Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Barbara Kingsolver is one of my favorite authors. Reading her work is kind of a guilty pleasure for me as her world view is polar opposite of mine (Poisonwood Bible is even a critical look at a fictional missionary family), but she has total mastery over her craft, an intuitive look at nature, and sympathetic characters that draw me in. Recently I read the two book series about a single woman who adopted a Native American baby abandoned in her car in The Bean Trees and Pigs in Heaven. So when I saw a recommendation for her book on a conservative Christian blog, I couldn't resist reading what I knew would be delightful prose on a compelling subject. I was not prepared for just how eye opening and potentially life changing her book would be.

For someone who does not believe in God and points to evolution to tell her little daughter how things came into being, Barbara Kingsolver has a deep respect for natural processes, the order of seasons, the symbiosis of birds-insects-plants-minerals in organic growth, and the importance of the family table and nutrition. So even though occasionally, I differed from her opinion 100%, most of the time I found myself learning at the feet of a woman with knowledge and experience that I want to emulate.

This book, co written by Kingsolver's husband, Steven Hopp, and daughter, Camille Kingsolver, covered a year in which their family ate food grown or produced within a 100 mile radius of their home: a small farm in Virginia's Appalachian Mountains. Although, the Kingsolver-Hopp family members were not strangers to growing, preserving, and cooking their own food from scratch, their decision to eat ONLY local foods was a journey of learning that the book chronicles in delightful detail.

Following the seasons of Spring (greens, mushrooms, asparagus), Summer (zucchini, tomatoes, and a plethora of other veggies), Fall (potatoes, pumpkins, garlic, root crops), and Winter (winter squash, root cellar holdings), the family grows, hatches, butchers, cures, pickles, freezes, dries, and preserves all the food they need to comfortably live for a year. They frequent farmers’ markets and local farms for available fruits, meat, and milk that they themselves don’t grow. They learn to make cheese and yogurt. They travel to different parts of the country to observe organic farming elsewhere. They take a trip to Italy to see a country centered on a food culture of growing and producing local olive oil, vegetables, cheese, pasta, and meats.

They give compelling arguments for supporting local agriculture, cooking from scratch, and “voting with our dollars” to avoid processed foods and foods that have traveled across continents to reach us (apples from New Zealand anyone?). They also talk about foods that cannot be reasonably purchased locally (olive oil, spices, coffee, and chocolate) and, instead of giving up and going down to the local grocery store, buying from small farms elsewhere through free market enterprises to support someone else’s local economy (without supporting big foreign businesses who don’t have as much respect for the land or individuals in that place).

This can be done much more reasonably than I expected. The first part of the book, I wished ruefully that it could be done where I lived. However, a little bit of research (specifically on localharvest.org) quickly showed that I can buy fresh local produce through a local farm CSA (for community supported agriculture) which will allow me to “subscribe” to a farm and receive fresh seasonal produce weekly through the growing year. I also have the option of buying into a not so local CSA in Oregon called “Full Circle Farms” which gathers food from small farms locally and farther afield to provide fresh organic produce year round. I also found several local dairies that will allow me to “share” in a cow’s ownership to buy fresh raw milk (which can then become yogurt and cheese). I also found places within 50 miles of me that sell eggs, syrup, beef, and chicken meat. I suddenly remembered the local summer farmer’s markets in Anchorage and Wasilla that I was too busy for. The options are really much more varied that I had ever hoped! I can even start a small window garden in my apartment to grow several salads. The possibilities get more and more exciting.

Although I hope to write more later, I did want to point out that this method of eating and living may not be the most frugal method at first. Buying local produce may cost a little more than buying produce shipped from South America, and buying hormone free, grass fed meat will definitely be costlier, but setting those pennies aside, the gains of making sure that local food producers stay in business (no matter what happens world wide), the local economy stays strong, healthy food is on your table daily, and whole foods are prepared from scratch with the ingredients you choose is really a much healthier alternative over all. This method of eating does not have to be done all or nothing. It could be done by choosing only one or two local items to incorporate, or it may be done to any degree that works for your family. Becoming educated and supporting local food however you can is a big step in itself.

In conclusion, I strongly encourage anyone who is interested in feeding their family naturally to look into this book. It contains a treasure trove of ideas, recipes, resources, and motivation. It comes out in paperback April 29, 2008.

Love Thy Neighbor

James and his teammates had a game that they played in Ukraine that they called "Love Thy Neighbor." When I was a teen we called it "Fruit Basket Upset." I like the version they played in Ukraine better. A group of people sit in a circle with no empty chairs and one person standing in the middle. The person in the middle points to someone and asks, "Do you love your neighbor?" and the person pointed to answers, "Yes, but I don't love people who wear socks." So all the people with socks jump up and trade seats while the person in the middle tries to snag one. If the answer is "No" then everyone jumps up and trades seats. What a goofy youth game!

Okay, so this is NOT a picture of Ukrainians playing "Love Thy Neighbor." It just made me laugh!

