn't.
--And I'm not allowed to read anything in a day until I've read Scripture and/or a meditation on Scripture.
(Too bad I'm the one enforcing all this.)
The worst is postpartum, and it's compounded by the fact that pregnancy is usually the time when I'm most faithful in attending to prayer because it's the closest we ever get to not having an actual baby in the house, and I can never sleep. Insomnia is great for piety, ha ha ha. Anyway, I come home from the hospital feeling the need for prayer more than ever and having almost zero opportunity for it. I miss prayer so much after I've really been in the habit, and my heart is always brimming with thanks for my new baby and having been safely delivered, but I'm too exhausted and fall asleep if left unattended for more than three seconds. Then four months later I emerge from the baby hole and have to figure this out all over again. Flesh, you're beyond lame.
Give me an M!
Give me an O!
Give me an R-T-I-F-Y!
Mortify, Mortify, MOR TI FY!!!
Give me an O!
Give me an R-T-I-F-Y!
Mortify, Mortify, MOR TI FY!!!
*Yes, mothers are tired. I've mentioned it myself. On the other hand . . . so is everyone else. The only time mothers really are more tired than most other people is postpartum (until the baby sort of learns to sleep) and when someone is sick or otherwise experiences major sleep disturbances. It's true that most people don't ever have to get up in the middle of the night. But barring the exceptions listed above, that usually isn't a terribly big deal either. If people who work regular jobs can find or make time to say their prayers every day, so can we.
Scribblers indeed
Father William honors us with this high distinction. He knows how much we scribble on and off-blog, but usually it's only the two-year-olds who think it's superior.Lots of fine scribblers out there, so we'll just pass it on to these five today:
Curry, we love it when you post!
Kelly, are you still out there?
Pam, please continue teaching us everything you know
Father Rick, we wish when we thought out loud it made so much sense
Cheryl, a Lutheran literata
Do that award thing. You know, with the links and all.
15 January 2009
Sharable sharings
For my ice-bound friend, something to read. :) I liked the Writer's Almanac this morning, mostly due to the poem:
Having Confessed, by Patrick Kavanagh
Having confessed he feels
That he should go down on his knees and pray
For forgiveness for his pride, for having
Dared to view his soul from the outside.
Lie at the heart of the emotion, time
Has its own work to do. We must not anticipate
Or awaken for a moment. God cannot catch us
Unless we stay in the unconscious room
Of our hearts. We must be nothing,
Nothing that God may make us something.
We must not touch the immortal material
We must not daydream to-morrow's judgment—
God must be allowed to surprise us.
We have sinned, sinned like Lucifer
By this anticipation. Let us lie down again
Deep in anonymous humility and God
May find us worthy material for His hand.
There's much to say about this, but the babies are all screaming at the moment so I'll just let you draw your own conclusions.
In the meantime, a reminder:
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind? --Percy Bysshe Shelley ;)
Having Confessed, by Patrick Kavanagh
Having confessed he feels
That he should go down on his knees and pray
For forgiveness for his pride, for having
Dared to view his soul from the outside.
Lie at the heart of the emotion, time
Has its own work to do. We must not anticipate
Or awaken for a moment. God cannot catch us
Unless we stay in the unconscious room
Of our hearts. We must be nothing,
Nothing that God may make us something.
We must not touch the immortal material
We must not daydream to-morrow's judgment—
God must be allowed to surprise us.
We have sinned, sinned like Lucifer
By this anticipation. Let us lie down again
Deep in anonymous humility and God
May find us worthy material for His hand.
There's much to say about this, but the babies are all screaming at the moment so I'll just let you draw your own conclusions.
In the meantime, a reminder:
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind? --Percy Bysshe Shelley ;)
How to get through another interminably ice-bound day
Use white glue and spaghetti noodles to make spider webs on wax paper. (Bonus timekiller: the insatiable little omnivores will expend countless minutes crunching.)
Scissors up some snowflakes (icicles for the less competent) and brainstorm (brainblizzard) winter words to write on them. Turn children loose with scotch tape to hone interior design skills.
Fill the tub with kids, scrub brushes, and Duplos (or the veggies that need to be washed for supper tonight :D ).
