Despair...and grace
Tuesday, one of my close family members took a shotgun to his head...and survived. I'm still somewhat in shock, but beginning to grieve. It's outrageous. Crushing.
He's got a very significant injury to his face, but not to his brain. His wife found him two hours after the incident, significantly bleeding but amazingly still conscious. He was Med-evac-ed to a large regional hospital Tuesday night and is currently in the ICU, heavily sedated and on a ventilator.
I can't fathom how he is still alive. I also can't even begin to fathom a good outcome from this. Even an emotionally stong person can fall into deep depression from a facial disfigurment, but someone suicidally depressed? How much more despair can he take? He's currently a pastor without a church, and despite being in psychiatric care for some time, obviously has not been improving.
The first round of surgeries to rebuild his shattered jaw and cheekbone are scheduled for tomorrow. Please pray for the family. He and his wife have two daughters in their 20s, the older is rooted in a church family, the younger is spiritually seeking. Pray for us all as a family, especially my widowed mother, who's been very hard hit by this.
He's broken, but he's alive. I don't understand, but I believe God has more in store for him.
Show us your way through the dark valley, O God.
9.29.2005
9.26.2005
Limited atonement gone awry?
Claire and I were working on a note to Grandma (my mother) today, and she asked why her grandmother is in Texas instead of Florida right now. I explained that she's working in the office of a Christian radio network that broadcasts into Mexico so that Mexican people can learn about Jesus.
"I don't want that," Claire said.
"You don't want people in Mexico to hear about Jesus?"
"No. He's MY Jesus."
"But Jesus loves them and he wants them to love him back."
"I don't want to share. They can go away."
Claire says this sort of thing about everything she likes, from strawberries to her dollhouse. I explained that Jesus isn't like Cheerios that can run out if you give some away. She softened her stance when she began to understand, and decided that it was in fact a good thing for people in Mexico to love Jesus back.
I'm still not quite sure what to make of this strange conversation. Should we be working harder to nurture her missionary spirit? Perhaps. I may be making more of it than what it is--a typical 3-year-old's jealous guarding of what is beloved. It sure beats indifference to our Savior and Lord.
Claire and I were working on a note to Grandma (my mother) today, and she asked why her grandmother is in Texas instead of Florida right now. I explained that she's working in the office of a Christian radio network that broadcasts into Mexico so that Mexican people can learn about Jesus.
"I don't want that," Claire said.
"You don't want people in Mexico to hear about Jesus?"
"No. He's MY Jesus."
"But Jesus loves them and he wants them to love him back."
"I don't want to share. They can go away."
Claire says this sort of thing about everything she likes, from strawberries to her dollhouse. I explained that Jesus isn't like Cheerios that can run out if you give some away. She softened her stance when she began to understand, and decided that it was in fact a good thing for people in Mexico to love Jesus back.
I'm still not quite sure what to make of this strange conversation. Should we be working harder to nurture her missionary spirit? Perhaps. I may be making more of it than what it is--a typical 3-year-old's jealous guarding of what is beloved. It sure beats indifference to our Savior and Lord.
9.18.2005
Lookee
I'd complained to Joel that my blog design looked awfully dated, since we haven't freshened the look in more than three years. I was tired of the dark, somewhat busy background and all the boxes.
Silly me. He just went and redid the thing without any help from me at all. He can never resist dabbling in design.
So what do you think? It's for posterity, so be honest.
(If you missed The Princess Bride reference, go watch the film again first, then comment.)
I'd complained to Joel that my blog design looked awfully dated, since we haven't freshened the look in more than three years. I was tired of the dark, somewhat busy background and all the boxes.
Silly me. He just went and redid the thing without any help from me at all. He can never resist dabbling in design.
So what do you think? It's for posterity, so be honest.
(If you missed The Princess Bride reference, go watch the film again first, then comment.)
9.16.2005
Howatching
As ragweed season drags on, making my lungs unhappier by the day, I've been forced to rest more. What a great consolation reading is in my leaden-lunged state.