Too bad the laughter, teasing, and good natured fun doesn't exactly translate into real neighborliness. Yeah, I know, I know, "Who is my neighbor?" has been answered by the man with the answers and we know it's not just referring to the person who lives next to us, but to the unlovable people with the characteristics that we most like to avoid. It's these people Jesus wants us to show his love to. But what if these people are your neighbors? What if people with the disgusting lifestyles make their home right on the other side of your bedroom wall?

When we moved in to our cute two room apartment with three huge windows, white walls, imitation wood flooring, and practically new kitchen appliances, we thanked God and started hanging curtains. Our neighbors were a nice military couple with two little poodles: one white and one black. They also liked to turn their television WAY up and watch movies all night. They especially liked war movies. I'd cringe from the other side of the wall as I listened to the gunshots and bombs exploding over the dying howls of actors. James had classes and make-or-break tests early in the morning, and so we'd be forced to try to sleep over the roaring sounds of aircraft or the strains of rising music. Ugh.

A few months later, the poodle family moved out and another couple moved in. This family had a medium sized dog and a small sized dog airline kennel that they locked him in. When I left in the morning, around 7, I'd meet my neighbor in the stairwell leaving for work. When I came home around 3, the dog next door would be howling and crying while I took our pug on a walk. At 5 when James came home, the neighbor dog's whimpers would intensify. By nine or ten at night, the moans and whines and groans of a dog penned 14 hours in a tiny kennel would tear at our heart and horrify our ears. On days when they did not kennel the dog, the neighbors would come in cursing and yelling that the dog messed all over the floor and furniture (what do you expect leaving an animal 18 hours without a potty break?). Many days the dog's owners didn't return until 1 or 2 in the morning (18 hours after leaving him). Our nerves were frayed and on edge as we tried to figure out what to do to jail break our neighbor dog undergoing cruel and unusual punishment. When one day a whole day passed, then two days with no relief for the animal, we started knocking doors looking for someone who knew what to do. Someone kindly gave us the number of the in complex apartment manager. We called that number and that person called our neighbors. An hour later, an irritated dog owner flew up the stairs, bundled up the dog and kennel and left, but they were back a few days later. In early summer, someone finally had enough and Animal Control was called in. We (sharing a wall the length of their apartment and a front porch) heard every word. The neighbors were cited for not having a license, but let off the hook because they said they were leaving a few days later. They did. But they never once looked our way again (I'm sure they thought we called Animal Control). We sighed with relief to see them go. Finally, we could sleep in peace again.

Towards the end of summer, we gained another neighbor. A nice young woman with a gigantic Rottweiler named, Duke. We weren't so sure we liked the loud, foul-mouthed boyfriend who moved in a few weeks later. Some people never learned as kids to use "inside voices." Although apartment dwellers know that pressing one's ear against the wall will allow access to revealing conversations (not that we do this, of course), these neighbors have never made the slightest amount of eavesdropping necessary. They talk at high volume when they are happy, angry, frustrated, or boastful. We know all about their money shortages, their relationships (who's cheating on whom), how often and how badly they lose at video games, their friends' law-breaking-habits, their drugs, their alcohol, and the stupid things they say to make other people think they're smart. Although by far the biggest neighbor dog to date, Duke has given us few problems, rarely barking and never assaulting Titus although the neighbor's method of "walking" him is to release him from our third floor apartment and let him roam loose until he decides to return home. Besides the drug parties (which we know are drug parties because they talk about the drugs at high volume like everything else) and the late night movie watching or conversations (also at high volume) which wake us up and allow us to hear every word of from our bed against the opposite wall, my two biggest frustrations with our neighbors are the profanity that shoots out of their mouth as verbs, nouns, adjectives, adverbs, and exclamations and their apartment demolishing fights.

During this time, We been trying more actively to be neighborly. I made a Christmas gift of homemade cocoa mix in a jar and gave it to them. We smile and say nice things on the stairwell when we meet them. I don't scream when their monster dog comes up behind me in the dark and scares me silly. James politely knocked on their front door the first time their loudness woke us up and explained that they probably didn't realize that they were keeping us up, but they were. Inside, however, we seethe. When our whole day is thrown wonky because they decide to throw dishes at each other a 12:30 AM and jar us awake out of a sound sleep, when I dream that I yelled expletives in my sleep and have to sheepishly ask my husband to be sure that it was just the neighbors again, when Titus cowers in fear because the yelling and crashing next door makes him feel like they are yelling at him, when words that I've never said (even in my sleep) pollute my mind because I hear them hundreds of times a day, I want to rage for revenge and justice against the people who live next door.

We are just trying to live wholesome, healthy, quiet, and godly lives within our means. We've evaluated our tiny apartment for placing a baby crib, changing table, and high chair (for one of these days) thinking that living at this simple level for a few more years will allow us to save for a piece of our own land or our own little house someday sooner rather than upgrading now and waiting for later. But it is unthinkable to imagine a little child of any age listening to screaming obscenities from next door. Our crude, self-centered neighbors will end up driving us away from the cozy nest that is our home.