Check your watch. Belatedly remember resolving not to check your watch.
Get out the cheapo white paper plates (run over to church and steal some if you don’t have any). Punch holes, weave yarn, get out your maps, and create murals depicting what people in [warm region of your choice] are doing right now.
Check weather again. Yup. Sheol is still proverbially polar-capped. No hope of getting out.
Rearrange the furniture. Particularly useful if you have a creeper/crawler/cruiser who’s into everything. Make him a nice corral and email a picture of him in it to the grandparents. Maybe they’ll get the hint and plan a visit ;-)
Call relatives who are living or visiting in The South. Realize that this is not necessarily helpful, because 1) when they don’t pick up you begin to imagine them at the beach, unable to hear the phone over the sounds of the surf, and 2) the sight of the phone in your hand triggers the kids’ Rotten Reflex.
Use warm soapy rag-socks to scrub the walls and cabinets. Something might get cleaner, or else they’ll wander off to occupy themselves. Either way, you win.
Give them plastic knives to cut bananas for their peanut butter sandwiches. Throw nutrition to the gusting wind and let them put mini marshmallows on the sandwich too. Justify it as a counting exercise.
Begin weeping in earnest when you realize that it’s only 1:00--The Time Formerly Used for Naps.
Abandon the monsters to their own devices, get online, and post all of your brilliant ideas here to inspire the rest of us. Please.
Scissors up some snowflakes (icicles for the less competent) and brainstorm (brainblizzard) winter words to write on them. Turn children loose with scotch tape to hone interior design skills.
Fill the tub with kids, scrub brushes, and Duplos (or the veggies that need to be washed for supper tonight :D ).
Check your watch. Belatedly remember resolving not to check your watch.
Get out the cheapo white paper plates (run over to church and steal some if you don’t have any). Punch holes, weave yarn, get out your maps, and create murals depicting what people in [warm region of your choice] are doing right now.
Check weather again. Yup. Sheol is still proverbially polar-capped. No hope of getting out.
Rearrange the furniture. Particularly useful if you have a creeper/crawler/cruiser who’s into everything. Make him a nice corral and email a picture of him in it to the grandparents. Maybe they’ll get the hint and plan a visit ;-)
Call relatives who are living or visiting in The South. Realize that this is not necessarily helpful, because 1) when they don’t pick up you begin to imagine them at the beach, unable to hear the phone over the sounds of the surf, and 2) the sight of the phone in your hand triggers the kids’ Rotten Reflex.
Use warm soapy rag-socks to scrub the walls and cabinets. Something might get cleaner, or else they’ll wander off to occupy themselves. Either way, you win.
Give them plastic knives to cut bananas for their peanut butter sandwiches. Throw nutrition to the gusting wind and let them put mini marshmallows on the sandwich too. Justify it as a counting exercise.
Begin weeping in earnest when you realize that it’s only 1:00--The Time Formerly Used for Naps.
Abandon the monsters to their own devices, get online, and post all of your brilliant ideas here to inspire the rest of us. Please.
14 January 2009
Pep talk
Words of encouragement from a Concordian Husband of Perpetual Parturition: “Everything’s going to sag and wrinkle anyway, so you might as well have something to show for it.”
(He hastened to add that he was speaking only in generalities, for neither time nor gravity could lessen the perennial loveliness of his own bride in his eyes.)
Of course he’s right. The smooth-skinned Cosmo look we’re coached to pursue at all costs is startlingly fleeting. (Not so startling for those of us who remember how quickly we wither.) We’ve all seen the difference between the dignity of aging gracefully and the pathos of clinging desperately to an illusive, elusive covergirl rating.
Hmmm…respected for my battle scars by people I love or ogled by people I don’t even know? When I’m 70, what will I (DV) be carrying in my wallet and insisting on showing you: pictures of my grandkids, or a faded photo of my vain, lonely self in the swimsuit that by then has long gone the way of all flesh anyway?
There you have it. Not terribly profound nor deeply theological—but what’s the alternative, girls?
(He hastened to add that he was speaking only in generalities, for neither time nor gravity could lessen the perennial loveliness of his own bride in his eyes.)