Perusing my shelves, I decided it was time to give Susan Howatch's The Rich Are Different a whirl. In the spring I tried another of her pre-Christian books, Penmarric, but found it a bit creepy. I guess one should expect that of a Gothic-style family saga. The Rich Are Different (TRAD) has a sequel called The Sins of the Fathers, which gives an indication of Howatch's growing interest in spiritual things. I'm amazed how often religious topics are touched upon in TRAD, published in 1977 and exploring a man's rise to riches on Wall Street in the teens and twenties.
It's quite fun as an aspiring writer to explore the maturation of another writer's craft. Howatch's characterizations get better and better over the course of her career. I think even she struggled with writing in first person. It can be hard to get inside the head of a person who's really unlike you, but the struggle can be worth it because that character's perspective can be crucial. In TRAD, Howatch provides a rather weak section narrated by a conventional society wife, Sylvia Van Zale, who's wealthy husband cheats on her perpetually. The woman also suffers a long string of miscarriages. Howatch doesn't quite get Sylvia, or doesn't know how to get inside her emotional world. She's just not compelling or believable. By contrast, Howatch does an astonishingly good job with an unloved wife, Rosalind Darrow, in The Wonder Worker. Though I can't quite like Rosalind, I can understand her and sympathize. That's good writing.
I'm about halfway through TRAD, a 658-page tome. I'm curious to see how much more Howatch incorporates Christian ideas and themes. And I'm encouraged that even this writer I admire so much took time to reach her current excellence and improved over time. There's hope even for me.
As ragweed season drags on, making my lungs unhappier by the day, I've been forced to rest more. What a great consolation reading is in my leaden-lunged state.
Perusing my shelves, I decided it was time to give Susan Howatch's The Rich Are Different a whirl. In the spring I tried another of her pre-Christian books, Penmarric, but found it a bit creepy. I guess one should expect that of a Gothic-style family saga. The Rich Are Different (TRAD) has a sequel called The Sins of the Fathers, which gives an indication of Howatch's growing interest in spiritual things. I'm amazed how often religious topics are touched upon in TRAD, published in 1977 and exploring a man's rise to riches on Wall Street in the teens and twenties.
It's quite fun as an aspiring writer to explore the maturation of another writer's craft. Howatch's characterizations get better and better over the course of her career. I think even she struggled with writing in first person. It can be hard to get inside the head of a person who's really unlike you, but the struggle can be worth it because that character's perspective can be crucial. In TRAD, Howatch provides a rather weak section narrated by a conventional society wife, Sylvia Van Zale, who's wealthy husband cheats on her perpetually. The woman also suffers a long string of miscarriages. Howatch doesn't quite get Sylvia, or doesn't know how to get inside her emotional world. She's just not compelling or believable. By contrast, Howatch does an astonishingly good job with an unloved wife, Rosalind Darrow, in The Wonder Worker. Though I can't quite like Rosalind, I can understand her and sympathize. That's good writing.
I'm about halfway through TRAD, a 658-page tome. I'm curious to see how much more Howatch incorporates Christian ideas and themes. And I'm encouraged that even this writer I admire so much took time to reach her current excellence and improved over time. There's hope even for me.
9.13.2005
Imagine!
Last week I picked up a little gem of a book from the library called The Gift by John Prater, a picture book with no text at all. The illustrations depict a brother and sister who receive two kid-sized chairs in a large box. They decide the box is far more interesting than the chairs. They climb in the box, close their eyes, concentrate really hard, and find that the box can fly! They sail over their British city and have a number of adventures in their magic box before deciding to return home.
Claire, of course, wanted her own magic box. Hand-me-down clothes from Claire's cousin arrive the next day, providing not only a big box for adventures, but also a pair of "ruby slippers"--red shoes covered with red glitter, probably from an Oz Halloween costume.
Perfectly equipped, Claire loads up Raggedy Ann and Winnie the Pooh and dons her magic shoes.
"When you're ready to come home," I instuct Claire, "just tap together your shoes and say 'There's no place like home'."
She nods solemnly and hops aboard her magic box. Moments later, as I gather laundry, Claire calls from her room, "Mommy! I'm 'maginationing I'm going to find a pirate ship under the ocean!"