But really, I know that the injustice is not balanced in my favor. To start with, we grew up in Christian homes with parents who revolved their whole life style over giving us what was best for a nurturing environment. They raised us to love God, pray, read the Bible, and find a community in the church. James and I both never knew a week without three trips to the church building to worship and study the Bible. We never feared that our parents would abuse us, abandon us, or neglect us. Our parents warned us that we would never find peace or comfort in a beer bottle or a joint. They cautioned us to save our heart for our life partner and to choose someone to marry who loved God above all else. Are we flawed? Of course. Do we need the cleansing of the blood of Christ? More than anything! But even by wordly standards, our life is stable and peaceful because our lives are established on a Rock that can't be moved.

When our neighbors are screaming obscenities at 2 AM, we shouldn't be full of anger and frustration, but the deepest pity and love for the people who live closest to us who are drowning in quicksand. May God make us His instruments of love even where it hurts most.

Broken Daisy

Okay, "Daisy" is the name of my 1995 Subaru Legacy. This is to differentiate it from "Little Black Sambo" James' 2001 Saturn, at least in the gas mileage chart spreadsheet that James created and we've been faithfully updating all year. Daisy is broken. Since the time I bought her after returning home from Russia in 2003, she has been a faithful, never get stuck, start in (almost) any temperature, run like a champ, get decent gas mileage car. Of course, I won't mention that I've already doubled her cost in near-fatal (to the car) calamities that eager mechanics have charged me to resuscitate her from. I've also never had an accident, but her back fender is dented because people don't know how to park in the Barnes and Noble parking lot and her front fender's dented because people don't know how to tighten lug nuts so that tires don't come off while driving . . . That's MY tire while I was driving!

But my sweet little, faithful Daisy has a problem. If you don't slam the back hatch HARD, the car believes that the back is still open and the lights will stay on running the battery down. Saturday night, "someone" (not her regular driver) checked my trunk for games to play with friends and must not have slammed the hatch shut. Monday morning, 6:50 AM I go down to my car on a frosty morning and find that when I unlock the door, the other doors do not automatically unlock. Uh-oh. I put the key in the ignition and turn. Nothing. I look up to see a sad, fading dome light and a dim "car door open" light glaring at me from the dashboard. There is nothing to do but wake James and hurry him out the door to drive me to work. Very, very late.

After school, I get a ride to Curves where I do my routine and wait at the door for James to pick me up. Back at home, we finally have time to tackle the case of the dead battery. Unfortunately a red Plymouth has taken the space next to my car. We quickly discover that automatic Subarus cannot be forced into neutral so as to be pushed backwards into the parking lot and jump started from there. Knocking on all my neighbors' doors reveals no one who claims ownership of the offending car and our jumper cables will not reach all the way over its hood from James' car to mine. Dead end. Literally.

That night James fell into bed, "Is it just me or has this been a particularly long day?"
I laughed, "Every day is this long when you wake up at six!"

Another morning dawned--wait, we got up before the dawn! I caught James zoning out with his socks in his hand and once face planted back into the pillows. James grumbled that he felt like he was at camp since he was getting up so early in the cold and getting dressed. I laughed at him, since I do the routine every workday morning, but I hope I'll get a little more understanding from him in the future! Still, it's fun to drive to work with James in the morning and get dropped of right by the door!

This afternoon, I have two sets of people planning to take me home in relays. I feel like such a pain getting completely in every one's way. I miss Moscow with it's hoards of bustling people, wide sidewalks, and multiple options for public transportation! Right now the Eagle River sidewalks are covered with street snow and ice. Walking six miles home from school is not an even remotely feasible option as the main route is the highway. Maybe I could hitchhike like that guy is doing on the dog sled above! *Sigh* I'll have to be a pest a bit longer.

Although we have high hopes that the Plymouth will have vamoosed; we now have a backup plan in a borrowed battery charger that we hope will do the trick. Anyway, I hope so. I don't like my new role as a leech without wheels! Now there's a mental picture for you to keep with you today!

Great White Bird Hunt (since 1850)