Of course he’s right. The smooth-skinned Cosmo look we’re coached to pursue at all costs is startlingly fleeting. (Not so startling for those of us who remember how quickly we wither.) We’ve all seen the difference between the dignity of aging gracefully and the pathos of clinging desperately to an illusive, elusive covergirl rating.
Hmmm…respected for my battle scars by people I love or ogled by people I don’t even know? When I’m 70, what will I (DV) be carrying in my wallet and insisting on showing you: pictures of my grandkids, or a faded photo of my vain, lonely self in the swimsuit that by then has long gone the way of all flesh anyway?
There you have it. Not terribly profound nor deeply theological—but what’s the alternative, girls?
13 January 2009
Goats again
And Amy Carmichael again:
We can pray? When we can, we are more than content. But there are times when we cannot; at least, we cannot attempt sustained prayer. We are often unhappily conscious that we are believed to be praying more than we truly are. For we cannot gather our thoughts to pray; they scatter like a flock of goats on an Indian road which has neither hedge nor ditch, and we cannot run after them.
Can someone solve this problem for me?
Meh.
We can pray? When we can, we are more than content. But there are times when we cannot; at least, we cannot attempt sustained prayer. We are often unhappily conscious that we are believed to be praying more than we truly are. For we cannot gather our thoughts to pray; they scatter like a flock of goats on an Indian road which has neither hedge nor ditch, and we cannot run after them.
Can someone solve this problem for me?
Meh.12 January 2009
Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition
Postulants: Unmarried women who intend to live as Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition upon marriage, or married women who haven't brought it up to their husbands yet, or married women who still aren't sure even after their husbands spoke to them comfortably.
Novices: Newly married women living as Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition who have not yet become pregnant.
Temporarily Avowed: Married women living as a Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition who lie awake at night.
Professed: Pam, Heidi, Karin, Dort, LaRena, Linda, Lauri, etc.
Secular Oblates: Married women who are living as Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition but haven't really talked to their husbands about it. May withdraw at any time, what with the wild card husband.
Regular Oblates: De facto Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition who aren't quite sure why. While they may have never formally professed CSPP, they seem to be living as such. A regular oblate of CSPP probably has a husband who is on board but hasn't bothered to spell that out for her benefit.
Special Oblates
First Class: Novices to whom God does not give a child. They may assume this designation at whatever time they deem appropriate.
Second But Not Dishonorable Class: Married women who cannot live as Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition but wish they could.
This needs to be a widget. Does anyone know how to build one? Or maybe we'll just have to settle for t-shirt. Maternity t-shirt. With nursing openings.
Novices: Newly married women living as Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition who have not yet become pregnant.
Temporarily Avowed: Married women living as a Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition who lie awake at night.
Professed: Pam, Heidi, Karin, Dort, LaRena, Linda, Lauri, etc.
Secular Oblates: Married women who are living as Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition but haven't really talked to their husbands about it. May withdraw at any time, what with the wild card husband.
Regular Oblates: De facto Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition who aren't quite sure why. While they may have never formally professed CSPP, they seem to be living as such. A regular oblate of CSPP probably has a husband who is on board but hasn't bothered to spell that out for her benefit.
Special Oblates
First Class: Novices to whom God does not give a child. They may assume this designation at whatever time they deem appropriate.
Second But Not Dishonorable Class: Married women who cannot live as Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition but wish they could.
This needs to be a widget. Does anyone know how to build one? Or maybe we'll just have to settle for t-shirt. Maternity t-shirt. With nursing openings.
Doin' that thing you do
Doctor OB has a lot of fun telling a pregnant woman how much weight she's gained, then encouraging her to feel fine about it while yet telling her to cool it.
My doctor and I just had a little talk. Accordingly, I'm feeling rebellious, so I'm cooling it with Cool Whip. Bowls of it. That's right. And I'm not even hungry.
This advertisement brought to you by Less Than 10 Weeks to Go
My doctor and I just had a little talk. Accordingly, I'm feeling rebellious, so I'm cooling it with Cool Whip. Bowls of it. That's right. And I'm not even hungry.
This advertisement brought to you by Less Than 10 Weeks to Go
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