Great days of adventure lie ahead.
Last week I picked up a little gem of a book from the library called The Gift by John Prater, a picture book with no text at all. The illustrations depict a brother and sister who receive two kid-sized chairs in a large box. They decide the box is far more interesting than the chairs. They climb in the box, close their eyes, concentrate really hard, and find that the box can fly! They sail over their British city and have a number of adventures in their magic box before deciding to return home.
Claire, of course, wanted her own magic box. Hand-me-down clothes from Claire's cousin arrive the next day, providing not only a big box for adventures, but also a pair of "ruby slippers"--red shoes covered with red glitter, probably from an Oz Halloween costume.
Perfectly equipped, Claire loads up Raggedy Ann and Winnie the Pooh and dons her magic shoes.
"When you're ready to come home," I instuct Claire, "just tap together your shoes and say 'There's no place like home'."
She nods solemnly and hops aboard her magic box. Moments later, as I gather laundry, Claire calls from her room, "Mommy! I'm 'maginationing I'm going to find a pirate ship under the ocean!"
Great days of adventure lie ahead.
9.08.2005
Fuelish worries
This news item worried me probably more than it should:
Natural gas prices could increase as much as 71 percent in part of the United States this fall, raising the prospect of higher home heating costs this winter, the Energy Department reports.
I remember the energy crisis of the late 70's-early 80's very well, and the memories are not especially happy. We were living in a house with all-electric heat, which at the time was the most expensive and least efficient. My parents turned down the heat to 50 degrees and made use of alternate forms of fuel to warm us. Our home had a Franklin stove in the rec room, which got put to use quite a lot. I remember Dad spending a few weekends splitting logs until his hands blistered. Electric blankets were key for sleeping. My folks also invested in two kerosene heaters. I remember an elaborate ritual for dressing on winter mornings--wake, run out to the heater in the kitchen to warm up, dash back to the bedroom and hastily grab clothes, drape clothes near heater to warm while eating breakfast, dress next to heater being careful not to catch clothes on fire. Though the kerosene heaters were fairly efficient, they burned somewhat dirty, leaving a sooty residue on nearby furniture and ceilings throughout the house. Whenever I'm tempted to romanticize previous centuries, I just remember those frigid, sooty years and thank God for clean central heat.
If the news predictions are true, this winter will bring killer heating costs. Wrapping ducts, caulking cracks and shrink-wrapping windows helped a little last year, but we're going to need to do more to not end up in the poor house this winter. I'm thinking electric space heaters may be best when electricity is cheaper than natural gas. They're a fairly safe alternative with a small child in the house, now that cool-touch fan models are available pretty cheap.
This news item worried me probably more than it should:
Natural gas prices could increase as much as 71 percent in part of the United States this fall, raising the prospect of higher home heating costs this winter, the Energy Department reports.
I remember the energy crisis of the late 70's-early 80's very well, and the memories are not especially happy. We were living in a house with all-electric heat, which at the time was the most expensive and least efficient. My parents turned down the heat to 50 degrees and made use of alternate forms of fuel to warm us. Our home had a Franklin stove in the rec room, which got put to use quite a lot. I remember Dad spending a few weekends splitting logs until his hands blistered. Electric blankets were key for sleeping. My folks also invested in two kerosene heaters. I remember an elaborate ritual for dressing on winter mornings--wake, run out to the heater in the kitchen to warm up, dash back to the bedroom and hastily grab clothes, drape clothes near heater to warm while eating breakfast, dress next to heater being careful not to catch clothes on fire. Though the kerosene heaters were fairly efficient, they burned somewhat dirty, leaving a sooty residue on nearby furniture and ceilings throughout the house. Whenever I'm tempted to romanticize previous centuries, I just remember those frigid, sooty years and thank God for clean central heat.
If the news predictions are true, this winter will bring killer heating costs. Wrapping ducts, caulking cracks and shrink-wrapping windows helped a little last year, but we're going to need to do more to not end up in the poor house this winter. I'm thinking electric space heaters may be best when electricity is cheaper than natural gas. They're a fairly safe alternative with a small child in the house, now that cool-touch fan models are available pretty cheap.