On Thursday I have an important paper due in Art Appreciation. I know this because there is a "drop box" on our course website that says "White Bird Paper (10% of grade). Drop box closes 8:00 Thursday". This kind of statement makes me somewhat anxious. Not that a paper due in a freshman art class is really that big of a deal or anything. There are 50 students in the class and the teacher hardly speaks English. I doubt any of them will ever even be read. The thing that makes me anxious, as Thursday quickly approaches, is I have no idea what this "White Bird" we are supposedly writing about is. I'm fairly certain it has never been said in class (I know because I have studiously wasted 3 hours of my life every Thursday to make my "35% of grade" which comes from attendance).
I don't know anyone else in the class, but I'm pretty sure everyone is just as lost as I am, so I emailed my instructor neatly telling her that people were pretty confused about what type of white paper bird she wanted to have us place in her special box online. And of course the typical university instructor response that was received was a simple email with the line "Did you even read your syllabus??? -Din" (as in Professor Din, "Din" ironically meaning a cacophony of noise with no meaning or direction). The syllabus she is referring to is a three page long document that appears to have been written in Chinese and then translated to English using Google, and then accidentally translated into Swahili and then written in hieroglyphics, before being interpreted by a young man trying to impress his English major friends. After some sleuthing in the syllabus I found a reference to a book called "the white bird". A few hours of research later and I found it was a story that is included in the wrapper with our text book when you buy it at the campus book store. I didn't know this of course because college textbooks are worthless and horribly written, and therefore I refused to pay $250 dollars for one. But it turns out this is one of the only places this four page document exists in the world.
Today, Andrea and I each spent a large portion of our day hunting the internets for some mention of this "White Bird" which we now knew was written by a British man named John. Some intense detective work lead us to "Harper's Magazine (since 1850)". This "Harper's Magazine (since 1850)" printed the story in its June 2000 issue and was taunting us with thumbnail sized PDFs of the two pages containing the essay. However, you have to pay "Harper's Magazine (since 1850)" a total of $17.50 for a year's subscription in order to blow up the pages to a size where the text is readable. Yeah. Nice. So a few more hours of frustrated searching, and a few hours of procrastination with resulted in the new webpage layout you see here (thank you, thank you), and we finally succumbed to math and logic. $17.50 is less than or equal to $250, also "10% of grade" is greater than or equal to an entire letter grade, logic states that it is impossible to "fake" a two page paper on the subject of an unknown issue, therefore the purchase was made. Thanks to Professor Din and Art Appreciation we now will receive 12 issues of "Harper's Magazine (since 1850)" in the mail over the next year.With great relief I downloaded the expanded PDF files (which turned out to be GIF files... wah?) And boogied over the course website one last time to prepare to write my paper and to read any new blog by my classmates which might be posted there. The only new post was a girl complaining about how the "White Bird" paper was so hard to find. Yeah, I know, I just paid $17.50 for-- "Who would think to look in the folder marked 'reading materials' at the bottom of the drop box directory?" --wait... what? So I scroll to the bottom of this long list of folders online, and click into a box linking me directly to a document called "The White Bird.doc".

Now why, Dr. Lots-a-Noise, did you not include this information in your one line email to me? "Harper's Magazine (since 1850)" had better be super awesome. And I had better start writing my paper. "The White Bird" by the way is a wooden dove. Seriously, who knew?

Chilly Willy Day

Thanks to all ye faithful visitors of our blog even in two weeks of silence. All it really means is that life has been busy for us.



James is fully emeshed his last semester of college. As each semester has it's own quirks and challenges, this one also looks like none that have gone before. His twenty hours of working to earn our keep are now for a small company that courts him predigiously hoping that he'll choose to stay when bigger, flashier companies offer salary packages and experience elsewhere. His three classes are a brain numbing concrete class, a group project driven senior design class, and a fluffy freshman art apreciation class. He spends most of every Saturday working with his group on the senior design project of planning an American history memorial park for downtown Anchorage. He also has meetings to polish up the design for the steel bridge competition in April, and his bedtime reading is the FE exam prep book which he will have to take in late April (right about the time that he has finals). We decided that a good date night (we haven't taken one since our anniversary!) would be to go to the Anchorage Museum of Art so he can get credit for it in his art class. The funny thing is that he took me there on a date when I was in art appreciation back when I was 17! Yup, semester is in full swing.


On my side of things, it is the time of year when all my little bilingual kids have to be tested in English to see how their skills have progressed since last year. Since I am the only bilingual staff person at both schools (by title, not definition), this means that I have to organize test materials, procure rooms to test in, group students to test, send passes, run passes, proctor, fend off angry parents, soothe irrate teachers, and collect and return all materials intact. The testing materials are so sensitive that I had to sign in blood that I would watch them like a hawk and when I check them out each day, I have to chain them to my wrist--even taking them to the ladies' room with me! Thankfully, I am almost completely done at one school, and I am looking forward to a smaller group at the other so I hope I can complete it all in one day.



February 8, we went to the Kuenning's house to celebrate Mom's birthday. We enjoyed a delicious dinner, of course, of all Mom's favorites--some cooked on the grill (in sub-zero weather). Aspen made a German chocolate cake (Mom loves both coconut and chocolate), and we opened Kinder eggs--as is our birthday tradition now that we have a supplier (Thanks, Uncle Rick and Aunt Jan!). It was an enjoyable evening, and Brady and Aspen made it even better when they announced that they finally set a wedding date: May 31st! We teased them and said they were getting married on our two year, five month wedding anniversary, but it is really good to have something to plan and work for.



Sunday night, we had another family event, but of a different kind. I took the little sweater and cap that I had crocheted months before (and only put the finishing touches on Saturday!) and put them in a bag with my favorite Burt's Baby Bee products for little Drake's baby shower! It was a co-ed affair and nearly 40 people were there at the Smith's -- including all of my family, which was nice. It was the first time I had seen Drake since he was two days old. He was wide eyed and rapt in looking at my face and occasionally gave hints of a smile! He is a beautiful baby boy. It was good to connect to all the family, and I think everyone had a good time.




So now we get to Chilly Willy Day, while birthdays and babys are exciting, how often can you go to church dressed in a cowboy costume? Well, that's what we did Saturday afternoon. After placing my pie on a table groaning with the weight of chili pots and fruit and cream pies, I stood back and mingled with cowboys, cowgirls, indians, and a mountian man. James came dressed as the town mayor in vest, cravat, and pocketwatch. I wore a prairie dress, full apron, and bonnet.


After the chili and pie judging (and lunch) us wild west people were released into the auditorium which now looked nothing like it had before. In the town of "Ye Blessed" stood "Ye Blessed Bank", "Ye Blessed General Store" (fully stocked and functional), "Ye Blessed Mother Lode", and "Ye Not So Blessed Jail." Hung strategically around the room were wanted posters for many familiar faces. There was a cake walk, a (fake) firing range, a spittoon hitting contest (with waterguns), a place for kids to make bonnets and vests, pony rides (dispite the -10 degree weather), an ice cream eating contest, a bubble gum blowing contest, and a place to have pictures of your sweetie put on buttons.


All of it was completely free. We paid in fake gold coins which could be earned through winning various games, panning for gold, or turning in a wanted criminal. If anyone wanted to contribute in REAL currency, the money went toward sending our teens to AIM Camp Adventure. It was good to see the men playing sherrif and robbers with the kids, the women making bonnets with the girls, families fellowshiping, and so many visitors! It met a need that I didn't even know we had--for a little bit of fun in the middle of a cold, dreary winter.

Mr. Spaceman

When I was a little girl, I had a thing about dinosaurs. I mean a bad thing. In my mind, dinosaurs tested, not my faith, but God himself. There was no room in the Bible, in my opinion, for dinosaurs since it started at the beginning and went to Abraham, Moses, David, and Jesus without them. Since people seemed so bent on disbelieving in God, I just decided to disbelieve in dinosaurs. Sure, I saw the humongous dinosaur skeletons in the Smithsonian, but I could no more believe that those bones were real than I could believe that God was not and, honestly, I couldn’t see how those bones made anyone think of the colored giant lizards in children’s books. It all seemed a giant fraud to me. Sometime in my teens, I listened to a man I respect very much, John Clayton, give a lecture on Christian Evidences. Somewhere mid-speech he said, “Can you believe that there are actually Christians who don’t believe in dinosaurs because they can’t reconcile them with the Bible? (Not an exact quote, but what I got)” I slouched in my seat as he went on to show that our God is not so small that we can’t believe that He created giant reptiles that no longer exist today. Now I don’t exactly like ‘em, but I trust that God knows what He’s up to!

That intro took me a little off track from where I was intending to go in talking about space ships and astronauts and flying to the moon. In my mind, dinosaurs and rockets are little boy territory (along with cowboys and racecars). I probably should have led in by talking about Ray Bradbury (James is a big fan) and his tales of rocket flying, Mars colonies, and aliens. Or maybe I could have mentioned (should we confess?) our year long blockbuster marathon of Star Trek shows. But what I really wanted to mention our new fascination with the Apollo program and the amazing years when (a few select) men became at home on the moon.

Two weeks ago (the day before our blackout), James and I took Isaac to the Beartooth, an eclectic dine-in theater that sells amazing pizzas and food and shows an eccentric mix of mainstream and specialty movies. We once watched a crossword puzzle documentary there called Wordplay that kept us more riveted than many movies we’ve seen. We took Isaac to see In the Shadow of the Moon a documentary of the Apollo missions narrated ONLY by the astronauts who flew them. When the trailer made me cry, I knew it was probably very moving, but I was not prepared by how vital the movie was. The men shared tear jerking, funny, and touching moments, but they touched on a deep profundity of being not much more than the biggest daredevils in the nation coming face-to-face with their own smallness, vulnerability, and mortality in just a corner of the greatness of the universe. The men handled this in different ways, but you’ll have to watch it yourselves to find out. It is definitely worth having in your video library and will tie in beautifully someday when I teach my kids about space!

Since then, I’ve been reading up on the facts of the missions and lives of the astronauts, mostly to reinforce my memory of all that I learned through the film. Last night we watched a library copy of “Apollo 13” which I hadn’t seen since I was a teenager. In the recent shadow of the documentary, it both seemed less deep and more real (than it had in the past), but I’ve been walking around all day feeling the gravity dragging at my feet and thinking in awe of those who took giant risks to escape it. I feel like bragging that I got to see a rocket take off at Cape Canaveral when I was 11 and crying that American astronauts burnt up in reentry two months before I came home from Russia. It all seems personal now.

It probably is just a phase, so I’m not redecorating my bedroom in “space theme,” but I just wanted to share it with you.