9.03.2005
Best children's books
I've had a fun afternoon compiling a listmania list of some of Claire's favorite books from the past few months. It was difficult to limit it to just 25 books! We're now in the habit of visiting the library every week and picking up 7 or more new titles every visit. Some weeks we pick up old favorites. Most titles on the list have come for a visit more than once (unless we own them). I was surprised to see that most of Claire's favorites are for kids in the 4-8 age group. Stuff for younger kids seem to bore my three-year-old pretty quickly. She likes a balance of illustration and text.
I've had a fun afternoon compiling a listmania list of some of Claire's favorite books from the past few months. It was difficult to limit it to just 25 books! We're now in the habit of visiting the library every week and picking up 7 or more new titles every visit. Some weeks we pick up old favorites. Most titles on the list have come for a visit more than once (unless we own them). I was surprised to see that most of Claire's favorites are for kids in the 4-8 age group. Stuff for younger kids seem to bore my three-year-old pretty quickly. She likes a balance of illustration and text.
9.02.2005
My summer vacation
I hope all my blogosphere friends have not written me off as a complete lost cause. I have had a great summer. May was pretty crazy with lots of houseguests. In June I potty trained Claire (be thankful I spared you the blow-by-blow of this rather gross process). I also received a challenge to return to my first love--fiction writing. A close friend gave a tantilizing assignment: in six weeks, produce the beginnings of something fictional for her to read.
I was frankly terrified to even begin the process. I haven't written fiction in about eight years. As of today, I've generated over 30 pages of material, some quite good, some salvagable, and some total garbage. The two most important parts are done--a pretty good draft of the first chapter and a large pile of plot point notecards written and organized to give skeletal structure to what I write. Yes, you heard me right, "first chapter." I've started on a novel, Lord help me. The protagonists are a 15-year-old girl and her 40-something mother who have recently lost Dad/husband who held the family together. The estranged daughter and mother will need to learn to cope without him--and figure out how to be a family of two.
I've also done some short family trips over the summer to the shore and an amusement park, which Joel already blogged about. Since he has the FTP capability and knowledge, it's not really possible for me to "scoop" him on family news. Begging is my only means of getting to share photos. That's the naked truth.
No news on a sibling for Claire. We're entering month 23 of trying. Doctors haven't found any medical problems to treat, so we stopped the invasive testing back in spring. For now we're waiting on the Lord and asking for prayers. Every day I feel more confident in God's great sense of timing because my suddenly sassy 3-year-old takes more energy than I ever dreamed possible. A 4-year or more age gap is looking pretty appealing right now.
I hope all my blogosphere friends have not written me off as a complete lost cause. I have had a great summer. May was pretty crazy with lots of houseguests. In June I potty trained Claire (be thankful I spared you the blow-by-blow of this rather gross process). I also received a challenge to return to my first love--fiction writing. A close friend gave a tantilizing assignment: in six weeks, produce the beginnings of something fictional for her to read.
I was frankly terrified to even begin the process. I haven't written fiction in about eight years. As of today, I've generated over 30 pages of material, some quite good, some salvagable, and some total garbage. The two most important parts are done--a pretty good draft of the first chapter and a large pile of plot point notecards written and organized to give skeletal structure to what I write. Yes, you heard me right, "first chapter." I've started on a novel, Lord help me. The protagonists are a 15-year-old girl and her 40-something mother who have recently lost Dad/husband who held the family together. The estranged daughter and mother will need to learn to cope without him--and figure out how to be a family of two.
I've also done some short family trips over the summer to the shore and an amusement park, which Joel already blogged about. Since he has the FTP capability and knowledge, it's not really possible for me to "scoop" him on family news. Begging is my only means of getting to share photos. That's the naked truth.
No news on a sibling for Claire. We're entering month 23 of trying. Doctors haven't found any medical problems to treat, so we stopped the invasive testing back in spring. For now we're waiting on the Lord and asking for prayers. Every day I feel more confident in God's great sense of timing because my suddenly sassy 3-year-old takes more energy than I ever dreamed possible. A 4-year or more age gap is looking pretty appealing right now.
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