When I consider your heavens,

the work of your fingers,

the moon and the stars,

which you have set in place,

what is man that you are mindful of him,

the son of man that you care for him?

O LORD, our Lord,

how majestic is your name in all the earth!

Psalms 8:3-4,9

The most depressing day of the year . . .

Factoring in weather conditions, low sunlight levels, holiday debt, time since Christmas, failed new year’s resolutions, and low motivational levels while feeling a need to take action (1/8W+(D-d) 3/8xTQ MxNA), psychology professor Cliff Arnall calculated the third Monday in January to be "Blue Monday": the most depressing day of the year. Somebody take a look at that equation; it looks rather fishy to me. It also doesn't make much sense that "the most depressing day of the year" would fall on a school holiday (Thank you, Martin Luther King Jr.)! To take away even more credibility, Wikipedia claims that the whole idea was just a marketing ploy for a travel company. However, I have learned that sometimes giving a solid reason for irrational feelings can make the feelings appear less permanent or make them go away entirely. So naming "Blue Monday" shows that the January blahs can be waved away with a chuckle and a "pshaw" because we know eventually those factors will melt away and life will be good again.

Unfortunately, one more factor played into our weekend. While still feeling highly motivated to have a productive year, thankful for James' extra income this semester, and looking forward to Valentine's day (although tired of sunless and rainy (!) outdoors), on Friday I decided to walk the dog, carry our laundry to the basement washers and driers, and talk on the phone to my mother all at once. Then, bending over to pick up a sock while on the phone, I felt a sharp twinge in my lower back and started a weekend of excruciating pain.

To tell you that I spent the majority of Friday evening crying, pretty much sums it up. Sitting or standing brought horrible crushing pain that made me feel like my lower spine was being pulverized. Getting from sitting to standing (and vice versa) took my breath away and made tears start again. Lying down just caused a numbing pain. My sweet husband brought home a wonderful heating pad which became the only source of relief for me (600 mg of Motrin did nothing, and I was scared to take more). Any hopes of using our three day weekend to catch up on life or to do something recreational were dashed. All I could do was pray, and that just made me cry more!

Little by little, I have tried to work out the muscles to bring gradual mobility with less pain. In desperation on Saturday, I discovered that kneeling somehow did not hurt as bad as stooping and so made the bed and straightened our room from that position (James was already cooking, doing dishes, walking the dog, and running around for me). Sunday, I went to church and sat stiffly in the pew. I gave up halfway through and lay down in the cry room. Monday, we made an appointment for a professional back massage. It was relaxing, but hardly a cure. Thankfully, each little push past comfort each day has brought more relief. Because it was a three day weekend, I have not had to miss any work. Driving in my car and sitting at work, I have realized what little back support those seats offer, and I am working on remedying that. I'm looking into a visit to the chiropractor and slowly beginning to stretch and exercise my back muscles to strengthen them. Life is seeming a little more bearable day by day.

It is quite a wake up call, though, to be knocked down flat while doing a mundane household chore. It is humbling to know how dependant we are on each muscle and ligament in our bodies behaving properly. But beyond that, we don't have the right to make weekend plans because absolutely nothing is within our control - not even our own back muscles. I say so often, "God willing" but do I really mean it? Am I just saying it so I don't "jinx" myself, or am I really saying "God's will is best; I'd rather do what He has planned for me." I can't say what He planned for me this weekend was what I wanted, but I pray that the pain, the humility, and the submission taught me the lessons He wanted me me to learn.

Here is a verse James shared with me this weekend:

Come, and let us return to the LORD;

For He has torn, but He will heal us;

He has stricken, but He will bind us up.

After two days He will revive us;

On the third day He will raise us up,

That we may live in His sight.

Let us know,

Let us pursue the knowledge of the LORD.

His going forth is established as the morning;

He will come to us like the rain,

Like the latter and former rain to the earth.
Hosea 6:1-3

In The Dark

Yesterday was an eventful day. I had to maneuver through the day key-less, wallet-less, and phone-less after leaving my purse in Wasilla the night before. James had his first day of his last semester, but was late to his 8:30 class (and 1st day quiz--engineering school is so fun!) due to snowy, icy roads and traffic. After work, I drove to Wasilla (on those same snowy, icy roads) to go to a Bible study with Mom Kuenning and Kiana (and get my purse). Then James called having been sent on a work errand to a commercial neighborhood . . . and run out of gas miles from a station! He was rescued by Dad Smith (Thank you!).

Finally, I came home to James and Titus in quiet domestic tranquility and set about preparing a hot ham dinner (with steamed veggies, baked potatoes, and cranberry sauce, yum!). Then the lights flickered and went out, came on, went out, came on, and went out one last time. While the lights were going out each time, I looked out the window down the street and saw blue and red fireworks (or so it seemed) sparking in time with weird grumbles that either came from our confused printer or the electric meters mounted on the wall below our window. It scared me so badly, that I quickly opened up the electric bill that just happened to have come in the mail that day, took the paper over to the candle that I had just lit, and dialed the electric company to report the problem.

Our hot ham dinner turned into a cold ham dinner with cheese, crackers, and Craisins, but it was a romantic candle-lit dinner (James said he felt Medieval eating cold ham and hunks of cheese by candle light. Pepsi = Ale?). With no computer, music, or even extra light to distract us, we were focused on each other and our simple meal. After dinner and a waterless clean-up, we took Titus out. We were half convinced that the southern part of our street was on fire, but all we saw was darkened apartment windows, black streetlights, and snow. We walked until the deep snow filled our shoes, and then we turned around and followed our footsteps home. We really settled in then. I lit all the candles I could find and cleared the table for a game of Settlers. About half way through, my phone rang with an automated message asking if our power had been restored. It had not. As we were putting the game away, a brilliant light and noise filled our apartment. After nearly three hours of blackness, the electricity was on again. We got both an automated message AND a personalized message then. It's nice to live in America!

The quiet evening was suddenly full of the hum of the refrigerator, the rush of hot water through the pipes, and the hiss of air in the water spigot. The softly glowing lights disappeared in the harsh glare of the overhead bulbs. The reminiscing of by-gone days and exploring Ukrainian sewer pipes with candles seemed pointless now. I thankfully brushed my teeth with fresh cold water and showered in fresh hot water, all to the friendly light of a bathroom vanity bulb, but I could not help but think how helpless and dependant we have become upon modern amenities. If the electricity was out for good, what would we do for water, heat, cooking, refrigeration, hygiene?

Thankfully, de-cluttering the front closet allowed us to find our other flashlights and batteries for just this time. Candles and matches were just within reach as well. Our pitcher of water in the fridge didn't take us that long to go through, though. I think my next steps in our emergency kit making will be to put an extra gallon or two of water away for us and Titus, buy a decent sized bottle of waterless hand wash, and post all emergency contact numbers where I can find them in the dark!

The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter

Josh Ritter owns his music. He inhabits it. He rides over it like open pasture land, singing about lost loves and broken hearts. He hijacks it like an outlaw would a rollicking locomotive, wailing the confident threats of youth and laughing out the triumphs of a faster gun. He ends every evening around a campfire with an ever growing band of followers, like a modern day Billy the Kid, sparkle in his eye, sharing stories of past friends and enemies, long dead, with such clarity and enthusiasm that you feel you know them. You feel you understand them. You begin to question if maybe they aren't really all Josh Ritter himself. But before you can find any crack or flaw in his marbleized persona, he is gone again, jumping off cliffs into rivers and sliding under fences in pursuit of a girl. He runs barefoot with the confidence of a child that doesn't know what it means to trip, and with his fourth and grandest album yet he historically proves it very well might never happen.


(This is a review James did for metacritic.com. Just a sample of why James is a 10x better writer than I am. I also thought that people looking might enjoy an introduction to a talented musician and a new album.)

I resolve . . .

So I know it's a little late for New Year's Resolutions, but I've been thinking about things recently.

Now, I love the holiday season. It is such a cheerful thing in the midst of a dreary, cold season. Families carve out time to all gather together. Friends dust off address books and send cards over the miles. Neighbors give each other cookie plates. Strangers smile and offer holiday greetings. It is a time of connection, relaxation, and fun. For all the work and time that goes into decorating, shopping, wrapping, writing, baking, cooking, cleaning, planning, and so on, it provides a special blessing to all involved in serving and giving to others.

BUT, it does tend to lead to a sort of Mardi Gras atmosphere of grab-all-the-gusto. We eat more than we should, spend more than we should, work less than we should (I would say "sleep more than we should", but I really think we are sleep deprived most of the time), and all our good habits and intentions go flying out the window, for a week or so. Okay, if this doesn't speak for you, then let it speak for me!

Then comes New Years: a refreshing re-start button on our calendar, and thus our lives. A time to make promises to do better with the time, things, people, mind, heart, and body that God has given us. So, I will try to make a fresh start while keeping these two things in mind:

1. God does not need us to wait for a calendar date or time of day to repent and do better. In fact, He wants us to turn as soon as we see what we have been doing is futile and not glorifying to Him. To follow His will, we will probably have to do quite a lot of turning over the course of a year!

2. It is impossible to achieve anything worthwhile without God's strength and guidance each step of the way. Perfection is vain (both impossible and self-glorifying) and should not be attempted, except in the step-by-step shadowing of what we see God's will leading us to do.

* * *

Resolution #1: To grow in a passionate and dependant relationship with God. I want to crave His word, ache for time with Him in prayer, and savor His presence, guidance, wisdom, and working in my life, and to do so with my husband.

Proverbs 31: 10-12

A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies.

Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.

She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.

How: This resolution is probably the hardest, most essential, least concrete, and most long lasting (meaning it will probably be a goal for the rest of my life). It will require a commitment to make time with God a priority, both alone and with James. I find that when I surround myself by books, songs, lessons, and people that will encourage me in this, I can light my fire with their passion. My problem is lack of fuel to keep the fire burning after my fire is lit! This, I think, will come from harder work and more diligence to my first commitment - and prayer for continued passion! Anyone wanting to volunteer for the job of holding me accountable is welcome to apply!

Resolution #2: To move my family towards better health by providing wholesome foods and encouraging activity.

Proverbs 31: 15, 17

She gets up while it is still dark; she provides food for her family and portions for her servant girls.
She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks.

How: I plan to get back into the habit of planning my weekly meals, adding additional habits of eating healthier replacement foods (7-grain oatmeal granola from scratch rather than the store-bought bars, etc.), staying committed to going to Curves, taking longer walks with Titus, and finding activities that we enjoy that will keep us moving (much easier to do in the summer).

Resolution #3: To reevaluate the stuff in our life once again and give away, throw away, or sell our excess (I've actually made a little progress on this one in the first 11 days of the year!).

Proverbs 31: 18, 20

She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night

She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy.

How: I have divided our home and things into zones: books, clothes, cupboards, storage, papers, closets, etc. And I have decided to tackle each zone or sub-zone (textbooks, clothes in the dresser) one at a time, in small, finishable projects. This one should be satisfying!

Resolution #4: To prepare for the future by getting insured, saving, investing, and assembling an emergency kit.

Proverbs 31: 21

When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet.

How: Similar to #3, I plan to do one thing at a time, even buying an item for the emergency kit with each grocery list, and making a budget and sticking to it!

Resolution #5: To make at least one scrapbook page of pictures each week and finish my wedding album!

Proverbs 31:13

She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands.

How: I will use the one night that James will have a late class to claim the dining room table. I will try to keep ahead of myself by printing and gathering photos ahead of time and jotting down future ideas for my pages.

Mom

I am very happy to write to tell all the VERY good news we received yesterday (on Brady's 23rd Birthday) regarding Mom's health condition. Since last May, my mother, Carol Kuenning, has endured one serious health crisis after another.

A first she became severely anemic. She had no energy and was often dizzy and nauseous. When she learned of her anemia, she worked to bring her iron levels up in every natural way possible (she found that liquid chlorophyll worked wonders). Eating big leafy spinach salads and liver seemed to be bringing the right results.

Then, in the process of getting my grandmother's home on the market, she flew down to Virginia and back with the family. The combination of her inactivity due to the anemia, the plane flight, and a family predisposition gave her deep vein thrombosis, or a blood clot in her leg. They put her on blood thinners, which are effective, but wreak havoc on the body. They also restricted her diet from anything with vitamin K in it (a natural blood clotter) which meant that though her anemia was still categorized as severe, almost all of the natural iron-rich foods (also naturally rich in vitamin K) were off limits to her.

When she felt tightness in her chest in June, she had Dad take her to the emergency room where a CAT scan revealed that the blood clots had moved to her lungs. There, they were only a hiccup away from blocking major arteries and killing her. After a five day hospital visit, she went home where we watched her like hawks. Kind people brought meals, but her dietary restrictions were driving everyone a bit nutty. Her regular doses of blood thinner also made simple cuts and nicks an extreme hazard as there were few blood clotting agents in her to stem a flow of blood. A kitchen accident could be a serious problem.

A few months later, Mom passed out on the kitchen floor which brought an EMT crew to the house. All tests showed nothing wrong with her blood sugar, heart, or other first guesses. However, an ultrasound revealed painful gallstones (the source of the back pain that caused her to faint). Surgery was impossible until Mom was off the blood thinners, and the gallstones restricted her diet even further, preventing her from eating dairy and any rich foods.

* * *

I have to just say that in the midst of all of these scary conditions, while their daughter was a bit of a wreck at coming so close to losing her mother, Mom and Dad showed remarkable peace and faith through it all. Mom would tell me, "I don't know why I'm going through this, but God has gotten my attention, and I'm listening." While she was in the hospital, my parents prayed together for God's will to be done. Separately they told me how God's peace and protection was almost tangible after they relinquished Mom's very life to God's will.

As for me, facing the possibility of losing one of my parents made me treasure them both even more. I am thankful for their wise council, their generosity, their friendship, and their mentoring in so many areas. It would be devastating to lose either one, but I'll learn a lesson from them and leave all control to our omniscient God and His good will.

* * *

So when her follow up CAT scan was scheduled for last Friday to see if her lungs were clear of the clots, we all wished more than believed Mom to be free of the pests that have kept her from being active, able to travel, and plagued her with occasional tightness in her chest. Praise God, the CAT scan revealed her to be free of clots! Gradually her iron levels have come up too so she is at almost normal levels. Now the only monsters to tackle are the gallstones. Lord willing, those will fall like Jericho to God's mighty hand. Please keep her continued recovery in your prayers.

Yes, we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves but in God who raises the dead, who delivered us from so great a death, and does deliver us; in whom we trust that He will still deliver us, you also helping together in prayer for us, that thanks may be given by many persons on our behalf for the gift granted to us through many.

2 Corinthians 1:9-11